#added some words ‘ere and there to make the words flow more smoothly… did it work?

[deus-ex-mona]

mona’s self liner notes for beautiful!

Could this be this mona’s first true dance music track?! The 4/4 beat and the low tones of the bass drum are cool, right?

I want to rock out with tons of lasers when I’m singing this song at a concert. I’m counting on you, concert staff.

I revealed that I can figure skate in the MV too. It surprised you guys, right?

[hisakata-resutomoshibi]

Please do more blackcat!Kuro!❤️ It’s like reading a fanfic I really want to know what happens next! How did he know Mahiru’s name? Are they still Servamp or full on regular vampires?

Hey anon! I don’t have any drawings for you this time but I did continue on a little from that last time! I’m glad you asked for more, I’m having a lot of fun adding to this AU!

Hope you enjoy~

(And thanks for the idea @thesilenceislost !♡)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While Mahiru was waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom of the cave he found that sometime between his kidnapping and now he had acquired a fair amount of leaves and dust in his hair. Shaking it out, he was caught off guard by the hand that landed on his shoulder.

"What do you think?"

The voice was soft and lyrical, but still rough at the edges in a way that Mahiru couldn't quite describe, as though it were from a fantasy, something half remembered and more imaginary than physical. He glanced back to meet two glowing eyes, grinning happily at him through the shadows.

"Of what?" Rather than answer, Kuro flung his arms wide, indicating the small enclosure. Taking that as his only answer, Mahiru sighed. "Is this where you live?" It had been a sarcastic question, not meant seriously but only to annoy, and when Kuro nodded he felt his mouth drop open.

In the settling gloom, made all the more pervasive by the quarter moon, Mahiru began to worry he was having an episode; his new friend still had a wild mix of hair tones, strange, loosely buttoned pin striped suit, and questionable circles under his eyes, but here, shrouded in shadow and that ethereal feeling one always got from deep forests, Mahiru was forced to admit that he was seeing horns. Incorporeal and flickering, like cotton candy light, they were twisted, hovering somewhere above the jet black eyebrows that arched so playfully and ending in jaunty curls above his head.

Despite everything Mahiru found he had to stop himself from reaching out to try to touch them, so interested to see if they were real or not he was. Almost literally holding his arm back, he took a final, hasty look around them. His eyes having finally acclimated he could now see that the walls were lined in old style, dripping candles, some ensconced, others jammed into Victorian chandeliers, and most, just simply stuck to the rough rock with their own melted wax. There didn't seem to be much of anything else here and once again Mahiru was struck with the deja vu feeling of a bad prank.

"It's different." He finally said, too late, wondering if his lackluster answer would anger Kuro. He chanced a peek up and almost laughed when he saw Kuro's lips twisted into an ecstatic grin, eyes bright.

"Isn't it?" Kuro threw an appreciative glance around as well before leaning forward. "Now what?"

"N-now what?" Mahiru repeated in confusion, stumbling over his words in worry. "What do you mean?”

Kuro frowned momentarily before sighing. "I mean now what, now what! I've brought you here."

"Yes...." Mahiru agreed, trailing off. "But I'm not sure why."

"You aren't?" Kuro looked affronted and took a swift step forward but when Mahiru flinched back, a thought seemed to pass through his mind and he paused. "Ah, this isn't how you would normally do this, is it? I told you," He said flippantly, tossing a hand cavalierly around, "I don't quite understand, you're going to have to tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"What is 'appropriate'!" He exclaimed, smiling maniacally.

"You really have an obsession with that word, don't you." Mahiru muttered tiredly. 

When Kuro only continued to smile at him he felt his shoulders slump in defeat and fell to the ground, crossing his legs and leaning back on his hands. "Let me guess. I'm stuck here, aren't I?"

Kuro dropped down, mirroring his posture, and shrugged. "Depends on your definition of stuck, doesn't it?"

"Oh, now you know what words mean?" Mahiru demanded, glaring for a second before deflating. "Right, so. I guess first things first. That's simplest." He paused, eyeing the horns still wavering in and out of existence. "Are those real?"

Kuro quirked a brow before glancing up through the tangle of bangs over his forehead. "Of course."

"Mhm." Mahiru murmured neutrally. "And if I tried to touch them what would happen?"

The question seemed to stump Kuro for a moment and he stared off into middle space as he thought it through; Mahiru could almost see him rolling the words around in his head like bread dough. When his eyes finally focused again there was a touch of amusement lacing through them. "Why don't you try it?"

"Pass." Mahiru said flatly. He bit his lip, trying to decide what the best way to find out their actual location would be and was floored to realize he had somehow completely blocked out the trip here. The inhuman speed that had so frightened him had almost immediately filtered out of his conscious thoughts and now, trying to remember, he found that it was a blurry guess at best. "Did... how do you move so quickly?" He finally asked, coming to the conclusion that subterfuge just wasn't his style.

"Fast?" Kuro cocked his head, pupils reflecting the flickering mellow glow of the candles (that were.... suddenly lit??). "I just ran. You can run, can't you?"

Mahiru threw him a halfhearted glare. "Sure, but not like that. I did do track though." He paused, wondering why he had bothered with that last little detail; surely a man like this, so strange and inhuman would find knowledge of his life bori-

"What is track?" Kuro asked excitedly, leaning forward.

A small, fleeting grin flew over Mahiru's lips and he gave up; really, what else could he do right now? "It's a sport. Like in school?" At the only slightly less puzzled look he got in return he continued. "A bunch of people practice running as fast as they can and then there are meetings where you compete with other teams."

"I see." Kuro nodded once and then glanced over his shoulder, almost worriedly.

"So what is your plan exactly?"

"My plan?"

"Yes. Like, now what? Are we just going to stay in this cave forever? I have to get home at some point, you know."

Kuro smiled widely, leaning still farther forward, now almost in Mahiru's lap. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to! I can make sure of that!" He looked as though he had just won some argument and Mahiru almost laughed.

"But I want to go home."

"You do?" He stared at him blankly, frowning softly. "Are you sure? I can make anything a reality! I can give you anything you want~" He reached out, blindingly fast, and curled his fingers through Mahiru's hair, giving a gentle tug that had shivers racing down Mahiru's spine. "I have the power to do anything you want."

Trying to ignore the aftershocks still tickling his skin, Mahiru raised a brow. "What makes you think I want you to?"

"Everyone wants something." Kuro whispered before darting smoothly forward. He froze just an inch from Mahiru's neck, his lips resting softly against the quick, warm, pulse. "And all I need in exchange is a little something from you."

His voice was like melted caramel, leaking in and filling Mahiru's ears with images of rich luxury, power, and freedom, and beneath it all, a dark destruction. He shook himself, pulling back in fright and slapping a hand over his neck. "No! I don't want that."

"'That' what?" Kuro purred, unperturbed by Mahiru's denial. "What did you see?"

They stared at each other in silence as the moon rose ever higher and somewhere, far away, a small owl hooted it's displeasure. The sound was like a buzzer and Mahiru shot up, his legs numb from the crossed position. After a frantic look around, finding nothing to defend himself with, and no exit other than the one directly behind Kuro, he stepped back, farther into the deep recesses of the cave, feeling the cooler air from beneath the Earth wafting around his ankles.

He shook his head mutely, searching for his voice, finally finding it hidden below his lungs. "No." He croaked. Another step back. "I just want to go back home, finish school, get a good job. Help people."

Kuro smiled wickedly, flowing to his feet and advancing in time with Mahiru's retreat. "Help people? What's the use in that? Everyone just makes a mess of their life and then cries in the end. Why not just bring the end they wish for much sooner? Surprises are always better than slow anticipation. Like a present~" He was naught but a foot away now, reaching out again, and Mahiru panicked, flubbing his step and almost falling. Kuro's eyes, so crescent-ed in mean delight, widened comically and seemingly without thought he flew forward, catching Mahiru easily, holding his above the ground, clutched securely to his chest.

Glancing up warily, Mahiru found crystal sky eyes staring right back at him, still open in surprise. Manners reared their ugly head, strengthened by reflex and he breathed a windy laugh. "T-thanks...."

Kuro didn't react for a moment, still just watching. After a heart stopping pause he released his hold and Mahiru tumbled down to his feet, unsteady and tipping a second time. As he caught himself, Kuro put his hands on his hips, frowning. 

"Why did I do that?"

"Do what?" Mahiru blurted out, still too off kilter from his fright to think better of it.

Without answering Kuro just shot him one more strange, questioning look before turning and sauntering to the far wall where Mahiru could now see there was a small chest of drawers. Propped lopsidedly on top of it was what appeared to be a full skeleton and he cut his eyes away in surprise. At the rummaging sounds now emanating from the far side, he took a deep breath, willing his heart to calm.

"What are you doing?" He asked, mentally throwing his hands up. Fuck it, right? What else could he do but keep this strange man talking?

"Packing!" Kuro exclaimed happily, tossing several small, withered looking husks over his shoulder. "I can't just leave everything here while I'm away."

"Er, sorry... while you're away?" Mahiru watched the objects hit the floor only to skitter away of their own accord and swallowed loudly. "Where are you going?"

Kuro turned, looking at him in amused perplexity. "You wanted to go home, didn't you?" Before Mahiru could answer he had darted back to his side, placing both hands on either sides of Mahiru's head and forcing it to tilt awkwardly. "Like I said, anything you want. But in exchange for just one-" he leaned forward, "little-" he pressed those glistening pearlescent fangs to Mahiru's flesh, "thing-" and bit down.

As the pressure exploded, traveling up through his veins and into his mind, Mahiru watched stars of light bloom across his vision, marveling at the warmth now filling his chest. It was a heady sensation, like hot chocolate laced with morphine and he almost fell, held up now only by Kuro's arms which had wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him in. He couldn't even find it in himself to be worried about the amount of blood Kuro seemed to be taking, too entranced by the fire in his mind. After a few moments, or what may have been eternity, Kuro threw his head back, eyes melting to a heavy red, glazed and unfocused, and Mahiru let his tensed muscles go lax, forehead thumping roughly against Kuro's chest.

Voice syrupy thick and filled with shining marvel, Kuro tightened his hold, squeezing Mahiru too tightly for the barest second. "And with that, I'm yours."

[kanasmusings]

[Translation] Uduki Arata Story of Colors Drama Track 2

Final drama track of Arata’s CD~! I’m doing Kakeru’s and Koi’s, too~! And they’ll probably published after the Yaminabe drama tracks www But, if I get Aoi first then, um... The others will have to wait XD (Best boy comes first LOL)

Thank you again to Deea for sharing the files with me! Please don’t ask her for them as per her request, thank you ^^ 

Again, if you’d like to use these translations to put to the drama track in a video or if you want to re-translate them, please just ask me for permission first before using them ^^

※ Please don’t re-post the English translations without permission. Please just like/reblog them instead ^^

Under the cut, enjoy!

Track 02: [春・桜人、咲き誇る] “Spring – That man of cherry blossoms, proudly blooming”

[0:00]

  PERSON A: Oh? Is some kinda filming going on?

PERSON B: I hope they have female actresses. Can you see?

PERSON C: Eh? We can’t pass through here, really?

STAFF: We’re very sorry! The area beyond is off-limits for now.

STAFF: The path to the west is open so can you please pass through there?

PERSON C: For real!? I’m gonna be late!

PERSON B: Can you see it from there?

PERSON A: There’s a tent thingy there. Maybe they’re inside? Wanna take a look?

PERSON B: We still have time so let’s go see. We might be able to see a celeb.

ARATA: And that celeb is right behind you. This feels like deja-vu.

AOI: (smiles) It does~

ARATA: It’s been about four months since our previous shoot, right?

ARATA: It’s gonna be a continuation of the previous CM’s story. (yawns) Makes me sleepy.

AOI: That line seems familiar—is what I want to say but… Arata says “I’m sleepy,” no matter what kind of weather it is.

AOI: I guess it’s obvious that I’d remember [that line].

ARATA: But, doesn’t it make you sleepy when the sky’s gray and cloudy?

AOI: And then the sound of rain during rainy days makes you sleepy, too, doesn’t it?

ARATA: How did you know?

AOI: To change the question, I wonder when you’re actually fully awake and alert.

ARATA: Hm… At night? When I’m lazing about and playing on my phone?

AOI: You just wake up from sleep at night sometimes.

ARATA: (gasps) This is bad…

(dramatic music plays in the background)

ARATA: Aoi-kun, I…

ARATA: There might not have been a time when I’ve been fully awake.

ARATA: The world of dreams is right  by my side the moment I wake up until the time I sleep.

AOI: It doesn’t change anything even if you say it coolly.

(dramatic music suddenly stops)

[01:50]

  AOI: Arata, they said there’s still 20 more minutes before the filming starts.

ARATA: Roger~ (Arata starts typing on his phone)

AOI: Did you get contacted about something?

ARATA: Yeah, a private one, not for work.

ARATA: A friend of mine who recently graduated was being troubled about his new work, is all.

AOI: Let’s see…

AOI: (he starts reading the message on Arata’s phone) “I can’t use formal speech at all and I’m kinda nervous about that.”

AOI: Even I don’t think I had the chance to use it that much this year, too.

ARATA: That’s what I told him.

AOI: (laughs) I see. The world is in a season where it’s overflowing with people looking for work and entering new workplaces.

ARATA: It is April, the month I represent after all.

AOI: Yes, yes~ Well, contrary to his struggles at work, the filming here is going well.

AOI: It seems to be going according to schedule well.

AOI: It would be great if filming goes smoothly as well so everyone can go home early, huh~?

ARATA: I think it’s possible if we did it the way we did the last time.

AOI: You’re right. I wish that Arata wouldn’t mess up his words~

ARATA: I wish that Aoi could wink properly.

AOI: Hm? Did we do something like that then?

ARATA: We didn’t but, for our old CM, they used the footage of me ad-libbing a wink so, won’t it be awesome if Aoi did it, too?

AOI: Th-that’s right… Wh-what should I do…?

AOI: Every time I try to do a wink, I get conscious and it comes out so unnaturally…

ARATA: You do it so freely in front of a camera during lives, don’t you?

AOI: Well, that’s… going with the flow or something… A reflex, maybe?

AOI: You do it often though, don’t you?

ARATA: I actually go with the flow, too. In the first place, I’m not the kinda guy who does winks on purpose.

ARATA: The one I ad-libbed was an accidental success, too. If they tell me to do the same, I won’t be able to do it again.

AOI: And here I thought you were boasting about it…

(Arata’s phone buzzes)

ARATA: Oh, perfect timing~

ARATA: Speaking of pretty winks, it’s definitely this guy. Haru-san uploaded a pic of him winking.

AOI: Today he’s advertising for his drama, isn’t he?

ARATA: Yeah, look. The epitome of hotness.

AOI: Hm? Uwah! Haru-san looks good in a white robe!

ARATA: It suits him so well that he looks like a mad scientist, doesn’t he?

AOI: Uh… I’m kinda lost if it’s alright to put the word “mad” in there…

ARATA: Alright, Aoi. (Arata stands up from his chair) We can’t lose either. Let’s upload a selfie to show that we’re doing our best, too.

AOI: I kinda knew you’d do that. We have to accomplish that other mission as well, huh?

ARATA: Mission?

AOI: You’re the one who mentioned it during our previous filming, remember?

AOI: That you wanted to take a picture in front of the cherry blossom tree just like we did back then.

ARATA: Ah! Oh yeah, I did say something like that, huh.

AOI: I wish you didn’t forget something you said yourself…

ARATA: Man~ It’s because the old man’s impact was stronger compared to the picture we took.

AOI: Ah, the smart guy who lives in the house just past the park?

ARATA: Yeah. You remember him, too, right?

AOI: I do. He did have some impact as you say.

ARATA: You think we’d see him again?

AOI: I’d say that it’s possible since he lives right over there.

ARATA: Nah, nah.

[05:20]

  (Arata starts taking pictures)

ELDERLY MAN: Just when I thought it was getting noisy. Turns out it’s you boys again, huh.

AOI: (whispering) See? I told you so.

ARATA: (wry laughter)

ELDERLY MAN: Uduki Arata-kun, was it?

ARATA: Oh! You remembered?

ELDERLY MAN: And that one over there is Satsuki Aoi-kun.

AOI: Ah, yes… Even my name…

ELDERLY MAN: I may be old but I can use the internet, you know? I can do simple research.

ELDERLY MAN: You both came up as soon as I searched your names.

ELDERLY MAN: You guys are quite famous, aren’t you?

ARATA: We’re happy enough to be doing our best that we’re the first to come out in your search results.

ARATA: It’s been a while, hasn’t it, sir?

ELDERLY MAN: You’re a strange one as usual.

AOI: U-um… You seem to be getting along well.

ARATA/ELDERLY MAN: Getting along?

AOI: Wha…?

[06:20]

  ELDERLY MAN: Are you filming for a TV commercial?

AOI: Yes, it’s a CM for students attending prep school to prepare for college entrance exams.

AOI: Going with Japan’s academic calendar, the previous winter filming was for students preparing for exams.

AOI: This time, it’s a spring filming where the students have successfully passed and are about to face their new college lives.

ARATA: The winter CM started airing during January though. Did you watch it?

ELDERLY MAN: I feel… like I have.

ARATA: Ah, you did say that you don’t watch TV much, didn’t you, sir?

ELDERLY MAN: I’m surprised you remember that well.

ARATA: My memory’s surprisingly good!

AOI: I wouldn’t think that to be said by someone who forgot what we were supposed to take a picture with a while ago…

ARATA: Aoi, shh.

ELDERLY MAN: You boys are pretty close, aren’t you?

ARATA: Ah, Aoi and me? We’ve known each other before we debuted in the industry since we’re childhood friends.

ARATA: We’ve known each other for a long time.

ELDERLY MAN: Childhood friends?

AOI: Yes. Ever since we entered kindergarten. And then during elementary, middle, and high school, too.

AOI: We even went to the same university and are in the same industry even now.

ARATA: Since we’ve been together this long, we can casually just bring it up.

AOI: I wish you wouldn’t say that… At least call it an inseparable relationship that binds us, please…

ARATA: Isn’t that kinda impression uncommon though?

ELDERLY MAN: (surprised) You boys even went to university?! And then—

ARATA: We’re doing work as idols, yes.

ARATA: Ah, did you think that it was too wasteful?

ELDERLY MAN: Hm…

ARATA: We don’t mind, you know? I think it’s a pretty general idea either way.

ARATA: By the way, for reference, our unit er… our group is composed of people with a lot of well, in your words, “wasted” outstanding talent.

ARATA: Did they show up too, when you searched our names?

ARATA: We got two people who graduated from T University, y’know?

ARATA: If we’re taking into consideration our rival unit, there’s another one, too. It’s a surprising three people who are alumni of T University.

ARATA: If the idol industry had a mean distribution competition, they might’ve been winners.

ELDERLY MAN: Oh my…! Well… I guess this comes with the era, too, huh…

AOI: (chuckles) It is a bit surprising, isn’t it?

ELDERLY MAN: No… Yes, well, I guess it is. I am surprised.

ARATA: There are a lot of different idol types, too. Just like how cherry blossoms are different, see?

ELDERLY MAN: You really remember a lot, don’t you?

AOI: Cherry blossoms…?

ELDERLY MAN: I told him about it. About how you celebrities are like cherry blossoms.

(the wind starts blowing)

ELDERLY MAN: Take a look. They’re beautiful cherry blossoms, aren’t they?

ELDERLY MAN: They can captivate the eyes and hearts of people.

ELDERLY MAN: But, the flowers at their prime are only momentary. It won’t be long before they start falling again.

ELDERLY MAN: The seasons when the flowers aren’t in bloom is so long and no one pays any attention to them during that time, right?

ELDERLY MAN: It gave me that kind of unstable image. That’s what I told him.

AOI: That’s…

(Arata puts a hand on Aoi’s shoulder)

AOI: Arata?

ARATA: Um, you see? I’ve been thinking about it too since then.

ARATA: Like, why is it bad to be like a cherry blossom and all that.

ELDERLY MAN: What did you say?

ARATA: I mean, in our line of work, there’s a possibility for what we do to leave an impression in someone’s heart even for just a moment, you know?

ARATA: Don’t you think that it’s kind of an amazing thing?

ELDERLY MAN: Hm…

ARATA: Things like, “I loved them when I was young~” or “I went to cheer for them with my friends,” “I saw the girl I like there,” “I went to a live,” anything’s fine.

ARATA: It moves someone’s heart and remains a part of their memories.

ARATA: If it can become a momentary part of someone’s life then, I’m glad to have been a cherry blossom.

ARATA: Because… It wasn’t a lie that we shone during that time.

[10:50]

  ELDERLY MAN: I was a former judge.

ARATA: Judge? Is that so? No wonder.

ELDERLY MAN: No wonder you thought I was a thick-headed, stubborn old man?

ARATA: Well, yes.

AOI: Arata!

ELDERLY MAN: I don’t mind. It doesn’t bother me. It’s the truth after all.

AOI: Y-yes…

ELDERLY MAN: I feel my life complete right now. There were a lot of things I wanted to try after all.

ELDERLY MAN: I was good at sticking to the schedule, you see? I was working all the time from morning until night.

ELDERLY MAN: Thanks to that, now that I’m retired, I took time for granted.

ELDERLY MAN: Smart people tend to fill their heads with difficult to understand things… And even I silently took in all of those hard studies.

ELDERLY MAN: And the result of all that is… the me you see right now.

ARATA: Hm~

ELDERLY MAN: I have a title and degree that I can use and all but… That’s all there is to it.

ELDERLY MAN: Long ago, the people who envied the “stable” life I used to lead are now asking me, “Aren’t you lonely?” “Can you take care of yourself?” and they keep on worrying.

ELDERLY MAN: I reply with an “I’m fine,” in return. That’s because I really am.

ELDERLY MAN: I face things alone.

ARATA: But?

ELDERLY MAN: Honestly speaking, there are times when I think that I simply had no other choice but to pursue the path that I did.

AOI: A different way of living…?

ARATA: Like us, for example? A life much like the cherry blossoms or something?

ELDERLY MAN: Indeed. After all, the cherry blossoms are this beautiful.

(the wind starts picking up)

ELDERLY MAN: (sighs)

AOI: Ah…

ELDERLY MAN: They really are beautiful.

ELDERLY MAN: I’m sure that this cherry blossom will leave an impression in someone’s heart, too.

[13:32]

  STAFF: Okay! That’s a wrap for the filming!

STAFF: Uduki-san, Satsuki-san, thank you for your hard work!

CREW: Thank you for your hard work!

(clapping)

ARATA: Thank you very much.

AOI: Thank you very much. Thank you for your hard work, too, everyone.

STAFF: We’ll have you take your make-up off and after you’re done changing, it’s okay to go.

STAFF: What time should we call for the car to pick you up?

ARATA: Ah, it’s okay. It’s warm today so we were thinking of walking back home.

ARATA: Is that okay with you, Aoi?

AOI: Yup, it’s fine.

STAFF: Is that so? Then, please head over that way.

ARATA: Whew~ It’s finally over~

AOI: Thanks for the hard work, Arata.

ARATA: You, too.

AOI: The cherry blossoms are beautiful, aren’t they?

ARATA: Yeah. It’s great that it’s a weekday today but, I’m sure that it’d be packed with people once the weekends arrive.

ARATA: This place seems good for a flower viewing.

AOI: I wanna do a flower viewing with everyone, too.

AOI: We were running all over everywhere this year that we couldn’t do it.

ARATA: Were we?

AOI: Yeah, we didn’t have a chance to do a proper flower viewing.

AOI: This is probably the first time we’ve walked around leisurely ever since we passed entrance exams. I think…

AOI: Of course, it was impossible to gather everyone on this day.

ARATA: Lately, it’s become difficult to have everyone gathered together, huh.

AOI: We all have our own work to do after all.

ARATA: But, isn’t it possible to gather all of us for a meeting sometime?

ARATA: Oh, and since the park in front of the dorm has beautiful cherry blossoms, maybe we could go do an uh… A flower viewing and drinking party instead of just drinking at home?

AOI: If it’s that then, we can do it every year, huh~ (smiles)

[15:32]

  ARATA: Cherry blossoms, huh…

AOI: Hey, Arata.

AOI: Are we… blooming properly?

ARATA: Hm?

ARATA: It’d be cool if I said “of course” here but, I wonder now.

ARATA: We can’t tell whether we are without a mirror in front of us. And I can’t say that I’m sure we’re blooming properly.

ARATA: How do I look like in your perspective, Aoi?

AOI: Arata is… To me, you’re always a cherry blossom that blooms profusely.

AOI: You’re always upright and you never lie.

ARATA: Oh~ I got praised unexpectedly.

ARATA: Eh? You are praising me, aren’t you?

AOI: (smiles) That was my intention.

AOI: Then… I’m next.

AOI: How do I look like to you, Arata?

ARATA: Aoi is…

AOI: …

ARATA: You give me the image of someone blooming suddenly.

AOI: Suddenly, you mean…

ARATA: No, I didn’t mean it in a strange way.

ARATA: Kinda like a yaezakura? (1)

ARATA: Kinda like how the gentle petals suddenly bloom, y’know?

ARATA: Something like, you bloom a lot!

ARATA: When I’m watching from afar then, you’re like a cloud.

AOI: I get that it’s an overall fluffy feeling for you. (smiles)

ARATA: It’s because you’re gentle.

AOI: Yes, yes. I think that it’s good as long as we’re blooming.

ARATA: I’m praising you properly, y’know? (pouts)

AOI: Sure, sure.

[17:36]

  ARATA: Hey, Aoi.

AOI: Hm?

(the wind starts blowing again)

ARATA: If we’re cherry blossoms then, just like they do… Just like we usually do… Let’s bloom as proudly as we can.

AOI: Arata…

ARATA: Just kidding~

AOI: Arata…

ARATA: By the way, that old man seemed like a cherry blossom to me, too.

AOI: Eh?

ARATA: It’s a word we use on stage but… We call them “rouou (year-old cherry blossom)” don’t we? With the kanji characters for “fallen cherry blossom”.

ARATA: The meaning is as the characters portray. Doesn’t it sound cool?

ARATA: “Rouou”

AOI: Yeah.

ARATA: It just came to my head right now and I thought that the word fits that old man perfectly.

ARATA: Maybe I should have told him, “You lived your life beautifully, too. Just as a cherry blossom would.”

ARATA: Nah, I guess that would have hurt him or something, huh?

ARATA: There’s a chance that he won’t understand what this “young’un’s” saying, too, huh?

AOI: Ah… That’s possible.

ARATA: But, do you think we’ll get scolded if we go see him now?

AOI: (laughs) Eh? Right now?

ARATA: Yeah, since we had to say good-bye to him early when filming started.

ARATA: Let’s go buy some dango and some housewarming gifts, too. We know where he lives anyway.

AOI: Alright, let’s go see him.

ARATA: Yeah, let’s!

  ==END==

Translator’s Notes:

(1) Yaezakura are kinds of cherry blossoms that bloom late.

※ Please don’t re-post the romaji and English translations without permission. Instead of reposting, please just like/reblog instead ^^

If you enjoyed this, please consider buying me a ko-fi here to support my work! Only if you want to though. (o^▽^o)Thank you!!

[ms-katonic-of-tamriel]

The Elder Cicero - AoD 82

I don’t normally post my fic to Tumblr but this chapter’s exciting enough to do it. 

As the title suggests, New Cicero Backstory.  Those of you who read Age of the Dragon but maybe stopped or not commented in a while, definitely give this one a read!  Maybe even comment on it.

To sum up the story so far - Jarl Elisif the Dragonborn ended up in Thedas as Herald of Andraste.�� King Madanach of the Reach went after her with their daughter and a handful of others to find her, and ended up helping run the Inquisition that’s going to sort Thedas out.

The aftermath of the Halamshiral ball left Briala running Orlais from behind the scenes, with Gaspard de Chalons as Emperor.  With that new power and access, Briala’s been looking into the background of one of the Inquisition, and managed to turn up things even she hadn’t expected.  The trail’s led her and two new associates that she rescued from Red Templars thanks to Inquisition information to Montsimmard Circle, stronghold of the Loyalist mages.  Now read on.

Meanwhile, far away from Skyhold, at Montsimmard Circle, someone else had a visit to make.  Being the Loyalist stronghold, with Vivienne De Fer returning early in the mage rebellion and making it very clear that this Circle stood with the Chantry and the common folk of Thedas, it hadn’t seen the fighting many of the others had.  Those sympathetic to the rebels had left but the Loyalists remained, and had taken in others from other Circles who wanted no part of the rebellion.  Its library and laboratories were intact, its Templar garrison still present, albeit much reduced since Vivienne had taken most of the mages to Skyhold with her.   But it wasn’t uninhabited either, and along with a few Templars to protect the building, a few elven servants to cook and clean, and some Chantry sisters to minister to those remaining, there were a few Circle members left.  A few older mages who hadn’t felt up to making the journey to Skyhold and their young apprentices… and a great many of the Circle’s Tranquil, who were more use here where their tools and supplies all were.

It was one of those Tranquil that interested the visitor… and it had been the elven servants who’d confirmed that yes, he was alive and still here, still a master alchemist despite his advanced years. And so Marquise Briala had come, keen to get answers to a mystery that had bothered her for years.  Official access to a great many files had answered a lot of questions… but left her with more.

Neither the Templars nor the Revered Mother had liked the idea of just letting her in to have access to one of their Tranquil, but they weren’t in a position to stop her either.  Everyone knew who she was now, and her new mask spoke volumes.  The design was a Marquise’s, with elven motifs.  The materials were those only an Empress would use, and all Orlais knew it.

“He’s not in any kind of trouble,” Briala assured the Revered Mother.  “I simply had questions.  About events in his bardic life. We believe he has information that might prove useful to key members of the Inquisition, except they don’t know he has it yet.  I would like to share my own intelligence with them, but I have to be sure it is true first.  For that… I need to speak with him.”

The Revered Mother exchanged a suspicious look with the Knight-Commander, and Briala was near certain she’d have to use force… but she’d chosen her human companions wisely.  Inquisition co-operation with the Imperial Army in clearing the roads of threats had alerted her to the fact the Inquisition were looking for them and that they might be captives of the Red Templars… and so as to save her new allies the effort, Briala had ‘suggested’ to Gaspard that the Imperial Army work with her scouts to rescue them.  At worst they’d wipe out a Red Templar cell.  At best… an Aequitarian mage and his noble-born Templar lady friend were assets Briala could use. And now they were recovered from their captivity, she was doing just that.

Former Knight-Captain Evangeline de Brassard stepped forward in Templar armour repaired and gleaming, and stared down the Knight-Commander.

“For Andraste’s sake, man, we’re not here to interrogate him. The Marquise has questions.  The Inquisition, for whom you are all working by the First Enchanter’s express command, would find the answers of interest.  Now are you going to let us talk to him or do we have to go back and tell Inquisitor Elisif and Sister Nightingale that we might have information but it might be completely worthless because you wouldn't let us talk to the man who might confirm its value?”

The Knight-Commander spluttered at someone who was not only a rank down from him but who was known to have absconded with the mage rebellion talking to him like that… but he glanced at Briala’s mask and the coquin masks on her elven guards and gave in, shoulders sagging.

“Forgive me, it is simply unusual for someone of your… station to come here in person,” he said, deliberately hesitating on the word station.  

“The information is sensitive and these are unusual times,” Briala said, shrugging.  “There are few others I can trust with this… and I felt I needed to see Monsieur LaRose for myself.  His situation is also unusual as I understand it.”

“It is true he came to the Circle late in life and like many in that situation, it was felt we had no choice but to subject him to the Rite of Tranquillity,” the Revered Mother said, guarded. “Mages who are never properly trained by the Circle are at the mercy of their magic, Marquise.  By the time they reach midlife, they are easy prey for any passing demon and often close to madness.  It is kinder all round to give the rite.”

Briala idly wondered if she knew the real reason or was just repeating what she’d been told.  Either way, it didn’t matter. She’d find out soon enough if her sources were true or not.

“That is true,” her other human companion said, stepping forward. Rhys, an Aequitarian with an interest in the spirit world.  “But from what I heard, he was no hedge mage being driven mad by his powers, but a talented bard in his prime.  I don’t think his powers were really the problem, were they.”

“Knight-Captain, tell your mage he’s out of line,” the Knight-Commander snarled, reaching for his sword.  Briala’s guards raised bows, the Revered Mother cried out, Evangeline moved to stand between Briala and Rhys and the oncoming Templars… and Briala raised her voice.

“Knight-Commander!  We’re not here to lay blame on anyone or dig up old grudges.  I just wish to speak with him.  Rhys.  Please. Leave the talking to me.  I know you have your thoughts… but let’s all reserve judgement until we’ve spoken with him, hmm?”

The Knight-Commander put his sword back and motioned for the approaching Templar reinforcements to stand down.

“Fine, Marquise.  But you should know his Tranquillisation was authorised personally by the then Divine.  Due to his, er, circumstances.”

Divine Beatrix, newly crowned in the early Dragon Age, and likely to overreact, still unsure in her authority.   Sadly, the years, rather than giving her an elder’s wisdom, had given her senility instead. Briala could see it happening, and Rhys and Evangeline clearly did too.

“We understand,” Briala said softly.  “May we speak with him?”

The Knight-Commander turned to the Revered Mother, who nodded permission.

“Yes, if he’s willing.  But he’s an old man,” she added. “He’s in good health but too much excitement and he becomes tired.  He gets headaches.  It’s not good for him.”

Briala was absolutely certain being made Tranquil against his will hadn’t been good for him either, but she wasn’t so foolish as to say it.  Still, if what Rhys and Evangeline had told her was true, she might be able to right a wrong yet.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  

The Tranquil they were after had a particularly ornate office all to himself, a personal workroom with quarters off to one side, various potions bubbling, alchemy tomes lining the walls along with jars of ingredients, and sitting at the bench in the middle, an old man around seventy was dicing some elfroot.  Despite his age, the precision knifework involved was impressive.  A side effect of tranquillity?  Or a reminder he’d once been a very skilled bard. Briala wasn’t sure and didn’t like to ask.

She’d told the guards to wait in the corridor, but Rhys and Evangeline had accompanied her in, Evangeline standing watch by the door, and Rhys looking with interest at the various potions.

“Do not touch that one,” the Tranquil said, not looking up from his root-slicing and Briala felt her breath catch in her throat as she heard the accent.  The language was smoothly-spoken Thedosian in the Orlesian dialect he no doubt used as his every day tongue… but Briala could hear it in the vowel sounds and the way every hard consonant seemed to expect a vowel after it, despite Orlesian not doing that.  The files on him suspected Tevinter ancestry, but the sound was more flowing than that, slightly elven if anything.

Briala only knew one place in all of the world, all of the great wide world called Nirn, as it turned out, where there were humans speaking a language related to elven tongues.  And only one other person whose accent so closely matched this man’s.

“Cesaire?” the Revered Mother was saying gently.  “Monsieur Cesaire, you have visitors.  Important ones.  This is Marquise Briala.  She is the new Marquise of the Dales and a very important advisor to Emperor Gaspard himself.”

Cesaire looked up at that, as close as a Tranquil ever got to surprised, tilting his head slightly.  His long silver hair was tied back out of his eyes, a bard or fool’s motley exchanged for a mage’s work robes, soft brown eyes staring back at Briala with an intelligence that would once have been deadly for anyone crossing his path… but now leashed by the Chantry to making the Inquisition’s potions.

Oddly, his skin was not far off hers in colour, light-brown not the winter pale she’d expected.  She wondered what colour his hair had been once.

“Yes, Mother, I remember you speaking of her after Empress Celene died,” Cesaire said calmly.  “I believe you called her a jumped-up knife-ear with ideas above her station taking shameless advantage of our beloved Empress’s death.”

No emotion whatsoever on his face or any indication he’d said anything untoward, just motionless eyes and slow-blinking, but Briala could swear that some part of him was taking pleasure in embarrassing his Revered Mother.

“I… I said no such...” she gasped, face turning scarlet as she turned to Briala.  “Please, forgive him, he does not always know what he says.”

“Perhaps I could have a little time alone with the monsieur?” Briala asked, repressing a smile.  She had a feeling Cesaire knew exactly what he was saying… and while he couldn't do much about the institution that had broken him and enslaved him, he might take some pleasure in small victories.

The Revered Mother was only too happy to make her exit, and Briala perched herself on a nearby stool, watching him work.  Once the door had closed, he’d returned to his elfroot preparation as if no one else was there.

Briala waited for him to speak, but he said nothing, and in the awkward silence, she glanced helplessly at Evangeline.  What were the social niceties for talking to a Tranquil?

“Don’t expect him to speak first,” Evangeline said, amused. “He’s a Tranquil.  You’ve got a reason for being here, so he assumes you’ll tell him eventually.  If not, it’s not his problem and you’re free to go elsewhere.  He’s got work to do.”

Cesaire did glance up at that, seeming to approve.

“You are a Templar.  But not one of the usual ones.  But not new either, Cesaire can tell a recruit.  You served in a Circle once. Another one.  An Orlesian one?  This one is the last.  There are no others now.  Cesaire heard the Templars have gone Red and joined Corypheus.  Cesaire is fond of red, but apparently this kind is different.  Enchanter, please step away from the apparatus.”

Rhys stepped away from the still bubbling with something that looked like liquid ice, if ice could boil.

“What is it?” Rhys asked, fascinated. “It looks like some sort of frost enchantment?”

“It is for that elf at Skyhold who likes to coat herself in alchemical concoctions for maximum offensive impact,” Cesaire said, pointing at a stool next to Briala’s for Rhys to sit on. “Apparently another there wishes to learn the art as well.  That Harlequin of the Herald of Andraste’s, Red Cicero.”

Cesaire’s tongue tripped on the name, and he paused, placing his tools down, hand actually shaking.

“Forgive me, I get these tremors lately,” Cesaire said quietly. “I don’t know why.  The work normally is enough to calm me.  The healers say my body is healthy, but… if I could still worry, I would.  But if I could still worry, worry would not be the first emotion on my mind.”

He turned around to face Briala and Rhys, head tilted, expression strangely curious.  Curiosity with no desire.  He wanted to know why they were here but didn’t really want to.

No wonder people thought Tranquil were weird, and no wonder her guards had been all too relieved to wait outside.  Some of them had been cooks and cleaners in Circles before.

“Marquise Briala is a very important person, so I am told.  Humble Cesaire did not know his fame as an alchemist had reached even the Winter Palace.  You did not need to come all this way in person, madame.  You could have placed an order with the Senior Enchanter. Most do.”

“I wasn’t here for a potion,” Briala said softly, reaching up to remove her mask.  “I wanted to see you in person.  To see if my suspicions were correct.”

The ribbons came loose and the gold and diamond monstrosity finally came free of her face.  It was a relief really.  

Cesaire grasped the symbolism, and Tranquil he might be, but his bard’s instincts hadn’t gone away.

“Marquise?” Cesaire asked, expression shifting subtly.  “I regret to inform you alchemy is the only service I can provide, I do not think I am worth much as a paramour.”

“You weren’t always an alchemist, were you,” Briala said quietly.  “My sources were reliable and the documents in the classified Orlesian archives also have much information.  I know your past.  You were a bard once, one of the best in the Empire.”

Cesaire barely reacted, but his lips twitched in an unconscious mannerism, giving away… something.  Something in that ambiguity was raising the ghost of amusement.  Which Empire?  Which indeed.

“Alas, those days ended,” Cesaire said, hands resting in his lap. For some reason, his eyes dropped to look at them.  “I used my magic to save a brother bard’s life… and instead of gratitude, he looked at me as if I was some sort of monster.  I did not understand, for he had never been the religious type.  Days later the Templars came and my employer could not protect me.  Apparently discreetly stabbing people and going through their belongings is morally acceptable but using healing magic to save the life of your injured colleague is not.  I do not understand this place sometimes.  That was my undoing.”

“You were a healer?” Rhys asked, intrigued.  Cesaire shrugged.

“Not exactly.  Raistarazione magic was a… something I was required to learn.  It is useful, no doubt… but my specialty was Ahltaira- forgive me.  My specialty was manipulating inanimate objects.  I was always nimble and agile, make no mistake… but it is easier to Not Be There when a sword is coming at you if your mind can shift its direction.  Or deflect an arrow a little.  Everyone always thinks fireballs when they think of magic, or demons and blood pacts. They never think of the man who gets shot at plenty of times but mysteriously is never hit by anything.  It was a source of great satisfaction and amusement to me once.  But those days are over, Enchanter, Knight-Sister, Marquise.  This was nearly forty years ago. You will forgive humble Cesaire if he believes the intrigues he was involved in then cannot possibly be relevant now.”

“That is true,” Briala said, taking her time, raking her gaze over every part of this man’s features, every part of this man’s face, and seeing cheekbones she’d seen before, entire facial structure she already knew… because she’d seen it before, at the Winter Palace, in the face of a dying, bleeding man she’d saved from a Harlequin, only to see him healed by the Reach-King minutes later.  A man who’d showed only relief and gratitude to a mage, not suspicion and revulsion, and who would not have understood why anyone would object to being healed from certain death.  Just like his kinsman, who’d learnt to pretend to be an Andrastian Thedosian but who never would really get them.

Cicero the Younger had the Herald of Andraste’s backing and a mage rebellion destroying the Circles for him.  Cicero the Elder had had none of that.

“They aren’t why I’m here, Cicero,” Briala said, not taking her eyes off a face that barely moved… but the eyebrows flickered slightly.

A man with no emotions but an assassin’s training might do many things, and Briala became uncomfortably aware that there were a lot of sharp tools and glass in this workroom, not to mention all the toxic reagents.

Fortunately, Cicero the Elder glanced at Rhys, then over his shoulder at Evangeline, at Evangeline’s sword in particular, then back to Briala.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Cesaire/Cicero said calmly.  “I am a master Formari alchemist and my name is Cesaire LaRose.  Nothing more, madame.”

“Don’t give me that!” Briala cried, wishing her own emotions could be shut off so easily.  “I know who – what you are!  What you really are!  I’m actually trying to help you!  I – mere d’Andraste, I know why they really Tranquillised you.  A bard apostate who’d clearly been well trained in both arts and no one knew who’d trained you – the Emperor’s court were involved, Cicero.  They thought you were a Tevinter spy, even though Tevinter denied knowing who you were.  And you wouldn’t talk, you refused to give them anything.  So eventually the Divine ended up making the decision, seeing as Emperor Florian didn’t seem to care, and Grand Duchess Melisande was keen to wash her hands of the whole mess.  And she had you made Tranquil on the grounds you could do no harm as one of them.  No one ever did find out where you were really from.  Until I finally put the pieces together after reading about all this.  You were definitely a spy… just not from Tevinter.”

Cicero was saying nothing, just staring at her levelly.

“You have done a lot of research into me,” he said, still with that eerie almost-monotone, hands twitching in his lap.  Hissing, he glanced at them.

“My pardon, the tremors again,” Cicero said, deliberately flexing his fingers.  “Also the headaches.  They are worse when I have visitors and cannot distract myself with work.”

“Marquise, do you think we should go-” Rhys began, but Briala shook her head, suddenly realising what they really were.

“You’re from a culture where it’s normal to move your hands while talking,” Briala realised, remembering Cicero of the Inquisition fidgeting constantly in formal situations and only when he could finally relax and move his hands while talking did he finally look comfortable.  But the hand movements followed emotions and a Tranquil without them…

“The tremors are your body wanting to move your hands but the emotions aren’t there any more,” Briala guessed.  “Likewise the headaches, you want to feel something but can’t.  This is bothering you, but you can’t feel or express it any more.  Is that right?”

Cicero sat upright, eyebrows flicking up, new information being digested.

“Yes!” Cicero said, and almost-pleasure was there again.  “You might be right!  Madame la Marquise is very clever!  Alas, without a cure for Tranquillity, I suppose the tremors and headaches are there for good.  That is probably for the best.  I think I would be very angry if I was cured.  But if I take painkilling remedies and remember the breathing exercises, all will be well.  I have my work. It is enough.”

“It’s not,” Rhys whispered, appalled.  “Marquise, this isn’t right.  It’s bad enough with the Chantry tranquillising dangerous mages, but as part of the Game??  His magic was under control, and he used it to help someone!  Marquise, I… what we spoke of before… I think I could do it.  With the right facilities, and Montsimmard must have them.”

“In good time,” Briala said, touching Rhys’s arm.  The Tranquil cure wasn’t widely known outside the mage rebellion itself and high-level Chantry circles, but Briala had a way of finding things out.  When she’d heard the mage who’d discovered it and his Templar companion were captives of Corypheus… she’d had to intervene.  Far too valuable as assets to waste, and here they were, with her now, being assets.

“But if he was definitely a spy for someone… who?” Evangeline demanded.  “I know he’s an old man, but… we can’t just let a foreign agent go.”

“An excellent question from the clearly very bright Templar, and there are not many of those,” Cicero said, turning round to return to his work.  “And one I am not going to answer.  Good day.”

Briala rolled her eyes and motioned for Rhys to pick her bag up. Taking a book out of it, she tossed it on to Cicero’s desk.

“I know, Cicero,” Briala told him.  “You don’t need to protect your Empire any more.  It can protect itself now, and its existence will be public knowledge soon enough.  Rhys, Evangeline, this information cannot leave this room until that day comes.”

“Rise of the Dragonborn,” Rhys read, scanning the title.  “The new Tethras novel?  Is that the one everyone says is based on the Herald and set in some fictitious mountain Avvar kingdom.”

“Yes,” Briala said, watching Cicero closely.  “Except it’s not exactly fictitious is it?  Skyrim’s real, isn’t it, Cicero. So is the Tamrielic Empire, and it’s becoming very obvious they’ve had spies here for a very long time.”

“Seriously??” Evangeline practically exploded.  “The Tamrielic Empire’s real??  And they’ve been spying on us since… since before I was born?”

“Yes, and we Tranquillised one of their agents,” Briala said, staring at Cicero who was staring at the garish front cover of Alayna the Dragonborn staring at the reader with one foot on a dead dragon and the other hidden behind the shield with the diamond dragon on it. A shield that Cicero was tracing the outline of, almost in shock.

“I do not normally read fiction any more, it is difficult to get any enjoyment out of it now,” Cicero said, picking the book up and turning it over to read the blurb on the back.  “But… I think this one might interest me.  May I… borrow this?”

“Yes, Sieur Di Rosso, you may borrow it,” Briala said, inclining her head.  “It was what I came here to tell you.  You could go home.  To… it’s Cyrodiil you come from, isn’t it?  The big city?”

“The Imperial City,” Cicero said, without thinking.  “I… before they… while I was a prisoner in Val Royeaux… the thought of home kept me from breaking.  Were I not like this, I believe I would wish to see it again.  I had family there once.”

Briala just bet he had.

“Who?  A wife?  Children?”

“Not there, no,” Cicero said, shaking his head.  “My sister. Stelmaria.  And her little boy.  Also called Cicero.  Like me.  He would be a grown man now.  I have not seen him these last few decades.  He was eight, nearly nine, on my last visit home.  I wonder if he still remembers me.”

Slowly, Cicero the Elder sat up, wincing as joints creaked as he turned back to Marquise Briala.

“Marquise.  You knew my name.  My real name.  Because my nephew shares it… and you know him, don’t you.  He followed in my footsteps, didn’t he, and he works for the Inquisition.”

Briala nodded, a lump in her throat as she recalled Morio Sicarius, the brave if demented assassin who Tethras had made pop right off the page, and when she’d met the man behind the motley, she’d realised he’d only embellished a little.  Cicero Di Rosso, one of the few humans she’d ever cared about.  And here was his uncle.  A Tranquil, imprisoned by the Chantry.

“Yes,” Briala said softly.  “I’ve met him.  He’s good at what he does.  He’s a lot like you.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Cicero said.  “I would be proud of him, I think.  I… I have heard of the Tranquil cure.  I don’t know the details, but it appears the Enchanter here does.  I do not wish the cure right now.  I would be angry.  And upset.  But… if <i>il dolcetto</i> is here and remembers me… if he wishes to see me… I will risk that so he does not see me like this.   If he does not wish to see me… then leave me this way. Easier not to feel anything.”

Briala hoped for his sake that the younger Cicero did remember his uncle.  As it was though, she had one other piece of information to share.  Now that she knew Cicero the Elder hadn’t had a woman in each port so to speak, and that the younger one was a nephew not a son, she felt better airing it.

“There’s something else.  I know about your wife, Oisine. Looking into her was what set me on your trail in fact, all the other things came out of that.  I wasn’t looking for a Tamrielic agent. I was after the man who fathered the child of Oisine, an elven servant in the Vasseur household many years ago.  I suspected a noble who’d taken advantage, and when I found her linked to one of Lady Cecilie’s bards, I had no reason to doubt that… until one of my agents turned up a marriage certificate.  A secret ceremony but a legitimate one, between Oisine and Cesaire LaRose.  I looked into that name and realised you were arrested by Templars not that long after the wedding.  Did you know she’d been pregnant at the time?”

Cicero was silent, but he did nod.

“Yes.  We had names picked out and everything.  Oisine wasn’t sure about a son being called Septimo but she adored Leliana as a girl’s name.  It was my mother’s name, you see.  I still don’t know what happened to the child.  Or Oisine.  I suppose they told her I’d died.”

“I suppose they did,” Briala said, heavy in her heart and just glad he wouldn’t feel the full force of emotion over this.  “I’m sorry.  She died years ago.  But little Leliana’s alive and well and thriving.  She doesn’t know about you though.  Should I… tell her?”

A pause.  A hesitation.  And then a shake of the head.

“No.  Not yet.  Give me time to think on this.  I should read this too.  It is fiction but not all of it, I think.  You will leave me a means of reaching you, yes?

“I will do that,” Briala promised.  “Come on.  We’ve taken enough of this poor man’s time.  I’m sure he has work to do.”

Cicero Di Rosso the Elder nodded as they saw themselves out, before ringing the bell on his desk and reaching for the talking crystal.

“Hello to the kitchen staff.  Master Di R- Master LaRose speaking. Could I have some elfroot tea please?  And some of the willowbark pills please.  The headaches are going to be particularly bad today. I can already tell.”

How a man was supposed to get any work done around here, he was sure he had no idea.  He hoped no one needed any important potions today. Best to focus on the healing mist.  If Madame Sera of Skyhold got in a fight, she’d have to manage without setting herself on fire.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  

Briala led both Rhys and Evangeline into an empty lecture room, had her guards wait outside and then perched herself on one of the desks, feet on the chair in front of it.  She never had been good at sitting in human chairs properly.

Rhys and Evangeline were still standing, and Briala belatedly recalled she was de facto ruler of Orlais now, people weren’t allowed to sit in her presence until she gave them permission.

“Sit down, the pair of you,” Briala sighed.  “I suppose you have questions.”

Rhys sat down first.  While his injuries from Red Templar activity were mostly healed, he still tired easily.  Not remotely ready for active service yet, and Briala had had reservations about bringing him… but she was glad he was here.  It seemed he was on side already.

Sadly, the same could not be said for his Templar friend.

“Tamriel is real, not just a story, and they’ve been spying on us for years?” Evangeline demanded.  “How long have you known this? What do they want?  Are we safe?  Is Corypheus working for them? Marquise, if this gets out…!”

“Then help make sure it doesn’t,” Briala snapped.  “Evangeline. I’ve known of Tamriel for a few months now, there were stories circulating in the mage rebellion before the book came out.  I didn’t know about the spies until I started looking into Cesaire, and I didn’t know for sure until I spoke to him.  He looks exactly like an older, darker-skinned version of Red Cicero of the Inquisition. The accent’s the same, the speech patterns – if he wasn’t Tranquil, he’d doubtless be fluttering his hands every other word like the other one does.  There’s stories of the other Cicero using magic too.  Something about a demon horse, and I rather think he’s using the same tricks his uncle used to.  Too many stories of him pulling off the impossible.  As for what they want – that’s for me to worry about.  But I don’t think they’re enemies – at least, they don’t have to be.  And as for Corypheus… you’ve read the book.  You must have worked out Alayna and Maranil are based on the Herald and her husband.”

“I know but… it can’t be real, surely?” Evangeline whispered, shaking her head.  “Tethras wouldn’t just… where would he get his information form?  He’s not a Tamrielic spy as well, is he?”

“No,” Briala said, shaking her head.  “He’s their publicist. Alayna is really Elisif and she got Varric Tethras to write her story.  While I’m sure he’s embellished and added things, I’d be surprised if she didn’t approve the final draft.  How she got to Thedas is anyone’s guess.  Maybe Andraste really did hand her out of the Fade to save us.  It makes as much sense as any other theory at this point.  But she’s Dragonborn, High Queen of Skyrim, and heir apparent to the Imperial Throne of Tamriel, and she’s leading the fight against Corypheus.  Who, I might remind you, claims to be a resurrected Tevinter magister.  He is an all too Thedosian phenomenon.”

“Tamriel’s had spies for forty years or more… and they never revealed themselves or did anything,” Rhys whispered.

“Not that we’re aware,” Briala admitted.  “But there’s so much we don’t know – Cesaire was just the one who got caught. There may be many others living rather quieter lives.  Still.  The time of Tamrielic secrecy is coming to an end.  Queen Elisif, who is our Herald of Andraste, had this published, and I am fairly certain it was so when Tamriel announces itself, we don’t all panic.  Oh, it’s possible she might just go quietly home after all this is done… but she’s the future Empress.  She knows we exist now. We’ve all heard of her.  She has ties here, favours owed, rulers in her debt, her Inquisition both enabling my rise to power and Queen Anora being able to set up her own Chantry unmolested.  There’s even Orlesian and Fereldan peace talks coming up with Josephine Montilyet facilitating them.  Elisif’s written to both Gaspard and myself hoping we can reach an accord with Anora – I imagine Anora’s had the same.  No ruler in her right mind is just going to go home to Tamriel and leave all this behind her.  Our links to the Inquisition are going to end up turning into treaties with Tamriel, I am sure. I… am actually not displeased by this.  Mages aren’t penned up in Circles.  They don’t share our faith but they aren’t interested in enforcing theirs.  They’re a human Empire but their non-human citizens are treated a lot better than elves are here.  I’m looking forward to working with them.  At least, I was until I realised we have Tranquillised a relative of someone high up in the future Empress’s court!  Now do you see why this is important?  Now do you realise why you’re both here??”

Evangeline had gone very quiet as she remembered Morio Sicarius’s backstory.

“Red Cicero is Morio Sicarius,” she whispered.  Briala nodded.

“I’m afraid so.  And you remember in the book he lost his only relative, his beloved mother, to the Great War, and that trauma sent him into the Brotherhood’s arms, and it was only the promise of a new family with the Reachfolk that got him out of there and made him into a better person.”

Evangeline nodded, remembering.

“But if his uncle is alive, was here all along… if the timelines are right, the war took place after he was made Tranquil.”

“Yes,” Briala said grimly.  “If Cicero the Elder hadn’t been captured, if he’d still been a serving bard, do you think they might have recalled him during the war?  Or he might have returned home anyway if he heard the Imperial City had fallen.  He couldn’t have saved his sister, but he might have been able to find his nephew and save him.  Cicero’s spent his entire adult life thinking he was alone in the world with no blood kin and reaching for family wherever he could.  How do you think he’s going to react when he finds his uncle is alive but the Chantry made sure that uncle could never be there for him.”

Not well, and neither Rhys nor Evangeline needed reminding Red Cicero was a trained assassin.

“Anyone in a Chantry robe could get murdered,” Rhys whispered. “Maker, what do we do?”

“Or he goes to Elisif and she gets the Chantry disbanded entirely,” Evangeline said, sinking into a chair, hands in her hair.  “Andraste have mercy.”

“It need not come to that,” Briala said.  “I know Elisif. She’s not without compassion.  But this needs careful handling. Because it’s not just Cicero.  You recall he had an unborn child, a girl called Leliana.”

“Yes,” Rhys said, eyes widening as the truth dawned on him. “Isn’t the Inquisition spymaster called that.  The Divine’s former Left Hand.  I met her, you know.  She’s got red hair too. She’s got paler skin and blue eyes not brown but… the face is very similar.”

“We didn’t just make a Tamrielic agent Tranquil but Sister Nightingale’s father too??” Evangeline gasped.  “Can this get worse?? She’s a candidate for Divine, if she finds this out…!”

“I know, which is why she needs to find out before she takes the Sunburst Throne,” Briala said.  “I don’t know how she’ll react but… He’s an old man.  I don’t know how long he has left. I’d like to reunite them if I can.  A show of goodwill and all that.  And if he’s willing, I’d like him cured of Tranquillity. That will be a delicate undertaking and I’ll need the Inquisitor on side to help deal with the consequences.  She’s a compassionate type and Cicero and Leliana both respect her.  If anyone can help Cesaire post-cure, it’s her.  But in the meantime… I have people of my own infiltrating this Circle but I’m concerned my visit will arouse suspicion.  Especially if our friend here keeps needling the Revered Mother.  He doesn’t feel emotions any more, but he clearly still remembers how to manipulate other people’s.  I think he might need protecting.”

“Then we’ll stay and protect him,” Evangeline promised. “Andraste, Marquise, the only reason he’s lasted this long is because everyone thinks a Tranquil is harmless and he had no kin of consequence.  He’ll need guarding, and I know how to protect mages. Including from other Templars.”

“And he’ll need company,” Rhys added.  “I can help with the apprentices here, and be someone for Cesaire to talk to.  And if he changes his mind about the cure… if need be, it can happen here, although personally I think you’re right in that maybe the Herald should be involved.”

Exactly what Briala had been hoping for.  It was always nice when people volunteered for the thing she was going to order them to do anyway.

“I’ll speak to the Revered Mother,” Briala told them, getting up.  “Thank you, both of you.  I appreciate this more than you know.  I can ensure you’re both well compensated for this – in fact,

I believe I might even be able to obtain the Brassard-Manot estate from its current owners.  It should go back to the family who deserve it, don’t you think?  And you and Rhys will need somewhere to live after all this.”

Evangeline could barely speak, but Rhys took her hand and thanked Briala fervently.  

It was rather gratifying to have two humans just treating her like a person, and an important one at that.  Briala still wasn’t used to this.  Particularly when the Revered Mother and Knight-Commander both still seemed suspicious despite the surface politeness.  She hoped Rhys and Evangeline would be all right here.  She suspected they’d be fine but even so, two veterans of the mage rebellion at the Loyalist stronghold might well cause tension.

Stepping outside the Circle tower with her guards in tow, she was surprised to run straight into a small patrol of the Orlesian Army. Gaspard’s men, and high-ranking ones at that.

“Marquise,” the chevalier in charge called, dismounting.  “There has been a… situation.  The Emperor requires your advice.  Here.”

Despite Inquisition protection, Briala could never be sure that each Orlesian battalion wasn’t the one that was going to piss on that and arrest her anyway… or worse.  Thankfully, it wasn’t this one, it seemed.  Reading the letter, her eyes widened as she read of the capture of Thom Rainier by the Inquisition… and Elisif’s request to have them carry out judgement via trial by combat.  Versus darkspawn.

“Is this… serious?” Briala gasped.  “And His Majesty’s opinion on this?  He must have one.  The massacre was done in his name even if he disavowed it.”

“His Majesty is… undecided.  I believe he feels the gallows a kinder fate, as do we all… but many of us also think we should let the Herald have her way for that very reason.  But… none of us are easy with sending a man to the Blight.”

Nor was Briala, but it seemed the decision was to be left to her. Well, she had asked for this.

“Don’t we have one of the participants in custody ourselves.  And there’s more on the run, aren’t there.  We never caught them all.”

“His Majesty seems to think that Rainier having been caught and confessing to having given the order and lying to his men about who they were attacking and why absolves them,” the chevalier said, masked helmet hiding his expression.  Briala could see the reasoning, and it did save the Empire resources… even if the just following orders defence rankled.

“They could have stopped the moment they saw children in that carriage,” Briala said firmly.  “Blood is on their hands too… but I suppose someone who can reliably identify Rainier may be useful.  Go back to His Majesty and tell him this.  I will go to Skyhold myself and meet with the Herald.  I had business there anyway, I will raise this in person and let him know the outcome.  I want the man in custody, Mornay is it?  Transfer him to Skyhold too, I want him to identify Rainier for me.  If he co-operates, I’ll consider releasing him.  Don’t tell Mornay that.  As for the others… the Orlesian Empire has bigger concerns.  Don’t waste resources looking for them.  We’ll see how things are after this situation is resolved.”

It never rained but it poured.  Still, hadn’t Briala intended Skyhold to be her next port of call anyway?  Now seemed like a most opportune time indeed.

[thathelplesshomeschooler]

Humans are space orcs (with magic!) *taking notes*

Tygeria paused, she sensed that she was being followed. Whoever it was knew how to follow prey without being heard or seen; however she had taken various survival classes and now her senses were far more fine tuned than the rest of the species. Tingles rushed over her carapace. Here in the belly of the Narrtor there should be no hostiles. Even if a prisoner were on board, and she knew of none, and had managed to escape, the brig was floors away.

She quickly turned around, her spine covered forelimbs ready to attack or defend. To her surprise it was a quite unbelievably startled human. "Oh dear Lord! now that's a fright."

Tygerias' suspicions were raised, "Why were you stalking me?"

Taurus was taken aback by the question, "I wasn't stalking, I was just following. I'm not some creep." he paused, an odd expression on his face, "Sorry. I may not be a creep I do have a tendency to creep." He saw her puzzled position and explained, "For humans a creep is someone who gives unwanted attraction, usually it's some guy who likes a girl, but in a weird way and she doesn't appreciate it. And creeping is just some left over instinct from being prey mixed with predator. It's usually just a human accidentally moving in a way where they won't be detected."

Tigeria wondered at this. Could humans still be so close to their savage origins that they still unconsciously stalked prey. Again her carapace tingled with unease. She would have to be more wary of her surroundings lest the humans catch her off guard at an awkward moment. She returned her attention to Taurus once again as he began to speak, “I understand that we will be stopping at the WayCenter Station in the Fornax Cluster. I was wondering if we could add this particular item,” He gestured to his holotablet, “to the ships inventory when we dock there?” She took the holotablet from his hand and adjusted the settings so that the light was visible to her. The more she studied the item the more intrigued she was by it. It appeared to be a hollow device in the rough shape of an oval, though it had concave curves on either side. A long protrusion with several metallic strings came out from one end of the device. A circular portion of the hollow body was cut out and the strings ran above it.

Tygerias' interest was piqued. What possible function could such a device serve? Was it possible that it was some death world instrument of chaos? She had heard that some humans had asked to bring specific items or creatures aboard their ships and they had wreaked havoc. With this in mind she asked, “What purpose does it serve?”

 “Well it’s a guitar. It’s used for making music.” Music? Tygeria had heard of that before, both from the historical documents of her race, and from other species’ stories of humans. She clicked in curiosity. “What is, music?”

 She let out more clicks of curiosity in response to the humans face. His facial muscles had gone slack and his draw had dropped a few centimeters. “You mean...Are you saying you don’t know what music is?”

 “Our species developed music when we were young, but we eventually realized that it serves no true purpose and thus we abandon it. I myself have never heard this ‘music.’ But you are correct and - are you all right Taurus?”

 “I just...wow...that’s...honestly ma’am that’s really kinda sad. Music, it’s...well it’s music. It moves you man, and the fact that you guys just abandon it...that’s, wow, that’s pretty...pretty crazy.”

 “This music must be dangerous if it’s able to physically displace a person.”

 “No not physically move you. It moves you, in your heart and soul. I dunno man, it’s hard to explain. It’s not dangerous at all, and it would probably help the crew in some ways. At the very least it would help us humans and any more that we might meet.” He shook his head and muttered something under his breath, but Tygeria ignored it and made her decision. “Very well, I shall put this ‘guitar’ on the ships manifest for incoming items. Is there anything else you would like to request?”

 Taurus shook his head, both in response to Tygerias’ question and in disbelief. How anyone could simply live without music was beyond him.

* * *

 A couple of adzs later Tygeria was returning to her quarters when she heard the unmistakeable sound of Drerzii the medical officer rapidly approaching from behind. She turned and had nearly faced him when he began to speak. “Tygeria, you must tell me if this is true. I have heard from the humans, both through their voices and their minds, that we shall be acquiring one of the humans ‘musical instruments.’ Tygeria, I beg of you, answer me quickly, is this in fact so?”

 She clicked a few times. She had never seen the little telepath so excited. “Yes. Taurus asked for me to get it when we dock at the WayCenter Station. If you will excuse my asking, why is this of interest to you?”

 Drerzii closed his eyes and all his tentacles shuddered with excitement. “Ahh this is joyous news indeed. Tygeria, it has come to my knowledge, both through my studies and anecdotes I’ve heard, that the humans can behave very peculiarly to this ‘music.’ Humans are interesting enough to study in and of themselves, but with this added factor...” He paused, his excitement causing him to stop for a moment. “Tygeria, this ‘music’ has both bonded and torn apart human clans. And there has been very little study in the aspect of human behavior with music. In short, it will be a pleasure to examine them. Now, I must depart and prepare my instruments.” With that the little tripodic creature scurried away. Tygeria let off a storm of clicks. It seemed that the more she asked questions, the more confused she was. 

* * *

 Another few adz later the Narrtor had arrived at the WayCenter Station, resupplied, and taken off, and just a few dadz past she had delivered the guitar to the humans bunking room. She entered the lounge and saw Uhris sitting on a box, the two females lounged on one of the couches, Taurus was on a chair and Jason sat crossed-legged on the floor. All of the humans were positioned generall around Taurus who had placed the instument on his legs. His right hand was poised above the strings near the hole, and the fingers on his left hand were spread over the elongated part of the instrument, which, she now noticed, had raised bumps at regular intervals. Anne passed him her holotablet and said something to him, but it was to far away for Tygeria to hear. Taurus laughed and nodded, glanced at his left hand, back to the holotablet, and then it began.

 Taurus started stroking the strings with his right hand. Every few times he did this he would switch the position of his fingers on his left hand. Tygeria stood, transfixed. The humming coming from the instrument was incredibly steady and had an unquantifiable feeling of comfort. She closed her eyes and let the sounds wash over her, then reopened them seconds later when the humans began to talk. But, she realized, they were not in fact talking. Their words flowed with the music like two streams of water smoothly combining. She chirped in surprise. The humans were making music with their vocal chords! Singing, she believed the word was. And, she realized, the words that they were singing seemed to verbally convey the feeling the instrument was trying to communicate. Then one of the humans split the pattern of their voices, no longer singing in unison, but rather branching her voice into an alternative but complimentary pattern. They all stopped singing in unison while Taurus kept playing, bobbing his head to the rhythm. Uhris playfully cuffed Enara on the shoulder, “Okay girl, I heard that harmony. Going all fancy on us. Ay Imma give us a little rhythm on the next verse a’ight.” Taurus nodded his acknowledgement. A few seconds later Uhris began striking the box he sat on, constantly switching between his palm and fist. Another few seconds and the humans began to sing again. 

Tygeria stood transfixed for several minutes before she noticed Drerzii standing beside her. He was constantly looking back and forth between the humans and a holotablet with which he was taking notes. His colors were constantly changing with excitement: red, lime, yellow. Once he realized that Tygeria was also observing the humans he quickly scrambled up her forelimb and sat on her shoulder. "Is it not simply fascinating my dear Tygeria. Almost no species reacts to this 'music' the way humans do. They're mental activity has increased and their endocrine systems are all letting of large amounts of serotonin, oxytocin, and dopamine. Apparently other ratios in the vibrational frequencies can cause the complete opposite effect. Is it not bizarre Tygeria, that 'wiggly air,' as they call it, can cause such emotional changes in humans? I find it truly fascinating." Although she stayed quiet, Tygeria completely agreed.

After a few more songs, Enara noticed the two standing off to the side and motioned them over. "I know your species' don't really do music, but would you guys want to join us instead of being awkward over there?"

Tygeria paused, unsure if she should join, after all, she didn't actually have vocal chords with which she could sing and her translator would most definitely be inadequate for this type of activity. Before she could respond, however, Drerzii answered, "Oh we would indeed find the utmost pleasure in accompanying you."

Jason scooted over to make space for the two, "Tygeria you could help Uhris with the percussion, er, beat rhythm thing of the song, and Drerzii you just do what you do man. Make those snorkel noises." Drerzii made a little trumpet noise in response.

Uhris showed Tygeria how she could click, snap, and chirp to the beat while Anne and Taurus demonstrated to Drerzii how to match the pitch and follow a melody. After a few minutes of instruction the group started a new song. Even though she wasn't singing, and that was, as she had heard, the most soulful part of music, Tygeria still felt something move inside her. Something that connected her to the sway of the notes and the pulse of the rhythm. She knew not what it was, but she knew that whatever it may be, she was falling in love with it.

---------------------------------------------------------

Adz - an intergalactic measure of time, approximately one and a quarter days

[faithfulnews]

Immunizing Your Marriage During COVID-19

Located between two coronavirus “hotspots,”[1] watching the economy shut down, and worrying about our high-risk loved ones, our anxieties simmer and sometimes get the best of us. Will our income be cut? Will our home suffer more damage as we await critical repairs that have now been postponed? Will our children fall behind academically as we unskillfully try to educate each on different learning platforms? You know the story because you’re living your own version of COVID-19. Add your worries to this list. We all feel it: this is too much Lord.

Our marriages are strained. We try to team up and endure difficulty with grace and patience. Maybe we do well for a day or two. But, if you’re like us, your usual pattern of relating to each other under stress reappears. The temptation is either to turn on each other or to turn inward in preoccupation during these times. Some of us maximize the threat while others minimize it. But each of us consistently use one approach over the other. It’s so normal for two spouses to deal differently with stress, chaos, and uncertainty. Under duress, one becomes controlling, louder, and angry while the other quickly grows withdrawn, silent, and irritable. One is hot anger. The other is cold anger. Neither is good. There’s no need to evaluate as to which is better or worse, but of course we do.

What’s worse is that we start keeping a mental accounting of which of us is more impacted. If your children are at home, you can compare who gets more uninterrupted time to do the tasks required or who is parenting better or more. If it is just the two of you, you can easily compare who is working more around the house or you might dwell on simple annoyances that are more easily overlooked with some healthy separation. Resentment can build.

But the truth is, God has given you this person for just this moment in time. Your spouse is not the enemy (Eph. 6:12), but someone who, just like you, is weak, suffering, and prone to struggle under this stress. Moreover, your spouse is your co-laborer in a historical moment that can, if left unchecked, weigh your marriage down with anxiety, depression, anger, and growing resentment. What can you do not to flounder in the fog and friction of this “war”? How can we actually strengthen our marriages during this pandemic?

Here are six things we are finding helpful.

Value faithfulness above productivity

We are living in a historical moment that we will likely not see again in our lifetime. It is good to remember we are not in normal routines. In our home, we are trying to continue working while also homeschooling our stir-crazy children who think they’re on holiday, and now have access to technology throughout the “school day” (which means constant temptation to venture from spelling to YouTube or any number of apps). We are holding important virtual meetings from our bedrooms and trying to schedule them when someone is not practicing the piano. Yes, it is good to try to keep life as normal as possible, to prioritize order and a clean organized home, but things are not normal right now and we need to make allowances for that. Our daily task list will look different each day and we must adjust our standards for productivity accordingly.

Our daily temptation is to measure the success of our days by what we accomplish. But, this time of life should remind us that bearing fruit is not the same as getting things done. The fruit we seek is the fruit of being faithful with what God has given us today. Galatians 5:22 is clear on that, “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control.” When we call this to mind, we are less tempted to withhold grace by judging our own or our spouse’s productivity. 

Entrust yourself to the true Protector.

While we wait for a declining curve of coronavirus cases, we can be tempted toward trusting in false gods and not even know it. If we wash our hands, don the right mask, get the right anti-viral drug, stand six feet away, or receive enough money from the government, we will be OK. These are all increasingly prudent things to do, but good things make bad gods. Our hope is not in these things; our help is in the God who rules every molecule of our universe. It is good to remind ourselves that he sustains the sparrow (Matt. 10:29–31), he commands the wind and waves (Mark 4:39), and he is Lord over every detail of the created order (Job 38-39). Your Father has you and your family’s life square in the palm of his hand. This day’s hope is not in protecting you and your loved ones from the coronavirus or economic harm. This day’s hope is in the true Protector. With security rightly placed in him, we can relate better to one another.

Walk in love on a path to prayer

Countless blogs and books have been written encouraging husbands and wives to pray daily together. Almost all describe how prayer works to foster intimacy as a couple draws near to God and one another. Prayer is a significant way to grow a stronger, more unified and intimate marriage. But when Peter writes about prayer, he actually moves in the opposite direction than we typically think (1 Peter 3:7, 12, & 4:7). He does not focus on the emotional and relational benefits of praying together. Prayer is not primarily a means of relational intimacy. Peter says it’s the couple’s relationship that helps their prayers. How a couple relates to each other makes their prayers either effective or ineffective, powerful or hindered, free-flowing or clogged. And it also impacts how God hears and responds to them. He has a special openness to our prayers when we are treating each other with understanding and honor. He is particularly vigilant and attentive to us as we genuinely seek peace and one another’s well-being.

So, in these times of quarantine and restriction, pray! But do so with a heart attitude that prioritizes the ability to pray with hopeful expectancy that your prayers will rise unhindered to God’s ears.

Clothe yourself with humility

Living in a bunker together with an invisible enemy surrounding you may have drawn out depths of your hearts you did not see coming. We’re living in (too) close proximity with those we love but without the daily graces of routine, healthy separation, and maximum productivity. Most of us do not operate optimally when we are anxious and feeling threatened. Sin is very real and we will see it! Like the man who wears a shirt and tie to his Zoom meeting but below the camera shot sits in red running shorts, we can put on a good show for those “out there,” while our spouse and children have a clear view of the selfishness and conceit in our hearts. Yes, this is discouraging as we aim to bear fruit.

But rather than despair or resort to the well-worn patterns of relating to each other under duress, use this time to practice humility and repentance. In God’s economy, these are some of the most powerful moments of intimacy in marriage. Like reviewing an algebra problem that went awry after making an error as you tried to solve the equation, go back, locate, and fix the mistake you made with your spouse before trying to move forward. Be very suspicious of your heart, erring on the side of not trusting your motives and calculation of wrongs done to you. Let no offense fester before you go to your Father and ask for conviction on how you started, responded to, or escalated the strife. Then quickly repent, go, and repair with your spouse.

Prioritize encouragement

Our words are powerful in the lives of those around us. They can build up or tear down, bring healing to an offense or escalate a fight. What a privilege it is to wield such tools to buoy a discouraged or fearful spouse. In the last two years, we have faced the hardest years of our life together. Many nights we have found ourselves recounting the events of the day and turning to each other for comfort, faith, and affirmation. By God’s grace, we are not often both defeated on the same night. So it seems to work out that we take turns reminding each other of God’s sovereignty, faithfulness, steadiness, and goodness. We have read the Psalms to each other as we fall asleep, or placed our phone on the pillow between us to softly play a favorite worship song that reorients our heart to the Father who loves us. We have gently spoken truths against the accusations, fears, and doubts that attack (especially at bedtime) so the other can drift into slumber.

During this pandemic, do not underestimate the importance of reminding your spouse of what is true, worthy of praise, and commendable—especially as the day wanes. Read Scripture; sing songs; pray with and for one another; speak encouragement. 

You are a team with a common opponent

The anxieties and exhaustions of this season tempt us to turn on each other. Just last night, we had words over a parenting issue, phrasing our discussion as if the problem was the other’s fault. Perhaps there are things our spouse needs to see and change, but treating our spouse as the enemy attacks your teammate, not your opponent. As we battle out COVID-19 and its effects on our family, we need to strategize how we can confront this problem together. One thing our family does often is call a family time-out. We stop normal activities and call everyone together to get a game plan on how to tackle a situation as “Team Sironi.” Far too often we have gone beyond the point of “this isn’t working,” and it never ends well.

Why not do this with your spouse too—a routine reorientation on how things are going and what needs adjustment. How can we share the added load of educating our children? How can we jointly enforce house rules needed to make things operate more smoothly? What are the besetting weaknesses and sins in each of our hearts that we can watch out for and preempt? What tempts us to turn inward in an unhelpful way when our relationship faces heat?

All told, COVID-19 is challenging all of us in one way or another. Some of us are deeply enjoying this extra time together. For others, the wheels are coming off. But let’s be candid—being confined at home will bring out the lifelong differences and incompatibilities within your marriage. The virus has not caused these things but intensified them. This is not likely the time to try and change your spouse’s habits or to resolve the differences between you. Recognize that these differences will heighten in this season and give each other grace. Don’t make big marital decisions but take Leo Tolstoy’s advice to heart: “What counts in making a happy marriage is not so much how compatible you are but how you deal with incompatibility.”

Will you join with us as we try to use this time of quarantine to fortify our marriage? It is hard to see now, but when the COVID-19 crisis has waned, we will look back and see how God used this time for our good and his glory.

[1] New York and Philadelphia.

The post Immunizing Your Marriage During COVID-19 appeared first on Christian Counseling & Educational Foundation.

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[azvolrien]

Swimming Lessons

It’s come up in a couple of stories (namely this one and this two-parter) that Wygar cannot swim. At the end of the latter, it came up that Fayn was quite determined to change that.

I felt like writing something a bit more light-hearted than my last couple of things, and the Western Isles had given me a bit of inspiration. So this happened. Enjoy?

~~~

           Fayn trotted through the marram grass. It was an overcast day, the sky more white than blue, but there was no smell of rain in the air and the white sand underfoot was still warm and dry. A small flock of oystercatchers pecked around the tideline; when they spotted the huge white wolf on the dunes, they took off in a blur of black and white feathers, skimming across the waves. Fayn watched them until they were out of her sight, before fluffing out the thick mane of fur over her shoulders and turning to pick her way through the grass towards the cottage.

           A flash of movement in the garden caught her eye and she broke into a curious lope. Reaching the garden’s low drystone wall, she reared up to plant her forepaws on top.

           Wygar stood on the lawn overlooking the beach, bare-chested as he ran through a staff kata, moving smoothly from one form to the next. His hair was tied back in its usual ponytail, with additional bindings at the end and middle of its length to keep it under control in the sea breeze, though a few strands had still escaped their ties. The wolf’s ears twitched forwards, catching the words he muttered almost under his breath.

           “Right foot forwards… step down… block high… strike low… and turn… block low… strike high… block, block, strike mid, jab… step back, and turn… Forwards, back, back, block high…”

           Fayn shifted to human form where she crouched and rested her chin on top of the wall, allowing herself a few seconds to ogle her husband.

           “Step forwards, turn, block high – I know you’re there, cariad – strike mid, aaand… stop.”

           Fayn straightened up and vaulted the wall. “Need a sparring partner?” she asked, shrugging on the dressing gown she had left draped over the washing line.

           “If you’re offering!” Wygar rested his staff across his shoulders and brushed a side-lock behind his ear. “Staff, or unarmed?”

           “Staff, I think,” said Fayn. “Where’s- Oh, there it is.” She picked up the old broom propped against the wall and yanked the head off. “This do?”

           “For practice, at least,” said Wygar, shifting his feet back into a fighting stance. Fayn copied the placing of his feet as well as she could and lifted her makeshift staff. “The wood’s too soft for real combat. Ready? Block high!”

           “Good thing I don’t use weapons for real combat, then,” said Fayn, growing her teeth into fangs for an instant as she raised the broom handle to block the strike aimed at her forehead.

           “Well, not all of us can just grow our own armoury,” said Wygar, stepping back to avoid Fayn’s return jab and swinging his own staff around to tap her forearm.

           “To be fair,” noted Fayn, letting her teeth return to normal, “nor can all of us set things on fire just by thinking about it really hard.”

           “Also true, cariad.”

           They fell into a simple pattern of blocks and strikes for a couple of minutes, more of a drill than a bout. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wearing a scarf before,” said Wygar. “It quite suits you.”

           “It seemed like a sensible precaution,” said Fayn, nodding down at the gauzy material knotted loosely around her neck.

           “For the sun? It’s a nice scarf, but I wouldn’t think the material was thick enough…”

           “No, not for the sun – though I suppose it could help if it wasn’t too hot. No.”

           “Then…?”

           “Well…” Fayn dodged Wygar’s staff and prodded him in the stomach with her own, mixing up the pattern a little. “This isn’t the College; the people out here aren’t used to me. They see a wolf running around – on an island with no other wolves – and they start to worry for their livestock.”

           “Yes, I suppose they might.”

           “One woman came at me with a spear yesterday.”

           “She what!?”

           “Well, she stopped when I changed back to human form – but that was where I got the idea for the scarf. If people see a wolf wearing a scarf, they just assume I’m an unusually large dog out for a walk and leave me alone. Or at least,” Fayn avoided another high strike by ducking inside his reach, “that’s the theory. I didn’t actually meet anyone today. And – Ah.” Fayn straightened up to find her nose almost touching Wygar’s collar bone as he brought the staff down behind her. “I… did not think that dodge through very clearly.”

           “No, I don’t think you did,” said Wygar, lifting her off her feet in a quick one-armed hug and nuzzling the top of her head. “The staff is for keeping your opponent away from you.”

           “Very funny,” said Fayn, wriggling free and resuming her practice stance, half-hiding a smile as she did so. Wygar grinned back at her and lifted his staff again. “Do you remember the leviathans?” she asked as they fell back into the pattern.

           “Swimming with leviathans isn’t something one forgets, dear heart.”

           “No, it isn’t! But I was thinking about them as I was running. They have shells.”

           “They do.”

           “Well – turtles have similar shells, just much smaller, to try and stop things eating them, yes?”

           “That’s the usual theory, I think,” said Wygar.

           “So… what’s big enough to eat a leviathan?”

           “I… Hmm.” Wygar paused and leant on his staff, gazing out to sea. “I think there’s a display about that back at the museum,” he mused. “I don’t think you’ve been there yet, but they have the skeleton of a small one on show there. Orcas don’t attack them, or at least nobody’s ever seen it happen if they do. I think maybe there used to be something that preyed on leviathans – dragons, maybe; they got huge, if the skulls in the Basilica are any indication – and the shells helped to ward them off.” His eyebrows drew together and he bit his lip, still looking out at the horizon as he pulled his hair forwards to tease a burr from the end of his ponytail. “Or… scary thought… there still is something big enough to prey on leviathans, and we just don’t know about it.”

           “Eee.”

           “Eee indeed. But you never know – maybe a tough shell is just really attractive to leviathans.” He turned back towards her and moved the staff into a low block again. “Not that I’m well-informed about what leviathans find attractive.”

           “No, I doubt your powers of seduction work on sea creatures,” said Fayn, and touched the back of her wrist to her brow, leaning back in a mock swoon. “Just innocent forest maidens.”

           “Well, I am a paragon of masculinity,” said Wygar, flipping his hair over his shoulder with a toss of his head. “How far did you go on your run?” he asked as Fayn aimed another poke at his stomach.

           “I actually made it all the way around the island today,” she said. “There are some interesting little coves on the eastern coast – it’s much rockier than this side.”

           “Oh?”

           “I found a good spot to start your swimming lessons, too.”

           Wygar froze mid-block, before he had lifted his staff high enough. The end of the broom handle bounced off his forehead and he staggered back against the garden wall.

           “Are you all right?” asked Fayn, throwing the broom handle aside and hurrying forward.

           “Agh-” Wygar gingerly touched his forehead and checked his fingertips. “Yes. Shouldn’t even have a bruise – I don’t think you hit me too hard.”

           “Here, let me see… No, it looks all right. How many fingers do you see?”

           “Three, cariad.”

           “Yes, it was. I’m sorry! You usually block faster!”

           “Yes… Yes, I do. Sorry. I just… I was really hoping you’d forgotten about teaching me to swim. It’s been a few days since you, er, floated the idea.”

           Fayn just folded her arms and raised her eyebrows.

           “But, of course, you haven’t. And I apologise for that pun.” Wygar sighed and straightened up. “Are you that determined?” he asked weakly.

           Fayn held both arms out wide. “Wygar, I grew up in a forest, and I can swim! While you grew up in a coastal city full of canals, and you can’t? How does that make sense?”

           Wygar sighed again and took his shirt from the washing line. “Very well. Show me this place you’ve got in mind. And Stormhaven has five canals,” he added as Fayn let them out of the garden gate. “It’s not exactly full of them.”

           Fayn looked at him again, smiled, and gestured for him to follow her.

           The cove she had found was not too far from the house: no more than fifteen minutes’ walk along the coastal path and a quick scramble down some weathered stone steps carved into the island’s bedrock. The little inlet itself was natural, but at some point in the past, a small wooden jetty with a ladder had been built at one end and the other had been blocked off with boulders. Enough gaps had been left to allow the tide to ebb and flow, but none were large enough to risk a swimmer being washed out to sea.

           Wygar sat on the end of the jetty and peered down into the water with great suspicion. It was a perfectly clear turquoise, letting him see all the way to the sea floor. “You remember what we were saying about sea monsters?” he asked.

           “Yes, but I very much doubt something big enough to eat a leviathan is likely to be hiding in five feet of water.” Fayn pulled off her scarf and dressing gown, left them both on the jetty, and jumped in with a splash. “Well?” she asked. Her estimate of the depth was fairly accurate: the water came up to her chin.

           “I don’t know,” said Wygar. “There’s… there’s probably crabs and things in there.”

           “Wygar. I have seen you face down and destroy a bladehound – a construct specifically made for killing wizards – without flinching. Do you really expect me to believe you’re worried about the presence of crabs?”

           Wygar made a very undignified whining sound at the back of his throat and drew his knees up to his chin, wrapping both arms around his shins.

           “Come on,” said Fayn more gently, brushing her wet hair out of her face. “It isn’t cold.” She reached up and took a birch log from a small pile on the jetty. “Look, you can hold on to this if it makes you feel better.”

           “I’m a creature of fire,” said Wygar. “Fire and water don’t mix…” But he stood up and undressed nonetheless, before climbing tentatively down into the water. “You’re right,” he said with some surprise as his toes found the sand at the bottom. “It isn’t cold.” He caught hold of the floating log and hooked both arms over it, entirely unnecessarily; the water didn’t even reach his shoulders.

           “Lesson one,” said Fayn, lifting one finger above the water. “Breathing. Try putting your face in the water.”

           Wygar grimaced, took a deep breath, and – his hands white-knuckled on the log – ducked beneath the surface. Fayn sank down in front of him and gestured towards the stream of bubbles she exhaled from her nose. Wygar tried to copy her, and lasted for about ten seconds before he resurfaced with a spluttering gasp.

           “It’s a start,” said Fayn, smiling. “Now, just hang on to the log and float for a while. It’ll help you get used to the water.”

           He narrowed his eyes at her, clutched the log to his chest, and cautiously lifted first one foot and then the other from the sand.

           “See?” Fayn folded her hands behind her head and floated on her back. “Not so bad, is it?”

           “Mmph.”

           “I’m curious, though,” she continued. “Why don’t you know how to swim?”

           “Oh… I just never learned when I was a kid, and then I suppose I was too busy once I started at the College.”

           Fayn frowned. “I know there are public baths in Stormhaven. Your parents never took you to one?”

           “They did offer once or twice, but…” Wygar looked down at the water and mumbled something.

           “Sorry?”

           He repeated himself, still mumbling but just loudly enough to be heard. “I didn’t want people to see how thin I was.” He glanced over to meet her eyes and smiled half-heartedly. “I know I’m still quite thin, but I was like a little skeleton back then.”

           Fayn watched him for a few seconds, before she smiled back and reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “Well, it’s just me here now,” she said, “and I won’t be seeing anything I haven’t seen before. All right, now – put your face in the water again. You don’t need to go under completely, you just need to get the hang of the breathing.”

           Wygar gave her a slightly pained look, but turned onto his front and dunked his face below the surface without arguing. That time, he lasted almost fifteen seconds.

           “Better! Now, since you’ve been in the water for a while, I think it’s time you actually tried swimming.”

           Fayn was a patient teacher, a skill gained from hours helping apprentices with the library’s cataloguing system, but an unrelenting one – a skill gained from observing Master Kendrick up close. By the mid-afternoon, Wygar was still far from confident in the water, but he could at least manage a wobbly dog-paddle from one end of the inlet to the other without hanging on to either the log or Fayn’s arm.

           “This isn’t going to be your last lesson,” she said firmly, floating with her arms folded over the log. “But at least you won’t drown if you fall in a canal.”

           “Fair enough,” said Wygar with resignation, leaning on the jetty’s ladder, “but you definitely have an unfair advantage at swimming.”

           “How so?”

           “You can turn into an otter.”

           “Fair enough,” echoed Fayn with a grin and, one transformation later, an ottery whistle.

           “Don’t rub it in,” said Wygar, shaking a finger at her muzzle. She twitched her whiskers at him and whirled around, slapping her heavy rudder of a tail down on the water. “Hey!”

           Fayn squeaked again, batted absently at the log with one hind paw, and turned over to float on her back once more, slowly propelling herself across the surface with languid beats of her tail. Wygar leant on the log again and drifted out to join her, half-floating and half-standing.

           “I… may not have made it very clear,” he said, fidgeting with one of the pendants that still hung around his neck, “but I am grateful for this.”

           Fayn lifted her head to give him as dry a look as an otter’s face could achieve.

           “I am! I’m not good at… at throwing myself into things I don’t have any talent for.” This prompted another whistle. “And I think this day’s been proof enough that I don’t have any talent for swimming, though I’m sure skill will come in time if I keep practising. But much as I may try to pretend otherwise, since its absence is my own fault, it is a skill I’ve often wished I had.” He thoughtfully held up the pendant: the hooked claw of some huge animal, tied to a braided cord. Fayn lifted her own forepaws to compare. “On occasion, desperately so. So – thank you. Sincerely. I’m sure nobody would have expected you to have to take time out of your honeymoon to drown-proof your new husband.”

           Fayn slid back to human form and folded her arms. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, grinning again. “It did give me an excuse to see you stark naked and soaking wet for a good part of the day.”

           Wygar’s mouth opened slightly, a certain tension around the corners hinting at a supressed smile, before he reached out with one arm, placed his hand on top of her head, and dunked her firmly under the water.

           The swimming lesson promptly devolved into an energetic water fight.

           “All right, all right, stop! Stop!” Wygar threw up one arm to conjure a shield against the handful of water Fayn tossed at his face. “Whew.” He let the shield fall and wrapped his arms around himself, shivering in the sudden chill breeze that swept in off the sea.

           “About time to call a halt, I think,” said Fayn, dispassionately eyeing the goosebumps that appeared on her own arms. “Wait here – I’ll run back to the house and get us some towels. I’ll get there faster in wolf shape.”

           She was halfway up the ladder to the jetty when something on the sand caught her eye, and she hurled herself back into the water.

           Wygar blinked. “What…?”

           Fayn stood up to show him what she had found, holding it carefully cupped between both hands.

           For a few seconds, Wygar simply stared at it, and then brandished both fists in emphatic vindication. “See, I told you there were crabs in here!”

~~~

Funny thing: my dad taught me to swim when I was little, and I’ve still been a fairly strong swimmer for long enough now that I can’t really remember what it was like to be just starting to learn.

End result, while writing this I had to google ‘swimming tips for adult beginners’ a lot.