#Horse-guardsman

[flowersandbigteeth]

Looking for a saucy medieval tradition to weave into your historical romances? Have no fear, foot-of-the-gallows marriage is here! Basically, if a man was about to be hanged and a woman stepped forward and said “I will marry this man!” he was spared because it was was seen as like “oh, she’ll rehabilitate him so we don’t have to kill him.” Now, I heard this from tiktok, so I could be wrong, and it could just be a folk tale or something that rarely happened in actuality. Either way, it’s a cool troupe I think more people should use (and I myself will be using). I think it would work really well with Orcs and Elves!

This is such an intriguing idea! I had to try it. If you end up writing it, tag me, if you are comfortable! I'd love to see what you do with it ^_^

I keep getting Orc ideas, and I can't resist them *feral invasive Orc thoughts* （￣ ｗ￣）Ψ

Orc (Saber) x GN elf reader

Word Count: 6K

TW: discussion of hanging, bad mother, sfw Orc fluff, a bit of melancholy with a happy ending, nonsexual mention of private body parts in the context of bathing

“Goodness, what’s this all about?” you grumbled, clutching your basket closer to you as you made your way through the crowd. 

The stench of rotten vegetables and too many people lingered in the air. 

“It’s a hanging,” a helpful imp beamed, hopping on his tiptoes to see over the crowd. Why people gathered all around to watch someone die, you had no idea, but more importantly, the crowd was blocking your path home. Industrious vendors selling ale and popcorn wove through the throng to collect what coins they could from the event. In the capital, everyone had a hustle, and few left the chance to make some money at the table. 

“Out of the way!” You shouted, shouldering whoever was unlucky enough to be in your way. 

The voice of the city guardsman who was reading off a list of offenses to the crowd drowned yours out, but with a few well-placed shoves, you managed to make it to the front. You were looking around, trying to figure out how to get across the plaza, when you glanced up to see a familiar face. 

“It’s you!” you blurted as your eyes locked with the brilliant chartreuse irises of the Orc standing on the gallows. 

He gave you a wan smile, lifting his tied hands to wave at you. His straight nose was up in the air as if all the rabble around him should be fortunate to have the privilege of watching him die. The thick olive locs you remembered being long had been roughly chopped short around his ears. Still, even dressed in an ill-fitting prison jumpsuit, he had a regal air about him. His barrel chest was puffed, strong muscles peaking between the frayed fabric. 

“Fifty counts of robbery…25 counts of counterfeiting gold coins…seven counts of horse theft…”

The Orc you’d met before’s name was Saber. He’d helped you get your broken cart into town one rainy afternoon…, and then he’d also stolen your necklace, which you’d realized after he’d disappeared. 

“As per the King’s edict, If any citizen pledges to save this soul from the gallows by way of marriage, please step forth.” 

Though he was handsome, no one raised their hands to save him. Instead, they all booed. Judging by the rotten vegetables hurled at him, he seemed to have robbed almost everyone in the capital. 

“Aye!” you shouted, hiking up your pants to pull yourself onto the stage. 

The guardsmen’s eyebrows shot up when you’d straightened yourself.

“I’ll marry the sorry bastard.” 

“Are you sure? He’ll most likely rob you and run off. He’s better off dead.” 

“I have business with this one,” you informed him, snapping your fingers. “Come on then. Let’s get this over with.” 

The guardsman shrugged and jerked the noose off of his neck, a little disappointed. The crowd wasn’t happy either, hurling insults along with their vegetables. 

“Quiet! Quiet!” the guardsman shouted after shoving Saber forward for the “ceremony.”

He took a deep breath, jerking a notebook out of his pocket.

“Alright,” he began, snorting. “State your name for the record.” 

“(Y/N).”

“Lovely elven name,” he murmured as he jotted it down. “Now then, do you (Y/N) take this here, criminal, Saber Wintermaple to be your lawfully wedded husband?” 

You gave him a sharp nod. 

“I do.” 

He swung a lazy eye at Saber. 

“Do you Saber Wintermaple, take this kind elf to be your betrothed?” 

He gave you a bright smile. 

“I do.” 

The guardsman snapped the book closed, shoving Saber towards you. 

“I hereby declare you two duly betrothed under the King’s law. This Orc is your problem now, citizen. You’d better keep him out of trouble, or you’ll be up here next to him!”

He handed you the thick rope looped around the binding, keeping Saber’s hands tied, and waved you two off. The audience, bored without bloodshed, had already started dispersing, making it easy for you to tug Saber towards the road leading to the forest. 

“I didn’t know I made such a pleasant impression,” Saber said cheerfully, following you out of town.

You whirled around and jammed a finger in his face. 

“I wouldn’t describe it as pleasant. You owe me a gold necklace! Give it back, or you can work off the coin you owe me!” 

He chuckled.

“I’m fresh out of coins, little elf.” 

He scratched his chin and looked up, thinking. 

“I’m pretty sure I lost that necklace in a game of dice.” 

He shrugged. 

“You lost my only possession of any value in a game of dice?” 

You scrubbed your hand over your face, counting back from ten so you didn’t explode.  

“Maybe I should have let you die.”

Frowning, you looked over him from toe to head. 

“At least you look strong enough. I’m sure I can find something useful for you to do!” 

You stopped where the two of you stood in the middle of the trail and pulled a small charm from your basket. 

“I was going to use this on my coin purse since there was a thief on the loose, but it’s probably better applied to you!” 

You looped the charm around his neck, closing your eyes to whisper the spell. A gust of spirit wind, fluffed your hair as the magic twirled around Saber. When you opened your eyes again, there was a blue thread linking the two of you that only you could see. 

“What was that?” he asked, narrowing his eyes on you. 

“It’s a binding spell, so you can’t run off with my stuff again,” you explained.

His eyebrows jumped, and he tugged at the little talisman around his neck. 

“It won’t come off.” 

You nodded proudly. 

“Exactly.”

He took a moment to examine you carefully, tapping his chin again. 

“Interesting,” he murmured.  

“What? What does that mean?” 

He smiled and shrugged.

“Lead the way, spouse.” 

You sighed, turning and pulling him through the bumpy trail in the woods to your little home. When you’d fled your homeland to the Capital, you’d been lucky to find an abandoned cottage outside the city walls. It wasn’t massive, with only the basic living quarters, but it must have at some point belonged to someone’s Saber’s size, as the door and counters were much too high. You’d spent much of the money you earned selling charms and ointments, buying stools and ladders to reach things. 

“You poor thing,” Saber sighed as you passed through the magic barrier you’d cast to keep your home hidden from bandits.

“You don’t need to patronize me,” you huffed. “You’re the one almost hanged and run out of town.” 

He ignored you, looking around. 

“I feel kind of bad for stealing your necklace now that I’ve seen where you live. This place is a mess.” 

You examined your home, trying to see it through his eyes. Every available surface was covered in books, alchemy equipment, or ingredients. Even the chairs were covered in cast-off scrolls, books, or charms. 

“It’d be nice to have a workshop,” you admitted. “But that’s much too expensive.”

You straightened your slumping shoulders and lifted your chin. 

“No matter, you won’t be spending much time sitting down. I’ve got loads of things that need doing.” 

He gave you a sharp nod and held out his hands. 

“You’ll have to untie me if you want me to work.” 

Pulling a small blade from your basket, you sawed through the thick binding. Free to move as he pleased, he wrung his stiff wrists as he perused your living room. Occasionally he would pick something up, then put it down again, finally crouching to examine a bucket filled with water. 

“What are you doing?” 

He peered up at the leak in the roof that was letting rainwater drip through. 

“This needs fixing, or the roof will rot out.”

Pushing off of his knees, he turned to you. 

“How long have you been living alone?” 

You blushed, embarrassed. 

“I dunno, my whole life, I guess. The elven town where I came from didn’t have an orphanage or anything, so when I was old enough, I took off toward the capital. It took a while to get here…but here I am. I thought there would be more…I don’t know…opportunity here.” 

“How has that worked out for you? Living in a house clearly not meant for you and marrying a man on the gallows.” 

You gave him an indignant snuff. 

“At least I’m not a thief!” 

He chuckled, leaning against a bookshelf, rolling a gold coin on his knuckles. Your eyes narrowed on it, and you reached in your pocket to find you’d been relieved of your day’s earnings. 

“Hey! You stole that!” 

He laughed, revealing straight white teeth, and jingled the other coins in his pocket. 

“Don’t worry, I can’t get away with it, right?” 

You sucked in a deep annoyed breath. 

“I have things to do. Make yourself useful and chop some wood. It’s going to be cold when the sun sets.” 

“Whatever you say, spouse,” he replied, giving you a sarcastic salute as you dropped your basket and hurried to the kitchen to get started on dinner. 

What had you been thinking marrying a criminal? You paused for a moment, eyes growing misty. You didn’t really think he still had your necklace, did you? You let out a sigh just short of a sob. Were you really that lonely? Maybe it hurt that he’d been so kind to you, just to trick you. You should have been happy to see him hanged, yet the lingering magic that followed all elves had whispered that you ought to save him. 

But why? You weren’t in any position to support a husband. Though you’d instructed yourself on the knowledge of various potions and charms, you weren’t the only one. The city was teaming with Academy-bred alchemists who far surpassed your skill. They had access to rare ingredients and an army of assistants. You had to scrape out a living selling your wares far cheaper than the competition even to get noticed at the market. Hustling day to day, you certainly didn’t have the time or money to pretty yourself up to find a partner. 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” you grumbled, returning to chopping tubers for soup. 

A thick THWACK, drew your eyes out the kitchen window to Saber splitting logs across the lawn. He’d divested himself of his ratty shirt, and every thick muscle was on display as he lifted the ax over his head and dropped it down again. The logs felt apart like they were nothing more than twigs under his might. 

Your eye focused on the dark, wet slashes across his shoulder blades where his jailors had beaten him. He must have felt your eyes on him because he glanced up and waved. Blushing, you hurriedly pulled the curtains, returning to your task. 

Unable to get his injuries out of your mind, you felt bad for making him chop wood while he was hurt. When you’d plopped the tubers into your cooking pot, you gathered up some healing and numbing salves, making your way out the door. 

“Need something?” he asked, looking up from his task. 

“Sit down,” you barked. 

A thick eyebrow rose, and he tipped his head. 

“Why? Planning on lobbing my head off?” 

You wrinkled your nose at him. 

“No, of course not! You’re massive. How would I even go about burying your body? I can’t have a rotting corpse stinking up the place. Just sit!” 

He leaned his axe against the stump he was using to brace the wood and sat down on it. You dug in your basket, pulling out some cleanser to clean the wounds. Beside the big ugly gashes, Saber’s skin was a smooth, pretty green, the planes of his muscles sharp and defined. The first brush of your hand on his back made him jump. 

“S-sorry,” you muttered.

“‘Ts fine. Just not used to people touching me. Go on.” 

You spread the thick gel you used carefully over each angry line. 

“What do you mean? You’ve never had a partner before me?” 

He paused for a moment before he jerked his head. 

“I had a girlfriend once, but she left me.” 

“Why?” 

“Some noble offered her his hand and well…I couldn’t compete.”

He sighed. 

“She was happy to keep me on as her side piece, but I’ve got too much of an ego to be someone’s toy.” 

Your eyebrows jumped at his candor, but you just hummed, plastering clean wraps to his skin so the wounds could heal. His skin was warm under your fingers, making the tips tingle. When you were done, you found yourself tipping forward on your toes to peck the back of his neck. When you’d realized what you’d done, your ears burned, and you coughed loudly. 

“Sorry, ah…sorry,” you muttered, unsure what to say. “You’re…ah…going to have to sleep on your stomach, so you don’t make these worse.” 

He swiveled around to look at you, smiling. 

“Thanks, doc!”

“I’m not a doctor.” 

He shrugged. 

“What’s the difference?” 

“Ten years of special-”

You shook your head, realizing he was teasing you.

“I think that’s enough wood for tonight. Come inside. Dinner’s almost ready.” 

He grinned at you, his stomach grumbling, as he scooped up some of the wood he’d cut and tucked it under one arm. You wondered how much they let him eat in prison, worried he was starving. 

“What’d my sweet little spouse cook for me?” he asked. 

“Just some sweet potato soup. It’s not gourmet.” 

He frowned. 

“No meat?” 

You blinked at him. 

“You have all the money I made today in your pocket. How can I afford meat with those few coins?” 

He nodded, appearing to be thinking through the problem thoroughly. 

When you returned inside, you dipped the two of you bowls of soup, filling his twice as much as yours. You assured yourself it was because he couldn’t work without proper nutrition, not because you liked him. 

“So how far does this magic thingie let me go?” he asked as you sat down at the table. 

“Why, trying to run off?” 

He smirked. 

“No, why would I want to run away from you?” 

He chewed on a big spoonful of sweet potatoes before he continued. 

“I’ve got a cute little spouse who makes me dinner and kisses my cuts.” 

Your cheeks blew up in flames, and you choked on a mouthful of soup. You tried to retain your composure by quickly wiping your mouth with a napkin. 

“A couple of miles in any direction.” 

“Wow, didn’t think you’d give me such a long leash.” 

You shrugged. 

“I can’t be right at your side every minute.” 

He gave you the biggest puppy dog eyes you’d ever seen. 

“You don’t want me by your side every minute of the day?” 

Unsure if he was joking or not, you jerked your spoon at his soup. 

“Let’s…stop talking for a while. Eat up. You’ll need your strength.” 

While the two of you ate quietly, you did your best to keep your eyes on your bowl. Every time you happened to glance up, he was watching you with an odd smile on his face. Almost like satisfaction. 

You were relieved when you finally finished and could turn your back on him to rinse the dishes. 

“You can take the bed if you want,” you called over your shoulder as you stood on your tip toes to return the bowls to the cabinet. As your arm stretched, Saber appeared behind you, plucking the dishes out of your hand and easily placing them where they were supposed to go. 

“Where are you going to sleep?” he asked, extending a hand to help you off of the little ladder you were perched on. 

“There’s a couch in the living room.” 

He wrinkled his nose. 

“It’s covered in stuff.” 

You shrugged, trying to hurry past him. 

“I’ll clean it up.”

You found your feet swinging in the air as he picked you up and tossed you over his shoulder. 

“Wh-what are you doing?” 

“My spouse is not sleeping on the sofa. I never thought I’d have a spouse, so I’ve got to take proper care of you.” 

He patted your butt for emphasis. 

“Are you crazy?” you snapped, only not banging on his back with your fists because he was injured. “We can’t sleep together! We just met!” 

Your body bounced on his shoulder as he chuckled. 

“You weren’t concerned with that when you insisted on marrying me!” 

“They were going to kill you!” 

He flopped you down on your bed, caging you in with his big arms. His head dipped to drag the tip of his nose along the length of your neck. 

“So you do like me!” he whispered into your skin. 

“I do not,” you huffed, pushing his chest.

Though your muscles did nothing to move him, he rose so you could scoot out across the bed. You quickly scrambled into the bathroom to change into your pajamas. 

When you came back out, Saber was slipping off his pants. 

“What are you doing now?” You gasped, cheeks heating at the sight of the thick shaft hanging between his legs.  

He glanced up, a slight smirk on his face as he folded his clothes. 

“I can't sleep in these prison clothes. I'll get the sheets all dirty!” 

You sighed, rubbing your eyes. He was right. He was filthy from sleeping on dirty straw in prison. 

“Come on,” you said, flicking two fingers at him. “You need a bath. You’re probably covered in fleas! 

Fortunately, your house came equipped with one large enough to fit Saber’s big body. With a flick of your fingers, the tub was filled, and with a few whispers of a spell, the water was hot. 

“Get in,” you said. 

Making himself comfortable, he looked back at you over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised. 

“You tryin’ to watch? Naughty little elf!” 

You let out a long sigh. 

“No, I’m just going to ensure you don’t get your bandages wet, or it will all have been a waste. Supplies are expensive,” you huffed, picking up the sponge. “Now, sit still!”

Saber smirked but let you lift each of his arms as you scrubbed him. 

“So how did your old girlfriend take it when you decided you wouldn’t be your affair partner?”

He glanced at you, eyes ever thoughtful. His long look brought heat to your cheeks. 

“Sorry, you don’t have to answer that.” 

He shrugged, his jaw tightening. 

“She was rather smug. She spent her whole life wishing to elevate herself.” 

A long sigh slipped past his lips. 

“I could never make her happy. I lied, cheated, stole; whatever I could do…but she looked down her nose at all of it.”

Your mouth fell open. 

“I’m…I’m sorry. You don’t have to…”

He waved a thick hand, his warm palm gently landing on your head and lightly ruffling your hair. 

“Think nothing of it. It’s kind of nice to get it off my chest.” 

“So that’s why you're a crook? To make her happy?”

He smirked. 

“I was a crook. Now I’m a married man. I can’t get into trouble. I have a spouse who relies on me.” 

He pinched your chin. 

“Prison was difficult enough without knowing I was missing out on such a cute little face. Now, it would crush me.” 

Your cheeks burned even hotter, and you jerked your head away, grabbing the nearest towel and tossing it to him. 

“Careful, don’t jostle your bandages,” you wheezed before making your escape. “Whoever lived here before left some clothes in the chest by the door. They ought to fit.” 

You were so busy slowing your beating heart that you blew out the lantern and slid into your bed without thinking Saber would soon follow. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to feign sleep, when you heard his heavy footsteps approach. He paused for a moment, doing Goddess knows what, before he carefully laid down next to you. 

The mattress dipped under his weight, and your body slid into his. You heard him draw in a sharp breath as your warm forms pressed together. 

“Mind your wounds. Make sure you sleep on your side,” you whispered into the darkness. 

You felt him adjust slightly, and then a heavy arm draped over your waist. Despite yourself, it was warm and the weight felt nice. Comforting. Now that he’d used your soap, he smelled like home. His breath brushed the hairs on your neck and another arm slid underneath you to use as a pillow. You would have pulled away, but you’d never slept so close to someone before. 

Living on the street for most of your life, left you with scars. You didn’t realize how deep they’d cut you until Saber’s large body curled around yours. You felt safe. 

When you woke the next morning, the bed next to you was empty. Your heart thumped heavily in your chest, wondering where he’d gone. Had it all been a dream? 

The pile of dirty prison clothes folded and placed on top of a chest proved that it had not. 

Breathing slowly, in the meditation you’d taught yourself, you stretched your awareness out, reaching for the blue thread. Saber was half a mile from you. You wondered what he could possibly be doing. 

“Orc things, probably,” you muttered, making your way to the bathroom to clean yourself up. 

It wasn’t like he could run off; there was nothing in that direction but trees. Through the window, you could see the sun up over the tree line, telling you that you’d slept much later than usual. 

Usually, you’d have left at sunrise to sell your wares in the Capital market, but it was far too late now. Instead, you grabbed an apple from the kitchen and started fussing with your alchemy materials. Now that Saber was living with you, you were sure you needed to straighten up so he didn’t break something. 

Walking across the room, you automatically skipped around the bucket on the floor; only the bucket was gone. You frowned, but looking at the ceiling, someone had replaced one of the boards with a fresh one. Had Saber done that while you were sleeping? 

You huffed, returning to straightening your books. At least he’s putting himself to work. 

You were trying to remember the order in which a pair of books written in ancient elven were arranged alphabetically when the bell above your door jingled. 

Since your home was hidden with magic, the bell told you someone was nearby. It was a charm you rarely used. No one had any reason to look for you. The most it had rung was when you ordered a special cauldron or tomb and happened to have the cash to have it delivered. 

Curious if a traveler was lost, you put your books down and wandered outside. 

“Morning, spouse!” 

Saber’s voice made you jump when he appeared hauling a deer on his shoulders. 

“What’s that?” 

He shrugged the creature off of his shoulders. 

“Meat!” he announced proudly. 

You nodded at him, your eyes catching on his bare chest, glazed with a sheen of sweat. 

“Where are you off to?” he asked. 

“Someone is here,” you murmured, forcing your gaze from the sharp planes of his muscles to continue down the path. 

A shadow draped over you, and you glanced up to see him looming. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m going with you. It could be someone dangerous.” 

You shook your head but continued on your way with him in tow. 

“Helloooo? Helllloooo?” 

A female voice was screaming through the trees. When you rounded the bend, your eyes landed on an expensive carriage and a beautiful fairy shouting at the top of her lungs.  Her pink hair fell in glittering curls around her shoulders, and matching wings emerged from her back.

“Damn it! Saber! Where the fuck are you?” 

“Can I help you?” you asked as you stepped through your magic barrier. 

Her eyes narrowed, but not on you. She looked directly behind you. 

“Saber! There you are!” 

She grinned, fluttering her winds and flying past you. Irritation immediately pricked your heart as the woman threw her arms around him. Turning around, you found him looking at her with wide eyes. 

“Melody…what are you doing here? How did you find me?” 

“I’m here to see you, of course. I heard you were going to be hung, but an elf saved you! I asked around the market and was told you’d been taken here. I was so worried!” 

When she cupped his chin with her delicate hand, you crossed your arms, eyes narrowing. 

“Not someone. Me.” you interjected. 

You marched towards Saber and grabbed him by the arm. 

“Saber is my husband. Who are you?” 

She wrinkled her nose at you, ignoring your question. Her hand slid down Saber’s chest despite you. 

“Is there someplace we can talk? Privately?” 

Saber’s shocked face tightened. 

“I don’t think that’s an appropriate ask in front of my spouse, Melody.” 

She scoffed. 

“You’ve been married…what? 8 hours? Saber, I think I more than deserve a little of your time. Especially as the mother of your child.” 

Your jaw dropped, and your hand pulled away from Saber. It was true, you’d only known him for a few hours, but a child was something he ought to have mentioned. 

His brow drew, looking between you and her. 

“What child?” 

She huffed, frowning at you. 

“Fine…If you must do this, this way.” 

She turned to the carriage and yelled. 

“Nora, bring the baby!” 

A maid climbed out of the carriage holding a small whimpering bundle. You gasped as the woman presented Saber with a little green newborn. 

Saber’s eyes popped, his mouth opening and closing as the maid pressed the child into his hands. 

“This…he…is mine?” 

Melody nodded. 

“Yes, and it’s time for you to take responsibility.” 

He glanced up at her. 

“You want to get back together?” 

She let out a cruel but trilling laugh. 

“Oh heavens no. I need you to take him. Dante hasn’t seen him yet. He thinks I’ve delivered his child. I had the maids tell him I was recovering for the past month so I could sneak him out. If he finds out I’ve been carrying your baby this whole time, he’ll throw me out on the street!” 

Anger roiled under your skin. 

“So what baby are you going to present to him?” you demanded. 

She snorted as if that were a foolish question. 

“I’ll get a baby from the slums. Plenty of mothers would happily give their child the life of a Lord’s son without question.”

She fluttered her iridescent wings. 

“It only need be a fairy child.” 

You could see the pain and confusion settle on Saber’s face. Stepping between the two of them, you gently pried the bundle out of Saber’s hands, looking at his cute little button nose and glossy baby curls. 

“Of course, we will take him, but on one condition.” 

She glanced at you. 

“What do you want? Money?”

You let out a tight chuff. 

“No. We never want to see you again. If he is our baby, he is ours. Don’t think you can change your mind and come running back here looking for him or Saber. The second you step foot in your carriage, this child and my husband are dead to you.” 

Her eyes jerked to Saber. 

“Saber. You can’t mean that. Of course, I want to see you…Dante, however, can’t know. You understand, don't you? This is everything we've dreamed about! You ought to support me!"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

"I grew up in the gutter, too," you hissed. "But I'd never treat someone the way you have treated my husband. He is too good for you and I won't tolerate you buzzing around us like a nasty fly."

She glared at you.

"He's my child! You're just jealous Saber and I have history!"

Saber's jaw locked, and he put his arm around you, giving her a disgusted grimace. 

“Have you named him?” he asked. 

She looked contrite but lifted her chin. 

“I…ah…it didn’t occur to me...” 

He nodded and glanced down at you, holding his child. 

“Then…I agree with (Y/N). You’ll never know his name. You’ll never see him grow. You’ll never return to ruin our peace.” 

“But Saber-” 

“Don’t say my husband’s name, either.” you snapped. “You thought you’d come here and drop all of your responsibilities in his lap and then keep stringing him along as a toy? It’s not going to work like that. You have your family, and we have ours.” 

You jerked your chin at her. 

“Make your choice. Either leave the child or be prepared to explain to your husband who he belongs to. Those are the only options.”

Her pretty face contorted into an ugly, wrinkled mask, and she lifted her skirt to turn on her heels. 

“Fine! It’s not like I want the child of a thief anyway!”  

Snapping at her maid, she hovered back to her carriage, and they disappeared down the road in a cloud of dust. You smiled down at the little baby, who’d managed to sleep through the drama. 

“Saber, I know I shouldn’t have spoken for you…I just- He deserves better than to grow up with the knowledge his mother believes him to be less than. Can you imagine him living as her secret? Sneaking around to hide him? If she passed him in the street, she’d ignore him to preserve her status. He’d be heartbroken. I won’t let that happen. I hope I didn’t overstep, but I’m not sorry for it.” 

He dropped to his knees, eyes wet, and pushed his head into your shoulder. His big arms wrapped around your waist, squeezing you tight.

“You said just the right thing,” he murmured, then turned his head to look at his son. “What should we name him?” 

You smiled at him. 

“Let’s talk it over over lunch.” 

The two of you walked back down the path together, both having a hard time keeping your gaze off the baby. He wriggled in his sleep, making you both see hearts.

“Maybe we should move,” you murmured. “Just to be sure…and to give him a fresh start.” 

He looked down at you. 

“You won’t miss this place?” 

You sighed. 

“No…this is just a house. We have a family now. He should grow up in a happy little town, not the capital…we’ll have to save for a few months, but I think we can do it.” 

“We don’t have to save. I have plenty of money.” 

You froze in your tracks, looking up at him.

“What? I thought you said you were broke?” 

He smiled down at you. 

“I meant I didn't have any coin on me. I didn’t just piss all of my ill-gotten gains away. I hid them. Follow me.” 

He tugged the two of you into the forest, walking quite a ways until you reached an oddly placed rock. Saber crouched down and uprooted a bush with a stiff jerk. Then he cleared the soil away, revealing a wooden chest. He turned the little dial a few ways until it clicked, and the chest opened with a creak. Your eyes widened at the hundreds of gold coins piled inside. He casually tugged the gold he’d lifted from you out of his pocket and tossed it inside with a metallic clink. 

“I think we can buy a nice place with this.” 

You were still completely confused. He rummaged around in the coins, producing the gold necklace he’d stolen. Standing, he fastened it around your neck with the nimble fingers of a thief.

“I thought you lost it gambling?” 

He shrugged. 

“I lied.” 

“Why did you keep it?” 

He gave you a long look.

“I’m not sure, to be honest. Something told me not to sell it.” 

“But…what about the rest? I thought you gave it all to Melody?” 

“I tried to…we grew up in the capital, in the same slums she wants to buy a baby from. It wasn’t ever about what I could provide her. She wanted to erase her past. She wanted a title…to be a lady, to be able to lift her nose at the very people she grew up with.

I started saving after she failed at her first attempt at seducing some highborn. At the time, I had this romantic dream that I could surprise her with a big house, start a business, and be the Lord she wanted so badly…but… as time passed, I realized I was already tainted in her eyes. She wanted the right blood attached to her money. It took me too long to be ready to pull away. Dante was the nail in the coffin, so to speak.” 

He tugged the chest from the ground, hauling it onto his shoulder before leading you back through the forest.  

“Even though I knew I wasn’t enough…I foolishly still loved her. I was a mess when he proposed. That’s why I got caught. I went on a bender that lasted most of a year…Fortunately, I never touched this. Maybe I held out hope since Melody still entertained my attention…but I got sloppy and ended up in jail.” 

His gaze dropped to the baby. 

“If it weren’t for you, I wouldn't have ever known about him. Anything could have happened to him if you hadn’t-”

He choked a bit, a couple of tears slipping down his cheek. You didn’t push him to finish his sentence. You knew what he was trying to say. 

“What about Arel?” you asked. 

“Arel? That sounds like an Elvin name.” 

You smiled at the little baby’s chubby cheeks. 

“It is…it means ‘treasure’.” 

He stopped, bending down to examine his son more closely. The baby’s eyes opened, and you saw that they were the same pretty chartreuse as his father’s. The two of them looked at one another in awe. 

“I like Arel,” he said, brushing a thick finger over his cheek. 

Arel’s big eyes grew wet, and he started to croon. 

Shock and worry bloomed on Saber’s face. 

“Is he okay?” 

“I think he’s hungry. I have some goat milk at home.” 

Saber straightened, and you had to almost jog to keep up with him, the two of you hurrying home to start your life as a family.

[ladystoneboobs]

possibly incomplete list of asoiaf characters described as having red or even "ginger" hair (or red-gold as opposed to red-brown or ghiscari red-black), never auburn:

mycah, the butcher's boy*

beric dondarrion (red-gold hair)*

lharys, member of the three stooges men-at-arms (wild rust-colored hair)**

unnamed and unfortunate mother of robert baratheon's doomed youngest child, barra (light red-haired mother of black-haired baby)*

tomard aka "fat tom", stark guardsman (with his ginger whiskers)*

horas "horror" redwyne (orange hair)*

hobber "slobber" redwyne (orange hair)*

unnamed red-haired whore leaning out a window the day of ned's execution (presumably not the same as above since she was joking about the king's death)*

melisandre of asshai (deep burnished copper. red and terrible and red.)*

a man called jaqen h'ghar (red on one side, white on the other)*

pug-nosed dancy from chataya's brothel (described as red-haired by tyrion in acok but honey-blonde in asos, so presumably hair dye must have been involved between those book mentions.)**

addam marbrand (hair the same copper color as his horse's mane)*

"ginger-headed" maester frenken*

unnamed beardless ginger youth among theon's crew at winterfell*

ygritte, a spearwife "kissed-by-fire" (bright red)*

arryk aka "left" or "right", lady olenna's red-mustached guardsman*

erryk aka "left" or "right", lady olenna's other, identical, red-mustached guardsman*

lord paxter redwyne (tufts of orange hair)**

anguy the archer of the bwb*

a red-bearded karstark rapist dead in a crow cage at stoney sept*

tansy, innkeeper of the peach in stoney sept*

meryn trant (rust-red hair)*

"red" ronnet connington

mero, "the titan's bastard", former commander of the second sons (bushy red-gold beard)

a red-headed soldier who came with stannis to the wall

shadrich "the mad mouse" (bristly orange hair)*

lord rykker's red-mustached maester

marwyn belmore, lysa's former guard captain (ginger-headed)*

lord benedar belmore with a beard that was "a ginger-grey horror"*

lord orton merryweather (reddish-orange hair)

"the red oarsman", one of euron greyoy's followers (fiery red hair)

unnamed red-haired sailor arriving at port in braavos*

lord clement piper

and his son lewys "little lew" piper, who served as squire to jaime lannister in the riverlands

unnamed red-haired youth who first escaped northward with varamyr from the battle at the wall

one of illyrio's washerwomen (dull red hair)**

jon connington (once red hair gone to grey, still red at the roots and eyebrows even when the rest was dyed blue. also had a bright red beard as a younger man.)**

rolly "duck" duckfield (a shock of orange hair)**

a young man among the wildling refugees at mole's town whose red hair reminded jon of ygritte*

the "sunset kingdoms" girl raped by tyrion in the brothel where he was captured by jorah**

hagen's daughter, only other woman among asha greyjoy's crew

roggon rustbeard, one of asha's men

mully of the nw (greasy orange hair)*

bloodbeard, commander of the company of the cat (fiery red whiskers)

"ginger" jack, a toungeless sellsword of the windblown sent to dany, face nearly covered by his bristly, orange beard

gerrick kingsblood*

and his son*

and gerrick's daughter #1*

and gerrick's daughter #2*

and gerrick's daughter #3*

ronald storm, son of ronnet connington

one of the 7 "choicest" enslaved girls from the yunkish ship who were sacrificed by victarion (red-gold hair)

an enslaved redhead boy in line for a well, asking tyrion about dany**

nail, apprentice to hammer, the armorer for the second sons**

maester tybald, redhaired maester from the dreadfort serving arnolf karstark

valena toland, heiress to ghost hill (bright red hair)

teora toland, valena's younger sister with the same hair

uther shett, knight arriving for sweetrobin's tourney (ginger-haired and whiskered)*

*characters whose hair is described in the povs of starks (or jon snow) who only use the terms auburn or red-brown for catelyn, robb, sansa etc. and do not compare said characters to said tully-haired relations

**characters whose hair is described by tyrion lannister, who spent significant time with sansa and exclusively referred to her hair as auburn (without anyone else telling him her hair color as catelyn told brienne)

the only asoiaf characters ever described as having auburn hair:

catelyn tully stark

robb stark (red-brown/auburn tully hair "so like" his mother's, with a beard redder than his hair)

sansa stark (auburn hair lighter than her mother's, most reddish glowing in candlelight)

brandon "bran" stark (hair not bright red enough for him to distinguish himself from young benjen at first glance in a weirwood flashback)

rickon stark

brynden "the blackfish" tully (once auburn hair gone to grey)

edmure tully (auburn hair with a fiery beard, likely brighter than his hair like robb's)

lysa tully arryn baelish

known tully descendants never described as having auburn hair

arya stark (darker brown stark-colored hair)

hoster tully (hair and beard gone from brown to brown streaked with grey to white as snow)

robert "sweetrobin" arryn (fine brown hair, thought by sansa to be his best feature)

fun fact: the only other character that i can find to ever even be descibed as having red-brown hair in the main series is rowan, one of the spearwives who accompanied mance on his mission to winterfell. (described by theon, who had psychological reasons not to think of any hair-resemblance to robb and co.)

tl;dr i suppose my point here is that auburn hair in the real world may be a term thrown around wildly as a fancier way of saying red hair, but grrm and his westerosi creations seem to keep to a much more specific (true) definition. not just specific, almost entirely unique to a certain family, a weird mutation passing down their line somewhat inexplicably, like the magic platinum hair of the targaryens. (ned stark's 4 tully-haired kids being sorta like alicent hightower's 4 targ-haired kids where nobody can really explain why it was so dominant.) except it's actually more unique to the tullys than either black hair to the baratheons or silver hair to the targaryens, with the velaryons also having valyrian hair as well as some people in the essosi free cities too. which i guess makes rowan the wildling the equalivent of an unknown dragonseed or a lysene woman who could pass as a targ, and regular brown-haired hoster and sweetrobin the equivalent of regular blonde-haired alysanne and alyssa targaryen. so the next time someone calls the tullys lame or whatever, just remember that in-universe they're actually more special than the dragonriders, at least hairwise.

[rosepompadour]

Madame du Barry as Sleeping Beauty by Philippe Curtius, 1765 By now Jeanne had consolidated her position and her intrinsic kindness and willingness to help others less fortunate than herself gained her many adherents. On one occasion Jeanne saved the life of a young guardsman who, suffering from a bad attack of homesickness, had deserted from his regiment, taking with him his uniform and horse. He was sentenced to death, whereupon one of his officers took pity on him and applied for help to his commander-in-chief, the Due d’Aiguillon, who told him that the only person who could help him was the Comtesse du Barry. - JOAN HASLIP She was one of the prettiest women at a court which boasted so many, and the very perfection of her loveliness made her the most fascinating. Her hair, which she often left unpowdered, was of a beautiful golden colour and she had so much that she scarcely knew what to do with it all. Her wide blue eyes looked at one with an engaging frankness. She had a straight little nose and a complexion of a dazzling purity. In a word, I like everyone else fell immediately under her charm. - MONSIEUR BELLEVAL

[haileybeehappy]

The Blacksmiths Daughter

Summary : You are the Blacksmiths daughter and apprentice, in a secret relationship with one of the queens guardsman

Word Count : 2.4k

Authors note : pure smut really tbh. Not like accurate to actual knights and shit. Also not edited

Warnings : Smut. P n V unprotected sex. Hair pulling. Fem receiving oral. Soft dom Harry. She calls him sir, but I mean, he’s a knight. Secret relationship I guess.

You watch as your father holds the blade up to Sir Styles, his head bowed in respect. Styles takes the blade from him, fingers skimming along the edge. The metal of the razor sharp sword glimmering under the dancing light of the fire

“It’s perfect,” a genuine smile stretched across his lips. “Thank you,” he nods to your father.

“It was an honor Sir Styles,” Your father then presents the sheath for the sword. Intricate leather scenes carved into the brown treated leather. The blade falling to his side and his opposite hand coming up to the scabbard. Fingers dancing over the sorry, starting with a small figure in a Forrest accompanied by a small house. A small figure, the same figure, a top of a horse. The figure, bigger now, sword fighting another with a crooked broken sword. Then again fighting with the same sword a large beast. Then he stands tall, atop the now dead beast, weapon presented high above his head. The second to last, a knight, kneeling below a queen as she grants him his knighthood. The last, the night standing tall, gracefully, surrounded by those who adore him. His eyes track the story. Face unwavering. He looks up to your father.

“Wayland,” his voice filled with admonition. Your fathers head shakes. Hand slowly rising up, finger extended to point to you.

“My leather worker is quite grand isn’t she?” You smile at the comment. Waving to the two men across the shop. Sir Styles sheaths his new sword, slipping into his belt he crosses the expanse of the forge and up to you. Where you rest behind your station. Tools laid all around you. His reach extending for your hand, you place your palm slipping over his. His large hand dwarfing yours in his hold. Pressing a feathery kiss to your knuckles he nods to you.

“Thank you, for it is almost as beautiful as you,” his voice not loud enough to reach your fathers ears, only your own. Your cheeks flush as you look away, unable to keep your eyes on his.

“Thank you Sir,” you exhale. Eyes darting around the shop to avoid his gaze.

“I’ll see you,” he nods. Turning to your father with a thanks and leaves the shop. As the bell rings, signaling the door opening and closing your father looks to you wide eyed.

“I told you he would love it!” His hands thrown up in the air. “Who wouldn’t?” He darts across the shop as fast as his short legs are able, heavy leather apron flapping as his knees hit against it. As he approaches you, your feet hit the ground. Hopping off the stool and allowing him to wrap his arms around you. His build only slightly taller than yours. Large shoulders and arms from years of work, a round taught belly and a slightly scraggly beard hangs from his chin. He breaks his embrace. Looking to your eyes.

“I am so proud of you, I couldn’t have asked for a better daughter,” you smile admirably at your father. Tears in your eyes at his confession.

“Thank you, I couldn’t have asked for a better father, you’ve done so much for me. Taken me this far. Taught me your craft, I am so proud to be the daughter of Artemis Wayland,” his eyes become glassy and he pulls you in for another hug. Your face buried into his chest you breathe in deeply and sigh out. He smells of metal, fire and sage. He finally breaks free from you. Wiping fallen tears from his cheeks.

“I am going to get us some food from the market,” his voice steady once again. Booming off the walls. “Sir Styles always pays us handsomely so we will eat well tonight,” a large smile showcases his crooked teeth. “What are we thinking? Venison? Fish soup? Oh! I know,” he looks up from his desk, where he was searching for the bag of coins Sir Styles had left. “I can pick up more honey from the bee keeper, yes,” he says more so talking to himself. He continues to mumble and jumble as he heads toward the door, coins jingling around in his pocket as his heavy steps leave the shop. Bell ringing, echoing off the walls. You laugh to yourself and decide to get back to work. You pick up your tools and begin to work at the next piece you are making. A portrait of the queen that will be secured to the saddle of one of her guardsman’s horses. The door in the back of the shop opens. Assuming it’s your father you look up, quiet footsteps round the corner and you see him, Sir Styles. A large smile on your face, he approaches you, arms outstretched. You jump into his embrace, large arms catching you. Nose nestled into the crook of his shoulder. He gives you a spin before you unbury yourself from his neck. Green emerald eyes licking with yours for a spit second before dropping down to your lips. You lean forward and his mouth locks onto yours. Your hands love from their grasp on his shoulders and cup his face. Fingers scratching against the stubble on his jaw. You pull back, lips separating from his, a nose scrunching smile etched into your features.

“Happy Birthday,” your voice drilling with happiness.

“Thank you my love,” he pulls you in for about her kiss. Walking forward slowly until the small of your back bumps your work station, your legs still wrapped around his tall frame. You let a small whine as his hands dig harder into your bottom. Lifting you so your weight comes to rest on the sturdy wood table. Releasing his hold on your ass his hands find their way to your hips, kneading comfortably as he continues to press hard kisses onto your lips. Your hands trail down his neck, grazing across his collar bones, down the caverns of his chest to rest at the exposed skin. The float black shirt he is wearing uncinched, revealing the two bird shapes on his skin. Evidence of his travels with the queen, marked by pirates they say. He pulls back eyes still closed as his forehead rests on yours.

“We mustn’t take it too far my love, your father could come back soon,” his fingers finding a pinching grasp on your chin. Guiding you to look at him as stands tall again. You whine and lean into his touch.

“He has to go see the bee keeper,” you sake your head. “He won’t be back till the clock strikes again,” you say referring to the chimes that ring hourly. That has rung just minutes before as you worked. He smirks lightly.

“Then we have time,” his lips connect with yours again. Kiss quickly heating up, his hands running down your hips to the bottoms of your thighs. Slipping under your skirt and into your undergarments. Stopping at the crease of your thigh. Fingers running up and down the soft skin of your inner thighs. You whine at the tease, his tongue poking out to dance with yours as your mouth is agape. He tastes of fruit and wine, remanence if his celebration with the other knights you presume. You separate from him before connecting your mouth to his chin, trailing kisses down his jaw, across his neck until you find solace at the base of his neck. His grip between your legs tightening as you suck and nip at his hot skin. A growl like noise reverberates through his ribcage. He then yanks your undergarments down your thighs, you lift your body slightly so he can free them from your legs. Your lips disconnecting from his skin, once the beige colored cloth is discarded to the floor he drops to his knees. You mewl at the sight of him below you. His hands separating your knees he disappears under your skirt. His bottom lip skimming along the soft skin, slowing trailing to your center. Your hands grip the edge of your desk as he lays a kiss against your clit. Barely light enough to feel. Your hips jerk forward on their own accord, his hands hooking into your skin to keep to spread out in front of him. His tongue licks a long flat stripe against your folds. Humming at the taste of you, his nose grazes your clit as he licks up you me slit once again. Your head drops against your shoulders and a moan wracks through your body.

“Harry please,” you whine as he continues to tease your clit. “Make me feel good,” you plead. He smiles against you before shaking his head slightly.

“It’s my birthday,” his voice husky. “I’m going to eat my sweets,” and he dives back in. Still only licking through your folds. You let go of the table with one hand and slip your dress all the way up to your hips. His eyes look to you as you grasp at his hair and drop down, back flat against the desk. Tools digging into your skin uncomfortably, goes mostly unnoticed, as most of your attention is on the man between your legs. He finally begins to edge at your clit, the moans escaping your lips rising in pitch as he presses harder and further into you. Your hips moving on their own accord as his lips then wrap around your clit. Your fingers gripping his hair tighter, pushing him against you.

“Please Harry I need more,” you whine, your head thrashing on the wooden table under you. One of his hands unfolds from your thigh and inches toward your center, very, very slowly. “Harry please, please, I’ll be so good for you please,” you’re back arching in anticipation. “Just need to feel you Harry please,” you beg, he loves when you beg. Two fingers find your entrance, circling in a teasing manner. You pick up your head and slam it back down onto the table. “Fucking fuck!” You groan. A chuckle comes from Harry, vibrating your clit between his lips. The sensation bringing you the the edge. Closing your eyes so tight you can see bursts of color. His fingers dive into your soaking core, the sound leaving your body closer to a scream than a moan. He pulls back, head resting on your thigh.

“Come on baby, come on,” he coaxes you and dives back in. Sucking and slurping at you as you writhe in pleasure. Your orgasm hits you hard, heels digging into Harry’s back as your fingers pull at his dark brown curls. Hips and shoulders holding you to the table as your back arches deeply.

“Good girl, yes, such a good girl,” he murmurs as his fingers work you through your orgasm. The moans escaping you bouncing off the walls of the shop. Pleasure courses through your body, making the tips of you toes and fingers tingle from how hard they’re clenched. As you come crashing down you see Harry is now stood in front of you, palming at the front of his pants with one hand. The other still playing between your folds, whines of overstimulation escaping you. Your hands resting on your thighs come to push his away. He deters you with a smack on your wrist.

“Shhh, it’s okay baby,” he confirms as you move your hips move to escape his touch. “Gotta get you ready for my cock yeah?” He asks, his voice low and playful. You shake your head.

“I can take it. Harry please, I want it,” your hips still jerking away from his touch.

“Okay, okay baby,” his hands leave your body and push his pants down around his knees. “Comere,” he demands as he pulls you closer to him from where you scooted up the desk. Slotting himself between your thighs, angry cock protruding from his hips. His hand grazing up and down your thigh, soothing you as he lines himself up. You sit up, your chest meeting his, his hand comes up from your thigh and pulls at the strings holding your chest into the taught fabric. Yanking the corset from your frame he exposes your skin. Leaning down he kisses at the newly exposed pieces of you. His warm mouth encapsulates your nipple just as he sheaths himself fully inside you. Burying his dick completely inside you, waiting a moment for you to adjust as he plays with the sensitive bud in his mouth. Your hands playing with the curls at the back of his neck as his hips slowly, painfully pull away from you. Making you feel empty. He finally pulls away from your breast, only to find the other. Eyes pinched closed as he slowly pushes himself back into you. A gurgled moan escaping you as he finds the soft spot inside of you that makes your thighs clench around his frame.

“Oh my god Sir, yes, please,” the name setting him off. His thrusts gain strength and speed. Kissing up your neck he begins to leave sparse light marks along your skin. Teeth nipping at you just enough to enhance the pleasure shooting throughout your body. His right hand quickly finding your clit and the other wrapping around the back of you and pulling at your hair. You can feel the orgasm starting to build in your tummy, walls fluttering around his large cock inside of you. His breath becoming shaky and the noises escaping his throat loudening.

“Fuck please,” you plead harder as you get closer and closer.

“I’m close baby, I’m close,” his lips mumble into your neck. “Hold on for just another minute, wanna come with you baby,” you whimper but nod at his request.

“Fuck, Harry, come for me please,” the voice leaving your mouth not of your control. “Fill me, please I need you,” your hands pulling at his hair the same way his are tangled in yours.

“Fuck, yes, come for me,” he groans. Settling himself deep inside of you, head of his cock pressed painfully into your cervix. Your orgasm unleashes through you, body falling into Harry’s hold as he props the both of you up through your orgasm. You whimper into his neck. Teeth scraping against his skin as you press open mouthed kisses into the plush of his neck. Your name leaving his lips as you disconnect yours from his. Looking to the dark purple mark on his skin, adorned with light bite marks.

“Such a good girl,” he hums as you moves to connect his lips to yours. You smile dumbly into his lips. His hand resting at your chin as he pulls away. Thumb moving back and forth. “Always so good for me,” you lean into his touch.

“Thank you Harry.” You giggle.

“I assure you, all the thanks are for you,” his eyes scanning your face, content smile resting on his features. “For making this the best birthday of them all,” you look away with a blush on your cheeks.

“Whatever,” you laugh, pushing him away. He then proceeded to pull his pants up his legs and readjust his shirt back onto his shoulders. You shuffle yourself off the table and drop to the floor. Pulling your corset closed as tight as you can and quickly tying it up. Harry comes kneeled below you, undergarments I’m hand. You smile as him as he hooks them through one leg, than the other. Sliding them up your legs, dress catching on his arms as he glides them all the way up your legs. Placing a kiss on the inside of your parted legs. Before standing up and letting your skirt fall back to the floor.

“Come to mine tonight, yeah?” He asks. You nod and smile.

“Of course,” he leans down and presses a kiss to your nose.

“I love you,” he sighs.

“I love you,” you emphasize. He just nudges your nose with his, kissing you quickly again. He leans to grab his new sword and sheath, smiling back at you before leaving through the back door, just in time to hear the front door open and your fathers voice ring through the store.

“Hope you didn’t get too bored without me! Let’s go cook up some dinner!” A smile still carved into your features.

“Of course father!”

[cannibalcaprine]

Carrion's Repent killed by a lone guardsman with a melta

Unbowed Roost getting Horsed

RIP horses

[asoiafreadthru]

EDDARD STARK, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North,

His wife, LADY CATELYN, of House Tully,

Their children:

ROBB, the heir to Winterfell, fourteen years of age,

SANSA, the eldest daughter, eleven,

ARYA, the younger daughter, a girl of nine,

BRANDON, called Bran, seven,

RICKON, a boy of three,

His bastard son, JON SNOW, a boy of fourteen,

His ward, THEON GREYJOY, heir to the Iron Islands,

His siblings:

[BRANDON], his elder brother, murdered by the command of Aerys II Targaryen,

[LYANNA], his younger sister, died in the mountains of Dorne,

BENJEN, his younger brother, a man of the Night’s Watch,

His household:

MAESTER LUWIN, counselor, healer, and tutor,

VAYON POOLE, steward of Winterfell,

JEYNE, his daughter, Sansa’s closest friend,

JORY CASSEL, captain of the guard,

HALLIS MOLLEN, DESMOND, JACKS, PORTHER, QUENT, ALYN, TOMARD, VARLY, HEWARD, CAYN, WYL, guardsmen,

SER RODRIK CASSEL, master-at-arms, Jory’s uncle,

BETH, his young daughter,

SEPTA MORDANE, tutor to Lord Eddard’s daughters,

SEPTON CHAYLE, keeper of the castle sept and library,

HULLEN, master of horse,

His son, HARWIN, a guardsman,

JOSETH, a stableman and horse trainer,

FARLEN, kennelmaster,

OLD NAN, storyteller, once a wet nurse,

HODOR, her great-grandson, a simpleminded stableboy,

GAGE, the cook,

MIKKEN, smith and armorer,

His principal lords bannermen:

SER HELMAN TALLHART,

RICKARD KARSTARK, Lord of Karhold,

ROOSE BOLTON, Lord of the Dreadfort,

JON UMBER, called the Greatjon,

GALBART and ROBETT GLOVER,

WYMAN MANDERLY, Lord of White Harbor,

MAEGE MORMONT, the Lady of Bear Island.

[rusteddreamsstories]

The Indifferent World

Summary: The tale of a person who falls into another world with an entirely different set of physics. A cosmic entity is soon to eat the sun and it is up to her to change the world's thinking by her very presence in time to change it's fabric and to save it. (Based on a dream I had, old work).

The Indifferent World Shadsie

“My universe doesn’t work this way.”

“How, pray tell, does it work?”

“It is mostly indifferent.” 

The man guiding Kris gave her a perplexed look, furrowing his brow even as he passed a viciously-pointed stave into her hands.  Explaining “home” had been hard enough so far in a world where the laws of physics as Kris had known them seemed to be at work only in selective intervals.  Certainly swords and poleaxes worked the same way here as they did at home, as did horses and wind and the general layout of architecture.  Gravity worked, for the most part, and the birds looked and worked like normal birds although the young woman had found some things to use as improbable gliders when trying to escape the ramparts of the castle where she was being held.  She’d have probably broken bones if that aspect hadn’t been at least a little bit as “cartoonish” as it was, although she was caught and brought back again, anyway. 

She was not treated poorly here, quite the opposite, but she wished to go home.  There had to be a way, she only had to find it and suspected it lay somewhere in the Eastern Woods, where she had first arrived.  There were no light portals or swirly things.  She suspected she was asleep because her arrival here seemed to coincide with her getting droopy-eyed while doing a painting.  Around-and-around her brush went over a circle of yellow-white paint representing a fading sun in a darkened sky – around-and-around until she’d felt as if she’d been drawn into the world of the painting, stepping out into a dappled wood. 

She vaguely remembered an old book series she’d read.  Yeah, the Pevensie children got into Narnia by staring at a painting in one of those Faerie stories.  Kris had been actually creating a painting. She was sure she was not high at the time: At least as not as long as fumes from the linseed oil and turpentine weren’t getting to her too much.  She always worked in well-ventilated areas. She was also pretty sure that this wasn’t Narnia.

Her captors called their world “Earth.”  It wasn’t home, though - it definitely wasn’t home. 

When she’d found herself fully upright rather than sitting at her easel and her boots were crunching the dried detritus of a forest floor, what she could see beyond the upper trees was blue.  It wasn’t the sky of her painting, although the trees were similar. When the soldiers had arrested her and taken her out into the fields surrounding Highwater Castle, the sky was as blue as any she’d seen, dotted with puffy clouds that seemed to mirror the numerous sheep grazing the lawns. 

The sky was rust-bloody red now and the sun was dim.  Pietro, the guardsman with her, regarded her seriously in the stormlight as he strapped plates of armor over her arms and shins.  “How is it different?” he asked, wondering if she had some kind of answer that would win the coming battle.   Perhaps he was trying to goad her, to get her mind to work the way the people here wanted it to.

“For one thing,” she answered, “our sun and the light that it gives us is not tied to the welfare of a maiden.”

“Even so, Outlander, if you continue to value your life,” the man said with a shiver, “you will assist in protecting Lady Umbra – even if you do not think she should exist.” 

Kris could not tell anyone entirely how she’d wound up at a Medieval-looking fortress in some alternate version of Earth and the Universe – or wherever she was.  She’d tried waking up several times.  Pain was real here and she could tell time and read books without the numbers and words jumbling together.  She pinched herself and water was cold and she was still here.  Most things worked by regular logic, save those few things that were very different, but differed in the way of a constructed world – like that of a book or a game or a film.  The “rules,” even the ones that did not make sense to her, were consistent.  One thing that she knew that was strangest of things about this place was that all the people here spoke and wrote in perfect English in the style of her era, so she had no problem communicating here. 

The other thing she knew was that the world was about to end.

She looked up at the wounded sky to the dying sun.  People were screaming behind her.  There were rally-shouts to defend the castle and its inmost sanctum where the ailing Sun Maiden was guarded.  The clouds moved like black smoke over the red face of the sky.  Kris could have sworn she saw the darkest of them form into a maw with fangs briefly over the sun before a wind blew them back into something paler and more amorphous.  The forces of Darkness had been winning most of the battles of late.  Smoke-Ghosts, eyeless beasts and human troops of surrounding kingdoms who were loyal to the End for their own mysterious reasons had taken the mountain fortresses and were quickly encroaching upon the Center of the World.  The war seemed nearly at an end, one that would see humankind and most animal and plant life defeated and eventually extinct. 

The Beast of Entropy was nearly upon the Kingdom of Light.  If the Beast swallowed up the Maiden or if she died from the bombardment of malevolent energies surrounding them all, the sun itself would die forever, flickering out like the flame of a spent candle. First would come the heat as the Beast would revel in his destruction, stirring up the fire-mountains with his great paws.  Of course, the people would scramble to build fires to keep themselves warm and lit for as long as possible from any consumable source, fighting the Night as living things do by mad instinct.  After that, the cold would come and then the bitter deep chill.  After that the silence would fall. 

The laughter of Entropy filled the air, although nothing was seen of any great creature.  Kris wondered at what the personification of a cosmic force was supposed to look like, anyway.  The myths she’d been told described this particular god as being both draconic and catlike, but that he could take the form of any fear.  It seemed kind of hokey to Kris.  Then again, just a few days ago she’d met a young woman close to her age whose fate was connected to the sun and whose life guaranteed its place in the sky. 

As soon as she’d arrived in this world, she’d been taken by soldiers to Highwater Castle where the local royalty were inexplicably quick to make friends with her.  Apparently, she was a part of some sort of prophecy.  They’d spoke of having “Outworlders” arrive before – typically from other planets with other suns that were guarded by Maidens.  Only a few came from places such as hers where the laws were different and it was only people who came from these places that had a chance, they believed, of “breaking the Cycle.”  

She was set to be one of the guardians of a woman named Lady Umbra.  She’d met Glace and Matilda, the girls’ other bodyguards and both natives of the land.  Glace experimented in something she called “science” that seemed much more to Kris like magic – mainly in developing technology to control her naturally-occurring ice-powers.  Matilda was a standard ax-wielding warrioress.  Their charge, the Lady Umbra, was a pale-skinned, dark-haired, dark eyed youth and was slated to succeed the previous Keeper of the Sun.  She was to become nothing less than a goddess – “Sol-53,” to be precise, after her powers fully manifested and after a ceremony.  “Sol-52,” her predecessor, had passed away recently from the Darkness-sickness before the girl could become a full-fledged replacement. 

The Beast of Entropy had sensed this weakness and had sped across the Void to begin his assault upon this Earth’s sun and its light. 

Lady Umbra had not been trained to her destiny specifically.  She was, however, since birth, heavily scrutinized along with many other girls as a member of a genetic line from which any member displaying certain attributes could be chosen.  Her mother and father had named her “Umbra” – a name denoting shadows – specifically to try to spare her the “blessing” of being chosen to become a goddess of the sun.  Unfortunately for her, she had the correct traits for it in the end and had been born in a world enslaved to Fate. 

“So you are the latest one they dragged in to try to break the chains of Fate?” Umbra asked as she poured Kris a dainty cup of tea from a delicate ceramic teapot painted with pink roses.  Kris took the cup, unsure of proper teatime etiquette.  She’d had plenty of tea in her time, but it was typically Southern iced sweet-tea or it was hot but taken in a huge coffee mug because even while Kris preferred tea to coffee, she was a less-than-polite American who liked all drinks that sat beside her while she worked to be nice and big for the sake of not having to take refills.   

“I guess so,” she replied.  “I just really want to go home, actually.  Even exploring this world outside these halls and towers would be nice, but it seems that I am a prisoner until I serve some kind of use.  I am confused by all of this.” 

“Everyone is,” Umbra said as she sipped her cup of spiced oolong. “The king and the priests just love when someone crosses over from a world where stars are not connected to people such as me and you said that you come from such a place, correct?”

“I do,” Kris answered.  “Where I come from, the sun is a mass of fire.”  She wasn’t entirely sure if this was the correct terminology – she was certain that it wasn’t and that it would make anyone she knew who had any kind of interest in even rudimentary astrophysics tear their hair out in frustration with her.  She thought it best to keep the conversation simple.  “What I learned in my childhood schooling, anyway, is my world’s sun is a ball of burning gases.  It sometimes flares up, causing problems in our… communication-magic. But… it’s not connected to anyone’s life.  Our lives depend upon it, but it doesn’t depend upon us at all.  It was there before we were and will spin on long after we are gone.  It’s set to die one day, but long in the future – likely after my people will meet extinction by natural causes or after our descendants have colonized other worlds and have transformed into different kinds of beings.” 

“Our priests pray for our world to become such an indifferent one.” Umbra stated. 

“What’s funny,” Kris replied, “Is that so many of my people get the existential shivers when they think of how indifferent our universe is to them.  The sun and the stars will spin on long after them.  Some of the distant stars they see in the sky are long dead, themselves, the light oblivious to their watching even if those stars were ever conscious to begin with.  Entropy exists, but not as a beast with a will to destroy.  It is indifferent, as well.”

“Does your world not have gods?”

“We have gods… sort of. There are many kinds of beliefs in my world, many gods, one, none… It’s nothing like what this world runs under.  No one seems to be sure of anything and people who act all cocksure that only they are right are the people I’m most suspicious of.  That’s just my personal view, though.”

“Hmmm.” 

“What I’m trying to say is that, no, we do not have Sun Maidens or Star Maidens.  If you’d been born in my world, the sun would give its light with or without you.  You wouldn’t have any powers over it.  You’d have to find some other thing to carry for people to count on you.” 

Kris said this last bit with a smile, a full believer in the concept of kindness carrying kindness and that no one was ever a hero or a villain on their own, but shaped by the circumstances and other people in their lives.  She’d wanted to find something to do to be helpful to the world.  So far, she was only an art student, having chosen that field over anything her parents thought was useful.  Her aunt who’d once been a graphic designer had actually tried to discourage her, telling her that the working world with that was a “plane full of predators” that would chew her up and spit her out.  It was true that she could have tried for something better suited to her world like becoming a doctor or joining the military – things most people thought “counted,” but she was drawn to the pencil and the paintbrush in a way that wouldn’t’ be denied.  She mused that she might be as much a prisoner to her “calling” as the Sun Maiden was to hers. 

The difference, of course, was that her curses were taken on by choice.  They had not been forced upon her. 

“So, in your world, I would be free…” Umbra said softly. 

“Probably not entirely,” Kris said, “because no one is.  Limits exist everywhere, even in my world, but, as much as any living creature can have freedom, I’m sure you would be free if you’d lived in my world.” 

“I never asked to become the sun,” Umbra said ruefully.  “I never asked to be its light in human form upon the Earth, to convey to it the needs of the people.  Those are the duties set before me once I become strong.  The sun will give its power to me to protect my people with divine Fire and Light, to protect my people from the Darkness.  I will be given higher regard than the king and the queen – but I never wanted it.  My parents are merchants.  Is it strange that I desired a peasant’s life?” 

“Not at all.” 

“I like chickens.  I wanted just to have a cottage somewhere and raise chickens.  I know all about different breeds and the different kinds of eggs they lay.  I’m not ashamed to clean a coop.”

“A simple life is as proud as any other.” 

“I also wanted to know what having sex might be like someday.” 

Kris snorted and spit out all of her tea. 

Umbra laughed.  “Too blunt?”

“A little.  You mean, you dreamed of marriage to some gallant young man and all that?” 

“Not necessarily.  As the Sun Keeper, I am slated to remain ‘pure.’  It’s said that when the sun chose young men that it was the same deal for them – the whole virginity thing.”

“I’ve never actually been much interested in losing it in a hurry, myself,” Kris said.  “I haven’t found the right person, I guess, but since I became an adult, I’ve at least had the choice in that.” 

Matilda entered the room without knocking.  “It is time your bed rest, M’Lady,” she told Umbra. 

“Yes, Ma’am,” the girl replied. 

“The Outworlder shall leave to her own quarters at once.” 

With a glare, Kris departed as asked, to be led by Glace, who was waiting at the door.  Neither of them trusted her completely, but they seemed to have an awareness that she could be the key to their world’s salvation – and the salvation of their beloved young mistress. 

Kris thought about it as she was taken back to her chambers.  She was a prisoner not because she was a threat, but because she was a commodity.  In her months here, she had learned all she could – or at least, all that her captors would tell her. 

People from worlds without celestial Keepers were said to potentially possess the power to undo the cosmic Fate simply by not believing in it.  There was some prophecy in the ancient archives that held that when the right Outworlder came along, one coming from a world in which the sun, the moon and the stars operated completely without tether to any mortal’s soul nor to any of the cities or kingdoms, their sheer disbelief in the world they now walked in could loose the sun and free its goddess to remain a mortal. 

In other words, it was Kris’ own logic, imagination and her very longing for her own world that could defeat the ages-old threat of the willful Beast of Entropy. 

As it was, the sun and the Light were vulnerable prey.  Even when any Sun Keeper came into her own as a physical goddess, there were things that could kill her – such as sicknesses with their origins in dark energies.  The blades of swords might bounce off her milk-soft skin when she came to that point, but the energies were always present and were always in danger of growing – particularly with their connections with the morality of the local people and their morale in general.  

As it was, Lady Umbra was still fully mortal.  She felt not only the bombardment of cruel energies, but could be slain by any means that would kill any other young girl. 

Kris tried for the sake of them all to imagine herself out of this quagmire.  She thought of home and let her sickness for it consume her hours in hopes that she would find it, but also that this world would become more like it.  This was an entire world full of desperate people.  She could not blame them for trying to use her.  It was also a fact that she liked Lady Umbra a great deal.  Her visits with the kind, intelligent and occasionally blunt young woman were the highlight of her days even as the girl was ill often and the skies grew ever darker. 

Kris tried to imagine the Beast away, but the more she tried, the more she saw his shadow on the moon and the more she saw him in the clouds.  The ancient scribes that had illustrated the ancient texts she was given to read did not help.  They’d drawn the damnable thing – as a dragon mixed with a cat, full of horns and hair and razor-spines jutting off its shoulders.  It was a big-eared whiskered demon. 

The artist imagined the creature taking the sun up as ball and batting it around like a cat does with a toy.  She immediately regretted it when she was sure she saw the noonday sun flicker outside her tower window.  No, the sun was still there and not being batted around like a ball. There was a cry from Lady Umbra’s chamber, as if the girl was having a nightmare. 

No… she couldn’t give him power.  She couldn’t give the ways of this world power.  She had to free it.  She was in a world that was unbelievable.  It was a world like a book, a game or a film.  “This cannot be a real world,” she told herself, “That is the only way I can change it – if I keep thinking of it as unreal.” 

She was escorted to the castle’s altar-area where the Kingdom of Light’s priests prayed for an indifferent world – not caring that such a world could make someone feel utterly alone.  Kris did wish she could go back to being insignificant again.  She preferred it to having a world set upon her shoulders.

When the Smoke-Ghosts and the Dark Alliance breached the Kingdom of Light’s mountain passes, they came upon Castle Highwater like a wave.  This is how Kris the Outworlder found herself in the broken armory with the old soldier named Pietro.   This was how she found herself trying to explain what she already had tried to convey to many others. 

She thanked the man and took spear he’d given her.  She ran back toward Umbra’s chambers over rubble and the ruin.  Her ears rang with cannon-fire as Hightower’s soldiers tried to combat the physical dimensions of the onslaught.  She looked above and saw the clouds form into lithe and dark cat-shapes to play and dance and hide in a disturbing manner.   

Kris tried to avoid the fighting, not being trained from youth in melee combat in the same manner as the men defending the fortress.  She was not a magical creature, either and felt like she was carrying the spear as a prop.  She decapitated a Smoke-Ghost and watched it dissipate into the ether.  Two formed from the shimmering air in its place. 

A roar shook the castle and a wall fell.  Instead of running from the disaster, she ran toward it because she spied Lady Umbra – carried in the arms of Glace, who was fighting off a group of eyeless lizards with the ice-channeling guns on her wrists. 

“I am trying as hard as I can to make sense of this!” Kris called as she ran toward the two. “I am so sorry!  My mind cannot seem to stop this!”

“Don’t worry, just fight!” Glace shouted. 

Kris held her spear out before her, certain that if this was a dream that it must be her death-dream, either that or she was going to awaken as soon as she died – that tended to happen to her whenever she dreamed of her own death, which was why she never believed in that whole “You die in your dream, you die in real life” malarkey.  At the same time, she did care – at least for Umbra – just a little and did not want to just vanish and leave the girl to her fate. 

That was when the smoke of hundreds of Smoke-Ghosts turned upon the wind and gathered into an enormous, beastly shape.  It roared and was blacker than black, deeper than night – Kris felt like she was staring into a black hole when she beheld its flowing fur which strangely shimmered in the outlines of its windblown locks.  It was a giant cat – though its muzzle was burly and wide, resembling the snout and mouth on certain kinds of dogs.  It had four long horns like those of a four-horned ram, two upright, two curved back and forward like hooks.  Its eyes glowed like a pale winter moon until they flashed “out” into a deeper black-hole void than its wild hair. 

It rounded upon the figures standing in the rubble of the castle, including Kris.  She trembled.  She found within herself a fiery will, a sudden surge of passion. 

“You aren’t supposed to exist!” she screamed.  “You are just a force! You shouldn’t have a will of your own! You are no breathing beast!” 

Before she knew what she was doing, she was running forward with her spear and thrust it right into the giant cat-nose of the Beast of Entropy.  It shook its great head in annoyance and shifted around her, opening its maw and showing its teeth. When she thought she hadn’t seen anything blacker, she beheld the Beast’s throat. 

The last thing she heard was a horrific crunch as Light went out.  ________________________________________________________

Kris and Pietro wandered around for neither of them knew how long – hours or days.  The last survivors of Highwater were scattered and they didn’t see another soul, even when they could find enough fuel for torches. 

The image of Lady Umbra and her guardian Glace at once being taken by Entropy haunted Kris’ memory. It was her last flash of daylight-sight before the Darkness had fallen like iron.  She did not know why the creature left her alone – perhaps it was because he had gotten what he’d came to this world for.  The sun had vanished in an instant, dying with the Maiden.  None could tell what was going on in the precious little light to see by the torches and fires raging on the castle grounds in this new deep night.  Entropy and his forces had vanished completely, leaving the world to die off. Presumably, he was off to other planets that hung in this universe, to other suns, to devour other Sun Maidens. 

Pietro, the soldier, didn’t even have the will to kill her.  She had failed to protect Lady Umbra, but all he could do was to walk with her and to rest at will, not that there was anywhere to go.  

Kris watched her companion lay down beyond the last embers of a dying campfire. The last bits of orange glow upon the hills had long gone out.  The heat of high summer was fading quickly, although Kris was surprised at how long it was lingering.  She’d failed in her duty – the role having been thrust upon her without much knowledge aside.   

She remembered the words that everyone had feared – “First the heat, then the cold, then the <i>deep chill</i> and then the silence.”  

At present, the night was cavernous.  The only light was from the pitiful campfire, losing the last of its fuel and of the distant stars.  Perhaps other worlds in this universe would have better luck with their own Sun Keepers – if that is the way it worked.  Kris wondered if any of those stars was the one connected to her Earth, shining into this universe somehow.  If she could not go home she could at least dream of it. 

It was strange, she thought, how so many of the people here had prayed for an indifferent world, a world like hers where the celestial bodies spun along without anyone’s life or death being involved and long after anyone’s lifespan.  She thought, ruefully, that they had gotten an indifferent world of a differing kind.  Entropy had his way – stalking in on cat-feet to pad away, leaving any survivors to an enduring darkness. The air was already growing cold enough for Kris to shiver beneath the wool blankets that she’d hastily grabbed along with the other early survivors, wondering when the shivering would fail to warm her body and wondering when she’d just go numb.  She was already so tired. 

“See you in the morning,” her companion said from behind the almost-dead fire.  Both of them knew that there would be no actual morning.  It was doubtful that either of them would get through the requisite sleeping hours. 

The last of the summer crickets chirped – just one playing his song to some mate that would not hear him in the deepening darkness.  Kris listened to the bright chirp-chirps until they grew more distant with a greater gap of time in between. 

The chirping stopped and the silence fell.    

[guerrerense]

S&C Scot por Andrew Por Flickr: 46115 Scots Guardsman with the final Pendle Dalesman excursion of the year. Lots of smoke as it approached Cragg Hill Farm unlike an earlier sight of the excursion near Bay Horse. And thanks to whoever put the plank of wood across the slats on the field side of the foot crossing - allowed for a nice high viewpoint :-)

[cyberphuck]

I am probably not going to finish this (or maybe I will! miracles happen!) so I’m posting it here to alleviate some of my manic sadness

(this takes place post-breath of the wild but pre-tears of the kingdom. content warnings for people being a dick to Link for being semi-verbal.)

She liked Hateno.

She'd only cut her hair a few days before, and the breeze still felt cold and prickly on the back of her neck. She and Link were coming down from Purah’s research lab above the village, hoping to be able to survey the vegetable fields and speak with the farmers about Zelda’s new ideas for crop rotation. She was chattering as they went along, with Link following silently behind. She’d grown quite used to holding up both ends of the conversation, as it were, and often went over plans and theories with him, finding it more productive to say things out loud.

She *had* heard him speak before. On the day that they had met-- over a century ago, when he’d been appointed as her knight-- he had knelt before her father in the throne room, and when the King asked him if he understood his duties, Link had replied, “Yes sir, I do.”

She'd come to understand later that he'd rehearsed those four words many times so that he'd be able to say them clearly before King Rhoam. When she'd tried to ask him something later, his speech had been halting and uncertain, and it had been difficult to make him meet her gaze. He'd always held his hands behind his back or, when sitting down, in his lap, gripping the fingers of one hand with the other so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"If you want to make things easier on him," the old Captain had told her, "don't ask him to make small talk. If he wants to say something to you, he will."

What little she knew of him she'd learned from court gossip and overheard conversations between soldiers: his father had been a guardsman, but retired after a bad fall from a horse. No one knew his mother-- there were plenty of vulgar jests about who she might have been-- and he'd attended Skimmred's Academy for Young Boys in Castle-Town before enlisting in the Royal Guard to follow in his father's footsteps.

And he was very good, almost *supernaturally* good, with a sword.

It was that last that she heard most often tacked onto the end of comments about his awkwardness and odd mannerisms. "Blasted boy can't keep still, but no one better than him with a blade"; "Never has much to say, makes ye'wonder what kinda thoughts he's thinkin-- Guard found a use for him, though"; "Fill his mouth with treacle and make him recite prayers 'till the stutter comes off his tongue, that's the way to do it. Fights like a demon, though, that's the truth." There hadn't been time to learn much more about him. That was what she'd told herself, anyway, in the hours between the awakening of her power and her arrival at Hyrule Castle to confront the Calamity. There hadn't been time, and he was so shy, and if she'd tried to meet his eyes he would find somewhere else to stand. In truth, her resentment of him and his natural talent had taken so long to overcome that, by the time she was ready to truly get to know him, it was too late-- the Calamity had come crashing down on them both. In the hundred years that she kept Calamity Ganon at bay, Zelda had promised herself over and over that if-- that *when* Link came for her, she would do better. As soon as the dust from the battle had settled, she'd begun trying to connect with him. She'd asked him about his hobbies, his interests, his dreams. She'd been patient as he'd tried to find the words, but his discomfort when pressed for more than one- or two-word answers was obvious. She'd had even worse results when she'd presented him with a stick of chalk and a slate of the sort that school children used for lessons; apart from discovering that he had startlingly neat handwriting, he seemed as reluctant to write down his thoughts as he was to speak them. She'd even had Purah install a program on the Sheika Slate that could speak words aloud as Link touched their pictures on the screen, but Link had only touched the words 'clever' and 'enjoy' before handing the device back to her. In desparation, she'd gone to Robbie, one of the only people Link allowed to make thorough examinations of his body (despite Purah's insistence that it was 'for science' and that she'd 'seen it all before' and promised to 'delete all of the photos as soon as they were archived'), pulled the be-goggled man into a corner, and discreetly asked if perhaps there were some sort of physical issue that prevented Link from communicating clearly. "What? No," Robbie said, then lowered his voice as Zelda hurriedly shushed him. "Princess, he's just not chatty. He's got no problem understanding things, and if something needs to be said, he'll say it. That's enough for most people. It should be enough for you." Zelda had left Robbie's lab feeling a bit chagrined. 

[loquaciousquark]

[Fic] Iron Bound [17/25]

Rating: G Characters/Pairings: Fenris/Hawke, Sebastian Word Count: 4k this chapter, ~96k total Summary: Fenris, captain of Starkhaven’s White Guard and the dearest friend of that country’s prince, has arrived in the kingdom of Kirkwall with a retinue of noble-born guards and a carriage brimming with lavish gifts. How else to win over the hearts of a suspicious mountain people who would rather break teeth on stone than accept the prince of Starkhaven stealing away their heir princess?

But stone is all they have in their kitchens lately, and gravel in their quarries and ice in their bitter rivers, and Starkhaven sits abreast the richest lea and moorland south of the Minanter.

And Sebastian Vael, the young prince of that country, needs a wife.

—

Days passed. The satisfied ministers finished their work, were joined by irate Kirkwall ambassadors fresh off their ships, and began the arguments again. Sebastian was needed by them more often than not, as were Hawke and her mother; Fenris, as yet uncrowned, was regulated to the formalities of identifying a successor for his duties and summarily dismissed. In the privacy of his office he led a difficult conversation with Lieutenant Rylen—difficult primarily due to the man weeping with honor and gratitude, which Fenris found alarming—and a warmer one with Sergeant Donnic, who had become as close to a friend as Fenris could name outside Sebastian. Rylen would take over as Captain of the White Guard; Donnic would stand as first lieutenant. They were good men; Fenris trusted them.

It was more than he could say for Starkhaven’s court. He had not expected kindness; he had not expected malice.

Hawke took the worst of it once the news broke into broad circulation. Sebastian was handsome, kind, beloved; surely Hawke had coerced him into betrothal, used him for Kirkwall’s sake, then cruelly thrown him over for some foreigner guardsman trotting at his heel. Fenris himself, when he was thought of at all, was too stupid to understand, or in league with Hawke since before Kirkwall, or some Tevinter spy at last revealing his true nature. Sebastian did what he could to mitigate the damage, more frank than Fenris would have been about his unbruised heart, on the ease of his decision to break the engagement, but that only went so far when the court knew him to be the jilted lover.

Hawke did not bend beneath the onslaught; if anything she laughed more often and more freely, danced with more dukes and barons and left them smiling. If occasionally she drove her horse too quickly when they rode out together into the hills above the city, or if sometimes she rested her head on Fenris’s shoulder when they looked down at the distant palace, she did not tell him why, and he did not ask. A banner, he thought, snapping in the wind, colors flying, and he did not know if the pole would break before the storm eased.

—

Links: FF.net, AO3

[clockwork-soul-heart]

Princess knight....

...knights have steeds and swords... Don't have Guardsman anymore... Horse pokemon?

[ramonag-if]

Hello! I'm not sure if you want bug reports right now, since you're re-writing the first part and the public demo is probably not updated, but I've made a list with some typos and a couple of coding errors I found in the prologue and chapter 1. I can check the other chapters too if you need. Also... Virion's route? Yes, please!

PROLOGUE

Mama cirlces your back gently. Her smile is small and doesn't meet her eyes. (circles)

But now Mama wants you stay with this stranger, your father. (wants you to stay)

"I am sorry, my Sweetling," says softly. (she says)

Her arms encirlce you in her hold, your face buried in her warmth. (encircle)

When you first discovered the chest, you had hoped for more clues as to Ahlf was. (as to who Ahlf was)

Your eyes scan the the man's wagon and find your eyes widening. (the)

You eyes the idols. Worship of the Ancient Ones is forbidden in Cyre, even being caught with one of these figurines could have you killed. (You eye)

You stare at him, frowing. (frowning)

CHAPTER 1

Instantly, his eyebrows lower and the look his gaze becomes hard. (the look in his gaze)

You have not seen her in over a decade. (It's actually over two decades, because the prologue starts in the year 523 and this sentence is said in 544. Btw I didn't realize the MC was 26 years old before doing the math, I thought they were like 20.)

As soon as you emerge outside, you are greeted by flames. It scorches your skin and you instinctively step back. (They scorch)

Buckling beneath you, your knees sturggle to keep you standing upright. (struggle)

Why is is he even hiding the Prince? (is)

He is seated behind you, his fingers gripping the reigns in both hands. (reins)

Perhaps his upbringing as a prince gave him the luxuruy of having smooth skin and grace, but it does not leave you swooning over him like a lovesick passer-by. (luxury)

Prince Irus shoulders sag. (Irus')

A look of sorrow and and loneliness.

Prince Irus looks as you as if you're a fool. (at you)

Your nerves makes it hard to focus on anything but the enemy who stands before you. (make)

He charges towards you. moving faster than you can comprehend. (wrong punctuation)

You hear a grunt and when you open your eyes, you are greeted by the unconcsious Guardsman. (unconscious)

You spin away, just at the blade brushes uselessly at your sleeve. (just as)

The Guardsman kicks at Prince Irus' knees, causing the him to falter. (causing him)

He clutches at his eyes, struggling to keep his vision in tact. (intact)

You're certain that if it weren't for Prince Irus' grip on the reigns on either side of you, you certainly would have fallen to your death. (reins)

One of the Guardsman holds up a bow, an arrow directed at you and Prince Irus. (Guardsmen)

He flicks the reigns, and Crown carries you both into the forest. (reins)

You turn, finding one of the Blood Guard, thrown off from his saddle. His horse wil go no more. (will)

By the way Prince Irus grips the reigns, you know that he does not intend to stop. (reins)

Prince Irus tightens his grip on the reigns, but makes no move to stop. (reins)

His arms still grip the reigns on either side of your shared saddle. (reins)

You told Prince Irus that you believed in the Ancient Ones, even though that was a lie. You do believe in the Ancient Ones, but you lied to Prince Irus because... (This should be: “You told Prince Irus that you do not believe in the Ancient Ones”)

ALl at once, you're reminded that the both of you have been travelling with little rest in between. (All)

You feet carry you to one of the pillars. (Your feet)

If your wish comes true, you hope that at least your future will be better, one where you are safe from the dangers that threatens your security. (threaten)

"Alright," he replies. "I suppose could use the help." (I suppose I could)

As wring the cloth, your eyes return to Prince Irus' shoulder. (As you wring)

Seated like this, you glimpse at his well-defined torso take into account the toned muscles of his arms. (taking/and take)

This option appears this way and it is not selectable: [["I won't," you answer softly."|chp1_62b2_1][0 +=1]]

You will not look at him, no matter how how much your face warms and your breathing hitches. (how)

Allowing your gaze to travel across Prince Irus' features, you take note of the piercing look he gives you and the light stubbble which cover his jaw. (stubble)

ROM BOLD You remain silent, your eyebrows furrowed and your mouth pressed into a scowl. (There is a random “ROM BOLD” that pops up during the narration)

Prince Irus' skin is warm and calloused from where he has held the reigns of crown for so long. (reins of Crown)

Prince turns away from you and begins to dress his wound, using the paste. (Prince Irus/The Prince)

You regret that doing so as it it caused your injury, but you are still glad that Prince Irus was not injured. (as it caused)

"Is the pain too unbearable?" Prince Irus asks. There is a glint of amuesment in his eyes. (amusement)

The option “You draw your hand away, grateful for his help” leads to the scene where you snatch your hand away instead.

Just because it was Prince Irus in danger, didn't factor into your decsion. (decision)

"I know what's it like to like to have an absent mother," you sympathise. (what's it like to have)

You've were never a devote follower of the Ancient Ones and after spending the night in the temple you... (You were never/You've never been)

If you don't complain about sitting in the front when you flee from the Guardsmen, at the end of chapter 1 you are supposed to sit in the front when riding Crown, but it is coded uncorrectly. It's set true and then false immediately after, so at the beginning of chapter 2 you end up sitting in the back: <<if $chp1_42a_saddle is false>> You turn away from the temple and make your way to where Prince Irus stands besides Crown. Prince Irus hops onto the saddle, helping you up in front of him. Your muscles still ache from riding for the past few days without rest, but you manage to settle into the saddle with little fuss. <<set $saddle_front to true>> [[Next.|chp1_67][$saddle_front to false]]

Thanks so much for the list! I think I've fixed most of these in edits - but who knows 😅 I'm prone to missing errors in my own writing and coding. The saddle one hasn't come up before - maybe it has (I can't remember). I will be fixing bugs once chapter 4 is released - so I'll keep these noted down if it doesn't come up in beta testing to fix 😊

[sclitvde]

The Knights Three & Princess B NSFW drabble wip 🙇🏻‍♀️

“Oi, I ain’t never had unspoiled cunt.” Gerard bellows loudly in what could be described as laughter.

Why had she come there, the princess questions herself silently, Gerard’s hot breath on her face evoking her doubt. She stands before the city guardsman with cheeks and ears alight, dressed in her sleeping linens, sheer and light for the relentless summer nights. In her defense, the princess did wear a boyish cape, weathered at its hem and broad enough to devour her frame.

Gerard inches closer, the delight in his eyes causing her to pull back, only to be stopped by the broad chest of a fellow guardsman.

She had almost forgot Jehan was there, how silent the second-in-command was while Gerard gleefully delighted in the princess’s offer. 

Cool breath kisses burning ears, a soft, sing-song voice offering a terrifying presumption. “You’ll break her. Look at you.”

“I? Look at YOU.” Gerard, a stout man of a considerable girth, indicates the taller, slender knight. Jehan pulls away from the princess’s back and steps in front of her, bitter bickering ensuing between the two men.

All the princess had wanted was to get fucked, offering the two guardsmen her maidenhead if they were to give her what she wanted. She didn’t care too much for the thought of her virginity. She had already bled, riding her horse as she raced it through the royal woods, so the show of the break was long impossible. She has touched herself plenty of times, indulged and coveted the idea of fullness much grander than what her small fingers could offer. 

She had thought she could rely on Gerard for this, the knight having been friendly and kind enough. He was handsome, in his own way. Besides, he carried his armor well. He would keep this secret, she presumed, and would not deny the daughter of his liege…. so she came to call on him in her desperation only to find that Jehan was there too. 

Would two be too much?

She concludes she will never know, wrapping the weathered cape around her shoulders as the argument ( lost in the background of her loud disappointment ) grows more heated by the second.

Lithe fingers barely finish tying the cloak around her shoulders when the two knights fall silent. Back turned to them, she laughs, assuming they had come to some staunch agreement.

“Have you made your decisions, Sers?” Her inquiry falls from smiling lips, lips that remain curled in delight until she turns and sees an imposing figure in the shadows of the barracks.

Golden hues dance from each of the knights faces, now drained of their color. The room remains gravely silent until:

“What decisions would that be, Your Grace?” The voice is cold, commanding and familiar. It always cooled her blood, caused her palms to sweat. Even in the shadows, she can see the dull light flickering in his gaze.

“I… I had asked,” she stutters as Henry inches into the light, his mountainous frame creating a great shade of its own.

“She came to… to, uh, inquire if we were to accompany her to the tradesman’s alley.” Gerard’s formality sounds funny in his lowborn timbre, the princess thinks, but can delight little in it now.

The knight commander had always intimidated the princess. He was notoriously harsh, uncouth, and hardly a man of pleasantries. Every interaction with him had been unpleasant, his gaze fixated on her in a way she surmises was resentment. She had overheard plenty of whispers about him, the plainness of his cruelty in place of honor.

But those were only rumors.

Henry reacts naught to his lesser guardsman and passes a glance to his second-in-command. Jehan remains unsteadily still. 

The commander of the city guard passes his subordinates leisurely, standing, no, towering over the princess.

“And what were your answers? Surely you would not deny the princess an escort?” those dark orbs burrow deeply into her flesh, she desperate to shrink away, “my curiosity bequeaths me to ask: what does a princess need from lowly craftsmen when she can be patroness to an artisan?” His question mocks her, she’s sure of it. He looks down on her, literally and figuratively. She feels it in her very core.

Backed into a corner, she snaps.

“You are so bold to question me? Tread lightly, Ser.” Tension settles in the room. The princess, notoriously meek and shy, cannot believe she arrogantly asserts her authority over him. She expects retaliation until:

“Gods, enough of this farce!” Henry bellows, his laughter filling the room. “Ah, well,” stately head rolls on its neck, his skewed gaze trained on his subordinates.

“It seems they are speechless, princess. I will make the decision for them.” Before she knows it, a strong arm wraps around her waist and hoists her up with ease, as if she were as light as a feather. She is placed on the small, rickety table in the center of the room.

Henry bends to meet her gaze and whispers, “so desperate to be filled… you’d let anyone fuck you.” An involuntary whimper falls from plush tiers, cheeks burning at the painful truth in his words, at the realization he had been there the whole time, listening, watching.

He delights in her desperation, she concludes, but does not challenge him. That painful ache in her core, that yearning, devours her now. She is shameless in her quest for satisfaction, she understands that, and finds that Henry, despite his former callousness, is willing, now, to give her what the two other guardsmen were incapable of.

Caged between two arms, the princess turns her head from the commander’s dark gaze as he undeniably inspects her like she was a piece of equipment, a sheath for his sword.

He was striking, his face unobstructed by a gaudy helm, imposing frame without its hefty armor. This is the first time she’s able to indulge in his features… well, perhaps only in her periphery.

Large hand raises just as Henry stands upright, pinching her chin between his fingers and commanding her gaze.

“Would three be enough for you?”

[mocha-gladiator]

Idk how many of my followers actually read or if I will finish this, but I guess its at least an introduction to the characters to get a better feel for what they're like.

Characters: Argon, Cyprien

Words: 3,476

Warnings: Animal death

For all the reasons he could think to ride out past the cobbled streets, away from the tented marketplace where strings of flags and the smell of good food asked nothing more than for him to stay and have a good time, Cyprien would never have guessed that it would have been his own father asking him to go.

Why would he? It was the one place he had ever been told not to go and, being not the adventurous type, he hadn’t. But here he was, riding past the gnarled stones that cast long shadows on his path

The letter was marked with a nobleman’s emblem, and as the guardsman took it, he glanced up at mighty stone wall, realizing how it barely kept the jungle at bay. Even as it stood with guards walking the path up top, bits of moss and lichen clung to the inside, begging to get in. Vines had been cut short just above where men could reach, but their bleeding nubs kept sprouting more tendrils.

As the guard tucked the letter into his pant pocket and waved to the others to let him pass by, he could not help but feel his hair begin to stick to the sweat on the back of his neck, and the nervousness of his horse as her steps became small and unwilling to pass through. She had likely been through this way at least once before, Cyprien realized. It was his father’s own horse, or one of his favorites, and he had been through this path many times.

And yet she was still just as nervous as he was.

All of this for what? He wondered as the shadows passed first over the horse’s bicolor mane, then his own black one. Was he really just too busy to pick up this elixir for himself, or was he trying to push Cyprien to, well, prove himself somehow? His father seemed grouchier of late, but that did not mean he should send his own son into drobati territory. Not without a guide, at least!

The boy’s eyes wandered up the canopy. There was nothing but noise assaulting him on all sides, mostly from bugs and birds, but he could see in the treetops that a few…other things were watching them. He shrugged his cape tighter over his front, shaking in his saddle as the chill hit.

It was still early morning with the chill and dew still on everything. The horse’s hooves barely made a sound on the path. Or at least, it did not make a sound over all the other racket.

As time eased on and the sun rose enough to cut through the trees, he found himself easing up. He sat up straight now instead of hunching over the horse’s neck and let his cape flow open. He was fairly pathetic little man, unable to lift his own saddle and had to be helped with every little thing, but his skin bore no bruises, his teeth no stains nor chips, and his hair was kept glossy and clean. Maybe it was for his lack of going outside, or his distaste for their current cook’s work, but either way he looked more like a prized ferret than a nobleman’s son.

—

It was nearly noon before he was at last able to breathe easy. The witch’s house lie just ahead, its roof covered in moss with broken stones leading up to the step. He was a small man, Cyprien knew from his father’s descriptive antics, and opinionated, but liked coin. Chocolate was his name, which sounded a lot more like a name for someone’s lap cat than for a human. Or…whatever the witch was. He did look a little not-so at times, Cyprien was told. He frowned at that. Maybe…maybe that was why? Had he actually been a cat at one point?

The boy shook his head. He did not know enough about magic to guess, and he was certainly not going to ask the man.

He got off his horse and wiped his nose, fairly certain a bug had gotten up there at one point. Or seventeen. Or thirty-six. There had been way too many and his once-silky skin was now crawling with red bite marks. He untied the horse’s lead from the saddle and snapped it to the thin halter beneath her bridle and bound that to a post which, to his best guess, had been put there by his father out of impatience.

He stepped up the mossy stones to the door, finding a knocker there that, upon a tug, found that it had long since rusted to its hinges. He hated knocking with his knuckles. They were so weak and barely made any sound–

–and yet it turned out he did not have to. Before his hand even touched the door, it lurched open, screaming on its hinges.

Cyprien stumbled back, reaching behind himself for porch railing and finding none. The smallish man only came up to his chest, or the average man’s middle, and looked…happy to see him? His father had never described him that way.

“Hellooo, who are you? Wh-oh.” His expression turned sour, his furry brow nearly hiding his eyes. “You’re Apple-shitter’s boy, aren’t you.”

“Addershak,” Cyprien corrected. “And yes. He sent me to collect–”

“To get the…” He waved his boney hand, turning back into the shadow of his house. “The. The thing. The whatever. Yes, I know. Come in. I hope he sent you the other half of the payment?”

The boy stumbled after him, nearly tripping on the door. “Y-yes, sir. It’s right–”

“Don’t call me sir, it makes me feel old,” he croaked.

He ducked past a clump of a strong-smelling plant that hung from the ceiling. The creature certainly looked old enough to be called sir, whatever he was. The inside of his little home was more brightly lit than the canopy outside allowed it to be. Little jars of brightly glowing liquid were strewn all about the rafters and on the floor and on the tables. As he reached a desk that was clumped over with mugs and dishes and dirty papers that he could not read, he picked up one such jar and found it cold to the touch.

“Leave that alone,” Chocolate demanded without bothering to look at the boy.

Cyprien did as he was told, though perhaps with a bit of resentment. Then he noticed something. Was that…did Chocolate have a tail? He had not noticed it before, but sure enough, there was a tufted tail swishing behind him. And his legs were backwards! Were they rat’s legs? He decided not to focus on it too hard. It was probably just some witchy smoke in the air that was making him see things.

“Here it is. Come now, give up the coin.” As he held out his paw in beckoning, the other held a wax-sealed, purplish cork-jar of…well, something. It swished around in the bottle a lot like snail goo mixed with oil. Cyprien stared at it in utter confusion as he fumbled with the string that held the coin pouch around his waist. “It would help if you looked at what you were doing, boy,” the witch grumbled.

“Oh. Right. Yes, si–” He bit his tongue before he could say sir again and focused on untying the rope. He passed it away, and to his surprise, the bottle was actually passed in return. He had expected a fight at least, though he was not sure why. “I-i-is that all?” he stuttered.

The little creature had already pulled open the coin purse and was counting the contents. “Mmmm…wait.” He neared the already cluttered desk and dumped the contents out. Only after he had counted every coin did he nod. “Yes, you can go.” He pointed a finger at him. “Just don’t break it on your way there.”

He took a step back and looked like a deer caught in torch-light. “Wh-what? Why? What will happen?”

Chocolate waved his hand and rolled his eyes. “Nothing, nothing. I just don’t want you ruining it is all. Now get back on your horsey and be gone. You’re not staying for tea.”

Well that was rude. It actually got a snort out of him before he remembered his manners and turned away with the elixir tucked against his chest. As the door shut behind him, he was again bombarded with an ungodly amount of noise from both bugs and birds screaming. Had it really been that quiet in the hut? He had not noticed it when he stepped in!

Cyprien shook his head and hunched over as if it were raining, wishing the noise would go away. Only after his foot landed on the last step did he realize something was wrong.

He stood up straight, then very straight as he realized, “My horse is gone,” he whispered, then wailed. “My horse–!”

Still tied to the post was her halter, and the bridle with it. The saddle he could not lift lay twenty feet away with the girth snapped in half and some kind of black ooze soaked into it. But his eyes would not get to that yet. They were stuck to the bright stain that had begun to soak into the moss and dead leaves.

In the moment he did not quite feel scared. His mind was in another place while his whole body blushed and itched. It seemed to run with out him as he watched himself turned heel back up to the witch's house and bang on the door. “Chocolate..?” he squeaked, his voice cracked and dry. “Uhm–Chocolate?! There’s. There’s something out here. Hello?”

No answer came.

He tried the door, shoving on it with all his might, but even the wood did not strain under his little weight. There was no handle to break. No lock to pick, even if he knew how. “Chocolaaate, this really isn’t the time to be like thiiis,” he worried. “I’ll–I’ll send you more money if you let me in? Really! How much do you want?”

A latch in the door slid open. “What do you want? Quit banging on my door,” the witch squawked.

Cyprien knelt down to get eye-level with him, knowing his face was either pale or flush or a mix of both. “Chocolate listen. Please. Something ate my horse. I need you to let me in until someone can come help. This is serious.”

Chocolate looked like it was very much not serious. In fact he looked rather bored. “You should have brought it up to the step like Appleshit does.” He pressed his eye to the door, just enough to see the bottom of the step. “Oh-hoaah, it did get eaten, didn’t it?”

Now the fear was catching up to him. His thoughts were going mad and he was ready to jump and scream at the slightest noise. “And I’M about to get eaten if you don’t let me in! Please, don’t you have any basic human decency?”

The grey eyes rolled back to him, bored as ever. “Nope.”

He shut the latch. Chocolate had shut the latch on him! Oh, he would tell his father about this! That was, if he ever saw him again.

He clutched the bottle to his chest as he turned back to the blood puddle at the end of the stair. He would have to walk. Or else stay here all night. Night…he did not want to be here at night. The doorstep would grant him no safety then. Maybe if he just got away from this area he would be safe from whatever it was. Surely whatever-it-was was not hungry anymore, right? It was busy and would not notice him sneaking away? Except for all the noise he had just made.

He shook his head and ran for it.

The trail seemed a lot longer now that he was on foot. How long had it taken the mare? Three hours? Four? Could he even walk that far? Probably not. He was cooked meat. Cooked or rotten or stewed or raw or whatever condition the monster found him in.

Maybe he could throw the elixir at it. Maybe it would blow up after all? Probably not. It was probably a tonic or some shit and he was just screwed. Yeah, he was screwed.

—

His little sprint only lasted about five minutes before he was completely winded and had to walk, and only after an hour more had he worn down enough to stop and sit on a particularly nice rock on the side of the path.

He turned the bottle over in his sweaty palms, only just now noticing the label on it. It was english, he could tell, but the crazy man’s handwriting was so bad he could not make out more than one or two letters. He could not open it without breaking the wax seal poured over the top, even to sniff it. He knew his father would be mad if he did that, especially now that he was already cranky. He barely cared at the moment, but he did not want to do that to himself. Not now that he had put some distance between himself and the thing.

At least, he thought that until he heard something like a bird land just before him.

“Aughk!” He squawked and fell backwards over the rock.

The bird, as that was what it were, flew off at the noise and left him with a crick in his neck and wounded pride.

“Aoughhh,” he whined, rolling onto his side and yanking his cape free of the stone. He sank his face into his hand. “Frudauggin’ drakkenscoff,” he growled, only half of it being made-up words.

When he lifted his head, there was another, much bigger one just before it. One with muddy eyes and a striking blue pupil.

This did not register with him at all for several seconds. He sat there with his mind completely stuck, as though a wrench were thrown in its cogs. When he did react, it was only to make a small choking noise and then laugh at that same sound.

He did not remember much after that.

—

The giant was a rather darkish purple creature with clawed hands which he brought up momentarily to poke Cyprien’s forehead, causing the boy to fall backwards.

Hunched on his feet, the giant watched him, face creeping closer as they wondered if the boy had truly fainted.

After realizing that yes, the black-haired boy was indeed asleep, the giant snorted in bemuesment and sat back on his haunches with a quiet thud. A tail swished behind, long and thin, as the creature crossed their legs and waited. Most people woke back up within a minute, and if lucky, the boy would not faint right back once he awoke.

The clawed hand reached out again and lifted Cyprien’s boot, wiggling the leg from side to side.

“Mmmngk,” the corpse grumbled.

Then the giant noticed something. A little vial in the dead leaves with a bright red cap that oozed down the sides. They rolled it around in thier palm, then turned it upside-down to hold into the light. “Is this what he makes?”

Thoughts were cut short as the boy squealed, all four limbs erect like a fainted goat. As expected.

The drobati sat rather still, still holding the bottle in regard as their eyes were turned to wait for the little beast to calm himself. He did not, of course, and instead got up and tried to climb his way into the jungle brush. “No, don’t do that,” said the giant as they took hold of the human’s cape and dragged him away from the thorns.

They lay their hand atop the boy’s head and turned him about face, waiting for the fear in his eyes to drain before speaking. “Are you the nobleman’s son?”

—

“Are you the nobleman’s son?” said the monster. It was…quiet and sensible and clear and not at all what Cyprien had expected.

“Did–did you eat my horse?” the words spilled out of him. He had meant only to think them, not this.

The drobati shook their head. “No.”

Cyprien made another choking noise. “Then what DID!”

The creature shrugged and shook their head, not offering any help. A black tongue shot out and licked its upper lip. “Do you want this back?” The clawed hand held up the upside-down potion bottle.

“That’s mine!” the boy yelped, only making a half-assed grab for it before remembering that that exact motion would bring him closer to the beast. “I need that!” he begged.

Their other hand released his head slowly. He did not really need his own question answered. It was obvious enough in the boy’s face and blobbish nose that they were of the same blood. He just needed to get him to speak. “Are you the nobleman’s son,” he asked again, still quiet. “The one who always goes this way.”

Cyprien shook his head, wide eyed. What if the giant had beef with his father? There were scars on their forehead. Was that how it had happened? “I-I don’t know.”

The drobati lowered the vial as they slumped over, eyes lidding slightly. “You don’t know,” they doubted.

“I-I just. I don’t know! I just want to go home!” He shook his head and held up his hands, backing away. The giant drew a breath, and their sigh blew in the boy’s face. It smelled awful. He turned away, coughing to clear his lungs of the stuff.

“Your father, if he is your father, has something of mine.”

“What?” He looked up from his sputterings to find the drobati less than amused by his lies. “What–what is it? Will you let me go?”

The giant quirked a brow. “I am not holding you here, but I am holding what belongs to you, just like your father is holding what belongs to me.” He held up the very breakable bottle. He stooped down to the boy’s level, hunching his spine and breathing more vile air onto his face. “The sabre-cat skull. I want it back.”

Was he going to have to walk home without his father’s horse, coin, OR elixir? If this really had been a mission to prove himself somehow, that would certainly fail him. Well, actually, fuck that. How was he supposed to explain why he was taking that hideous, 30-pound skull down from above the mantle? He could not just sneak out of the gates with that! He could not sneak out of the gates, period!

He may as well just stay here. That were, if it were not so painful to die. Especially by whatever same creature killed his horse. “Th-that’s not yours,” he tried again, reaching for the bottle. This time he dared take a step forward to get it.

The giant did not even bother to pull it away from him. Even as the little hands began to pry at his fingers, there was no hope in him ever getting the bottle out. “The trophy is not yours, either. I said he could borrow it and now it has been nearly a year. I want it back.”

Borrow it? For WHAT? Cyprien tugged on the giant’s fingers. Only after the monster responded did he realize his thoughts had escaped him again.

“To win a bet, I think.” The drobati studied their claws, picking a bit of dirt out from beneath the middle one. “Or he lied to someone about having killed a cat or some big animal, last I remember. Needed evidence. I don’t know.” They scratched the back of their neck and flicked their dreadlocks back behind themself. Tired of the human tugging on their fingers, they pulled their hand away and pushed the boy back, knocking him onto his ass.

“You will do fine,” he grumbled as he got to his feet, rising fifteen feet over the human. Their tail flicked behind them as they turned heel and took the trail back into the forest.

“Wait!” Cyprien stumbled after the giant, lumping to his feet and finding them just exactly as tired as they had been thirty minutes ago. “How will I find you again? What is your name? Do I just leave it here? I want the bottle back, how will I get it? Sir?”

“Sir?” the creature huffed without stopping or turning around. “I’m not any older than you are.”

He did NOT feel like running again, especially the wrong way, but even the monster’s casual steps were too fast to keep up with otherwise “But you haven’t told me anything! How will I know?”

“I will find you,” they called nonchalauntly, still only sauntering away as the boy fell further behind. “Just bring it back.”

---

[elegantwoes]

“You will. You found forty thousand golden dragons for a champion’s purse, surely you can scrape together a few coppers to keep the king’s peace.” Ned turned back to Janos Slynt. “I will also give you twenty good swords from my own household guard, to serve with the Watch until the crowds have left.”

Every time Ned sends part of his household guards to someone else he loses a piece of his soul. Also I just realized. Those 20 guardsman likely helped Janos Slynt kill Ned's household and that breaks my heart (┬┬﹏┬┬)

Lord Renly laughed. “We’re fortunate my brother Stannis is not with us. Remember the time he proposed to outlaw brothels? The king asked him if perhaps he’d like to outlaw eating, shitting, and breathing while he was at it. If truth be told, I ofttimes wonder how Stannis ever got that ugly daughter of his. He goes to his marriage bed like a man marching to a battlefield, with a grim look in his eyes and a determination to do his duty.”

This passage would have been funny if Renly didn't talk bad about Shireen. That is your niece, you insensitive asshole. This is why I hate the Baratheon brothers. All of them are trash.

Ser Hugh had been brusque and uninformative, and arrogant as only a new-made knight can be. If the Hand wished to talk to him, he should be pleased to receive him, but he would not be questioned by a mere captain of guards … even if said captain was ten years older and a hundred times the swordsman

Ser Hugh is pretty uppidity for a squire. This must be a Vale thing, because Waymar was pretty obnoxious too in the prologue.

Robert’s lusts were the subject of ribald drinking songs throughout the realm, but Stannis was a different sort of man; a bare year younger than the king, yet utterly unlike him, stern, humorless, unforgiving, grim in his sense of duty.

No offense Ned but you have no right talking bad about Stannis. Not when you are similar to him.

The potboy, now cordwainer, had never exchanged so much as a word with Lord Jon, but he was full of oddments of kitchen gossip: the lord had been quarreling with the king, the lord only picked at his food, the lord was sending his boy to be fostered on Dragonstone,

Say what you want about Lysa Arryn but she was right to prevent Sweetrobin from being fostered at Dragonstone. I don't think that stern and unforgiving man like Stannis would know how to foster a frail boy like young Robert.

Ned was not sure what to make of Renly, with all his friendly ways and easy smiles. A few days past, he had taken Ned aside to show him an exquisite rose gold locklet. Inside was a miniature painted in the vivid Myrish style, of a lovely young girl with doe’s eyes and a cascade of soft brown hair. Renly had seemed anxious to know if the girl reminded him of anyone, and when Ned had no answer but a shrug, he had seemed disappointed

It's pathetic how Renly and Tyrells are acting like the caricature version of the Boleyn family. Their stupid scheme would have never worked.

“Who paid the boy’s apprentice fee?” he asked lightly. Mott looked fretful. “You saw the boy. Such a strong boy. Those hands of his, those hands were made for hammers. He had such promise, I took him on without a fee.” “The truth now,” Ned urged. ... “He was stout, round of shoulder, not so tall as you. Brown beard, but there was a bit of red in it, I’ll swear. He wore a rich cloak, that I do remember, heavy purple velvet worked with silver threads, but the hood shadowed his face and I never did see him clear.” He hesitated a moment. “My lord, I want no trouble.”

The description fits Varys to the T. Though, I have to wonder, why did Varys pay for his fee. Does he have some use for him? If so, what would that be? Frankly I can't come up wth a theory even if my life depended on it. I hope the readers have the answers to this.

His guard was waiting outside with the horses. “Did you find anything, my lord?” Jacks asked as Ned mounted up. “I did,” Ned told him, wondering. What had Jon Arryn wanted with a king’s bastard, and why was it worth his life?

And Ned is closer to figuring out the truth.

Next Chapter: Daughter of Rivers, Mother of Woves. Catelyn

[bxynjolf]

》》 starter for @ariveth

The hammering of hooves on frozen ground thundered over the path; the breakneck speed in which the horse galloped left his cheeks flushed from cold, his breath no more than a puff of steam in the passing wind. By the Nine, Brynjolf loathed riding, but it was the only way he’d be able to shake the sharp-eyed peer of his. Mercer’d not seen him ride in nearly a decade. Old bugger would never reckon the auburn-haired thief would take to mare snatching, but, well, times were changing. Aye, if he was going to pull a heist of a century, he’d have to leave the pissin’ half-pint back home. Poor lad. With enough honeyed words and hefty coin, the Second of Thieves knew he’d be able to soften the other’s fury once he returned.

From there, he’d plucked up some wet-eared sod outside of Oakwood. Through a letter to the Guild, he’d told them he’d a new recruit he’d be bringing in, that travel would be slow due to weather and an alleged movement of Imperialist troops. Of course, the farmer’s boy he’d paid as a ‘guide’ was none the wiser to such a proposal, let alone his own true identity. In fact, the gawky thing initially knew the strapping Nord as a merchant named ‘Brynjar’ who’d unfortunately been robbed of his caravan and simply needed guidance to the town over. That was all till they reached a humble stable. They were an old trade partner, the boy claimed, and would likely be able to help the stranded salesman. A dagger to the throat later, the boy was given a new tale: a bandit, Brynjolf called himself, pressed the poor thing to bind up his own wrists while he made off with his horse. The boy would be found, surely, and from there would prattle on all the false sob stories he’d told him, leading both foe and friend all over Skyrim.

He rode hard through the night, avoiding much of the main roads and sleeping little in the rugged wilderness. Roughly a few days walk from Windhelm, he came across another stable. There, he sold his stolen prize for a handsome sum. After all, without the Guild’s contacts at his fingertips, his resources were limited. Not that he minded. What was life without a bit of challenge? One couldn’t be the best in business if he did not adapt, no? Truly, the whole journey had left him remarkably spirited, a feeling that persisted as he finally stepped through the wintry gates of Windhelm. Brynjolf had penned his (potential) partner only a week prior. Written honeyed words had told of a grand scheme, yet no details had been put into ink as to not risk their whole operation before it ever even began.

Nodding to the passing guardsman, he couldn’t help but smirk at the polite greeting returned. Aye, he supposed he looked a proper Nord by now. Snow-dusted leathers were well-worn from travel. The Ebony blade he typically strapped to his side was covered in a simple sheath of hare-hide and string; most did not carry such fine weaponry. Better to appear no more than a passing soldier-for-hire, especially in these turbulent times, than a man of the shadows. In fact, the crest of his Guild was buried deep under furs and pelts. As a token of luck gifted by their dear Treasurer, he'd be a fool to not carry it. Auburn hair had been braided tight and pulled back from his roguish features, which now sported the fine beginnings of a beard. Emerald eyes were the same, naturally. Alight with mischief and renewed vigor, he had foregone the hood of his mottled cloak so as to not spurn suspicion of passerby. No time to waste, he promptly reached out and rapped a gloved hand to her door; a rhythmic knock followed, the sound simply spelt out safe, a humble code spoken only between those with a penchant for crime.