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guardianofrivendell · 5 years ago

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PERFECT SECRETS - CHAPTER 4

Legolas x OC

Requested: Nope

Summary: Mira. A short and unusual name for a short and unusual Elf. After an audience with Galadriel goes sideways, she leaves her birthplace Lóthlorien and the Elves for good. That is until a certain Gandalf asks for a favor. Come along on her journey, as she reluctantly agrees to accompany Gandalf on the quest to destroy the One Ring. She befriends every Fellowship member, except one. Legolas and Mira are water and fire from the very first moment they laid eyes on each other. Will this be an obstacle during the quest or is it going to make everything just a little more interesting?

Warnings: none in this chapter, just a stubborn Elf

Masterlist Perfect Secrets

Guardianofrivendell’s Masterlist

Everyone started to leave after the remaining Council Members had wished them a safe trip. Mira was still trying to wrap her head around it all. It slowly started to dawn on her that she was going to Mordor. Mordor. It’s not that she was afraid. She was brave enough, she had killed her fair share of Orcs. But this quest was nothing like she had ever done before. She had mostly been on her own, and now had to travel with nine others. Two of them being major dickheads.

“What is clouding your thoughts, my dear?” Gandalf’s voice sounded behind her.

“Why, Gandalf?” She immediately shot back.

“Because I was hungry, because I felt like it, it was the right time and because you wanted to. All answers to questions, but none to the one you just asked me. Let me ask you a question in return, Mira. Why not?”

Mira sighed, looking at the other members of the newly founded fellowship. Even though they had volunteered only a few moments before, they all looked so… prepared.

“Because I’m not ready. This is nothing like the quests we’ve done in the past, Gandalf. I’m sure they all have something to contribute like strength and skills. Filled to the brink with courage, all of them…”

She paused before she added, “Well, of one of them I’m quite certain it’s more stupidity and arrogance than courage but that’s not the point right now. Remember that I did not volunteer myself. You dragged me into this.” She poked his chest to back up her words. Gandalf wanted to say something, but she interrupted him immediately. “Don’t even think about bringing Galadriel’s words into this!” He raised his hands in defeat, chuckling lightly. “I was not planning to. Come, child, join me on a walk around the gardens.”

Legolas was talking to Aragorn, briefing him of the escape of Gollum. The reason he came to Rivendell in the first place. Not that he regretted his decision to join the Fellowship, it was the right thing to do and he would do anything in his power to protect the little Hobbit and help destroy the Ring.

He saw Gandalf talking to the hooded lady. Mira, was it? Everyone could see that she didn’t want to go, and he could hear her complaining about it to the Grey Wizard. Why was Gandalf so keen on bringing her along? What was so special about her? Legolas didn’t like her and that was nothing like him. Somehow she annoyed him terribly.

“Legolas?” Aragorn repeated. He looked at him in surprise.

“Welcome back, mellon nin. You were deep in thought! What troubles you?” (My friend)

“Lady Mira. I can not help but have a bad feeling about her,” he stated.

“And why is that?”

Legolas watched them descend the stairs, Gandalf a few steps ahead and Mira trudging after him. Even now she still kept her hood up.

“She is constantly hiding underneath her hood. Clearly she does not want to join us. Yet Gandalf insists. I can’t help but wonder why.”

Aragorn smiled. “It’s Gandalf. He always has his reasons.”

“I hope you’re right,” Legolas sighed. He was going to keep an eye on her, until she proved him wrong.

Mira walked alongside Gandalf through the many little garden paths of Rivendell. She had to admit it was very beautiful and it brought a certain peace to her. She felt almost comfortable being here. Almost.

“You have skills that will be very useful during our journey, my dear. Do not belittle yourself,” Gandalf began. “Your visions are growing stronger.”

She nodded. “They are, but I can’t control them. I’m vulnerable when I have them, they’re blocking my sight. It’s not something you want to happen mid-fight.”

“There are nine others including myself who can keep an eye on you if that were to happen. You have excellent fighting skills. I cannot see a reason for you not to join.”

She looked at the old Wizard, studying the many wrinkles across his kind face. They went through a lot together, and she suddenly felt the need to protect him overcome her. She thought about all the times she saved him and when he returned the favor. Maybe it was for the best she went with him, if only to keep an eye on him.

But then she noticed the twinkle in his eyes.

“Gandalf?”

“Hm?”

“What are you not telling me?”

“These gardens are extraordinary, don’t you think? Let us find Lord Elrond so I can compliment him,” he said with a knowing smile and walked away. Mira stood with her hands down, lost for words. He only did this when he tried to hide something.

“Gandalf!” she yelled before running after him.

Gandalf never told her what he was hiding and after a few days she gave up trying.

He did give her the advice to start getting to know the others before their journey began. Mira agreed, although reluctantly. She didn’t like talking all that much, afraid she would say something that would give her away. But then she realised they probably weren’t even alive back then - well, maybe the Elf was - and she started to feel more comfortable around them.

She slowly warmed up to Aragorn and Gimli, making her feel a little more at ease. She hadn’t lowered her hood, and they didn’t ask her about it. Yet.

During meals she preferred to sit with the Hobbits. Their kind and animated personalities made them ideal companions. She especially got along with Merry and Pippin, since Frodo kept mostly to himself and Sam was too busy worrying about Frodo’s wellbeing. It was nice to see how strong their friendship was. The only two members she tried to avoid as much as she could were Boromir and Legolas and she had the impression they were doing the same.

She sometimes caught them staring at her during meals, but it wasn’t out of curiosity or even boredom. She knew both men didn’t trust her. Legolas’ electric blue eyes turned cold and distant every time they met hers. If looks could kill, Mira would be slaughtered at least twice a day.

So to say the fellowship was one tight big family when they left a few weeks later… that would be part truth, and part lies.

Gandalf kept himself close to Frodo so Mira chose to walk with Merry and Pippin instead, sometimes accompanied by Gimli. The Dwarf took a particular liking towards her humor and sarcasm and sometimes the others could hear his booming laughter echoing over the fields.

Legolas kept walking around the group, sometimes going ahead to scout and report to Gandalf and Aragorn on his return. He never stayed with the group and for some reason that irritated Mira immensely.

She could hear and see everything just as well from her spot in the group, he had no reason to hop around like he was doing right now. He was just showing off.

When they came to their stop for the night on the 6th day, the Hobbits were exhausted. Gandalf and Aragorn hadn’t allowed them to stop during the day, not even for a meal. The days of constant walking without breaks started to take their toll. And she suspected they finally realized this wasn’t just some fun trip to Mordor and back in a few days. They hadn’t spoken a word for hours.

Sam unpacked his trusty pan and started cooking, but not even the foresight of food could lift the other Hobbit’s spirits up.

She let herself drop between Merry and Pippin. They hardly acknowledged her presence.

“Hey, it’s okay to be a little scared you know,” she whispered to them.

“We’re not scared,” Merry said proudly.

“Course not, and Gimli’s beard isn’t even real!” she laughed. When their eyes widened, she assured them that it was only a joke and she begged them not to go test the authenticity of his beard.

“I only said that to let you know that I know you’re lying, Merry. But like I said, it’s okay to be scared. I used to be scared all the time.”

She put her hand in her pocket. “Until I got this…”

She opened her palm and showed them what was inside: a blue-green gem stone, shaped like a small rock.

“What is that, my lady?” Merry asked her, looking at the stone in her hand.

She showed it to them, the blue-green shine reflecting in their eyes.

“It’s my good luck charm. It was a gift from my father when I was only a child. When I have this with me, I know it will all be okay.”

“Does it help you win fights?” Pippin wondered.

“It always does, I never lost one since,” she smiled at him. Pippin’s smile grew wider and it warmed her heart, glad to see her trick had helped.

She took his little hand and placed the stone in it. “Keep this with you,” she whispered to him. It wasn’t easy for her to part with the gemstone, it was the last thing she had that reminded her of her parents. But when she saw his face light up she knew she’d done the right thing.

“Luck has nothing to do with it, only courage, skills and experience can help you win a fight,” Legolas said to Pippin, before he headed towards the other side of the camp.

Mira saw Pippin’s smile falter and it made her angry. Who the hell did he think he was?

She stood up and went his way. Legolas stood tall on the top of a large boulder, scanning the surroundings for possible threats. He didn’t even look down when she reached him.

“What is your problem?”

His eyes met hers briefly, before he continued staring in the distance.

“You should not give them false hope.”

Mira scoffed. “I’m not giving them false hope! They’re capable of a lot more than you give them credit for!”

He didn’t react to that. In fact, he ignored her completely, his eyes locked to a point somewhere in the distance. Completely fed up with his attitude, she climbed the rock he was standing on and stood right in front of him.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” she snapped, poking his chest.

“I heard you,” he answered.

“They joined the fellowship to help us destroy the Ring, the least you could do is help them in return. Yes, they aren’t warriors or experienced fighters like you and me.” He snorted at that, but she let it slide. “But they want to learn. And you talking them down like that is not helping!”

She turned around, leaving a confused Legolas behind, not sure how he should react.

When she wanted to jump off the rock, her foot slipped and she would’ve hit her head or made a nasty fall if Legolas hadn’t grabbed her under her arms.

“It seems like your luck has run out,” he challenged, easily slipping back in his previous attitude. “You might want to ask your stone back.”

“You’re impossible!” she grunted, pulling her arm out of his grasp.

When she stomped back to Merry and Pippin, she failed to notice the twinkles in Gandalf’s eyes had returned and the suppressed snickers from the others who had watched their interaction with mirth...

A/N: Let me know what you think! Or if you want to take a guess on what will happen next, be my guest :)

Taglist @ayo-cowbelly @fried-potato-balloon @galileostyles

#perfect secrets #lord of the rings #lotr #legolas #legolas x oc #legolas greenleaf #fellowship #lotr fanfiction #lord of the rings imagine #lord of the rings fanfiction #lotr imagine #guardianofrivendell

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darkhymns-fic · 4 years ago

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Heroes & Thieves

Whether rich or poor, everyone has heard of the pair of dual-wielding masked thieves that roam both countries of Sylvarant and Tethe'alla - the Red Phantom and the Blue Angel. And of course, their frightening hound that would whisk them away into the middle of the night, leaving no trace behind. (Well, almost any trace, if one ignored the person-shaped holes that would decorated a ransacked mansion or vault).

But after breaking into a mansion with its overabundance of unopened presents, the famous thieves may have just met their match. Who was this weird ninja?

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Lloyd Irving/Colette Brunel, Sheena Fujibayashi, Zelos Wilder, Noishe Rating: G Mirror Link: AO3 Notes: Colette has her item thief arte, while Lloyd knows how to lockpick. Obviously, they should work together as thieves! This is basically that fic.

Around 8k of silliness and dastardly thievery (kinda). Let me know if you enjoyed!

Meltokio usually didn’t get quiet until late into the night. Nor did it get dark enough either, with the lampposts, powered by magitechnology, lighting up the cobblestone streets. Every lone passerby, usually a high noble that had stayed over at a gala party far too late, was illuminated by the soft glow on their path. Sometimes it would also be a merchant rushing back home after finally closing up shop, or a beggar trying to find a soft place to rest now that local guards of the upper level patrolled a bit less.

Still, even with night owls roaming the streets, there were pockets of shadows just out of the light’s reach. Perfect for hiding those who wished to stay hidden, who wished to be as stealthy as they could…

“I think this is the wrong street,” spoke a voice that broke the night’s stillness.

If one could hear the soft padding to the right of the pathway, they’d only catch the fleeting image of a creature on all fours, with two figures riding atop it. But when Noishe really, really tried, he could be as silent as he could, the pads on his feet minimizing all sound. Although, when his claws were too long, they tended to clack against stone…

Lloyd, hearing both Colette’s concerns and Noishe’s click-clacks , tried to problem-solve this in the span of a minute. He already had a map out, which he couldn’t see much because, well, it was really dark here when they were out of the light like this… “Are you sure? This place looks pretty fancy…”

“I think this is the shop district? Not the residential area!” Colette sounded apologetic, even as Lloyd was slowly realizing that she was very right, and that he was very wrong… The potion shop that they had just passed was a bit of a dead give-away.

“Argh, dammit… Okay, new plan!” Lloyd patted Noishe on the head, getting his attention. “Go up the stairs over here, okay boy?”

“I always worry we’re too heavy for him…” spoke Colette, even as Noishe followed instructions obediently (but not without a whine), loping across some bushes to get to the giant stone stairway, still keeping to the shadows as much as he could.

“Don’t worry, Noishe is strong! And he can run like the wind even with double us on top! I just… forgot to clip his nails earlier…”

Of course, the constant click-clack kept making Lloyd wince, but luckily, the guards were not really outside tonight. As they reached the top of the stairs, Lloyd noticed one castle guard standing by the great doors ahead, leaning on his pike, his snoring echoing inside his helmet.

Colette must have noticed Lloyd’s look, poking at his shoulder just then. “Lloyd…”

“Huh?” Lloyd started in guilt. “Ah I know… We’re not going to go to the castle… Not tonight at least…”

Colette nodded, her smile bright enough for him to see in the dark. Or it was probably just because his eyes had adjusted by now. It was really only that smile, along with the lower part of her face, that he could see clearly, everything else covered by a dark mask. Although, he could see how the moonlight reflected off her eyes. “Yeah, but we can next time!”

“Hehe, definitely.” Despite the fact that he and Colette were talking in normal-volume conversation, very few people were outside, so it was much easier to be sneaky now anyway. Facing once again into the night, Lloyd adjusted his own mask, keeping it more firmly in place. The night would mute the bright red he had insisted for its shade.

Noishe rushed faster down the street, past rows of what Lloyd could only describe as mansions, with their three-story heights, their marble balconies, their stucco designs and overflowing gardens that decorated what seemed to be a mini-plaza within what seemed to be a high-class cul-de-sac.

The people here were ridiculously wealthy, even more so than the other cities they had visited. It only further strengthened Lloyd’s resolve. He knew he was doing the right thing, even if…

“That’s the one,” Lloyd pointed a gloved hand towards one mansion in particular, more grand (Grander? Was that the right word?) than the rest. It’s salmon-pink walls seemed to gleam within the moonlight. The color was a weird choice, but it wasn’t like Lloyd understood rich people very well. “Er, or is it, Colette?”

“Um…” Colette perused through the map they had brought, finger angling down the paper. “I think so! Just before the end of Regal Street.”

“Alright, let’s go!” He winced again. “Sorry, I keep shouting…” They were supposed to be sneaky!

Lloyd also tried to move extra carefully as his swords strapped to his waist rattled, just a little bit at least. Maybe these swords were usually too big to sneak around with, but they were his trusty set, also having both of them would make him stronger anyway! Holding onto one of the hilts, he tried to tiptoe towards the home, his boots barely making a sound across the pavement.

Colette had less of an issue with her own weapons, her double chakrams strapped behind her back, hidden away so that no gleam could be seen off their surface. Lloyd had his own swords in his scabbards but they still weren’t exactly light…

She was also the first to slide off Noishe’s back but was the last to leave him. Lovingly petting his long ears and shushing his whines, she calmed him down enough to lay near a rosebush, hidden well-away from the lights on the road. “It’s okay, Noishe. We’ll be back.”

But once she rejoined Lloyd, he could see her own determination in her eyes, reflecting his. She was as serious about this as he was, her unbound hair slightly shifting with the breeze. “Ready.”

Lloyd nodded. “Okay.” From his pockets, he pulled out something small but sharp, grinning at Colette with a bit of excitement. “Wanna bet how long this will take me?”

“Hm,” Colette visibly pondered on the question, her face still half-shadowed from the dark. “6 minutes?”

“Way too long! I’ll get this done in 30 seconds flat!”

“Wow, good job, Lloyd! That’s amazing.”

“Congratulate me after I lockpick it first!”

But he was already motivated by Colette’s belief in him, already kneeling in front of the ornate door and looking over its way too fanciful lock. Lloyd ignored its gaudy color, already setting himself to work inserting both pin and pick to fiddle at its mechanisms.

No one could lockpick better than a blacksmith apprentice like himself after all!

“And…got it! Too easy!” Lloyd nearly punched his fist in the air victoriously before realizing that maybe now was not the best time. “Heh, sorry. So how long was that?”

Colette, looking just as excited as he with the released lock, stared off into space for a moment. “Um… oops. I forgot to count while you were doing it!”

Lloyd’s pride suddenly fell flat at that. “Aw, I really wanted to know if I beat my record.”

“Maybe you could try again?”

Lloyd, very much considering the option to lock himself out of the mansion, shook his head. “Nah, just remember for me next time, okay?”

While it was fun to play these games, they had some work to do! Games could wait!

Lloyd carefully pushed open the door, peering inside to find only darkness. He leaned in even more, and promptly bumped his head against what seemed to be coat hanger next to the door. “Ow. Why’s that there?”

But he got ahead of himself, once again quieting his voice to a near whisper as he turned to Colette. “Do you hear anyone?”

It was one of Colette’s many talents; few had as sensitive of hearing as she did and could put it to good use. So when she moved past the doorway, angling her head to detect any stray sound, Lloyd did his best to hold his breath so that she didn’t pick any noises from him instead.

After a moment, she shook her head. “Mm, I think the coast is clear!”

Lloyd could barely contain himself. With a grin, he rushed in (while carefully closing the door and also quieting his swords) to finally get a look at the place they were going to do work in tonight.

…And it was much, much bigger than he had anticipated.

“Wow…” Lloyd whispered, looking around the main lobby with the plush couches, the grand piano off in the corner, and a fancy portrait of a woman hanging off the right corner, as if wanting to be hidden from view. Both him and Colette softly tread across the tiled floors onto plush carpets. Barely a hush to their movements, the air so still. No nighttime servants or guards that hung around, which surprised Lloyd, but he took it as a positive sign.

Still, he couldn’t help but be a little shocked when he kept finding new things every time he turned his head. The fireplace to his left was massive, dwarfing his own back home! And it was made of expensive material too, with etchings in its stonework. This didn’t even compare to when he looked ahead and saw glass doors that led to even more rooms.

“This guy must be loaded!” Lloyd had to say, then once again winced. He really wasn’t good at being quiet… “Though I guess everyone on this street is technically…”

But at least he wasn’t the only one shocked. Colette looked around as well, blue eyes wide beneath her mask. “We might need to make several trips…” she suggested, already heading towards an ornate dresser, its drawer handles seeming to be made of gold. “Since there’s an upstairs too.”

“Agh, that’s gonna be annoying. Let’s just try to get everything we can in one go! Noishe can help carry the rest.”

With that, Lloyd unhooked a satchel he carried at his belt – and proceeded to loot every expensive item in sight!

“I call the living room!” he half-yelled, half-whispered as he rushed towards the left side of the room.

“Ah! No fair…” Colette whined but he could see her already rushing away to another part of the house to do her own job as well.

When it came to stealing, there were no better thieves than he and Colette! But only for high-class places like this, even though this place was probably the fanciest they had hit just yet.

A place like this has to have jewels…. Or vaults full of Gald! Lloyd passed by a table placed in the middle of the room, overflowing with what looked to be wrapped presents. Hm, was it okay for him to look through these? Some of them hadn’t even been opened, and presents felt somewhat different… Wait, why am I worried about that?

Lloyd didn’t find any vaults so far, but there was no lack of Gald in this house regardless. Some of it just seemed to be laying around the furniture, including the plush sofas (which he made sure to check in-between the couch cushions for!) and even some were inside the presents? Not a very creative gift, but at least he could take it easy…

By the time Lloyd decided to pick up some items, he heard Colette from behind him. “I’m all set!”

“Huh? Already?” Lloyd turned to Colette, clutching a few expensive-looking hairbrushes in both hands. The fact that he had found more than one hanging around the living room was already kind of odd. “I don’t get how you do it so fast!”

Colette had her own satchel filled with taken goods. Though he couldn’t see, he could hear the soft clink of porcelain, along with what must have been the clatter of Gald. “Hehe. I’m a pro at item thief, remember?”

“Yeah, that’s-“ Lloyd stopped, narrowing his eyes at Colette, then sighed when he noticed the bruise on her forehead. “Did you trip earlier?”

“Um…”

“Did you trip yourself on purpose?!” Lloyd moved to see if she had any more injuries, hands reaching out and, well, still holding onto the hairbrushes and may or may not have brushed her hair in the process. “Colette, you don’t need to hurt yourself just to pick up stuff!”

“But it’s much faster this way! And I’m more likely to succeed at getting stuff if I use it!”

“I don’t…really get that…” But then again, she was right. He had witnessed that plenty of times! He just wished she didn’t have to hurt herself in the process.

Colette adjusted her bag of stolen goods one more time, but he knew it wasn’t heavy for her at all. Already his back was aching at just looking at the weight of her satchel. “Ready to go, Lloyd?”

Lloyd looked around the room. Nothing much else except some of the presents, and the rest had been filled with spoiled fish. Rich people had weird tastes in gifts. “Yeah, but uh, you think you can take one of these brushes…?”

Lloyd didn’t even get to finish his sentence. He saw Colette’s eyes widen, saw her turn around. He knew what that meant.

“Someone’s here!” she whispered, setting her bag down to retrieve her weapons.

Lloyd finally had the thought to just drop the brushes and reach for his own swords – but not before several objects surrounded them both. They were small, just the size of his palm. They looked like paper cards…?

“Show yourselves!” shouted a voice. Suddenly, a light erupted from those floating cards around them.

“Gah!” Both Lloyd and Colette shielded their faces from the brightness, but it wasn’t enough to hide them away for long.

The voice had come from the stairway railing up above (they hadn’t even gotten to explore the second floor!) and there stood a black-haired woman in strange attire – but she looked on them both as if what they wore was even stranger!

“So… you’re the infamous thieves that’s been targeting all of Tethe’alla!” She held up another of those strange cards between her fingers. “Gotta say, surprised you didn’t get caught sooner with that get-up.”

“Huh?!” Lloyd looked back down at his outfit, not understanding what the problem was. “Hey, red is a good color!” he shouted back.

Indeed it was! Though Lloyd and Colette wore masks over their faces to keep their identities a secret, this red jacket, with its arrays of silver buttons and collar strips that flowed out of his collar, was the most comfortable he had ever worn. And it looked cool too!

…That said, it was pretty awesome that they were famous apparently! With pride, he stood up tall, one hand on his hip while the other held out both his thumb and forefinger, trying out his new pose that he’d been working on. “I mean, what else do you expect the Red Phantom Thief to wear?”

“Phantom?” The woman raised an eyebrow. “Wait, I thought you were the Red Robin.”

His cool pose instantly faltered. “What?! Why do people keep calling me that!?” What part of his cool persona had anything to do with a bird?!

“Look, it doesn’t matter! Both the Red Robin and the Blue Angel’s thieving days are over!”

“Oh, she got my name right though!” Colette waved at the lady, not as worried about hiding herself anymore. Though her outfit only had some accents of blue, the name still fit her well, along with the mask that more or less resembled wings, filigreed with azure in comparison to Lloyd’s crimson one. “It’s nice to meet you!”

“Colette, she’s trying to put us in jail…”

“Ah, I just thought we should still be nice, since she must only be doing her job…”

Sheena stomped on the railing, making it creak. “Stop whispering to each other, you criminals! You’re going to give back what you stole!”

“Oh… but we didn’t technically steal anything yet!” Colette piped in helpfully.

“Don’t admit it!” Lloyd whined.

“Sorry! Unless she means the other things we stole… but we don’t have them anymore…”

“Huh, that’s right… Are we supposed to carry all that stuff around?” Lloyd scratched at his head, thinking hard on the concept. “It’d be too heavy and Noishe wouldn’t be able to carry all that and us too…”

“Why do you guys keep ignoring me?!”

“Uh, sorry about that,” Lloyd said, voice a little subdued.

Colette bowed her head. “I’m sorry too!”

“That’s not- argh!”

With that, the lady clearly had enough. She leapt off the railing, flipping numerous times through the air which made the pink sash of her outfit flow along with her body. Lloyd and Colette watched in awe as she gracefully landed a few feet in front of them, feet just past an elegantly detailed carpet that was behind her. In all her motions, she barely missed a beat.

Colette clapped. “Wow, that was really good!”

Lloyd couldn’t disagree. “Yeah, no kidding! That was cool!”

The lady stumbled slightly, losing her graceful composure, even for just a second. “W-What? You guys are the strangest thieves I’ve come across.” She shook her head, staring hard at them once more. With how quiet she had moved, so quiet that not even Colette had heard her at first, Lloyd wondered if she would make a good thief too… That would be competition!

“The name’s Sheena Fujibayashi. I’ve been tracking you two down for quite some time. Going all over both Sylvarant and Tethe’alla territory. Heard you took a fortune from Palmacosta’s coffers, but you bit off more than you can chew by coming here.” She narrowed her eyes at them, sharp in her gaze. “Your thieving days are about to end.”

That had caught Lloyd off guard. “Huh? You’ve been spying on us? That’s rude!”

“Criminals don’t get a say in that! And it’s not rude!” Sheena scoffed a bit. “It doesn’t take a genius to know you’d try to rob this place out of all of them.”

Lloyd groaned. “But that was our secret plan!”

“I guess it’s not a secret anymore…” Colette said sadly.

“However…” Sheena said carefully. “What I don’t get is how you guys even got past Meltokio’s walls? All the gates are closed. Including the sewer!”

“Sewer?” Lloyd asked, but he was careful to not slip up on his and Colette’s escape route! A thief never revealed his secrets after all! Well, unless she somehow spied on that too… “You’re gonna have keep guessing on that!”

“Oh, I just tripped is all!”

Lloyd nearly fell on his face at Colette’s admission.

Sheena raised an eyebrow. “Tripped? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Nothing! It has to do with nothing!” Lloyd tried to subtly signal to Colette. “We don’t know how we got here at all! Right, Colette?”

“…Oh, right! Hehe, messed up.” She laughed and stuck out her tongue playfully. “We don’t know anything!”

“…Okay…weird…”

Seeing Sheena’s initial confusion, Lloyd saw this as a good opportunity to try and escape. Giving a tiny nod to Colette to catch her attention, he tried to see if they could rush to the door quick enough…

“Not so fast!”

That was when Sheena made a quick motion with her hands – looking almost like a prayer except for the rapid succession of signals she did – and the same cards that hovered around them suddenly glowed red. Lloyd felt a strange weight on his body, as if someone had just dumped luggage right onto his shoulders.

“H-Hey!” he shouted. He tried to turn to Colette, but could barely do it! “Let us go!”

“With my seals, you’re not getting away. I was sent to stop you and that’s just what I’m doing.” Sheena looked a bit smug as she spoke, a smirk on her lips. “So don’t blame your fate on me.”

“I can do exactly that!” But even as Lloyd struggled, he couldn’t seem to break free. Whatever powerful bindings were in these paper cards, they were more than he could handle. Who knew paper could even be considered a threat!!

“And…why do you keep calling us thieves?” he threw out during his struggles. He felt he was loosening his foot a bit! Just a little bit though.

Sheena said nothing at all at first, practically speechless in her shock until she sputtered. “Because… that’s what you are?!”

Colette shook her head politely, from what Lloyd could tell. Actually, she didn’t seem to be as restricted as he was… “But we’re not thieves. We’re heroes for the less fortunate! Right, Lloyd?”

“Yeah!” he said, trying to nod and instead just… stretching a little. Good enough. “We don’t take the money for ourselves, but for those who need it most!”

“…That’s still stealing,” Sheena intoned. “You’re taking stuff from other people to do that. That’s still being a thief.”

“It’s way more than that!” Lloyd argued, never stopping in his struggle. “The Red Robin doesn’t steal for himself… Wait, I meant Red Phantom!” Dammit, now that dumb name was stuck in his head too!

“Even if that was the case, it doesn’t change what you’re doing right now.” Sheena stared at the bags of stolen goods that were on the floor, all gathered from Lloyd and Colette’s wandering hands. “Things like this… they can’t go unpunished. And if you’re stealing from this place, then I definitely have to stop you.”

Lloyd blinked. “Is this your home? Is that why you keep bringing it up?”

“Huh?! Who said anything about that! Don’t be stupid!”

What was up with that reaction? Lloyd only felt more confused now! “Okay, sorry…I was just saying stuff…”

“I see.” Colette’s voice was tranquil, moreso than Lloyd had expected. She really wasn’t worried they were basically trapped right now… “This home is important to you, because it belongs to someone you care about. I’m sorry. If we knew that, we wouldn’t have come here.”

“W-What the heck do you mean? I never said that!” Any smugness Sheena had now completely left her face, now replaced by confusion. “And how would you not coming here if you knew make any sense?!”

“She’s got a point, Colette… We didn’t even know her until now.”

“Oh, that’s right!” In her blue, angel-wing shaped mask, Colette scratched the back of her head, giggling. “But, if we did know each other before, I bet we would have been great friends!”

Sometimes Colette went off-tangent on a conversation so fast, that even Lloyd couldn’t keep up. “Have you been thinking about being friends with her this whole time?”

“Is that weird?”

“Not really, just… maybe not the best time-”

“You two seriously need to stop messing with me! Ugh.” With a groan, Sheena pulled out an array of cards from her sleeve, holding them up to her face as if she had her own deck of aces.

“Hold on! Back up a sec, it’s true what Colette said. We’re giving all the money we take to give to those who need the help.” Lloyd tightened his hold on his swords, bringing the blades close, or as close as he could. “Haven’t you seen this city? People just have all…all this …” He tried, but mainly failed, at gesturing to the display of wealth; to the fancy velvet drapes along the windows, to the tiled marble floors, to all those fancy presents on the table. “Yet they don’t worry or help those who are living in poverty right beneath them!”

Sheena hesitated, even if for only a moment. Did she think the same thing too? She must have known of those slums just within the city, of the multitude of poor villages where so many starved during the harsher seasons…

Lloyd had felt that even in Iselia, always hearing of the far-off city of Meltokio and its vast treasure trove of wealth. But knowing that even here, where some people dined in golden houses, there were others living in the mud. “You have to see that isn’t right at all!”

“Lloyd…” Colette’s soft voice tugged at his chest. He had let his emotions run off again, but it was true what he believed. Every word of it.

“I understand what you mean…” Sheena said – and then her voice grew hard, ruthless. “But that’s not for you to decide. You can’t know every person’s intentions with what they own. You can’t know how the owner here plans to use what he has…” She got into a stance, one that Lloyd had never seen before.

“And a thief is still a thief! But if you want, you can talk all about your grievances with the king.”

He really had no idea what to expect from her, especially from someone who fought with cards. Lloyd tried once again to move, but he felt like he was stuck in quicksand. His feet just stayed rooted to the floor. Aw man, and he thought he had been moving his left foot before! “Stop!” he called out as Sheena moved forward.

And then Colette moved forward too. Wait, she wasn’t trapped?

Sheena was just as shocked as Lloyd was. “H-How did you get out?!”

Colette stood in front of Lloyd, holding out her double chakrams in front of her. She blinked, and it seemed she would join with the others in their confusion. “Ah, was that supposed to happen? I’m sorry. I think your cards must’ve missed me!”

Oh goddess, sometimes Lloyd really couldn’t believe Colette’s luck! (And his own unluckiness when it came to these situations.)

Sheena seemed to be on the same page there. “I missed?! Well… I won’t this time!” Sheena’s cards in her hand began to glow. “You can have a taste of one of my Guardians if you-!”

“Ah, whoops!”

Really, Lloyd should have expected what would happen next.

Colette tried to move to the side as much as she could, while also still covering for Lloyd who stayed frozen in time. Clearly she didn’t want to hurt Sheena at all, but also wanted to protect Lloyd. The brief conflict of indecision made the tip of her boot catch the edge of one of the many plush rugs that covered the first floor of the mansion.

“Watch out!” She tried to warn her enemy (or friend?), but Colette was already tackling right into Sheena who, by the force of the push, practically flew back down to the rug-covered floor.

That was when the rug seemed to pull right into the center where Sheena fell, further and further until-

“How did you know about my back-up trap NOOOOOO!!” But Sheena’s words were replaced by screams as she fell right into a strange makeshift pit that seemed to have been dug right into the mansion’s tiled floors.

“Oh.. I messed up…” Colette said, realizing what she’d done.

By then, the cards hovering around Lloyd drifted down to the floor, releasing him from their invisible binds. Lloyd wobbled on his feet, his previous struggling nearly making him kick out wildly in the air before he regained balance. “Whoa…” He shook his head, never wanting to be put in that weird situation. “Uh, did she just…fall…?” He leaned over to what looked like to be a giant hole in the ground, right in front of him. “And how is this even here?” He had so, so many questions. Maybe he wasn’t as unlucky as some people…

Colette was kneeling on the edge of the floor, her face so full of worry, clearly seen even through her mask. “Is she okay? I didn’t mean to do that at all…”

Lloyd shook out the previous stiffness from his limbs, sheathing his swords before walking towards Colette, kneeling with her. “Well, I mean she was going to arrest us. And she was going to fight you too!”

Colette pouted, hands clasped before her, still staring into that dark pit that seemed to have no bottom. But really, how did they even make a pit inside this mansion in the first place?! Maybe it was another rich people thing…

As she kept staring down, Lloyd gently placed his hand on her shoulder, getting her attention. “Lloyd, should we call for help?”

He sighed. “That’s…going to be kinda hard with what we were doing.”

Colette, lover of puppies and doggies, was able to pull off the look of the animal she so adored. Lloyd could barely resist that gaze.

“Agh, alright, alright! Maybe we can leave a note for the guards nearby or-”

“Hunnyyyy~!” called a voice from upstairs, freezing Lloyd’s words right in his throat, as if he had just been imprisoned again. “You there? What’s all the noise about?” The voice yawned in mid-sentence, its tone so casual and airy.

Lloyd stood up quickly, grabbing Colette’s arms to bring her up with him. “See? Help is on the way! Now let’s get out of here!”

“Ah, if you’re sure-” but Colette barely got to finish her sentence before footsteps echoed from above. Both of them grabbing their satchels of stolen goods (Lloyd with one, Colette with about five), they rushed through the door, as stealthily as they could!

…Until Colette dropped a few expensive plates from her satchel onto the floor. “Ah!” Crash crash kerplow!

The casual voice from upstairs shifted gears then. “What the hell-”

“Colette, leave those!” Lloyd grabbed Colette by her free… er, overcoat flaps on her back, since both her hands were a bit occupied carrying things. They made it out to the doorsteps, the night sky still dark. “We just gotta find Noishe and-”

…And their dog was nowhere to be found in the bushes they had left him in.

Lloyd sighed even more this time, the action pulling out his very soul from the pit of his stomach. “He ran away again!”

Colette’s tone held a bit of a reprimand in it, rare as it was. “You know he gets scared by himself, Lloyd.”

“But he whines too loudly to bring him inside houses!” Another sigh, but smaller this time. He adjusted the satchel easier on his shoulder. “Guess we’re hoofin it.”

“Okay,” Colette nodded. She piled on her bags onto her shoulders as if they were just a bunch of stuffed animals she carried around. “Where to first?”

Lloyd shot her a grin. “To where we can make all this flashy stuff finally useful.”

And like two thieves in the night – which they were not! – both Lloyd and Colette rushed off, past sleeping guards that never knew what happened.

Zelos had only just heard the commotion a little bit ago. Usually, he was a bit of a night-owl, but not this time when he had to just wait instead of having any fun…

So he might have slept through his time, for a little while, and he might have an angry Sheena on his hands because of that… But it couldn’t have gone that bad, right?

That was answered for him when he finally leaned over the banister and saw the giant, carved-up hole in the middle of his downstairs floor. “Uh,” he uttered, trying to remember if this had been part of the plan Sheena had detailed to him earlier. “Hunny?”

A brief pause before the voice of what sounded like a haunted spirit floated up from that pit. “Where the hell have you been?”

Zelos grinned, quickly leaping over the banister to land expertly on his slippers. (He forgot to put on his shoes). He was just a few feet away from the hole. “Catching up on my beauty sleep, what else?”

“You were supposed to stand by and back me up! You idiot! I-” But the ghostly voice was interrupted by a strangled screech. Zelos straightened up immediately, the hint of any smiles completely erased from his face.

He reached down, grabbing Sheena’s hand before she fell, fingers gripping tightly over his wrist. He had seen her hanging onto an outcropping in whatever pit she had made before she lost her hold. With sudden adrenaline, Zelos pulled her out, kneeling beside her as she finally made it to safe ground.

Sheena panted, one hand pressed against the floor while the other stayed locked with Zelos’. After a moment, she raised her head, staring hard at him.

The saucy grin came back to him so easily. “Thought you said you wouldn’t fall for me,” he teased.

She ripped her hand from his grip to curl it into a fist and give him a deserved smack against his shoulder. “Are you serious?!”

“Ow! Well if you’re going to be rough with me…”

“You call that rough?” Sheena got to her feet, face completely red, and already Zelos could tell she was stuck in several shades of embarrassment now. “You don’t even ask me how it went! ”

Zelos shrugged, knowing that would only anger Sheena further, knowing that would only make her feel like she failed even when she hadn’t at all. But it was the best action he had right now. The downstairs also looked a bit… empty, for lack of a better word. Certain knick-knacks seemed to be missing from their shelves, and he might have been missing a few presents actually?

“What’s there to know?” he asked, also standing up, face as serene as water. Most nobles of Meltokio were generally laid back, but Zelos had such a relaxed nature at times that he knew others found unsettling.

With Sheena though, she just got more annoyed. “Do you even care?! Months of tracking them down and planning and this is what happens… We could have avoided this if you were actually nearby like I said to be!”

Zelos held up his hands to her. “Whoa, whoa! Calm down, babe. It’s not the end of the world! I mean… maybe the pit wasn’t the best idea, just throwing that out there.”

“You think I don’t know that?!” Sheena ran her hands through her hair, groaning and looking ready to fall right back into that pit. “Of all the times I had to trip!”

When she yelled, he knew it was mostly aimed at herself then at him, most of the time anyway. So he didn’t take it to heart, watching the words prick herself. “But you still got them tracked, don’t you?”

Sheena let down her hands and sighed. “Yeah… Corrine is still following them. They don’t sense him at least.”

“See now? Gotta keep things on the bright side!” Zelos deftly walked around the pit, eyeing again the empty tables. Most of the stuff was replaceable anyway, though his eyes strayed to a certain painting hidden away in a corner. Interesting. Maybe they didn’t think it was valuable enough to take? Or maybe it was just too big to carry? Zelos wasn’t sure how to feel on that at least.

“Besides,” he said, turning back to Sheena with a flourish. “Not like we were actually going to arrest them anyway.”

Sheena frowned, but she didn’t deny it. Instead, she only looked more and more frustrated, her right eyebrow twitching. “I know that. But they didn’t.” Sheena paused, also noting the stolen items, leaving the lower floor of the mansion nearly barebones except for the furniture. “I still don’t understand.”

“Understand what?” Zelos asked, purposefully acting the fool and knowing that she knew.

“What you’re aiming for. We had orders from the Pope… You’re really sure he won’t find out?”

“Hey, if I was sure of anything, I probably wouldn’t even be here.” He winked at her. “But that’s why you wanted to be part of my master plan, right? Gets you excited.”

“I’m excited to kick you right in the kneecaps if that’s what you’re aiming for.”

Zelos laughed, the sound echoing even more harshly in the open room without all the clutter in the way. “See? You have so much energy!”

“I’m only going along with this because I don’t trust the Pope… Even less than I trust you.” Sheena scuffed the bottom of her heels against the floor, truly getting the ‘disgruntled bodyguard to a carefree playboy’ right down to the details. “But we’re going to have keep tracking them so you can finally get to have that talk you want.”

“Perfect! Then we just need a do-over, how hard is that?”

Sheena rolled her eyes. “But now they’re onto us. And why would they talk to us now when they think we’re enemies?”

“Trust me, we can’t have it any other way.”

He knew Sheena was trying so hard to make sense of his logic. “And this is why I still can’t understand you.”

“Then it’s all going according to plan then.”

And Zelos was ready to get his plan into action, but there was, maybe, just one tiny hurdle they had to deal with right now.

“Seriously though, how did you even manage to dig a hole in my floor?” And also, was she covering this? But he didn’t ask that.

“I have my ways of doing things, and you have yours,” she said in a huff. “It’s not even that deep of a hole…”

“…You certainly made it sound like it was.”

“I was just flustered, alright?!” She groaned. “This hole was supposed to be a backup plan… These guys must have known somehow! That’s why they tripped me…”

Zelos nodded, but if truth to be told, he only half-believed her. Sheena was so clumsy, but only at the worst times. Life was tough on the girl.

“Okay, but uh, we’ll need to have this fixed pronto. Don’t want ol’ Sebastian to fall in while he takes care of the place while I’m away.”

Sheena swerved on him immediately. Yes, he could already tell what his plan was. And why she didn’t like this at all. “No, you don’t mean…”

With an ecstatic smile, Zelos wrapped Sheena up in his arms, scooping her off her feet. “That’s right! I’m coming along to chase them down right with ya, hunny~!”

Honestly, even with the bone-crunching punch he received just after, it was worth it.

Sometimes you need to sacrifice a little comfort to go and help change the world, after all.

There was something about the Meltokio slums that reminded Lloyd of home, even as he and Colette’s boots would get stuck to the muck of the roads occasionally, or when they’d nearly slipped down the stone steps because it was damaged, city never sending in workers for repairs. (Okay, it was Colette who had slipped, and Lloyd had to quickly catch her, along with the numerous satchels she carried).

The air was quiet as any other part of the city, but the atmosphere of it was on edge, a bit frenzied. Lloyd saw a few eyes peek through the slats of a much too small window. The roof was caved-in, the boards rotted from mildew and infestation most likely.

Once they made it down one road, where it was too squared in by the buildings on either side, the mud building up even more around here – Lloyd signaled for Colette to stop.

“This is as good a place as any,” he said, putting down his own satchel to the muddy ground. Some of it splashed on his cool red jacket. He sighed, but now was not the time to be worried about that stuff.

Colette nodded, putting down her own multiple bags with barely any trouble. “You still think it’s not enough?”

Lloyd looked through the opening of his bag, took a moment, and shrugged. “Maybe for a little bit… I need to step up my own game to catch up to you.”

“It’s okay, Lloyd! I was following your lead the whole time.” Her mask reflected the moonlight, shining both azure and pink. It almost looked like she was ready to go to a fancy costume party with it on – and he wondered if he seemed the same way.

He cleared his throat, opened the bag more, then called out to one of the raggedly-dressed children he could see hiding behind the corner of a building. “Hey! Can you get everyone to come here?”

The child was speechless at first, looking ready to flee. But then they stopped, moving a bit into the light when they saw just who the pair was. “Who… Wait, you’re the Red Phantom?” A turn of their head, gazing at Colette. “And the Blue Angel!”

Ha! They got my name right! Just one other reason why the ruling rich class was no good if they couldn’t even remember the right titles.

Lloyd stood with a flourish, hand up in his signature gesture, with thumb out and pointer finger aligned towards the sky. He flashed a grin at the child. “That’s right! We came here to help.” And with that, he reached into the bag, pulling out what looked like a fistful of pure light to the child.

The child’s eyes widened, more pronounced on their weathered, somewhat pale face. Perhaps from so many nights of hunger and cold temperatures. It only hardened Lloyd’s resolve.

“I’ve… never seen so much Gald!” they breathed. Lloyd could barely tell their face in the dark, but the wonder in their eyes was all too recognizable, too familiar. There was sudden life in the face, compared to before. “Who is that for?”

He didn’t make a show of it this time. Lloyd said it seriously, remembering what he was here for.

“They’re for everyone in the slums. So you don’t go hungry.”

The child gawked at Lloyd, then back the precious coins he held in his hand. “But…this is too much. And the shops are closed anyway…”

Colette piped in, kneeling beside the child. “There should be a few open tonight! Especially the one nearby the inn. Do you know that one?”

One could almost hear a stomach grumble in the night at the mention of food. “The place with the Wonderchef?! We could eat there…?”

Lloyd nodded, carefully taking the child’s hand and giving him the money. “Show your family this if they’re doubting. But we should have enough for everyone in the slums.”

Maybe it was the way the kid’s eyes welled up at that moment, or maybe when he saw more and more people start to gather later, getting up from their beds to see if the rumors of charitable not-thieves were true – but Lloyd felt every burden lift up from his heart as he and Colette gave all that they could sell, all that they could gather.

And all while the rich up top continued to slumber away the night.

They didn’t stay long, as some residents would say later that the masked duo whisked away into the shadows the moment they dropped the very last Gald into an outstretched hand. Lloyd and Colette didn’t give any more words or speeches, this time moving just as silently as they did when they had been up on the higher levels.

… No one would notice them both now in the quieter part of the great city, both seating themselves on one of the many marble arches, watching the sky with its familiar patterns.

“It’s amazing we could sell what we could on the same night thanks to Professor Sage,” Colette commented, her voice a little winded from moving so much tonight. But there was something proud in her tone too, something that Lloyd could relate to right now.

It really was surprising just how much Raine knew of a few connections, like certain dealers that could take a few treasures and exchange them for Gald. Lloyd and Colette couldn’t always estimate just how valuable their goods were, so it was helpful their old teacher knew just how much…

“As long as we get her those relics while we’re out doing this, huh?” Lloyd said aloud, inwardly groaning at the idea of going to another stuffy ruin next. “Maybe we should just look for lost treasure in those places ourselves and sell them. Last time she got so scary when we gave her stuff, I thought she was going to steal us next!”

“Oh, that doesn’t sound too bad.” Colette winked. “We’d never be late to classes!”

“Colette, this is like my worst nightmare, please.”

Even a small tease felt too real, even as he couldn’t stop grinning from what they had accomplished tonight. Lloyd leaned back on his hands, looking up at the sky. It stretched out, so long and dark, its wide array of stars taking over everything.

Still, he had to wonder.

“Colette… do you think what we’re doing is right?”

Colette moved to seat herself closer to him (or tripped, he couldn’t really tell), her expression thoughtful. “I’ve always believed in what you were doing, Lloyd… That you wanted to help people. And you are!”

“I know, I guess somehow.” The little nagging voice in his head kept repeating itself – and it sounded exactly like that strange lady they had met at the mansion before she fell into her own pit. “But maybe there is a better way to do it. And I know dad wasn’t a big fan of the idea of us doing all this either.” With that, he puffed out his chest, clenched both fists, and did the best impression of his dwarven father that he knew how. “Dwarven vow number eleven! Lying is the first step down the path to thievery! Also, eat your tomatoes, lad!”

“Wow, you sounded exactly like him, Lloyd!”

“Heh, thanks. I’ve been practicing a lot.” The trick was getting the gentle raspiness of his father’s voice just right! No easy feat.

But even that brief little ego boost couldn’t last, remembering the meaning of what he just said. “I guess I haven’t exactly been following those vows. Although… I didn’t really lie! Er, that much, I mean.”

“Hm.” Colette tapped a finger against her chin, thinking on his statement so much, and so seriously, that it was kinda worrying Lloyd a bit?

“Hey, you don’t have to think about it that much…”

“Oh! But I just wanted to find a way to help you.”

“Yeah, but now I’m thinking I definitely did something wrong here if it’s got you worried.”

She shook her head. They were both no longer wearing their masks now after their delivery to the poor of Meltokio, and now Lloyd could see the fullness of her eyes. It was a blue of a lighter shade, like a water’s surface during a sunrise. When she wore her mask, he couldn’t see that as much. Maybe they didn’t need to wear their masks all the time…

“I’m not really worried,” she was saying, her breath held rhythmically. She was choosing carefully what she would say next. “It’s just… In this world, there’s not much we can do otherwise, you know? So many people are suffering, and yet, those who have the power to change it, they just… don’t do it. Or they don’t care to. We can’t rely on them.”

From Colette’s words, Lloyd heard his own thoughts echo back. Some people, like his dad, could depend on himself, from building his own home to even taking in a human child that he barely knew. But not everyone could do that, he knew.

“There’s another vow your dad says all the time.”

“Huh? Oh, you mean…” He sighed, but the smile on his face was full of gratitude. “Never abandon someone in need.”

“Yep. And, I think we’ve been doing that the best that we can.” She grinned, a lock of her hair falling across her cheek. “Even if we’re using money from those higher up to do so!”

“Not like that money is being used for anything else! All that Gald was literally just sitting there!”

“Yeah! Though I guess we don’t know if they were going to use it on something good… Maybe they were going to donate that same money!”

“What?! Aw man, now you’re making me question it, Colette!”

But she simply laughed, the sound traveling through his chest and somehow making his heart feel a little less heavy. He smiled, laughing with her.

“Fine, let’s just say we did it faster for them,” Lloyd reasoned. “So now that family can eat tonight.”

“Yeah. Maybe…someday we can do it differently. But I like doing it your way!”

“Honestly, this wouldn’t have turned out so well without that item thief move of yours. I can lockpick but that’s kind of it…”

“And you’re the best at it! You beat your whole record by ten seconds!”

“Hey, I thought you didn’t count it last time!”

“Hm… maybe I just wanted to tease you.”

“Mean, Colette!”

But their continued laughter finally brought back someone familiar; the soft padding of feet along the pavement below them, with a whine that echoed throughout the night. Lloyd wouldn’t even chide Noishe this time, his mood lightening up much more than since when they left that mansion.

“Come on, boy,” he called out gently, and Noishe loped forward, putting his great head against Lloyd’s outstretched hands. A few scratches here and there and the dog’s fluffy tail began wagging, even as his whines continued. “It’s okay. Just bring us home, alright?”

“Will Dirk be awake now?” Colette asked, also patting Noishe along his back, fingers digging through the green fur. Colette would never pass up an opportunity to pet the whining animal.

“Probably… Let’s just sneak inside, we’re good at that! Uh, maybe we are.”

Colette already climbed atop Noishe’s back, the action as natural to her as tripping. “We can get him something from here, like a souvenir!”

Lloyd climbed on too, giving one last scratch behind Noishe’s left ear. “It’ll have to be something we bought and not stole, and I forgot to buy things… I’ll just make him something on the way!”

Meltokio’s walls were high, but there were many hidden cracks in their foundations. Some brought on by the ravages of time, some from disrepair or a lack of maintenance…

… and then some made from a person plainly tripping into a wall. Already as Noishe was rushing along the city, they saw it – that tell-tale Colette-shaped hole, from when she had tripped across an upturned grass tuft and tumbled right into stone like it was nothing.

At the sight, he could hear Colette make a sound full of embarrassment. “I hope I didn’t ruin this wall…”

“No way, it’s fine! Besides, this turned out for the best!” Lloyd would have to squeeze through it himself, as the hole wasn’t exactly his height, but even in Colette’s tumble, she had made sure to make her accident luckier than most.

And just as they finally made it out of the city, and were once again on open plains, with the stars so much brighter without the constant lights from below, so much wider that one could see the silhouette of the Fooji Mountains up ahead, Lloyd turned to Colette.

“Thanks, Colette.”

He knew the words had caught her off guard. Without her mask on, the flush on her cheeks was so much more obvious. Her eyes were bright from the two moons overhead. “Ah, for what?”

“For reminding me of what we’re really doing. I started questioning everything but, I know that we’re doing good. Especially having you with me.”

And maybe, it was kind of cute, her blush, and the way she looked at him just now. “I really do help you, Lloyd?”

“Yeah, of course! I’d have gotten caught on my first job if you weren’t there to tell me that people were still inside that one house.”

“Ah, right. You were just about to barge right in there!”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time!”

Colette’s hands reached out to grasp Lloyd by the shoulders, balancing herself as Noishe walked. She did this all the time, but it felt different now, like the sky overhead, and the air so brisk against their skin. “But… thank you too, Lloyd. You gave me a way to help people.”

He grinned. “Then let’s keep doing it then.”

And they would, on another night, at another place. But for now, they let Noishe lead them on, past the mountains and for the trees far off in the horizon. Her hands on his shoulders kept him steady until the morning came.

...Yet in all that time, neither noticed the little shadow that trailed after them, its normally colorful fur of azure and orange now muted within the shadows it hid inside.

Sheena is counting on me, thought Corrine, his soft pads making no sound at all as he leapt after the thieves and their dog. It may have been fast, but Corrine could catch up, sensing them from way further behind.

Still, he followed, a small ringing in the dark.

#tales of symphonia #lloyd irving #colette brunel #sheena fujibayashi #zelos wilder #fanfiction

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potatowitch · 5 years ago

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some of my favourite lines from da2:

“Please don’t fondle Andraste.”

“I often look at every second idiot and think ‘he needs more power.’“

“What would I do without my trusty dwarf? I’d cry myself to sleep without you.”

“In all the time you’ve known me, have I ever given you the impression I was turned off by crazy?”

“I don’t think ‘sense’ is really my strong suit.”

“I love Hawke. I wouldn’t go anywhere. .... I say it a lot. It makes things clearer. Takes away doubt when everything is crazy and people are dying.”

“Hello? Messere ghost? Would you stop that, please?”

“Don’t make me tear up in front of the others, you jackass.”

“What I know is that I don’t like being cornered, and I can fight harder scared than they can angry.”

“It’s a favourite pastime of mine to find things and kill them, actually.”

“Ah, Hawke stepped in the poopy.”

“You do realise this woman has nasty little thugs like you for breakfast, I hope?” “Only when we’re out of pancakes.”

“I have an excellent sense of dramatic timing. And good hair.”

“You really want to encounter a spit mage?”

“You are a strange, hairy little man.”

“If you’re after eternal youth, I’ve got to tell you, she’s no virgin.”

#dragon age 2 #hawke #varric #merrill #fenris #purple hawke #(of course)

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theredscreech · 5 years ago

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Grammar Tips That Are Actually Useful #2

So I honestly didn’t expect to do another one of these, but ever since my first GTTAAU post got a whole bunch of hits over the last few days, I decided to do another one about a popular piece of grammar that I notice is often misused.

Writers, gather ‘round as we explore the dreadful and terrible aspect of writing that is the...

Epithet.

Dun, dun, duuuuuuuun!

I first want to preface this by saying that I was notorious for this. I am so sorry to everyone who read my TMNT fics from 2016; I didn’t know better and I apologise profusely!! I went entire pages without naming a character in the narrative and I have no one to blame but my own ignorance, which has now been remedied - Hallelujah!

To explain: An epithet has a few definitions, so let’s take a look at them. (Definitions courtesy of dictionary.com.)

1. Any word or phrase applied to a person or thing to describe an actual or attributed quality: “Richard the Lion-Hearted” is an epithet of Richard I.

2. A characterizing word or phrase firmly associated with a person or thing and often used in place of an actual name, title, or the like, as “man's best friend” for “dog.”

3. A word, phrase, or expression used invectively as a term of abuse or contempt, to express hostility, etc.

In other words, an epithet is an adjective or noun to describe or name someone without using their proper name.

(There’s a ton more under the Keep Reading, so buckle up.)

Epithets are used in a variety of ways to describe a variety of any character’s characteristics (haha). Most common examples for this are:

hair - the blond, the blonde, the black-haired person, etc.

eye-colour - the green-eyed person, the brown-eyed person, etc.

skin-colour - the pale-skinned person, the dark-skinned person, etc. (Side note: NEVER use food to describe skin colour/tone (eg. olive-skinned). It is offensive and wrong, so just don’t. If you have any questions, I’d encourage you to follow @writingwithcolor (which I do). They have excellent commentary for writers who write characters of varying ethnicities, religions, etc. Check out their FAQ before asking anything, though, because they’ve answered a ton of different questions already.)

status - the child, the teen, my boyfriend, his husband, etc.

profession - the engineer, the doctor, the ninja, etc.

species - the dwarf, the human, the dragon, etc.

or any combination - the green-haired teen (I saw this one in a fic from Izuku’s own POV), the orange-masked turtle (this one is mine and also from Mikey’s POV, and I am sooooo sorry.), etc.

There are, of course, dozens more of examples, but these are the most common ones, especially in fanfiction, so let’s leave it at that.

So why do writers use epithets so often?

Honestly, it becomes tedious and repetitive to write out the characters’ names all the time. It looks odd, too, all those ‘Mikeys’ and ‘Izukus’ and ‘Natasha Romanovas’ and what-nots. They’re just prancy-dancing all over your page and it looks. so. off. There’s just something about seeing characters’ names that, for whatever reason, some writers don’t like. And I kid you not, I had to train myself out of this way of thinking.

I had to train myself because as soon as I learned about epithets, I saw that I was using them absolutely everywhere. I would write literal pages without using anyone’s name, and four years later, I look back at those stories I wrote and posted publicly, and I cringe. But it’s the good kind of cringing because it lets me know how far I’ve come in my writing craft, that even though I’ve been writing for years and years, there’s always something new to learn. There’s always something to improve upon.

“Good for you, Red, but why are epithets so bad?”

Well, technically they’re not bad. They’re just used poorly or overused or both (as was my case).

We’ve already talked a bit about over usage (unless you missed the parts where I confessed to writing pages without using names), so let’s talk about poor usage.

Poor usage of epithets is when epithets are used incorrectly.

Here’s an example: Mikey looked at his red-masked brother.

Gah, that physically pained me to write! Okay, so what’s wrong with this sentence? Well, unless we’re writing for Mirage Studios’ comic (1984) where all four turtles of the TMNT wore red masks, then we’ve got a pretty good idea that ‘red-masked brother’ actually means ‘Raphael’.

Okay, great, so we know ‘red-masked brother’ is Raph, so why is this an example of poor epithet usage?

Answer: Because we already know Raph has a red mask. It is set. It is eternal. It’s a part of who he is, just like his skin or his shell. If you are at all familiar with this character, you will know that Raph is the ‘red-masked turtle’.

Here’s the thing epithets do. Epithets estrange characters from each other. This is why they’re most commonly and properly used for characters whom either we as the audience/narrator or the characters themselves do not know.

This is why phrases like ‘the dark-clad figure’ or ‘the blonde cashier’ are so popular - because we do not know who the people are! Sure, we can always go up to the dark-clad figure and introduce ourselves, or we can look at the blonde cashier’s name tag, and that’s sort of the point because we do not know who these people are yet. Epithets are used, more often than not, for unknowns until they are made known.

There are exceptions to this, of course, of course, most commonly of which are status ones: my husband, his son, their niece, etc.

These are fine, but use them wisely and sparingly (tying into the over usage part again).

Here’s a better example: I walked into the kitchen and found my husband already there and making breakfast for all three children.

‘My husband’ and ‘all three children’ are epithets, but they don’t estrange the characters, per se, because they’re letting us know who’s who and their importance to the narrator/character. That being said, you should still use ‘my husband’ sparingly because if you’re ‘my husband’-ing your husband, whose name is Henry, all over kingdom come, it begins to sound...not good. Like, why would you need to remind yourself Henry is your husband all the time? Do you have amnesia? Are you just forgetful? Are you insecure? Maybe he was unfaithful at some point and he’s doing better, but you’re internalising that and reinforcing the fact that he’s yours? Maybe you just don’t like his name? Or don’t know his name?

Hard to say.

The fact of the matter is this: the closer the characters are in terms of their relationship (platonic, romantic, as friends, as siblings, whatever), the less they will use epithets for each other.

For example: I, personally, have never thought of my mother as ‘the brown-haired woman’. She has always been mom or mum or other such derivatives. It never crosses my mind.

Contrarily, when I’m working at the book store and I’ve taken a few things up to the cash desk for a customer, I’ll let the cashier know that the items are for ‘the curly-haired woman with sunglasses’. Because she is a stranger to me.

Consider Disney’s film Lady and the Tramp (1955). I haven’t seen the live action, so I can’t make a comparison, but the 1955 version fits for what I want to talk about here.

Please name Lady’s owners.

If you said, ‘Jim Dear’ and ‘Darling’, you would be absolutely correct! While we can safely assume that ‘Jim Dear’ is actually ‘Jim’ or even ‘James’, we have no idea of Darling’s real name. Some pet names and nicknames are technically epithets if we’re being especially pedantic today (please see Disney’s Tangled’s character Flynn Ryder’s nickname for Rapunzel), but let’s say for the sake of argument that all pet names fall into the category of proper names, particularly since we’re talking about Lady and the Tramp (1955).

If you listen closely, you will notice that not once - not a single time, ever - do any of the characters that know Jim Dear and Darling call them by anything else (except for Jim Dear’s men friends at the baby shower; they all call him ‘Jim’). Even Darling’s friends call her ‘Darling’. Jock and Trusty both call Lady’s owners/masters ‘Jim Dear’ and ‘Darling’. Never ‘Lady’s owners’ or whatever else.

This is a perfect example of using names instead of epithets. It helps immensely that they aren’t main characters - secondary characters, certainly, but not main - but the point remains.

“But, Red, the Tramp never calls Lady by her name!”

And you’re right! But there’s a reason for that: Lady never formally introduced herself. The story begins in December of 1909 (thank you, Wikipedia). So by the time Lady is six months old, we’re well into 1910. Conventions in this era, as far as I know, not that I am an expert, dictate that ladies/women introduce themselves so that men could then address them (or something like that? Someone please correct me if I’m wrong). Since Lady never does that, Tramp is reduced to giving her the pet name ‘Pigeon’ or ‘Pige (Pidge?)’. Also, Lady doesn’t find out Tramp’s name until the dogs at the pound tell her.

Either way, Tramp is forced to use a pet name, but it is not an epithet simply because ‘Pigeon’ isn’t describing Lady’s characteristics.

Now, Tramp on the other hand...is a characteristic, and someone can definitely win the argument of whether this is an epithet or not. Hint: it is because it’s preceded by ‘the’. He is literally introduced as ‘the Tramp’ (Bull, the bulldog, says it first in a scene with him, Peg and the Tramp, and then Toughy drops it at the pound in front of Lady). This is his epithet, his defining characteristic, because he is introduced as it: The Tramp.

But this is not his only characteristic. He’s helpful and compassionate (the entire scene when he fights off three alley dogs chasing Lady and then proceeds to help her get the muzzle off), he’s also playful (shows Lady there’s more to life than “life on a leash”), courageous (he fights a rat), and respectful of Lady’s choices (tries to persuade her to run away with him but pursues the matter no further when she tells him ‘no’, and he also backs off when she’s mad at him).

This is what epithets do. Not only do they estrange the characters, but they also reduce the characters to a base level. Those well-rounded, complex babies you so carefully crafted become one-dimensional and flat in the span of a single phrase. They become ‘black-haired men’ and ‘green-eyed teens’ and ‘red-masked brothers’ and in that moment, that is all they are and when you continue to reinforce that, that is all the readers will see them as. Besides the fact that readers might very well forget their names entirely, especially if it’s an original work where the audience is not as familiar with the characters as they would be with fanfiction.

This is why Lady never addresses Tramp directly in the film. If she’s speaking to him, she’s looking at him so he knows she’s addressing him. It’s a subtle nuance in the film because Lady refuses to reduce Tramp to his epithet (once she learns it) because he isn’t that basic. (Another reason why Lady and the Tramp II: Scamp’s Adventure bugs me because I swear she actually calls him ‘Tramp’ and it feels so wrong for her to address him like that.) But Tramp gives Lady a nickname. See the difference?

So, yes. While epithets are not strictly bad, they are best when used properly and sparingly. Like, yes, please, feel free to remind us that Mikey loves his brothers and that Katsuki calls his friends ‘Spiky-hair’ or whatever. These are descriptive and good and should be used, just be aware of when and how often you use them, not to mention why. If you’re simply using an epithet for the sake of avoiding saying someone’s name, then it’s poor usage.

And holy freaking wow, this thing is ginormous! I’m going to stop here because I don’t think I can write another word about epithets and how important they are.

Thank you for reading! I hope this helps. And a reminder: check out RavenshellRorschach on DeviantArt for comprehensive how-to’s on some of English’s toughest homophones and grammar points.

Cheers, y’all!

~ Red

#writing advice #grammar #gttaau #this might become a series #epithets

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big-ass-magnet · 5 years ago

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Consider This ch 4/5

Fandom: Dragon Age

Pairing: Varric/Marian Hawke

Rating: T

Summary: As far as Varric is concerned, Cassandra’s been reading too many romance novels. There’s no way he could be in love with Hawke and not know it. That sort of thing doesn’t happen in real life. Besides, Hawke’s just his friend, right?

Right?

…Uh oh.

AO3 link | Commissions

@queenofbaws helpfully reminded me that this fic existed and that I should probably finish it womp womp. technically this is the last chapter! the next one is the epilogue wrap up!Thank you all for your patience.

Varric stared at the glowing green shimmer of the rift, straining to make sense of the swirling landscape behind it. He didn’t know how long he’d been waiting. How long it had been since he turned around to see if Hawke was okay, and felt that horrible, sickening jolt when she wasn’t behind him.

How could he have left her there? How could he have left without making sure she was with him? How could he just run off like that? Had two years been long enough to make him forget the woman didn’t have a single ounce of self preservation or common sense? That it was his job to make sure she kept herself safe?

The world was broken-glass sharp, glinting at the edges, every sight and sensation amplified a thousandfold. The smell of ash and blood. The shift of his armor. The smooth, polished wood of Bianca’s stock. The sound of his own breathing, echoing in his ears.

His eyes were fixed on the swirling, sickly-green light, mind utterly empty save for the silent, desperate prayer to the Maker, to Andraste, to the Stone, to the fucking Creators. Anyone who would listen.

Please. Please, I’ll do anything. Anything, just bring her back. Please.

Please. I need her. I love her.

I’ll do anything.

Please.

Hawke burst out of the rift, tripped over her own feet, and tumbled down the small flight of stairs, hitting the ground hard.

The crushing grip around Varric’s chest disappeared so quickly his legs turned to water and he almost fell to his knees. Instead, he lurched forward, stumbling across the gap to drop to his knees beside her. He reached out, grabbing her shoulders, searching for any damage that hadn’t been there before.

“Hawke? You alright?”

The woman groaned and opened her eyes. They were very unfocused, and it took her a few blinks before she could look at him with both eyes at the same time.

“Not one of my best entrances,” she admitted, rubbing her head and wincing. He chuckled, the sound made weak and watery with relief, and stood.

“Not one of your worst, though,” Varric pointed out, reaching a hand to her. The words came out calm and casual, as if they were walking down the road in Kirkwall after a dust up with a street gang. It took so much effort to keep his stuttering heartbeat out of his voice, he almost couldn’t hear her response.

“All the same, do me a favor,” she said, letting him help her to her feet, “when you put that in the book, make it more dramatic.”

“The book?”

“The one about all this.”

The Inquisitor emerged with significantly more dignity. She stepped out like a queen onto a balcony to address her subjects, head high, gaze steely. Silently, she raised a hand, her palm crackling green. Every demon still standing in Adamant shuddered and collapsed as one. Behind Adaar, the rift snapped shut.

“Like that,” Hawke whispered. “Make me look like that.”

A soldier hurried up to Adaar, but Hawke was already slipping away. Varric followed, eyes fixed on the hand she pressed against her side. She was limping, and Varric felt an unpleasant prickle of fear. Dying tragically after narrowly escaping the Fade sounded like the sort of thing that would happen to Hawke.

She found them a quiet corner out of sight and just close enough to hear if the fighting picked up again. A low bench was still intact; she sat on it with an exhausted sigh. Looking up at him, she smiled and patted the seat beside her.

Instead, he reached out and touched his fingers to the back of the hand on her side. He could see the blood between her fingers.

“Is it bad?” he asked softly.

“Just a scratch.”

“Let me see.”

“Worrywart,” she mocked, but let him lift her hand away. It was an ugly, jagged cut that had torn through her armor, but it was shallow, and had already stopped bleeding. All the same…

“You should take that to a healer.”

“I was planning on letting it fester,” she said, sarcastically.

He looked up into her eyes, and whatever she saw startled her into silence.

“You had me worried there for a minute,” he said. He meant it to be a joke, but he meant it, and he knew she heard it. “Thought I was going to lose you.”

The words danced on the tip of his tongue, begging to be let out. Maker, he wanted to say it. Should say it. He could have lost the chance forever, and now would be the time to say it. An expression flashed across Hawke’s face, so quick he couldn’t tell what it was. Anxiety, maybe? Guilt?

He was still holding her hand; she shifted her grip and held on tightly. Her eyes searched his face for something.

“Varric, I…”

He waited, not daring to imagine what she might be about to say. Hawke struggled for a moment...and then gave him a weak smile. With one last squeeze, she dropped his hand.

“I couldn’t leave my trusty dwarf behind,” she said. “Someone’s got to keep an eye on you.”

He felt his lips quirk up into a smile.

“Are you kidding? You’re the one who gets herself into trouble just by waking up in the morning.”

“His voice like honeyed wine, golden whiskey, the sun after a storm. The weight on my shoulders lighter, lifting, laughing together like old times.”

Hawke looked up, startled. Cole stood in the shadows, watching them both with those wide, pale eyes. Varric felt a bolt of fear.

“What?” Hawke said, alarmed, at the same time Varric said “Cole, don’t--”

“Hands touch when she takes the glass, ache in my chest until I can't breathe, wanting, wishing, writing a world where she wants back. You don’t have to be afraid.”

Varric blinked. What had he been saying? The words had scattered like paper in the wind, and he couldn’t find all the pages. He looked at Hawke, who was wearing her own expression of mild bemusement, and felt a sudden surge of confidence.

He should tell her. He would tell her.

Part of him thought he should put it off, give himself time to plan what to say, to find all the right words and weave them together. Normally he didn’t have trouble improvising, but something this important needed to be done right. It needed a proper, well-thought out speech, a little funny and a lot charming, referencing old memories and new hopes, with perfectly crafted metaphors for all the things she made him feel.

The other part knew that if he didn’t say it now, he’d lose his nerve.

“I love you.”

Varric blinked.

How odd.

He’d opened his mouth, and the words had been spoken, but it hadn’t sounded like his voice. It had been a very familiar voice, though. And Hawke’s expression was rapidly evolving into a rictus of horror.

“Oh no,” Hawke gulped. “Oh no. I didn’t-- I wasn’t going to say that. I didn’t mean to say it. Oh no.” She hid her face in her hands. “Please pretend I didn’t say that. I’m so sorry. I’m so-- I didn’t mean to actually-- forget it, forget I said anything, just pretend I didn’t--” Hawke started to curl in on herself through the sheer force of her embarrassment, until her face was pressed to her knees.

Well.

Shit.

That was unexpected.

Varric wanted to laugh, mostly out of sheer mind-numbing relief, but he knew Hawke definitely wouldn’t take it the way he’d mean it. After all that time tearing himself apart about not wanting to be a burden to her and not wanting to ask for more than she was willing to give, and Hawke went and yanked the rug right out from under him. Of course she did.

Hawke had switched from apologies to pleas for death from above.

“Hawke.”

“I’m going to go back to the Fade,” she said, as best he could decipher. “I’m going to go crawl into a rift and let the Nightmare kill me. Maker if you are a kind and loving god you will strike me down where I sta- where I sit.”

“Hawke.”

She fell silent, but didn’t move. Varric tried to stay serious, but he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. He touched her shoulder, gently.

“Would you look at me? Please?”

Slowly, she sat up and peeked out at him through her fingers.

“You really don’t have to say anything. You don’t. We can just pretend this never happened and go on like before and you’re smiling.” She dropped her hands, embarrassment forgotten in suspicion. “Why are you smiling?”

Varric reached out and cupped her face in his hands.

“Because you took the words right out of my mouth,” he said, and kissed her.

Now, Varric had a pretty good imagination, but he’d barely allowed himself to consider the possibility that Hawke might return his feelings, let alone what might come after. He hadn’t thought about what it would be like to kiss her. He was equally sure he wouldn’t have done it justice anyway.

Hawke melted against him with a soft sound he hoped he remembered for the rest of his days, her fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. He wrapped an arm around her to hold her close and cradled the back of her head in his other hand. Her hair was tacky with blood and demon guts, but her lips were soft.

It was the best damn kiss of his life.

“Oh,” Hawke said, when he pulled back. A smile bloomed on her face, wide and wonderful, like a sunrise. “Well then. Aren’t I clever.”

“Aren’t you just,” Varric said, fondly, and kissed her again.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #varric tethras #hawke #marian hawke #vhawke #hawkexvarric #otp: my trusty dwarf #audrey talks #i'm happy with this

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bi-mirandalawson · 5 years ago

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I am considering a custom tag for hawke/varric bc I don’t think there’s a good name smash ship name but some of the things I’m considering are:

otp: why are you still here varric

otp: you people have done enough

otp: what would I do without my trusty dwarf

otp: lying as a love language

otp: and the whole world will read you and you will live forever

otp: its canon bioware fuck you

#sinatext

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crackinglamb · 5 years ago

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Fluff-uary Prompt 29 - Bonus Fluff

(DA - Hawke/Varric)

Hawke literally fell out of the Fade.

Solas had told her to focus on what she wanted, and so she had. She didn't know how long she'd traveled, or how far – was measurable distance even a thing in the Fade? – but she'd finally gotten to a spot where the Veil was thin. The Old Song swelled in her mind, drowning out everything else. She pressed her hand and the crossbow bolt she'd never let go of into the place where the Song was loudest, forcing her way through. For a moment she'd been in freefall, weightless but shifting, and then she'd been on pavement in the dark of night.

She landed on her knees and vomited bile before she was able to look up and see where she was. It was hard to tell in the gloom. Tendrils of fog curled around the foundation of buildings and obscured roads and for a moment she froze, her first instinct to think that she was still in the Fade. She shook her head and looked again; the fog wasn't green. She'd had enough of green fog to last her several lifetimes. She knew she was in Kirkwall, she could hear the chains in the harbor. She got up and stumbled down alleys and streets, eventually turning a corner that her feet hadn't forgotten even though she still didn't know where she was on a conscious level. She sank to her knees once more and she laughed, the sound coming out more like sobs.

The swinging sign of the Hanged Man hadn't changed, although the building had. It was raining, and she lifted her face to it, letting it wash her clean from however long she'd been stuck there, battling for her life and her wits. She opened her mouth to the rain, drinking in the sweet simple taste of skyborne water.

The door to the tavern opened. The sound of her cackling must have drawn the attention of the crowd inside. She wondered...

“Demon!” Varric snapped, pointing Bianca at her. She stayed on her knees, looking him over. He looked awful. Not so much in how he was dressed – which was far richer than she'd ever seen – but in his face. He looked haggard and exhausted, with deep lines between his brows that hadn't been there before. He looked older.

He looked like he'd mourned her for far too long.

“How long has it been?” she asked. Time and distance might have no meaning inside the Fade, but that didn't translate to how much was passing outside of it. She knew at least on some level that it had been long enough for Solas to put his plans into motion. Not that she even knew what they were. Just that the elf was no longer just an elf. Getting sidetracked, Hawke. “Varric, how long?”

“Do not call me by my name, demon,” he spat, still holding Bianca aimed at her face. “You can't fool me, Hawke is dead.”

“No...” she whispered. She hadn't considered this. Well, she had, but only briefly before she'd been stuck in another fight for her life with the denizens of the far side before finally getting herself somewhere 'safe'. “My name is Carmilla Marian Hawke. I've always hated it because it was too high class and girly,” she went on, almost desperately, seeing him still stare at her in revulsion and fear. She paused for breath, wondering what possible thing she could say that only they two would have known. “The first thing you said to me was 'how do you do' and you were twirling a bolt on your fingers like a showoff. You'd stopped a pickpocket for me. You clocked him. Varric, please...it's me. It's really me.”

Bianca dipped but didn't fall completely in his hands. A crowd had gathered around him, standing well clear of his line of fire. He was still staring at her, but the expression had fallen flat into shock. He cleared his throat and finally spoke. “Right hand or left?”

“What?”

“Right hand or left. How did I clock him?”

“Milord...?” one of the onlookers asked softly, as if he too couldn't understand why that was important.

Hawke's eyes widened and she surged to her feet, ignoring the dizziness that had set in once her body realized she wasn't just a figment of her own imagination. “Maker damn you for a nug wrangler! When did you start cashing in on that Merchant Prince bullshit? And it was a left hook, you ambidextrous son of a...dwarf.”

He wasn't looking at her face now. He was staring at her hand. She held up the bolt and let him see it, dulled from use, ragged at the ends where she'd constantly carried it. That wasn't the only thing he was looking at. A tendril of bright blue traced along the length of her middle finger from the tip, spreading out to cover her palm in etched lines and crooked angles. It looked almost exactly like a vein of raw lyrium, as indeed it was a lyrium mark. She'd never been a mage, even though the magic ran strong in her family, but through trial and error she had learned she could make things real, a useful tool in the Fade where so much was not. Her first meeting with Solas had anchored it firmly into the fiber of her being, and now it would never leave her.

The transition from angry to awed in Varric's eyes started slow, so slow she nearly missed it. Then he was laughing and Bianca slid behind his back into her holster. And then his hands were on her face, pulling her back to her knees, cradling her cheek as rain washed down on them both. “Hawke? My Hawke?”

“Varric, tell me, please. How long has it been?” She leaned into his touch, never forgotten, no matter how much had happened since the last time his hand caressed her face.

“Five years, Cara. It's been five years since we left you in the Fade.”

She closed her eyes, feeling the years she'd missed. No wonder Solas was surprised that she had still been there when she saw him, just...just a while ago. No wonder she could hear the Song so strongly, when most people didn't hear it at all. She'd known that lyrium passed between both sides, and stayed close to it when she could in her endless searching for a place the Veil was thin. She knew it had changed her. And now it had brought her home, no matter how long it had taken. Just like he said it would.

When she opened her eyes again, she put any thought of the elvhen mage god out of her mind and smiled at her dwarf. Varric hadn't gone on without her, it seemed. She lifted a trembling hand and covered his against her cheek. So much time had passed. Were they even still the same people as before? Would her Templar-like abilities scare him away? After everything that had happened to him, he was not likely to be much of a fan.

“My lord Viscount,” another voice said, breaking the perfect silence of the moment. “Should we not still test her...er...I mean to say...she could still be a demon...”

Varric tossed a scowl over his shoulder and the crowd shrank back from him. “I know this woman. She is the Champion of Kirkwall.” He looked back to her, his eyes twinkling now in the spilled light from the Hanged Man. “And she's mine.”

He kissed her then, in front of them all and the years and miles shed off her like the rain pouring off her shoulders, inconsequential and irrelevant. His breath warmed her face and his touch made her feel solid. She could have stayed there in the rain forever as long as he was kissing her, his presence filling her with the Song, grounding her in what was true.

When he finally drew back, she smirked at him, a flicker of the old Hawke coming through. “So...Viscount?”

He smirked back and while at first it seemed unfamiliar to his facial muscles, they remembered at last and it looked more natural. Her trusty dwarf. Storyteller. Rogue. Love of her life. “Yeah. Shit, you've missed a lot. Hey, you wanna take a shot at being a Viscountess?”

Something grew in her, something warm and golden that spread through her limbs like fire, like healing. The Song flared in her head, then fell soft, whispering from the corners. She realized she knew more than he thought she did, and passed a final thought for Solas...Fen'Harel. She might know more than Varric now.

No time to waste, she thought. He said for whatever time remained. She stood up, shaking the rain from her eyes. “Little Tethrases,” she whispered aloud, seeing Varric's faint smile echo her own. She could make that happen now, couldn't she? “You're on, Varric. As soon as you buy me dinner. And a drink or ten.”

“I can do that.” He took her hand in his. “What happened to your hair?”

She huffed lightly, the mundane question so beyond funny that she almost didn't know how to reply. She touched the roughly shorn ends. Felt like an hour ago. A year. A century. Maybe just a few seconds. “I cut it off. It's a long story.”

“Well, we've got time.”

She followed him into the Hanged Man without answering. Somewhere out there her friend was hurting, too many of her friends were hurting. The wolf still counted among the sheep. But that was for later. Now was for them.

(Notes on this ending can be read on the ao3 posting here)

#FLUFF-uary 2020 #dragon age #hawke/varric

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loretranscripts · 6 years ago

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Lore Episode 32: Tampered (Transcript) - 18th April, 2016

tw: none

Disclaimer: This transcript is entirely non-profit and fan-made. All credit for this content goes to Aaron Mahnke, creator of Lore podcast. It is by a fan, for fans, and meant to make the content of the podcast more accessible to all. Also, there may be mistakes, despite rigorous re-reading on my part. Feel free to point them out, but please be nice!

I grew up watching a television show called MacGyver. If you’ve never had that chance to watch this icon of the 80s, do yourself a favour and give it a try. Sure, the clothes are outdated and the hair… oh my gosh, the hair. But aside from all the bits that didn’t age well, MacMullet and his trusty pocket knife managed to capture my imagination forever. Part of it was the adventure, part of it was the character of the man himself – I mean, the guy was essentially a spy who hated guns, played hockey and lived on a houseboat. But hovering above all those elements was the true core of the show. This man could make anything if his life depended on it. As humans, we have this innate drive inside ourselves to make things. This is how we managed to create things like the wheel, or stone tools and weapons. Our tendency towards technology pulled our ancient ancestors out of the Stone Age and into a more civilised world. Maybe for some of us, MacGyver represented what we wanted to achieve: complete mastery of our own world. But life is rarely that simple, and however hard we try to get our minds and hands around this world we want to rule, some things just slip through the cracks. Accidents happen. Ideas and concepts still allude our limited minds. We’re human, after all, not gods. So, when things go wrong, when our plans fall apart or our expectations fail to be met, we have this sense of pride that often refuses to admit defeat. So, we blame others, and when that doesn’t work, we look elsewhere for answers, and no realm holds more explanation for the unexplainable than folklore. 400 years ago, when women refused to follow the rules of society, they were labelled a witch. When Irish children failed to thrive it was because, of course, because they were a changeling. We’re good at excuses. So, when our ancestors found something broken or out of place, there was a very simple explanation – someone, or something, had tampered with it. I’m Aaron Mahnke, and this is Lore.

The idea of meddlesome creatures isn’t new to us. All around the world, we can find centuries-old folklore that speaks of creatures with a habit of getting in the way and making life difficult for humans. It’s an idea that seems to transcend borders and background, language and time. Some would say that it’s far too coincidental for all these stories of mischief-causing creatures to emerge in places separated by thousands of miles and vast oceans. The púca of Ireland and the ebu gogo of Indonesia are great examples of this – legends that seem to have no reason for their eerie similarities. Both legends speak of small, humanoid creatures that steal food and children, both recommend not making them angry, and both describe their creatures as intrusive pranksters. To many, the evidence is just too indisputable to ignore. Others would say it’s not coincidence at all, merely a product of human nature. We want to believe there’s something out there causing the problems we experience every day. So, of course, nearly every culture in the world has invented a scapegoat. This scapegoat would have to be small to avoid discovery, and they need respect because we’re afraid of what they can do. To a cultural anthropologist, it’s nothing more than logical evolution. Many European folktales include this universal archetype in the form of nature spirits, and much of it can be traced back to the idea of the daemon.

It’s an old word and concept, coming to us from the Greeks. In essence, a daemon is an otherworldly spirit that causes trouble. The root word, daomai, literally means to cut or divide. In many ways, it’s an ancient version of an excuse. If your horse was spooked while you were out for a ride, you’d probably blame it on a daemon. Ancient Minoans believed in them, and in the day of the Greek poet Homer, people would blame their illnesses on them. The daemon, in many ways, was fate. If it happened to you, there was a reason, and it was probably one of these little things that caused it. But over time, the daemon took on more and more names. Arab folklore has the djinn, Romans spoke of a personal companion known as the genius, in Japan, they tell tales of the kami, and Germanic cultures mention fylgja. The stories and names might be unique to each culture, but the core of them all is the same. There’s something interfering with humanity, and we don’t like it.

For the majority of the English-speaking world, the most common creature of this type in folklore, hands down, is the goblin. It’s not an ancient word, most likely originating from the middle ages, but it’s the one that’s front and centre in most of our minds, and from the start it’s been a creature associated with bad behaviour. A legend from the 10th century tells of how the first Catholic bishop of Évreux in France faced a daemon known to the locals there as Gobelinus. Why that name, though, is hard to trace. The best theory goes something like this: there’s a Greek myth about a creature named kobalos, who loved to trick and frighten people. That story influenced other cultures across Europe prior to Christianity’s spread, creating the notion of the kobold in ancient Germany. That word was most likely to root of the word goblin. Kobold, gobold, gobolin – you can practically hear it evolve. The root word of kobold is kobe, which literally means “beneath the earth”, or “cavity in a rock”. We get the English word “cove” from the same root, and so naturally kobolds and their English counterparts, the goblins, are said to live in caves underground, and if that reminds you of dwarves from fantasy literature, you’re closer than you think. The physical appearance of goblins in folklore vary greatly, but the common description is that they are dwarf-like creatures. They cause trouble, are known to steal, and they have tendency to break things and make life difficult. Because of this, people in Europe would put carvings of goblins in their homes to ward off the real thing. In fact, here’s something really crazy. Medieval door-knockers were often carved to resemble the faces of daemons or goblins, and it’s most likely purely coincidental, but in Welsh folklore, goblins are called coblyn, or more commonly, knockers. My point is this: for thousands of years, people have suspected that all of their misfortune could be blamed on small, meddlesome creatures. They feared them, told stories about them, and tried their best to protect their homes from them. But for all that time, they seemed like nothing more than story. In the early 20th century, though, people started to report actual sightings, and not just anyone. These sightings were documented by trained, respected military heroes. Pilots.

When the Wright brothers took their first controlled flight in December of 1903, it seemed like a revelation. It’s hard to imagine it today, but there was a time when flight wasn’t assumed as a method of travel. So, when Wilbur spent three full seconds in the air that day, he and his brother, Orville, did something else: they changed the way we think about our world. And however long it took humans to create and perfect the art of controllable, mechanical flight, once the cat was out of the bag, it bolted into the future without ever looking back. Within just nine years, someone had managed to mount a machine gun onto one of these primitive aeroplanes. Because of that, when the First World War broke out just two years later, military combat had a new element. Of course, guns weren’t the only weapon a plane could utilise, though. The very first aeroplane brought down in combat was an Austrian plane, which was literally rammed by a Russian pilot. Both pilots died after the wreckage plummeted to the ground below. It wasn’t the most efficient method of air combat, but it was a start. Clearly, we’ve spent the many decades since getting very, very good at it. Unfortunately, though, there have been more reasons for combat disasters than machine gun bullets and suicidal pilots, and one of the most unique and mysterious of those causes first appeared in British newspapers. In an article from the early 1900s, it was said that, and I quote, “the newly constituted royal air force in 1918 appears to have detected the existence of a hoard of mysterious and malicious sprites, whose sole purpose in life was to bring about as many as possible of the inexplicable mishaps which, in those days as now, trouble an airman’s life.” The description didn’t feature a name, but that was soon to follow. Some experts think that we can find roots of it in the old English word gremian, which means “to vex” or “to annoy”. It fits the behaviour of the creatures to the letter, and because of that they have been known from the beginning as gremlins.

Now, before we move forward, it might be helpful to take care of your memories of the 1984 classic film by the same name. I grew up in the 80s, and Gremlins was a fantastic bit of eye candy for my young, horror-loving mind, but the truth of the legend has little resemblance to the version that you and I witnessed on the big screen. The gremlins of folklore, at least the stories that came out of the early 20th century that is, describe the ancient stereotypical daemon, but with a twist. Yes, they were said to be small, ranging anywhere from six inches to three feet in height, and yes, they could appear and disappear at will, causing mischief and trouble wherever they went. But in addition, these modern versions of the legendary goblin seem to possess a supernatural grasp of human technology. In 1923, a British pilot was flying over open water when his engine stalled. He miraculously survived the crash into the sea and was rescued shortly after that. When he was safely aboard the rescue vessel, the pilot was quick to explain what had happened. Tiny creatures, he claimed, had appeared on the plane. Whether they appeared out of nowhere or smuggled themselves aboard prior to take-off, the pilot wasn’t sure. However they got there, he said that they proceeded to tamper with the plane’s engine and flight controls, and without power or control, he was left to drop helplessly into the sea.

These reports were infrequent in the 1920s, but as the world moved into the Second World War and the number of planes in the sky began to grow exponentially, more and more stories seemed to follow – small, troublesome creatures who had an almost supernatural ability to hold on to moving aircraft, and while they were there, to do damage and to cause accidents. In some cases, they were even cited inside planes, among the crew and cargo. Stories, as we’ve seen so many times before, have a tendency to spread like disease. Oftentimes, that’s because of fear, but sometimes it’s because of truth, and the trouble is in figuring out where to draw that line, and that line kept moving as the sightings were reported outside the British ranks. Pilots on the German side also reported seeing creatures during flights, as did some in India, Malta and the Middle East. Some might chalk these stories up to hallucinations, or a bit of pre-flight drinking. There are certainly a lot of stories of World War Two pilots climbing into the cockpit after a night of romancing the bottle – and who can blame them? In many cases, these pilots were going to their death, with a 20% chance of never coming back from a mission alive. But there are far too many reports to blame it all on drunkenness or delirium. Something unusual was happening to planes all throughout the Second World War, and with folklore as a lens, some of the reports are downright eerie. In 2014, a 92-year-old World War Two veteran from Jonesborough, Arkansas came forward to tell a story he had kept to himself for seven decades. He’d been a B-17 pilot during the war, one of the legendary flying fortresses that helped allied air forces carry out successful missions over Nazi territory, and it was on one of those missions that this man experienced something that, until recently, he had kept to himself. The pilot, who chose to identify himself with the initials L.W., spoke of how he was a 22-year-old flight commander on the B-17, when something very unusual happened on a combat mission in 1944. He described how, as he brought the aircraft to a higher altitude, the plane began to make strange noises. That wasn’t completely unusual, as the B-17 is an absolutely enormous plane and sometimes turbulence can rattle the structure, but he checked his instrument panel out of habit. According to his story, the instruments seemed broken and confused.

Looking for an answer to the mystery, he glanced out the right-side window, and then froze. There, outside the glass of the cockpit window, was the face of a small creature. The pilot described it as about three feet tall with red eyes and sharp teeth. The ears, he said, were almost owl-like, and its skin was grey and hairless. He looked back toward the front and noticed a second creature, this one moving along the nose of the aircraft. He said it was dancing and hammering away at the metal body of the plane. He immediately assumed he was hallucinating. I can picture him rubbing his eyes and blinking repeatedly like some old Loony Toons film. But according to him, he was as sharp and alert as ever. Whatever it was that he witnessed outside the body of the plane, he said that he managed to shake them off with a bit of “fancy flying”, and that’s his term, not mine. But while the creatures themselves might have vanished, the memory of them would haunt him for the rest of his life. He told only one person afterwards, a gunner on another B-17, but rather than laugh at him his friend acknowledged that he, too, had seen similar creatures on a flight just the day before.

Years prior, in the summer of 1939, an earlier encounter was reported, this time in the Pacific. According to the account, a transport plane took off from the airbase in San Diego in the middle of the afternoon and headed toward Hawaii. Onboard were 13 marines, some of whom were crew of the plane and others were passengers – it was a transport, after all. About halfway through the flight, whilst still over the vast expanse of the blue Pacific, the transport issued a distress signal. After that, the signal stopped, as did all other forms of communication. It was as if the plane had simply gone silent and then vanished, which made it all the more surprising when it reappeared later, outside the San Diego airfield and prepared for landing. But the landing didn’t seem right. The plane came in too fast, it bounced on the runway in rough, haphazard ways, and then finally came to a dramatic emergency stop. Crew on the runway immediately understood why, too – the exterior of the aircraft was extensively damaged, some said it looked like bombs had ripped apart the metal skin of the transport. It was a miracle, they said, that the thing even landed at all. When no one exited the plane to greet them, they opened it up themselves and stepped inside, only to be met with a scene of horror and chaos.

Inside, they discovered the bodies of 12 of the 13 passengers and crew. Each seemed to have died from the same types of wounds, large, vicious cuts and injuries that almost seemed to have originated from a wild animal. Added to that, the interior of the transport smelled horribly of sulphur and the acrid odour of blood. To complicate matters, empty shell casings were found scattered about the interior of the cockpit. The pistols responsible, belonging to the pilot and co-pilot, were found on the floor near their feet, completely spent. 12 men were found, but there was a thirteenth. The co-pilot had managed to stay conscious despite his extensive injuries, just long enough to land the transport at the base. He was alive but unresponsive when they found him, and quickly removed him for emergency medical care. Sadly, the man died a short while later. He never had the chance to report what happened.

Stories of the gremlins have stuck around in the decades since, but they live mostly in the past. Today they are mentioned more like a personified Murphy’s Law, muttered as a humorous superstition by modern pilots. I get the feeling that the persistence of the folklore is due more to its place as a cultural habit than anything else. We can ponder why, I suppose. Why would sightings stop after World War II? Some think it’s because of advancements in aeroplane technology: stronger structures, faster flight speeds, and higher altitudes. The assumption is that, sure, gremlins could hold on to our planes, but maybe we’ve gotten so fast that even that’s become impossible for them. The other answer could just be that the world has left those childhood tales of little creatures behind. We’ve moved beyond belief now. We’ve outgrown it. We know a lot more than we used to, after all, and to our thoroughly modern minds these stories of gremlins sound like just so much fantasy. Whatever reason you subscribe to, it’s important to remember that many people have believed with all their being that gremlins are real, factual creatures, people we would respect and believe.

In 1927, a pilot was over the Atlantic in a plane that, by today’s standards, would be considered primitive. He was alone, and he had been in the air for a very long time but was startled to discover that there were creatures in the cockpit with him. He described them as small, vaporous beings with a strange, otherworldly appearance. The pilot claimed that these creatures spoke to him and kept him alert in a moment when he was overly tired and passed the edge of exhaustion. They helped with the navigation for his journey and even adjusted some of his equipment. This was a rare account of gremlins who were benevolent rather than meddlesome or hostile. Even still, this pilot was so worried about what the public might think of his experience that he kept the details to himself for over 25 years. In 1953, this pilot included the experience in a memoir of his flight. It was a historic journey, after all, and recording it properly required honesty and transparency. The book, you see, was called The Spirit of St. Louis, and the man was more than just a pilot. He was a military officer, an explore, an inventor, and on top of all of that he was also a national hero because of his successful flight from New York to Paris – the first man to do so, in fact. This man, of course, was Charles Lindbergh.

[Closing Statements]

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