#Fjord: '...it's in the guest bedroom'

[wintershades]

In honor of Fjord and Jester’s weird little abode, I wanted to share a fluffy house-shopping scene from Seen Through the Deadlight. :)

This episode of House Hunters Nicodranas does include (✔) a strange, somewhat ramshackle house, (✔) Jester’s unhelpful assistance with Fjord’s casting of Augury, and (✔) cinnamon pastries.

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Months ago—before Jester sold her first painting, before Fjord took up his project at the lighthouse, before Marion had the courage to step out alone—they’d gone house-hunting in Nicodranas.

Fjord’s requirements were simple: An ocean view, and a roof that didn’t leak. Unsurprisingly, the Lavorre women were more particular. He and Jester toured place after place, but not one of them captured the tiefling’s heart. And, more than once, they showed up at a home and found that it had already been rented.

“I really didn’t think there could be anything worse than shopping,” Fjord said as they walked back toward the Lavish Chateau. Jester dragged along beside him, her spirits dampened.

“You were the one who said we should get our own place.”

“Yes, but I could live anywhere. All you need is four walls and a roof. You don’t need”—he tried to remember the terms the last landlord had used—“lively neighborhood amenities.”

Jester stuck out her bottom lip. “I need lively neighborhood amenities!” she said as they passed a small side street. “And if I’m going to live someplace, it has to feel like home.”

“See, this is where we—”

“Look!”

She grabbed his arm, pulling him to a stop. Toward the end of the street, a slender half-elf was attaching an angled fixture to a building—the sort that was used to advertise a place for rent. Before Fjord could speak, Jester was running down the middle of the road, waving her arms at the stranger.

“Hey! Are you showing this place?”

The woman stared at her. “Well—I was going to start—”

“Can we see?” Jester asked, desperation in her voice.

Fjord hurried to catch up. “Sorry! We’ve spent the day running from place to place, and they seem to be going quick. Snowbirds from the Empire coming down to roost, you know?” He smiled at the half-elf, leaning hard into his charm. “We’d be pleased to look, if it’s not a bother?”

She looked at him, and he held her gaze warmly, and the faintest bit of color appeared in her cheeks. “Of course. It hasn’t been fully tidied up yet, but—”

“Woo! Let’s see it!” Jester cheered.

“We’re grateful for your time,” Fjord said.

The woman got into her bag and began to sift through some sets of keys. This gave Fjord the opportunity to back up a few steps, and actually see the place that they were going to tour.

The city of Nicodranas was known for its eclectic architecture, but usually, individual buildings held to a given style. This home absolutely did not. He spotted hints of Zemnian influence in the design of the windows—a decidedly Marquesian flavor in the graceful slopes of the roof—a familiar bright color scheme that was common on the Menagerie Coast—and a stonework pattern that he could swear he’d glimpsed in Tal’Dorei.

A tacked-on tower rose from rooftop, making the house look like it was craning its neck. The whole structure was built into a slope, and to his eyes, without the use or knowledge of a level.

“Um, Jester? Maybe—”

But she was already going inside, and all he could do was follow.

Upon stepping through the doorway, Fjord paused to let his eyes adjust. To his surprise, the front room was cozy and welcoming, if a little on the shabby side. It smelled lightly of dried flowers and hearth smoke.

And just above the door, carved into its thick frame, was an ornate likeness of the Wildmother.

It depicted her statue at the Mother’s Lighthouse, with her hands outstretched toward the viewer and waves spilling out beneath. Fjord blinked, half-convinced he was seeing things—but as they toured the home, he found her influence everywhere.

In the kitchen, there were sheaves of wheat carved into the cabinets. Two crooks framed the stone fireplace in the sitting room. And in a side room, which appeared to have once served as a shop, the stained glass panels above the windows depicted a nautical scene: Ships sailing toward a lovely sunrise, their sails filled by the Wildmother’s gentle breath.

Fjord looked at the scene so long that he was nearly left behind by the others. Upstairs, they found two bedrooms—including one with a fabulous view of the city and the sea—and an intriguing (if somewhat wobbly) spiral staircase that lead to a tiny study in the tower.

As they came back to the ground floor, Jester turned to the half-elf. “Mind if we take a minute to talk?” she asked, gesturing to Fjord. The woman smiled.

“Of course. Why not take a look at the garden while you’re at it?” she said, and she pointed down the hall. As the couple headed in that direction, Jester touched Fjord’s arm.

“I really like this place,” she whispered.

“So do I. But is it your style? . . . It’s the definition of a fixer-upper.”

“I like fixer-uppers.”

She looked at him then—just long enough for him to say: “Wait, what?”—and then pushed open the doors to the garden. It was humble, and overgrown, and perfectly lovely.

“Did you see all of those symbols of the Wildmother? Maybe it’s a sign,” Jester mused. Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. “I know! Do that thing, Fjord. The thing with the little bones!”

“Augury?” he said, and he started to dig through his bag. “You can do it, too, you know.”

“Sure, but I never prepare boring spells like that,” Jester replied. Fjord made a face at her.

“. . . I like Augury.”

Jester patted his arm affectionately. “Exactly. So let’s use it.”

Still looking at her through narrowed eyes, Fjord withdrew a small pouch from his bag. It held a handful of small, intricately-carved bones that Caduceus had sent to him. (Fjord didn’t inquire as to what or who they came from, and didn’t really care to know.)

He set them out on a small table in the center of the garden. Then, he reached out to the Wildmother, doing his best to concentrate as Jester softly chanted “weal or woe, weal or woe” in the background.

He asked: Would this place be a good home to us?

A few moments passed. The bones did nothing.

“Did you do it right?” Jester wondered. Fjord gave her a sour look and opened his mouth to respond, only for his senses to be otherwise occupied. An incredibly delicious scent wafted on the air, and for a moment, it was all he could think about.

“Hey, do you smell . . . .”

Sugar. Butter. Cinnamon.

Instantly, Jester was on high alert. She straightened up and started turning in a slow circle, trying to trace the origin of the smell. Then, when she and Fjord looked back down, they saw that the bones had rearranged themselves into an arrow that pointed toward the garden’s rear fence.

Jester bolted in that direction and tried to peer through the slats, but the boards were fixed too closely together. For his part, Fjord was just tall enough to see over top. He approached, and took a look, and immediately made another face.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he muttered aloud. By this point, Jester was practically dangling from his neck.

“What is it? What do you see? Give me a lift, Fjord! I want to see!”

She gave a little hop then, and she kicked her legs around his waist, making him stagger. Once Fjord righted himself, he braced his hands under her thighs and boosted her up.

“Listen, this is not a sign,” he warned her. “This is only a—”

“Oh my god. Oh my god.”

A short distance behind them, the half-elf emerged from the home. “I forgot to mention,” she said, “that you’re next door to Delacroix’s. They’re famous for their—”

“Cinnamon rolls,” Jester breathed. She looked to the bakery—to Fjord—to the bakery—back at Fjord—and then to the half-elf. And then she declared: “We’ll take it!”

Fjord looked at her with alarm. “Now, wait a minute. We haven’t even asked—” He turned to the woman. “I’m sorry. What’s the rent?”

She blinked at them. “Oh. Oh, it’s not for rent. It’s for sale.”

The couple turned to one another. To Fjord, this was a serious decision, both in regard to their immediate plans and to their pocketbooks. Was it wise to own a house when they intended to spend so much time away? What sort of money would it take to fix it up?

More than that—it was a commitment. Each decision like this gently knitted their lives closer and closer together. Was she all right with that? Or was this too fast?

Jester tilted her head to one side, her jewelry jingling, and he felt that they understood each another. They looked back at the half-elf.

“We’ll take it,” Jester said again. Fjord nearly dropped her.

“Jester.”

“Weal, Fjord. Weal. The Wildmother has spoken,” she told him. And evidently, he learned, the Wildmother had a sense of humor.

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[snaillamp]

Jod - day 27 - Unwelcome guests

Masterlist

Day 27: “I’m so sorry.” | Sacrifice | Obsession | Display |

Enjar stood from the small rowboat, making his way to shore. He gazed out onto the fjord, watching the mist drift over the water. He sighed, looking at the small catch he had managed to bring in. It would last him a while if he dried it, but he might have to go hunting for game later.

Hauling the boat in, he lifted the nets and pulled the fish from them, placing them in a sack and throwing it over his shoulder. His boots squeaked as he walked across the stony beach, trudging back to the pathway leading home. A cold wind whipped up from the ocean, sending spray flying into Enjar’s hair and face. He licked the salt from his lips, opening the door to his cabin and dumping the fish on the old wooden table. Pulling the small radio from his belt, he placed it in the dock next to an old shortwave radio that was on the table beside the front door.

The cabin attached to a large lighthouse. It was small, stone and comprised of three rooms, a bedroom, a bathroom and a kitchen/living area. A small fire place was tucked in the corner of the kitchen side and dry driftwood was piled beside it. On the other side, an old, sagging sofa that had been there long before he had moved in, was pushed against the wall under the window. He didn’t have the heart to get rid of it, and besides, it was quite comfy, despite its’ age. Beside it, the ancient shortwave radio, along with the smaller, newer portable radio, taking up the space on the side table.

There was a door on the other side of the cabin leading to a winding staircase. It reached its’ way up to the top of the lighthouse that was gently spinning a light out into the abyss of the black, churning ocean. Beside the door was a large built-in closet, filled with rope and climbing gear. When he was bored, Enjar liked to abseil, and it was helpful to use for maintenance on the tower.

He lifted some of the wood into the fireplace, then placing some kindling, old paper, into the wood pile, he lit a match, then the kindling, watching the flames begin to consume the wood. Standing from the fireplace, he moved to the kitchen sink. There were three fish, as long as his forearm that he needed to harvest. Leaning over in the sink, he began laying out the flesh he cut to be preserved in salt. He laid the strips on a salt covered tray and sprinkled dried herbs over them.

When Enjar had finished, he pulled a chair from beside the table and set it in front of the fire, beginning to clean the knife. After a few minutes of staring at the flames and listening to the wild wind, he fell asleep, the knife clattering to the floor as it slipped from his hand. He slumped in the chair, in front of the warm flames, tired and sore from a long day of fishing.

Enjar waited as the man walked into the trees. His large gun shined dully in the pelting rain as he disappeared behind a bush. Enjar looked through the binoculars spotting the man again. It was a Viktor Madsen, and he was an evil man. He had kidnapped a woman and was holding her hostage in a bunker in the woods.

His only mistake was that he had let her keep her phone, which had been pinging off a tower in this area for two days. “Suspect spotted. Squad A moving in.” Enjar muttered into a radio. He was young, but elite. His taskforce was the best of the best, ready to jump into action at any moment. He had done so many rescues before, this would be a piece of cake.

Shots rang out as the man behind Enjar flew backwards. He had triggered a booby trap. Glancing behind him Enjar felt his stomach drop. There was no helping his comrade now. More shots rang out and he fell to the ground, panting as he scanned the trees. He couldn’t tell where the shooting was coming from in the rain. He lay there, deep in the bush, completely still, waiting for the man to emerge into the downpour. He watched as Viktor ran across his line of sight. Readying his own gun, Enjar took a breath, aiming carefully and…

Bang.

Waking to the sound of banging on his door Enjar looked around. Pulling his hair over his shoulder, he walked to the door, glancing through the window. It was small and covered in salt, making it hard to see through, but it didn’t help that it was also really dark. Reaching for an old oil lamp by the door, he lit it with a match, holding the warm light near his head as he opened the door into the screaming wind.

The man was young, haggard and tired. He had to be at least 20, so 10 years younger than Enjar at least. He stared at Enjar with gaunt, scared eyes as he was illuminated with the warm light. Enjar noticed his eyes falling to the large, thin scar trailing across his face, running from his left temple, down past his eye and settling across his cheek. He did admit to himself, it made him look more scary than he was, which wasn’t always a bad thing.

“What are you doing out here on a night like this?” Enjar asked the man, who shivered. He was wearing a thin, long sleeved shirt and some long, baggy cargo pants, not exactly warm gear. “Come inside and warm up, hey?” Enjar moved to the side a little, making space for the man to squeeze through. The man hesitated for a second, before walking inside.

Enjar placed the lantern on the table before going to switch on the lights. The dull lamps flickered and buzzed as they jumped to life, humming slightly. Turning off the lamp, Enjar offered the chair in front of the fire to the man, who silently accepted. He shivered as he sat in front of the dying fire, so Enjar stepped in and piled more wood onto the weak flames. “So, what’s your name, stranger?” He smiled slightly, looking up at the young man. “N-Nils.” The man replied, rubbing his arms with his hands. Enjar sighed, looking at the pale man, whose chattering teeth were beginning to slow. “Wait here, I’ll get you a blanket.”

Walking into the other room, the bedroom, Enjar pulled open the closet. He found a thick, woolen blanket and pulled it out. It smelled kind of musty, but then again it had been there when he took over as lighthouse keeper, almost 10 years ago. It was a dull, grey colour, quite warm in the cold winters, Enjar actually quite liked it. He brought it out of the room, looking at Nils, who was a little less blue in front of the flames. He had taken his feet out of the big, maybe too big, leather boots he was wearing and was resting his feet in front of the fire. He had removed his thin ankle socks to reveal his purple toes, not purple from cold but from bruises. His feet were swollen and cut up pretty badly. Enjar frowned, looking at Nils’ feet with suspicion.

“Here, it smells kinda bad but it’ll warm you up quick.” Enjar said quietly, wrapping the blanket around Nils, who pulled it close to him. Enjar noticed the cuts on his knuckles as he grabbed the edges of the blanket, but they were quickly hidden by the fabric as Nils pulled it around his body. “You eaten?” He asked the man, who shook his head. Sighing, Enjar walked to the counter of the kitchen, opening the cupboard under it and looking at what he had. His stock of dried meat and herbs was low, not that Nils would really eat it anyway. He needed something warm.

Opening the small pantry cupboard, Enjar looked at what he had. A large bag of flour, a small bag of sugar, yeast and some stock cubes were laid messily on one shelf, while a large bucket of salt, a bottle of oil and a battered tin of coffee were on the lower shelf, equally as messy. A thin layer of dust covered the highest shelf, the biscuit tin containing sewing supplies untouched for months, and a mortar and pestle, also unused pushed to the back of the shelf. “Shit, I really don’t have much, do I?” He muttered looking at the barren pantry. He went over to he mini fridge beside the pantry, opening it and looking inside. Fresh veggies and fruits were piled inside the crisper drawer, along with milk, fresh bread and a few sausages. “There we go.” He smiled, pulling a potato and two sausages from the fridge.

After mixing everything up on the small stove beside the sink, Enjar handed Nils a plate of sausages and mashed potato, with a steaming cup of coffee to boot. Nils’ eyes lit up and he eagerly ate the food, not even accepting the fork Enjar offered him. Enjar shrugged, placing the fork back on the drawer it came from, before walking over to sit beside the fire. He noticed his knife near Nils’ foot and reached over, grabbing it, causing Nils to jump. “Hey, it’s okay. Just grabbing my knife I dropped earlier.” He held it up, before placing it above the fireplace, next to the seagull skull.

A seagull had flown into the window and broken its’ neck a few years ago, and Enjar, always up for something to do, had decided to keep the bones. The skull looked nice on the mantle, ever watching with curious, unseen eyes. It was comforting to have some company out here in the lonely wilderness, and Enjar even talked to it occasionally. He had called it Ulrich.

Nils finished the food and set the plate down at his feet. It had been licked clean. “Damn, I won’t have to clean it, you’ve already done it for me!” Enjar joked, looking at the man who stared back blankly. “Okay then…” He reached forward, picking up the plate and taking it to the kitchen sink. When he put it in, it hit the side of the sink, making a dull metallic thud and Nils twitched in the chair. Enjar frowned again, returning to his spot, resting his head against the wall. He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, feeling it bend stiffly due to the layers of salt. He should really wash it soon.

“So Nils, what’s caused you to come out here in this weather. It’s not great to be out right now, given the storm front coming in.” Nils nodded, slouching in the chair. “It’s nothing.” He looked at Enjar, who tried to smile gently, but Nils quickly looked away, instead staring into the flames and leaving him smiling at nothing. “I’m Enjar, by the way. Been this lighthouse’s keeper for 8 years. I never really have anything like this happen, sure I’ve gone looking for missing people and such, but not many people turn up at my door. They tend to only do that when they want something.” He glanced at the shortwave beside the sofa.

The thing was ancient, probably older than he was, but it worked like a charm. It had crackled to life on many an occasion, usually the coast guard wanting assistance with finding missing fishermen or hikers. One of his favourite missions however, had been when he had had to help a guy abseiling when he got stuck on a cliff face. Enjar had used his own gear to rappel down and clip the guy on, before climbing all the way back up. A small red light on the machine blinked slowly, showing it was on.

“No reason. Just hiking. Weather turned and I saw the light from the lighthouse. Figured I could stay here until morning.” Nils murmured. Enjar nodded, his suspicion growing. “Well, you’re certainly well outfitted for a hike… Where’s your gear?” Nils glanced in his direction, knowing Enjar didn’t believe his lie. “Well, Mr Nils, you can stay on the sofa for the night. Let me know if you need anything, and I can take you to where you want to be tomorrow. Fuel is short though, I might only be able to get you as far as town in my truck.”

Nils nodded, standing from the chair and shuffling to the sofa, lying down on it. Enjar walked to his room and pulled a thick quilt from the closet, bringing it over to the cold man. He lay it over the top of him and walked to the light switch, pointing at his door. “I’m in there, need anything at all, just knock.” Smiling, he turned out the light and shuffled to his room.

The wind began to howl even louder as Enjar quickly changed clothes. He curled up in bed, sinking into the soft mattress before kicking himself for not having a shower. He probably stank of fish. Looking at the door to the bathroom, he sighed, he would do it tomorrow, the water would take forever to warm up in this weather anyway. Drifting off into a restless sleep, he dreamed of howling winds and cold rain, battering down on his skin…

Bang.

He missed Viktor by less than a millimetre. The running man froze, looking directly in Enjar’s direction. The rest of his team were gone. It was just him, he was the only one able to take this scumbag down. For the woman, for his friends, for his team. He aimed at the man, lining his barrel up perfectly and pulled the trigger.

The gun jammed.

‘Shit’ Enjar thought as he saw the man approaching him pull a machete from his belt.

Before he realised what was happening the man was on top of Enjar, raising the blade. Enjar felt his arms sting as he raised them to protect his face. His helmet got knocked off, maybe cut, in the struggle, and the man swung the blade again, catching Enjar’s temple. He felt the blade slice the skin down his eye and across his cheek, making his face scream in agony. He realised it was actually him screaming.

Enjar woke with a start, moaning softly and sweating hard. He rolled over, glancing at his clock, 3 am. The red, digital numbers glowed in the dark, as the rain battered the window. Nights like these brought back memories he would rather forget. He threw the blankets off his body, in an effort to cool down and rolled up his sleeves, revealing the deep scars on his forearms.

Standing from bed, he groaned, pulling his sweat stained hair back and tying it behind his head. It was below his shoulders now, it had been that long since he’d cut it, but he was kind of enjoying the change. He’d had short hair his whole life, this made him feel… it made him feel like he could be someone else, not the person he was before, despite the scars he carried as a reminder.

Walking into the bathroom, he turned on the dim, yellow light, twisting on the stiff tap and watching the water trickle out. “Pressure’s shit itself again…” He mumbled to himself, sticking his hand under the water, before pulling it back. It was ice cold. “Fuck.” He shook the water off, rubbing his hand and standing there, waiting for the water to warm up.

Eventually, a small trail of steam rose from the tap and he splashed his face with it. The warmth melted the sleepiness away as he switched off the tap, turning off the light and returning to bed feeling a little better. Pulling the blankets back over his body, he shivered as he stared at the clock, watching the red numbers tick up, 3:15, 3:34, 3:59, 4:00. Sighing, he rolled over, shutting his eyes and trying to fall back to sleep. Just as he was slipping away, a soft knock echoed from his door.

Groaning in slight annoyance, Enjar sat up, rubbing his face. He had forgotten he’d acquired a guest. Stepping out of bed, he walked over to the door. When he opened it, he looked at the man standing in the doorway, his expression as gaunt as ever. “What’s up?” He mumbled, looking at Nils and blinking slowly with tired eyes. “They’re coming.” Nils whispered, staring at Enjar, spooked.

“Wait, what?” Enjar asked sleepily, “Who’s coming?” he looked at Nils who was visibly shaking. “Lars. He’s… I don’t know, but I heard it on that.” He pointed at the shortwave. “What?” Enjar shook his head, entering the main room. “What exactly did you hear?”

Nils sat on the couch, pulling the blanket around his body, almost as a defence against the short wave. “I heard him. He was talking, that thing spoke.” He shivered. “He said that he would check the lighthouse next. The keeper wouldn’t be a problem. He was talking to me...” Enjar frowned, looking at the spooked man. “So… Who’s Lars then.”

“Lars Sorensen.” Enjar’s face grew stern. “The murderer? That Lars Sorensen?” Nils nodded. “He escaped with two other men. They split up and were talking on radios they stole from somewhere. Guards at the prison I think.” He shivered, “I worked there as an officer, they took me hostage… I’d only been working there a few months and… You have to help me they’ll kill me if they find me.” Enjar looked at the man shuddering on the sofa. His pleading eyes seemed to be telling the truth at least partially.

“Fine.” Enjar sighed. “Take the blankets and go up to the tower. Climb the stairs until you reach the top. There’s a small maintenance closet at the top you can hide in. I’ll tell them I haven’t seen anyone around.” He glanced at the shoes and socks by the fire, picking them up and placing them in the cupboard under the kitchen counter. Looking up at Nils, he raised his eyebrows, “Well, go!” he pointed at the door and Nils sprung up, grabbing the blankets and racing to the door.

Enjar heard the shortwave crackle to life, it was Matthew, the local coast guard. “Attention all staff in the area this is Base. I repeat attention all staff, this is Base. Be advised there have been escaped convicts sighted in the area. Be on look out for four men, Lars Sorensen, Hugo Andersen, Neil Larson and Nils Strass. Consider them armed and dangerous. Do not approach. Report all sightings to me immediately. Do you copy Tower 1?” Enjar listened as each of the towers answered.

“Do you copy Tower 4?”

Enjar reached for the receiver, “Tower 4, copy. Be advised, I heard some chatter, no one I recognised. Do the men in question have radios? Tower 4 out.” His mind was reeling, was Nils also a convict? Should he even be helping him?

“Copy, Tower 4. Checking now,” a few seconds ticked by as Enjar waited for the reply. “Yes, they have radios. Passing that on now, thanks Tower 4. Will send some…” The radio was overcome with scrambled buzzing, “Tower 4 do you…” Enjar reached for the receiver, “Base repeat?” “Tow- Be advis- Cauti- Tower 4. Over?” Trying to contact Matthew again, Enjar heard the wind howl against the lighthouse. The radio buzzed and then went quiet. “Dang it. The storm is interfering with the signal. Piece of shit.” He looked at the machine, twisting nobs and pressing a couple of buttons. It made a high pitched whine, before promptly cutting out. Trying the hand held radio, Enjar spoke into it, only receiving static. “Shit. Signal’s gone”

He sat on the sofa, hoping that someone would be able to come and check on him as he watched the rain batter against the window. The fire had died down to embers now, providing a slight glowing light. As he watched the raindrops race down the window, he began to feel sleep settle in. He lay back on the sofa, shivering as the wind shook the rattling window and letting a sliver of cool air in. As he dozed, arm flopped over the edge of the sofa, he swore he saw a shadow in the window. His stomach sank.

It all happened in a few seconds.

The door burst open and a large, wet, bearded man barged into the cabin. He had a large purple bruise on his cheek and a blackened eye, clearly from a well placed punch. Enjar leapt from the sofa, staring at him. “Heard your little conversation. Though I’d come and put a name and face to that lovely voice of yours.” He growled, holding up a small, handheld radio, before he placed it in his pocket. The wind whistled through the cabin as the man rushed at Enjar, who dodged, flinging himself onto the sofa, then diving towards the fireplace. The man was panting as he rested his hand against the edge of the sofa. “Ahh, so it’s going to be like that huh?” His cold, dead eyes stared into Enjar’s, sending a shiver down his spine. He had seen eyes like that before.

Lars Sorensen however, was famous. He was convicted almost 5 years before of heinous murders. He’d killed at least a dozen people, probably more realistically. But now, he was standing in front of Enjar, even bigger and uglier than his photo made him out to be.

Enjar’s hand found the small shovel used to clean coals from the fire. He gripped the it, shoving the shovel into the hot ash and scooping some up. He flung them at Lars who put up his arms in front of his face. He was wearing a cheap, nylon jumper that the few small coals went straight through, as well as the prison jumpsuit he had on underneath. They bounced off his heavy boots, before Lars lowered his arms, stamping out the glowing embers. “Oh, you’re going to regret that.”

He lunged again, Enjar using the shovel to move the chair into his way. Lars picked it up and threw it at him, forcing him to duck. Enjar swung the shovel back at him, the hot metal landing on Lars’ pale face, making him yelp in pain. He knew Lars was cold and he couldn’t keep up fighting for long, but then again, neither could Enjar. He had to end this now. The door shook as the wind blew against it, causing the embers to flare and then fade.

In the darkened room it was already hard to see, but the loss of the one source of light made it nearly impossible. Enjar heard a heavy footstep behind him but couldn’t move out of the way in time. A large, meaty hand landed on his shoulder, crushing it and pulling him around to face the man holding him. Enjar gasped in pain as both shoulders were grabbed, and he was thrown back hard against the wall.

The walls were made of exposed stone, great for trapping heat, not so great for a soft landing. Enjar felt his head crack against it, sending a bright, sharp pain through his head. The hands met his shoulders again, pulling him forward. “Where’s that brat Nils? I know he’s here.” Enjar looked up, feigning confusion. “The only Nils I know is the pharmacist in town. So… the pharmacy I guess.” Lars threw him against the bricks and he felt his head crack against the stone again. He felt dizzy now. 


“Don’t play smart with me, keeper. I know you know who I mean. Little bastard left footprints leading right to your door. I followed them right here.” He pointed at the muddy footprints scattered across the floor. “Those? They’re mine. I leave the house you know, I’ve got stuff to do. I’m a lighthouse keeper not a hermit.” Lars threw him against the wall again. The world began to sway and Enjar’s legs felt a bit weak.

“That’s a lie. I tracked them myself.” Lars lifted a small torch from his pocket, turning it on and shining it in Enjar’s eyes, forcing him to squint. “Nice scar. Think I’ll add another one if you don’t tell me where that son of a bitch is.” Enjar glanced up at the convict, panting as he tried to stay awake. “I have… no idea… who you’re talking… about.”

Lars bristled. “Liar!” He screamed, pulling Enjar forward, before slamming him back one more time. Enjar heard a ringing in his ears as the weight lifted off his shoulders and he groaned, sinking to the floor. His head felt like it had exploded, it was pounding as he came to a stop on the floor, slumped against the wall. Lars chuckled, patting his head and trudging off into the cabin. “Oh Nils, where are you? Nils? NILS?!” He hollered into the cabin, which was the last thing Enjar heard before the world went dark.

Lars heard the lighthouse keeper sigh. Tuning around, he saw the man go limp, slumped heavily against the wall.

He wouldn’t be an issue now.

Walking to the sagging, pathetic sofa, he bent down, looking under it. There was nothing there except dust. The door swung noisily on its’ hinges, annoying and squeaky. Lars groaned, walking to door and slamming it shut. It rattled, shaken at the force at which it was pulled shut, but was enough to make the small glass window shudder.

Opening all the cupboard doors in the kitchen Lars peered in, unable to see much. Feeling around he couldn’t grab anything, until his hands came to rest on a container. ‘This bastard eats almost nothing. Unless he’s fed it all to that weasel.’ He though to himself, opening the container and smelling the pleasant smell of dried meat. Grabbing a handful of dried meat, he shoveled it in his mouth. It tasted quite good, causing him to lift his eyebrows in surprise at the pleasant mix of dried herbs and salt. Swallowing the meat he continued to the bedroom.

Ripping the blankets from the bed, then checking under it, he sighed in frustration. He tore open the closet door, being met with with a few musty smelling quilts and blankets. A moth fluttered out of the space and into the room. Moving to the bathroom, he flicked on the light, listening to it buzz. The room was small, a toilet, tiny sink and a pitiful shower. He found it hard to believe the keeper man chose to live like this. Lars had a better bathroom in prison. Then again, this was almost a prison in and of itself, in a way. ‘Damn lighthouse.’ He thought to himself.

Leaving the bathroom, he made his way to the main room, stumbling around in the dark, until he spied the light switch. He fumbled his way over, turning it on. In the dim, flickering light he observed the scene before him.

The lighthouse keeper was crumpled on the floor, blood flowing down the back of his neck, over his ear and onto his shoulder. There was a smear of blood on the wall above him too, where his head had been slammed and sank.

As he walked back through the kitchen, he noticed the shoes and socks tucked away. They were way too large to be the keeper’s shoes and Nils had been forced to grab a large pair… Lars smiled to himself. He opened the closet by the door he hadn’t noticed in the dark and laughed with glee at the sight. Rope. Lots and lots of rope. Picking up one of them from the closet, he walked over to the lighthouse keeper. He grabbed the chair he had thrown at him and sat it up. Picking up the body of the man, he dragged the lighthouse keeper into the chair. ‘For a man a lot smaller than me, he’s a heavy son of a bitch.’ Lars thought, dropping the limp keeper in the chair with a thud.

He tied the man’s arms to the back of the chair, noticing the scars. ‘Gotta be careful with this one. Must be a fighter.’ His mind flickered with annoyance at this, the small burns on his own arm throbbing a little. Soon the keeper was all tied up, so at least enough so that if he woke, he wouldn’t be going anywhere. 

Lars noticed he was quite still, but he could hear the tiny sounds of his breath going in and out, so he knew he was alive. It was better that way, at least for now.

He turned and stared at the door leading to what he assumed was the tower. “I wonder what the views are like from up there? Well, I’d better go see for myself…” he muttered in the keeper’s ear, stroking the man’s long hair. He pulled the hair tie from his head, sliding it around his own wrist. “Might come in handy.” He muttered, thinking about his own head of hair or what was left of it. He was nearly bald, but his beard was as bushy as ever. Gathering it up and securing it with the band, Lars made his way to the door, grabbing the handle. He held his breath for a second before rushing in.

The bottom of the slim, steep metal stairs was barren. An old set of skis was leaning against the wall, clearly not used in forever. Next to that was a can of fuel for a car. Nudging it, Lars huffed in frustration. It was empty.

Beginning the climb he marveled at the design of the tower. It wasn’t stairs all the way up, instead there was a floor halfway up the tower. He’d never actually been inside a big one like this, he’d only ever seen the little ones that no one even lived in, not the traditional red and white striped ones. Upon reaching the floor, he observed the scene.

There was a workbench and some tools, probably for maintaining the light, and a large closet. Grinning he crept over to it, the cold tower making his skin prickle, with the added excitement of the chase already making him giddy. Pulling open the closet, he sighed in frustration. It was full of oil and grease and a huge light, probably a replacement for the big turning one. There was also a flat thing covered in a soft sheet. Picking at the sheet, Lars realised it was a mirror. Pulling it forward, he checked behind it.

No Nils.

Maybe the keeper had taken his shoes and passed him on. The bastard did steal a pair that were way to big for him. He had paid for it though, when he had to walk over the rocky beach with no shoes because he kept tripping. He slowed them down more than the other two had, not that they were much better. Then again, they weren’t a problem anymore anyway.

“Nils…” Lars softly called out. He listened, waiting for any sound. Nothing. Continuing his climb to the tower, he reached the final floor with a low ceiling. He had to crouch a little, as he noticed the trap door and small, iron ladder. He walked up to it, pushing the door open and stepping up into the light room. It was smaller than he’d imagined it to be, the light humming slowly as the machine rotated lazily in circles. Stepping up into the room, he watched for any sign of the ratty little man, but to no avail. Stepping back down, he pulled the heavy trapdoor shut, turning to leave.

He noticed the door.

Half the room was bricked off, turned into a large closet, presumably to store stuff… The perfect hiding spot. Lars took in an excited breath, walking to the door and pulling it open. It squeaked loudly on its’ rusted hinges. Lars noticed a small, old fashioned light switch beside the door frame. He pressed the button and a barely functioning lamp flickered to life, humming louder than all the others in this damn lighthouse.

Inside the closet, well it was really a small room, was a shelf with an old gas lantern on it, covered in a few decades worth of dust. Old, rusted metal parts were stacked against the wall, long forgotten. There was a grey blanket huddled in the corner covering something. That… that wasn’t supposed to be there. Sure the blanket looked ratty and old, but it wasn’t covered in the layers of dust that everything else was. Stepping forward, he approached the blanket, before his hand shot out and he ripped it off. Underneath was a shivering little man, wrapped in a quilt, who looked up in horror with the widest eyes Lars had ever seen. “Found you.” He growled.

Nils yelped in pain as the large bearded man’s hand grabbed his arm. He squeezed it so hard, Nils though it would snap like a twig. Wincing as he was dragged from the closet, Lars pulled him down the many stairs, back towards the cabin. Nils cringed at the thought of Enjar seeing this. The guy seemed nice, Nils knew that he would be upset when he realised he had lied, but he probably would have turned him away if he had told the truth, any sane person would. After Lars had pushed Neil off the cliff and drowned Hugo in the stream, Nils knew he wouldn’t be safe for long. The sooner he could get away from the maniac the better… and now, he was royally fucked.

Re-entering the cabin, Nils gasped. Enjar was slumped in a the chair, head and neck covered in blood. His arms were bound tightly behind him to the chair, his legs each strapped to a chair leg. He looked to be in bad shape as he took small, faint breaths, Nils’ gut telling him they were almost too small and faint. “Like what I did with the place?” Lars joked, holding out his other arm and swinging around, as if he were showing off a freshly renovated home.

Pulling another chair from the table, Lars sat the quivering Nils down, picking up more rope from the table and tying him up too. Nils knew better than to fight. At least then he might have a small chance of getting away. The wind had died down a little, and the shortwave cackled to life.

“Tower 4. This is Base. Respond immediately. Repeat, respond immediately.”

Lars laughed, “Nah, they won’t be getting any response any time soon…”

Matthew turned from the radio and ran his hand through his hair anxiously. Enjar was always quick to respond. He was always by the old short wave in his tower and when he wasn’t he had his hand held. Matthew’s stomach sank at the thought of what might have happened him.

A search team had found Neil Larson at the bottom of a cliff and Hugo Andersen drowned in a little stream, closest to Tower 4. It looked like they had been murdered, there were injuries on their bodies from what looked like a fight.

Perhaps the storm had cut off contact… but he was getting through to the rest of the towers, Tower 9 was the closest to Tower 4 and they could talk fine. “Tower 4. Please respond. Do you have a light?” Once the coded phrase for distress went unanswered, Matthew swore, picking up the radio and speaking with shaking words into it. “Base to Search Team Beta. We have a situation at Tower 4. Please investigate, ASAP. Base over and out.”

“Copy Base. Search Team Beta over and out.”

“Come on Enjar. Pick up damn it…” Matthew stared at the radio, willing Enjar’s voice to come out of it. He was met with a deafening silence, only broken by the chatter of the radios from other lighthouse keepers who were beginning to clue in to the situation by now.

Enjar groaned, lifting his pounding head. Nils glanced at him, watching his eyes open and letting out a breath he hadn’t reailsed he was holding. Enjar glanced at Nils, dazed. “Nils?” Nils shook his head, “Shh, it’s okay. He found me… You need to stay still okay. You’re hurt pretty bad. Lars went to piss, so we’ll be alone for a minute or so more.”

Enjar’s head dropped, as the world swayed. He had experienced his fair share of bad concussions before, but this was something else. He was fighting to keep his eyes open as he tried to move, only to realise his arms were stuck. Pulling on them again, he saw he was tied up. “Fuck…” He groaned quietly, sinking in his chair. He glanced at Nils, who was going in and out of focus. “You… you’re not his escaped hostage… are you? You’re not even a guard…” he grimaced as a wave of pain rocked his skull. “You’re one of them…”

 Nils looked away ashamed.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice shook. “Lars was so nice to me… he protected me from the other prisoners, big guys who could snap you in half with ease…” A tear fell down his face, “But when we escaped… We grabbed what we could. He couldn’t fit into any of the guard’s clothes we stole, but he took a jacket. We all stole stuff… shoes, clothes and- and radios…” His voice hitched as the tears began to stream down. “Hugo and Neil got frustrated when we ended up out here. Lars left a cache around but we couldn’t find it. He was obsessed with finding it… it was all he could think about, talk about… dream about. We all got in a fight… He pushed Neil off a cliff and drowned Hugo and- and I just ran. When I saw the light from the lighthouse, I just hoped you’d let me in and… I didn’t want you to turn me away… so I- I lied…”

Nils looked over at Enjar, who was staring at him, he looked mad, which was understandable, but also a little sympathetic. “I wou-ldn’t have… t-urned yo-u away…” He mumbled, his words catching in weird places. Nils felt a little pang of worry. “I wouldn’t hav-have left you in that storm to… d-die.” Enjar’s eyes became distant as he suddenly began staring into space. “Enjar?” Nils’ voice rose in panic as he watched the man’s eyes roll back in his head. “Enjar?” He squeaked, glancing around. Lars would be back soon. Enjar seemed to sag as he sighed, passing out completely. Something told Nils that was very, very bad.

Lars chose that moment to storm back in. He was adjusting his jumpsuit. “Damn. That was a nice piss. I wouldn’t have had to hold so much in if I wasn’t looking for you though.” He glared at Nils. “Did he wake up?” He nudged Enjar’s shoulder, watching as he drooped in the restraints. “No.” Nils lied, looking up at the man.

“Weird, I could of sworn he’s moved... and that I heard you talking to him, pipsqueak.” He grabbed Enjar by the jaw, lifting his head. “I know you can hear me, keeper man. Quit the act already.” Enjar remained limp and silent, Lars huffed and removed his hand, watching the man’s head drop heavily forwards. “Well if he’s faking he’s doing a damn good job of it.” He kicked Enjar’s right shin. “Eh, whatever.”

Wandering over to Nils, began to untie him. “You’re gonna come with me Nillsy. We’re gonna go on a little ride in keeper man’s little boat.” As soon as he was free, Nils leapt forward, grabbing the knife beside the weird skull. He held it in front of him, shaking. “Oh,” Lars exclaimed, laughing. “What, are you gonna take me out with that toothpick? Come on pipsqueak, you couldn’t fight to save your life.” Lars began to untie Enjar, “What do you think, he’d make a nice human shield for me wouldn’t he?” He hoisted up the limp man, holding him under his arms. Enjar twitched, coming around. “And here he is, back in the land of the living at last.” Lars mumbled in his ear. “Welcome back, lighthouse keeper.”

Enjar lifted his head, confused at the scene before him. The last thing he remembered was being tied up, so why was he standing? He realised he was being held up when the man, Lars mumbled in his ear, “Welcome back, lighthouse keeper.” He glanced at Nils, who was holding his knife out at them both, quivering like a leaf. “Let me go…” Enjar growled as he felt the adrenaline kick in. His survival instincts were still intact, especially after last time…

Survival instincts took over. He shoved his attacker, the machete flinging itself away as Viktor fell backward. Enjar’s fists met Viktor’s face, over and over until the man lay limp below him. His arms and face were bleeding profusely and his head felt thick as he stood. The world tilted as he heard a distant yell, and then he hit the ground, his head hitting a rock and sending him into a black void.

He had retired after that. The flashbacks were too much. The anxiety of being around people, any of them could be monsters. When he had heard an old lighthouse keeper of one of the most isolated lighthouses in the country had retired, he jumped at the chance to go. 8 years later, he was happy, content with his life of solitude. Sometimes it was lonely but it was safe, it was free. That was the sacrifice he had made. And now.. that was broken, by this bastard, by this murderer. A murderer like Viktor… 


Enjar’s body seemed to almost explode. Despite his injuries, he was still quite powerful, thrashing against the much bigger Lars. He managed to slip from the man’s grip, and jumped on him. Lars staggered back, crashing into the table behind him as Enjar attacked his face. He screamed and raised his arms in defence from Enjar’s fists, only for him to shove the smaller man off. Enjar staggered, leaning heavily on the wall. The dried blood on his neck, was beginning to drip in some places as sweat formed on his skin. Lars lifted himself off the table, running at the man, when Nils screamed out loud, thrusting the knife at the man.

He felt the blade sink into the man’s arm, and Lars howled, ripping the small knife from his arm and clutching the wound. “Little shit!” He screamed, raising the knife to attack the little man. A weak hand caught his wrist. Enjar was gripping it, arm shaking with the effort. “You don’t wanna do that.” He growled, watching the killer with his own, cold eyes. Lars felt a shiver go down his spine as he turned to the weakened man. He had the eyes of a killer too. “Maybe I should finish you off instead.” He raised the knife, thrusting it at the man who could barely stand.

Nils leapt forward, shielding the injured lighthouse keeper. The knife sank into his chest, just below his collar bone. He fell to the floor, dazed and in shock. Enjar shoved Lars back, stepping over the bleeding convict at his feet and eyeing down Lars. He was panting with the effort, his mind focused on one thing:

Taking. Him. Down.

A yell from outside distracted the tall man, Enjar taking that exact moment to tackle him. A bright light filled the cabin as Enjar wrestled the man to the ground, managing to get on top of him and hold his arm behind him. A swarm of people in tactical gear filled the cabin, someone rushing to Nils’ side, whilst another pulled Enjar off Lars.

Enjar felt an arm pull him back as three people in tactical gear jumped on top of Lars. He heard a far off voice say something, but he couldn’t tell what it was. He suddenly felt empty, his head feeling light and his limbs heavy, watching as the world blurred and went dark.

Nils watched Enjar stumble, before collapsing. The person who pulled him off Lars caught him, slinging his arm across his shoulder. Nils realised he was being carried by two people, out of the cabin towards flashing lights. His shoulder felt weird as he was loaded onto a stretcher, listening to the voices of people around him. Someone shined a light in his face and he blinked confused.

Enjar sat on the sofa, sipping strong coffee and staring at the cabin. It was spotless, like that night had never happened. Weirdly, he didn’t feel anxious like he had after Viktor, still felt secure here. Matthew brought him another blanket, wrapping it around his friend’s shoulders. “You with me Enjar?” Enjar blinked, realising he had been staring into space again. “Yeah, yeah… I’m here.” He looked at the man beside him, sighing and leaning back.

“I’m just confused. Why don’t I feel like I did before? The therapist was worried that I would go back to how I was 8 years ago, but I feel fine… I keep waiting for it to hit but it never does. It’s been months…” He rubbed the scar on the back of his head, beneath his freshly washed hair.  Matthew sighed, staring at the flames. “Maybe it’s cause you don’t blame yourself this time? I know you blame yourself about Viktor.” Enjar looked into his coffee swirling it with a quiet groan.

“I guess… That kid, Nils, sacrificed himself for me too… That gave me the chance to take Andersen down… Dr. Dall said that because I have a completed scenario in my head my brain can handle it… I don’t know…” He glanced at Matthew, curious. “How is that kid?”

He had often wondered about the criminal who had jumped in front of that knife that night. Did he even survive?



“He’s fixed up pretty well. He got moved to a different prison, away from Lars’ buddies. From everything I heard he’s happy, even with an extended sentence.” Matthew smiled, patting Enjar on the shoulder. “He’s lucky the knife was so small, it missed everything important by a hair.” Looking at his watch, he sighed, standing from the sofa. “I’d better get going, it’s already pretty late. Let me know if you need anything, Enjar, any time.” He glanced at the man who nodded, curled up on the sofa, already sleepy and warm in front of the fire. Taking the cup from his hand and placing it next to the short wave, Matthew bid Enjar goodnight and left the cabin.

For the first time in a while, Enjar sighed, falling into a restful sleep, lulled by the hush of the waves beside his home. He still felt secure. He still felt safe. Even after all this time, after everything… he hadn’t had a bad dream in ages.

[villacostadeglidei]

Villa Costa Degli Dei Furore

Introduction

The Amalfi Coast, with its breathtaking cliffs, azure waters, and charming towns, is one of Italy’s most iconic and beautiful destinations. Among the coastal towns, Furore stands out for its unique blend of natural beauty and cultural heritage. Nestled in this picturesque setting, Villa Costa Degli Dei Furore offers a luxurious retreat for those seeking a unique and memorable holiday experience. This blog explores what makes Villa Costa Degli Dei Furore a standout destination on the Amalfi Coast, highlighting its luxurious accommodations, stunning location, and the myriad of experiences it offers.

1. The Enchanting Town of Furore

1.1 An Overview of Furore

Furore, often referred to as the “painted town” because of its vibrant murals, is a hidden gem on the Amalfi Coast. Unlike the more crowded and well-known towns like Positano and Amalfi, Furore offers a tranquil escape with breathtaking views and a rich cultural history. The town is famous for its fjord, the Fiordo di Furore, a dramatic and narrow gorge that leads to a secluded beach.

1.2 Natural Beauty and Scenic Views

Furore is perched on the cliffs overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea, offering some of the most stunning views on the Amalfi Coast. The town’s unique geography, with steep cliffs and deep gorges, provides dramatic landscapes that are perfect for photography and exploration. The crystal-clear waters and lush vegetation add to the area’s natural charm, making it a paradise for nature lovers and adventurers.

1.3 Cultural and Historical Highlights

Furore boasts a rich cultural heritage, with historical churches, ancient paths, and traditional architecture. The town’s murals, painted by various artists, tell stories of local life and legends, adding a unique artistic touch to the village. The local festivals and events, often centered around religious and cultural traditions, offer a glimpse into the town’s vibrant community life.

2. Introducing Villa Costa Degli Dei Furore

2.1 Location and Accessibility

Villa Costa Degli Dei Furore is situated in a prime location, offering easy access to the town’s main attractions while providing a secluded and private retreat. The villa is perched on a hillside, offering panoramic views of the sea and the surrounding landscape. It is easily accessible by car, and private parking is available for guests, making it a convenient base for exploring the Amalfi Coast.

2.2 Architectural Elegance and Design

The architecture of Villa Costa Degli Dei Furore is a harmonious blend of traditional Mediterranean style and modern luxury. The villa features classic elements such as whitewashed walls, terracotta roof tiles, and arched doorways, complemented by contemporary design touches. The interiors are spacious and elegantly decorated, with high ceilings, marble floors, and large windows that allow natural light to flood the rooms.

2.3 Luxury Amenities and Features

Villa Costa Degli Dei Furore offers a range of luxury amenities to ensure a comfortable and unforgettable stay. The villa includes multiple bedrooms and bathrooms, a fully equipped kitchen, and beautifully furnished living and dining areas. Outdoor spaces are equally impressive, with a private infinity pool, sun terraces, and lush gardens, providing the perfect setting for relaxation and enjoyment.

3. Accommodations and Comfort

3.1 Bedrooms and Suites

The villa’s bedrooms and suites are designed with comfort and luxury in mind. Each room is spacious and beautifully appointed, featuring high-quality linens, plush furnishings, and tasteful decor. Many rooms offer private balconies or terraces with stunning views of the sea and the coastline, providing a serene and peaceful retreat.

3.2 Living and Dining Areas

The living and dining areas at Villa Costa Degli Dei Furore are perfect for relaxation and entertainment. The living room features comfortable seating, a fireplace, and large windows that offer panoramic views of the sea. The dining area is ideal for hosting meals, with a large dining table and an open-plan layout that connects seamlessly to the kitchen and outdoor spaces.

3.3 Outdoor Spaces

One of the highlights of Villa Costa Degli Dei Furore is its stunning outdoor spaces. The villa features a large private infinity pool, surrounded by a sun terrace with loungers and umbrellas. The pool area offers breathtaking views of the sea and is the perfect spot for sunbathing or enjoying a refreshing swim. The villa also has beautifully landscaped gardens, complete with Mediterranean plants and flowers, as well as shaded seating areas where guests can relax and unwind.

4. Unique Experiences and Activities

4.1 Exploring Furore and the Amalfi Coast

Staying at Villa Costa Degli Dei Furore offers an excellent opportunity to explore the wonders of Furore and the Amalfi Coast. Guests can visit the Fiordo di Furore, a natural fjord that is one of the most iconic sights on the coast. The town’s murals and historical sites are also worth exploring, offering a unique insight into the local culture and history.

4.2 Boat Tours and Coastal Excursions

The Amalfi Coast is best experienced from the sea, and a boat tour is a must-do activity. Guests can charter a private boat or join a guided tour to explore the coastline, visit hidden coves, and swim in the crystal-clear waters. Popular excursions include trips to the island of Capri, known for its Blue Grotto and luxury shopping, and the town of Amalfi, with its stunning cathedral and rich maritime history.

4.3 Culinary Experiences

The Amalfi Coast is renowned for its culinary delights, and Villa Costa Degli Dei Furore offers a range of gourmet experiences. Guests can enjoy private chef services, with meals prepared using fresh, local ingredients. The villa can also arrange cooking classes, where guests can learn to make traditional Italian dishes, such as handmade pasta, fresh seafood, and delectable desserts. For wine enthusiasts, the region offers excellent wine-tasting experiences, showcasing local wines such as Fiano and Greco di Tufo.

5. Personalized Services and Amenities

5.1 Concierge and Guest Services

Villa Costa Degli Dei Furore offers personalized concierge services to cater to guests’ every need. The villa’s staff can assist with arranging airport transfers, booking excursions, and making restaurant reservations. They can also provide recommendations for local attractions and activities, ensuring that guests make the most of their time on the Amalfi Coast.

5.2 Wellness and Spa Services

For those looking to relax and rejuvenate, the villa offers a range of wellness and spa services. Guests can enjoy in-villa massages, facials, and other treatments, provided by professional therapists. The villa can also arrange private yoga and fitness sessions, allowing guests to maintain their wellness routine while on holiday.

5.3 Special Events and Celebrations

Villa Costa Degli Dei Furore is the perfect venue for special events and celebrations. Whether you’re planning a wedding, anniversary, or birthday party, the villa offers a stunning setting and a range of services to make your event unforgettable. The villa’s staff can assist with event planning and coordination, including arranging catering, entertainment, and decor.

6. Sustainability and Eco-Friendly Practices

6.1 Commitment to Sustainability

Villa Costa Degli Dei Furore is committed to sustainability and eco-friendly practices. The villa has implemented a range of measures to reduce its environmental impact, including energy-efficient lighting, water-saving fixtures, and a recycling program. The villa also supports local artisans and producers, using locally sourced and organic products whenever possible.

6.2 Eco-Friendly Amenities

The villa offers a range of eco-friendly amenities, including organic toiletries, reusable water bottles, and eco-friendly cleaning products. Guests are encouraged to participate in the villa’s sustainability efforts, such as minimizing water and energy use and recycling waste.

7. Booking and Contact Information

7.1 How to Book Your Stay

Booking your stay at Villa Costa Degli Dei Furore is easy and convenient. You can make a reservation directly through the villa’s website or by contacting their reservations team. The villa offers flexible booking options, including short stays and extended vacations.

7.2 Contact Information

For more information or to book your stay, you can contact Villa Costa Degli Dei Furore at:

Phone: +39 3890954883

Email: villacostadeglidei@gmail.com

Website: www.villacostadeglidei.it

Conclusion

Villa Costa Degli Dei Furore offers a luxurious and unforgettable holiday experience on the Amalfi Coast. With its stunning location, elegant design, and exceptional amenities, the villa provides the perfect setting for a relaxing and enjoyable stay. Whether you’re looking to explore the rich history and culture of the Amalfi Coast, enjoy gourmet cuisine, or simply relax by the pool with breathtaking views, Villa Costa Degli Dei Furore has something for everyone.

Book your stay today and discover the magic of the Amalfi Coast and the luxury of Villa Costa Degli Dei Furore. Whether you’re planning a romantic getaway, a family vacation, or a special celebration, the villa offers everything you need for a perfect holiday. Experience the best of Italian hospitality and luxury at Villa Costa Degli Dei Furore, and create memories that will last a lifetime.

[stardustedknuckles]

I second the anon saying "EVERYTHING Beauyasha", because look, why would I suggest anything else, but on the other hand I looked at 11 and immediately thought Big Shit Yasha & Fjord would be so funny with that.

Okay I had a Yasha and Fjord and a Beau and Fjord, and I think I got one of those combinations asked twice. Fucking hilarious energy yes thank you. "I'm not wearing underwear. Thought you might like to know."

More than 1k, set a few months post-canon, rated T. Fluff and humor.

The sun was still high in the sky when Yasha returned home with sweat and river water cooling on her skin and the spoils of her hunt slung over her back. Autumn meant bright, warm afternoons and cool shade, and afternoon meant that time with their friends was only hours away.

Yasha hung the meat in the shaded little alcove of their home and stepped gratefully inside. There was fresh kindling unlit in the hearth, four empty mugs set out on the round table, and though they hadn't managed to gather enough possessions yet to threaten any real clutter it was clear the place had been scrubbed within an inch of its life. Beau, she surmised, was even more excited to see Fjord and Jester than she'd let on. A rustle came from their bedroom, and Yasha smiled to herself as she slipped her boots off before moving further down the hall.

The last time Yasha had opened a closed guest room door in this house, she had accidentally discovered her girlfriend in the middle of painstakingly painting a birthday gift for her - and while Yasha had been delighted, there was no mistaking the disappointment Beau had felt in having the surprise ruined. Not that she'd stayed disappointed for long. Yasha had made certain of it. Several times.

"I'm home, baby." Yasha leaned against the wall and checked out her hands and her nails blithely. Cleaner than the rest of her, by design. "We've got a few hours before everyone gets here too, because I am very good at hunting. And very horny."

She heard a decidedly muted thump from inside and grinned. "I'm also not wearing any underwear. I know that's normal for me, but I thought you'd like to know."

Another rustle, then silence. If it were the door their room, she would have just pushed it open. It wouldn't be the first time Beau had left herself in a predicament for Yasha to come home to. But as far as Beau had known, Yasha wouldn't be home for another couple of hours. She was creative, but she knew a deadline when she saw one. No way she would have risked cutting it close to time. "Baby?"

She heard sound coming from the porch and paused with a hand prepared to knock as the front door opened to admit one bright-eyed Beau and - unexpected in another direction - a cheerful Jester with an arm load of what looked like pastries.

"Yasha!" She dropped the bag and sprinted forward, throwing herself into Yasha's arms with wild abandon and temporarily driving all of her confusion to a back corner.

"Jester, hello! You're early!"

"So are you," Beau pointed out. She stood on tiptoe to kiss Yasha's cheek above Jester's horns. "They got in a little after you left to hunt. We figured it would be a surprise." She tilted her head towards the closed door. "Me and Jester went to get a few more things and left Fjord to sleep in some. You haven't been terrorizing him, have you?"

Several things clicked into place at once, but before Yasha could say anything the door flung open to reveal one disheveled and frowning half-orc in a loose shirt and the pair of pants he had evidently just thrown on.

"Yasha," he said, a polite iceberg.

Yasha spent half a second looking for embarrassment but found only the giddy urge to laugh. "Fjord," she managed. "Did you sleep well?"

Beau was looking between the two of them with an expression of rapid comprehension, a grin spreading over her that only widened when she finally caught Fjord's eye and positively leered. "You uh. Get a warmer welcome than you expected?"

Fjord sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Actually that was pretty much exactly what I expected when you gave me the guest room." He made an exaggerated face and mimicked what Yasha presumed Beau had said earlier. "'Don't worry, Yasha's out til sunset.'" He settled again into quiet resignation. "And if you're wondering, Yasha's apparently not wearing any underwear."

Beau's delighted grin shifted to Yasha, and now she was flushing a little but she just shrugged and looked a little over Beau's head. "I mean, that's nothing unusual, really. Anyone could have guessed that."

"Holy shit," Beau wheezed. "This is the best day of my life. Hang on, just - I need a minute."

Yasha saw Fjord look to Jester, but it was no use. She melted into giggles immediately and elbowed him lightly in the ribs. "So do you need some more sleep?"

"No. Nope." Fjord yawned and shuffled out of the room arm in arm with Jester, patting Yasha on the shoulder and moving Beau out of the way with his knee. "Damndest thing, but I don't feel tired anymore. Need any help getting that meat going, oh mighty hunter?"

"No," said Yasha, "but you can help if you like. I was going to get the outside fire going and take a shower, so..."

"Oh, you were going to do more than that," Fjord said drily. "I'll start the fire, you get in the shower, we all forget about this by dinnertime."

Beau wiped her eyes and stood up straight to look at Yasha, snickering with the aftershocks. "Think our window passed before it ever came, sorry babe."

"I think I disagree," said Yasha primly, "but it's fine. I'll be out in a little while."

Beau raised up on tiptoe to kiss her quickly on the lips, and only when the front door opened did she snake a hand around to tweak lightly at Yasha's ass. "I love when you get like this after a hunt," she murmured. "Just in case you were wondering."

Yasha wasn't but she just smiled and kissed Beau's forehead before peeling off and heading towards the washroom. "There are always more things to kill," she noted over her shoulder.

"Yup," Beau called back. "And you know how I feel about little deaths."

[true--north]

kristanna, pre F2, 780words

"Please, Kristoff, stay. You know there's always a place for you in the castle. That I'm always waiting for you… And Elsa allowed it," Anna whispered in his ear, straightening the collar of his blue shirt.

They were standing on the threshold of the castle. It was already dark, but lanterns were burning everywhere, dispersing the darkness of the night.

"Anna, you're not so naive as not to understand what even those guests with whom we had dinner today might think.. I don't want to ruin your reputation, Princess."

"I don't care what they're going to say!" There was stubbornness in Anna's voice. "They know who you are and who I am…"

Who were they formally? Princess of Arendelle and the Royal Ice Master and Deliverer. Who is allowed to court the princess, but no more?..

Her arms wrapped around his neck, green silk of her sleeves caressed his cheeks, and just her whisper, so close, worried him. Their relationship was already closer than is allowed for an unmarried couple. No, he'd rather go to his barn, where he has a cozy bed, a bookshelf, a closet, a table, a chair and his tools.

Anna broke their embrace and turned away.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to impose on you." She said softly.

"No, Anna, wait! It wasn't that…You're not imposing. Let's go." He took her hand. "I've always dreamed of sleeping on a royal feather bed."

Anna immediately beamed. She happily began to twitter about how cozy his room was, and what a big fireplace there was and a beautiful view of the Fjord. Kristoff thought that he could not refuse her at all.

At the painted door of his new "chambers", Anna wished him good night, kissed him on the corner of his lips and skipped up the stairs to her room. "Is that all?" Kristoff thought, puzzled. But it's even better this way.

The room was really very beautiful and warm, and on the bed lay neatly folded pajamas, a green dressing gown and slippers with an embroidered royal crocus. Kristoff washed up, and not without pleasure changed into expensive soft pajamas and went to bed. Soon he fell asleep, pushing away from himself the thought that Anna's bedroom was right above him.

At three o'clock in the morning, in the darkest hour, there was a knock on the door. Two short knocks. Kristoff opened his eyes.

"Come in?" he said softly.

The fireplace had almost burned down, and in the faint light of the moon he saw the door open, and a figure in white slips in.

"Anna?" he whispered.

"Gosh, I was afraid the door was locked." She went to the bed and simply, without any explanation, slipped under the covers and snuggled up to him. Kristoff was momentarily speechless.

"I walked along this creepy dark corridor and felt like the ghost of the Arendelle Castle. Do I look like a ghost? Are you scared?"

Kristoff wanted to ask what she was doing here, but he didn't, for fear of offending Anna by rejecting her. Although she absolutely has no right to be here before the wedding. Their wedding. As if it had already been settled.

Instead, he just whispered: "Maybe a little."

She took his hand and put it on her waist, cuddling closer to him.

"You know, I woke up in the middle of the night, and suddenly I felt so lonely again that I was even scared. Do you understand?"

Kristoff perfectly understood the feeling of loneliness. He stroked her hair, unwinding her braids, running her soft hair through his fingers.

"Don't be afraid, I'm here."

"After the Nattmarra I'm always afraid of losing you. It seems to me that something is coming…" Anna whispered.

"Nothing is going to happen," Kristoff whispered as if mesmerized by the proximity of his princess.

Anna reached out to him and found his face in the dark.

Kristoff broke the kiss, although it was very hard to do.

"Anna…If you continue now, then I'm not responsible for myself," he was surprised how differently his voice sounded.

"Me too," Anna replied and continued.

The next morning at breakfast, even Elsa, usually always immersed in her thoughts, noticed that Anna and Kristoff were somehow unusually lively and cheerful for a dull day like this, putting an extra portion on each other's plates and jokingly arguing. She was pleased to look at them–Kristoff makes Anna happy, and that's the main thing.

"Elsa, can I go to the mountains with Kristoff today? Please! I think I need a retreat in nature."

"Yes? Well, you may. Autumn has already begun, so put on your warm cape."

"Of course. I will be very warm."

Elsa nodded, not at all catching in these words a hint addressed to her neighbor at the table.

[romeoandjulietyouwish]

Have you thought at all about how TJ would interact with Polynein?

I think that Clara comes by one night a few months after everything. And she doesn't really know Beau's whole relationship deal but she knows that this is where he daughter lives now. So she arrives there with TJ on her hip, and when Fjord answers the door, she softly asks if her daughter is home.

Clara tells Beau that she left Thoreau and that she needs a place to stay, or at least a place for TJ. Beau hears absolutely none of that nonsense and gets her mom and brother set up in a guest bedroom. She stays with them for a few days, but quickly finds her own place to stay so she's not hanging around her daughter's house for too long.

But TJ absolutely adores all of Beau's partners. His favorite is Essek because he's so shiny and cool looking so whenever TJ visits, he always wants to play in Essek's office while the drow works or wants to help him garden outside. But everyone else thinks he's the sweetest thing in the world and make sure he feels at home in their house.

(and it's also a good trial run for the kids they adopt in the coming months/years)

[thesadisticsiren]

Okay I tried to keep up with all of that.

Detailed stained glass windows of the 9 schools of magic

'Just think up' floatie elevator

9 Zemian sliding doors on second floor

Tracks on walls above doors, portholes near floors by each door. Left unexplained.

Massive salon library - 3 levels. Fire place, mollymauk stained glass window above fireplace? Maps, giant wildemount shsped table. Floating light globules. Books made of things caleb has read.

THE BEDROOMS ARE ON THE 5TH FLOOR

Small nein sided room. Wooden. Split evenly there are 3 doors. Guest bedroom. Cozy zemnian design, fireplaces, 5 books on sidetables. There is another door (likely bedrooms?

Room with scarab beetle is Caduceus' room. Bigger firniture. Clay stone and dust stained glass window. Gorgeous holy shit. Simple furniture. Reministent of his home. Endless pot of boiling water for tea. Inner dooor- another room full of fungi, crystals, ferns, giant fourposter bed and brass bathtub.

Lilacs outside yashas door. Fireplace (a theme) stormlord and flowers and lighting. SO MANY FLOWERS. Pressed, vases. Cant see walls. Simple straw mat next to yashas mural from back in xhoras, but the flowers shift in the breeze. Same kid of bed and bath. Terrariam full of snack bugs. Aparently tasty.

LIAMS BEEN WORKING ON THIS FOR OVER A YEAR -

CALEBS BEEN WORKING ON THIS SINCE JESTER FJORD AND YASHA WERE KIDNAPPED NEARLY 100 EPISODES AGO.

Fjords room has an anchor - stained glass has a ship at sea. Room designed like a ship.

All of the rooms have the same stack of 5 books. Fjords has the alter design from deshillas lair under the books. Meditation room, stone statue of wild mama. Fourpost bed and a hammock. Possibly weights if we can believe veth.

Beaus room has a cobalt soul symbol. Stain glass is of the m9 looking out over the fields of the empire. Middle room has beau sashes and bo staffs and fighting post. Writing desk. Average quality paper. Fourpost bed in all blue, same bathtub. Beau lays on the bed Theres A MIRROR BUILT INTO THE ROOF OF HER BED THATS KINKY LIAM. Yasha CALLS IT USEFUL SHKAYSNSN. Beau says calebs her best friend. Good for her.

Jester's room has the arch of the traveler. Door has gemstones built in like Traveler symbol. Stained glass has coastal city scape with her mother. Recreates the lavish chateau.

- One of the books is Tusk Love. Counting of the Crick. A zemian kids book, a transmution book, childrens fairytail book (THE VORTEX). dark fairytails, losin thumbs and shit.-

Next doorway is FULL of art supplies. All the walls are blank and ready to be painted. Side table full of pasties and blueberries.

Bedroom is almost a recreation of her childroom one, but updated. More elegance. Windows match but are stained glass. Framed pictures of some of her actual childhood artwork, portait of her mom. 3 lanterns. Jester also needs to look at her canopy like beau did, promises its not a mirror. Same painting about Jesters real bed, but it moves and is audible. Jester seems very happy.

3 more doors. One door is stained a bit green, one a bit amber. The green one is veths - bunch of halfling sized furniture. Stainedglass of her family. Lots of trinkets all over. A child's room built for Luc. A proper oil painting of the brennatos. Sliding bed from under the fourpost in case luc wants to sleep in that room. Jester suggests a sex swing for veths room.

The unmarked room is a laboratory and study for Caleb and Veth. Subpar paper. Yeza is also welcome.

Caleb has not shown off his own room. I have... suspicions.

Caleb reassues that things can change upon request, or keep them as they make them.

WHERE DO WE EAT TOGETHER OH NO WE SKIPPED IT. Before the bedchambers, a nonogonal sided room - a large piewedged room. Large dining table, buffet tables full of food. Swinging doors on the sides of the room. Jester goes in the right - kitchen that smells of pasties AND THERES CATS EVERYWHERE YESSSSSSS. THEYRE CARRYING TRAYS. THE TRACKS ARE FOR THE CATS. Using their tails and shit while cooking. Im dying. Fjord wants to know if the cats shed. These are below the rooms. Jester wants dumbell for food in her room. There already is one! You can summon a cat and let them in and they'll bring things.

There are doors that can be whatever is needed.

Caleb loves his family so much

[calenheniel]

In Fantasy, a frozen fanfic | Chapter 1

Frozen | Alternate Universe | Hans x Elsa | Romance, Drama | G+

In a desperate bid to save their country from political and financial ruin, King Agnarr and Queen Iduna of Arendelle strike a deal with a former foe, King Albert of the Southern Isles. His price? That their firstborn daughter marry his thirteenth son.

Previous installments: Prologue

Follow updates: #InFantasyFrozen

For Helsa Week 2021, Day 1: Parenthood. @helsaweekmasterlist

Author's Note: This is a draft, exclusively available on Tumblr. I have literally the outline for every single chapter following this written, but not fleshed out into readable form yet... so this is all you are going to see for a while. It took me a while to write, as you can probably tell. Enjoy and please leave feedback.

»»————-　❈　————-««

Chapter 1

Snow pattered soundlessly against the arched window of the king’s study as he and his wife sat across from one another at his desk, reviewing the morning’s mail by candlelight. The fire crackled loudly in the hearth a few feet away, bringing a warm glow to the otherwise dim and drab space.

Iduna looked out briefly through the glass panes, the outside world obscured by the total darkness of the winter months. She was just able to make out the snow flurries of white and gray, and beyond that, under the lanterns lining the walkway to the castle gates, she imagined she could see the slow and halting movements of the castle’s servants as they shuttled through the gates and back. The town square, and the fjord beyond it, were entirely hidden from her view.

She shivered, drawing her heavy fur robe closer around her frame, and the small movement was enough to cause her to lose her grip on the letter opener in her other hand. It cut the side of her thumb as it clattered to the desk, and she released a small cry of surprise and pain as droplets of her blood fell on the envelope at the top of the unread stack, staining it red.

“Oh, dear,” Agnarr sighed, pulling a handkerchief from his chest pocket and wrapping it around her open wound. “You must be more careful with that.” He eyed her chattering teeth with concern. “Is the new robe helping even a little bit?”

Iduna looked away. “You know how difficult my… condition has been,” she said, gazing down at her swollen belly. “Even in rooms with the best-tended fires, I’m always cold.” She touched the collar of the robe, shooting him a small glare, and added: “Anyway, it’s not as if you paid for this yourself.”

Agnarr frowned but said nothing, returning his attention to the mail after another sharp look from his wife. His eyes widened as he examined the seal, and he paused, causing Iduna to glance at it with curiosity.

“Who is it from?”

He swallowed and began to open the letter, avoiding Iduna’s still-drying blood splatters. “The Southern Isles,” he said at length, causing her face to darken.

“Speak of the devil,” she grumbled.

He read it in silence to himself at first, but at Iduna’s unnerved expression, he passed the paper to her. She reluctantly accepted it.

Dearest Agnarr and Iduna,

Allow me to pass on my belated congratulations to you both for the auspicious news of your first child’s coming! While I was surprised to hear that the delivery date is so soon, you cannot imagine the happiness this has brought my family and I, and especially to my youngest son, Hans. He is eager to meet his future wife and in-laws. Rest assured that we will be the first guests to arrive for her christening.

I have ordered a small gift for my future daughter-in-law which you should receive in about one month, just in time for her birth. Please accept this as a token of our continued friendship and soon-to-be unbreakable bonds of family. I look forward to hearing what you think of it when we meet again in person soon.

Yours respectfully,

Albert

Iduna scowled and crumpled the letter in her unbandaged hand. “How can he be so sure it will be a girl?” she muttered. “The nerve of that man! We should never have told him that I am with child.”

“He would’ve found out eventually, whether we did or not,” Agnarr pointed out, sighing. “And besides, we did wait a while – probably too long – to write to him about it. Which he obviously picked up on.” He gestured for Iduna to hand him the ball of paper, which she did while sporting a glower. “I’m not sure there’s any need to be so sullen, dear. Nils said it was likely to be a boy.”

Iduna opened her lips as if to speak, but her face suddenly paled, and she collapsed from her seat to the floor, holding herself up on all fours. She groaned with pain as her husband rushed to her side, panic flashing across his eyes.

“Agnarr,” she moaned, “I think—I think it’s time…”

»» —— ««

Agnarr paced outside the bedroom, his features hollow and drawn from sleeplessness. Iduna’s moaning echoed from inside the room out into the hallways, and the sight of various attending ladies scurrying in and out of the room with fresh sheets and bowls of water did little to ease his worried mind.

He had long since dismissed his councilors from the scene, finding their hovering presence unnecessary at best—and unsettling at worst. Their questions about the queen’s health, while infrequent, were regular enough to cause the king to lose his temper and bark that it would not improve just because a gallery of onlookers wished it so. Sympathetic to their young monarch, they had left him in the care of the servants, and so he had waited, alone, for many hours to hear a spot of better news.

The grandfather clock at the end of the hall struck ten just as the door reopened to reveal the royal physician, who wore an equally exhausted expression. His hands, though recently washed, still had specks of the queen’s blood dotting the wrists and under his fingernails.

“Nils! It’s been an age. What’s going on?” he demanded, pulling the older man aside.

The physician stifled a frown. “I don’t have much news to share right now, Your Majesty. She is still in labor, just as before. We are doing everything we can to keep her comfortable.”

Another groan from Iduna resounded in the background, and Agnarr shot Nils a dark look. “You call that ‘comfortable’?”

The noise began to wane as they listened to the head maidservant, Gerda, whisper to the queen inside the room. The king’s expression softened. “Please, Nils,” he began again, “you’ve been here since my father was a young man. I know you’ve seen almost everything in your time.” He placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Just give me your honest assessment of what’s happening. I need to know if she—”

Agnarr broke off, swallowing a sob that threatened to choke him. Nils patted the king’s hand on his shoulder, taking it into his own, and sighed. “It’s difficult when the baby comes this early, Your Majesty. And with Her Majesty being in labor for so long…” He paused, squeezing the king’s hand. “I will do everything I can to keep her and your child alive. That you can rest assured of.”

Agnarr looked back at him with tears straining his vision, his lips just barely forming the beginnings of a grateful smile before a terrible cry erupted from inside the bedroom.

“All of you, out!” Iduna screamed, and then said something else in a voice too quiet to be heard. A flurry of attending ladies rushed out of the room, and the king broke away from Nils to rush to the doorway.

He was met there by a tired, distraught, but somehow still defiant Gerda. “No,” she said, stopping him in his tracks. “She needs to rest for a moment. I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

Agnarr scowled. “Gerda, for God’s sake, let me in—”

Nils placed his hand on Agnarr’s shoulder, silencing him, and nodded to Gerda. The older woman shot the king a frown, and then sent a grateful look to the physician as she walked away from the door.

Agnarr turned on him. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Fru Gerda is correct, Your Majesty. It is not your place to intervene.” At the king’s heated look, the physician dropped his hand from his shoulder, resting it on the doorknob as he took a step inside the room. “I’ll bring you more news as soon as I have it, but for now… please, try to get some rest.”

Agnarr watched in defeat as the physician closed the door behind him, and finally slumped into an armchair beside the room, his head lolling forward as he began to drift towards slumber.

»» —— ««

“Your Majesty?”

The king awoke to the gentle shaking of his shoulders, and his eyes blinked open slowly. He groaned as his vision finally cleared, seeing Nils. “How long have I been asleep?”

The physician smiled. “Only a few hours.”

Agnarr nodded, placing his aching head in his palms, and then with a suddenness that took Nils aback, it shot up in alarm and stared at the bedroom door. “It’s so quiet—what’s happened?” He stood from the armchair, grabbing the physician by both shoulders. “Is she all right?”

The strange, new sound of an infant’s babbles surfaced from behind the door. The king’s eyes widened as his grip relaxed, and he stared at Nils in wonder.

“Is that…?”

The old man’s smile widened. “Yes, Your Majesty. And Her Majesty is fine now, enjoying a well-deserved rest.” He sighed with contentment. “It truly is a miracle for the child to have been born so healthy, and of normal weight and size, in spite of everything.” He took one of the king’s hands in his own, patting it. “Would you like to meet your newborn daughter?”

Agnarr’s face paled. “Daughter?”

Nils nodded, and looked sheepish. “Yes, Your Majesty. I’m afraid my prediction of her sex was rather inaccurate.”

The king paused, and plastered on a smile, though light droplets of sweat beaded at his forehead. “No matter,” he said, and inhaled as he nodded towards the bedroom. “Lead the way.”

Agnarr entered to find his new daughter in Gerda’s arms, bundled up and half-asleep, a smattering of light blonde hair visible on her soft scalp. Iduna lay in the bed just a few feet away, sleeping quietly, the only visible sign of the previous day’s strain being the pallor of her skin.

The older woman smiled at his coming despite her obvious fatigue, meeting him halfway across the room. “Should I make arrangements to announce the birth of the princess, Your Majesty?” she whispered, looking with fondness down at the infant.

Agnarr shook his head. “Not yet,” he replied after a moment, unable to tear his eyes away from the girl. “At least, not until the queen awakens, and can meet her daughter properly.”

Gerda nodded, casting a pitying glance at Iduna. “Quite right, Your Majesty. The poor woman was barely able to speak a word to the child before drifting off.” She gently handed the baby to its father. “We’ll leave you three alone for a little while. I’ll be back with refreshments for everyone soon.”

At this cue, she and Nils exited the room, closing the door behind them. Agnarr sat in a rocking chair beside the fireplace, his gaze fixed to the sleeping babe in his arms, and his apprehension and fear gave way to a warm, glowing smile.

“Don’t worry, child,” he murmured, and tucked the sleeping bundle closer to his heart. “I’ll protect you.”

»» —— ««

The queen awoke to the same darkness that had greeted her the morning before, but also to the sound of creaking wood. She squinted and saw, with delighted surprise, her husband and daughter sitting together by the hearth.

“Agnarr?” she called in a soft, weary voice.

He looked up with dark circles under his eyes, but his expression was radiant as he walked to her bedside. “My dearest, you’re finally awake!” He handed her their child with infinite tenderness, sitting next to her. “I think she looks like you,” he remarked.

Iduna gazed down at the still-sleeping infant with some bittersweetness, and then back up at her husband. “Has the birth been announced yet?” she asked, unable to hide the anxiousness from her voice.

He shook his head. “No. I wanted to hold off until you were awake.”

“Good,” Iduna sighed with relief, brushing stray strands of the white-golden locks from the child’s eyes. Her nose wrinkled. “I can’t believe that old bastard was right all along,” she muttered. “How did he know?”

Agnarr wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Don’t think of such things now,” he chided her, and returned his attention to the baby. “What shall we name her?”

Iduna frowned. “I hadn’t thought of any names for a girl.”

“I know, but…” He paused. “What about Elsa?”

Iduna blinked. “Elsa?”

He nodded. “Yes. It was the name of my favorite cousin. She died when I was still a boy—fell through ice while skating. This could be a good way to honor her memory.”

His wife frowned. “Agnarr!” she protested. “That’s far too morbid. Can’t you think of anything else?”

Before the king could reply, the infant nuzzled up against her mother’s breast and hiccuped, drawing her parents’ attention away from their dispute. Agnarr glanced at his wife with a cheeky smile. “I think she approves of her name.”

Iduna sighed, and could not help but smile in return. “Fine. Elsa it is, then,” she agreed.

They watched her for a while longer before Agnarr glanced up at the clock on the bedside table. “I should have Nils check on her, and make sure everything’s all right,” he said, and stood.

Iduna grabbed his hand and brought him back to his seat. “Not yet,” she said. “I want to enjoy this time we have with her, before all the hullabaloo starts up.” She patted his hand before letting it go. “But do fetch us something to eat. I’m famished.”

He bowed his head. “Of course, dear.”

She nodded her thanks. As he opened the door, he looked back on the blissful sight of his wife and daughter together, perfectly content, and smiled.

»» —— ««

Agnarr carried the tray of biscuits and tea with deliberate and careful steps as he made his way down the hallway from the kitchens back to the bedroom, chastened after nearly dropping the whole set a few minutes before in his unfamiliarity with the task.

Gerda, walking behind him, fretted over his apparent clumsiness. “Your Majesty, please, won’t you let me bring it to the queen?”

“It’s fine, Gerda,” he refused, trying to wear a reassuring smile even as it was clear he was concentrating intently in order not to trip. “I won’t break anything, I promise.”

The older woman muttered under her breath, following him despite his protests until they were a few paces from the bedroom door. At that point, after a sharp glance from the king, she relented and left him to his own devices.

Alone again, he sighed, placing the set down gingerly on the armchair by the door. “I’m coming in!” he called to Iduna, resting his hand on the doorknob.

A shriek from the queen, followed by the sound of their baby’s wailing, almost made the king fall back in surprise. He rushed into the room in alarm—only to find himself frozen in place by the sight that greeted him.

Their child lay crying on its back on the bed, a swirl of snow surrounding its tiny body. The queen was pressed up against the wall beside it, her entire frame shaking as she stared at the girl in open terror.

Agnarr regained his bearings long enough to close and lock the door behind him, drowning out the distant cries of worry from Gerda down the hall, and then sprinted towards his daughter. He gathered her up and pressed her into his chest even as a cold wind and snow whipped around them both, making him shiver.

As his warmth slowly enveloped her, however, so too did the strange elemental effects dissipate, until finally the baby was quiet again.

He sighed as he sat on the bed in exhaustion, and nodded for Iduna to join him. “Everything’s all right now,” he assured her. The baby whined a little. “She just needs to be fed.”

The queen returned to his side with caution, her face still drawn, and eventually took the child back into her arms. With a trembling hand, she unbuttoned and pulled aside a flap of her nightgown, pressing the infant to her exposed breast.

To both parents’ surprise – and relief – the child suckled without further dramatics, and Iduna released a long, shuddering sigh.

»» —— ««

Several minutes and harried exchanges with Gerda later, the child was asleep again in her mother’s arms. Her innocent, peaceful face gave no indication that she was aware of the fuss that had just taken place around her.

Once she was sure that the child would not stir, Iduna placed her on the bed, nestling her among the pillows and fresh sheets that Gerda had insisted upon providing (even though she had been disallowed from setting them up within the room herself, much to the woman’s displeasure). She remained sat on the edge of the bed, silent, taking little comfort in their temporary respite.

Agnarr had been quiet since the baby’s extraordinary display, pacing between the hearth to warm himself, and the door to shoo any interruptions away from the room.

She swallowed, and spoke at length. “It’s because of me,” she whispered, looking at the ground with shame. “It is my blood that has caused this.”

The king paused in his nervous walk to look at his wife, perplexed. “What do you mean?”

She would not meet his stare. “Do you remember how we first met?” she asked.

His head cocked to the side as he walked towards her, stopping just short of the bed. “Of course,” he replied. “I was sixteen, making the rounds with my father meeting townsfolk, and you were selling bread at market… but what does that have to do with anything?”

She hesitated at the question. “That… wasn’t actually the first time we met.”

He frowned, crossing his arms. “What are you talking about, Iduna?”

The queen pressed her hands together in front of her, her brows stitched in thought, and finally met her husband’s gaze. “It was during the battle in the Enchanted Forest. You were knocked unconscious when some large rock came loose, and I…” She reddened. “I got us out of there before the forest was sealed off, and left you with some soldiers who had managed to escape. They brought you back home, and I fled into the mountains.”

Her vision misted over as the memories returned to her. “Luckily, I was found by a kindly older woman and her husband there. They were never able to have children of their own, if you remember,” she said, “so they took me in, without question, and taught me their trade.”

The king stared at her in dumbstruck silence; after a time, his arms uncrossed, and he pulled over the rocking chair from the fireplace towards the bed, sitting down again. “When we met at market,” he drawled, “I asked you if I’d seen you before. Do you remember?”

She blinked in surprise, and then nodded. “You denied it at the time,” Agnarr noted, one eyebrow raised.

Iduna grimaced. “I was afraid you would find out the truth.”

He connected the threads with sudden clarity. “That you were one of them,” he said, his eyes wide. “One of the Northuldrans.”

Her face grew hot. “Yes,” she admitted. “I never told you before, because I know the history between our peoples. Because of what happened to your—”

At Agnarr’s darkening expression, she stopped, curling her fingers around the cloth of her nightgown in her lap. At length, the king turned his stare on the sleeping child in the bed next to her. “And what of our child’s powers?” he asked. He eyed Iduna with suspicion. “Did you know she would be born with such abilities?”

Iduna sighed, shaking her head. “No,” she said. “It was just as much a surprise to me as it was to you. None of the Northuldrans have had such powers—not for several generations, at least.” Her brow grew furrowed. “In the old days, it is said that some of my people gained them through their relationship with the spirits of the Forest. I don’t know how, but it seems as if Elsa has inherited some of this magic.”

The king said nothing, and stared blankly at the painted blue wall behind the bed.

Iduna trembled. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, tears trickling down her cheeks. “I should never have kept this hidden from you.” Her eyes were full of fear as he remained silent. “Please, Agnarr, say something, lest I lose all hope.”

Her husband’s frame was taut, and his expression betrayed nothing even as he began to speak. “Do you know what happened to my mother—Queen Rita?”

Iduna was taken aback by the question at first, pausing to collect her thoughts. “Only that she disappeared when you were still a child, never to be seen again,” she recalled, eyeing Agnarr with a growing sense of dread. “Your father blamed it on evil spirits, if I remember correctly.”

Agnarr’s lips were pressed together in a thin line. “He was already a superstitious man before that happened, and afterwards…” The king sighed, and slumped forward in the chair. “He considered the mere existence of an ‘enchanted’ forest anywhere within his realm to be a personal insult, even if its inhabitants exhibited no special powers.” He looked at her morosely. “And you know how that ended.”

Iduna swallowed, and made no reply.

The king looked pained by his memories. “I still don’t know what really happened to her,” he said, “though I think I understand why she left. My father thought that buying her trinkets was enough to demonstrate his affections, but… she missed home, and her family. And he never grasped that.” He frowned. “In fact, he took offense at it. Which only made her more miserable.”

Agnarr paused for a while, and weariness overwhelmed his previously stern countenance. “My father was wretched with grief and anger for years after she left, and I cannot blame him for that. I imagine I would feel much the same if I lost you.”

Iduna stared at her husband in surprise, and then her lip quivered as she threw herself into his embrace, burying her weeping face in the crook of his shoulder. He held her shuddering body tightly, his eyes closed as he kissed her exposed cheek.

“Oh, Agnarr,” she said through muffled sobs, “I’m so sorry.”

He held her as he waited for her crying to subside, and then asked in a gentler manner: “Do you know anything about our daughter’s magic, Iduna? Are there any stories about such powers among the Northul—your people?”

His self-correction made Iduna smile, and she glanced back at their child. “I’ve forgotten most of those stories, truth be told,” she said. “I’ve been in Arendelle too long, I think.”

Agnarr nodded in understanding. “That’s all right, dear, I was only wondering—”

“Wait,” Iduna interrupted, sitting up in her husband’s lap with a start. “There was one old Northuldran legend, about a Snow Queen… she was said to have frozen over entire kingdoms that refused to obey her will.”

At the king’s paling expression, Iduna nervously added: “It was probably just a fairytale made up to scare children, and teach us right from wrong. I doubt our little Elsa would ever be so powerful as to do such fantastical things.”

Agnarr’s lips twisted into a frown, and he raised Iduna off his lap and onto the bed as he stood, pacing again. “We cannot be sure,” he said, his hands clasping behind him. He stared at Elsa with concern. “My father did a fine job of scaring the wits out of everyone in the kingdom with his tales of the evils of magic, and inculcating the same prejudices in them which he held himself. Even if her powers never reached such heights as the stories describe, the fact that she has them at all is—” He shook his head, his troubles mounting. “We’ve only just forged a hard-won peace with Weselton, and secured some new trade routes that had previously been closed to us, no thanks to my father. And all of that would be at risk if they knew, let alone…”

Iduna caught his meaning as he stopped in his tracks, and the two exchanged a long, uncomfortable look.

“Albert,” she finished for him, her mouth dry. “He cannot know about this, Agnarr.”

The king’s expression was bleak. “No,” he agreed, “he cannot.”

Iduna trembled. “Well, that settles it,” she said, trying to sound resolute. “We’ll teach Elsa how to conceal her powers, so that no one ever finds out about them. That way—”

“It’s impossible, Iduna,” Agnarr cut in, pressing a hand to his forehead. “We cannot keep such magic in check forever. And besides, it… would be too cruel to ask that of her. She will not understand.”

“It’s the only way, Agnarr,” his wife insisted, though her lips quivered. She bit them to keep them still. “If we explain to her why it’s necessary, and keep her safe within the castle, away from the town—” Iduna broke off, unable even to convince herself of the workability of her plan, and tears began to collect in her eyes once more.

Agnarr could not keep the despair from his own voice. “Even if we could manage it, and keep her hidden away until she comes of age,” he murmured, resting a hand on her shoulder, “how, then, could we ensure that she would not reveal her powers to her future husband?” He frowned. “If that boy is anything like his father, he would no doubt try to manipulate her, and use this great power to suit his and Albert’s purposes.” He shuddered. “I cannot allow that to happen.”

Iduna stared at the child, her brow bearing the weight of defeat. “But what can we do, Agnarr?”

The king stood stock-still in contemplation, relying on every fiber of his remaining self-composure not to collapse back into the chair. A creeping shadow of gloom crawled across his face, darkening his brow. “There may be a way,” he said, swallowing.

At Iduna’s forlorn, questioning look, he continued: “Before my mother left, when she was at the height of her suffering, she would talk sometimes about a magical race of creatures that had the power to ‘heal’ her.” He paused, and clarified: “Trolls, apparently, living in a valley somewhere in the mountains above Arendelle. She said they could perform all manner of spells, and I heard her talk in her sleep once or twice about wanting to go see them.”

Iduna stared at her husband in disbelief. “Trolls.”

He reddened. “Yes, well,” he said, “I realize how absurd this sounds, Iduna, but…” He glanced at Elsa. “Now that I’ve seen what our child is capable of, the idea of magical trolls doesn’t seem so farfetched.”

“What are you saying, Agnarr?” Iduna snapped, shaking her head. “That your mother went to see them? That they helped her… ‘disappear’?”

His shoulders raised in defensiveness. “I don’t know,” he conceded, “but what if that were the case? What if…” He sat back down in the rocking chair suddenly, staring at Iduna with clear eyes. “They erased her memory.”

Iduna frowned. “How can you be sure?”

“I’m not,” Agnarr admitted, “but if the trolls are as powerful as she said, then… it might explain where she ran off to, and why she never came back.” He sulked. “I wonder if father knew.”

Iduna took in this speculation with confusion and annoyance, pressing a hand to her right temple as she sighed. “Even if that is what happened,” she began, trying to keep the impatience from her voice, “what does any of this have to do with Elsa?”

Agnarr struggled to answer for a time, unable to articulate his thoughts. At his wife’s expectant stare, he offered: “We could take her to them, and ask them to… remove her powers.”

The queen shot up in alarm. “Have you gone mad?” she hissed. “Do you have any idea how sacred and special her magic is?” Fury alit in her blue irises. “It is a gift, Agnarr. No matter what your father – or anyone else – thinks or says, it is a part of her eternal soul. To take it away from her would be akin to spitting in the eye of God himself.”

“Then what do you suggest?” the king retorted, exasperated. “What other choice do we have?”

Iduna’s anger faded as she contemplated the question, and her expression grew melancholic. Agnarr, sensing the shift in her mood, placed one hand on hers. He noted that it had gone cold.

“What is it, Iduna?”

She stared at him in quiet desperation, and before she could stop herself, her face sunk into her hands, and she wept.

»» —— ««

“Is everything alright, Your Majesty?”

The question weighed on Agnarr more than the physician expected, and the latter exchanged a glance with Gerda as the doors to the king’s private study were closed behind them by a guard. The dark, windowless room seemed impossibly small, lit up only by a candelabra on the desk between the king and his guests, though a keen observer could notice its impressive depth and height through the flames.

Agnarr’s head was bowed for a moment, and when the silence grew too difficult to bear, he released a shaky exhale. When his gaze met theirs, they were stunned to find it fresh with tears.

“The child passed this morning, in the queen’s arms,” he said, his voice tremulous from grief. “Just after we named her—Elsa.”

Gerda’s hands flew to her mouth to suppress a cry, though she began to sob into her handkerchief soon after. Nils entered a state of shock, staring at the king in utter bemusement.

“But, Your Majesty… how is this possible? I saw the princess just a few hours ago, healthy as a newborn could be.” He shook his head. “How could her condition deteriorate so suddenly? Why…” He frowned deeply. “Why did you not call for me sooner, if she was—”

Agnarr rose his hand, quieting the physician. “It all happened very suddenly, I assure you,” he murmured. “It seems you were right after all, Nils, about the dangers of premature birth.” He closed his eyes, and his lips trembled. “I only wish we had not glimpsed what could have been, before the end.”

Nils’s frown eased, but only slightly. “Your Majesty,” he began more gently, “please, let me see the child. It will help me to better ascertain what happened, and be sure of Her Majesty’s health as well…”

The physician trailed off as he realized that the cold determination in the king’s eyes would not allow for further argument. “She needs time alone with the child – with Elsa – to grieve, in her own way,” Agnarr said. “Then, we will relinquish it and make preparations for the funeral.”

“But sire,” Gerda mustered the strength to speak through her tears, “it’s not proper. The child’s body, it will—” The woman gave in to a fitful sob at the thought before continuing. “It will cause Her Majesty great sorrow to see the princess that way.”

Nils did not speak, but his grim expression indicated his agreement with the maidservant.

Agnarr’s mouth pressed into a thin, firm line. “These are the queen’s wishes,” he stated, “and it would only cause her greater sorrow to take the child from her so soon.”

Gerda hid her moan of anguish in her handkerchief, and Nils patted her on the back, his frown etched into his wizened features as he stared at the king. “Very well,” he relented, bowing his head. “We will wait until Her Majesty’s mourning period is over.”

Agnarr gave a faint nod of thanks. “I appreciate both of you – your service, and your care – through all of this,” he said. Turning to Gerda, he added: “Leave any meals outside of the room for the evening. I will bring them to her myself.”

The older woman managed a nod in return, the cloth in her hands barely stifling her constant sniffles.

He turned his back on them, his hands clasped behind him. “You may go,” he said.

Agnarr waited until he was sure that they had left to release a deep, shaking sigh. He gripped the edge of the desk until his knuckles turned white, and then exhaled again, turning his attention to the tiered bookshelves which lined either side of the room, stretching out into the darkness of the far wall.

With sudden and frantic energy, the king began to rifle through the books, coughing and sneezing through the clouds of dust and cobwebs which greeted him as he pulled them off the shelves with little regard for their long-undisturbed state. His initial, methodical skimming of the first shelf was quickly replaced by mere glances as he ripped books from the successive ones, clearing out rung after rung, unsure even of what he was seeking.

Long minutes that felt like hours passed in this way, and by the time Agnarr reached the far end of the room – though he was only halfway through the stacks – he leaned back against it, spent of his energies and despairing of the futility of his quest, resting the candle in his hand down on the floor.

He sat there in the gloom of his father’s former study, now his own, caught in a state of bewildered insomnia when he brushed his hand against the candle, causing it to tip over to the ground. Luckily, he reacted fast enough to put out the flame that began to catch on a nearby loose sheaf of paper, and turn the candle back upright. As the remaining smoke tendrils rose from the burnt page, he sighed, accepting even this small bit of relief.

Agnarr.

The king’s back was rigid at the familiar voice, and he stared out into the darkness with terror in his eyes.

“Who—who’s there?” he whispered, looking to and fro. When nothing answered him, he curled his hand around the candleholder at his side, though he dared not move from his seat. His lip quivered. “Show yourself!” he demanded, unnerved.

A sighing wisp of a sound encircled him, causing the flame of his candle to flicker and dance, and then seemed to disappear into a corner of the room to his left. Agnarr followed its path with wide eyes, seeing it end somewhere at the very bottom shelf on the other, untouched side of the room. He grabbed his candle, ignoring the burn of hot wax as it dripped onto his bare hands, and held it towards the spot where the voice had led him.

There, nestled between inconspicuous volumes bound in the same, dark brown leather as most of the other tomes in the room, was a slightly larger and red-colored spine. He pulled it out with greater care than he had for any other book in the study, surprised by its heft, and gently laid it down on the wooden floor below. He blew away the dust that obscured the text on its cover.

Even when it became legible, however, the king found that it was comprised of ancient runes in which he had no education or training, and so he could make little sense of what its contents might be. When he opened it to the first few pages, paragraphs upon paragraphs of the same, unreadable runes greeted him.

“Very helpful,” he muttered to himself, glaring at the candle’s steady flame in his hand. “I must be going mad,” he said, sighing, and moved to place it back on the shelf.

Forgetting its weight, the book fell from Agnarr’s hands as if in protest, and as it banged onto the hard floor, it opened to a section that he had not yet seen. He held the candle with trepidation and curiosity over the pages, careful not to drip any wax onto them, and his eyes widened as he got a better look at their contents.

On the left was a page of runic script, but on the right was a faded illustration of a mysterious, dark creature with narrow, yellow eyes, its hands raised to the sky. Below it lay the sleeping body of a man on a carved stone bench – a nobleman, or perhaps even a king, Agnarr thought, from the looks of his fine raiment and armor – and from the man’s head, extending into the sky, were swirls of smoke and clouds of fantastic colors, all intermingling to create a stark and foreboding image.

The king shuddered at the sight even as he was unsure of its meaning, and he ran his hand over the lines of the drawing. He paused over the head of the sleeping king, feeling an unusual groove on the surface of the page; smoothing his fingers down, he realized it ran all the way to the bottom, and he quickly turned to the next page.

Folded and tucked into the centerfold of the book was a loose paper, sandwiched between another page of text and what looked like an illustration of a white stag. Agnarr ignored the picture, and busied himself with unfolding the paper. Flattening it out against the other pages with one hand, he felt his jaw go slack in surprise, and he had to hold tightly onto the candle to keep it from falling over again.

It was a map, with the fjord and castle of Arendelle drawn prominently in the bottom left corner, encircled on all sides by nondescript forests and mountains colored beige, brown, and dark green. From the castle was demarcated a clear path in red dashes through the mountains, to a spot at the top right corner of the page marked with a large “X.” Next to it was, Agnarr assumed, the name of the location; and though it was written in the same runes as the rest of the book within which the map had been hidden, the first two letters gave him some clue as to what – or who – could be found at the final destination.

“Trolls,” he murmured. The candle flickered, seemingly in agreement. He eyed it with wonder, and then looked up at the ceiling, seeing nothing more than total darkness… but sensing much more beyond it.

Collecting his wits, Agnarr folded the map back up and slid it into his breast pocket, and then closed the red book and slid it back onto the shelf. Standing with newfound strength from the floor, he walked back with brisk purpose towards the entrance. Once there, he lingered in the doorway to look back with a sad smile, disregarding the disarray his manic search had caused in the room.

“Thank you, mother,” he whispered, and left.

»» —— ««

The path to the stables was as shrouded in December’s eternal nightfall as every other part of the kingdom, and Agnarr was thankful for having traveled there enough times in daylight to know his way in the dark. He adjusted the sling against his chest so that it faced more towards him, and the deep, royal blue color of its cloth was well-disguised beneath his plain brown riding cloak.

His steward followed close behind with a lantern, though the light did little to illuminate their path. When they reached their destination, the older man gave a sigh of relief, holding aloft the light so that the king might better see the harness and gates guarding his prized horse, Sigurd. He eyed the king’s costume questioningly, but Agnarr would not answer the look as he untied his steed, leading it out of its stall with the trained hands of a horseman.

After carefully laying the saddle atop its broad back, he nodded to the steward, who waited expectantly, bracing himself. The king grabbed the older man’s shoulder, using the leverage to slide his foot into the stirrup and mount Sigurd.

A small, babbling sound escaped the bundle slung across Agnarr’s chest; the older man stared at it for a moment, but said nothing. The king almost sighed with relief, but elected instead to nod at the gesture of discretion in thanks.

The steward could not help but demonstrate some concern. “Are you sure about this, Your Majesty? There have been reports of brigands in the mountains as of late, and I can easily send one of the guards to go with you—”

“There are some sensitive matters I must discuss with the tradesmen there—too sensitive for company,” Agnarr interrupted in an authoritative tone, though his face reddened with embarrassment at his own vagueness. He adjusted the sling again, and continued in a more conciliatory way: “I will return before sunrise, Kai.”

The steward’s skeptical expression was obvious even in the dim lighting, but he did not press the king further on the matter, and stepped back from the horse.

The king could not bring himself to address the man’s suspicion, and whispered into Sigurd’s ear. The horse gave a whinny of comprehension, and the two set off down the path to the gates at a quick pace, disappearing into the night.

»» —— ««

Agnarr arrived at the location marked on the map – or where he thought it should be, based on his knowledge of the mountains – with a weariness etched into his brow that made him appear far older than his twenty-one years.

He had come upon a clearing in the forest resembling a Roman amphitheater, and the full moon above shone on the stage and surrounding theatron, which were covered in moss as if from long disuse. From his vantage point at the edge of the forest path leading into it, he could also make out countless stone orbs of various shapes and sizes, all draped with moss that matched their surroundings, scattered throughout the rows.

The king eyed this warily, clutching the bundle across his chest close to him as he dismounted Sigurd. He tied the horse to a tree nearby, and proceeded with caution into the center of the arena. “Hello?” he called out.

When nothing answered him, he swallowed, and made a second attempt in a more confident voice. “I am King Agnarr of Arendelle,” he announced, “and I have come seeking help.”

His statement was met with another bout of silence, and sweat beaded at his forehead as the bundle across his chest started to wriggle, making small mewling noises.

“Please,” he said, looking around at the empty valley in desperation, his eyes growing misty from the threat of tears, “I have no one else to turn to. The very fate of Arendelle is at stake.”

Finally, at this plea, Agnarr began to hear – and feel – a series of rumblings all around him, the very earth quaking beneath his feet. He looked down to plant them more firmly and keep himself from tripping, and in the background Sigurd whinnied with fright, bucking against his restraints. When the king lifted his gaze again, he was shocked to find that the same static, stone orbs he had observed before were rolling down the theatron of their own accord, until they were completely encircling him.

No sooner had he adjusted to the notion of self-propelling rocks than they began to take the forms of living beings, one by one uncurling into equally circular, stocky trolls.

At first, they seemed all alike in their terrifying newness to Agnarr: a small mop of bedraggled hair atop their heads, smocks or tunics made of moss covering their small bodies, jewelry containing precious minerals and stones strung around their necks and wrists, and impossibly large eyes that stared at him and caused him to shrink under their scrutiny. Sigurd’s incessant, fearful whinnying in the background did nothing to dispel his own fear, and he stood stock-still, unable to move.

After a minute or so, however, the king found their collection of eyes more curious than threatening, and was slowly able to differentiate the creatures from one another by the color of their necklaces, or the particular partings of their mossy hair. This calmed him, and as his breathing returned to a more normal rhythm, so too did his steed quiet in the background.

The trolls began to clear a path amongst themselves, and through it, one approached Agnarr with a slow, deliberate gait. Judging by the length of its mane, its long moss cloak, and the ostentatious, heavy decorations of green baubles strung about its chest, the king guessed that it was their elder.

“Your Majesty,” it said, bowing as much as its age would allow. Agnarr nodded in return. “I am known as Grand Pabbie among our folk. It is a pleasure to meet the son of Her Majesty, Queen Rita, after so many years.” The troll paused, registering the surprise on the king’s face at the mention of his mother. “But tell me, what brings you to the Valley of the Living Rock?”

Agnarr hesitated, but soon found himself pulling back his cloak and drawing down the top of the blue cloth to reveal his daughter’s waking features. Her bright blue eyes and soft coos were met with a chorus of “ooh”s and “aah”s from the crowd, who gathered in closer around the king to catch a glimpse of the newborn.

He was both comforted and unsettled by the attention, and unconsciously stepped back with Elsa. Pabbie, sensing this, gave him an encouraging nod to continue. “It’s all right, Your Majesty,” he reassured the king.

Agnarr swallowed. “I’ve come with a difficult – unthinkable – request,” he corrected himself, his voice shaking. “I only make it out of desperation, for the safety and life of the princess.”

At the encouraging and concerned looks of the trolls, he looked down at his child, and laid out the account of his coming to the valley in detail: how he met the queen; her true heritage, and the magic present amongst her folk; the conflict between her people and his father; the fear of magic in Arendelle; the unusual and difficult pregnancy, as well as the premature birth of the princess; and, finally, how Elsa’s powers had manifested earlier that same day.

When he finished, Pabbie asked: “May I take a look, Your Majesty?”

Before Agnarr could inquire as to what he meant, the elder troll conjured a cloud of fine, purple dust that seemed to seep out of the king’s forehead into the air above them, recalling to him the illustration he had seen in the red book. The cloud began to take shape, revealing Agnarr’s memory of seeing Elsa’s powers for the first time. The trolls tittered in astonishment at the magic, and the king watched the scene replay with the same dread and awe as he had just a few hours before.

As the spell came to a close and the cloud faded away, Pabbie looked with wonder upon the babe in the king’s arms. “Truly remarkable,” he murmured.

Agnarr shifted uncomfortably at the remark, and continued: “Yes. And Iduna and I could have borne all of these difficulties, but for one: Elsa has been betrothed to a prince from the Southern Isles since before her birth, as this was the price named by its king for his support in rebuilding Arendelle after the war.” He shook his head. “And that is not one we are willing to pay, after discovering her powers.”

The elder’s brows furrowed. “Why do you fear this king, sire?”

Agnarr frowned. “He is cruel, Grand Pabbie, prone to exploiting whatever unsavory opportunities he can to give himself the greatest advantage over others. While I know my father’s flaws full well, his mistrust of Albert was not one of them. That man…” He sucked in a breath. “He had his own brother killed to hold onto the throne, and has had the audacity to claim the death was a ‘tragic accident’ ever since.”

The trolls murmured to each other with wide eyes at this revelation, but Pabbie’s brow merely rose while he otherwise remained calm. “And you fear that he would bring the same harm to the princess, or otherwise seek to use her to bad ends,” he surmised.

Agnarr nodded. “Yes. We’re quite certain he would, which is why…” He trailed off, staring down at his child through a veil of mourning, and then looked back up at the troll with unspeakable grief. “We do not have the means to conceal her powers forever, nor would we even know how to do so.” His eyes closed, and he trembled. “It was by the queen’s request that I come here, and ask that you look after Elsa in our place. I had hoped we could ask you to remove her powers instead, but my wife forbid it.”

The trolls gave a collective gasp at this admission, with consternated whispers traveling through the crowd. Pabbie raised his hand, quieting the ruckus. “And Her Majesty was right to do so,” he affirmed. “Though, truth be told, it would’ve been impossible for me to fulfill such a request, even if you had asked it of me. There exists no such power in this world.” He paused, glancing at the child. “Does anyone else know that you’ve brought her here?”

“No,” Agnarr replied. “Her birth had not been announced, and I told the physician and servants that the princess died shortly after her birth.” He reddened. “Truthfully, I’m not sure they believed it.”

The elder was quiet for a while at this, and stared with sympathy at the child, who continued to flitter between sleep and wakefulness. “Her power will only grow with time,” he said. “There is beauty in her magic, but also great danger.” He gazed up at the king. “You did the right thing in bringing her to us, Your Majesty. We can raise her as one of our own, and teach her to use this great power for good. But…” The troll’s eyes softened. “Are you sure you want to do this? For if you do, she will never know you as her father, nor the queen as her mother—nor will you be able to see her again, lest you risk raising suspicions about her parentage.”

With tears trickling down his cheeks, Agnarr assented with a tiny nod. “Yes,” he murmured.

Pabbie bowed his head. “So be it.”

The trolls watched in silence, waiting; Agnarr, shaking, held onto his child for as long as he could, and then knelt down, his tears falling onto her cheek. He removed one riding glove to wipe it away, and then pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. Removing the scarf from around his neck, he wrapped it around the princess as he drew her up from the sling, and whispered:

“Goodbye, my sweet Elsa.”

With weak hands, he handed her to an older, matronly troll who had stepped forward from the crowd to stand beside Pabbie. As the exchange was completed, the king stifled his sobs, as did the trolls surrounding him, who watched the scene with oddly human tears streaming down their stony features.

Pabbie placed a surprisingly warm hand on his shoulder. “It will be all right, Your Majesty. Rest assured that she will live well and happily in the Valley, in harmony with nature and her magic.”

The gesture was of little comfort to Agnarr, who continued to cry. At length, Pabbie took the king’s ungloved hand in his, and with the other he removed one of the jewels from his necklace. He chanted a brief incantation under his breath that turned the mineral from green to purple, and then pressed it into Agnarr’s palm.

“Crush this gem into fine powder when you return to the castle,” he instructed, “and mix just a few grains of that into the drink or food of anyone who saw the princess alive. It will ensure that their memories of her are erased, and confirm your story about the queen’s miscarriage.”

Agnarr wiped his tears away with the heel of his gloved palm. “I will,” he nodded. “Thank you.” After a moment, he felt his lips quivering again. “Grand Pabbie…”

The troll was attentive, holding the king’s hand. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

The king swallowed uneasily. “I hate to ask this, or even think of it yet, but… if Iduna and I have another child, will it also—”

“Have powers?” Pabbie finished. Agnarr nodded, red-faced. “No, sire,” the troll assured him. “It is highly unlikely. Such magic only comes along once in a generation, if at all.”

“You’re sure of this?” Agnarr asked.

“Yes,” the troll repeated, and added in a kinder tone: “You needn’t worry.”

The king could not help but release a small sigh of relief, though it was soon replaced by a deep look of regret as he heard the princess gurgle from within the scarf with which she had been wrapped.

He stood, turning away. “I should go, now, before my presence is missed,” he murmured, and the trolls parted to clear a path for him back to Sigurd. The horse watched his return with impatience, knocking the ground beneath him with one hoof for emphasis, and Agnarr quickly untied him.

As the king slotted one foot into a spur, he was surprised to find Pabbie before him again, staring with understanding and warmth so pure that it caused him to shudder.

“Your Majesty,” the troll said softly, “I promise that we will keep her safe.”

Agnarr paused for a moment, staring down at the elder. The dried tracks of his tears were still visible on his face under the moonlight.

“Tell me, Pabbie,” he murmured, “did my mother hesitate, before you erased her memories?”

The troll’s expression lifted in surprise, and then turned wistful. “She loved you very much, sire,” he said. “Were it not for her fear of your father’s reprisal, she would have taken you with her.”

Fresh tears brimmed in Agnarr’s eyes. “Answer the question, Pabbie.”

The old troll sighed. “Of course she did. To give up a child… it is the most difficult decision in the world. But she knew you would suffer more, if she raised you in her condition.” He gazed up at the king with a knowing expression. “I know it probably never made much sense to you before, though perhaps it does now.”

Agnarr’s lip quivered, and he found he could not challenge the assertion. Without speaking another word, he swung onto Sigurd’s saddle in one swift, practiced motion, and allowed himself one last glance at his daughter.

“Tell her we loved her,” he said at last, turning away. “Tell her we’ll never forget her.”

Pabbie bowed his head, and the king threw his hood back over his head. Guiding his steed towards the path into the forest, the two set off towards Arendelle at a clip.

In the distance, the child began to cry.

[captainofthetidesbreath]

The funniest image is that, once they’re an item, Jester tries to convince Fjord to allow a bunch of the Tower’s magical cats to sleep with them in their bed.

Imagine that it’s the one thing that Fjord draws the line on because cat allergy (them being hypoallergenic fey cats does nothing to ease his mind): she can either sleep with him here in this bed OR she can sleep with a dozen cats in the guest room downstairs. Him or the cats, not both.

And should she choose to sleep in the guest bedroom? He either would be extremely upset she chose the cats over him or 100% not a single regret he sleep beautifully thank you, no in between on that score, only extremes.

[elizabethemerald]

The Nein, The Sapphire and The Ruby; Part 2

“What was your plan?” Beau stepped forward, her threatening posture completely unnecessary as the man was still completely terrified of Jester. 

“Our plan was to scare the Ruby. We weren’t going to hurt her too badly. Just scare her, to lure that one back to the city, he wanted us to capture the Blue Tiefling.”

He nodded his head to Jester as she stepped back from him. Caleb stepped back with her, while Fjord and Beau took over the interrogation. The two of them left the room and walked together through Yussa’s tower. Jester didn’t say anything until she found herself outside the closet where Caleb had cast his tower. She stared idly at the cat statue and wand sitting at the base of the closet. 

“Jester. Are you-” Caleb started. 

“I’m just fine Cay-leb.” Jester interrupted with a bright smile even as she wiped tears from her eyes. 

“Talk to me Blueberry.” Caleb said softly. 

“He hurt my momma because of me.” Jester said, more tears rolling down her cheeks. “I played a prank and Sharpe attacked my momma.”

Caleb snapped his fingers and Frumpkin appeared to weave around Jester’s ankles. She immediately picked up the fey cat and pressed her face into his fur to hide her tears. Caleb stood with his hands at his sides for a moment, unsure what else to do to try and comfort her. 

“What happened today is not your fault. You must know that Jester. Lord Sharpe is a cruel and arrogant man.”

“I know that Cay-leb! He’s a dick and he’s just awful, but he hurt my momma because I pulled another prank on him!!”

Jester sobbed even louder, and put Frumpkin back on the ground. She threw her arms around Caleb’s narrow shoulders, pressing her face against his neck. He hesitated for a moment before wrapping her in a some what awkward embrace. He felt out of his depth. He felt he usually left the comforting to one of the other members of the Nein or to his cat. 

“Your momma is safe. And we’re going to make sure she stays safe. After we’re done with Sharpe no one will dare threaten her again.” This was a promise Caleb could keep. 

Jester pulled away, looking again at the doorway to Caleb’s tower. 

“I hurt him.” She gasped out. Caleb looked around in confusion. Was she talking about Lord Sharpe? After a moment Jester continued. “What I did to that guy, what you and Beau were willing to do to him. It was too much like what the Iron Shepards did to me.”

Caleb stepped back, floored by that admission. He hadn’t even thought about that. The nature of his memory was that he could still remember every detail of that dungeon. The stink of fear and rot. The implements used to torture children, and chains to keep them helpless. He could remember the bruises and marks he had seen. And worse, he could remember the exact appraising look he had given that dungeon. Compared their tools to the ones that had been used on him when he was a child under Ikithon. Compared the marks they left to the ones on his own body. Compared the rank stink of fear to his own wild fear of falling back into his one time master’s hands. 

He stepped forward and grabbed Jester in a tight hug. This may be the first time he had been the one to initiate a hug between the two of them, but she needed it now. She needed comfort, not the reminder of what she had gone through before they could rescue her. So he held her tight, her knees grew weak and they slumped to the floor. 

“I want to make Sharpe pay.” Jester whispered. “I want him to suffer, for even thinking he could hurt my momma.” She was quiet for a long moment. “But we can’t torture him like that. I can’t… you can’t… We aren’t like that. We don’t hurt people like that.”

A sound from below them brought them both to their feet. Jester quickly wiped her eyes and picked up Frumpkin again. Soon the rest of the Nein joined them. 

“We got we can out of that piece of shit.” Beau declared as they arrived, then stopped short when she saw the two of them. “Jes, are you-?”

“I’m perfectly fine Beau.” Jester interrupted for the second time. Beau and the other more observant members of the Nein were quick to catalog Jester’s red eyes, the tip of her nose showing a hint of purple, the tear marks on Caleb’s white shirt, and the fact that Jester was currently cuddling Frumpkin tightly to her chest, but none of them commented on it. 

“Yussa has the information we need.” Beau said. She spoke slower than normal, keeping a close eye on Jester while she did. “We’re going to lead a squad of Zhelezo to arrest Sharpe. We need to go now before he has a chance to leave the city, or pull some stunt.”

“Go on ahead guys.” Jester said. “I want to stay here with momma, make sure she is ok and safe.”

“But Jester-” Veth grabbed for her hand. “Don’t you want to get revenge?” 

“I want to stay here with my momma.” Jester repeated, more adamantly. 

Caleb gestured to the closet and the door into his tower opened for her. She stepped up to it, her back straight, even as her tail curled tightly around her ankle. 

“Jester, would you like me- s-someone to stay behind with you?” Caleb wasn’t sure why he offered. He knew she was more than capable of taking care of herself. 

“No.” She sounded sure when she said that.  “Go arrest Sharpe. And Caleb-?”

Jester hesitated, unable to ask the question on her mind, but Caleb could see it, could guess what she couldn’t say. He nodded without bringing it up. No matter how much he might deserve to be punished. Lord Sharpe was not to be tortured. At least not by the Mighty Nein. They weren’t like that. They didn’t hurt people like that. 

“Ah. Could you hold onto Frumpkin for me?” He asked her instead. “We don’t know quite what to expect with Sharpe’s estate and I would rather know my cat was safe.”

“Of course Cay-leb.” Jester gave him a small genuine smile, before stepping into the tower entrance. 

Once Jester was within Caleb’s tower, standing in the middle of the entrance way with its nine windows showing the schools of magic she took a deep shuttering breath and began to float up through the tower. It didn’t take her long to find the room Caleb had created for her. She entered her apartment’s sitting room to find her mother, Luc and Yeza. Marion took one look at her daughter and without hesitation opened her arms. Jester ran into them and held her momma as tightly as she could. 

They cried together, mother and daughter, Ruby and Sapphire, for what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes. They summoned some of Caleb’s cat servants. Some just to bring food. Some to cuddle and play with. Jester took Luc into her painting room and together they began to cover the blank walls. Her momma sat and watched them paint, while Yeza would lift Luc up to reach a high spot on the wall. 

Jester, of course, wasn’t used to waiting on the side lines while her friends fought, so she used multiple Scry spells to check up on them to make sure they were alright. She watched as her friends walked at the head of a small group of Zhelezo through the streets of Nicodranas. She saw Caleb’s Cat’s Ire tear down the gate to the Sharpe Estate. A moment later with spells flying targeting Sharpe’s mercenaries, Yasha bamfed out her wings, picked up Beau and together they flew up to the second floor and crashed through a window into Sharpe’s office. 

The next time she scried the fight was basically finished. Sharpe was unconscious, Beau and Yasha standing over him while Fjord and Veth dealt with the last of the mercenaries. Caduceus and Caleb focused their efforts on some second rate wizard Sharpe had hired, but he wasn’t a match for either of them. 

After that, they had Sharpe in chains. The Zhelezo were scouring the estate and interviewing different members of the Nein about what had transpired. In the background Veth was picking the lock on a safe hidden behind Sharpe’s desk. She watched as one of the city guards aimed a vicious kick at Sharpe, only to be stopped by Caleb. He gave the guard a firm but quiet shake of his head. 

Finally she scried on her friends and found them walking up the stairs in the Tide Peak Tower. She flew down to meet them, polymorphing into a hawk (pale blue of course) to move even faster. She hugged each of her friends tightly in turn, using what few remaining spells she had to heal any small injuries they sustained. 

Her friends… her family… The Mighty Nein reconvened inside Caleb’s tower. They had dinner together, again laughing and telling jokes, keeping the mood light. Caleb stayed quiet for most of the night, only giving small smiles, seemingly lost in thought. They were tired, but they felt confident that no one else would dare threaten the Ruby of the Sea again. 

When dinner was over, Marion sang for them. A private concert just for them. Jester blinked away tears as her momma sang, her beautiful voice, perfectly suited for the magical tower. While she sang Caleb used his few remaining spells to create illusions and light effects around her, just like he had done on Rumblecusp. 

Eventually it was time for them to go to sleep. To rest and recover from the injuries and the terror of the day. To regain spells so that tomorrow they could do a little more to leave the world a better place. Marion was offered the guest bedroom but declined in favour of sharing a room with her daughter. 

RIght before Jester went into her room to sleep for the night, she grabbed Caleb into a tight hug. 

“Thank you Caleb.” She whispered, then pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. She left him there blushing up to his ears and gently closed the door.

[amurih]

Caleb’s Nascent Nein-Sided Tower vs. Scanland’s Magnificent Mansion: First time use of spell; group reaction.

It’s really interesting seeing the differences between the two casters and what the group experiences their first time in said spaces. Also, both use different components to make these spaces.

Caleb’s Nascent Nein-Sided Tower

Came through a repurposed closet.

HOUSE TOUR EMEDIATLY, THIS BOY WANT TO SHOW THEM EVERYTHING

9 levels of magical rooms in a nine sided cylindrical shape

Elevator travel between floors that open and close with two words, but feels like you are floating up or down as if feather fall is casted.

Amber fey cats of various sizes who act as servants. (The Cats return much,)

Dumbwaiter in each bedroom that comes with a small fey cat server.

A system of aqueducts tracts built walls going which way for fey cats to travel through the tower.

Each bedroom of tm9 is personally decorated similarly, yet has differences to what each person’s love/tastes/size. 

Everyone has an equally sized room no one has a bigger room compared to the other. Three rooms that curves around the tower, like a doughnut.

3 story salon/library filled with books that Caleb had read/memorized with comfortable couches and chairs

Every room has a fireplace

Stained Glass pictures of many things

A Kitchen and a Bakery in the dinning room. Varieties of sweets and Savories that can be served.

The whole thing is rotating like gears (I fucking love that)

Whimsical clock that shows the time of day they entered through the material plane.

A LAB AND STUDY.

Secret 8th and 9th floors that Caleb only accesses.(hush hush don’t forget you’re always here trauma rooms)

Their first requests from the cats is some music, desert, and wine

There is a FEY CAT HUB that commands the whole tower.

Their second floor is basically the room of requirement. Able to accommodate guests if needed.

Veth’s room accommodated not only her, but HER FAMILY

Has been thinking about making this since Fjord, Jester, and Yasha were captured from Lorenzo.

The Mighty Nein thank Caleb for doing this for them.

Scanland’s Magnificent Mansion

Doorway can be produced out in the middle of nowhere

Just lets everyone in and just tells they have personal rooms, except that Scanland’s is the biggest at the end of the hall.

Two floors at most 25-35ft high ceilings, but very wide around. Very grand staircases.

Scanlands bedroom has ceilings that are 50ft high apparently.

So far everyone’s room has everything they would need. So, I am assuming that everyone has like a cookie cutter room.

Each bedroom has a regular round bed with a mirror above. Except Scanland, who has a water bed.

Over 100 ghost servants. 50 of them are just for Scanland. And “like” their jobs.*Cough Slave Ghosts Cough* (but also 3 of the ghost get sliced due to Grog’s intelligence of thinking they were real ghosts. They are fine)

5 of the ghosts are musicians that follow them around

apparently has a basement for training

Music, game, and lounging room

A winery inside somewhere.

A breakfast nook as well as a dinning room. Served nothing but chicken, waffles, and mimosas in the morning.

Painted portaits of Scanland

First requests was to bring a cow, cold expensive ale, and braid chest hair.

Enough bedrooms for the group and his kid, but not enough for other guests or trinket.

[itsomgitsgreenblogging]

Sleepless in Zadash: A Critical Role Fanfic

So...I know this is @essek-week, but who better to appreciate Essek than Caleb? Honestly for today I was half tempted to just reblog my Bakery AU fic Labor of Love (which you can read on AO3, all about a buisnessman!Essek falling in love with the owner of a cute magic bakery). But you know, I had this kicking around in my WIP document, and it fit with the Wine Concept, so I hope you enjoy it! 

All I have to say besides this is...there was only one bed

Read the collection on AO3

Caleb sighed as he watched his phone slowly but surely climb up from a measly 2% to 5%. His back was nearly plastered to the wall of the column, squeezed awkwardly between two rows of seats. Crowds of equally stranded passengers moved throughout the airport, trying to find some sort of slice of area to set up for the long wait. Based on the snowstorm that continued to rage outside, frosting the large windows and icing the wings of the planes, Caleb guessed they would all be there for some time. 

His phone began buzzing and flashing, Nott’s face flashed with her teeth in a wide expressive smile. Caleb picked up the phone. 

“Hallo,” Caleb answered. 

“Caleb! Are you alright!” Nott’s shrill tone went straight to his heart. “Where are you right now?” 

“We stopped in Zadash, I was supposed to get my connection here but it isn’t looking like that’s going to happen any time soon,” Caleb said with a wince. He looked over to the Dwendalian Air desk, which was in the process of being mobbed by irate customers. “The desk is going to announce the information at some point if no one murders them.” 

“What the fuck!” Beauregard’s voice echoed from the background. 

“That really is unfortunate,” Caduceus chimed in. 

“Are you going to be able to get somewhere to sleep?” Fjord asked worriedly. 

“I figured I would just rough it at the airport,” Caleb said, curling his legs towards his chest before flexing them out. “I’ve slept in worse places.” 

“We’ll come get you!” Nott nearly shouted into his ear, Caleb had to momentarily move the phone away from his ears. Someone sitting in a nearby seat shot him a dirty look, obviously having been startled out of sleep, before getting up and moving in a huff. Caleb gave them an apologetic look before refocusing on the chatter on the other end of the phone. 

“It’ll be like a super fun road trip!” Jester chirped. 

“No, no. That’s like three whole days, and very dangerous because of the snow. I’m sure we’ll be out of here by tomorrow anyways,” Caleb promised. 

“Well that fucking blows. Do definitely try to get a hotel or something man, I’m sure they have to give you something for the layover,” Beau said practically. 

“He probably won’t, because it’s Dwendalian Air, and life’s a fucking nightmare!” Jester sang cheerfully, and Caleb couldn’t help his grin. 

“He could kill them,” Yasha’s soft voice offered. “The people behind the desk.” 

“No, that definitely would not work under any circumstances,” Fjord pointed out. 

“It was a joke, mostly,” Yasha said, her quiet laugh making Caleb smile. 

“Alright, I’ll let you know where I am and what is going on,” Caleb promised. 

“Bye Caleb!” “Bye Cay-Cay!” “Good luck!” 

Caleb hung up the phone, tapping on the cracked screen. 10%. Caleb sighed, and slid further down on the wall. He continued to watch the waves of people, mostly their feet considering his angle. He liked counting and organizing, it was something that came natural and was always soothing despite the situation. Heels, sneakers, winter boots, light-up and glitter, black and brown, a myriad of types, black oxfords as shiny as a new copper--

A wallet dropped behind the oxfords. Caleb ripped his phone and cord out from the wall and rushed to grab the wallet. 

“Hey! Wait!” Caleb barely managed, breathless in his panic. He couldn’t imagine being stuck at an airport, and losing your wallet on top of that. Just that panic alone propelled Caleb forward. “Your wallet!” 

Black-shiny-oxfords turned around and it hit Caleb in the gut. He was the most handsome man Caleb had ever laid eyes on in his whole life.  He was drow, like many of the professors who guest lectured at Soltryce University from Roshanna College, but had the distinct pleasure of being probably the most obviously attractive person Caleb had ever seen before. He was all high aristocratic cheekbones and delicate silver eyes and curly coiffed styled hair.  He was wearing a meticulously pressed black suit tailored to match his whole aesthetic, like he would drift from the airport and onto a fashion magazine cover. 

He patted his pocket, before holding out a leather-gloved hand. He plucked his wallet from Caleb’s hand delicately. 

“Thank you so much,” shiny-oxfords said with a smile that made Caleb feel like he was having heart palpitations. His voice was smooth with a lilting Xhorhassian accent that added such a depth of flavor to him, and there was something so desirable and timeless about him...as if he were a vintage of wine that never went out of style. It poured over him like it was worth 100 gold a glass. "If I lost this, I would have been in some trouble." 

“Uh, yes, of course,” Caleb cringed, and shiny-oxfords immediately pulled up out of the way of an orc yanking his entire family’s carry on’s on his back. His touch, even through his glove, had Caleb jumping like he had been shocked. “Sorry, sorry.” 

“It’s alright,” shiny-oxfords said eyeing the hurrying family with distaste before looking back at Caleb, “which flight were you supposed to be on?” 

“Connection to Trostenwald,” Caleb said, managing to collect himself and hoping beyond all hope he wasn’t too obvious in his desire to drink this fashionable, beautiful stranger’s presence down for all it was worth. 

“Same,” shiny-oxfords said, looking at his phone. "Though I was hoping to make it to Nicodranas from there. Just got an alert, flight cancelled."

"Oh, sheisse," Caleb groaned, looking at his own phone. The same notification had popped up on his. 

"Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?" Shiny-oxfords asked worriedly. 

"I was just going to...you know sleep here," Caleb said with a helpless shrug. 

"Well, I have enough International Inn points and I made a reservation to stay the night at the Pillow Trove when it looked like things were turning sour. Consider this a thank you gift from me." 

"Oh, you don't have to," Caleb tried to argue. 

"No, I do not," shiny-oxfords said simply. Caleb stared at shiny-oxfords. "But it is the right thing to do considering you kept me from getting arrested as a Xhorhassian national at a Dwendalian border without a passport."

"Oh," Caleb said dumbly. 

"I am Essek Theylss," he said, holding out his hand like his name meant something and Caleb took it dumbfounded. 

"Caleb Widogast," he introduced. 

"It is a pleasure," he said as if it were easy being the classiest person in this place. "Let's get our bags." 

They had to wait an obscenely long amount of time to get their bags. And by the time they did, Caleb was perfectly fine to skip the line for the dinner ticket that he was sure wouldn't even work. They managed to get out of the airport, Caleb waving over a cab from the dozens that crowded the stand like birds huddling together against the snow. He opened the door for Essek after they loaded their bags into the back, eliciting another quirked half-grin from him that had Caleb flushed like he had downed a whole bottle. Caleb had only ever been to the Pillow Trove once, on a weekend in one room with the rest of the Mighty Nein. He wasn't proud to say that they got absolutely wasted on the liquor and cheap wine in the mini fridge, and when you were that drunk it was easy to feel like you belonged anywhere. However while being totally sober he knew he was absolutely out of place here amongst the crystal chandeliers and marble floors. 

The lady at the front desk gave Caleb an incredulous once over, before focusing squarely on Essek. Drow were rare...and generally still unwelcome, but considering how much his clothes nearly stank of money she put on her best congenial smile. 

"Reservation for Theylss," Essek said, flipping out a black credit card and an ID. The lady looked over the ID long and hard, though Essek continued to smile placidly. Eventually, she seemed appeased, though Caleb fought his glare. 

"Of course," she said, typing out very quickly on her computer. "We have a one bedroom available on the fifteenth floor. It comes with a pull out." 

"That will work," Essek stated before looking over at Caleb. "Sound fine to you?" 

"Yes, better than fine," Caleb said, hitching his duffle bag more firmly on his shoulder. He had balanced his messenger bag on the other, while holding Essek's rolling bag. Essek flashed another grateful look at him. 

"Very well, two keys please," Essek asked, and though it looked like it physically hurt the woman she coughed up the two keycards. 

They were down the hallway and up the elevator. Caleb counted the doors as they passed until they finally made it to the room. The room itself was spacious and well furnished, with a queen sized bed, a love seat and the pull out by the window with a small round table. The window itself was wide, and gave a beautiful view of the city that was still being pelted with snow. Caleb dropped his bags on the door side of the room, nestled by the closet. 

“I will be happy to take the pullout,” Caleb offered weakly, turning to his new roommate who smiled in an obvious attempt to placate him.  

“Nonsense. I only need to trance for four hours, you take the bed,” Essek said with a wave of his hand. “A Theylss always returns a favor, if I didn’t my family would have my head.”

“Then let me at least buy you something downstairs...dinner perhaps?” Caleb asked, surprised at his own daring. “And a good bottle of wine for the trouble.” 

“We can split the bottle then,” Essek said, his smile this time showing fangs. “And I doubt that any of this will be trouble for me. Come along then, Mr. Widogast. Dinner, wine, and then bed.”    

Caleb really did like the sound of that. 

[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Episode #100 Highlights!

That’s right: 100 EPISODES. That’s a lot of great questions, greater answers, questionable pronunciations of usernames, even more questionable uses of overlays, and a++++ excellent dogs. 

The entire cast is answering questions this week!

Max runs an (adorable) intro in the above puppet theater, and each cast member gets a title. Laura is The Heart, Sam is The “Funny Guy”, Travis is The Brawn, Liam is The Actor, Matt is The Brains, Marisha is The Face, Taliesin is The Pyramid, Brian is The Convict, and Ashley is The Favorite.

The cast’s entrance is majestic. There are balloons, sashes, tiaras, and champagne. Henry has a tiara too!

The Search for Grog will air this Friday, February 22 at 7 PM Pacific on twitch.tv/criticalrole. If you miss the stream, it’ll be available Saturday morning on CR’s YouTube channel!

Talks Machina and CR will air on CR’s official channels starting today! Starting next episode, TM will be available on CR’s YouTube channel on Thursday at 7 Pacific, and also in podcast form!

Stats: in 100 episodes of TM, there’s been 81 episodes of Brian’s glorious beard. There have been 9 Skype/FaceTime call-ins! There were 244 guest misnomers before that well ran dry. 93 episodes of pre-show hijinks (thanks to Max James!). 95 episodes of Arsequeef. 826 days of being on the internet!

Brian: "The concept of creating a talk show about a D&D campaign has always been absurd to me, so we wanted to embrace that terribleness.”

There’s now a Steve Cam (quietly reading, meal prepping, and ignoring the show), and a Zach Cam (staring at a monitor that’s all just Liam’s chest hair and the Fjord bust), and a Max Cam (dancing in a stripper cop outfit), Lockey Cam (practicing with a sword in front of a mirror and then charging at Daniel for filming it - Brian: “Hopefully Daniel’s non-union.”), Ed Cam (drinking scotch and counting down the days until football returns, and also lint rolling his new goatee), Chris Cam (rapping in the VO booth), Brittany Cam (dancing with a unicorn blanket, huffing compressed air - Brian: “You can’t show that on Twitch!”).

Matt is asked how his DMing style has evolved with campaign 2. “Well... I’ve been forced to embrace a little more of the tragedy in the characters’ backstories.” The internal and external conflict has been really interesting for him to watch and react to. “I’ve learned to be very proud of my players for mucking up my perception of where things are going to go.”

Coming to Xhorhas, Nott’s thrilled to no longer have to worry about the mask. Sam’s excited about the City of Beasts “to see what kind of fucked-up individuals we’re going to find and seeing how Nott will react to that.”

Yasha definitely sympathizes with Nott trying to save her spouse, but “there’s a lot going on with her going back to Xhorhas. It’s definitely triggering for her, but she understands the need to want to go back. I wish I could go to Xhorhas. We’ll see what happens.” Travis: “I’m pretty sure once we go to a place we can never go back.”

Favorite item on the Talks shelves? Taliesin mentions a magnetic Percy mini, Sam likes the tiny Sams (”It looks like my bedroom!”), Ashley and Brian are partial to the Sully painting, Laura loves the Pike painting, Marisha loves all the stuff the cast bought on a hungover voyage to the flea market when they were first building the set, Matt loves a very cool dice tower. Brian likes the Vecna with Marisha’s face. Matt: “I don’t know if I like that one.”

Laura doesn’t like the party using the derogatory term for the Krynn, because she wants people to be happy even if she doesn’t know them. Sam: “I haven’t been the best for that, but if Jester wants me to... I guess I’ll change.”

There are new wipe transitions featuring the Matt pillow and the Fjord bust. It’s glorious.

Gif of the week: Sam calling Travis “studly” for catching the candy. Laura: “...I like that I’ve been cut out of it completely.”

Arsequeef gets the Lifetime Achievement Award for Gif of the Week. He wins Max’s 2006 Honda Accord.

On Caleb taking off his bandages because there’s nothing to hide anymore: “Was that terrifying for him, or a relief?” Liam: “Yes!” He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it feels good. He’s got f...r...iends?” Marisha: “I love that sitcom. (weakly) F...r...iends?”

Caduceus being a source of comfort, insight, and advice was built into the character. Taliesin looked at low INT high WIS, and Matt immediately started laughing and told Taliesin he’d do well with that. Taliesin: “There’s plenty of things that will eventually flap that, but we haven’t hit them yet.”

As a player, Travis doesn’t like to weigh things carefully all the time, so a lot of Fjord’s leardership has been a bit about pressing fast-forward. Marisha: “So what you’re saying is that your Grog’s poking through.” Matt points out that if both characters have a trait, it’s probably just Travis. 

Liam: “I’ve got a little Travis poking me from behind.” Marisha, musing: “So many conflicting beards...”

Beau’s prayer to Ioun mostly came from a “couldn’t hurt” perspective. “I’ll try it out. Give it a spin.” When Travis asks, Marisha clarifies that it was Ioun specifically because of the Cobalt Soul. Travis: “Oh yeah, I totally knew the relationship there. I just wanted to make sure the audience did.”

Bugbear friend or bugbear foe? Sam: “He speaks goblin, he seems cool, his name’s Gluzo. He has a hard-to-pin-down accent, but it’s amazing.” Taliesin: “You have a hard-to-pin-down accent, too. It’s something you have in common.” Taliesin gets asked if his insight check revealed that the bugbear is secretly pretending to be someone else. “Yes, he’s just pretending to be a bugbear. He’s actually Matt Mercer.” Laura: “I like him. ‘Cause he’s cute and he let me give him a tattoo.”

Sam: “Nott trusts her friends to be as strong as they can be, and at this point, I don’t know if she’s as concerned with one of them dying as just getting to her husband in time before he dies. If we lose one along the way, Nott will probably cry a little, but will move on.” What if it were Fjord? “Fjord’s expjendable.”

Matt: “I’ve reached a point where Travis controls Yasha in combat, but I don’t consider any of his roleplay canon.” Ashley: “I trust Travis. Barbarian respect.” Laura: “Don’t give him that.” Ashley: “Travis himself is like a Deck of Many things. This is risky, but it’s kind of fun!”

Sam: “That dunamancy shit is lit.” Liam: “And it’s tied up in everything that Caleb wants, so if he can get on the entropy shit and the gravity shit, you know he’s going to go back in time, motherfucker.” Sam is so excited to have these mystery spells because they’re so new, and they’re inherently something they don’t know how to counter or prepare for. Travis: “It’s almost like every time we play D&D.”

Fanart of the Week: a spectacular group shot.

Everyone freaks out over how good Travis looks with glasses. He takes them off and puts them back on sexily for a while. I was too slow grabbing a screencap, but don’t worry, the gifs will be everywhere.

Laura: “Jester hasn’t experienced a lot of emotions. She hasn’t experienced a lot of anything, really. She’s definitely dealt with sadness in her life, but I don’t think it’s been so in-your-face constantly, just the trauma of it all.” Liam: “Yeah, she’s with some very terrible people.” Laura: “While it is traumatic, it’s also been a great adventure, and she’s enjoying being out and doing things. Even if it might hurt her, it’s so much better than reading about it, drawing it, just imagining how it would be.”

Caleb’s still feeling out the shift in his relationship with Nott, but there’s no question that everything they’ve gone through can’t be forgotten or overlooked. “He sees her as an absolute ally no matter what, and will do anything for her. In a weird way, he feels like they’re even more alike than he thought they were, and he loves her and wants her to succeed in what she’s doing, and hopes that the things that he wants don’t fuck it up entirely.” Sam: “Are you talking about Liam and Sam right now?”

Caduceus’ thoughts on Xhorhas? “A new environment, certainly, and a new aspect of nature that he’s unfamiliar with. This is just more terrain to him at this point. He’s also very unaware of the political realities. He’s vaguely aware there is war. He’s still not sure why we can’t just go up and ask for directions from everyone.”

Brian: “That tiara is the most blessed image.”

Travis on the Captain Tusktooth tattoo: “Brand recognition is huge in Xhorhas.” Taliesin: “Viral marketing.” Laura confirms that it’s not likely to change apart from some small differences from tattoo to tattoo. “Each person gets a special google.”

Laura on fans actually getting this tattoo: “I am ALL ABOUT IT.”

Marisha: “Guys! How about instead of M9 tattoos...” Sam: “We let Laura tattoo us? I would legitimately be down with that!” Ashley: “I’m kind of into it.” Liam: “This is what splits us apart.” Laura: “Everybody gets a dick.” Travis: “How would we explain that to our kid? ‘What’s that?’ ‘Your mom did that.’”

Beau is holding back a bit since her impulsiveness started having negative repercussions. “I think it’s about accountability. She’s started to learn--- especially when she first joined M9, she didn’t have friends, really. I think you had to learn, oh, my actions do affect others around me. I think that’s something you can learn and you can grow in, but yeah, she is trying to not be a total fuckwad anymore. Trying. But old habits...”

Favorite TM moments? Travis: “Do you remember that episode where Brian wasn’t the host?” Brian remembers Travis throwing the card that almost took him out. Ashley fondly remembers PullOutKing. Laura remembers Taliesin saying the phrase “I love teenage assholes” (referring to Percy acting immature), and Taliesin is super glad someone brought that up again just when the tweets were finally starting to die down. 

Ashley talks about how proud she is about how far Brian’s come, and how great he’s doing at this. Everyone has an uncharacteristically sincere moment of applause for Brian. Liam: “Everyone take 30 seconds to drop the bit that we think you’re a total fucking weirdo. You’re so good at this, and you’re such a good friend, and we’re so glad you’re part of this family.”

Marisha pitches the idea of trying to sell TM syndicated on LifeTime now that they have 100 episodes.

Brian remembers having food poisoning that led to him running off-screen, throwing up in the middle of the show, and then having to come back. Marisha remembers Travis texting everyone that night with “lol, did Brian just yarf on TV?”

Matt talks about how proud he is of Brian for going from zero tabletop experience to co-running his own game.

Talks Machina After Dog ft. Sleepy Boi Henry

“This is the best dog-petting show ever.”

Liam was skeptical about TM initially, because he was worried it would take away from what would be shared in-game. Marisha: “I was stoked for it, not gonna lie. I was very misunderstood and people hated my character, so I was kind of stoked to just get to explain it.” Travis was sold once they picked the name.

Marisha: “It also set the precedent for really dumb, punny names.” Brian points out that, as a channel, they now can’t stick with serious names as their final choice.

Laura’s sister has been watching the show, and she texted Laura after the show to ask what the whisper was, so Laura’s going to tell her and no one else. Liam: “You’re gonna tell your real sibling?”

There’s a horrified discussion about giraffe fighting. Some segues happened in there.

What’s something their characters have done that’s made them proud? Liam: Caleb using the Wall of Fire. Marisha: the Plank King execution episode as a whole (everyone agrees). Travis: “I was proud of hooking up with an NPC when my wife wasn’t here to threaten me with death.” (he immediately turns to Taliesin: “Help.” Taliesin: “No god can help you now.”) Taliesin: “I sunk a boat.” Laura: Proud of not getting caught with Nott in the Platinum Dragon sanctuary. Sam: Taking the blow for Jester so she could escape. Liam: “Molly showing his dick covered in eggs.”

Matt: “I’m proud of you guys not entirely descending into evil madness. I’m proud of the character arcs of being broken, terrible people, and finding out that it’s okay to be broken; you’re not necessarily terrible.” Liam: “The entire cast went, ‘He’s talking about everyone but me’.” Matt thought it was going to be very hard to keep the group together, but the party turned it into character growth moments. “I’m proud of you.” Laura: “Thanks, Dad.”

Yasha loved the arm wrestling. “Oh man, it’s so fun to be the tank.”

Laura: “I’m really proud of us for saving Kiri!”

Everyone has Liam’s chest hair:

Wishes for the next 100 episodes? More Ashley. 

Brian: “I hate this coffee table more than anything in the whole, entire world.”

What’s something that should never change about the show? How ridiculous it is, the barrel, Dani. Also always have a dog. They fundamentally do the show for themselves, still, and that’s made it a really good environment for them to open up about the show and their characters.

Liam: “There’s a lot of beauty to what we do, but it’s also inherently silly. And to deny that is silly.”

Matt likes that it’s unpolished and imperfect. “Things are going to go wrong regardless, and you can either get angry and frustrated about the lack of control, or you can embrace it.” Sam: “None of this is real anyway.” 

Brian points out that this is not an excuse to stop paying him.

And that’s a wrap! This is the last After Dark for a while, but there are some big ideas in the works for the coming weeks!

[howlingheartdemigod]

If you are still looking for prompts maybe beau is forced to meet up with her parents, they insult her while jester or yasha or jester and yasha are there with her

whooie this took on a life of it’s own

tw for emotional abuse & manipulation

willing to practice

It was well understood that the last thing Beau wanted to do was visit Kamordah. She, loudly, stated as much, every few miles, in fact.

“I think we should ghost this fucker.” She said, arms crossed, practically pouting, in the back of the cart. “We dip out, then next time we’re in  the city we steal out blood bac, and say a big ol’ fuck you to the Gentleman while we’re at it.”

Fjord let out a long suffering sigh. “Great idea. Let’s just torpedo an important alliance. Perfect plan.” He rolled his eyes, looking over at her from atop the horse he was riding.

Jester turned around on the bench at the front, batting her eyelashes. “We will only he there for a day Beau.” she reminded. “And anyway, we don’t know if the rich people we’re going to find are your parents anyway. We might be stealing the stuff back from some random rich people.”

Beau grumbled a little bit, leaning back against the cart. They were right, of course. They needed to fix their relationship with the Gentleman. Especially after fucking off the the ocean, and then the Xiorhausian conflict for months. Favors received required favors given, and this is what the Gentleman needed done.

Still, it didn’t sit right with her, going back there. It made her nervous, made her stomach twist.

Beau felt a knee bump hers, and looked up, catching Caleb’s eye. There was an understanding there; Caleb could see this was just fear. Fear of going back to the place where she was hurt. Fear of dragging others there. He could recognize it, recognize the pain. She appreciated that he didn’t think her pain was stupid, was silly, even though it wasn’t as serious by comparison.

He gave her a little smile. “You have friends who have your back now.” He told her mirroring her words from their journey to Felderwin. “We’re here to defend you, and kick some ass. Just like you do for us.”

Beau looked at him for a second, then nodded, eyes dropping. There was a snap, and Frumpkin appeared in her lap. He turned circles, then curling up to sleep. Beau pet him behind the ears, letting the sleeping Faye calm and distract her.

A few miles along, Caduceus spoke up from where he was steering the cart next to Jester. “Someone up ahead.” He called back. Beau reached for her staff, straightening her back. She leaned an arm over the side of the cart, looking down the road. She felt the weight of Frumpkin shift off her lap, and saw Nott move to sit just behind Caduceus, hiding in case she needed the element of surprise.

Beau squinted, head tilting, but it was Jester who saw first, gasped and let out a little laugh. “It’s okay!” she said. “It’s Yasha!”

Yasha joined their little parade a few miles outside of town, to cheers, and hugs from Nott, Caduceus, and Jester They explained where they were headed, and then set off. They shifted around the cart, Jester and Nott taking the horse that had been trailing behind, Caleb moving to sit by Caduceus, Beau and Yasha in the back of the cart.

“We’re going to you hometown?” Yasha asked Beau.

Beau nodded. “Yeah, uh… Yeah, but I don’t want to spend too much time there. The Stormlord lead you this way?” she asked.

“Yes.” she said nodding. “I believe he knows that I wish to come back to you, uh, you all.” she said, nodding a little. She shook her head, seeming to search for something else to say. “It will be nice to see where you grew up.” Yasha said.

Beau let out a little broken laugh. “Well, I hope that you all don’t actually have to. That estate sucked.”

“We aren’t gonna go there.” Jester called from the horse. “We’re gonna run in, get the stuff from the rich people, and get out. But if we do, we’re gonna run and smash shit and take it and run!”

“Yeah!” Nott said, from where she was holding on to Jester’s cloak. “It’s gonna be great.”

Yasha nodded a little. “It would be nice to see a little bit of it as we smash things, then, if we have to go there.”

Beau smiled, nodding a little in agreement. “Yeah, smash shit and run.”

It quickly became clear that it was definitely Beau’s parents who screwed the Gentleman over. Beau went quiet as they loaded into the cart to head the few miles out of town to the vineyard.

“Beau,” Caduceus said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to come with us.” He said. “You don’t have to go back there.”

Beau looked at her friends, strapped up to go and head out and deal with her family. “Yeah, yeah I do, Duceus.” she said. “But, thank you.” she said.

Beau headed towards one of the horses, but she felt a hand grab her wrist. Jester gave her a little smile, and pulled her towards the card. “Sit with me.” she said.

Beau nodded, and clamored up into the cart, words not coming. Jester held her hand, as Nott hopped up into the cart, tucking against her side.

They headed out, and the quiet radiated out from Beau, settling over them all. Beau watched the lightly wooded area, turn into the familiar fields of grape vines. She tensed up, eyes scanning the horizon.

“That big tree is the one I fell out of, when I broke my arm.” she said softly.

Jester followed her gaze. “Oh, yeah, that makes sense.”

“I kept climbing it, though.” she said, nodding. “Carved my name at the top junction there.”

Beau forced herself to keep talking, telling little stories about growing up. Trying to keep her head clear. She couldn’t go in ruled by fear. She couldn’t let that rule her.

Nott started asking questions, laughing a little at funny things. She started to supply her own stories, of Luke as a toddler, trying similar escapades to Beau’s. She felt her heart catch in her throat. Nott had chosen to leave Luke and Yeza in Allfield, to keep traveling with them, to find a way to become a halfling again, and because she wanted to stay with her friends, but it clearly weighed on her. Hearing her talk about Luke, hearing her relate to Beau’s stories, it made Beau feel closer to her than she could possibly explain.

Beau was feeling better, swapping stories as they rode along.

But the top of the house, the manor, came into view and her voice got caught in her throat.

“They have a son.” she reminded they quietly. “He’s just a kid, so… you know… don’t let me burn the house down.”

Frumpkin suddenly appeared on her shoulder, purring, which was a little comfort, but not enough. She reached the hand Jester wasn’t holding back to scratch the cat, lifting her eyes to the wizard riding in the front of the cart. Caleb gave her a nod, a promise.

The stopped a few dozen meters from the door, and she let out a little breath, then slid to the edge of the cart. She picked up her staff, and jumped off, turning towards the house that was once her house. She walked towards the door, and stomped up the stairs putting on all her vibrato and confidence before her friends could even get off the cart to back her. She hit the door with her staff, then took a step back.

“Come out, asshole, I know your home, you never leave.” She called, scowling. “Mother dearest.” She shouted. “Father o’ mine. I’ve got business with you.”

Beau stared at the doors with rage in her veins, waiting for the showdown she’d been building for her whole life. She took a step back when she heard it unlock, hands curling into fists. She took a deep breath and held it, feeling a strong presence step beside her, feeling some kind of reassuring energy pouring towards her. She couldn’t bring herself to look over and find out who’d joined her on the porch, though. She had to keep her ground.

The little huff of disgust was expected, when her father’s eyes locked on her. She suddenly realized she should have tied her robes proper. She should have changed. She should have washed her hair, or scrubbed some of the blood away. She lifted her chin a little as her father looked past her. “What kind of riff raff have you dragged onto my lands, Beauregard.”

Beau swallowed, “We’ve been hired to retrieve an item you stole. Let us in or we’ll bring crowns guard. We’ve already found some you haven’t paid off.”

She watched her father scowl and think, clearly wanting to turn them away, but not wanting the trouble. “Well,” He said, making up his mind. “Do come in, then.” He turned his back, leaving the door open.

Beau turned her head to nod them inside, and quickly realized that they were all still behind her, down the steps. She looked to her other side, noticing that the heat, body heat she’d been sure, was gone. She blinked, and took a shocked breath. There was no one there, but, the air, she realized, smelled like lavender.

Beau sood with her arms crossed in the open entry way. She knew that the stairs to the left lead to the library and her fathers office. She knew the ones to the right lead to the wing that housed the various bedrooms. On the main floor to the right was the dining room, the kitchens, the sitting room. Far back into the house on the left was the master suite was. She’d been in the upstairs wing, housing the bedrooms for guests, and for her. She knew there was what she knew was supposed to be a nursery near the master. She’d never lived in it.

The space was all pale golds and dark browns. It was supposed to make you think of royalty. Make you think of wealth. Make you think that their money was older and more powerful than it was. She’d called her father a moonshine peddler once. He’d thrown the expensive bottle of red he’d been holding at her head. Luckily he had shit aim.

There were small benches on either side of the door. One of them, she knew, had her name carved into the back. She’d pulled it out and quietly scraped it in one day, out of boredom. The paintings on the walls were all of old family members, and a few of the vineyards themselves. Beau hated it.

She stayed quiet as Caleb explained very carefully, that they wouldn’t be leaving without the property that Beau’s father had unlawfully stolen. They knew, from Beau, that his father had the local guard in his pocket, but Jester wouldn’t hesitate sending a message to friends a little farther off to come by.

Beau just stood there, trying to keep from looking around. Trying to keep from caring about every little thing that had changed.

Beau’s mother came down the stairs, and let out a shocked little gasp. “Beauregard.” she said, brow lifting in horror. Beau thought about how she must look through her mother’s eyes; half shaven, a tattoo peeking out the back of her robe, still dirty from the road, probably still bloody as well, surrounded by a band of people from races her mother would routinely scoff at and judge. She was the farthest thing from the daughter she’d tried to hard to mold her into. “You should not be here.”

“It’s fine.” Her father spoke up, interrupting her mother how he always did. “They’ll be leaving shortly.” He called a servant over, and instructed them on what to go get. Fjord walked over to Beau, brow lifting. “You good?” He asked.

Beau looked over at him, and swallowed. She nodded, but something in her eye betrayed her.

“For the record,” He said, voice still low. “You clearly made more of yourself than they ever could have dreamed here. Not enough imagination to understand you.”

Beau gave him a half second of a tense smile. “Thanks Fjord.” she said, reaching to give him a hard pat on the arm.

She heard a scoff from nearby, and looked over to see her mother’s upturned nose. “Should have known.” she said, even though at the distance she couldn’t possibly have heard the conversation. Beau scowled at her, hands curling into fists. “You come in here, acting like a man, disgusting, and fraternizing with monstrous races.” Her eyes stuck on Nott, who was hovering by the door. “You were always trouble, Beauregard,” Her mother continued, before looking to Fjord. “but bedding one? That’s disgusting.”

Beau looked from her mother, to Fjord, then back. “Are you kidding?” She said. “How did catching me with my head up a girls dress not alert you to the fact that I’m not interested in men?” she asked.

Beau’s father let out a hiss. “You can’t expect us to believe a dalliance like that was going to hold. But if it has, clearly this is just proof of what we already knew.”

“Oh and what was that, hua?” she spat, taking a step towards him, footsteps echoing in the empty space. “What? come on, I’d love to hear an original thought from your tiny brain.”

His face contorted into something like a grimace. “You are a disgrace, Beauregard. You’re a mistake. You shouldn’t have ever been born in the first place.”

As blood rushed Beau’s ears it was all she could think that she didn’t think he’d have the balls to say it. She’d always known what her parents thought of her, but she didn’t think it would go for the throat like that. And, despite knowing, despite preparing herself for a fight, she felt herself go still, go quiet, go cold. She felt her staff slip slightly in her grip, the end of it striking the ground, the curl of her fingers keeping it from falling. She felt her breath catch, in shock, in pain. Saw the world slow down as her father sneered at her, the form of her mother a few paces back from him, looking almost smug.

Time zoomed back in, though, when she saw a great sword press to her father’s throat, when she saw her mother tense, hands going to her head. She blinked, taking in the forms of Jester, fingers alight with green energy, hand lifted towards her mother, and Yasha, rage in her eyes, keeping her blade pressed to his neck.

Yasha spoke, “You, sir, are the disgrace. You abused and belittled your child into believing she wasn’t deserving. You treated her like she was a burden, not a gift. You, frankly, didn’t deserve her. And I fear for the child you have now. I truly hope he breaks free of your grasp before you ruin him like you’ve ruined yourself.”

Jester hissed something in infernal to punctuate. Beau felt like the air was lead as the servant who’d been sent off entered the room. His eyes went wide at the scene around him. Caleb stepped forward, a hand outstretched for the parsel. She heard the door open behind her. She heard Caduceus’ soft voice call Jester and Yasha. She watched the tense stare down between Yasha and her father, before Yasha sheathed her weapon. She heard Jester hiss something else to her mother who responded by cowering. Beau stared at her parents, trying to decide how to feel. Trying to get her feet moving.

Yasha put an arm around Beau’s shoulder, turning her. Jester looped her arm around her waist. They walked her out.

They got her into the cart, waiting until they were a ways away to start talking, start trying to get Beau to come back to. Jester was on one side of her, all soft curves and words sharp throwing them back towards the manor. Yasha framed her other side, taking her hand, made of hard lines, and delicate actions.

Beau stared at the building that used to be her house, and took a breath. “We should have smashed more shit.” she managed, slumping between them.

There was a laugh from nearby, and Nott handed Beau her flask.

That place had been her house, sure, but this, tucked between two women who were ready to kill for her at a moments notice, this was home.

[conceptstage]

A Marriage of Convenience {Chapter Sixteen}

“Jester…”

Jester looked up from the drawer she was stealing medical supplies from. She paused and didn't move for a moment but the infirmary was empty. “Mr. Clay?” she called, looking around. No answer, so she turned back to filling up her bag.

“Dear Jester, over here…”

Jester spun around this time, just at the right moment to catch a flash of green disappearing out the open outside door. Had that been open an moment ago? “Hello?” She called, starting towards the door. “I’m not scared of you, come out!”

She walked out the back door and found herself staring at the back of a person dressed in a green cloak, their curly red hair falling down around their shoulders. “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” they said, not turning to face her.

She frowned. “You didn’t frighten me. The wedding doesn’t start until this afternoon, guests should go in the main door.”

Vibrant green eyes turned to look at her and her heart started pounding when she recognized them. “Hello, Jester.”

“T-... Traveler?”

-

“I look like a dumbass.”

“Yes, dear, but what do you think of the dress?”

Beau fixed Mollymauk with a glare and he just grinned at her. “It’s fine.” She started doing knee highs and then did a few jumping jacks. “Easy to move in, no sleeves, lightweight… Perfect for a runaway bride.” The dress was her grandmother’s wedding dress. It was short enough that she wouldn’t trip over it when it was time to run but long enough to cover the fact that she was barefoot.

“Yeah? You wanna do some more exercises, to be sure?”

He was teasing her but she rolled backwards into a handstand. The dress fell down in front of her face to reveal the pants she was wearing underneath and her hand popped out of the tulle to flip him off. “Fuck you.” She lowered herself back down and started bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I just… I just have so much energy. I don’t know what to do with it. It’s really happening.”

“You know that you’re not actually getting married, right?”

“That’s not the part I’m excited about, you dick. That is literally going to be the worst part of this entire day. Let’s go over the checklist, make sure that everything is ready. You have your bag of holding.”

“Check.” He picked it up off the armchair by one of the handles and then let it fall down again.

“Do you know what signal you’re gonna do?”

“I have an idea.”

“Lay it on me.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “No, I think I’ll keep it a surprise.”

She frowned and put her hands on her hips. “I don’t like that. You have to tell me.”

“No, I don’t think I do. Just trust me-”

“I don’t trust you in the least.”

“-you’ll be able to see it and you’ll recognize it when it comes.”

She just sighed and turned back to the mirror, trying to find something to do with her hair that her mouth wouldn’t despise. “Fine. You know what, that’s the least of my worries. How’s Caleb doing?”

At that exact moment, the door to her bedroom opened with a bang and Nott strolled in, under a disguise spell. For a moment Beau had forgotten what she looked like today and had froze . “Caleb is freaking out.” Nott said as she walked in, shutting the door behind her and hoping up on the armchair next to the bag. “I had to come in here to get away from his nervous pacing.”

Molly started towards the door. “I’ll go talk him off the cliff.”

When they were alone, Beau continued the checklist. “Is Fjord ready? Have you spoken to Jester today?”

Nott nodded and kicked her feet idly. “She talked to him yesterday and he said that the Gentleman was providing a boat. When we get to the docks, look for a big green guy, I guess.”

She frowned. “I don’t like that he’s coming with us. I barely know the guy.”

Nott shrugged. “Jester trusts him.”

Beau sighed. “Yeah. I guess that’s good enough for me. Where’s Yasha?”

“Still hasn’t come back from her trip. Caduceus Sent her a message to let her know we were making a break for it but he didn’t hear back from her.”

Beau frowned. “Damn. Down one hand, that’s gonna make this harder. And you know your part?”

“Hide under the chair and steal the key from your father’s pocket when he takes his pants off.”

“No, you’re other part.”

“Uhhh…. Poison Franklin?”

Beau turned back to her with a glare. “Did you forget to do that?”

Nott hopped off the chair. “Nope. On an unrelated note, I’ll be right back.”

She was halfway out the door when Beau called her back. “Nott!” she called. “Don’t kill the guy, okay? Just enough to make him sick.”

“Well that takes all the fun out of it.”

And then she was alone. She turned back to the mirror and let out a nervous breath. “Okay…” she muttered to herself, pulling at the corset and scratching at her boob. “Okay, Beau, you can do this. This is what you’ve been working your whole life for. Freedom is just a few hours away. You’ve got this.” She wasn’t sure how long she was alone in her room with only her own thoughts until there was a knock on the door and she flinched. “Yeah?”

“Are you decent?”

She swallowed a lump in her throat. “Come on in, Father.”

The door opened and her father walked in, wearing his usual robes. “You look beautiful,” he said, walking up and gripping her elbow until she turned to face him. “Your grandmother would have loved to see you in her dress.”

“Why are you here?” she asked, staring into his cold, unfeeling eyes. “I know it’s not just to compliment me.”

He sighed. “Your mother seems to be under the impression that you’ve been… almost too willing to go through with this wedding.”

“I thought that this what what you both wanted? Make up your goddamn minds, do you want me to be obedient or rebellious?”

“That wasn’t a complaint. That was suspicion. I am here to warn you.”

“Threaten me you mean?”

He continued on like she hadn’t spoken. “If you do anything to jeopardize this marriage… if you so much as cough at the wrong time… I will make your remaining life here a living hell.”

“Will you? You won’t just kill me like you killed EJ?”

He squeezed her elbow painfully and then dropped it. Yeah, that was gonna bruise. “That was your fault. You shouldn’t have let him take the blame for your misdeed. Regardless, your punishment will not be as swift. You will live, Beauregard, but I will make you wish you were dead. Understood?”

She turned away and then met his eyes in the mirror. “Understood.”

“I’ll see you at the ceremony, Beauregard. Do not provoke me today.”

The door slammed shut behind him. She felt rage building in her chest and her breath started getting sharp and angry. When a cry full of years of hatred, she punched the mirror. It shattered, fracturing her reflection. She took a deep breath and looked down at her bleeding knuckles.

Meanwhile across the hall, Caleb looked up when Molly entered his room. He was wearing his usual clothes without his coat and his cat was rubbing around his ankles in circles. “Hey, how you feeling?” Molly asked, though he knew the answer by the look on his pale, freckled face. “You look like someone who could use a drink.”

“I can’t drink. I can’t drink anything, I can’t eat anything. I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

Molly picked up the wood board covered in cheese and grapes. “Okay, that’s your problem, there’s nothing on your stomach. Eat something, it’ll make you feel better. What’s got you so worked up?”

Caleb hesitated, but picked up a small block of muenster cheese, popping it into his mouth. “There are so many ways this could wrong. Everyone involved could be jailed or worse. And all for a book that may or may not even exist. Why is Beauregard doing this? She could leave at any time but she’s putting herself and everyone she cares about through this rigmarole, for- for what? Just to die before sunset?”

“She’s doing it for you, obviously.”

“Why though?”

“Because she cares about you. We all care about you, Caleb.”

“You shouldn’t.”

Molly shrugged. “Well, that’s not really your decision, is it? Now, stop this panicking, there will be time for that later. Let’s get you dressed. Hold on, have another piece of cheese.” He waited until Caleb had popped a second square of cheese in his mouth before he sat the wood board down. He walked over to the clothes laid out on Caleb’s bed, a loose white shirt with high waisted black pants and antique cufflinks. “You gonna want my help or will my being here just make it more difficult?”

Caleb scratched at his red cheek and stared at his cat. “I can dress myself. But I may need your help with my cufflinks in a few minutes.”

Molly nodded and started back towards the door. “I’ll be waiting outside. Call if you need me.”

Molly was only waiting a few moments before Caleb’s door opened once again and the wizard stepped out, holding out his loose cuffs towards his tiefling friend and handing him the cufflinks. “If you would?”

“Certainly.” Molly took this time to admire the way Caleb looked. His hair was pulled back out of his face in a ponytail. The hand held in his own was soft and smooth and the pants he was wearing… damn.

They were both startled out of their private thoughts when Beau’s bedroom door opened. They looked up as Sir Eston stepped out and Caleb’s back went painfully straight. “Sir,” he said, quietly.

He nodded in greeting. “Just checking in on my daughter.”

Whatever else he might have said as the door closed behind him was interrupted as a maid jogged up, bowing at the waist when Eston turned his eyes on her. “Beggin your pardon, Sir. Franklin seems to have come down with a sudden flu. He regrets to inform you that he will be incapacitated for the remainder of the day at the least.”

Sir Eston scowled. “Damnit. Very well, send a butler to assist me in my chambers.”

Molly snapped closed the second of Caleb’s cufflinks and then cleared his throat. “Could I be of help, Sir?”

Eston frowned at him and gave him a judgmental look up and down but nodded. “You’ll suffice. Follow me.” He started down towards the room he technically shared with Georgina. Molly and Caleb exchanged a quick glance.

“It’s go time,” he whispered, grinning as he turned and followed quickly.

Caleb waited until he was alone in the hall and then started to slowly walk towards Beau’s bedroom door. He startled when there was a crash from inside and pushed the door open. “Beau?” he asked, worriedly, to find her staring at her bloody knuckles. He walked over to her and gently took her hand.

She flinched and snatched it away. “Don’t-”

“It’s just me,” he said, holding his hand out towards her still.

She hesitated but let him start tending to her raw knuckles. “I wanted to punch him,” she whispered after a few minutes of silence.

“Just now? What did he say?”

“No. Not now. Before, when-” She cleared her throat. “When I imagined escaping. I always thought I’d go out with a bang, literally. But, if the plan goes the way it’s supposed to, I won’t get the chance.”

“Look on the bright side. Maybe the plan will go horribly wrong and punching him will be the last thing you ever do.”

She snorted. “That’s the spirit, Caleb. You’re such a ray of sunshine.”

The redheaded wizard sighed as he finished wrapping up her wound. “Molly just left with him. Everything is in motion now. There’s no going back.”

She nodded and flexed her bandaged hand. “Let’s tear this motherfucker to the ground.”

[sockablock]

Something New for Me and You

• (start) (prev) (AO3) (next) •

Chapter 2: Last Song of the Night 

Caleb shut the door and fumbled slightly with his keys, trying to not to drop them while also trying to balance a large plastic bag of leftovers in his arms. Eventually he managed to hook them onto the rusted coat rack by their welcome mat which, in faint letters, read:

Nein.

Nott had found it buried under a pile of random junk in the Goodwill down the street a few years ago. It had been a permanent fixture of their home ever since.

Caleb slipped his shoes off, and went to unbutton his jacket, and remembered that he wasn’t wearing it anymore.

“Scheiss,” he muttered, “Molly still has it.”

“Has what?” Nott asked.

Caleb looked up and saw a pair of large, bright yellow eyes glowing back at him from the approximate area of the kitchen set-up, about five feet in the air. And then, in the darkness, another eye opened, much smaller and pale blue. He squinted. Then he flicked his wrist, and four globules of light blossomed around him. They drifted out to the corners of their tiny apartment, faintly illuminating the room around them and revealing Nott, sitting on their makeshift dinner table, holding Frumpkin in her lap. There was a faint meow from said cat, which Caleb decided to interpret as a greeting.

“What does he still have?” Nott asked again. “Oh, and welcome home. Nothing exploded while you were gone.”

This elicited a faint smile. “That’s good,” he said, “I always like to hear that is the case.” Then he started undoing the buttons on his vest and added, “I was referring to my jacket. Mollymauk still has it.”

Nott instantly raised an eyebrow. “Why’d he steal your jacket?” she asked suspiciously.

Caleb snorted. “No, no, he didn’t steal it.” And then he blushed slightly, and his fingers slipped. “I just, er, I just lent it to him.”

Her other eyebrow went up. “Oh, no. Caleb, come on, no.”

“What is your ‘oh no,’ what does that mean?”

Nott leaned back. She lifted Frumpkin up by the scruff and over his protesting meows said, “Gosh, kitty, Caleb really must be in love.”

He spluttered. This vest would not be coming off anytime soon. “That’s not true, spatz. That’s not the case at all.”

“Frumpkin, I think he’s lying to us.”

“I am not,” he said, and would be affronted if he wasn’t so flustered. “I went tonight as a favor for Jester. Nothing else. Not to find a…a significant other, not to take advantage of her hospitality, and not to meet Mister Mollymauk. Er, I mean, to meet Mollymauk.”

Nott shook her head and tutted. “And gods, did you hear that? Mister,” she sighed. “That means he wants to impress him.” She turned towards Caleb. “Is this…Mister Mollymauk guy fancy, then? Is that why you’re all manners-y now?”

Caleb finally managed to shrug the vest off and hung it on the coat rack. He vaguely remembered that there were rules for storing such well-made clothing, but at the moment he couldn’t remember a single one.

“He is quite fancy,” Caleb conceded, making his way to the kitchen and taking a seat in front of Nott, who was still right in the middle of the table. “He’s a singer at a well-known club.”

“Which one?” Nott asked.

“The Fletching & Moondrop,” said Caleb, “same as Beau and Yasha. And Fjord, of course.”

“In the fancy part, I’m guessing?”

Caleb sighed. “Why did everybody but me know that their club had such a gleaming reputation?”

“Because Yasha and Beau work there,” Nott said. “Jester knows everything. You don’t pay attention.”

“And how did you know?”

She shrugged. “I used to sneak in and steal stuff from the rich folk. But now I’m reformed and a valuable member of society and I only steal when I need to. Or when you ask me to. Or when I can’t help myself.”

“Truly, a model citizen. I am impressed.”

She beamed. Her jagged, crooked teeth gleamed yellow under the faint light from Caleb’s globules. He absently leaned over, and pinched her cheek.

“So other than the fact you’re in love now,” Nott said after he pulled away, “how was the double date? Does Molly love you back? Did Fjord and Jester make out? Did you bring me back leftovers?”

He nodded, and pushed the plastic bag towards her. Her eyes lit up, and she started yanking out leftover containers.

“There’s still some chicken,” he began, “and salad, but I imagine you won’t want that. There’s also fish of some kind, save that for Frumpkin, and, oh, I see you’ve found the beef—”

Her cheeks bulged. The table was now covered in scraps, and Frumpkin poked a loose tomato with his nose.

“Sorry,” she said, slightly muffled. “I was really hungry.”

He smiled. “Bon appetit, schatz. Sorry to make you wait so long for dinner. I thought I would be home by ten but—”

She waved a hand dismissively. “It’s a midnight snack.” She shoveled a forkful of chicken into her mouth. “And it sure beats not having any dinner. Plus this stuff is real fancy. It’s going to make pizza tomorrow look like peasant food.”

Caleb blinked. “Pizza tomorrow? Why are we getting pizza tomorrow?”

She frowned. “We always get pizza on movie night,” she said. “Is—can we not afford it? Because I can go steal some from somewhere, I’m sure.”

He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “No, no, no need, sorry. With all the excitement of tonight’s dinner I forgot that it was our turn to host movies tomorrow. We should be alright. I mean, I’m sure Kosh was kidding when he threatened to cut our power, right?”

Nott nodded loyally. “Definitely,” she said. “Absolutely, probably.”

“Great. Did you pick out a movie, yet?”

She grinned. “Actually, I let Jester—”

“We are not watching Tusk Love again. I swear to the gods I will torch the television.”

“You won’t,” said Nott in a singsong voice. “We can’t afford another one.”

He sighed in defeat. “Why would you let Jester do that? She does not need another enabler, after Fjord.”

“I like her,” said Nott, “and I couldn’t think of anything. And I knew you’d want to watch The Courting of the Crick—”

He blushed. “I would not—”

“And I refuse to watch a romantic film that’s going to teach me something. So Tusk Love it is.”

“Are you even old enough to have an opinion on...on...on smutty movies?”

“Definitely,” said Nott. She pushed a plate of salad towards Caleb. “Can you put that in the fridge?” she asked. “And make more ice? The layer from this morning is melting now.”

He accepted the tray and made his way over to their unplugged refrigerator, dragging along a Dancing Light as he went. And while he rubbed his hands together and started concentrating on a localized, low-power Ray of Frost, Nott spoke up again.

“So, you didn’t answer my question from before,” she said. “Did Mollymauk fall in love with you?”

He snorted. “I doubt it. He’s a nice fellow, but we barely know each other. I think we’re just getting to be friends, also.”

“Did you get his phone number?”

“I do not use my phone, spatz.”

“Well, maybe it’s time to start?”

He sighed. “It’s better for our budget if I didn’t. Besides, yours has been fine for both of us, hasn’t it?”

“That’s true. Hey, is he coming to movie night? Isn’t he Jester’s friend now? And Fjord’s? Nevermind, he’s definitely coming to movie night.”

Caleb, face hidden by the fridge door, blushed. “Maybe,” he said. “I suppose we will wait and see.”

“I wanna meet him,” said Nott. “I need to make sure he’s good.”

“And what would you do if he was not?”

“Kill him,” she said with complete nonchalance.

Caleb stood up, shutting the fridge behind him. “Please don’t do that,” he sighed. “I don’t want to deal with the police. I’m sure Jester would be devastated. And...I would prefer if you did not.”

She grinned. “You really do love him.”

Caleb rubbed at his eyes, and gave her one last half-hearted sigh. “I’m going to bed, spatz. You try and get some sleep as well, alright?”

She gave him a salute. “No promises,” he said.

“Good enough,” he nodded, and turned around and walked into the bedroom and got ready for the night.

•

The second they got home, Molly belligerently refusing to answer a single one of Fjord’s not-so-casual, prying questions the entire ride back, Molly shut himself into his bedroom, and leaned against the door.

Their apartment was never what Molly’s...guests expected, especially since Fjord also lived there, but he always liked to think that they had done rather well for themselves. The space wasn’t small, there was a lovely view of the waterfront, and two bedrooms, a bath, and a proper kitchen was quite the achievement in Molly’s eyes. And Fjord’s, who had grown up moving crates at the docks of a neighboring city. Plus the place was furnished mostly by Molly’s ever-rotating cycle of deep-pocketed suitors, so it was not only well-decorated, but also extremely gaudy. He loved it. Fjord didn’t, but never complained.

Molly wiggled out of his dress and into a bathrobe—another gift—and tossed it onto the bed. And then he considered the jacket Caleb had given him. It was tan, extremely well-made, and had kept him warm in a number of ways on the ride home. He laid it out carefully on the back of a chair. And then he threw himself into his sheets and pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

“Hello?”

Molly beamed. “Yasha! Darling, how are you?”

There was a pause from the other end of the line. And then a long sigh.

“Mollymauk, it is one in the morning.”

He flipped over onto his stomach and started twirling his hair. “And what?” he asked. “I can’t call my favorite lady in the entire world at one in the morning? My best woman? My dearest friend? The light of my life—”

“You only make phone calls when you are drunk,” said Yasha. “Are you drunk?”

Molly rolled his eyes, and then forgot that Yasha couldn’t see him. “No, no, I’m not drunk, dear. Not even tipsy. I just wanted to tell you that I’ve met the love of my life, and that I’m changing my last name now.”

There was another long pause. “Are you sure you’re not drunk?”

He sighed. “Peter piper picked a peck of pickled peppers. Sally sells seashells by the seashore. Wizened old wizards hold wiggling wild wands—”

“Alright, alright, I believe you,” came Yasha’s voice. “Who are you talking about? Is it another bar patron? You know how those always end.”

Molly shook his head. “No, no, dear. Not at all. It’s someone I had the most wonderful date with, at the Triumph Chime’s rooftop restaurant. You know the one.”

“I do,” said Yasha, “but it’s not a bar patron? That’s a very nice place for a date, Molly.”

“Come now, come now, don’t tell me Jester didn’t tell you?!”

“Tell me what, Molly?”

“I had a double date tonight, of course! With her and Fjord and one of her friends! One of your friends, actually.”

Molly counted down on his fingers as he waited for Yasha to put two and two together.

“Beau?” she asked, astonished.

Molly almost choked. “No, gods no,” he spluttered, completely thrown off now. “No, Yasha, no. With Caleb. Caleb Widogast?”

“...with Caleb.”

“Yes, darling.”

“You went to the Triumph Chime with Caleb?”

“Yes, darling.”

"You went to the Triumph Chime with Caleb?"

"Yes, darling."

“And...and you’re in love with Caleb?”

“Yes, darling, is it the late hour? You’re usually much quicker on the uptake—”

“Excuse me,” said Yasha, cutting him off, “I’ve got to go.”

And then before he could respond, the line went dead.

“Hello? Yasha? Hello?”

Molly looked at his screen. It was dark. He sighed, and put his phone down on the covers next to him, and stared up at the cieling for a minute or two. And then his cell started buzzing, and he quickly grabbed it and hit answer.

“Mollymauk?”

“Yes, Yasha?”

“I just called Jester to make sure.”

“And?”

There was no hesitation this time. “I’m happy for you.”

Molly fought the wide grin threatening to split his face in two, and lost. “Thank you, dear.”

“Does he like you back?”

“I have no idea.”

Molly could almost picture Yasha nodding solemnly here as she made a loud huffing noise and said, “Alright then. I suppose we’ve got some work to do, then.”

Molly laughed. “Thank you, dear. Whatever did I do to deserve you?”

“You can pay me back in that really good jerky they sell at that fancy supermarket.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Molly quipped, “but I’ll see what I can do.”

“See it later” said Yasha. “I know you’re not singing tomorrow night but there’s still all-day rehearsal, and I know how bad you are at waking up.”

Molly put his arm over his eyes and grinned. “Alright, alright, Mother. I’m going to bed. I’ll talk to you at work?”

“Bright and early.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I love you, dear.”

There was a soft laugh on the other end of the line. “I love you too, Mollymauk. Now go away.”

He hung up and pulled his bathrobe off. Then he crawled under the covers, and sighed, and tried to go to sleep. He must have eventually dozed off but in the hours before he did, he kept glancing at the tan jacket in the corner, and kept thinking about a certain head of fiery hair, and a certain pair of dazzling blue eyes.

•

Jester created the new group chat: “TUSK LOVE 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO” 7 members: Jester, Beau, Yasha, Caleb, Fjord, Molly, and you

Today 12:13 PM

Jester changed her nickname to “(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*” Jester changed Beau’s nickname to “Drunkmonk” Jester changed Yasha’s nickname to “Babebarian” Jester changed Nott’s nickname to “SheSoBrave” Jester changed Fjord’s nickname to “Seaman” Jester changed Molly’s nickname to “Lavender Thunder” Jester changed Caleb’s nickname to “Gayleb”

You changed your nickname to “NottSoBrave”

Drunkmonk: aight i just got 90 notifications and nobody’s even said anything yet (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: shut up Beau this is important (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: WELCOME TO MOVIE NIGHT! Babebarian: it’s noon (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: WELCOME TO MOVIE NOON (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: fjord and molly you are now part of a very time-honored tradition Drunkmonk: we’ve been doing this for a month NottSoBrave: welcome and caleb says welcome too (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: anyways this is for planning tonight we are going to caleb and nott’s and we are going to watch tusk love 8PM and pizza any questions Seaman: why is my nickname seaman (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: you are a man of the sea Lavender Thunder: i concur and thank you for inviting me to your movie night! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: its my honor Seaman: oskar would have been better NottSoBrave: @jester caleb wants to know why his nickname is gayleb (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: because he is gay and is never going to open this chat to change it NottSoBrave: caleb says “point taken” (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: okay anyway is everybody good with this plan then?

Nott put down her phone and turned to Caleb. “This means you have Molly’s number now, doesn’t it?” she asked. “Now you can text him.”

He sighed and tapped the handlebar of the shopping cart nervously as they moved through the snack aisle of the Broad Barn, Nott occasionally leaning out of her perch in the toddler’s compartment to grab a bag of chips or a package of candy. They already had three boxes of popcorn kernels and four bottles of soda. Caleb, on the inside, was fearing for his nearly-empty wallet.

“I don’t know if I should, yet,” he muttered. “Isn’t it underhanded that I got it from somebody else? Shouldn’t I have asked for it by myself?”

“I dunno,” said Nott, casually slipping a chocolate bar into the pocket of her oversized hoodie. “Why didn’t you, before?”

“I was too afraid.”

“So this works great! Now you have it, and you don’t need to ask.”

He sighed. “Perhaps. But...but maybe I should wait for Molly to call me first?”

“Sure,” she shrugged, somehow managing to make the gesture supportive. “He seems like the type that would, anyway. Hey, can we get these too?” she pointed at a string of licorice.

“Put those in your sleeves if you like,” said Caleb, and steered them towards the toiletries section. “We need soap—don’t make that face, Yasha and Jester will kill me if I don’t clean up—and that means our snack budget is smaller now. Especially since our electric bill is overdue, and it’s winter, so we need as much as we can for heating.”

“I thought we were saving plenty by never using the lights and unplugging the fridge,” Nott muttered.

“Magic can only save so much,” Caleb sighed. “I do not want to know what would happen if I tried to use a Thunderwave to charge your phone. And I still cannot get more hours at the library,” he added dejectedly.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll come around,” Nott said loyally. “They’ll realize any second how smart and hardworking and organized and on-time you are.”

He sighed again. “Let us hope. Come on, now, I think we have enough snacks. And I still need to do a deep clean of the apartment.”

“You’ve never done that before,” Nott pointed out. “Why now?”

A faint blush crept across Caleb’s cheeks. “No reason,” he said quickly. “I just want to be hospitable.”

Nott glanced down at her phone. Then she looked up and gave Caleb the cheekiest grin he had ever seen on her face before. “You’re doing it for Lavender Thunder, aren’t you?”

He almost choked. “Excuse me? For who?”

“That’s the nickname Jester gave to Molly. Weren’t you listening when I read them out loud?”

“Apparently not,” he mumbled.

“Don’t worry,” she leaned over and gave him a reassuring pat on the arm. “I’m sure you won’t have to call him that when he comes over. And, if you want, I’ll even help you clean.”

•

The group arrived at once, having carpooled together with Fjord as the driver in his beat-up station wagon, which was mildly terrifying for Caleb because he had only just shoved the air freshener under the kitchen sink and only just managed to kick the loose bags of cat food to the side and only just managed to slip on a semi-decent shirt, hoping that they would end up changing into pajamas soon, before there was a knock. And then several more knocks, as Jester muscled her way to the front.

He opened the door, and they all filed in. Fjord entered first, shaking Caleb’s hand and beaming and thanking him for hosting in that smooth southern accent. He was dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, and came bearing a family-sized bag of Cheetos. Jester came next, waving the Tusk Love DVD with one hand and throwing a hug around Caleb with the other. Beau and Yasha followed, greeting him much more calmly, Yasha carrying a six-pack of soda and Beau with a DVD player in her arms. And then, at the rear, was Mollymauk.

At least his outfit was more tame this time, a long knit sweater covering his upper-body well, but Caleb had the distinct impression that jeans should not be that tight. Then he realized that they were leggings.

“Welcome, everybody,” he said, pointedly not making eye contact with Molly for fear of self-combustion. “I am glad you all got here safe.”

“Your landlord sucks,” said Fjord. “He was glaring at us as we came up.”

“He’s the worst,” supplied Nott. “You’re Fjord, right? Jester’s boyfriend?”

He preened slightly at this question, and stuck a hand out. “Nice to meet you. Nott?”

She took his hand with only mild-suspicion, which was rather good for her. “That’s me,” she said. “This is my house.”

“I’m Molly,” said Molly. “Nice to meet you as well.”

Nott did not accept his hand, but did give him a slight nod. “So you’re Molly,” she said. “Alright.”

Said tiefling raised an eyebrow. “Is…is everything alright?”

“Let’s get set up,” Caleb said quickly. “The lights are already off, for movie reasons, but I can make some if we need it. Could you put the snacks on the coffee table? And, er, Beau, I’ll give you a hand with the DVD player.”

As he walked over to help Beau, he sighed and under his breath mumbled, “Please, gods, spare me this evening.”

•

Caleb had a slightly tattered sofa, and an armchair next to it to form an “L” shape. Then the coffee table was nestled into that bend, and behind that the TV was positioned on top of a very tall stack of books, at an angle so that all could see it. Yasha took the chair; Beau immediately sat down on Yahsa’s left, on armrest, and swung a leg on top of the armrest of the sofa next to her. Caleb sat to Beau’s right, and Nott sat on the back of the sofa by his head. And then Molly had plopped down next to Caleb, and with the added bodies of Jester and Fjord—nearly on top of one another at the other end of the couch—they were extremely close.

“Mister Mollymauk,” Caleb murmured as the tiefling’s warm body pressed against his.

Molly raised an eyebrow and smirked. “I thought we agreed to be a bit less formal, around one another? I imagine this distance is as casual as it gets.”

Caleb managed a tiny grin. “We did,” he agreed quietly. “But it’s also kind of fun when it’s just me and you, isn’t it?”

Molly cracked a wide smile. “So it is, Mister Caleb. So it is.”

“Shut up,” said Beau loudly. “The movie’s starting.”

Molly rolled his eyes and stopped talking, but gave Caleb one last sheepish grin before turning away. After a second, Caleb forced himself to fix his gaze back towards the television. He wordlessly accepted the bowl of popcorn passed down to him from Nott, seated on top of the sofa, and handed it to Beau after scooping some up.

And then the words “Darrington Films Presents” appeared on the screen, and his attention focused on the opening scenes of Tusk Love.

•

“Oskar,” Jester mouthed softly along with Guinevere, “how very nice to meet you. Will you be in this area for long?”

“No, miss,” grinned Fjord, easily falling into the role under Jester’s enthusiastic urging. “I’m afraid the folk around here aren’t as kind as you are to people like me.”

“People like you?” Jester asked as Guinevere’s soft features curled into a confused smile. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

“Well, you know. People who aren’t...people.” Fjord said, sighing.

Beau threw herself off the side of Yasha’s chair, bridging the gap between the sofa and almost launching herself into Caleb’s lap, who jumped slightly with a start. “This writing is trash,” she groaned, covering her eyes. “I can’t believe we have to watch it again.”

“Shhhhh,” hissed Molly, face glued to the grainy TV. “This is a masterpiece of fiction.”

“Yasha, back me up here.”

“Hush,” said Yasha softly. “This next part is my favorite.”

“Hang on,” said Fjord as Oskar suddenly turned around. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Jester asked with slightly too much feigned concern. “What is it?”

“It...it sounds like wolves.”

“Wolves?” Jester threw her arms around Fjord. “Oh, no, please! Oskar, what do we do?”

“Get behind me, Guinevere. I can protect us. I will—”

The TV screen went black. They were all silent, for a moment.

Then Beau stood up. “What the shit,” she asked. “What…did I do that?”

Caleb stiffened in his seat, the mild warmth of Molly’s side and the fabric of the sofa instantly melting away. He quickly glanced over at the heater in the corner and with a sinking stomach, realized that it had stopped whirring.

The power was out.

“Drat,” muttered Nott, getting up and walking over to the television. “The dumb thing must be broken again.”

Fjord stood up and went to follow her. “Here,” he said, pulling out his phone. “We can use this as a flashlight.”

“This may also help,” said Yasha, clapping her hands together. A sphere of bright light suddenly drifted into the air around them, hovering around Nott’s head.

“I’m gonna look for the light switch,” sighed Beau. “I can’t see shit right now.”

“Fjord, let me help,” said Jester, scrambling off the couch, “I can at least hold the phone—”

And amid the hustle and bustle of all his friends leaping into action, under their conversation and nose, Caleb heard a voice at the back of his mind.

It said:

What a disappointment. Trust you to ruin this night for your friends. Of course your landlord would cut the power, you’re worthless and miserable and can’t even make the bills on time. Look at you. You’re a disgrace. You should be ashamed of yourself. You should—

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He realized that his breathing had accelerated, that his fists were clenched, and even stranger than that, he was shaking.

But it wasn't from fear. It was from anger. At Kosh, at the television, at his ridiculous lack of funds and at himself for ruining this night for his friends.

He risked a glance to his left and saw a pair of bright, ruby eyes, glowing in the darkness, staring back at him with a furrowed brow. Behind Molly, the others were still talking loudly and weren’t paying attention to him. Fjord had crouched down next to Nott behind the small square television and was inspecting it with a frown. Jester was standing over them with the flashlight. To the side, Yasha helped the now-blind Beau look for a light switch.

“Are you alright?” Molly murmured. “You looked like you were...spacing out a bit.”

Caleb nodded.

“Can you speak?”

He was silent for a moment, and eventually trusted himself enough to open his mouth. “I can now,” he said. There was still a sharp edge to his words.

“What happened?” Molly asked gently.

“Electrical bill was overdue,” he muttered. “Kosh must’ve stopped the power.”

Molly nodded. “Do you want to solve that problem now? Do you want me to go talk to him?”

Caleb quickly shook his head. ���I don’t want that. I don’t want to deal with that now.”

“Alright, Caleb. Is there anything you do want?”

“I want to make sure Beau doesn’t try to turn the lights on,” he said, and as he did, he could feel himself beginning to calm down.

Molly nodded again. “Alright,” he said. “I might be able to help. Could I try something?”

He blinked. “What...what do you mean?”

This time Molly gave him a faint grin. “Trust me,” he whispered. “I’ve got a great way to distract people, and keep the fun going all at the same time

He squeezed Caleb’s shoulder, and felt the man untense further. He took this as his cue, and pulled away, and stood up on the sofa.“Hey, everybody!” he called excitedly. “Don’t bother with the TV. Caleb and I had a great idea.”

“What’s that?” Jester asked, glancing over. “Because I think we can fix—”

Molly shook his head quickly. “Nah,” he said. “This’ll be much simpler.”

“What is it, then?” Nott asked. “Are we changing apartments to finish the movie?”

“Nope!” Molly beamed, and stretched his arms out in a grand gesture. “Even better. We’re all going to get into Fjord’s car, and we’re going to go sing karaoke!”

There was a brief pause. Then Jester grinned enormously. “Can I pick the first song?” she asked.

"You can pick all the songs, dear."

Fjord glanced at Molly, and then back at Jester, whose face had lit up like a Winter's Crest ornament. “I’m in,” he said with a smile.

“Me too,” said Beau immediately. “I hate that movie.”

“I enjoy singing,” volunteered Yasha.

“I’m a great singer,” said Nott, bobbing her head. “Caleb, can we go?”

He nodded immediately. “Ja,” he said. “Ja, I would like to go.”

Molly laughed delightedly, and took a bow. “Excellent!” he called. “I know just the place.”

•

The host of the Leaky Tap Tavern and Karaoke Bar brightened right away when he saw Molly, and grinned even larger when he noticed how many others were accompanying said tiefling tonight. He didn’t even bat an eye when they insisted that Nott was definitely an adult halfling with a skin condition, and quickly waved them on into a back room.

“They know me here,” chuckled Molly. “People in the hospitality business stick together.”

“And you’ve thrown up here multiple times,” Fjord muttered, settling into one of the chairs. “You’ve really tested their hospitality before.”

Molly tuck his tongue out at him, and tossed the songbook over to Jester. “Here you are, dear. In charge, like we promised.”

She squealed with delight, and started rifling through the pages. “Just you wait, you guys!” she giggled. “Oh, this is going to be so fun!”

“Is there alcohol?” Beau asked.

“Even better. There’s a minimum purchase of alcohol.”

She smiled a wicked smile. “Excellent,” she said. “I’ll have as much beer as physically possible.”

They spent the next few hours tearing through Jester’s song selections, the highlights being when they sent tremors through the ground over the chorus of Sweet Caroline, absolutely butchered I Need a Hero, belted out the words to Build Me Up Buttercup, even reluctantly allowed Jester to shove Never Gonna Give You Up into the queue—and then unironically sung their hearts out anyways. They ran through Bohemian Rhapsody, where every person tried to sing every part, destroyed half the soundtrack of Grease, warbled along to Africa, giggled as Beau drunkenly stumbled through Electric Love and tried hard not to look at Yasha the entire time. They even roped the flustered-looking waiter into doing a surprisingly excellent rendition of Defying Gravity.

Molly's voice, of course, was the most self-confident of them all, and for good reason. Fjord's was strong and laced with his trademark accent. Jester’s was slightly pitchy, but her cheer and enthusiasm made any critiques meaningless. Beau sang aggressively, though after a few drinks she mellowed out significantly. Nott was an auditory nightmare, but seemed so genuinely happy that they just covertly turned down her microphone when she wasn't looking. Yasha and Caleb were both rather quiet—not from nerves, but as if they weren’t used to singing this way.

By the end of the night, Fjord had broken a heavy sweat. Jester was tipsy off Sangrias, Yasha’s pale skin had flushed slightly pink, Nott’s already-ragged voice was even more mangled, though she didn’t seem to care at all. Beau was completely plastered and needed Yasha’s help staying upright, and Molly had the largest grin in the world splitting his face in two. And though he had started out mostly just humming along at the beginning, even Caleb managed to raise his voice for song or two. He was smiling. His heart was racing and for once it felt good. He very much enjoyed these people.

"Thank you for this," he murmured to Molly as the others bickered over a song choice.

The tiefling smiled. It was small, and soft, and made Caleb's chest flutter.

"Of course, Mister Caleb. I'm always here. Er, I mean, anytime. If you need things. Oh, shit," he said suddenly, “speaking of things, I completely forgot to bring your jacket.”

Caleb blinked, and then shook his head. “Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “Next time.”

“Next time?” Molly paused. “Oh, right, yes, a next time. Yes, er, that’s a great idea.” In the low light, Caleb could see the other man’s cheeks flushing, and his own did as well as he realized the implication of what he’d just said.

“I mean, if you would like a next time?” he tried. “If that is agreeable.”

“Yes, absolutely! Er, sorry, that was loud, I mean—“

Jester slammed the songbook down on the table and aimed the remote at the screen and hit the combination for the last song of the night. Then she grabbed two mics, shoving one into Molly’s hands—who instantly accepted—and one into Caleb’s. A-ha’s Take on Me started filtering in through the slightly-fuzzy speakers under the monitor.

Caleb’s eyes widened.

“No, er, Jester—”

And then he saw Molly’s face. Those red eyes were looking back at him. Open, friendly, and only slightly pleading. There was a faint blush across his cheeks. His lips were parted in a slightly worried grin.

“Please?” he asked softly.

It wasn’t much. But for Caleb, it was everything.

He sighed, and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know if I can keep up with you.”

Molly instantly beamed. His tail perked up behind him. “That’s alright, Mister Caleb!” he said jokingly. “Nobody can! But it’s the effort that’s always worth it.”

Bright green words appeared on the screen, and Molly locked his gaze onto Caleb’s and began to sing.

“We’re talking away. I don’t know what I’m to say—I’ll say it anyway, ‘Today’s another day to find you.’ Shying away, I’ll be coming for your love, okay?”

“Take on me,” Jester shouted happily into the mic, “take on me!”

“Take me on,” Fjord echoed, “take on me—”

“I’ll be gone,” sang Yasha.

“In a day or two!” crooned Nott and Beau together, and then the whole group looked over at Caleb.

“Er, er…” he began, and swallowed, and steeled himself, “So needless to say,” he sang, “of odds and ends, but that’s me, er, stumbling away. Slowly learning that life is okay…”

“Say it after me,” Molly jumped in immediately, “it’s no better to be safe than sorry.”

Take on me (take on me) Take me on (take on me) I'll be gone In a day or two.

“Oh, the things that you say,” sang Caleb softly, “is it a life or just to play my worries away?”

Molly shook his head, “You’re all the things I’ve got to remember. You’re shying away—”

“I’ll be coming for you anyway,” they finished together.

Take on me (take on me) Take me on (take on me) I'll be gone In a day or two.

And as the rest of the group ended the song, collapsing into a fit of giggles and cheers and drunken clapping, Molly and Caleb continued to stare at each other for just a little bit longer. And then they looked away, lowering their mics, faces blushing and eyes on the ground as the flashing technicolor light of the screen washed gently over them both.