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snurtsnurtcreations · 2 months ago

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The Ghost in the Moors

Johnny Mactavish x Simon Riley x Reader

Hey y'all, enjoy my most recent, incredibly persistent brainworm that's resulted in this word vomit. Heavily heavily inspired off the vibes of The Secret Garden and Jane Eyre

Warning: I wrote a sad ending for this one. Major character death y’all, so watch out.

The distinguishable gentleman Mactavish has at long last taken a wife. His heart is not truly in the marriage, but that is perfectly understandable for a man of his standing in high society. (He’s never been so listless before his dearest friend, Simon Riley, died- but those are just the whispers of his staff). He is not cruel or particularly dismissive of his wife, but… it is clear he does not care much for you either.

Not minding much, you take on the duties of the estate admirably. The staff all respect you greatly, and you find fulfillment in many a task surrounding the care of the grounds. Regrettably, however, you do end up falling in love with your husband from the glimpses of him that you get interacting with the staff, with animals, with children… You’d wanted to avoid catching feelings for him when you knew from the get-go that this was a marriage of convenience, but there is a true goodness in him and a charm just past the deep gloom that settles on his countenance.

The thing is though, the Mactavish estate holds a secret. Late at night one might hear a haunting howling. On the dreariest of days, when the fog lies thick and curling over the moors, you’d swear there was a dark presence wandering the grounds. And no one dared enter the abandoned walled-off garden. There is great evil brewing there, the staff would say. It was never particularly dangerous before that one night that… oh, well, they really shouldn’t say.

You start trying to investigate into this mystery. How could it be that there is a whole garden, a plot of considerable size, that no one had access to? What is it that all the staff are nervously tipping-toeing around saying? And why are all past accounts of an energetic and joyous Johnny so false in the face of the cold, impassive character in the present day?

One stormy day, they take in a group of people passing by to provide them some refuge until the storm passes. One of them, an old woman, confidently claims there is a ghost in their midst. The crack of lightning and thunder immediately following her statement does not lend itself well to the doubt of such a statement. Neither does the nervous silence of the staff. Johnny, however, is adamant that such talk is nonsense.

Later, you take the old woman aside, and ask more about what led her to such a conclusion earlier. The old lady just pats your hand and cheerfully says, “Because I am a witch, dearie- I have a sensitivity to these sorts of things.”

You decide far be it from you to question an old lady, but ultimately you do not take much stock in her words. (Though, you make note in your mind, you may not believe it to be true, but you certainly don’t believe it entirely false either…)

You spend your days occupied with the goings-on of the estate, but occasionally you go for a walk around the grounds, reveling in the feeling of being surrounded by rolling hills and nothing but moorland and some sheep in the distance.

A horse comes galloping down the road, and the rider brings it to a full stop as he nears you, the horse rearing it’s head at the suddenness, it’s hooves clipping against the ground anxiously. It’s Johnny. He seems surprised to see you.

“What are ya doing all the way out here, my lady?”

“Simply out for a stroll, my lord.” You answer, confused.

“Is that where you’ve been disappearing for hours? You’ve got all the staff on edge.”

“My apologies, my lord, I hadn’t meant to-“

“Just let them know when you go out next, is all.” And that concludes the conversation. His expression hardly changes as he gallops back out to whatever business he must attend to.

His back and forth attitude confuses you. Just this morning you saw him jump up from the breakfast table to go see to an injured lamb on his property, but now here with you he is cold and impassive.

Still you make attempts to connect with him, and dutifully continue doing your countess tasks.

When one day you ask Johnny on an evening stroll about the garden, what starts as an innocent question becomes a full blown argument as he gets increasingly more upset and angry at you. You cannot for the life of you understand what is making him so irritated about it- you just wanted to know more about this garden!

“Fine! You wish to know about the garden? Let me show you the garden.” He snarls in his fit of rage and grabs you by the wrist. You stumble after him as he stomps to the walled garden, brushes aside the vines to reveal a door and lock that you would otherwise have never known was there. He pulls a key off a chain around his neck and slams the lock open, yanking you into the garden.

The thing is, the sun is setting, the sky darkening rapidly- likely due to the dark clouds brewing on the horizon, inching closer and closer with the strong winds. You are entirely uneasy. The last thing you’d wanted was to see this garden in such conditions, with Johnny in such a rage. For the first time in your stay here, Johnny’s made you truly afraid as he guides you deeper into the garden. You softly plead for him to stop, to slow down, but your pleas seem to fall on deaf ears.

The garden is so large it’s practically a forest of its own. The plants are so overgrown, the bushes towering over you may as well be walls, and the vines and roots taking over the ground seem to make it their mission to trip you up. Already you have lost sight of where the door was.

“Here. Here is the god damned garden.” He says as he tugs you even deeper into the foliage. Your foot snags on a root, and this time you fall to the ground. Your fall causes him to pause a few steps ahead, and you wonder if it might have pulled him out of his episode. But then he turns to you with a manic grief-stricken glint in his eyes, spreading his arms out demonstrably. “Is this what you wanted to see so badly? The ruined remains of whatever good I’d had?” Johnny roars.

You can only stare up at him, teary-eyed and confused. He opens his mouth to say more, but the wind makes a whisper noise akin to what you’d swear sounded like someone saying “Johnny…”. Both your heads snap towards the sound. You see nothing but the swaying branches, but Johnny’s sharp inhale has you turning back to him. His face is pale as you have never seen it before, mouth agape, eyes wide.

“No, no…” He whispers. Never had you seen such deep terror in anyone’s face. Just as you are about to ask what is the matter, he turns and sprints away as though he had all the hounds of hell on his tail.

“Johnny!” You shout in alarm, but by the time you have risen to your feet, he is already out of sight. You run in the same direction he took, but it is difficult to navigate the garden, especially now that the sun is gone and darkness coats everything. Branches slap painfully against your face whilst your hands are busy hiking up your skirts, so you drop one side to shield your head. “Johnny!” You shout again, with a growing panic as you realize you don’t know where he went or where you should go to exit the garden.

Nothing answers back except the howling of the wind.

You come to a complete stop. You cannot even hear any sound of Johnny’s movements. Looking around provides you with no clues for where to go. Your breath hitches, but you bite down your panic and steel your nerves.

“Alright,” you mumble to yourself, “alright, no need to panic. I must simply find one of the walls and follow it until I reach the door.” With your newfound inkling of bravery, you set off in one direction, attempting to keep as straight a line as you can with the bushes and trees in the way. A nearby owl taking off nearly makes you jump in fright, but you push onward. Just as you reach a wall, setting a hand on the stone bricks with triumph, the first drop of rains hits your nose.

Your spirits take a swan dive as the heavens open up a torrent of downpour. You try to hurry along the wall, but it is difficult to do when there are huge swathes of overgrown plants that you must find a way to step around, then find the wall again. It is only when it starts to rain so hard that you can’t keep your head up without droplets obscuring your vision that you decide to perhaps wait it out a little. You find the largest tree within your limited line of sight and hug yourself close near its trunk. Underneath the canopy of the tree, the rainfall is lessened, allowing you to see just how hard it is raining outside the cover of the leaves. You let yourself sink down to the ground when shivers start to wrack your form and the rain shows no signs of easing up.

You sniffle miserably. If you let a few tears loose, well, who would be any the wiser whether the droplet down your cheek originates from the sky or your eye?

“I’m so stupid.” You murmur despondently, “Never should have brought it up in the first place.”

But you still when it feels as though a hand is wiping your tears. You turn to the source and see- nothing. And yet the warmth along your cheeks is undeniable. Some unseen hand slides down your hair and settles a warm, warm palm against the back of your neck. Your breath is caught in your throat, your eyes searching for someone who is not there.

“Don’t give up…” A voice whispers, “Take care of him.”

You blink the tears from your eyes, wiping the remaining wetness off your cheeks.

“Alright.” You take a steadying breath, “I- I will.” And your voice carries true conviction, because truth be told, you would have kept taking care of Johnny either way, for your love for him runs deep, even though today has not been the first time you’d thought perhaps it shouldn’t run so deep.

An approving hum, and then a feeling akin to being embraced. You allow the warmth to seep into your skin, to chase your doubts away, your hands hovering in uncertainty.

“Who… who are you?” You whisper. The warmth pulls away.

“Only a ghost.” Is all the answer you get. Then there is a distinct emptiness in the air, and you feel as though whatever presence was here has left now, yet you still ask,

“But what is your name?”

No answer.

You rise and look around. The rain is not as heavy as it was before. You set back off to follow the wall, when you hear an anxious voice calling your name from somewhere within the walls of the garden.

“I’m here!” You answer. Soon Johnny emerges through the foliage, looking entirely guilty, but relieved to have found you. He hurriedly wraps a cloak around you.

“I’m so sorry, my lady, I- I never should have brought you here, let alone have had the impudence to leave you in the dark unaccompanied- I am truly- truly sorry.” He stumbles over his words, worried eyes examining your form.

“It’s… it’s alright, my lord” You let him wrap your hand round his elbow and lead you out of the gardens. Despite the darkness and overgrowth, it seems he knows exactly where he’s going. “You looked terrified when you fled- what was it that sent you away in such a hurry?”

“Perhaps that old woman was right.” He says in a hushed tone, like a confession, “For a moment, I could have sworn I’d… seen a ghost.”

As you approach the door to the garden, you think it could very well be true- in the corner of your eye you catch sight of the large ghostly form of a scarred man, fading in and out of reality.

Following that day, you keep your promise to the ghost, caring for Johnny in whatever ways you can, making sure everything in the estate runs smoothly, having food be brought up to him when he misses his lunches, being a comforting presence in the evenings in the library when the fire runs low and it is obvious he is restless with the silence of the house.

He has even begun speaking to you a little about his past, which you’d like to think is because he’s warming up to you, but rationally you reason it is more likely because he still feels guilty for his actions that day. Sometimes he speaks of his old friends, men he had served in the military with when the war had been ongoing. Once he’d confessed that the garden was a gift to his old love. You hadn’t pried, but you could tell this old love of his was still enduring to this day, his face struck with grief as he spoke of it. He’d soon excused himself to retire for the night, as though suddenly remembering it’s you he was speaking to.

During one peaceful evening, you had gently asked permission to restore the garden. He had seemed uneasy with the idea, but then schooled his expression to appear nonchalant, and shrugged you off with a “sure, why not?”. His reaction had almost made you take back the offer, but then your mind flashed back to the ghost, and you felt in your bones that it would be better in the long run to set the garden back to it’s former glory, in honor of whoever it had been initially made for.

It became your personal little pet project. You did not include the staff in this effort, your gut warning you against it, as though the inclusion of others would somehow desanctify the garden. So bit by bit every day, you would go in and weed and trim and do what you could on your lonesome. Many evenings you’d be found in the library reading up on gardening books, and often you’d question the local farmers on plant caretaking - you would have asked the gardener of your estate, but it turns out you didn’t have one. The staff had told you Johnny had never bothered replacing the previous gardener. When you’d asked what happened to the previous one, they all fell silent.

There were days you knew you were not alone in the garden as you tended to the plants and cleared pathways. Somehow you could always tell when the ghost would come to join you, unseen though he was. Sometimes his eyes digging into the back of your neck, other times his hands brushing some plants away to reveal your misplaced trowel.

Eventually, perhaps once it became clear to him that this isn’t some passing fad but a permanent routine for you, he begins conversing with you. Just small quips at first, a ‘that one’s a weed’ here, a ‘don’t trip’ there. You always respond with a thank you, and try valiantly not to pry with all your burning questions. As time goes on he speaks more. He has a habit of telling you silly jokes (ones a proper lady probably ought not to laugh at) that have you giggling while you’re weeding. Oftentimes he starts talking about a specific plant and how best to care for it. You listen closely, enraptured by his vast knowledge, and even start bringing a journal to write down notes. (Sometimes he huffs out a laugh when you write something down with wide eyes, though you’re uncertain whether that was actually a laugh or just a gust of wind sweeping over your hair). On especially foggy days, you can nearly see him fully- which you’d think would be counter-intuitive, but it is almost as though the fog lends him form. It does not last long though, only a flicker and then he is a disembodied voice once more.

Every once in a while, you hear Johnny approaching the garden door while you are inside. The ghost always falls silent when it happens, and it feels as though all three of you are holding your breath. But always Johnny pauses by the door, stands for but a minute, and retreats back. The ghost becomes much more reserved after Johnny leaves, not joking any more nor speaking as much. It takes a few day’s time before he opens up again.

Sometimes, though rarely, you admit to the ghost how deeply in love you are with Johnny. He answers with a knowing chuckle, saying “He’s easy to love.” The ghost will let you wax on poetic about little moments that made the yearning in your heart pulse like a blooming bruise. How he handled a tough situation with the servants, treating them fairly and compassionately. How he scaled up a tree in town to get a farmer’s cat down, effortlessly climbing up the branches and gently cradling the cat. The way he looked at you over dinner with those piercing eyes of his, how the light catches in them so handsomely. The ghost only sighs wistfully, as if he shared your yearning all the same.

“But I know he dislikes me.” You confess, “He still longs for his old love, the one he built this garden for, and resents me for taking the place of his beloved. I feel he wishes he had never met me, let alone married me.”

“Don’t say such things,” The ghost answered sternly, “Though he is swallowed by grief, he still cares deeply for you.”

You didn’t believe him, but you let him have the last word, returning to your work.

When not gardening or taking care of the estate or watching out for Johnny, you start an even more private project- researching into who the previous gardener was. The servants’ hush when you had asked about a gardener piqued your curiosity- it felt like the first real clue to solving the estate’s mystery. You tried finding records of why he isn’t in the estate any longer, or even simply records of his employment, but there seemed to be no trace, not even a name. Either the records had been destroyed or Johnny kept them locked away- and the last thing you wanted was to send Johnny into a rage again for prying. (You may have forgiven him, but the mind does not forget so easily- just the mere thought of overstepping made you incredibly uncomfortable- and he never acted that way with anyone else, so, really, it’s you who was the problem. Perhaps his dislike of you is more than that, perhaps it is a hatred?)

You reach a disheartening stopping point in your research when you can find no more. That is, until Duke Price and Lord Garrick give your husband a visit. They are some of the old military friends Johnny’d spoken of previously. Entertaining your guests in the parlour, the topic of your work in the garden is brought up. A somber hush falls over the men. A true tragedy the gardener met his demise, they say, he was a good man. One of the best. They pour out a drink for their fallen friend. Johnny asks that you give them a moment of privacy, so you oblige. (Heavy-hearted though you may be).

You learn his name that day. Simon Riley.

Later, you are hesitant to bring it up in the garden, but… you are burning up with questions, and perhaps, perhaps this once, the ghost might answer.

“Do you know…” you begin hesitantly, but stop uncertainly. He hums for you to continue, so you gather together whatever scraps of bravery you have, “Did you know the previous gardener of this place? A Mr. Simon Riley?”

The air grows still, a tense silence falling over the area. Then,

“Of course I knew him.” The ghost says, his voice soft and sorrowful. An invisible hand tucks a hair behind your ear, “For he and I are one and the same.”

You take in a sharp inhale. Your hands twist the fabric of your skirts.

“May I call you by your name, then?” You ask quietly.

His answer is whisper-soft, a shuddering concession, “Yes.”

“Simon. Simon Riley…” You say it slowly, enjoying the way his name rolls off your tongue. And then his form fades into view like never before. Still slightly transparent, but now he is here, directly in front of you, and so close, so close you could reach out and cradle his face, and his eyes, oh his eyes, they are so full of longing and woe. “You are… beautiful…” You breathe.

He flinches, taken aback, eyes wide.

“You can… see me?” He asks, astonished. You can only nod in response.

He refuses to answer any more of your questions that day, and instead waits to see how long this bout of visibility lasts for. From that day forward, you can see him at all times, though some days greater than others. Some days he is barely an outline against the garden walls, and other days you can see him as clearly as if he were alive and real. Those days it is only your hand phasing straight through his body when you try to set a palm on his shoulder that breaks the illusion.

Since he will not answer your questions, you turn to other means, now armed with a name. You look through public records, and find a cemetery with his name, and then an obituary that stated he had died in a fire. You shudder at the thought of it, pained on his behalf. What a horrid way to go. But there are no further details on what caused the fire nor where it had happened. Was it on the battlefield? Was it in the grounds of the estate?You find no further details.

You return to gardening and your countess duties.

There finally comes the day that Johnny approaches the garden door and instead of leaving, creaks the door open. Your conversation with Simon had fallen silent the moment you heard Johnny’s steps once more, but when the door had opened, you and Simon exchanged a surprised, excited glance.

Johnny stood within the doorway, looking around with equal parts amazement and heartache, his eyes wide, his brow furrowed. It made you suddenly realize just how much progress you’d made after all this time. The garden looked nothing like when you’d first seen it on that dark night. The flower beds were thriving, the bushes cut back to a respectable size, the vines no longer encroaching plants and pathways but rather providing a delightful contrast to the other foliage. Deeper in the garden there were still pathways overgrown, but for now you had completed a commendable amount of work.

A couple steps in, and Johnny was turning his head this way and that to take it all in.

“Good afternoon, my lord.” You greeted him.

“Good afternoon, my lady.” He parroted back. “You… really have been busy in here.”

“Yes, I’ve grown quite fond of the garden. I hope I have done it justice, though I have not seen it in its golden days.”

“You’ve done… remarkably well in restoring it.” Johnny murmurs. “It looks almost… like…” He trails off.

“Like…?” You echo. He shakes his head, as though breaking from a reverie.

“It looks almost identical.” He says, but you feel like that is not quite what he meant to say initially. While his attention is elsewhere, you exchange a look with Simon. Simon seems quite familiar with Johnny, and perhaps what Johny might have meant, shaking his head wryly.

That leads you to wonder why Johnny can’t seem to see Simon. If he saw the ghostly figure besides you, surely he would have said something? If it was Simon that had made him flee the garden that first evening here, would it not stand to reason that Johnny knows something about Simon’s demise, and is perhaps more qualified than you to be able to see his ghostly form?

But Johnny says nothing, and his eyes never stop on Simon as he glances around.

“It’s… good to see the place be put in order.” He says primly, then moves to leave, “I will see you at dinner, my lady.”

You say your goodbyes and watch as he makes a swift exit. You and Simon listen as his footsteps become more and more distant. Then you crumple in on yourself.

“Ohhh, he hates it, he hates what I’ve done to it.” You bemoan miserably. “I’ve besmirched the memory of his lover and now he despises me all the more.”

“What! Are you daft?” Simon exclaims, “That was him saying thank you, stilted though it may be.”

“Don’t lie to me, Simon, you saw him! You heard his tone! I am an imposter in this garden, in this household, and he will never accept my being here.”

Simon grips your shoulders, meeting your gaze seriously, and it is the first time you have ever seen him look so angry.

“Don’t you dare speak that way. You, you shining, quaking thing, you belong here most of all. He cares for you, I know it.”

“No you don’t, no you don’t. You don’t see us in the house, Simon, you don’t see our dinners- he barely speaks to me aside from polite conversation and those few times he’s had a drink and forgets that it is me he is speaking to. There are times he looks at me and I can tell, it isn’t me he is seeing, not really.”

No matter how much Simon swears up and down that you’re wrong, nothing he says can change your mind. You depart the garden that day with a heavy heart, feeling as though you had said far too much to Simon, added onto his already heavy burden with your own trifling sorrows.

Weeks go by and nothing really changes. The sun sets and rises, the skies continue to be plagued by grey clouds, the heather blooms purple over the moorland. You busy yourself with the garden and making preparations for your head maid to visit some family, which meant reworking certain schedules, and Johnny busies himself with the business and the farmers in the area.

Then one day you happen upon a tattered letter. It slips out of an old book you had reached for in the library. The book had looked worn and well-loved, so you had reached for it out of curiosity, when out dropped a lone letter.

You read over it once, twice, thrice… then sank into the window seat with a hand over your mouth and wept, eyes tracing the words over and over again.

It was a letter addressed to Simon, from Johnny. There was evidence of old tears on the paper. The shaky strokes of the pen were visible in every word- every word a confession of love and regrets. Every other word was an apology. Sorry for leaving Simon in that town alone, sorry for not getting to the burning building fast enough, sorry for not confessing his love properly while he was alive. An account of all the sweet moments the two had that he would miss forevermore, and a single final ‘I love you’ finishing off the letter.

The dots all connected in your mind then. The love they shared, the garden that was built, the yearning glances and longing sighs- the burning house, the deep regrets, the haunting, the listlessness. It was a vivid picture painted in your mind, and suddenly you wanted nothing more than for there to be some happy ending for them. Your heart ached for their love story cut short, burned with your love for them.

You tried to compose yourself and set the letter back into the book, but then your eye caught on the inscription on the cover page of the book.

‘To my dear Johnny, I may not be the best with words, but I would borrow from all the poets in the world if only to see your smile.’

You stifle the sudden sob that bubbles up your throat, and flip through a couple pages of the book- all of it lovingly annotated, certain phrases underlined, notes in the margins of some pages. You gently, ever so carefully, fold the book closed and set it back in its place on the shelf.

That night all you can do is weep for the two.

But surely there must be something you can do? Simon may be a ghost but he is still here- that has to count for something, right? But then might he disappear if his regrets are laid to rest? You’ve read somewhere that ghosts are only souls that have unfinished business in the world of the living… You do not know enough about the supernatural to say anything for certain.

So you track down the old woman who’d first said there’s a ghost in the estate. She said she is a witch, did she not? Surely she might have some solution, something that could help? When you reach her little cottage and tell her all that has happened, all you have learned, you are not quite as composed as you’d thought you would be, instead kneeling at her side and telling your tale like a beseeching child, with tears sliding down your cheeks. The old lady strokes your hair comfortingly.

“Oh, my child… there is little that can be done when one is dead.” She says regretfully, “There is a balance in life, you see? One cannot bring back a life without giving something back in return of equal measure.”

You glance up sharply, eyes wild.

“A life for a life, then? It is possible?” You ask. The old woman is taken aback.

“Well, yes, but…”

“I could turn in my life for Simon’s? They could be happy together again?”

“It is… possible. But, child, what of your happiness?” She asks earnestly. You pause, contemplate. Then shake your head, determined.

“I would be overjoyed to see them reunite. That is my happiness.”

And so the plan is hatched. The witch needs some items of import to make the spell work, which you are able to obtain with some sneaking around. The difficult part is the spell must be done where the ghost’s presence is tethered. You aren’t certain where that may be until she starts asking where you tend to see Simon most often and where is his form most sturdy and visible. Then it becomes obvious to you it must be in the garden, so the issue lies in sneaking her out to garden with everyone none-the-wiser.

In the few days leading up to the spell, you become more withdrawn. Simon catches on quickly to the change, but chooses to let you keep your secrets. To your surprise, Johnny also seems to notice a difference in you, and unlike Simon, he is persistent in trying to figure out what might be the matter. With each passing day it becomes more and more difficult to brush him off.

But soon the night of the ritual is upon you. You sneak out of the house in your silky gown with naught but a single candle, and meet the old woman near the entrance to the garden.

Simon is instantly upon you, questioning and inquisitive as the witch sets everything up.

“What… what is this?” His face is grim.

“I’m bringing you back, Simon.” You answer lightly. His eyes widen at the realization as the witch starts chanting, cutting your palm open.

“No. No, stop this immediately!” He reaches for you, to pull you away, or push you back, but his hands phase right through you. It is one of the nights his form is weakest, and you’d purposely chosen today for that reason. “Don’t you dare. I need you here- we need you!”

You only send him a soft, doleful smile, taking a vial from the witch’s basket.

Panic sets on his face as he realizes he cannot stop you. His ghostly form disappears entirely, and part of you is glad you will not have to see the pain in his eyes when you go.

Simon had gone to get the aid of the only one who’d be able to stop you. He used all his strength to appear before Johnny, who’d been at his desk, writing ‘neath the candlelight. Johnny startles and watches, mouth agape, as Simon shouts at him to save you, that you’re in the garden, about to die.

That gets Johnny up and sprinting down the stairs and out to the garden, his shirt billowing in the window, his hair askew. Simon is right behind him, though his form fades in and out of existence. They burst into the garden, footsteps skidding on the dirt.

They are too late.

Johnny grips Simon’s arm in his shock, chest heaving, and Simon’s frame is sturdy, solid, alive as he supports him. Your body is still and motionless on the ground, your face pale, lips parted, eyes open but unseeing. The moon illuminates the scene, an unwilling witness to the tragedy that has befallen.

Simon sinks to his knees while Johnny cradles your limp body. There is nothing they can do but weep.

#ta-daaaa *jazz hands*#I just really needed to get it out of my system #but then once it was out and I read over it again I thought 'huh! that's not half bad!' and have now decided to share it #I guess you can either assume the two live forever with the guilt of her death but live a long happy life together #or the two had both fallen in love with her too and now are stuck forever mourning the death of another loved one #(or maybe they get into some sort of quest for a magic spell that can bring her to life and then they all live happily ever after? idk)#snurt writes #cod #ghoap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #ghost x reader #soap x reader

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skyward-floored · 1 year ago

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Temple of Darkness

Four swords manga scene rewriiiiiite

I forget specifically which number chapter this is, but it’s the one right at the end of the first volume with Blue and Red and the Temple of Darkness. I didn’t change a lot either— I mostly wanted to see how good of a job I could do writing out one of the scenes— but I’m happy with how it turned out :)

Ao3 link

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Blue isn’t planning on admitting it to anyone, but if he ever sees snow again, it’ll be too soon.

He gives his fingers a flex as he and Red walk through another portal the fairy makes, just to be absolutely sure he can still move them. They seem fine, but who knows? An ache still runs through his skin from being trapped in the ice, and there’s a small pit in his stomach whenever he thinks back to the time he spent stuck like that, blurry and indistinct as it was.

But he’s not there anymore. He can move, and breathe, and he should be focusing on finding Green, which is more important than his dumb urge to make a fire and take a nap beside it.

“Where are we now?” Blue asks in an effort to ignore his icy thoughts, looking around at where the fairy has brought them. There’s a structure ahead in the distance, but not much else. “I don’t see Green anywhere. ...I still think this is a trap.”

“We both heard him though! He’s got to be here somewhere,” Red says as he looks around, optimistic as ever. He points at the building. “Maybe he’s in there.”

“In there?” Blue says with a raised eyebrow, looking over the large temple built halfway into the rocks, foreboding dark stone reaching up to the sky. It doesn’t exactly seem like a place someone would want to go.

“Sure!” Red says optimistically, and Blue huffs, gesturing at the place.

“Why would he go in some creepy old temple?”

“Why not?”

Blue finds he doesn’t have a good argument for that.

So he follows Red towards the building, an uneasy feeling growing in him the closer they get. A prickle down his spine makes him shiver, but Blue shakes it off. He’s probably just cold from the ice still.

“This place sure looks creepy,” Red says as they get closer, his voice more quiet. The fairy that Red picked up somewhere is sitting on his shoulder, nervously fluttering her wings.

“It used to be called the Temple of Light,” she says as the building looms above them. “But... the rise of evil has turned it into the Temple of Darkness.”

“Well that’s great,” Blue says as they stop in front of the doors, Red eyeing them a bit nervously. “Sounds like a lot of fun. Maybe we can come back and take a vacation here—”

The doors creak as something pushes them, and Blue’s hand goes for his sword as Red jumps, both of them staring as footsteps approach.

“You’re finally here. I’ve been waiting.”

Unfortunately, Blue would recognize that obnoxious know-it-all voice anywhere.

“Vio?” he asks.

“Vio!” Red shouts at the same time, his face lighting up in ecstasy as the purple hero steps through the doors. “Vioooooo!”

Red rushes forward onto the steps of the temple to greet him, and as Blue follows him at a much slower pace, Vio gives them both that insufferable smile he always has plastered on his face.

...Blue certainly hasn’t missed it or anything.

“You’re safe! I’m soooo glad!” Red continues in an ecstatic voice, and Vio edges away from him when he goes in for a hug, merely patting him on the arm.

“So whaddya mean you’ve been waiting?” Blue asks, and Vio looks at him, expression unchanged.

“Green is inside too,” he says, gesturing to the doorway. “Hurry on in.”

“Really?! That’s great!” Red cheers as Vio pushes the doors open further, the same ominous creak accompanying the action.

Despite the creepy temple, Blue can’t help let a bit of Red’s optimism rub off on him as they follow Vio inside. Finding Green and Vio both in one fell swoop makes their job immensely easier. Now they’ll finally all be together again, after... he’s actually not sure how long apart.

He was encased in ice, sue him.

Point is, with them all together again, they can get back to stopping Shadow Link and Vaati, and finally save Zelda.

Blue nudges Red with a grin as they trail behind Vio, barely even caring how creepy the temple is. “With the four of us all back together, we just have to get the... Four Sword... and...”

He trails off as he takes in where Vio has brought them. It’s a large room with platform of some kind in the middle, a rectangular stone box at the top. Green’s sword is resting on the lid of it, and a strange feeling goes through Blue at the sight of it without its owner.

“...What’s this?” he asks Vio, staring at it in unease as Red peeks over his shoulder. A coffin?

Vio doesn’t look at him.

“The truth is...” he says quietly. “Green is dead.”

Something in Blue cracks.

“Wh... WHAT?!” he shouts, at the same moment that Red gasps out a horrified “no!”.

Vio still doesn’t look at either of them, and Red’s eyes well with tears as he drops to his knees, resting a horrified palm over the lid. Blue feels his hands begin to shake, and he moves forward and shoves the lid of the coffin off, determined to see Green for himself.

Then stares in disbelief at the sight that meets him.

“It’s empty!” he and Red say at the same time, Red’s voice shocked while Blue’s demands an answer.

“A monster engulfed him in flame,” Vio answers, voice still quiet, almost detached. “There was nothing left. It’s so sad...”

“It... it can’t be! Oh Green!” Red wails, tears already pouring from his eyes.

Blue can only stare at the empty coffin, a million different thoughts running through his head as his shaking hands grip the edge.

Anger is what shoves its way to the forefront though, anger at Vaati, anger at Shadow Link, anger at the monster that killed his brother so thoroughly that all they have to bury is an empty coffin and at Green for being stupid enough to die—

“We’ll never be four heroes again,” Vio continues, and Blue almost tells him to shut up when Red lets out a louder sob. “And there’s no way we can complete our quest.”

Red truly wails then, grief and the weight of what failure means hitting him and Blue both. Red presses his head to the coffin, and Blue feels the anger in him swell to something overwhelming. He grips Green’s sword in his hand so hard it hurts, his vision blurry and hot as Red sobs beside him.

“Green how could you?!” he shouts, voice breaking with grief, and he slams Green’s sword against the stone of his empty coffin.

The sword breaks into pieces.

Red jumps, and Blue stares in shock at the pieces of the sword, the blade crumbling, hilt cracked with pieces falling off.

“It’s... it’s a fake... made of stone,” he says as he and Red both stare in disbelief.

Then Blue feels the anger roar to life in him again as he realizes what this means, and he whirls back towards the purple hero.

“Vio, what’re you up to?!”

But Vio isn’t there.

“He... he’s gone!” Red gasps, voice still thick with tears. He and Blue both look around, and laughter echoes through the halls, high and cackling.

“Putting an end to you two fools!” the voice laughs in response to Blue’s question, and the ground shakes beneath them.

Monsters burst up through the stones, countless legs wriggling and pinchers gnashing as they loom over them. Blue can’t remember what they’re called, but he doesn’t waste time trying to figure it out, mind already swinging towards how to beat them.

“Both Vio and Green have already fallen into my clutches,” the echoing voice continues with no small glee. “The temple of darkness will be your grave!”

“Run!” Blue shouts as the voice tells the monsters to attack, and he and Red bolt out of the way as the moldorms dive at them.

The voice continues to laugh as they run deeper into the temple, Blue trying to put distance between them and the monsters. He hears a small noise over all the snarling and distant laughter, and looks back to see that Red has stopped moving, kneeling on the ground with his head bowed.

“C’mon Red! What’re you doing?!” Blue shouts, and Red looks at him through his hair, eyes shining with devastation.

“Blue I... I can’t go on,” he says in a small voice, dull with shock. “Green and Vio... both gone...”

Blue blinks at him, then marches back and grabs Red’s sleeve, trying to pull him to his feet.

“Pull yourself together! This is the trap!” he snaps, dragging Red to his feet as the monsters catch up. “They can’t beat us so they want to break our spirits!”

The possibility of Green and Vio truly being gone doesn’t even cross Blue’s mind. He doesn’t let it. It’s not a problem for now, not while they’re being chased by monsters trying to kill them.

Red doesn’t reply to Blue’s words, and as a monster lunges forward, Blue shoves him behind him and away from the snapping pinchers.

Red cries his name as the mandibles snap around Blue, and he grunts, wedging his sword in the moldorm’s mouth just in time to stop it from chopping him in two. He wrestles against its strength for a moment, arms straining as it tries to crush him. But then Blue shoves his blade down, slicing the moldorm straight down its middle.

He hits the ground running as it falls to pieces, and succeeds in pulling Red to his feet, grabbing his arm and tugging him deeper into the temple.

Red stumbles a little, but Blue doesn’t let go of him, slipping his grip down to hold Red’s hand instead of his arm. Red squeezes it tight, fingers trembling a little, and Blue holds back a sigh.

Red obviously isn’t going to be much help, not in this state. Which means it’s up to Blue to get them both through this alive.

Great.

It gets darker as they run, and colder too, but there’s nowhere else to go, so Blue keeps pulling Red along by the hand, going deeper and deeper into the Temple of Darkness. Red’s hand is shaking a little still, and the occasional soft sniffle reaches Blue’s ears, but Blue ignores them, and keeps going.

They run into what Blue thinks is a larger room, but it’s so dim he can barely tell. The moment they go through the doorway it slams shut behind them, leaving them in almost complete darkness.

“Ugh! Trapped again,” he growls in frustration, wiping some sweat off his brow. “It’s pitch black in here, I can barely see my stupid hand in front of me.”

Laughter echos somewhere again, but Blue ignores it, still catching his breath from his and Red’s sprint. He looks back at Red to see if he’s ready to keep moving, and huffs in annoyance.

Red is sitting silently against a pillar, his hands on his knees and expression vacant. Blue looks around for any monsters in the immediate vicinity, then glares down at the silent hero.

“Red! Quit your moping! Green and Vio aren’t dead,” he snaps, looking down at the fake sword of Green’s. It’s a convincing fake, but definitely that, the weight too heavy, the gold and green chipping from the handle. “That Vio we saw was probably just Shadow Link in disguise!”

“I don’t know,” Red says quietly. “He seemed pretty real.”

The response is so unlike Red that Blue is actually thrown a little, but a sudden cold feeling distracts him, prickling up his spine and giving him goosebumps.

Ugh, why did dark magic have to feel cold of all things?

Red puts his head to his knees, visibly wilting. “And where’s the real Vio?”

“Who cares?!” Blue snaps, looking around as the coldness intensifies. His heartbeat is speeding up, but he ignores it. “The whole reason we fell into this trap was ‘cuz we were so busy crying over Green!”

Red looks up then, tear tracks barely visible in the darkness. “Blue, aren’t you worried about the others?”

Blue pauses.

Yes, a little voice says in his mind, remembering how they’ve been split apart, the words of the echoing voice ringing through his ears, uncertain grief for Green and possibly Vio too still lurking in the shadows.

But he knows Green and Vio have both made it out of tough situations before. He knows they’re tough, they’re him after all, and if Blue is still here, then there’s no reason for them not to be.

“Not really,” he replies.

Red looks at him in disbelief. “...Seriously?”

The laugh echoes again as tears well bright in Red’s eyes, and suddenly he’s on his feet, grabbing at Blue’s tunic and giving him a watery glare.

“You can even make me mad!” he shouts, tears spilling over again as his voice breaks. “Were you stuck in that ice so long that your heart froze?! How can you not care?”

“Back off, Red!” Blue snaps back, ignoring the sting his words leave, cold sinking over him all over again. “You don’t get—”

“HEY! PAY ATTENTION TO ME!” a different voice howls, “I’M THE MONSTER HERE!”

Red and Blue freeze, and turn around to see a giant, snarling poe looming over them, glaring at them and baring its fangs.

...They run away screaming.

Unfortunately it’s still black as pitch in the room they’re in, and Blue doesn’t make it too far before he slams right into something made of very solid stone.

He yelps as pain radiates up his face, most sharply in his nose, and he’s so distracted by the blood dripping down his lip that he almost doesn’t notice the little ball of light that flitters by.

“Fairy!” Red calls in relief, and Blue blinks over at the little creature. Huh. He hadn’t even realized she’d left until now. “Where have you been?” Red asks as he reaches out to her, her glow lighting up the smile on his face.

“I’m sorry, I’m terrified of evil energy!” she apologizes, voice still a little weak, and she flutters off with a purpose. “Come! This way!”

Blue wipes the blood off his face, nose still stinging, and the fairy leads them through the room, her light bright as a beacon in the utter darkness that surrounds them. She leads them around a corner, and Blue blinks rapidly at the light that meets them. A lantern hangs from a hook on the wall, glowing a warm orange, and Blue takes it, relieved at a reliable source of light.

...And warmth.

“A lantern!” Red smiles, looking more like his old self with the discovery. His voice is still dull, but it’s lightened somewhat. “Thanks! Now we can see where we’re going!”

Blue almost smiles, then stops in his tracks as the cold feeling rushes back, striking him like an arrow and making their fairy freeze with terror.

A figure drifts out of the darkness, the same giant poe that scared them earlier. Blue and Red stare up at it as it looms closer, licking its lips, and Red grabs his arm with a scared look.

“You saved me the trouble of bringing you here myself!” the poe hisses, a few Bubbles floating by, skulls clattering as they quickly get out of the way. “This dark and unholy place is my home... a place of pure evil.”

It glides closer, and Blue feels that awful cold intensify, the one that reminds him of being trapped in the ice. Slowly freezing to death, every bit of him numb, unsure if he would ever be rescued.

It feels like pure despair.

“I can taste your fear, so delicious...” the poe chuckles, licking its lips, “but don’t worry. I’ll put you out of your misery soon.”

The cold feeling is sunk into Blue’s very bones now, worse than being trapped in the ice, terror rooting him in place so harshly he can’t so much as wiggle his toes.

I can’t move, he thinks in horror, gasping as he watches the poe stop directly in front of him, extending a ghostly hand. I can’t move, I can’t move I can’t move I can’t move again—

The hand settles above him, cold so intense it burns, and Blue feels something tug, something deep inside of him, something that shouldn’t ever be moved.

Then it’s being pulled out, and Blue can’t stop his scream. Horrible pain and unnatural wrongness tear through him as whatever it is is slowly, agonizingly, pulled out of him, and he feels like he might throw up.

“How sweet,” the poe purrs, laughing at his scream. “I love the taste of a soul trembling with fear!”

Red whimpers his name, but Blue barely hears it, mind nearly overwhelmed with fear and pain. He twitches as his soul is tugged around, the big poe muttering to itself, and Blue falls to his knees as the poe gives it a jolt.

“Yes... Green and Vio made great appetizers,” it says as it hungrily licks its lips, “but you two are the main course.”

Red sobs out his name as the poe starts tugging again, and Blue can’t even scream this time, breath stolen from him. The pain grows right to the edge of truly unbearable, but something about what the poe said sticks in Blue’s mind, trickling past the hopelessness and urging him not to give up.

He fights desperately past the pain and panic and coldness that’s only growing deeper— colder than anything he’s ever felt before— in order to speak.

“I... might...” he gets out, shaking with effort as his hand grips around the lantern, “have fallen for your tricks, but... Green, and V-Vio...”

Something warm fights against the coldness in Blue’s chest, and he shakily raises his head to glare at the poe.

“...they never would have! Y-you’re... hiding something! So let’s shed some light on the matter!” he yells, and using every bit of his strength, he thrusts the lantern into the Poe’s face.

It screeches and covers its eyes, releasing whatever it was of Blue’s that it had grabbed. Blue snaps back into himself with a full-body jolt, dizzy from the echo of pain in his soul, but he forces himself to focus past it. Later, it can wait until later.

“My eyes! Cursed light!” the poe howls, and their fairy jingles suddenly with an idea.

“Look, torches!” she cries, flying over to a brazier, “use the lantern to light the torches! Light drives off evil!”

Blue springs into action, Red still shivering in place with fear, and he lights them as fast as possible, his numb legs stumbling from remaining cold and fear.

“Oh no, we’ll have none of that!” the poe booms, recovered from Blue’s attack. It quickly blows a cold wind through the room, extinguishing all the torches Blue managed to light, and Blue growls in annoyance.

“Fine! I’ll just have to light ‘em faster!”

He runs along the wall, lighting torches fast as possible, and the poe snarls in anger while Red looks on in amazement.

“Why won’t you give up?!” the poe snarls, then blows the freezing wind again.

Except this time it doesn’t blow out... It sucks in.

And Blue is directly in its path.

His grip slips from the lantern as he’s pulled, and he drops it with a shout. He hears it crack, and then everything goes dark around him, freezing, endless cold hitting him from every side now.

“Oops... I swallowed him whole!” the big Poe’s voice echoes around him, and Blue slams a fist against the walls, ignoring the panic that’s roaring to life in him again.

“Hey!” he shouts, barely stopping his voice from breaking as he slams his fists against the poe. “Lemme out!”

The poe is unmoved. “Oh well. I’ll just have to crush your spirit...”

The dark walls around him suddenly constrict, cold squeezing him like a horrible embrace, and Blue’s breath is stolen as something crunches, pain shocking up his middle.

“...from the inside!”

“C-can’t draw my sword...” Blue grunts, making a desperate effort to grab it, but he’s being squeezed too tight to move.

His brain begins to go fuzzy as the walls squeeze tighter, making it hard to breathe. He hears distant shouting, Red’s voice echoing somewhere outside, but his ears begin to ring, and he can’t make out the words.

I don’t want to die, not like this, please not more cold again—

Suddenly the big poe howls, and the pressure is abruptly gone from around Blue, making him gasp in relief. He blindly grabs for his sword, and feels the force light up inside it, warming his hands.

“Prepare to face the heroic might of Blue Link!” he yells hoarsely, then stabs his blade directly into the big poe’s stomach.

It howls again, and explodes into pieces as Blue falls to the ground, Red screaming with joy and relief. He runs to Blue’s side and hugs him as light washes over the temple around them, and Blue doesn’t have the energy to resist.

“You did it Blue!” he cheers, tears back in his eyes, and Blue smiles back, his aches and pains forgotten in the rush of victory.

They did it.

A sudden thrum runs through his hands, and Blue looks down at his sword, the blade lighting up.

“Whoa! The Four Sword!” he exclaims, holding it out as it pulses with light.

Red moves to look at it in awe, and Blue feels a faint thrum from what must be the other blades, a distant chime of green washing over him, a steady glint of purple... warm red, but muted, and quickly silenced by shadows.

But Green and Vio are safe. That much he can tell.

I knew it was just a trap!

The glow fades, and Blue’s strength goes with it, his legs shaking as he practically collapses. Red plops down next to him, his hand still on his arm, and Blue breathes out, closing his eyes a second.

“You did it!” their fairy cheers, flitting over excitedly. “Big Poe is no more, and now the temple can return to the domain of light!”

“Good,” Blue croaks, holding a hand to his side. “It better, after all that.”

Red’s excitement dims a little at his raspy reply, and he frowns and puts a hand on his ribs. Blue flinches back, hissing through his teeth, and Red’s frown deepens. Being nearly crushed to death inside of that poe certainly didn’t do him any favors.

And maybe he’s a little shaky from all that dark magic, and the remnant of the freezing cold in his system, but Red hardly needs to know about that.

“Are you okay, Blue?” he asks, and Blue shrugs, wincing at the action.

“Fine,” he grumbles, pushing Red’s hand off. “You don’t need to fuss.”

Red looks at him hesitantly, then sighs, and begins rifling through his pouch in silence, the fairy sitting on his shoulder.

“...I’m sorry about what I said earlier,” Red says finally, voice a little thick. Blue looks at him in surprise, and Red chews nervously on his lip. “I know you care, Blue. I was just upset. And I’m worried about Green and Vio and everyone, and I was scared in there when it all seemed so hopeless... I shouldn’t take it out on you,” he finishes in a whisper. “Sorry.”

Blue huffs, and looks away, ignoring how the apology mends a little something inside him. “It’s not a big deal. But... thanks,” he mumbles.

Red brightens almost immediately, a wide smile on his face, and he gives Blue a quick squeeze before handing him the potion he’s dug out.

“Here. This’ll help your ribs.”

Blue nods his thanks and knocks it back, the potion’s magic quickly swirling around and concentrating in his middle. He sighs as it does its work, and Red leans on his shoulder, Blue not shoving him off.

“We should try to find Green again,” Red mentions after a minute, and Blue nods.

“He’s safe, I felt him through the Four Sword. But you’re right, we need to regroup,” Blue says. “We’re... stronger together. It’s time we became one team again.”

“I’ll see if I can sense any heroes nearby,” the fairy says, and Blue smirks.

“Just try not to dump us in another trap, alright?”

The fairy’s glow turns a little more pink, and Red giggles, the fairy chiming a little laugh as well after a moment.

“I’ll do my best. Try to rest up in the meantime, you two,” she suggests, and Blue closes his eyes, leaning a little more against Red and enjoying his warmth, the deep cold finally fading.

She doesn’t have to tell him twice.

#blue kinda stole the show lol #four swords #four swords manga #loz fsa #blue link #red link #don’t tag as ship #legend of zelda #fic #legend of zelda fanfiction #tw injury #is this whump? it kinda is #whump #there #writing from the floor #ta daaaa a scene rewrite #it was harder than you’d think to write out an action scene in word form as opposed to pictures #it was a good writing exercise!#and I had fun lol I adore this manga sooooo much

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