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thecandywrites · 3 years

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The Beginning of Stormbreaker Part 2

So cute.

Part 2

Rhosland woke up just before sunrise, bright eyed and energized and couldn’t wipe the giddy smile off her face if she tried as she and her twin sister left right at sunrise just as their mother finished baking the overnight bread, and also conveniently just after Drad and Sarg came and delivered more “gifts” to them, Sarg gave Esri a fishing net and fishing lures and lines along with a big set of big baskets so they could keep the fish and whatever else they foraged together as Drad gave each of them the stone timber axes, and a large, thick quilt blanket, so large it would cover three bedrolls. Each square was stuffed with cotton, wool and down feathers so that each square was puffy in the quilt so that they would not get cold in their tent just in case the bitter cold of fall and winter came early, which the girls happily took and hugged those men goodbye as Drad and Sarg helped push as the girls pulled their rowboat to the biggest stream as the women rowed their little boat down the stream that cut through the village, underneath all the bridges and soon were out to sea before they rowed it north towards Hurricane Breaker until they found the estuary between Skull Screamer Clan and Hurricane Breaker and rowed upstream, happily finding all kinds of fish and seafood in the creeks before they found the perfect camping spot right on the edge of a forest next to a fallen tree that was the perfect bench height and set up camp and ate the fish they were able to easily catch for breakfast with their bread that thier mother had sent them with.

“So you must have had really good dreams last night, you won’t stop smiling.” Esri teased her sister even though she was in a similar state.

“I did,” Rhos nodded.

“Well go on, tell me about them.” Esri requested as she scooted closer to her sister as they sat on a fallen log by their camp fire since they had pulled the little row boat up on shore and the log had been covered in wild, edible mushrooms which the girls readily cut off and were in the process of drying them to preserve them while eating a few of them, cooked in their pot over the fire with their breakfast since one of their bride gifts from the clan had been a few logs of smoked and preserved fat as they had sliced off a few pieces of the cow and hog fat and fried the mushrooms in that in their pot which only made the mushrooms taste even more meatlike.

“I had a dream that Drad came back from the raid and claimed me as his wife instead of Tar and we built the most perfect house together and we had so many kids and we were just...so happy. And it’s like my intuition is telling me that it will come true.” Rhosland whispered, afraid that if she said it too loudly it would tempt the fates and not come true.

“That’s funny, because I had a similar dream about Sarg.” Esri beamed.

“Oooh, and?” Rhos giggled.

“Oh, very good, I had a dream we sailed out to sea on this big sailing ship and that rocking of the boat made the rutting so much better.” Esri giggled in turn.

“Do you think it will come true?” Rhosland asked.

“It better! Cause my mind and heart keep telling me it will come true, plus they were both there to see us off and got us both gifts to help us on this hunting and gathering trip and just hugging Sarg this morning felt...amazing.” She insisted with a wistful sigh.

“Me too, but with Drad obviously.” Rhosland confirmed as the girls continued to eat to their satisfaction for the first time in a long time.

“Come on, I have a good feeling that we will kill some deer today, we should build a smoker to smoke the meat.” Rhos suggested as they used their new axes and chopped down a good stone timber tree and other kinds of trees and began building a really good smoker out of the wood before they fashioned the bigger baskets to hang off of their hips and immediately started finding all kinds of wild edible berries, cattails and other wild edible plants, edible mushrooms all around them and so many different kinds of herbs for seasoning and medicine and even an abandoned bee hive full of combs, thick with honey which they gladly took all of it that they could reach and harvest before they shot down a couple of deer and drug the deer back to camp and immediately got to work dressing them and putting their meat in the smoker and tanning their hides and then used the net and caught a bunch of fish, gutted and cleaned them and put those in the smoker too.

It was single handedly the best day they had ever spent gathering because this spot had an overabundance for them and they quickly had to use the dried grasses to make bushel sized baskets for all that they harvested since all the baskets that they had packed were now full as they sat on the log, watching the gorgeous red sunset and just about the time they got done weaving their new baskets and organizing everything into those baskets and put it all inside the tent just as the sun went down- a very thick fog came in from the sea with a chill and settled over them as Rhos and Esri both instinctively went into their tent and rested and for dessert, dined on the honey that they dipped their wild berries into before falling into a restful, sweet sleep, curled up under the wonderfully big, thick, and supremely warm blanket that kept the cold completely off of them as suddenly the winds kept changing in the most bizarre way, blowing in different directions so that it felt like it was blowing in from all sides and picking up speed, making the smoke of their fires take up an odd pattern within the fog itself before it blew in heavily towards from the west again, inland from the sea.

Meanwhile Tar was disappointed that “his Rosey” had already left for a hunting and gathering trip, so he couldn’t try to lay with her real quick before the raid, he was celebrating as if he had already had a successful raid and noticed that a thick fog blew in that evening but that didn’t deter him or his father or the rest of his family. The next morning, the fog was still excessively thick. So much so that they could barely see the road from their houses but Zash and his sons felt confident in their ability to still use their inner compass and that the fog would conceal them and that they would attack the Rush Fang Clan completely by surprise and it would guarentee their victory over them and set off with their men that morning and disappeared into the unusually thick fog while Orcoth had promised Sarg and Drad that he would keep a careful watch over their mother Grat and Rhos’ and Esri’s mother Shari and assured both women that they would see their children again soon as the three of them kept to themselves as Grat invited Shari to stay with her while her daughters would be away so the two would not get lonely which Shari greatly appreciated as Grat also invited Orcoth to stay as well, to play games and enjoy each other’s company since Grat’s house that Wolvish had built her was still big enough to fit all of them comfortably.

However- Zash and his sons got hopelessly lost and turned around several times, not even recognizing their own walking paths in the tall grass in the thick fog that soon enveloped them and their raiding party as Zash and his sons were adamant that the fog would clear and that they would find Rush Fangs and ignored and rebuked and rebutted any who had left signs along their path to show that they had been walking in circles before Zash felt confident that he was turning Southeast, when in fact, he was turned Northwest and heading straight towards the much bigger and more fearsome Hurricane Breaker.

And when the fog did partially clear, they found Hurricane Breaker, their bright golden bronze breast plates glinting in what little sunlight finally was able to push through. Whose shaman had sensed that they were coming and were ready for them and were outnumbering them twenty to one as Drad and Sarg both looked worriedly at each other when they saw that their comparatively smaller raiding party was completely surrounded before the fog quickly enveloped them all again as the clash of warriors played out as Drad did everything in his power to keep Sarg by his side after he saw Tar and everyone in Tar’s family fall to the ground dead from the fatal blows, before he smelled...smoking venison with a hint of smoking fish as the words of his new adopted father Orcoth replayed in his head but it was like he was the only one who could smell it and by this point Sarg and Drad were both injured, almost fatally so and knocked off their horses, as Drad took Sarg on his injured side while Sarg did the same, pushing their injured sides together so they could use their good sides to manage to get out of there and Drad followed his nose in the smell, as the scent itself seemed to be in a wiggly pattern but the wiggly pattern helped both of them avoid the other warriors of Hurricane Breaker as the fog itself was so thick they could barely see their hands in front of their faces but kept them practically invisible as Drad continued to slowly and as quietly as possible, follow the smells as Drad could pick up more on the scent of smoking venison while Sarg could smell the scent of smoking fish stronger as they both followed the same trail of scents until the scent led them out of the warzone and the father away they got, the lighter the fog became so that they could see more and smell more and by now, the scent was very strong and it gave them hope that they were close as they both hobbled towards it and just as the fog thinned out even more, they saw a camp sight, just as Rhosland and Esri were leaving a tent and Drad had never thought Rhosland looked more beautiful in his life.

“Drad?” Rhos asked when she and her sister were brave enough to leave their tent when they woke up to the sounds of a battle as their instincts told them to stay in the tent because it sounded like it was very close by before the sounds faded as if the war zone was traveling farther and farther away before they ventured out, only to be met with the sight of Drad and Sarg, both trying to hold up the other and trying to walk despite their injuries.

“Rhosland! Help me!” Drad called out to her as she and Esri quickly dropped their axes and ran towards them and helped them back into their tent as a pop up thunderstorm came and started raining and washing Drad and Sarg’s bloody trail away before moving towards the east on the western wind again as Rhosland and Esri both got to work cleaning and dressing Drad and Sarg’s wounds with the herbs that they had found and were turning them into poultices.

“What are you doing here? I thought you guys were supposed to be raiding Rush Fang.” Rhos asked worriedly as she worked on stabilizing Drad’s wounds and to stop him from bleeding out right there in their tent, calling on all of her medical knowledge she had acquired up until that point to help her do so.

“We lost our way in the fog, got turned around several times over but Zash and his sons wouldn’t listen to anyone about it and the fog was so thick, we couldn’t tell where the sun was, let alone where we were going.” Drad answered in staggered breaths.

“The fog was so thick we couldn’t see our hands in front of our faces and Zash wouldn’t hear of any objections to waiting until the fog cleared to go raiding because they were sure that the fog would help us, instead of hinder us.” Sarg added as he hissed and then grunted and whimpered as Esri set his arm back into place then used a piece of wood and a strip of cloth from her skirts to tie it off to keep it straight as she then used her fishing line to sew up the bigger wounds after cleaning them off through the poultices and their left over cleaned water that they had boiled to make tea with as Rhos was doing the same to Drad’s ankle that he had somehow rolled and twisted.

“So how did that turn out?” Rhosland asked.

“I watched as Zash and all of his sons fell, their heads rolling away from their bodies. It was only the smoke of your smoking the venison that I smelled that I followed that saved us, I don’t know if anyone else will survive.” Drad answered honestly as he was hissing and biting back curses as Rhos was doing her best to heal him and set his ankle right and stitch up his bloody leg that had been hacked almost to the bone as she tried to put the blood vessels and veins back together as she pushed them together and stitched it shut.

“The venison.” Rhos and Esri both said in unison as they realized that that scent could lead Hurricane Breaker to them too before they heard hoof beats in the distance.

“Don’t make a sound.” Rhos and Esri both breathed in a whisper to Sarg and Drad before they quickly left the tent and took the fishing net and ran towards the river to wash the blood off their clothes before they were surrounded by a group of shield maidens only moments after the blood washed away from them and their campsite and was carried downstream, the blood dissolving completely into the river. Once they saw that Rhos and Esri were unarmed but simply in water up to their chests and barely grunt sized orcs, they assumed that Esri and Rhosland were younglings, barely subadults, struggling with a fishing net as they came to the conclusion that Rhos and Esri posed no threat whatsoever and noticed the axes were purely for cutting down trees, not warfare and thus, they were unarmed which put them at ease.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” The captain Tilge, a shieldmaiden herself demanded.

“My name is Rhosland and this is my twin sister Esri, we are on a hunting and gathering trip, we are from the Skull Screamer Clan, but we didn’t see any markers on this land and thought this was unclaimed and neutral land, did we miss a marker or something?” Rhosland asked innocently enough.

“No, this is unclaimed and neutral land, because mosquitoes and malaria are thick here. So you should be careful. But are you aware that the Skull Screamer Clan attacked us?” Tilge asked them.

“Who’s us? I assume you’re talking about Hurricane Breaker? Skull Screamer was not supposed to attack you, everyone knows you are much bigger and fiercer clan than even Typhoon Breaker, Zash and his raiding party were supposed to raid Rush Fang which is in the Southeast, that’s what Zash and all his sons were talking about in the great hall two days ago when we left Skull Screamer to come here to go on our fall hunting and gathering trip, we specifically chose this spot because it was in the opposite direction they were supposed to be headed, you can ride to Skull Screamer now and ask our mother, Shari- she is a widow and has no husband or son to raid so that just leaves my sister and I to take care of her, she lives in the mud and mud brick hut right on the outskirts of town. If Skull Screamer came against you, the only thing I can think of is that they must have gotten lost in the fog, once the fog came in from the sea, my sister and I took shelter in our tent and we’ve only come out once we heard the roar of the fight die down.” Rhos explained nonchalantly as Tilge could tell by the way Rhosland was speaking along with her body language that she was speaking truth and trusted her words.

“We are Hurricane Breaker, and my name is Captain Tilge, and you’re correct. Skull Screamer did attack us and they were clearly lost and must have been out of their minds to do so. Have you seen any of your warriors come towards you? Because the scent of the smoking venison is what brought us to you.” Tilge answered.

“No, only you, at least so far.” Esri answered as she and Rhosland both shook their heads no with a shrug as they focused on getting the net into position to try and catch something in the water.

“So since we pose no threat, might we be friends? The fish that we caught earlier should be done smoking by now, would you like some?” Rhosland asked as she and her sister managed to catch a school of fish in their net before they came up on shore, dragging their catch behind them in the net so that Tilge and the other shieldmaidens could see that they were small, still developing and obviously young and far from dangerous.

“Yes, thank you.” Tilge smiled as she and her group dismounted and let the horses graze nearby as they all took a seat on the big log by the fire as Esri and Rhosland took out the now smoked fish and the smaller pieces of smoked venison replaced them with the new fish they caught after quickly gutting them and gave the shieldmaidens the smoked fish and the smaller pieces of smoked venison as they all enjoyed a nice impromptu meal, using the big, broad leaves of a nearby plant as plates as Esri and Rhosland were sharing what they had gathered so far and casually picked up their stone timber axes and let them lean against the log, between them and the tent and sat with the shield maidens, and felt an uncommon ease and calm in their beings so as not to give any suspicion that they were hiding anything.

As they shared a meal, Tilge and her other shieldmaidens began sharing with Esri and Rhosland more secrets about the land that they were on, about where to find good mushrooms and what they looked like and what they tasted like and herbs and especially where to find the best shellfish which was in the biggest river more north, closer to Hurricane Breaker as Tilge promised Rhos and Esri that they would tell the rest of the army and the clan that Rhos and Esri were here and to leave them alone and to give them a wide berth in order so that they could hunt successfully and take care of their widowed mother and that they meant no harm which Rhos and Esri greatly appreciated.

Tilge even told Rhos how there was a wild rose bush nearby that should be blooming and a special group of trees that had special nuts that were very oily, that they called Butternut because once you ate the delicious fruit and found the big nut inside, and crushed and ground up the nuts into a paste and cooked the nut paste, their oil would come pouring out and once it got skimmed the oil from the paste and the oil got cold and solidified, it looked like butter and it was really great for making soap with and that they could make wild rose soap with it since that’s what Tilge and the other women in Hurricane Breaker did when they wanted to smell nice and also found the wild citronella weed and told them about the five other bee hives around them that they could get honey and then use the wax from the hives and the crushed up citronella into an oil to make a special candle that would keep the mosquitoes away too before they told Rhos and Esri about the old cursed cave made of stone that was nearby that was most definitely haunted and not to go anywhere near there and Rhos gave Tilge one of the pearl necklaces she was wearing to signify their friendship and alliance that Tilge happily accepted as Esri gave Tilge one of her carved shell totem bracelets as Tilge gave them a citronella candle to keep them safe from the mosquitos and the malaria that the mosquitos carried and agreed to the alliance as well before Tilge and her warband of shieldmaidens left in peace and happiness with full bellies as the fog soon fully lifted and cleared as they went back to the warzone to pillage from the fallen as those who didn’t fall had run home to tell everyone else the news of the defeat as Rhos and Esri came back into the tent.

“Thank you so much, you handled them perfectly, I doubt they suspected a thing.” Drad thanked Rhosland once she came back in to see him sitting there, with his weapons in hand just in case Tilge and her shield maidens had poked their noses into the tent and once he saw that it was Rhos and Esri, he and his brother put their weapons down and off to the side.

“You’re welcome, how are you feeling?” She asked.

“Much better, those herbs are helping so much, they’re taking most of the pain away. We would have been lost for sure without you. Thank you.” Drad thanked her.

“You’re welcome.” Rhos offered as she continued to dress his remaining wounds as Drad and his brother tried to take off their broken armor and most of their clothes so that their many wounds could be attended to before Drad got into his pack and gave Rhosland the rose scented soap.

“For you.” He said as he offered it to her as she took it and unwrapped it and smiled when the wonderful scent soon bloomed in their tent as she could clearly see the dried pink rose petals in the soap itself.

“Rose scented soap.” Rhos smiled and couldn’t help but laugh before she used it to help clean his wounds so that they wouldn’t get dirty as the cloth it was wrapped in made the best wash cloth, soft and fine enough to wash the wounds without ripping or damaging them.

“Thank you.” Rhos offered as she was cleaning off his back.

“You were supposed use it on yourself though.” Drad offered even though the scent was heavenly and having her dress his wounds was surprisingly intimate this time since it was just the four of them.

“I will, but your wounds need to be cleaned first, I can’t lose you to infection or gangrene.” Rhos gently countered.

“If I survived an unwitting attack on Hurricane Breaker, I doubt anything can ever take me from you from now on.” Drad managed to say as Esri’s jaw was on the floor of the tent as she looked to Rhos who was frozen again, but instead of it being fear, it was just pleasant surprise before Rhos simply smiled and leaned forward and pulled him back so he was leaning against her chest and pulled his face to the side and claimed his mouth with her own as her answer as that seemed to settle the matter before she had him sit back up so she could finish cleaning him up as she brushed off any dirt or debris from the bed so he could lay back down and rest as Esri had done the same since the bedrolls were side by side before she got out and went to gather more water before she heard Esri’s giggle before Esri came back out.

“And?” Rhos asked as they came back to the river to get fresh water and dump the now dirty water away.

“And my dream came true, just like yours did.” Esri giggled as they got their new empty baskets and went over to the bigger river with the net and found it was teaming with giant mussels, scallops, clams, little lobsters and crabs and other shellfish as both girls used their hunting knives to knock the mussels free from where they were anchored and put them in the baskets that were now practically overflowing before they found a giant catfish in a hole in the water and caught it and killed it and dragged it towards their camp site and started cleaning them up.

When they opened the giant clams and mussels and found all of the mussels completely laden with all these huge, beautiful, bright pearls of all colors but mostly of gold, peacock, black, purple, pink and blue pearls, pink pearls were a sign of passion, but also the deeper the pink and the closer to red, meant signs for a male child, made in love and passion. Purple pearls were was a sign of prosperity and wealth of resources like food, clothing and shelter, gold pearls meant tangible wealth, like gold and other riches. Peacock pearls meant multifaceted protection and care, especially between a bonded pair. Blue pearls were a sign of wisdom and insight, black pearls meant independence and strength, as even most of the clams had pearls too as both girls happily took them and quickly put all the pearls into their pockets which were threatening to overflow before tossing the meat in the pot to cook up a seafood stew again, using what was left of the herbs as flavoring and the other smoked fish to make a good broth before they loaded up their bowls and brought it inside to Drad and Sarg gratefully ate it and sucked it down but refused to eat any more until the girls had their fill which Rhos and Esri appreciated as they did and Drad and Sarg happily ate the rest as Rhos and Esri washed all the pearls that had been in them before they each presented the biggest and finest of the pearls to Drad and Sarg so they wouldn’t have to go home empty handed which Drad and Sarg happily agreed to accept before the girls brought the deer hides into the entrance of the tent to sleep on those so that Drad and Sarg could continue to sleep on their bed rolls comfortably while the large blanket was barely big enough to fit over the four of them sleeping like that.

“Drad?” Rhos whispered once Sarg and Esri had fallen asleep and were softly snoozing.

“Yeah?” He answered, keeping his voice to a whisper too.

“How did you know to follow the scent of smoking venison?” Rhos asked.

“Rhos, I care for you enough to never lie to you.” Drad began.

“I trust you enough to know that you never would either.” Rhos answered as Drad smiled as softly as Rhos did the same in the darkness.

“Two nights ago, right after we parted from the marsh, an old shaman by the name of Orcoth came into the village, he was hobbling and obviously in pain as he walked and I helped him, I took him to my home and he gave me that rose scented soap and he said that it was what I had promised to give you in my heart which only a shaman with great magic could have discerned that, even though I had wanted to give you more than just one bar, I had wanted to get you a whole case but just that one bar was all I needed at the moment and he told me that the day of the raid, that it would be so foggy that I wouldn’t be able to find my way, but that the scent of smoking venison would, and that if I followed the scent, I would find salvation. And that’s exactly what happened. Zash and all of his sons were arguing and bickering the whole time and our whole party got turned around several times so that we didn’t know what way was up and the others were getting irritated by the confusing leadership and then when the fog cleared up partially, it revealed that we were completely surrounded and outnumbered at least twenty to one and then the fog closed in on us as did Hurricane Breaker. And I was just swinging blindly before I got knocked off my horse as did Sarg and once I was on the ground I just kept trying to keep Sarg at my back and when we both got partially cut down, I caught the whiff of your smoking venison and Orcoth’s words were called back to my mind and so Sarg and I followed the scent of the venison, it had the most bizarre route in the fog but in hindsight, the route kept us out of sight and sound of the rest of Hurricane Breaker and just as the scent got strongest and straightened out, we were far away from the warzone and when the fog partially lifted, we were here.” Drad confessed as Rhos remembered the wind in the fog the night before and how the wind had seemed to come in from all sides as she realized now, that it was fate, that even when Zash and Tar led their raiding party astray, that Orchoth knew how to save Drad and knew that because Drad had been so kind and hospitable, that- that, is what saved his life and Sarg’s life and led them straight to Esri and herself. And only a shaman with the gift of true prophecy would have been able to predict that.

“Well when we get back, I’ll have to meet him and thank him for giving you a prophecy that saved not just your life but Sarg’s as well which I know Esri would be lost without him.” Rhos offered.

“You will, we adopted each other. He said he had already lost all of his sons and readily adopted me and I- him, after he gave me the soap and told me about today.” He answered.

“Do you think anyone else in Zash’s raiding party made it?” Rhos asked thoughtfully.

“I don’t know, I don’t think so.” Drad answered.

“Well I hope Shadi and Baka have sons then, because otherwise Skull Screamer will be leaderless.” Rhos pointed out tiredly as Drad realized she had a point and realized that if Sarg and himself could get back and as long as no one else in Zarsh’s personal warband had lived, since Drad was himself second in command to Tar who was first born, that he was now the highest ranking survivor and they could claim the status of Warchief and Warlord of the clan and Orcoth would be the clan’s shaman since the other had been killed since Zash had taken his own with him and had died right alongside him.

Drad realized he could actually start a new clan, with whatever was left of Skull Screamer and whoever else wanted to join, with Rhos as his wife and warchieftess, his one and only. Even if Shadi and Baka ruled in Tar’s place until their sons grew of age. He could start his own clan. All he needed was a name. It needed to be big and grand and fill those who were part of it- with confidence. And those who weren’t, with fear. Something not at all realated to Skull Screamer but something Breaker. Hurricane Breaker was already taken. So was Typhoon Breaker. So...storm? Stormbreaker? Yes. Stormbreaker, that sounded right in his head as he smiled happily and fell asleep to a dream like fantasy of being Clan Chief or even a Warchief, of Rhos being his Clan Chieftess or even Warchieftess and felt confident that it would work, all he need to do was heal, which judging by the way his wounds were already healing faster with Rhos’ medicine than they normally would was the best sign that she would continue to heal him and care for him.

#Of Heaven and Fire Prequel #The Beginning of Stormbreaker Part 2 #orcs #orc love story #orctober 2021

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awackyphdinadorkable · 3 years

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Cherik Moodboard - The Snow Queen AU

Charles and Erik were the best of friends ever since they were small children. They didn’t just grow up together, but they also learned to master their special abilities together. Erik and his mother live in a small house just down the road, so Edie does not have to travel far to manage the gardens and all the flowers at Westchester.

These days, Erik helps his mother as best as he can, which, of course, always gives plenty of opportunity for him to spend time with his best friend to play chess or get drunk on Charles’s late step-father’s fine selection of drinks.

Now short before coming of age, Charles can finally claim ownership over his family’s estate and transform it into a school for the likes of them. Their dream is just within reach. A place for themselves, where others can hone their skills, unafraid of what others may think of them.

But a tragic accident during winter leads to Edie’s death, which leaves Erik petrified. Charles tries his best to console his friend, but even with his abilities, he doesn’t know how to help Erik look towards a brighter future to regain hope. Instead, Erik grows more and more obsessed with snowflakes and old stories.

After a night of heavy drinking to numb the pain together, Erik sneaks out into the night while Charles is fast asleep. Erik is visited by a beautiful woman made of ice, just like in his mother’s tales. The Snow Queen. She offers him a life of no pain, no suffering. Erik feels more than tempted to go with her, but when he hears Charles calling out to him, the Queen is already gone by the time he turns back around.

Wind picks up and something flies into his eyes, making his eyes burn with unshed tears. Charles ushers Erik back inside, and for the first time in a long time, Erik swats his friend’s hand away, arguing that he has no need for help.

In the days to come, Erik grows more and more irritated with Charles and his constant talk about the school, the dream. Was it ever truly his dream or was he just trying to please Charles? Erik is no longer sure. What if Charles went too far into his head to plant that seed there? What if he was a fool to ever trust him? People don’t accept them now, why would they ever change their mind? They are all the same in the end, aren’t they?

But whenever he addresses those matters to Charles, he just feels his heart clench with cold, seeing the other man’s sadness and disappointment. Most of these days, Erik wished Charles just left him alone, that everyone just left him alone so he could watch the snowflakes. When Erik goes to see his mother’s grave, he is visited by the Snow Queen again. She kisses him and he doesn't feel the cold anymore. The Queen offers to kiss him another time, to forget all this, all the people who’ve caused him suffering.

“And then everything will be in order again. Like snowflakes.”

Erik agrees and she kisses him another time. And just like that, his mother fades from his mind, Charles does. There is just endless white and the Queen guiding him to a sled of ice taking him away from a world that won’t ever accept him.

When Charles realizes that Erik is gone, he is desperate to find him. But no matter how far he reaches with his mind, he can’t detect him. Charles is in despair. His best friend is somewhere out there, and he can’t get to him. He can’t help him. Just what is he supposed to do?

In the nights that follow, Charles continues to be plagued by nightmares. Strange visions of a broken mirror dipped in blood. A castle made of ice. And inside it he sees Erik bowing to a woman wearing a crown made of ice. At first, he thinks this is just his mind playing tricks on him, the way it was when he didn’t yet know of his abilities and thought he was going mad.

Until Erik helped him see that he was, in fact, not mad. That the voices inside his head weren’t his own but of those around him.

When Charles passes by a river, thinking back to how they used to bathe in it as children, the images come back to him, like lightning striking in his head. Charles collapses into a wooden boat and blacks out, though the boat, without anyone’s doing sets sail. By the time he awakens, Charles finds himself far away from home in a boat sailing on its own accord.

Before he can sink into despair, he can feel the faintest of brushes of a familiar mind against his. Erik. He is closer to Erik now. He can feel him, however faint, but he can feel him. He isn’t dead. He is out there. And that means there is still hope.

The boat eventually finds its landing place in a faraway place Charles wouldn’t know how to find on a map, if he even had one with him. He wanders through the woods aimlessly until he stumbles upon a house guarded by a blue beast. Though Charles can tell at once that the beast is also a man, is someone like him and Erik.

As it turns out, Hank and Raven have taken refuge in this cottage after an experiment of his gone wrong. He worked on a way to rid himself of the abnormal appearance of his feet, only to amplify the effect and turn into a beast whenever angered or in danger. Raven possesses similar powers, able to change appearance at will. The two have since lost hope in humankind to ever accept them. They have also heard of the Snow Queen who seemingly wants to rally against humans.

Raven offers Charles to stay with them, but he kindly refuses. He has to find Erik, he has to bring him back home. Hank offers to accompany him, but Charles also refuses that offer, because he knows that finding Erik is his responsibility alone.

“But you will always be welcome in my home, as you welcomed me into yours. Together, we may be able to change the face of the world, not today, not tomorrow, but so long we haven’t given up, the chance is still there that the day will come.”

Better equipped for the cold awaiting him further up north thanks to Raven and Hank, Charles continues his quest to the castle made of ice. He lets himself be guided by the fragments of memories the Queen could not take away from Erik even with her second kiss. Because even if she stripped Erik of his memories, he is still there. Charles can still sense his light, and that will guide him to his best friend, no doubt.

But when he reaches the place he can feel Erik’s mind the strongest, he finds nothing but a frozen lake. No castle. Nothing except for ice and snow. Exhausted and discouraged, he collapses onto the ice, calling out to Erik, though he knows he can’t hear him.

Or can he?

When he opens his eyes again, Charles finds himself near a warm hearth inside a small cabin. A grumpy man greets him, putting on more wood for the fire. The man’s name is Logan, and for some strange reason, he seems to know Charles, even though Charles doesn’t know him. Even stranger so, he can’t sense the man’s mind, although he is sitting right next to him.

“That was by your own design.”

“I didn’t ever meet you.”

“Not in this world, but in the world I came from.”

“Another world?”

“You can read minds, and made it all this way to here alive. Don’t act as though this was the strangest thing you’ve heard or seen thus far.”

Logan begins to recall his time “on the other side of the mirror”. The Snow Queen with the aid of the mirror image of Erik, nearly succeeded in destroying all good in their world by completing a mirror that had burst into a billion pieces.

“The devil’s work if you asked me. But no one knows who’s made the mirror. I just know what it did to my friends. It made them angry, sad, cold. Until they saw no good in the world anymore and fell into despair. A world without hope… is really without hope. You were right about that all along.”

In a last effort to save their world, Charles with the aid of his pupils and Logan set out to fight the Snow Queen, a woman with special abilities much like Charles’s. But with Erik’s aid of completing the frame to hold the mirror in its place, their efforts were near in vain.

“I watched my friends turn to snow. I watched them fade away. Kitty and you came up with a way for me to cross the threshold to the other world, this world here. I heal fast. I don’t get killed… so I took a shard of the mirror with me.”

He shows a scar on his abdomen. “The Snow Queen wants to complete the mirror in this world because she can’t complete it in the other. Because I have the last piece. You managed to hide me from her eyes. Only if I were to face her would she recognize me.”

“But she can complete the mirror in this world, if Erik sets the frame.”

“Yes, because the other me, the one belonging to this world… he is asleep, if you will, out of reach. And even if not, the moment I faced her and tried to break the mirror like I did last time… it would mean the end of all good in this world. I no longer have the claws to cut it. I had to leave those, too.”

“So there is no hope?”

“There is always hope. At least so long you don’t give up. If unleash your mind, if you let your abilities out, which I know you’ve learned to keep in check over the years, you will possess a power even greater than hers. You are the only hope we’ve got left. So you better make this work, or else I will be very angry with you.”

“But I can’t even find the castle.”

“Because you’ve only looked at it from one side.”

It is then that Charles understands what he has to do. He goes back to the frozen lake and cuts a hole into the ice. He dives into the dark waters below, and once again lets himself be guided by the faint light at the end of it, Erik.

When he lifts his head above the water again, he finds himself in the Snow Queen’s castle. Charles knows now that he has to do whatever it takes not just to save Erik, but everyone else who dares to put hope in him. Even if that means going to the edge of the world and further still. But will he succeed? Or will eternal winter be the end of all hope?

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

Author’s Note: Here’s my little Christmas gift to a fandom that is also very much a gift. Happy holidays and much love!

#cherik #charles x erik #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #moodboard #aesthetic #cherik moodboard #cherik aesthetic #fanfic #in smol #merry christmas #happy holidays

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warrioreowynofrohan · 3 years

Text

The Leithian Reread - Canto IX (Lúthien Defeats Sauron)

The first thing to remember for this canto is that Finrod and Beren have been imprisoned in Tol-in-Gaurhoth for a long time. For a long while I had the impression of them being there for maybe a couple weeks, and a wolf eating one of the companions every day or so. But it’s been much longer than that:

First, they were already captive when Lúthien asked Melian about what was happening to Beren. Then there’s any days before she told Daeron about her plan to go rescue Beren, and then all the time she was imprisoned in Hirilorn, including spinning and weaving her hair into the cloak. Then any time travelling until when she met Celegorm and Curufin, then the (deliverately slow) journey to Nargothrond, and then her imprisonment in Nargothrond. Moreover, Lúthien goes in Melian to ask about Beren at the start of autumn (“the summer turns...”), and at the start of the canto after this one, after she’s rescued Beren, it’s winter already. So Beren and Finrod were most likely captive in Tol-in-Gaurhoth for the better part of three months. That is a long, and very impressive, amount of time to hold out against Sauron.

So when Beren is thinking of giving in to save Finrod, and Finrod makes the mistake (in dissuading Beren from this course of action via the obvious point that there’s no way either of them are getting out alive) of saying his and Beren’s names aloud and being overheard by Sauron, it is probable that neuther of them are in a particularly lucid or rational frame of mind. They’re very close to the breaking point by now. (This is something else I only caught onto when it was pointed out by The Leithian Script.) Fortunately - and it can be attributed to nothing other than fortune, or Providence - Finrod does not state their goal outright when he states their names, or the Quest would likely have been doomed:

Nay more, I think

yet deeper of torment we should drink,

knew he that son of Barahir

and Felagund were captive here,

and even worse if he should know

the dreadful errand we did go.

Sauron shows surprisingly little interest in the fact that he’s captured Beren (‘Twere little loss if he were dead, the outlaw mortal) given that he’s the one Beren was fighting in Dorthonion/Taur-nu-Fuin and given that Beren has a price on his head the same level as the High King of the Noldor. But Beren’s guerilla career ended at least a year ago, and maybe the bounty has lapsed; or maybe he’s distracted by the greater prize. When Sauron speaks of inducing Nargothrond to ransom Felagund, he is probably thinking of similarly draconian terms to the ones he will offer to Gandalf at the Black Gate two Ages later.

And here we get the battle between Finrod and the werewolf (which is not, as memetically, him ‘biting a werewolf to death’, but throttling it; though the Silmarillion says “slew it with his hands and teeth”, so there’s some flexibility):

Lo! sudden there was rending sound

of chains that parted and unwound,

of meshes broken. Forth there leaped

upon the wolvish thing that crept

in shadow faithful Felagund,

careless of fang or venomed wound.

There in the dark they wrestled slow,

remorsely, snarling, to and fro,

teeth in flesh, gripe on throat,

fingers locked in shaggy coat.

And what kills Finrod isn’t only the wolf itself, but also the sheer power it takes to break the chains; it’s beyond his normal physical ability (even prior to being imprisoned and tortured for three months):

Here all my power I have spent

to break my bonds, and dreadful rent

of poisoned teeth is in my breast.

And I’m going to quote this next bit, even though I’ve quoted a fair bit already, because the transition from dark to light imagery, and the way the word choice, not just the meaning of the words but their sound communicates that, is exceptional:

Silences profounder than the tomb

of long-forgotten kings, neath years

and sands uncounted laid on biers

and buried everlasting-deep,

slow and unbroken round him creep.

The silences were sudden shivered

to silver fragments. Faint there quivered

a voice in sound that walls of rock,

enchanted hill, and bar and lock,

and powers of darkness pierced with light.

Note all the deep o and u sounds in the fist half - profound, tomb, long-forgotten, buried, slow, unbroken - and contrast with shivered to silver fragments. This is more than description, this is the sounds of the Lay outright creating the phenomenon that they describe. Remember Tolkien’s intense interest in how words sound even irrespective of meaning (‘cellar door is the most beautiful word in the English language’) - here he’s masterfully chosen words where both the meaning and the phonetics are in accord to create the dramatic transition from dark and silence to light and music. And The silences were sudden shivered to silver fragments is such a marvellous line in and of itself.

And Lúthien’s song spiritually transports Beren - a night of stars, nightingales, piping, and Lúthien dancing - a memory of the night they met. And this gives him back the strength to sing and to defy: old songs of battle in the North, of breathless deeds, of marching forth to dare uncounted odds and break great powers and towers, and strong walls shake; and over all the silver fire that once men named the Burning Briar, the Seven Stars that Varda set about the north, were burning yet, a light in darkness, hope in woe, the emblem vast of Morgoth’s foe.

This is the moment that Sam is thinking of in the Tower of Cirirth Ungol, when he sings and Frodo answers. They’d just been talking about Beren and the Great Jewel, on the steps of Cirith Ungol, and even the imagery is similar: nature, the stars, birdsong (though Sam goes for the homier finches rather than nightengales). And defiance even in a seemingly hopeless situation.

Sauron, like many others in thus story, underestimates Lúthien and is more amused and pleased than intimidated. When he finally realizes that Huan is killimg all his werewolves, he decides to manipulate prophecy and make himself into the most powerful wolf that has ever existed. Possible even more powerful than a pre-Silmaril Carcharoth, since the text says as wolf more great than e’er was seen from Angband’s gate to the burning south. Lúthien, nearly fainting from the wolf’s poisonous breath, uses her cloak and a whispered spell to throw it off balance, and Huan defeats it in a fight and keeps his grip on its throat even as Sauron shapeshifts.

And here’s the interesting bit. Sauron is almost about to abandon his physical form (nigh the foul spirit...shuddering strayed from its dark house) when Lúthien gets up and threatens him with precisely what he was already going to do. And she makes the threat of Morgoth’s reaction intimidating enough that he changes his mind, hands over they keys, and gives her the spell to destroy the fortress. Which, one would think, would be something Morgoth would be even less pleased with. This raises the question, for me, of whether Sauron ever went back to Angband (especially given that his failure to provide his master with prompt intel led to a humiliating defeat and the loss of a Silmaril) or whether he just spent the rest of the war hiding out in Taur-nu-Fuin. If so, it certainly adds some context to why he’d consider surrendering to Eonwë after the War of Wrath - even the times when Angband’s power was at its height wouldn’t have been very good ones for Sauron.

Lúthien casts down Tol-in-Gaurhoth and frees its captives, and then seeks Beren, who is so absorbed in mourning Finrod that he apparently doesn’t look up even when an entire fortress collapses around him. At this point, he would still recall Lúthien’s song and his own as something that happened in a dream, not reality. He finally looks up and sees her, and they are reunited in the pits of Tol-in-Gaurhoth.

If you want some fanfiction of this canto, Philosopher at Large, author of the Leithian Script, has also written some prose pieces. Betrayals, Renunciations covers the final days of Beren and Finrod in Tol-in-Gaurhoth, from the beginning of this chapter; Shadow and Silver covers the confrontation between Lúthien and Sauron, the destruction of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, the reunion, and the aftermath.

#tolkien #the silmarillion #the lay of leithian #leithian reread #lúthien #beren #finrod #sauron

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jackoshadows · 4 years

Text

Stark Sibling reunions.

So there was some discussion on this in another forum and I thought I would jot down some of my long rambling speculations on which siblings will meet up and reunite first in the next book.

Jon and Rickon

Up north, I think there is a very strong chance that Jon and Rickon will be the first Starks to meet each other again. GRRM has stressed a couple of times that he has important things planned for Rickon, Davos has gone to Skagos to fetch him, Rickon has the backing of the most powerful Northern house in Manderly and in Bran’s absence, Rickon is Lord of Winterfell.

We know that GRRM is writing Rickon for the next book. He has mentioned how his Osha is becoming more similar to Natalie Tena’s version on the show. He has outright stated that Rickon will be in the next book. And how the books are different to the show because Rickon is still alive in the books.

Now, two things about the battle against the Boltons:

1. There will be a different Stark Vs Boltons battle in the next book. We have this note from GRRM:

Speaking of which: Martin leaves a little note for the producers when writing about Ramsay’s flesh-eating hounds, whom we see hunting down a girl for sport.

[N.B. A note for future reference. A season or two down the line Ramsay’s pack of wolfhounds are going to be sent against the Stark direwolves, so we should build up the dogs as much as possible in this and subsequent episodes.]

https://www.vanityfair.com/hollywood/2018/12/game-of-thrones-george-rr-martin-last-script-the-lion-and-the-rose

Notice the plural - as in direwolves, not direwolf. And the only two Starks with direwolves currently in the North are Jon and Rickon. We may see Jon come down from the Wall with a Wildling army and the North rallying behind Rickon and they combine forces to attack the Boltons. If Stannis is still alive and has an army at this point, it could be that everyone else joins him in battle.

Rickon could travel to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea which is closest to Skagos, or White Harbor or to Stannis’ camp. Either way, Jon and Rickon are now the closest siblings and have maximum potential to reunite since their plots look to be colliding soon as well.

2. Theon will be important to the resolution of the Bolton storyline.

What inspired him to create Ramsay Snow? GRRM said, and I quote, that he needed something “to bite Theon in the ass”. Ramsay was created for Theon’s storyline, and he is first presented as a prisoner and a servant and then rises to a high position while Theon becomes his prisoner and servant.

https://www.reddit.com/r/asoiaf/comments/6uwfb0/spoilers_extended_notestranslation_of_grrm_qa_in/

Theon is currently with Stannis who is preparing for battle against the Boltons. I doubt his story ends there - without meeting up again with either Bran or Jon. We know Bran is trying to communicate with Theon through the Weirwoods and Theon feels an immense guilt for what he did to Bran and Rickon. Jon and Theon have a lot of parallels and some of the same identity issues.

It’s possible therefore that Theon survives the battle of Ice with Stannis Vs Boltons to meet up with Jon and Rickon for the later battle of the bastards.

Arya

Lets examine Arya’s travel options from Braavos:

1. There’s plot and route that can take her to the North via Justin Massey and Jeyne Poole. The prevailing speculation being that once Massey lands in Braavos along with Jeyne, the real Arya meets up with fake Arya and decides to leave behind the FM and travel to the wall to take down some mutineers.

I think that plotwise for Arya’s character this makes sense. She has pretty much finished her FM training - time for plot progression and for her to move on to the North and get mixed up in both the political shenanigans and the army of the dead plot.

And if she does go North, she will finally reunite with Jon Snow - something she’s been trying to do since book one.

But there are some issues with Justin Massey getting to Braavos. In the first place, winter and storms have come to the North making travel hard. And in the second, Massey needs Stannis’ ships at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea to travel to Braavos - those ships are currently being overwhelmed by both storms and wights at Hardhome. So without transport, it’s hard to see how Massey gets to Braavos and Jeyne meets Arya.

It’s also possible that Arya just hears about what is happening in the North, gets on a ship and sails to White Harbor. She could meet up with Rickon and Jon that way.

But if Arya is not going North, where will she go to?

Travel-wise it would be easier for her to sail to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea or the port at White Harbor - traveling for a single person is always easy and Arya is an old hand at this.

But there is also speculation that Arya will travel to the Riverlands and meet up with her mother, Lady Stoneheart and the Brotherhood without Banners again. I am not fond of this theory, since in my opinion it will be once again a retread of her Riverlands story in books 2/3. She’s done with that part of Westeros. Yes, she did see her dead mother be dragged out of the water and a resolution and closure with her mother would be nice, but I am not sure how Arya in the Riverlands will progress the plot.

So if Arya does manage to reach the Riverlands and Lady Stoneheart, is there a sibling that she will meet up with?

Sansa

Let’s take a look at Sansa.

Sansa is busy in the Eyrie, embroiled in LF’s plot to snare Harry the Heir. Winter has come to the Vale and it’s pretty much snowed in. So it may very well be Sansa’s plot is limited to the game playing and political goings on in the Vale. If Sansa does indeed step outside the Vale, the logical place that she can travel to is the Riverlands.

I have often seen it argued (By a certain section of fans) that Arya’s story is in the Riverlands because she is just as revenge obsessed as Lady Stoneheart and her story is about giving up revenge while Sansa will travel North and reunite with Jon and win battles and become Lady of Winterfell. But in actuality, Sansa is far closer to the Riverlands (Much closer and easier for Sansa to get to the Riverlands than Arya) and has actual plot reasons to be there.

What plot reasons? So a recent thread on asoiaf reddit brought up a 2012 comment from GRRM on Littlefinger:

That said, back in 2002, here's what a fan recounted with George:

Who is over lord of the Riverlands? (Since the Freys have Riverrun yet Littlefinger was named Lord Paramount). George says that Littlefinger is the Lord of the Riverlands but that he is going to run into trouble. I commented that Littlefinger is really powerful now that he has the Riverlands and supposed control of the Eyrie. GRRM laughed and said that I need to remember that for all his power Littlefinger has no army. (I thought that was interesting). GRRM also commented that (I forget which Frey, Emmon?) the Frey given Riverrun really wants to be Lord of the Riverlands and has dreams of having his father be his vassel. (I thought that was interesting also)

https://www.reddit.com/r/asoiaf/comments/itw5wd/spoilers_extended_a_deeper_look_at_three/

So it looks like Littlefinger is going to run into trouble in the Riverlands - where LadyStoneheart and the brotherhood have set up their base - and it looks like the Freys want control. All LF needs to assert his authority is a Vale army. The Lannisters are pretty much done in the Riverlands, the Blackfish is still around and Edmure is a prisoner.

LF could get support in the Riverlands with Sansa - a Tully. Remember LF, his vale army and Sansa being responsible for defeating the Boltons and avenging the red wedding on the show? What if we get LF, Sansa and his vale army taking on and getting rid of Walder Frey, avenging the Red Wedding and winning favor in the Riverlands and the North that way?

I suspect that Lady Stoneheart is a part of the Vale/LF plot in the books and that’s why it disappeared on the show with the rest of the Vale while D&D combined plots and transferred LF and Sansa to the North to take on the Boltons.

I think a LF/Lady Stoneheart confrontation will be very interesting and possible - given their history and given LF’s current infatuation with Sansa. We have this from GRRM:

My Littlefinger would have never turned Sansa over to Ramsay. Never. He’s obsessed with her. Half the time he thinks she’s the daughter he never had—that he wishes he had, if he’d married Catelyn. And half the time he thinks she is Catelyn, and he wants her for himself. He’s not going to give her to somebody who would do bad things to her. That’s going to be very different in the books.

LF, Sansa and Lady Stoneheart meeting again is almost certain in my opinion.

So if Arya is heading down south to the Riverlands for closure with her mother and if Sansa is heading there with LF to help solve his Riverland issues, is it possible for them to meet up? Will we get a Sansa-Arya reunion in the Riverlands? Remember, GRRM has assured us that these two will meet again and have ‘deep issues to work out’. Maybe this happens in the Riverlands with Sansa and Arya and Lady Stoneheart?

Anyways, if Sansa is uniting with a sibling it’s most probably going to be Arya. Everyone else is far up North and currently Arya is the only sibling truly free to move around to any destination. Will Sansa go North? Hell No.

Jonsa Stans think that Sansa is somehow going to travel all alone, all the way from the Eyrie to the Wall in harsh snowstorms.

Which, lol. By the time Sansa gets there, the books will probably be over and everyone would be chilling in Winterfell.

No army is currently getting North with the snowstorms. The Vale doesn’t even have a fleet to sail to White harbor from the Sisters. Littlefinger would have to hire a fleet from Essos and from Dany’s predicaments there we know how hard this is. After sailing to White Harbor, the Vale army would then have to march 400 miles to Winterfell in harsh snows that have stalled Stannis’ army and covered the walls of Winterfell.

Can Sansa, by herself, escape, catch a ship and sail from the Sisters to White Harbor? Possible, if she can get down the Eyrie, get to the Sisters and get a ride aboard a ship. I can’t see Sansa doing al; this. Plus, I still think with LF in the Vale and Riverlands, there is still a lot of plot for her down south. Plus, LF likely will clash with Varys as well:

Littlefinger and Varys are adversaries, both know a lot about the others' plans, so they're at a stalemate. LF knows more about Varys's motives than Varys does about LF

https://www.reddit.com/r/asoiaf/comments/5g7vef/spoilers_extended_grrms_second_talk_at_the/

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

So we have Jon and Rickon reuniting in the North and Arya and Sansa maybe reuniting in the South if Arya travels to the Riverlands instead of the North.

As for Bran? I think he will be busy exploring the Lands of Always Winter and learning more about the Others in the next book. No reunions for him yet. I think he will meet up with his siblings in the last book.

#Jon Snow #Arya Stark #Rickon Stark #Sansa Stark #Bran Stark #Stark siblings #House Stark #asoiaf #GRRM

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mkstrigidae · 3 years

Note

This might be a lot since there’s so many characters in APWH, but could you share something secret about each character that no one else knows or maybe just a fun fact?

I am so sorry I’m answering this so late- I try not to be a human disaster, but inevitably end up being one most days.

Oooooooh this one is very interesting- they might not all be secrets, because for some characters, that would be giving away major plot points, but fun facts I can do! Let’s see what I’ve got (below the cut):

Robb: Has definitely licked a bone on a dare before, is actually a decent artist (much like Sansa) and does a fair amount of sketching in the field, and has an engagement ring for Tal in his work locker that no one knows about yet :) Inherited Catelyn’s ability for leadership, and is really good at dealing with Logistics, management, and the bureaucracy involved in his job. Hangs out with the experimental archeology students a lot (he’s like the accidental older brother for half the department) and would definitely wear handmade linen armor from someone’s project and let an undergrad shoot arrows at him to test it. (For those of you unaware, linen armor is next to impossible to cut without an extremely specific and sharp type of electric saw). Is good friends with Sarella, who’s going through grad school in Oldtown as well. Has been reluctantly dragged into the feud between the archaeology/anthropology and paleontology departments.

Aegon: is a fairly talented piano player, has always liked to cook, but got really good at it when he was dating an adjunct professor in grad school (none of his family knows about the relationship, but Theon does). Has been taking night classes recently to try and learn the Old Tongue bc he and Lyanna are particularly close. Dates casually, and volunteers at a community center for at-risk kids in Kings Landing on weekends. Is the only Targ sibling emotionally aware enough to spend time with Viserys, and is his grandmother Rhaella’s favorite.

Rhae: Actually really likes listening to heavy metal, especially when she’s working, and is really into the Westerosi equivalent of late night comedy. Will get really invested in hobbies for like, a few months and then move on to something completely different. Is her grandfather Aerys’ favorite, and has him wrapped around her finger. Makes a game of antagonizing Viserys at Targ family functions, and has been inseparable from Margaery since they met in college. Thought her cousin Obara was the coolest person in the world when she was a kid. Most likely of all the characters to do a triathlon without breaking a nail.

Bran: Might be one sociology class away from identifying as an anarchist. Kind of wants to be a professor and will probably write novels someday. Is really into flea markets and will go antiquing with Ned and Elia and sometimes Cat. Loves kayaking and decorates his wheelchair elaborately for holidays. He’s won several costume contests at school for it. Very snarky. If Sansa had been raised by the starks, they would have had a standing Saturday lunch date to snark and gossip about the rest of the fam.

Jon: wanted to be a forest ranger for the longest time and then a writer, but felt like he had to choose a more reputable career, and is kind of jealous that Robb decided to say ‘fuck it’ and become an archaeologist. Really wants to travel, although he picked law after His Valyrian is passable (the targ sibs spoke it anytime they were with Rhaegar and fam), but he speaks Rhoynish fluently and is close to his cousins on the Martell side of the family. Really likes hiking and will often go with Cat, who is also fairly outdoorsy. Likes epic high fantasy novels and would really love LOTR.

Mya: is weirdly into dream interpretation, is bisexual, and has fallen into one of the canals in Braavos before on a school field trip. She was born in the Vale, and her mom moved to Braavos when she was five. Would definitely eat a bug on a dare. More tomboy than anything, but really enjoys getting dressed up and being feminine. Likes painting her nails fun colors. Who gives a shit about gender expectations? Not Mya.

Sansa: the first person she kisses in APWH isn’t going to be Jon…;) If she’d been raised by the Starks, she might have gone to school for journalism or become a novelist. Hates math, but is a passable accountant because of what Baelish taught her to help him with the books for his restaurants. Doesn’t like to ever wear her hair down, and has a collection of decorative bobby pins for updos that she’s acquired from flea markets in Braavos. Really loves to swim. Pushed the boy who knocked Mya into the canal in after her, but none of the teachers believe him when he accuses her, because it’s sweet, kind, well-behaved Sansa.

Robin: Secretly likes to listen to musicals and is a fairly good singer. In a group chat with Doree and Loree who are drastically improving his social skills and the three of them are parent-trap level plotting. Really dislikes doctors and hospitals. Used to ask Sansa to draw birds for him a lot when he was younger and still has most of them.

Rickon: is actually better with computers and smarter than anyone realizes, because he’s such a jock on the surface. Very used to going with the flow and adapting to change. His favorite classes are chemistry and bio, but he doesn’t really like writing. Is really popular and well-liked among his classmates, but can have a temper when he thinks an injustice is occurring. Is generally just good with animals.

Catelyn: Grew up going hunting with her uncle and always had a stronger stomach for it than Lysa and Edmure did. Is half-estranged from her father because of a disagreement they had regarding Catelyn’s inability to move on after the kidnapping, and a tense relationship with her brother after he married Roslyn Frey (The Freys were vocal supporters of Roose Bolton’s politics and had a hand in publicizing the rumors about the Starks being responsible for Sansa’s disappearance- Walder Frey owns several prominent southern newspapers), but they’re working on mending fences. Takes fairly long walks outside regularly, and would be a bruce springsteen fan. The most intimidating of the entire family.

Arya: Went through a true crime phase. Really enjoys learning languages, her favorite classes this past semester were her Ancient Ghiscari course and her global politics seminar, because they got to debate current issues every week. Like Sansa, she really likes people-watching. Will probably end up at the Olympics for fencing at some point, but was also a sprinter in high school on the track team.

Ned: Probably dropped acid at least once in college. Really enjoys skiing. Learned how to play the guitar as a part of his midlife crisis. Met Cat after she went on two dates with his brother Brandon and they decided they were better as friends. Brandon brought her to a party, and Ned ended up giving her a ride home after his brother found another girl to chat up. They quickly found out that they had a lot in common, and she got along famously with his mother, who Ned was extremely close to. Has a serious sweet tooth

Elia: Likes to paint, but doesn’t think she’s very good at it. Grew up speaking Rhoynish with her family, and taught it to the kids. Has forgotten more about art than most people will ever know, and is extremely efficient when set loose in a flea market. Really likes theater and ballet, and took ballet classes through college.

Lyanna: is working on a book about money in Westerosi politics that’s tied into her current investigation of the Boltons, but only Elia knows about it. Grew up far north, and her first language was the Old tongue rather than Andali, but didn’t want her kids picking it up, because the accent is stigmatized. Keeps notes for her articles in the Old Tongue to keep her nosy kids from reading them.

Theon: Is doing a psychiatry residency in King’s Landing currently. Does a fair amount of biking, and 100% does a polar bear swim in the ocean every winter (Aegon always shows up to cheer him on and they go out for drinks afterwards- his girlfriend, Jeyne, thinks this is insane). Refuses to eat blue foods and was actually a decent French horn player in high school.

Thank you- this was a fun one!! :)

#APWH #ask memes #Anonymous #ask answers

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wu-sisyphus-gang · 3 years

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Motion Sickness Chapter 55

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Neo had confirmed the presence of an elderly woman that only Winter Schnee was allowed to see. She took her tea green so I did in fact get all the information I wanted. Fria was her name. And she was the winter maiden, at least if Tyrian could be taken at his word, which in this case, why not? Did it really matter if she was winter or summer? Not for my purposes.

Aside from Tyrian's location, Aurum had informed me of another of Merlot's laboratories in a place called Mt. Nibel. It was above a small dust mining town that Neo and I reached on a combination of train and foot.

He also promised to put me in contact with a group of ex-workers who could tell me about the General's secret project. A group called Avalanche. They had some little favors they needed from me first but they'd talk. At least according to Aurum. They just needed a little help with something first. No biggie for someone like me. I was a favor guy. I was a problem solver.

Nibelhiem had all the usual dust amenities and I took the time to resupply my dust where it was cheap. Cheapest in all the world. Especially with the embargo driving up supply and decreasing demand.

They were practically giving the stuff away and I had my pick of crystals from a vendor near the mountain.

"Burn and shock crystals. Uncut is fine." He nodded. The uncut ones were a little cheaper. Not that it mattered much to me. I still was swimming in cash even after the train rides and the private airship.

"You headed up the mountain?" He asked as he set crystals on his counter.

I nodded. "And a bit of weight, please." He nodded and he pulled out a purple crystal and set it next to the array of yellow and red crystals.

"Well you might need a guide if you're goin' up the mountain. You got a place in mind or are you just out hunting?"

I took them and put them in my crystal pouch. They clanked together in the pocket and I'd need to consider a new way of carrying them to make sure they didn't blow up on me and destroy my face in the process.

Nothing bad had happened yet but that was no reason to tempt fate where I was concerned. I had the worst luck. Like the absolute worst.

"What do you think Neo? Do we need a guide to take us up the mountain?"

She pursed her lips in thought at me. She raised a finger. I took that however I wanted.

"We're headed to an old laboratory up there. You ever hear of it?" I asked. "Run by this guy named Merlot at some point in the past?"

"I haven't but I'm willing to bet you could find a guide who has in a young girl. She's been training to be a huntress up here. Her name's Peach Locheart."

"And do you know where I might find this young girl?"

"She's usually in her teacher's dojo. Zangan's his name."

I nodded my head. It was entirely possible a guide would be necessary up in those mountains. The wind seemed to course over them fast enough to whip up a blizzard and even trained huntsmen like yours truly could get lost in that kind of weather.

It was unlike the last laboratory which we sort of knew the location of based on our conversation with Godo. I was coming in here a little blind.

"She's not like a kid, is she?" I asked. "My friend here isn't fond of kids." I gestured to Neo with both hands.

"She's a bit on the younger side. Mature for her age, though, if that helps." He pointed the way to Zangan's dojo down the street.

I thanked him for the advice and the dust and made my way there.

There was a young girl in a pink combat skirt firing off kicks against a dummy punching bag. She was maybe fifteen, old enough to kind of understand the world. Old enough to start to be a huntress. An older gentleman turned to look at me as I walked in.

"Howdy," he greeted unironically. He actually said howdy this far north. "What brings you in here?"

"I'm headed up the mountains, into Merlot's old laboratory. I need a guide to take me there. A dust vendor outside recommended someone named Peach."

"That's me," the young girl delivered a punch and a kick to the bag for emphasis.

"She can take you up the mountains. I've never heard of a laboratory being up there, though."

"He must mean that old white and grey bunker up there." Peach cut in. "I've seen it. Never been inside though."

"What do you say kid, want to take me up there?"

"What's in it for me?" She asked. I liked her style. She was more worldly than Yuma had been. Less of that naivety. It would make her harder to trick but that was at once a good and a bad thing.

"I have Lien. Set your price," I told her.

"I don't need Lien." She punched the bag in time with her words.

"Everybody needs something, kid. Everybody has a price."

"I'm not a kid either. You said you were buying dust?"

"That's right." I palmed a crystal from my pocket and showed it to her.

"You know magic, then? You're a hunter." She took in the massive weapon at my back. Her eyes flicked over my shoulder.

"Only a little. I'm better at using it to set explosives," I informed her.

"Teach me."

"Hmm." I hummed at that.

"I don't need your money but I'm going to be a huntress. I need to know about dust if I'm going to be any good. You teach me how to use it to make explosives and you've got a deal."

She held out a wrapped hand.

I reached out and shook it.

"You've got yourself a deal, little miss."

She flushed a little red. Maybe she was nervous.

"Peach…" Zangan warned. "Be careful. And you better go ask your father."

"Not to worry sir, I'll keep her safe," I told him. "She seems like quite the student."

She rushed off out the door behind me to do as her teacher bade.

"She is. She's very dedicated. You know how it is with the young'uns. They want to be hunters so bad they'll miss the forest for the trees. They don't know what it'll cost."

That most hunters died young. I understood.

"We don't all get to live to be as old as you are." He was only forty or so. Middle aged.

He grunted at that. "How old are you kid?"

"Twenty."

"And the Miss with you?"

Neo held up a warning hand.

"Neo? I'm not sure. She doesn't talk. Plus it's rude to ask a lady her age. We've been traveling together for a while now, though."

"Well don't be shocked if her father wants to meet with you before he sends you off with his daughter. He's not a huntsman himself but he understands a little."

"But not the whole picture."

"They rarely do. Rarely can." He leaned against the counter in front of the dojo. "He's paying me a pretty penny to teach his daughter. She's hungry for it. You met the type?"

I thought of Yuma Kisaragi and I thought of little Ruby Rose. Plus there was me, myself, before I knew my memories were fake and my dreams were dead.

"Once or twice."

"You ever seen it work out well?" He seemed to be genuinely asking me. Like he wasn't sure himself.

"They're alive." I managed. "So it's sort of too early to tell."

"They your age?"

"Yes sir, one. And another is your Peach's age. A little huntress to be out of a place called Wutai. You heard of it?"

He shook his head.

"It's a small town. Down near Mistral," I went on.

"That where you're from?" He asked.

"Near Mistral? I suppose. But I was trained and raised in Vale, though." And that was the truth, near as I could tell.

"Been all over, have you?"

"A bit."

"The traveling mysterious huntsman type. I ought to hate your guts."

"Sir?"

"You ought t' know. Be careful with my apprentice. You should know how young hearts are. You were one more recently than me, as you pointed out."

I ran a hand through my spiky hair and sighed. That seemed to be good enough for him because he nodded.

"I'll look after her. Nobody will get hurt on my watch," I swore.

"And if someone is?" He leaned over at me.

"I'll bring her right back here."

"There ain't a hospital in town."

"She's a huntress. She has aura."

"Huntress in training. You know they're not the same thing."

"I'll be as safe as I can be. I'm promising to train her in explosives for gods' sake. There's only so safe you can be. Besides, if you think she'll be good enough by being trained in a dojo, you've got another thing coming. Does she want to make it into one of the Academies?"

Zangan nodded.

"Then she needs to fight Grimm. A lot of them. The sooner the better. I trained at Beacon. Initiation started with launching us into a Grimm infested forest."

"Lords above. So young..."

"Seventeen isn't that young. There was even this prodigy that was her age there and she was better than me. Still is. Well maybe." I wasn't sure how I still might stand up against Ruby. I was fucking dangerous. If she plateaued, then I might have the edge on her.

Peach came back with an older man in tow.

"Father this is...um…" Her pink eyes flickered to mine. Oh to be young. Ever.

"Cloud Strife, sir." I shook his hand firmly and saved her. He was a touch shorter than me with brown hair unlike his daughter's blonde. And his eyes were a dark red. But eye colors could be weird in Remnant. Ask Yang.

"I hear that my daughter wants to take you up the mountain in exchange for some training."

"That's right. I was going to show her some of what I know about dust."

"You mean… like magic?"

"Maybe a little. I know some but my real experience is in using it to make explosives."

"Peach…" he trailed off looking down at her.

"Dad I need to learn this kind of thing. He can show me. Sifu-Zangan doesn't use dust."

"Never needed it," Zangan grunted.

"You’ve never killed any big fish, then," I said. “Big. Game. Goliaths and the like.”

“Tha’s a dangerous sport.”

“Hunting can be. There are sharks in these rivers.”

He looked away and I thought of Tyrian and Raven. There were also big Grimm which would be difficult to kill without dust. The Nuckelavee was like that, too.

"Well what do you think, Zangan?"

"The kid seems trustworthy." He shrugged. "He can teach her things I don't know. It might save her life one day. He also attended Beacon. He can let her know the sort of life she'll be in for at the Academies."

"Beacon… were you there when it went down?" Peach's father asked.

"I was," I answered easily.

Peach looked up at me with her bright pink eyes. "You were at Beacon? What was it like?"

I laughed at her curiosity.

"Peach." Her father warned. I waved him off.

"It's alright. My time at Beacon was the best. It was a lot of hard work though."

"Did you fight big Grimm?" She asked.

"I did."

"I knew it." She pumped a fist. "He fought real Grimm."

"I can show her some of what I know. I can teach her how to fight them."

"You had to fight Grimm while you attended?" Her father asked. "Or just when the academy went down?"

"Both," I waved a hand and answered. "Initiation was us fighting Grimm."

"I see…" He looked deep in thought. "I don't want you fighting a lot of Grimm. The idea makes me uncomfortable."

"I'm going to be a huntress. That's the whole point."

"You're right. Of course you're right."

"And I've been that high up in the mountains before. I've fought Grimm like that. It's just Beowulfs and Creepers. I'll be safe. It's all a learning opportunity."

"Very well. Mr. Huntsman, Strife, was it? You'll look after my daughter?"

"No harm will come to her. You have my word."

She pumped a wrapped fist in the air. "Dust explosions here I come."

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We made our way into the mountains, out of Nibelhiem, and needed to set up our tent for the night. It was not as long into the journey as I would have liked. In typical Neo fashion she sat and watched me set up everything and cook dinner.

"So how do you set up explosions?" Peach was shaking with excitement. "And will you show me some of your magic, too?"

"It's not real magic," I explained. "You'll occasionally run into a real dust sorcerer. Someone who can do all kinds of things with dust. I just know how to use it in its raw form. Primal. I don't even know how to eat it"

"Eating it?" She laughed.

"It's not actually eating it. It's putting it in your body so that you can use the power. You can actually eat it I suppose or you can just stick it in your flesh and it sort of slides into you. Into your aura."

"But it's still magic, right?"

"A little. But it's like comparing a first aid kit to a hospital staffed with doctors. I'm a bit of a neanderthal."

"Oh I don't believe that. You seem smart."

"You've only just met me. Give it a minute."

She laughed again, her eyes were bright. "Show me how to use dust to make explosives."

It was easy enough. I showed her how to set it up with a circuit, a battery, and a switch.

"The switch is the complicated part. You might want to learn about how radio signals work if you want to be able to blow them up remotely."

"But that's it. Just a circuit and a crystal and that's it."

"It's not rocket science. It's really simple. You can pretty easily make a landmine like this. Just bury it with a trigger on a plate underground and bing-bang-boom. You've got yourself a trap. I cornered a pretty big Grimm like that once."

"What else can you do?"

"You can throw it really hard."

She gave me a questioning look.

"Look you just throw a dust crystal hard enough and fast enough and it works. It explodes and unleashes the effects."

"That sounds too easy. It's supposed to be all hard and complicated."

"Well it shouldn't surprise you. They have to move it around all safe in containers for control. Too much disturbance and the stuff just goes off. Even in powder form."

"But you don't use it in powder. Because you can use it raw."

"That's right. Let me show you."

I handled a yellow crystal and crushed it. Lightning ran up my arm and I cast an arm forward. Lightning struck the tree from my open palm and burnt a hole in it and part of the tree to ash.

"Wow…" she breathed. "That's what you meant."

"Yeah. It's not quite what a real dust sorcerer can do but it's closer. I just unleash the power a little more controlled."

"And that's not the same as eating it."

"No. And I can't show you because I'm not a dust eater, either. But as I understand it you can just shove the crystal through your skin or into your mouth and the crystal becomes a part of you. It changes your aura."

"I see. Can I try?"

"Which one?"

"That blast that you just did, not eating it."

"Sure. Why don't you try fire? It's very dangerous so after you crush the crystal you'll be able to feel the power. Then you've got to let it go or it'll explode in your face. It's still risky."

I handed her a red uncut crystal and she held it up to the light. She was looking at how it shone unlike any other substance in the world. The light always came through it red. It always seemed to bounce around impossibly inside the meta-material.

"Are you ready?"

She nodded.

"I just crush it then I let it go?" She asked.

"Pretty much. You'll be able to feel the power. It'll feel hot, like your arm is on fire."

She nodded.

She crushed it and murmured, "I can feel it. I feel the power."

"You need to let it go!" I told her urgently. She was just standing there with the power coursing through her.

She tried but the flames blew up in her face and knocked her on her ass. Her jacket was singed slightly, revealing her tank-top underneath.

"I told you to let go."

She wiped her ash cover hands off on her pants. "Thanks. I wasn't sure how though. Can I try it again?"

"I messed up my first few times too." I handed her another red uncut crystal.

She inhaled deeply. Then she crushed the crystal and I watched the flames run up her arm. Then she cast her arm forward and a fireball shot free. It struck the same tree I did and the pine roasted for a pleasant smell.

The snow was coming down hard enough that the fire wouldn't spread. It was too damp and too cold.

I pumped a fist. I wasn't an incompetent teacher. And she hooted.

"That's how it's done," she called out into the night.

"Well done."

"Can I try it again? With the lightning ones maybe?"

"Not tonight, no. You might like to change now. I hope you brought a spare coat."

She looked down at her arm. "Oh shit, I didn't even notice. The heat of it all. Yeah I have a spare one."

She walked over to her bag and changed her coat.

"Thanks Cloud, you really helped me."

"It was no problem." I smiled. This felt like real good. It had been a long time since I felt that. What with all the murder and chaos and all. It made me feel like I was a good person again. Even if it was just for a moment.

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-WG

#jaune arc #cloud strife #rwby #ff7 #ffvii #cloud!jaune arc #sephiroth!Jaune arc #tifa lockhart #ruby rose x jaune arc x weiss schnee #war of the roses #white rose #whiterose #whiteknight #white knight #lancaster #neo #neapolitan #motion sickness

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heyyyharry · 4 years

Text

Chapter 4: Chasing Shadows

(from ‘The Winter and The Crown’)

…in which Harry keeps visiting the same place in his dreams.

Word count: 8.8k

AU: queen!y/n, commander!harry

Description: Y/N and Harry set off on a new adventure to find ‘the cure’ for an ancient curse, meanwhile, the enemies are plotting to take her kingdom.

Wattpad link (Reyna as Y/N)

ANNOUNCEMENT:

For the next two weeks, I’ll be extremely busy with two exams and my job and all that adult stuff (ugh). I’ll still post blurbs and take a two-week break from the series.

***Chapter 5 will be posted on Wednesday, August 26, 2020.

“Do I really have to be tied to a chair?”

“Yes.”

Y/N took a little knife from the tray the guard was holding, holding back a grin as Harry flicked his eyes between the blades, her and the two men in armours.

“My anxiety is peaking right now,” he said.

She snorted and waved the knife in front of his face, finding it entertaining how his breath caught as he recoiled. “Don’t worry. I used to do this for my father and brother.”

“I don’t remember what those people looked like so I cannot be sure you’re good at it.”

Y/N pressed her lips into a smile. “You’ve never met my father. And you probably shouldn’t remember my brother.” Especially when Egon had been haunting most of her nightmares.

“Sorry…” Harry mumbled. “Let’s not talk about your family then.”

“Let’s not talk at all.” She just wanted to get this done and leave. If he said something that hurt her again, she might just cry in front of him and that would be embarrassing.

Slowly and cautiously, her trembling fingers reached for his face. She was indecisive about how she should touch him, as for him, hers would be the touch of a stranger; she wouldn’t want a stranger to just grab her face and angle it however they liked. But then Harry’s mouth curled to one side and he nudged her hand with his cheek like a horse.

“You can touch me. I'm clean. They gave me a bath this morning.” His cheek felt warm against her skin and she moved her thumb gently over his stubble beard. He grinned at her tentative touch. “It was very...new,” he said, “to have five men watching you bathe.”

She couldn’t help but giggle, gaining more confident to slide her hand down to his jaw, lifting his face. “I wouldn’t even go near you if you smelled bad.”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“You didn’t say ‘no offence’, so I’m offended.”

He was doing it again – cracking jokes when he didn’t have to – because silence pained him. He was just as nervous as she was. And somehow knowing that made her feel more comfortable.

She lifted the knife and felt him grow tenser as she approached. “Stay still and I’ll try not to cut you.”

“Try?” His eyes grew big. Her mouth twitched as she shushed him and started on the left side of his face.

She’d lied. She’d not cut her father’s and brother’s hair nor shaved their beards; she just wanted Harry to trust her. Before this, he would have trusted her even if she’d held the knife whose blade was buried in his chest. Now they had to start over. It wasn’t easy to win his trust; neither was it to win hers.

She finished shaving the right side of his face without having cut him. His breathing steady as he relaxed into his seat. Their eyes met by accident, and the knot in her stomach also relaxed. They didn’t converse until she was done.

She put the knife back on the tray and picked up a sharp pair of scissors when the sound of the large door to the dungeon made her jump. Footsteps descended the stairs. And Lance emerged at the cell door.

Harry scoffed. “Has everyone in the castle been invited to see me get a haircut?”

Y/N ignored him and asked Lance, “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah,” he said, squaring his shoulders as he leaned back against the wall. “I’m just here to make sure he won’t lay a finger on my betrothed.”

Y/N shot him a warning look, and Harry asked, “What’s a betrothed?”

The question nagged at her yet she did not let it show. She’d explained the word to him before; she’d been six and he’d been eight. Back then he hadn’t known who she was and yet the memory had also been erased.

“Do you always talk this much?” she heard Lance ask Harry, probably to distract him from her unusual pause. But Harry didn’t look at Lance. He tilted his head to the side and asked her, “Are you feeling unwell? We can do this another time.”

“I’m fine.” She forced a grin so he wouldn’t suspect it. Her Harry would be able to see right through that. This Harry was completely oblivious to her hurt feelings.

Y/N brushed off the uneasiness and pressed her hand into Harry’s curls, being as careful as she could to test the water. She could feel both Lance’s and Harry’s gaze on her as she started cutting with experimental motions at first, and grew more confident with every snip of the scissors.

An evil idea crossed her mind. She considered giving him the stupidest haircut to make him pay for having put her through all this misery. Then, she saw that soft look in his eyes and the thought vanished as soon as it’d appeared.

Why was she mad at him? It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t remember anything. It was her fault that he was like this. Harry wouldn’t be mad at her if she were the one who forgot; he’d be patient with her because he loved her.

He loved me, she told herself. Not anymore.

She set aside all the longing to focus on trimming the back and sides of his head and ended up in front of him again. With a last snip of the scissors, brown hair floated to the floor. She took a step back to assess her work, widening her focus to take in more than just his hair. The transformation left her speechless. She hadn’t thought he would look this good with short hair. All the ladies in court were going to throw themselves at him as if they hadn’t tried before.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Harry asked, his face taut with distress. “How long do I have to hide in the dark until it looks normal again?”

Y/N let a smile sneak onto her lip as she lifted his face with the handle of the scissors under his chin. “It’s good. I’m good. Lance, what do you think?”

“Average,” Lance said without a second thought, his expression neutral. “I mean him. Not your work.”

Y/N glared at him, and he shrugged as Harry let out a scoff. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Your Majesty.”

“Stop it. Both of you,” Y/N snapped as she put the scissors back on the tray.

Lance didn’t say another word and ordered the two guards to come with him. She knew he did it on purpose to let her be alone with Harry. If only she could tell Lance how grateful she was. They hadn’t been talking since Harry had returned.

The door above the stairs fell shut, the sound echoing across the dungeon. Y/N had her dagger at her waist and Harry was tied to a chair and unarmed, so if he tried something, she’d be able to take him. She went behind him to untie his wrists, and as slowly as she could, closed her fingers around the hilt of her dagger.

But Harry didn’t make a move. He sat there as she returned to stand in front of him. His eyes dropped to her chest, and her face burned red as she thought he was staring at her cleavage. It took her a second to realize it was the bruised marks around her neck that were holding his attention.

Without saying a word, he reached out his hand, and she gripped her dagger as he touched her there, grazing his thumb gently over the skin. “It looks worse,” he said, his forehead creased. “Does it hurt?”

She slowly shook her head. Her brain was telling her to step back because he was dangerous and his kindness might be fake, but every other piece of her wanted to hold him and never let go until the old Harry crawled back to the surface and loved her again.

“How about your wounds?” she asked, pointing to his torso. “You got a pretty bad one there.”

He wiggled his brows teasingly. “How do you know?”

She rolled her eyes. “I saw the attacker aim for that spot before I was shot.”

“Oh…” He shifted a bit in his chair, rubbing his hands against his thighs. Meanwhile, she took in his new appearance, trying to get used to it. He looked like a prince. With a crown, he could be Lance’s equal. Something stirred inside her. He could be a completely different man now. What if she’d lost him forever?

“How long do I have to stay here?” he asked.

She blinked. “What?”

“How long do I have to stay here?” he repeated the question, looking rather anxious. “I don’t–I don’t think my memory’s coming back.”

A thin edge of hurt worked its way under her skin as she tried not to let it show by keeping a straight face.

Harry combed his fingers through his hair, faltering as the unfamiliarity caught him by surprise. He swallowed dryly and went on, “So if you’re hoping to get some information out of me, I don’t think I’ll be able to help you. I cannot stay here forever.”

Y/N knew that. Right from the start, she should have known that he didn’t belong here. If she hadn’t been so selfish and begged him to stay in the North, he might have travelled the world and been married by now, with children and a wife who was gentle and kind and wouldn’t keep him in the dark or put him in danger.

“I cannot send you back to the South if that’s what you’re asking,” she said. “No one from the North is allowed to cross the South’s border.”

“I know,” he sighed and dropped his gaze to his feet. “Can I at least see Kenny? She’s the only family I’ve got here…” Y/N swallowed as she averted her eyes and clenched her fists. He didn’t notice how agitated she’d become. “Or does she not want to see me? I don’t remember what went wrong with us. I still have so many questions for her.”

Y/N could offer to answer all those questions; Kenny didn’t know him as well as she did, not anymore. But she could not do it without revealing their past. Would he think she was lying if she told him that he used to be in love with her, that he’d chosen to be with her instead of with Kenny and sworn to never let anything bad happen to her as long as he lived?

It didn’t work that way. You couldn’t make someone love you again just by telling them that they should. And she could not see him falling in love with her again, not when she was betrothed to Lance and her kingdom was at war. Her Harry would take her secrets to the grave. This Harry had tried to kill her.

“Fine,” she sighed. “You may meet Kenny. I’ll call for her and Stefan.”

“One more thing,” he blurted before she could leave. “Could you...call for only Kenny?” As she narrowed her eyes, he explained, “It’d be uncomfortable for all three of us if—”

“I see,” she cut him off, keeping a straight face. “Anything else?”

Y/N didn’t realize how vexed she’d sounded until she saw him blush. “No. Nothing else. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

She stared at him while he stared at his feet. A thousand things she wanted to say – but could not – piled up on her tongue. And when she left, Harry didn’t stop her.

Kenny seemed disconcerted to see him.

At first, Harry had thought she didn’t like how he looked with his hair so short (he’d requested for a mirror but the guard had ignored him, even after he’d said he was best friends with the Queen. Where was Y/N when he needed her?). But having known Kenny for that many years, he could easily guess that it wasn’t his haircut that she found unpleasant; it was the fact that he’d asked to see her alone.

Kenny looked quite different now. She’d always been beautiful, but now she looked more mature, which made sense because she was a wife and a mother of a baby girl. His last memory of her had been the day he’d left Theros and they’d made a vow that they’d get married when he returned. Now he was living in the past while the whole world had moved on and left him behind.

“You look good,” Kenny said with a nervous chuckle. “The Queen did a good job.”

Harry instinctively tugged at his short curls. “I thought she was lying when she said she’d done it before.” Kenny’s face contorted a bit. He whipped his head to both directions of the aisle outside his cell. “What? Is she here?”

“What do you think of the Queen?” Kenny asked, taking him by surprise.

He took a moment to think. It was always safe to be careful with what you said about kings and queens. “She’s all right,” he said. “Cold. But I think most Northerners are. It’s the ice in their blood.”

Kenny smiled a little and wrapped her shawl around herself as if being near him made her uncomfortable. “She’s getting married next month.”

“So I heard,” Harry snorted. “She and the King make a great match, although he could be quite a dick and she’s more on the softer side.” Then he waved his comment away. “Let’s not talk about them. It’s not like we’re invited to their wedding. Wait, are we invited to their wedding?”

Kenny didn’t answer his question. “What do you want to talk about then?”

She wanted him to get straight to the point and get this over with. It’d be a lie to say it didn’t hurt his feelings.

“Us, Kenny.” Harry frowned. “I want to talk about us.”

There was a pained expression on Kenny’s face as she opened and closed her mouth a couple of times and yet could not find the right words to begin. Harry decided not to wait. “I know that you’ve told me everything you knew, but I still have so many questions about us. Some things just don’t make sense...at least to me…”

Kenny fidgeted with her fingers. “Like what?”

“Like…” He pursed his lips, hugging the bars as he leaned forward against it. “If you only married Gideon because you thought I was dead, then why didn’t we get together after you—” He cut himself off just in time, not wanting to bring up the fact that she’d had to kill the bastard herself. He didn’t want to hurt Kenny more than that memory already had. “After we’d run away,” he corrected himself, “why did I end up here in the North and left you with Stefan?”

“I already told you, Crow. You wanted to serve the Queen because you two had bonded throughout the journey.”

“Why would I choose her over you? I would never choose anyone over you.”

She pressed her lips into a soft grin, probably to calm him yet it only made him more uneasy. “You fell out of love with me on the journey. We decided to stay friends.”

The light from the torch beside his cell flickered across her cheekbones. He tore his eyes from hers. His heart sank in as he smiled sadly to himself. “I cannot imagine a world where it’s so easy to fall out of love with you.”

Kenny stayed quiet for a moment. He expected her to just turn and leave him here for the memories to consume, but then she took a few steps until she was close enough for him to touch. He didn’t. He kept his fingers wrapped around the bars, reminding himself that she was Stefan’s wife and the mother of a child. Harry wasn’t going to mess up her perfect new life.

“I love Stefan,” she told him as if she could see right through him. “I don’t want to ruin your friendship with him. Stefan cares about you.”

“I know,” he sighed and raked his fingers through his hair, only to remember his long curls were gone. As he spoke, his voice was more brittle than he thought it’d be. “Does he make you happy?”

Kenny nodded and smiled. “Very.”

“Then...I’m happy for you,” he said despite how he felt. Then after another moment, “Did I fall in love with someone else?”

Kenny seemed taken aback by the question. She shook her head slowly. “I-I don’t know. We never talked about it. Why did you think so?” There was a short pause. “Did you...remember something?”

“No. That was the only way I could see myself falling out of love with you.”

He regretted saying it the second the words slipped out. He thought he’d upset her, but Kenny only beamed and reached for his hand around the bar. Her touch was gentle and warm, and in his head he imagined himself dropping down onto his knees and begging her to come back to him.

At first, he’d cried and blamed the Queen for everything he’d lost that he could not get back. It was because of her that he’d left Kenny with Stefan. It was because of her that he’d gone to battle and lost his memory and had to live in the past while everyone he loved had moved on.

But then he’d seen the Queen in his dream one night, and after he’d woken up, she’d shown up at his cell. He could not hate her or blame her for the things she could not control. She’d suffered, too, perhaps more than he had, internally. She’d tried to mask it, but her expressive eyes had given it away. Maybe this was nobody’s fault and he and Kenny just weren’t meant to be. He should be glad that she was free from Gideon and had ended up with Stefan.

“I have to return to my daughter,” Kenny said as she tucked a strand behind her ear; he’d been staring at it the whole time, wishing he could do it for her.

“What’s her name?”

“What?”

“Your daughter. What’s her name?”

“Eva.”

“Can I see her?” He chuckled. “When they release me, of course.”

“Sure. She’ll like you,” Kenny said.

“How long are you staying here?” he blurted before she could turn away, not ready for this conversation to end.

“For as long as the King and Queen need me,” Kenny replied.

Harry didn’t know what the King and Queen needed Kenny for. He assumed that it might be because Kenny was the only person who could make sure he wouldn’t try to hurt anyone again. After all, Y/N had told him two nights ago that she didn’t trust him anymore. He couldn’t blame her. If anything, he admired her for how she’d been dealing with this whole mess.

“Maybe you should ask the Queen to let you stay,” he said brightly, trying to sound cheerful. “Then Eva could become friends with the future heir to the throne.”

Kenny’s smile faded. Harry must have said something wrong. “The Queen cannot produce an heir.”

“Oh.” His smile also vanished. “Fuck...I feel bad for her.” No wonder Y/N was so cold. But how could she know she couldn’t produce an heir?

Harry knew it was none of his business, but for some reason, he was curious. Would it be rude if he asked her the next time he saw her?

“I’ll see you another time?” Kenny said.

Harry worked up a tight smile, trying not to acknowledge the waver in his voice. “Goodbye. Say hello to Stefan and Eva for me.”

Just like that, Kenny left, without taking a second look at him.

Y/N was woken by Jo screaming her name in the corridor before bursting into her bed chamber and slamming the door shut with her back.

The morning sun was a diffused orb of light through the window. A tiny pulsing spurred at Y/N’s temples from not getting enough sleep, and she climbed free from the bed, light-headed and empty.

She didn’t remember how she’d fallen asleep. She’d been so afraid of the nightmares that she couldn’t even shut her eyes. She’d wanted to go to Lance’s chamber — she felt safer with him — but she didn’t want to trouble him, especially after he’d made it clear that they should keep their distance until she was completely over Harry. She should respect his wishes. Yet, she missed him.

She didn’t know how to tell him she’d grown used to having him around and depending on him so much that she felt lost without him. How could she say that when she was still hopelessly in love with Harry? And how could she still be hopelessly in love with Harry if it was Lance who made her feel safe?

Her heart lurched as Lance emerged at the doorway and gave her a tender smile.

“There you are, Your Royal Majesty,” Jo said to Lance in a sarcastic tone as she settled on the edge of Y/N’s bed. “I’ve got great news.”

“Harry finally remembers?” Y/N said.

“You’re leaving court?” Lance said.

“No,” Jo told Y/N. To Lance, she said, “I will strangle you and I don’t care that's treason.”

Lance’s mouth fell open. “Your lady-in-waiting just threatened me!” he told Y/N, and she smiled and gave him a shrug to say, ‘You might as well get used to it.’

Jo clapped her hands to get their attention. “It’s Mary! I came to see her at dawn!”

“You what?!” Y/N and Lance cried at the same time.

“Yes,” Jo said calmly. “I came to see her and I made her talk.”

“But how?” Lance asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jo said. Y/N and Lance exchanged looks of concern though neither interrupted her. “She told me about the antidote.”

Lance snorted as he walked in and stood in front of them, hands behind his back. “She said there was no antidote.”

Jo shot him an annoyed look. “That’s because she wasn’t sure if it existed.”

“What does that mean?” Y/N asked, losing her patience.

Jo scooted over for Lance to sit down beside her. “It’s The Lake of Tears," she said.

“The what?”

Jo rolled her eyes as she turned to Lance. “I keep forgetting that you’re not from here. Here in the North, there’s folklore about a witch who was born with half a heart. She was gifted with healing powers and could cure all sickness, mental or physical, but she could not cure the pain caused by missing half of her heart. The witch spent all her life searching for the other half. When she got to the top of the highest mountain in the North, it was winter, she was freezing to death and alone, so she cried and cried and her tears formed a lake, drowning her in it. Folks call it The Lake of Tears and it’s said to be the cure for all sickness and can reverse all curses and spells.”

“But it cannot bring a dead person back to life,” Y/N added.

Lance’s face was screwed up as he eyed Jo with speculation. “You expect us to believe that there’s a lake on the North mountain — the coldest part of Isolde — that’s not frozen and has magical powers?”

“Are you calling our ancestors liars?”

“You said it was folklore, so yes.”

“How dare you—”

“Enough!” Y/N snapped and four eyes turned to her. She sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry, Jo. But I’m with Lance in this. Even Mary, who was a witch, doesn’t fully believe that the lake exists, so why should we?”

“Mary does believe in it,” Jo said quickly. “She told me she and her sister had tried to find the lake but they could not bear the cold and always gave up halfway. I think such powers may exist.”

“It’s dangerous to climb that mountain in winter,” Lance said, his voice rough, and Y/N thought he’d frightened Jo a bit. Y/N knew Lance. He was just worried for her.

“It is,” she said and their eyes locked. “But you shouldn’t unbelieve in something just because it frightens you.”

Lance wanted to rebut, yet he could not figure out what to say. His mouth opened then shut and he averted his eyes, leaning forward with elbows on his knees and hands clasped together. Jo seemed relieved that Lance had given in. She sat up straight. “Y/N?”

Y/N pursed her lips, thinking for another second. “Bring me breakfast,” she said. “I’ll eat and we’ll talk more about it.”

“Yes!”

“Y/N—”

“It might be our only hope, Lance,” she cut him off as Jo skipped toward the door and left as fast as she’d arrived.

The silence sank in as Y/N stood up, arms wrapped around herself. Lance stayed seated on her bed, watching her with a look of concern.

“I was right about Harry being alive,” she said. “So I might be right to believe in this, too.”

Lance exhaled sharply. “I just don’t want you to get your hopes up and get disappointed and eventually hurt. I know you love him,” there was something painful in the way he said it, “but what if...what if he cannot come back? What if the person who loved you was gone forever? What then?”

Those were the questions that had been haunting her since the moment she saw the look in Harry’s eyes when he looked at her — the look you’d give a stranger you never intended to see again. There was not a single sign of ‘do I know you?’ or 'have we met before?' Just ‘who are you?’.

“But when I talked to him,” she began, almost like she was thinking out loud, “I felt like the old Harry was there. He might still feel something for me but his feelings are buried deep inside. I think given time I can get him back.”

Lance said nothing at all. You knew Lance had given up on you when he didn’t try to win an argument.

“I’ll leave you to rest,” he said and rose to his feet.

Just as he was about to head for the door, Y/N jumped into his way and held out her hands. He flinched, just as surprised as she was.

“S-Stay,” she uttered. “Just...just stay here with me until Jo returns. Please? I don’t want to be alone with my own thoughts.”

He took some time to consider her. “Have those nightmares been keeping you up?” It didn’t sound like a question; he just knew.

She nodded. “The same one every night…” in which you and Harry were dying and I could only save one. I tried saving both and then had to watch both of you die…

Her gaze fell to the floor. She saw his feet shifting closer until his arms closed around her, pulling her into him. As he kissed the top of her head and gently stroked her hair, she set aside the guilt and allowed herself to enjoy the comfort of his embrace.

“I missed you, Y/N,” he whispered.

“So did I,” she admitted, bringing her hands to rest on his back. “Are we still friends?”

He chuckled. “Only behind closed doors. I can’t always look soft; it’s bad for my public image.”

Y/N snorted and buried her face into his chest. He still smelled like forest and winter, the things that used to frighten her. But at this moment, with him, she felt safe.

“What are we doing here?”

“Am I in trouble?”

“Does this have anything to do with getting my memory back? Who are you, by the way?”

Jo swept her eyes across each face and as she stopped at Harry, her face twisted into a scowl. “You’re more annoying than I remember,” she said. “Anyway, we’re here because I need your help.”

Kenny hugged the sleeping child to her chest, the corners of her mouth lowered as she considered their surroundings. “To clean...the library?”

Jo took a look around at the dusty shelves and let out a sigh. This place did need a lot of cleaning. It seemed as if nobody in this castle knew how to read.

“As you can see,” Kenny said, lifting her baby, “my hands are tied.”

“So are mine,” Harry said. “Literally.” Then lifted his tied hands.

Jo rolled her eyes. “Someone untie him.” The blonde standing beside Harry shifted and Jo forestalled her, “No, not you. This one bites.”

The young maid shied back instantly, and when her eyes met Harry’s and he gave her a lopsided grin, it heightened the colour in her cheeks. Jo cleared her throat and shot Harry a warning glare before she gestured for Stefan to untie Harry.

“We’re going to do some light reading today," she said. "Are there any of you who cannot read?”

Harry raised his hand.

“Why am I not surprised?” Jo grumbled.

“Harry, you can read!” Kenny cried.

Harry put his hand down and smirked. “Sorry, I was just testing my hand. Those ropes were way too tight for my blood circulation.”

Jo pinned him with a glare. “I liked you better when you were dead.”

“Wow...Did I steal your money or your grandma’s jewellery?” he chuckled. “Because if I did, I’m sorry.”

Jo almost said, ‘You stole the girl I love and you're going to hurt her,’ but instead she just ignored his remark and went on, “We’re going to do some research for the Queen. I’ll explain to you later but I need your help because there’s little time and a lot of books. Kenny, you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

“No, I love reading.”

“Great. Oh, this is Natasha. She’s the new maid and she’ll also be joining us.”

“This is my first task ever, and I’m excit—”

“Thank you, Nat,” Jo cut her off, annoyed by how Harry and the new girl kept exchanging questionable glances. “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“If you don’t want to read, you can return to your cell.”

“No. I love to read,” he said, but then his eyes quickly found Natasha again. Jo could tell the girl was enjoying the attention more than she should. Jo should be glad that Harry wasn’t going to get his memory back, but what she was feeling was the opposite; she didn’t want Y/N to get hurt.

“Will the King and Queen be joining us?” Harry asked.

“No. They’ve got more important things to do.”

“Because of the protests?”

“We’re not discussing politics here,” Jo said quickly. Harry’s sudden interest in the protests reminded her that he could not be trusted. She flicked her two fingers for the four of them to follow, and as they walked deeper into the candlelit library, Harry and Natasha were already laughing at the back of the line. Jo clenched her fists and her jaw, feeling thankful that Y/N wasn’t here.

Harry didn’t know what he was doing.

He flipped open the front cover of the third book and was met with the musty scent of burnt amber. They were supposed to read everything about the North mountain and folklore about a witch, her desperate search for the other half of her heart, and a lake made of tears that might or might not exist.

Jo had said that the Queen was looking for the lake, but she hadn’t mentioned what for. It was none of Harry's business anyway; he just wanted to finish this pile of books so he could get some sleep.

He’d been reading for two hours straight and his mind kept wandering to different places and he’d almost nodded off a couple of times. He rested his head on his knuckles and flipped another page, fighting the drowsiness that was taking over him. Suddenly, he felt something soft rubbing against his ankle and looked up to find the new maid grinning at him. He raised an eyebrow, his mouth curled when her foot nudged him under the table again.

Beside Natasha, Kenny was resting her head on Stefan’s shoulder and rocking their baby as Stefan read. Harry was trying his best not to wince. As if staying up so late to read stories weren’t boring enough, he had to do it with the girl he still loved and her husband, too.

He took a deep breath and decided to ignore the happy family as he picked up his book and moved to sit next to Natasha. Jo looked at him with an unpleasant expression which he also ignored. This whole night had been exhausting so he might as well have some fun on his own.

“Do you know why we’re doing this?” he asked Natasha in hushed tones, leaning in so close that their shoulders were touching. He could see her face turning red and suddenly thought of the Queen, not knowing why.

Natasha was quite the opposite of the Queen, who was undoubtedly beautiful but the sullen look on her face made her appear much older than nineteen. Natasha, on the other hand, looked young and playful and full of wonder, and she was pretty, too.

She told him she didn’t know more than he did, if not less, and that she could not wait for this to be over. “I thought my first task as the Queen’s maid would be more interesting,” she whispered to him. When her lips brushed his ear, he assumed it was on purpose. Not that he minded.

“Like what?” he asked, intentionally touching her arm with his knuckles.

“I thought I’d get to meet the Queen and braid her hair,” said Natasha. “I heard that she was the most beautiful girl in the land.”

Strange. Harry believed he’d heard this before. “She is,” he said. “I’ve met her.”

Natasha’s face brightened. “Really? What is she like?”

He tapped his chin with a finger, pouting as he glanced heavenward. “Very...queeny.”

His answer made Natasha giggle, and Jo immediately shushed them. Harry locked his lips with an invisible key and tossed it over his shoulder as Natasha tittered into her palm. Jo closed the book, hard, sending dust flying as she stood. She was just about to scold Harry when the door swung open and another maid rushed in. “Jo, the Queen was looking for you.”

“What for?”

The other maid shrugged. “She couldn’t find her dagger.”

A dagger? Harry flinched. Why does the Queen–

“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” Jo sighed as she put down the book. Before she left, she stabbed a finger at him. “Do not leave the room, Harry.” Then she and the other maid disappeared out of the door without an explanation.

Harry released a long sigh that got three sets of eyes turning to him. He waved for Kenny and Stefan to ignore him, and as the pair turned away, he whispered to Natasha, “Can you wake me up when she returns?”

He had no idea why he was so tired. Normally he wouldn’t fall asleep so easily at night, but right now his eyelids felt so heavy he couldn’t keep them open any longer.

“Sure,” Natasha said and playfully jutted out one shoulder. “You can rest your head here. I don’t mind.”

And he did. As soon as he closed his eyes, the smell of old books and her unfamiliar fragrance lulled him to sleep.

When Harry opened his eyes, he was standing in the castle corridor – the same one he’d been to in his dream the other night. There was no ceiling. Above him was a sky full of stars and the pale moonlight left long stripes of shadows on the floor. He tried a door on his right. It was locked. So was the next one. And the one next to it. All the doors in this hallway were locked. He called out, “Hello!” But all he heard was echoes of his own voice.

Nails dug into his palms, he wandered ahead. He kept on walking and walking and walking until the endless blackness began to clear like smoke. At the end of the corridor, he saw a crooked door. There was water leaking out from under it, drenching his bare feet. The water rose up to his knees, and the next thing he knew, he was swimming toward the door in desperation. He banged his fists against it and the door burst open. Water poured out, sending him rolling across the grass.

He pushed up onto his hands and knees to find that his clothes were dry again. And when he looked around, there was no door. He was standing on a hill. The air was cold. The sky was pink. There were still patches of snow here and there. He thought the scenes looked quite familiar, but he could not remember where he’d seen this before.

Suddenly, a hand grasped his wrist and he whipped around. The world rushed back in, and he saw Natasha staring at him with wide eyes.

He’d returned to the corridor, the real one. There were torches along the walls and Natasha’s skin felt hot against his cold skin.

“Where are you going?” Natasha asked and tugged at his arm. “And why are you so cold? Are you all right?”

“W-What happened?” he asked, still shivering.

“What happened? You suddenly stood up and left the room and I chased after you.” What? But the last thing he remembered was him falling asleep in the library. Did it mean he’d been sleepwalking? Since when did he sleepwalk? “You’re lucky all the guards had left their posts otherwise we’d be in big trouble.”

Harry blinked. “Why did they leave their posts?”

“A prisoner broke out of his cell,” Natasha said. “He snuck into the Queen’s chamber and took her dagger. It was the same man they’d captured from the attack. Have you heard of what happened at the border? The Queen nearly died. She was so brave. And the King–”

“Is she all right?” Harry cut her off. “Did the prisoner—”

“She’s all right,” Natasha replied, squinting her eyes, probably wondering why he was so concerned about the Queen. Harry didn’t know the reason, either. “When I crossed the few guards at the west wing, I heard them say that they’d caught the man then he killed himself in the throne room. It was insane! But it couldn’t have been worse than the massacre last year. Have you heard of it?”

Harry worked his jaw for a response, not knowing what to think let alone say. But Natasha didn’t seem to want his opinion.

“I’m sorry I frightened you,” she said, her voice softened at once. “Where are you going?”

“I-I thought I heard something.”

“Oh.”

As her gaze lingered on his lips and her fingers clutched his, Harry knew what she was going to do. And yet, he was shocked when she tiptoed and pressed her lips to his, kissing him softly and then with more passion. Why was a maid kissing him? Had everything he’d thought he’d known about the ladies in court been wrong? It didn’t matter anymore. Because when she pulled back, her moist lips parted and her cheeks flushed, staring into his eyes, all he wanted was for her to do it again. He’d been locked up and tortured by Calanthe for almost a year, and for the last couple of days, lonely, heartbroken and disoriented, not knowing who he was and whom to rely on. He didn't need more reasons to want someone.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the first moment I saw you,” Natasha confessed.

Harry stared at her, then muttered, “Fuck this,” and drew her in by her waist. They couldn’t hang him for kissing a girl, right?

Stumbling through the nearest unlocked door they could find, he kissed her against it before she pushed him back until he tumbled into a chair, and she got onto his lap, straddling him. Just as she reached for his belt, the door flew open and their heads shot to it. Harry’s blood ran cold when the light washed over him.

“You don’t have to check on me every two sec—” Y/N’s mouth froze midsentence. She stood rigid in the doorway, gaping at Harry and Natasha, who leapt out of the chair and away from each other. Natasha frantically fixed her hair while Harry adjusted his clothes.

“Please tell me you didn’t do it on my bed,” Lance groaned. It was only then that Harry realized they were standing in the King’s chamber. With all the guards missing, they couldn’t tell which were the rooms they were not allowed to enter.

“Who are you?” Y/N snarled at Natasha. Harry supposed she must be very angry right now. He didn’t know about the rules in court, but there must be one that forbade kissing in the King’s bed-chamber.

“My-my name is...Natasha...Your Majesty.” Natasha hung her head as she curtsied clumsily. “I-I’m your new maid.”

Lance eyed the girl up and down, his face as cold as ice. “Get your things. You're leaving in the morning.”

“Your Majesty, please!” Natasha cried.

Harry didn’t think when he stepped forward and blurted, “It was my idea. Please...don’t dismiss her from court. She admires the Queen and she really wants to serve her.”

For the first time since Harry had met Y/N, he finally got to see the resentment in her eyes as she looked at him. She hadn’t even looked at him like that after he’d tried to kill her. Her bottom lip quivered and her face was red. Lance seemed as cool as ever, but something shifted in his expression as if he was counting down the seconds until the Queen burst into flame. Harry thought she might, but then she said, quietly, “Get out. Both of you.”

Harry was stiff whilst Natasha wasted no time to bolt as she was afraid they’d have her head on a plate if she stayed for too long. That was when Harry saw it. The Queen’s torn sleeve and the bandage around her right arm, dark red blood spreading through it. The prisoner had probably given it to her. Something told Harry it wasn’t the physical pain that he saw in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. The words felt useless, sucked dry by the cold air as soon as they left his lips.

He bowed to the King and Queen and was just about to leave when Y/N stopped him. “We’ve arranged a room for you,” she said. There was no more warmth in her gaze. “You can stay there tonight instead of in the dungeon. There’ll be guards outside your door. Don’t cause any trouble and they’ll keep you safe.” Her stone-cold expression wavered him, and he wasn’t sure if he should thank her or apologise again. “When everything’s gone back to normal here in the North,” she added, “you’ll be free to leave.”

With that, she waved him out of the door. He walked backwards until he was in the corridor and the King shut the door in his face. For a reason he could not explain, he felt a new sensation throbbing in his chest.

Harry lay awake in his new bed until early hours, and when he finally fell asleep, he dreamed again. He’d returned to the corridor and nearly drowned this time before he made it through the door and stood high and dry on the same hill.

There was no Natasha to wake him up, so he followed a pink butterfly, chasing it down the hill until he reached a cliff. The icy wind suddenly changed direction and sailed over him, cooling his face and limbs. He started walking toward the cliff. His footsteps felt so light as if the wind was carrying him. A girl was standing with her back to him, her long white dress billowing, her hair floating in the air.

“Peach?” the word slipped out of his lips.

The girl turned around. Another wind churned up, fierce and mean. Y/N was only wearing her nightgown. Was she not cold? He hurried forward, reaching out his hand to grab her and pull her back before she lost her balance on the edge. But no matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t reach her.

“Peach! Stay right there! Do not move! I'm coming!” he heard himself calling.

“Harry, I’m cold,” she said softly, and somehow he could hear her from that long a distance.

“I’m coming for you!” His voice was broken, growing more desperate, fading into the howling of the wind. The pink sky had grown dark and the trees were rattling. Heavy snow and dry leaves whirled all around him, making it hard for him to locate her. He shielded his eyes with one arm and tried to walk against the wind.

“Harry, don’t come near me.”

“Peach, let me help you. I’ll keep you safe.”

“No,” she whispered. “You’ll only kill me.”

“Peach!” Harry screamed and jumped forward as Y/N spread her arms like a butterfly and let gravity pull her under. When his body hit the ground, it wasn’t grass, soil, or snow; it was a stone floor. He wasn't hurt, yet he was freezing. He put his arms around himself, shuddering as he rose to his knees then to his feet.

Moonlight allowed him to observe his surroundings. He was in the King’s bed-chamber once again. He and the Queen. She stood by the window, the moon illuminating a side of her face. She was wearing a broken smile.

“Peach, you’re safe,” he heard himself say.

Y/N didn’t speak.

And that was when he saw the knife-hilt on the left side of her chest. Blood was pouring out of the wound, and still, she was smiling. His ears began to ring as if a memory wanted to push to the surface.

Then his eyes peeled open and he jolted upright, gasping for air, wild eyes searching for the Queen, but he was alone and the glow of the fire reassured him that he wasn’t dreaming anymore. There was no time for rational thoughts. He jumped out of bed, still shaking from the cold even though the windows were shut and the fire hadn’t died out. He shoved his feet into his boots and staggered toward the door.

“You were right,” Y/N said, hugging her knees to her chest and rubbing her eyes as the smoke from the fireplace made them water.

Lance was sitting beside her, one leg stretched, the other bent. He was sharpening his knife and had been doing it for so long that it might just be sharp enough to cut metal. She assumed he was just doing it to keep himself awake; he wouldn’t fall asleep before her.

“About what?” he asked, the sound of metal sliding against metal stopped, and silence ensued.

She released a breath she’d been holding. “Harry.” It was hard to say his name now; she’d just remember what she’d seen earlier right in this room. “I don’t think he’ll ever come back. I think...even if we’ve found the lake and stopped the potion from killing him, he might not remember me.”

Lance hmmed and then said, “So are we still looking for the lake?”

She tore her eyes from the flame to meet his. “I don’t want him to die. I still want him to be cured, even if it means he’ll leave me then.”

Lance rubbed his hands over his face and pushed back his messy black hair. “Fuck,” he muttered, making her giggle.

“I know what you’re thinking," she said, then faked his deep voice, “This girl is so stupid, risking her life for someone who wouldn’t do the same for her.”

But Lance didn’t laugh. “No,” he whispered. “I would have done the same for Daliah.”

Things he wanted to say, but couldn’t, stirred behind his eyes, and her heart clattered. “Lance–”

A few urgent knocks sounded on the door, cutting her off. Y/N braced herself for more bad news as she picked up the shawl resting on the foot of her bed, wrapped it around herself. Lance trailed after her, already lifting his blade.

She pulled the door open and her eyes went round. “Harry?”

Harry’s shoulders sagged in relief the second he saw her. “You’re alive,” he panted, which only made her more confused.

Lance rolled his eyes. He told her that he’d wait and went back inside so she and Harry could talk. One of the two guards finally released Harry’s arm and said, “We’re so sorry to disturb you, Your Majesty. But he threatened to cut his own wrist if we didn’t take him to see you.”

Y/N flinched. “Was he carrying a weapon?”

The guards exchanged looks.

"Did you even check him?"

They shook their heads hesitantly.

Harry scoffed, “You really should find new guards. Sorry, gentlemen.”

One of the guards growled. Y/N narrowed her eyes at Harry and his mouth snapped shut. Then she asked the guards to let her speak to him alone.

“Let me guess,” she sighed, folding her arms over her chest. “You saw a rat in your room and you want to switch to a larger room? This isn’t an inn.”

“No, no, no,” he said quickly, “I just…” and sighed, “I just wanted to check on you.”

“Why?”

He worked his jaw, yet words didn’t come out. Something was wrong and he didn’t trust her enough to tell her. Why was he here then? Had he not messed with her head enough?

“H-How’s your arm?” he asked. She squinted her eyes. “I saw...um...I saw that you were hurt...earlier. You were bleeding.”

“Oh.” She swallowed dryly. “I’m fine. Thank you. Is that all?”

“Yes.”

“Next time wait until morning to talk to me if it’s not something important.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she said and waved for the guards, but Harry quickly stopped her, “Actually!”

Her hand froze in the air, and she signalled for the guards to give her another moment. “Yes?”

Harry scratched the back of his head. “I also...I also want to apologise for earlier. I don’t know the rules here but I suppose I’ve broken plenty.”

She took some time to look at him, his face a sharp contrast of light and dark shadows. He was heartbreakingly handsome and...familiar. The strain in the air between them softened at last, even if only just a little.

“Well, you’ve been through a lot and...I guess you need time to get used to life in court,” she said, her heart stuttering in her chest. “Don’t worry. I will keep my promise and send you back home as soon as it’s safe to travel again.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said and smiled when she didn’t. “Should I still call you Peach? Or is it too weird now?”

Y/N felt a sinking weight in her chest and she didn’t ignore it this time. How many times had he fooled her into believing he still cared about her? How many times had he proven that she’d been wrong? She’d been chasing shadows within these walls. It was time to accept that they were nothing but illusions of the man he used to be, the man she’d lost.

“You should call me Your Majesty,” she said. “You’re right. It feels weird considering the situation we’re in.”

“Oh.” His gaze slipped from her and fell to the floor. Silence sank over them. The corridor felt too quiet.

“Goodnight,” she said.

“Goodnight,” he said. “Your Majesty.”

She waved for the guards and stepped back into her chamber. His shadow wavered underneath her door for another moment, and then vanished.

#harry styles #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles series #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #princess!y/n #queen!y/n #tctm series

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feverinfeveroutfic · 3 years

Text

chapter twenty eight: date night with mr. skolnick

*slight smut warning - it’s not as in your face as last time but still rather present*

The whole circus had reached the spine of North Carolina when Sam found herself caught up between those two men. Her love affairs plus her new venture into the art world for real at that point felt like something straight out of one of her dreams at that point. Had she been on tour with Stormtroopers of Death at that point, she would have found her way out of there whenever she could given the absolute squalor of their rooms, even with how hospitable Scott, Charlie, Dan, and Billy all were towards her and Marla. But there was something more about that tour with Testament, and the meeting with Scarlett there in Poughkeepsie. It was as if everything played out just the way in which she had always imagined before, even with all of the struggles she had had before: to think that she had almost nothing there at the house in Elsinore.

All the lush greenery around them and all Sam could think about was the next time in which Joey would join them there. Anthrax weren't too far away from them anyway, there in the van behind them. In between stops, she took a ride with either of them or with Testament, and each time she rode with the latter, she nestled up close to Alex there in the back. Given Eric and Greg were on either side of them, they never touched each other on the way there.

He always took her by the hand when the four of them weren't looking and he guided her off of the back there. The summer sun always shone down on the crown of his head so it resembled to a shiny helmet and she was his passenger.

At that point, when they reached North Carolina, and everything was fresh and green following a steady midsummer rain, Sam thought of herself and him as akin to a couple of thieves in the night. He always took her to the safe spot in his hotel room and she in turn always stayed with him.

Even if they never went any further than an afternoon together, they kept their chemistry a secret. As far as Chuck, Tiffany, Eric, Greg, and Louie knew, they were just best friends at that point: Alex was her best guy friend especially whenever Joey wasn't around for her. Every so often, she watched Anthrax go into their hotel rooms in the floor down below them and never come out of there unless it was for something important. As far as Sam knew, they retreated into their rooms whenever they weren't playing at the gig in question.

In the meantime, Sam noticed that Belinda had been tagging along quite often at that point. She spotted her short hairdo of blonde hair alongside Eric in particular. She wondered what was going on there from time to time, especially whenever she and Alex reclined back on their hotel bed together with the television on and a drawing pad upon her lap.

He nestled closer to her and watched her draw something: that point in North Carolina, he had developed a habit of handing her a pencil or one of her ink pens. To think it wasn't that long ago in which she was so reticent to share her art with him, and yet there he was right next to her every step of the way.

That Medusa drawing haunted her each and every time she opened her journal because she knew that Scarlett wanted to take it back to New York City with her, but she would have to take it back there at some point, if not during that tour then after the fact. It would be some time before they did make their way back to the Big Apple, and thus she felt herself haunted each and every time.

“One of these days, we have to get you some palettes,” Alex said once they settled into their room.

“Palettes—like paint palettes?” she asked him.

“Yeah. So you don't have to rely on your journal as much in the meantime, you know?” He paused for a moment; she turned from her purse there on the nightstand and watched him tie his long black curls up into a taut ponytail at the back of his head. She eyed the hem of his shirt, which lifted up a bit and showed off his belt and a small sliver of his stomach. Even though he was facing the other way, she knew that that vampire bite was still there next to his belly button.

She looked on at the seat of his jeans.

“You staring at my ass?” he scolded her even though he never turned away from the mirror.

“Maybe. You stare at my chest all the time.”

“Hey, I can't help it if you wear those little low cut blouses ad infinitum,” he teased her as he finally turned and showed her a devilish smirk. His hair tied back only made his face seem rounder and more boyish.

“Cute!” she remarked.

“Cute? Who, me?”

“Yes, you. You look really cute.”

He tugged down on the bottom hem of his shirt and Sam only grinned at him more.

“You know, there's a—I think there was an art place down the block here,” he recalled. “Like I remember seeing it right before we pulled in here.”

“Okay—just—let me change my shirt, baby doll,” she told him, and he ran his lanky fingers through his bangs. She fetched one of her low cut blouses out from her travel bag and she stepped into the bathroom.

Tour life had given her a bit of extra weight in the meantime, but it never seemed to faze Alex in particular: all the lovely food along the way and yet she never felt more at peace with herself. If anything, Greg and Chuck began looking at her more often, at those old curves which returned from the winter before Cliff was killed. Indeed, as she changed into that blouse and made sure the top buttons were a bit loose, she thought of Cliff all the while. She adjusted her ponytail afterwards, right there atop the crown of her head.

That blouse with her shorts. It was hot there right outside of Raleigh, and she was going with Alex to a place that meant everything to her.

She emerged from the bathroom and she saw him there seated by the table at the wall with his legs parted a bit: it didn't help matters that he wore some bike shorts that showed off most of his long shapely legs, and he had changed into a black silk shirt with three of the buttons undone. He propped up the side of his head in the palm of his hand and kept his eyes hooded a bit. For a moment, he almost resembled to a model.

“You know—I have to confess to you,” he started in a low voice.

“What's that?”

“I love it when you call me names like that.”

“Like 'baby doll' and whatnot?”

“Yeah, 'cause it—makes me feel all soft and silken within.”

“Aw.”

He stood before her and she picked up her purse.

“We look like a couple of punks,” he noted with a nod of his head.

“We are a couple of punks,” she told him.

“No, I mean like—my wearing my hair up in a ponytail, and you and I both wearing all black despite the heat outside. We both look like a couple of punk kids.”

“We're wearing all black but at least we both got it,” she pointed out as she eyed his chest.

“Yeah, you do, especially.” He flashed her a wink, and then he put on his sunglasses and held the door for her.

Not so much the heat because it wasn't very hot out, but the humidity of everything brought a warmth to the both of them. A cool breeze grazed over their heads and the palm trees protected them both from feeling too warm all the while. Before they reached the parking lot, she felt something brush against her hand: Sam looked down and found his fingers in between her own.

“Don't,” she encouraged him as she swatted his hand away.

“Oh, yeah, that's right! We're not a couple. But you know, we could do what we did while in Germany together.”

“Pretend to be a couple so we get discounts on stuff?” She showed him a little grin.

“Exactly!”

“We're just going into an art store, though, Alex—it's not like they're selling alcohol in here.”

“They should, though,” he joked, but she never laughed at that.

Alex once again held the door for her and she was met with a gust of cool air from the air conditioner vent at the front there. She was also met with that smell of fresh paints and brand new art supplies; she took off her sunglasses and glanced about the cramped but brightly lit front room there. He moseyed up next to her as she made her way to one aisle, one with all manner of pens and things for doing ink work, including bottles of India ink. As she kept her eye on those jars, Alex loomed right next to her with his legs spread apart as if he was Superman.

She reached down and gave the seat of his shorts a gentle little squeeze.

“What the—” He lunged forward, and then his eyes twinkled back at her.

“I was just getting it out of system, Alex,” she pointed out. “Like squeezing an avocado.”

“Well, if you slap my ass like you did last time, you oughta kick back a couple of them girlish cocktails in the meantime,” he said in a single breath.

“Oh, hush,” Sam finally hissed at him.

“What? It's not like anyone else is in here with us.”

“There is,” she assured him.

“Not if I give you a little taste of my nuts in the meantime,” he blurted out.

“One more peep out of you, and I'm gonna kick you right in the nuts,” she scolded him.

“Not if I get you right in the coochie first,” he retorted in a low voice.

“Alex!” She peered over her shoulder: no one else there in that aisle with them. She spotted a series of already stretched canvases on the wall at the very end there; she scurried over there as Alex picked up a little set of double ended markers.

Sam picked out a small pack of ten black canvases the size of the courier bag he made for her. If nothing, she could do what she did for Anthrax and make paintings while on tour there for Testament. She could already envision them as she held them close to her chest as if the whole thing was a textbook.

“Damn!” he declared right behind her, and she turned around for a look at him.

“What?”

“I never realized how nice of legs you've got, Samantha,” he said in a low voice, and she rolled her eyes at that.

“What? You have very nice legs. Very shapely and smooth. Nice milky white skin to go with your dark hair and dark eyes. Something spooky beautiful about that.”

Nothing could deny the twinkle in his eye, however.

“Besides, you were rubbing my butt back there,” he persisted.

“I was squeezing your butt,” she corrected him. “Squeezing your butt like it's a ripe avocado.”

“Squeezing, rubbing—it's all right on my butt.”

“I'll spank your butt while I'm at it,” she retorted.

“Spank me when I'm misbehavin', Mama?” he teased her.

“Keep at it, you'll be misbehaving,” she hit back at him, and he snorted at that. She kept on walking to the next aisle over, one that held all manner of supplies for glass making and ceramics. She spotted a heavy canvas tool belt on the shelf and all she could think about was the time Belinda showed her and Marla some glass cutting. She hoped that Belinda and Eric were having a good time themselves back in their room. Alex strolled on up next to her and peeked over her shoulder.

“What is that?” he asked in a low voice into her ear.

“Tool belt,” she promptly replied as she caressed her right hand over the thick heavy fabric. “Bel has one of these back home—I think I've seen her use it all of once, though. I would think that you hold all your glass making tools here. The cutter goes here.”

“Right there?”

“Yeah, see?” She ran her finger over the hole in the canvas pocket near the buckle. “There's a slit.”

“You see through the slit?” he asked her in a small voice.

“You see through a slit, Alex,” she pointed out.

“I'm gonna see right through your slit later on,” he retorted back to her, and she couldn't help but laugh at that. He ran his tongue along his bottom lip like the devil's tongue.

“Nice li'l Gene Simmons impression there,” she teased him as she put the belt back on the shelf.

“I'm missing the make up, though. I've got the hair and the chest showing up, too.”

“Need some hair on your chest, little man,” she said in a singsong voice.

“Little man, ha! You've seen me. I ain't little.”

“My tits and your nuts?” she teased him.

“Nah, I'll take your tits and just put my face down in 'em and motorboat like this.” And he shook his head about.

“Hey, now, you do that, you'll get some milk,” she said.

“Some milk to go with the ginger snaps,” he concluded as he tapped his chin.

“Good boys get cookies and milk,” she told him with a raise of her eyebrows.

“Ginger snaps and your tits? This really is the good life.” He then handed her the set of doubled ended markers. “These can help you, too,” he told her.

“Aw, thank you!”

“And call me an anal Jew for this, too, but the other reason why I picked these out was 'cause they're cheap.”

“Nah, I ain't calling you 'anal',” she assured him, “just good with your money.”

He froze.

“What?”

“For a second, I thought you were gonna make a joke with that.”

“It's just your mind, baby,” she whispered to him, “it's too dirty.”

“Dirty and anal,” he said.

“Anal like your dad?” she joked, and he just about gagged on his own oxygen at that. Sam wheeled around and she headed back up front to the cashier. As she checked out right there, Alex took out that little hair tie and his black curls sprawled over his shoulders. He stood underneath the air conditioner vent and closed his eyes and relished in the feeling on his face. Sam paid more attention to the cashier in the meantime who rang her up but kept one eye on Alex for a bit.

“What?” Sam asked her.

“He's a beautiful boy,” she said to her in a low voice: she set one hand on the top of the register as she awaited the receipt to come on out of the slit.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that,” Sam replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Babe—he's gorgeous. Take care of that boy. Protect him.”

The paper slid out of there and the cashier handed it as well as a bit of spare change to her.

“Thank you,” Sam told her with a smile. Since she and Alex were the only ones in there that day, she took her time in putting her change away there into her purse. The cashier stepped away and Alex strode over to her once he fixed his ponytail.

“Come on, come on,” he playfully encouraged her.

“I'm trying! I'm trying!” She closed her wallet and tucked it right next to a pad and that old photograph of Frank and Charlie as children. This whole entire time, even after Alex had given her the courier bag and she moved everything into that, she still kept that photograph in there with her.

“Chuck and Tiff are outside right now,” he elaborated, “—and I don't want them to get the wrong idea.”

“The wrong idea about what?” she chuckled.

“About you and me.”

She closed her purse, and then she reached down and slapped him right on the seat of his pants. He then jolted forward with both hands there.

“Yeah, right, I'm the horny bastard,” he chided.

“You're a bad boy—you need a spanking,” she teased right into his ear.

“Yeah, I'm the horny bastard!” he repeated.

She sauntered out of there first and he followed suit right behind her.

“I want a ginger snap,” he said to her.

“You'll get yours,” she assured him as they walked together towards the corner, where Chuck and Tiffany were in fact waiting for them with little brown paper bags in their hands.

“I just want a ginger snap,” Alex griped to her once they came within earshot of the two of them.

“Quit your bellyachin',” she teased him, and Alex put a hand on his stomach.

“Yeah, me, too,” Chuck joined in as he put his hand on his as well.

“You'll get your cookies, big boy,” Sam teased Alex once more.

“Cookies and milk?” he whispered into her ear and she cackled at that, and then she playfully slapped him. Tiffany chuckled at the both of them.

“You guys are funny,” she said, “and yes, there's a bakery right over here, too!” “Is it nice and cool in there?” Sam asked her.

“Quite cool in there!” Chuck replied. “They've got more than just the baked goods in there, too—we got a couple of sandwiches. Have at it, kids.”

“You mean 'sammiches',” Sam corrected him, and that got a laugh out of both of them. She then led Alex over to the place next door, and there in the window, Sam could see all the ginger snaps Alex could ever ask for and then some.

“I'm a bad boy, I need a spanking,” he said to her in a flat tone of voice.

“You're a good boy, you need your medicine,” she retorted back to him as she held the door for him.

He was eager to make his way over to the ginger snaps in the window, and no sooner had Sam picked out a couple of sugar cookies for herself as well as him and Belinda when he took a bite of one.

“Alex!” she said in a hushed voice.

“It was a sample,” he told her with his mouth full.

“Oh, I see. Kinda worried me there for a second.”

“Nice and soft, too,” he added in a low voice, and he handed her the rest of it.

“Aw, thank you.” She took a small bite of it for herself: just the right amount of ginger inside of that warm silken dough, as it came right out of the oven. Alex then turned his head.

“Hey!” he called out. “Hey, Marla!”

“Where?” Sam asked him.

“Right over there!”

She followed his gesture to the green haired woman on the side of the room. Indeed, it was Marla, right before the shelves all with the fancy breads. She picked out a loaf and she turned towards them, and she nodded at them as Alex led Sam over to her.

“Hey, you two!” she greeted them, and complete with a hug for the both of them.

“I wasn't expecting to see you here,” Sam confessed.

“Bel told me you guys were gonna be down here this weekend,” she explained, and she took out a square from her front jeans pocket.

“What's up?” Alex asked her, slightly concerned.

“Aurora had her baby,” Marla announced, and she held up a Polaroid photograph to Sam. “Behold! Little Mr. Teddy.”

The picture beheld that of a small infant with slightly browned skin and those smooth Asian eyes. Sam kept her gaze on the shape of his head and his face. Even though he wasn't her child, there was a part of her that wanted to protect him from everything in the world. She felt Alex rest his chin upon her shoulder for a peek himself at the newborn there swaddled up in Aurora's arms.

“Let me just—let me just—can I?” he asked her as he peered right over her shoulder.

“That's him right there,” she told him in a soft voice. “Theodore Samuel.”

“Sam, as far as I know you could be godmother,” Marla explained.

“Don't go against the family,” Alex told her in a fake hoarse voice.

“Don't go against the family, yes!” Marla chuckled as Sam handed her the Polaroid, albeit with a soft feeling in her chest. He wasn't even her son but she felt something for that little boy as she got those cookies and she and Alex left the bakery for the hotel room once again.

Sam had set her things down on the table right against the wall when Alex walked right up to her and put his lips onto hers. The moment they both were waiting for that whole entire time. Like clockwork, he slid his hand up her back to her bra hooks, and all without his taking his gaze off of her. She took a glimpse down at her chest all the while, and she peered back up at him right as he looked at her breasts.

“Yeah, you like what you see here, don't ya?” she teased him.

“Let me just—let me just—I want—” His fingers struggled right there on her back.

“Aw, baby, here—let me help you.” She took off her top and then she reached behind her to unhook her bra for him. She exposed herself to him right there.

“Aw, yeah, here we go,” he teased her as she let it sprawl off of her chest and down her arms. She licked her lips and moved closer to his face for a hearty passionate kiss.

“Hey, now, if you kiss me, you've gotta do it when neither of them are lookin',” he told her, and she kissed him without a moment's hesitation. Sam kicked the door closed behind her: Chuck and Tiffany would have to come in later at a moment's notice. It was just her and Alex at that point. He reached up and untied his ponytail: those lush black curls sprawled over his shoulders like tentacles and the tuft of gray upon his head served as the crown jewel at that point.

“I'm kissing you so gently,” she breathed into his mouth, “because you could use some soft touch. All the love—all the kisses—” She put her lips to his and then she looked down at his slender body.

That cashier and the woman on the train back in Germany all had a point when they told her those things. She always brushed those comments off, but that time she genuinely felt the flame between herself and him as it burned brighter and hotter there. His body invited her closer inside to him; she breathed a bit harder with each and every kiss.

She was in love with his body. For a moment, she had forgotten all about Joey and now she was in love with Alex's body.

“Hold me,” he begged her in a hushed whisper. “Please hold me. Hold me and love me.”

“I'll love every sexy inch of your body,” she vowed.

He lay down on the bed before her, with his legs wide open for her and she climbed on top of him. She opened up his shirt and kissed his chest.

If Chuck and Tiffany walked in at any moment, she had to give it to him right then and there and then snuggle up to him, just to make it look as though they were napping together.

He lay there on his back with his hair fanned out from his head as she gave it to him right there with both hands.

They nestled up close to each other afterwards and she put her arms around him. She was sore again between the legs, but it felt a little better that time around.

“All the lovin',” he said in a broken voice.

“Sex isn't love, baby—and love isn't sex.”

“You think so?” He raised his eyebrows at her and looked up at her like a prince.

“Yeah. I mean, it makes sense.”

“You think it can turn into it?”

“Maybe,” she said. “Why? Oh, no, don't tell me you're feeling it.”

“I'm not, but I dunno, to be honest. It's pretty hot between us and it's also hard to say and I dunno how else to say it.” He nestled closer to her, right into her breasts as if they were his pillow.

“You're like such a baby,” she teased him.

“I feel like a baby laying here next to you,” he said, and she ran her hand over his hip.

“Come to mama, baby,” she whispered to him. “Come here—sweet baby. Oh, you're warm...”

“It's not the heat—it's the humidity,” he sputtered.

She kept her nose close to the crown of his head so she could smell the soft soap in the roots there. She thought of giving him some extra loving but the soft warmth of his body only made her feel warmer. Sam fell asleep with Alex cradled up in her arms, with his head tucked underneath her chin.

Where had this soft boy been this whole entire time for her. He just gave himself to her and was now like a handful of jelly for her once more.

She moved her head down a bit for a kiss on his forehead and she fell asleep with Alex in her arms.

She woke up to the feeling of something soft and slightly thick in her hand and she realized it was his stomach. She held onto him like she was holding a little teddy bear; she pulsated her fingers on his flesh as if to tickle him but he never stirred once for her. His body was so warm and comforting to her.

She ran her hand down his side and the gentle curvature of his hip, right onto the band of his pajama bottoms, which had slid down his hip a bit.

Such a beautiful body and she didn't want to let him go, either. Sam put her nose to the base of his head for a whiff of his hair.

He groaned in his throat at the feeling, and he stirred right in her arms.

“You are so soft,” she whispered into his ear.

“Soft all for you, big mama,” he whispered back to her. “Also, seeing as we're screwing each other when no one's looking, you might wanna do something about your—” He looked down at her body. “—you know.”

“Oh, that,” she said when she realized he was talking about her nether region. “I used my hands this time but still a good idea, though.”

“Just like that.”

He cuddled even closer to her and she stroked his hip.

“Mmm—baby,” she whispered to him. She lifted her head and she saw that the sun began to hang low over Raleigh. Chuck and Tiffany still hadn't come back yet.

“Are we still alone?” he asked her.

“Yeah, we are. Why? Do you need anything?”

“Getting kind of hungry.”

“There's that nice big buffet downstairs—and I think Anthrax might be giving it to us as courtesy, too.”

“Really?” He knitted his eyebrows together at that

“I dunno, that's what I've heard.”

He shrugged and then Sam let him go, and he rolled over onto his back right next to her. He had never taken off his shirt so when he rolled over he showed her his chest and his slender belly.

“Oh, man, you really look like a model right there, Alex,” she remarked.

“A model?” he chuckled.

“Yeah, earlier when you were sitting there and waiting for me, you genuinely resembled to a model. Just like the way you were sitting there made me think of that.”

“Something for men's cologne or some shit,” he joked as he put his hands behind his head.

“You're still undone, too.” Sam gestured to his shorts.

“Oh, shit—” He brought himself back together and then he looked over at her. “If I'm a model, you're a porn star with your knockers hangin' out like that.”

“Sam Shelley and Alex Skolnick make a porno,” she joked and he laughed at that, that big hearty laugh from deep within him, and then he stopped.

“Back up, I thought it was Sam Shelley and Chuck Billy make a porno,” he recalled.

“Sam Shelley can make more than one porno, y'know,” she teased him as she sat up from the bed, and he laughed again.

“Yeah, you're definitely a porn star now.”

She put her clothes back on and they both headed back outside: the heat had began to back off, but it was still warm enough to warrant Alex's hair tie once more. Sam meanwhile thought about a bucket of ice for their room and she walked on over to the ice machine behind a large column on the right side there.

He went ahead to the buffet line there behind her; as she filled up the bucket, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned her head and there was Joey to the right of her, in a yellow shirt and little white shorts.

“Hey!” she greeted him.

“Hi—” He followed it up with a kiss right on her lips. He then yanked her away to behind the next column towards a short little hallway, out of anyone's sight and out of Alex's sight in particular.

“What are you doing?” she demanded in a hushed voice.

Joey fell to his knees right before her. He clasped a hand to her own all the while as if he was proposing to her.

“Joey—” She was taken aback by his gesture.

“I want you to fuck me,” he begged her. “Fuck me right here and right now. Get on top of me and fuck me senseless.”

“Joey!” she hissed at him.

“Please—fuck me. I need it!”

She peered over her shoulder: Alex paid more attention to the buffet line and no one else seemed to pay any attention to that side of the room, either. A date night with Mr. Skolnick would be out of the question then as her boyfriend had returned to her with a vengeance.

“Fuck me right before we have dinner and a show,” he begged her as he showed her his tongue.

“No.” She pressed a finger to his lips.

“No.”

“No?”

“No. The answer is no, Joseph. You are not getting any of it from me.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” she teased him as she put her hands on the back of her head and gyrated her hips about for him. He showed her a playful little smirk.

“I want you so bad right now,” he confessed.

“Well, you ain't gonna get it,” she scoffed as she put her hands to her hips.

“Where did all of this come from?” he asked her.

“It came from hanging out with you boys all the time,” was all she could think of right then; it was sort of the truth. Doing that sex tape with Chuck had done something more to her as well, but she dared not tell Joey about any part of it whatsoever.

She turned her body towards him and she brought her face up to his, and parted her lips for him. He raised his dark eyebrows at her and those brown eyes only smoothed out from the look of it.

“A li'l quick one for the Indian prince,” she said in a soft voice, and she gave him a deep hearty kiss as a result of that. She slipped her tongue inside of his lips: even though she was sore in between her legs, she could still feel it. She could feel it for Joey that time around. Every so often, she let go of his mouth and breathed into him. No way she could fake this.

“You smell good,” he noted in between breaths.

“I try my best,” she whispered to him.

His fingers slithered up her shorts and onto that little part of skin at the back there. A part that Alex hadn't touched yet and yet Joey's touch sent the biggest of shivers up her spine, like a cold shower.

“Yeah, that's the spot, ain't it?” he teased her with that lopsided little grin.

“You boys are such bastards when you wanna be, but man, you get so soft when you wanna be, too,” she noted.

“We're crazier than you girlies are, y'know,” Joey retorted with a clearing of his throat. She reached down the front of his shorts for a feel at him and he let out a low whistle. Sam Shelley could in fact make more than one porno, and that third one she could make in public all for Joey.

Her fingers on him and his fingers on her. As long as neither of them screamed out at the feeling then they would be alright.

“Hey—Injun Joe—” Charlie called out from the other side of the room. Joey stopped and then he tilted his head back and groaned.

“God damn it!” He returned to her. “Have dinner with us?”

“Gladly!”

She slapped him right on the seat of his shorts, such that he yelped out at the feeling, and then he showed her a devilish grin.

“Get on out there and give 'em hell afterwards, big fella,” she teased him, and he led her back to Anthrax's table.

“Might haveta wash our hands, too,” he said over the noise in the room.

“Agreed.”

She turned her attention to Testament, all of whom clustered on the other side of the room already.

“And I see Mr. Skolnick is having a screaming orgasm right now,” she remarked as she walked past them, and Greg and Eric laughed out loud.

“Virgin screaming orgasm,” he corrected her, and with a wink. “You know—my twenty first being two months away and whatnot. This was courtesy of Belinda, too—it's a girly drink but I ain't turning it down, though.”

She hoped that none of this would in fact end. There was no way nothing could stand in her way at that point.

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dwellordream · 3 years

Note

Hey, I don't know if you are in the mood for such frippery, but would you do a director's cut on chapter 69? That is one of my most reread chapters of h/h, and not simply because Nell and Harry are arguing in church.

It’s been a long time since I did one, but I can try:

Nell starts off the chapter believing the Neck’s mystical reputation and location as the entry to the North is responsible for the return of her cryptic dreams.

She attempts to rationalize her old dreams of her mother and Sara Snow by telling herself it was just the subconscious manifestation of her insecurities and fears and guilt over her childhood, and also tries to dismiss the creeping sense that Robb and Grey Wind were linked from the very start, in a supernatural manner.

She also expresses worries and fears over the fact that Robb’s health has not improved during their travel north, and he and Grey Wind continue to avoid each other, whatever bond they had mangled. Meanwhile, Harry has confided in her his fears that they will start losing large numbers of men to desertion, as they enter the North and with the winter weather only worsening.

Nell acknowledges Harry’s more practical concerns but admits all she can focus on is getting Lysara back, and then goes into her latest nightmare. While pregnant she dreamed of a son leading her through a peaceful, sunny Riverrun. Now she’s left Riverrun, perhaps permanently, and dreams of an older Lysara leading her through the dungeons of the Dreadfort, the exact inversion of her old hopeful dreams.

Nell acknowledges that they are down in the crypts near her dead siblings, and is alarmed when Lysara runs ahead, leading her straight to a flayed figure. Nell initially believes the person is Bethany, then realizes in horror that it’s actually herself, comforting Lysara. Nell reacts furiously to her almost-dead self, commanding the figure to release Lysara; instead the flayed Nell begins to strangle her own child.

On the one hand, this dream expresses a very literal fear of her own father and brother; if captured by them her fate is likely to be gruesome. On the other hand, this dream also reflects Nell’s childhood dread of her home- the place she should have felt safe, but never did- and the lost potential of a home with Robb and Lysara, as well as guilt over losing her daughter and blaming herself for the possibility of Lysara’s death.

It also acknowledges that Nell would rather Lysara be dead than grow up abused and terrified of Roose and Ramsay, something she cannot admit in real life, that she would rather Lysara have a quick death than a lifetime of suffering.

Upon waking angrily, Nell rejects her Bolton heritage and the Dreadfort’s claim on her once again, thinking that her only pride was always in her mother’s legacy, not her father’s. She trues to convince herself Lysara must be alive and unharmed, but admits she never believed Roose would betray and murder Robb, either.

Nell reflects on the crannogmen’s isolated existence; like the mountain clans they prefer to marry amongst themselves, as their insular, hard lifestyle is very hard for most outsiders, even fellow northerners, to adjust to.

Arden Greengood shows up to inform them that his father Karl Greengood has notified Greywater Watch, who is coming to them, rather than them trying to find it. Now the army just has to wait, not exactly a comfortable experience in the middle of the swamps and marsh.

Arya feels suffocated because she doesn’t have any child companions since Harry sent him back south to Starfall, judging the travel north too dangerous for Edric and that his aunt Allyria must be worried sick about him. Nell is sympathetic but unwilling to let Arya wander, after having just reunited her with her mother.

Nell also knows that Oldtown is in danger from Euron’s fleet, but is privately relieved the Ironborn are not trying to attack the North again for the time being.

Arya expressed worry for the former household of Winterfell, and wants to rescue whoever is still alive, remembering them all by name, to Nell’s surprise. There also seems to be a massive wolf pack following the army north, though Nell doesn’t connect them to Arya.

Nell wants to sacrifice a goat to the old gods for their continued safety as they travel north. She is unnerved by Robb’s disinterest and refusal to participate, not because he disagrees with sacrifice but because he is now apathetic towards the gods, and frightens Nell by telling her he didn’t feel them when he died, or like he was going to any kind of afterlife. He only felt the painful, horrifying sensation of his soul being unwillingly forced back into his corpse.

Nell argues that the gods meant to help them by returning Robb to her, and that they must have some great purpose for him. Robb denies this, and reacts angrily, telling her he doesn’t feel or think all the things she believes he should. He remembers he loves her, but that’s it, and blames himself for being ‘weak’ and not seeing the betrayal coming, which Nell rejects, calling himself a failure.

He reviled the fear he felt when Roose killed him, and tells Nell he no longer fears, so he won’t fail again. He wants her to give the goat to Grey Wind to eat instead, as hunger is one of the few things that matters to him anymore. Nell is distraught and refuses, telling him to go see Catelyn, who still loves him, even if she is afraid.

We then get to the infamous godswood scene. The godswood in the neck are all tiny islands and islets, not proper sprawling gardens. The baby goat obliviously accompanies Nell, and when she kills it she almost breaks down into tears at its trusting innocence. Despite this, Nell still arranges its entrails and prays, hoping the slaughter of the innocent goat will appease the gods, who, ironically, she views as hungry and unfeeling as Robb himself.

Harry then shows up to interrupt her alone time, much to her annoyance. They speak about the coming fight for Moat Cailin and he warns her that the North may not automatically flock back to Robb’s cause, and that Barbrey may sell them out. Nell is infuriated and insists Barbrey is only going along with Roose to protect Lysara, while Harry warns her not to depend on House Dustin or Ryswell for support, especially after the execution of her uncle.

This then devolves into a general fight over Robb. Harry flat out tells her Robb is dead, never getting better, and that most people know it. He also insinuates that while Robb can still fight, he could never rule as king again after this. Nell is incensed and accuses Harry of speaking treason, which he ignores, insisting she is in denial. He also accuses Robb of being a warg, which Nell takes as him calling Robb a heartless monster.

Nell calls him a power hungry fool blinded by his own fear, which be explodes at, reminding her that he helped get them this far in the first place, and reunited Arya with her family. If he wanted power he could have easily killed Robb (again) and left Nell to her fate. This is somewhat ironic as we later find out that Harry almost did kill Robb when he was being revived.

He reminds Nell that his family line descends from the Starks and that they want the same thing, while Nell realizes, despite her fury, that he is isn’t lying or trying to manipulate her. She almost feels she can read him better than she can Robb, which frightens her. This sense of intimacy with Harry is disturbing as Robb slips further and further from her.

Finally, Nell admits that Robb may not be able to rule after they take back Winterfell, but won’t consider what might happen to him, just insists that Lysara is still his heir and will someday be queen. She wants Lysara to be loved and respected, even if the North never loves Nell herself as her family’s actions.

Harry admits she will never be publicly loved, but points out the first Starks were not loved after conquering the North, either, even though they viewed their actions, like all conquerors, as part of the greater good. However the Stark name is still beloved now, even though they were hated by many at the start of their dynasty.

Harry warns her again against putting her faith in Robb’s rule, and that’s that.

Nell admits that what she and Harry just discussed was treason, and that she can no longer confide in Robb. He has no more room for nuance or understanding of these things and would kill Harry immediately. She also finally admits to herself that he is actively dying. Despite her desperate prayers, they will never live a long and happy life together, even if they get their daughter back. She is going to lose him again, and doesn’t know if she can go through the grief again.

Lying awake with Robb that night, he surprises her by asking about the color of Lysara’s eyes. Nell admits sadly that she doesn’t know, it’s been so long. Ruefully she asks what color he’d prefer, which he can’t answer. They fall asleep together dwelling on their loss, and in the morning Greywater Watch arrives.

#ask #haunt/hunt #anon

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jaskierswolf · 4 years

Text

The Christmas Elf (Pt.4/5)

Peace.

Fucking peace.

Geralt charged along the path towards the mayor’s house where Jaskier and Yennefer were hopefully still both alive. He didn’t want anymore lives on his conscience today.

They’d been travelling together for sixteen years at this point, married for eight, and he knew Jaskier had a tendency to chatter, especially when he nervous about something. They’d been toying with the idea of Geralt going with Jaskier back to his home this winter. Jaskier had visited Kaer Morhen a couple of times over the years when he’d been able to convince Santa that he wasn’t needed for Christmas that year, returning in the spring to pass along the Christmas Spirit he’d managed to capture in the smaller snow globe, but Geralt had never seen the North Pole Realm. Jaskier was worried about bringing an outsider into his realm. Not because he didn’t trust Geralt but because he didn’t trust the other Christmas elves to treat Geralt kindly.

Jaskier’s isolation from his own kind had only gotten worse after they’d had a hand-fasting ceremony eight years ago. It had been Geralt’s idea. He’d needed something to hold onto during the months they were separated each year and he knew that Jaskier was the romantic sort.

Vesemir had performed the ceremony and his brothers had been there as witness. Jaskier had ridden home on Pegasus to ask a few of his closer friends from the North Pole to attend but he’d come back alone and devastated, the light in his eyes almost nonexistent.

He’d vowed right there and then to make sure that Jaskier knew that he always had a family in the witchers of Kaer Morhen.

Their marriage had also saved them a whole lot of trouble when it came to jilted lovers. Over his first few years on the Continent, Jaskier had built up quite a reputation as a lover of all and disgruntled spouses often lashed out at him when they had the chance. Now, no one came near Jaskier, not with his witcher husband standing guard. He smiled fondly as he remembered the swine from Pavetta’s betrothal feast. He hadn’t noticed Geralt watching Jaskier from across the room and had almost shit himself when Geralt introduced himself as Jaskier’s husband.

Of course it was that shit show that was still haunting Geralt to this day. It was nightmares of his child surprise fleeing from a burning city that had kept him awake each night. It was that fated evening that had caused his irritation the day before. So yes Jaskier had been particularly chattery, too anxious to read Geralt’s short fuse but he was the one that had lashed out at Jaskier. Sure he was exhausted but it was Jaskier.

He should never have said that, not to him, not to someone he loved.

Now if only he could get that fucking scent out of his head. He’d known as soon as it had hit him that there had been some kind of enchantment. His medallion had hummed on his chest but he’d noticed too late. The damn witch had been inside his head, manipulating his thoughts, pulling at his free will. It had been a blessing that he’d blacked out. He didn’t want to remember the pain he’d caused throughout the town, further damaging the reputation of witchers and undoing all of Jaskier’s work.

“Oh, Geralt. Thank the angel Gabriel. I might live to see another day.” Jaskier came running from the house. His shirt was covered in his blood and Geralt winced. It had all been his fault. Instead of pulling Geralt into a hug, like he would usually do, Jaskier charged straight past him. “We need to go.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt grabbed his elf’s hand and pulled him to a stop. He needed to see for himself that there was no permeant damage done. He cupped Jaskier’s cheek and smudged the blood from his lips. “You’re ok?”

“I’m glad to hear that you give a monkey’s about it.” Jaskier snapped.

Fuck.

He was still mad at Geralt. They didn’t argue this badly very often. Neither of them enjoyed the distance it put between them, and they always tried to make up before winter came and they parted ways.

Geralt hummed. “What happened?”

“Well, I was having a rather lovely dream which then turned into a nightmare. There were naked women in both parts. The first one was loving, tender, very generous.” Jaskier explained with a flick of his wrist. He no longer wore bells around his wrists during the summer but he’d never quite lost the habit. His words stung. Geralt snarled. Now his husband was just being petty. “The second, significantly more terrifying.”

“Tell me about the second one.” Geralt grumbled.

“Well, black hair, devilish eyes, was painting an amphora on her abdomen. You know, the usual.” Jaskier answered, ever the dramatist.

Yennefer.

Fuck.

He had to save her, he owed her for Jaskier’s life. She wasn’t allowed to die.

Jaskier protested at Geralt’s response but Geralt insisted.

Finally with a dramatic sigh, Jaskier grabbed onto Geralt’s hand and they were wrapped up in a flurry of snow.

Frost hopping, Jaskier called it.

Geralt called it what it was, a short ranged portal, and he fucking hated portals.

Yennefer was tearing herself apart trying to capture the djinn, and neither Geralt or Jaskier’s magic would touch her, not like this.

He had to wish.

So he wished.

And the house went still.

For a moment.

The calm before the storm.

Then havoc as it all began to crumble on top of them.

“Geralt!” Jaskier screamed and everything stopped.

No.

Not stopped.

Yennefer looked between the pair of them in shock.

Jaskier’s hair was now white with frost and his hands were like ice in Geralt’s. Geralt had to let go before the cold burnt his skin.

“What the fuck?” Yennefer asked. “I thought he a bard?”

Geralt shrugged. “He’s also an elf.”

The ceiling creaked a low long groan and dust slowly floated down from the sky.

“Fuck!” Jaskier gasped, his eyes flying open. They were like blue torches in the darkness of the bedroom.

Geralt had never seen them shining so brightly.

“Not even Francesca Findabair could do this.” Yennefer muttered.

“Geralt.” Jaskier slurred the word, his voice was strained and barely above a whisper. “I can’t hold it. Not enough Spirit. Get us out!”

Geralt grunted and turned to Yennefer. “We need to go. Now.”

“I can see that, witcher.” She snapped. “Grab hold of your bard and take my hand.”

Geralt took a deep breath and wrap his arm around Jaskier’s waist. The cold pierced through his armour and he felt like he’d jumped into the icy rivers around Kaer Morhen. He hissed in pain but managed to hold onto Yennefer’s outstretched hand.

His stomach churned as Yennefer made another portal.

He groaned. If he could never see another portal again then he would be happy. It was the simple pleasures in life, like knowing how to walk places or riding Roach or just anything except a portal.

All three of them tumbled to the ground in Yennefer’s sex den. Jaskier fell limp in Geralt’s arms, the colour returning to his hair and skin. Geralt landed on his back, thankfully onto a cushion and Yennefer collapsed next to him her arm draped over Jaskier’s back. Geralt groaned quietly under the weight of the two bodies. He heard the roof crumbling above them.

Yennefer’s portal and whatever shit Jaskier had done, had saved their lives.

Geralt brushed Jaskier’s now brunet fringe from his eyes. They were shut but Geralt could thankfully feel the steady beat of Jaskier’s heart.

He was alive.

Geralt turned his attention to Yennefer. She wasn’t moving but she was also alive. The portal must have drained her energy.

“Yennefer.” He tried to rouse her, unsuccessfully. He carefully laid Jaskier down on the large cushion and pressed his lips to his husband’s forehead.

Jaskier groaned quietly under his touched and rolled onto his side, curling up into a ball.

He was alright. So Geralt tried Yennefer again. She was more awake this time and her tongue was sharper than his blades, blaming him for the djinn’s disappearance as if he’d hadn’t saved her life with his wish.

His wish.

Fuck.

That could have been better worded.

He made a note not to tell Jaskier. His husband, the ever eloquent wordsmith, would have his head if he knew.

He traded barbs with Yennefer until Jaskier whacked him in the leg.

“Would you two shut up?” He grumbled and buried his face in the pillow.

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Careful, Jask. You don’t know where that cushion’s been.” He huffed a laugh.

Jaskier immediately jumped to his feet before falling straight back into Geralt’s lap.

“Oh fuck, my head.” He whined and snuggled into Geralt’s embrace.

“How did you do that?” Yennefer asked.

“Do what?” Jaskier slurred.

“You stopped time.” She raised an eyebrow at the pair of them.

Geralt shrugged. She had been the one who had assumed they were only friends. He’d been too overwhelmed by the panic in his chest to correct her before.

“Slowed time.” Jaskier corrected. “and I don’t know. I thought only Santa could do that.”

“Santa?” She laughed. “What the fuck is that?”

“His boss.” Geralt explained.

“Santa, Father Christmas, good old Saint Nicholas.” Jaskier waved his hand but kept his face buried in Geralt’s chest.

“Is he mad?” Yennefer asked.

Geralt shrugged again.

“Oi!” Jaskier snapped. Geralt just laughed and kissed his hair.

“You married me.” Geralt reminded him gently.

“Oh yes, I was completely mad to marry you.” Jaskier drawled sarcastically and pulled back to glare at him. “Eight years and you still doubt that I love you.”

Geralt hummed nonchalantly.

“Married?” Yennefer scoffed. “A Witcher and a bard, how poetic.”

Jaskier laughed. It wasn’t his normal radiant laugh, he was too tired from the exertion of the magic, but it was still beautiful. “All the best love stories are, my darling witch.”

__________________

Jaskier watched helplessly as Geralt and Yennefer tore each other apart with scathing words. His own heart was breaking as Borch revealed the true extent of Geralt’s fated wish.

How could his husband be so foolish?

He didn’t noticed the frost creep out from beneath his boots as he seethed silently away from the feuding pair.

No wonder Geralt and Yennefer had always had this strange dance. Geralt had never cheated on him, as far as he was aware, but Jaskier had noticed the way his witcher was always drawn to the sorceress. He’d just turned a blind eye. It had been easier that way.

Fuck!

Was this the feeling he’d sparked in all those jealous spouses all those years ago?

Fuck!

He wrapped his arms around his chest. For the first time in decades in actually missed his home, not Kaer Morhen or his occasional lodgings in Oxenfurt but his real home. The North Pole. His cosy little ginger bread cottage with it’s roaring fireplace and the ever-present scent of candy canes and cinnamon.

Sure he dropped back a few times a year to transfer the Spirit he’d generated and every other year he still joined Santa on the sleigh, although he’d never built up the courage to ask Santa how he had managed to slow time in Rinde. Christmas elves were not supposed to have that ability and he was unsettled by it. He’d also been avoiding the topic of bringing Geralt back to visit. His husband already put up with enough hate in this realm, he didn’t need it from the other Christmas elves too.

And after this delightful revelation, Jaskier wasn’t even sure if he wanted to bring Geralt home, not if he was just going to pine after Yennefer the whole time.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

He was going to be sick. His ears started ringing as he struggled to breathe. He couldn’t do this. Not without Geralt. Christmas elves weren’t supposed to fall in love and yet Jaskier had fallen so deeply in love that he could no longer imagine what his life would be without Geralt in it, but how were they supposed to move past this.

Yennefer stormed past him and he watched her go, his hands white and trembling. He gripped tightly onto his lute strap in attempt to ground himself but it didn’t work.

He needed to get away.

He couldn’t bear to lose Geralt any more than he already had. He couldn’t look Geralt in the eyes and know that his husband no longer loved him.

He let out a shaky breath, wisps of condensation escaping his lips, and he could feel the cool frost in his hair. He was losing control of the Spirit that he had stored in his veins but there still wasn’t enough to make the jump back to pegasus. His reindeer was too far away for him to frost hop and he couldn’t get home without him.

He scrambled to his feet and went to follow Yennefer back down the mountain.

“Damn it, Jaskier!” Geralt called after him.

Jaskier froze and spun round to face his husband with tears in his eyes.

Christmas elves didn’t cry. They were joyful creatures by nature. They sang and whistled and made toys for all the children of Earth. They created fairy lights and Christmas trees. They baked gingerbread and painted striped on candy canes, and elves like Jaskier created the music of Christmas, the soulful carols that uplifted the hearts of every human on Earth, young and old.

But they never cried.

Jaskier hadn’t even realised it was possible.

He brought a shaky finger up to his eyes and wiped away the tear. He had to laugh despite everything when he noticed the flecks of glitter in the droplet.

Geralt’s arms wrapped and around him, despite how cold he must be to the witcher. He pressed his face against Geralt’s chest, too weak to resist his lover’s embrace.

“Are you… crying?” Geralt murmured quietly.

Jaskier scoffed and sniffed loudly. “Apparently so.”

“Why?”

Jaskier sighed and he frost hopped away from Geralt in a cloud of snow.

“Why?!” He snapped putting his hands on his hips. “Geralt, you bound yourself to her like she’s your fucking soulmate. Bloody hell. Why would you do that?”

Geralt growled. “I didn’t have time to think about it, Jaskier. Fuck!” He snarled and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was just trying to save her life.”

“Always so fucking noble.” Jaskier grumbled. “You could have just asked the djinn to let her live!”

“It was a mistake.”

“You didn’t want to lose her, Geralt. Bollocks. You barely knew her.” Jaskier glared. “Is that why you went back inside, because you wanted her…”

“No.”

“I don’t understand!” Jaskier yelled and snow whipped around him, lashing out against Geralt and knocking him to the floor. “Oh shit, Geralt!”

He ran over to where the witcher was lying on his back and covered in snow.

Geralt groaned and wiped the snow from his eyes. “Jask.” He reached out for Jaskier and despite his anger and heartbreak Jaskier took Geralt’s outstretched hand.

“Just tell me one thing, Geralt.” Jaskier sighed.

Geralt grunted.

“Why did you lie to me about the wish?” He asked quietly.

Another grunt.

Jaskier huffed and rolled his eyes, yanking his hand away from Geralt and moving back down the path.

“I knew you would be cross.” Geralt mumbled. Jaskier stopped but didn’t turn to face his husband. “You are so good with words. I knew you would have thought of a hundred ways I could have made that wish that didn’t bind Yen and I together. I felt… inadequate. I didn’t want to disappoint you, but it’s too late now.”

Jaskier’s heart broke again for the second time that day.

Fuck!

How had he been so selfish? He knew Geralt was hurting, losing Yennefer would be hard for his husband, no matter what he thought of the witch, and facing his own abandonment of the child surprise would have been a second dagger in his witcher heart.

Jaskier sighed and wiped his tears. He didn’t need them. Geralt loved him. He knew that. He wouldn’t let this jealousy poison his heart. He’d be a shit Christmas elf if he couldn’t forgive easily, especially when Geralt sounded so remorseful.

“I’m disappointed, yes.” He agreed. “but only because you didn’t trust me enough to tell me.” He knelt beside the snowdrift that was currently Geralt of Rivia and cupped his husband’s face in his hands.

“I’m… sorry.” Geralt refused to meet his eyes.

Jaskier kissed Geralt’s forehead. “I know, dear heart. I know.”

“Forgive me?”

Jaskier smiled weakly at his husband. “Of course. That doesn’t mean I’m not still hurting though, Geralt, but I forgive you.”

“You’ll come to Kaer Morhen this winter?”

Jaskier frowned. He’d spent Christmas at Kaer Morhen last year. This year he was due to go back to the North Pole. He had instruments to enchant and Christmas hits to pass around Earth. Whilst Earth wasn’t generating as much Spirit as the Continent, things had improved in the last couple of decades. Now that the Christmas elves could use Spirit again there were traces of magic on Earth once more and the children believed in Santa for a little longer with every year that passed.

Jaskier was incredibly proud of that achievement, but it did mean that he couldn’t abandon his home and his work to be with Geralt every year at Christmas.

He shook his head. “I have to work.”

“So I’ll come with you.” Geralt said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Jaskier sighed and nodded.

It was time. He couldn’t hide his home from his husband any longer. They both needed to face the music of his fellow elves, and the North Pole Realm.

“Alright then. Yeah.” He appraised Geralt’s snow covered outfit. The black armour that Geralt never seemed to change out of, unless Jaskier literally forced him to.

He pictured Geralt stomping around the North Pole with his swords and his black clothes and his grumpy expression, and he promptly burst out laughing.

His husband would look like a bull in a china shop.

“What?” Geralt growled which only made Jaskier laugh harder. He brushed some of the snow from Geralt’s silvery hair and kissed him chastely before rubbing their noses together.

“You, darling witcher, will need to change before you get anywhere near the North Pole Realm.” He sniggered at Geralt’s look of horror.

“No bells.”

“Yes! Bells!” Jaskier clapped his hands together and with a flick of his wrist, Geralt had a shining silver bell attached to his usual black leather hair tie. He tilted his head and reached round to flick the bell.

“Jaskier!” Geralt snarled and lunged for him.

Jaskier grinned and frost hopped away before running down the mountain. Only this time he was sure Geralt would follow him.

#the witcher #geraskier #the christmas elf #my tag energy is low #sorry #minor angst #but it gets resolved #wolfie's witcher writing #ao3 link is on masterlist #god i have no spoons left

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warrioreowynofrohan · 4 years

Text

Fanfic for @tolkiengenweek!

Title: The Castaway

Works Referenced: The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion

Characters: Legolas, Gimli, Maglor

The small grey boat sat completed on the shoreline, and the last of the supplies were being packed for the next morning’s expected voyage, when Legolas and Gimli looked up from their preparations to see a stranger on the beach. From his deeply-lined face and greying hair, Gimli might at first glance have thought him a Man of Gondor, were it not for the keenness of the eyes.

Legolas’ hands went to his bow, and before Gimli could speak he had already notched an arrow and moved to stand between the stranger and the boat.

“Show your hands.”

The stranger held his hands out, palm up, and the right hand was curled and blackened to to second knuckle of the fingers, as though he had grasped a piece of metal new from the forge.

“Sit.”

The stranger sat in the sand, hands still held up in front of him.

Gimli at last found his voice. “Legolas, what are you doing? He is unarmed, he has offered us no threat, the Men of Minas Tirith assured us there were no evil things at the Mouths of Anduin - ”

“Evidently, the Men of Minas Tirith were mistaken.” Gimli had never heard such hate in Legolas’ voice, not even for Saruman or servants of the Enemy. “I will explain. For the present, believe me when I say that this is such a threat as we have not faced since the War, and seldom during it. Now -“ returning his attention to the stranger - “how and why are you here, and why now, and for what purpose?”

The stranger spoke slowly and softly, his eyes fixed on the sand.

“A fortnight ago I was far to the south of here. In a dream, I saw the Mouths of Anduin, and a small grey boat, and two companions at a distance. I thought it only a dream, but it returned in the same form four nights more, and on the morn of the fifth day I saw a great flock of gulls flying north. I thought it might be a sign, though I have had none such since we left Valinor, and I came north to meet it. And here I find you. Am I right in thinking,” - he paused - “that you mean to leave these shores?”

“Yes.”

“Then I have come to ask - to beg - for you to take me with you.”

*****

Legolas had sent the stranger a little ways up the beach, so that the camp lay between him and the ship, before he turned to talk with Gimli.

“How much do you remember of the tales of the Elder Days told at Rivendell? Or at Erebor?”

“I know the tales of Beren and Lúthien and the Great Jewel, of Túrin the Doomed, of Nargothrond and Gondolin and the war against the Dark Enemy.” He also knew of the war of Doriath and Tumunzahar, but he suspected that Erebor and the Forest of Greenleaves had differing accounts.

“And of Fëanor?”

“The maker of the Jewels. His grandson was the Ring-maker deceived by Sauron, and a great friend of Khazad-dûm and of Dúrin the Deathless. His sign was on the doors of Khazad-dûm.”

Legolas narrowed his lips. “Yes. That is what many would remember, in these days. Some tales are too dark to tell lightly to outsiders, and too ill to tell for pleasure. The Elves remember, but few others care to, beyond the lore-masters. For our times are happier, at least in that we know our enemies from our friends.

“When the Dark Enemy slew the Lights that were before the Sun and Moon, and stole the Great Jewels, Fëanor and his sons swore to reclaim the Jewels and to slay any that possessed them, or else be doomed to Darkness Everlasting. To leave the Blessed Realm swiftly, they slew the greater part of my kin that lived there and stole their ships. In the long years when the Dark Enemy held the jewels, they never attacked him in his fortress, but when Beren and Lúthien freed the Jewel, and their son ruled as King of Doriath - ” Legolas paused and threw a hard look at the stranger. “They destroyed Doriath and slaughtered its people. They killed the King and Queen and their young sons, and when the King’s daughter escaped, they slew near all that remained of her people. But she was saved by the Lord of the Seas, and with her husband Eärendil the Mariner brought the Jewel into the West, and sought and received the aid of the Powers against the Enemy.”

“And what has this to do with our visitor?”

“He is Maglor, the last son of Fëanor. For his crimes he is barred from returning to the Blessed Realm; but he appears to be attempting it.”

“He seemed to think he had a sign from the Powers that it might be permitted.”

“The Fëanorians are liars, thieves, and murderers all. I trust him no more than I would an orc. While he is here, we keep a watch through the night. Keep an eye on him - and keep an eye on the boat!” *****

Legolas took the first watch, and woke Gimli at three in the morning. Maglor did not appear to have moved all night, nor was he sleeping; he remained seated silently, gazing out to sea. After an hour of boredom - he might as well have been watching a statue - Gimli approached the elf and sat down beside him. At the least, it seemed right for him to have a chance to speak for himself.

Gimli gave a small bow before seating himself. “Gimli son of Gloin, of Erebor and Aglarond.”

“Maglor Fëanorian. But your companion has told you that, and more.”

“Do you dispute any of it?”

The elf gave a faint shudder. “No.”

Maglor seemed thin, even for an elf, and wearier than any elf Gimli had ever seen. “Have you eaten?”

“A few fish, on the journey north.”

“Did you eat yesterday?”

“No.”

Gimli left him briefly to rummage through a pack at the camp. Lembas, a final gift from Queen Arwen of Gondor before her departure. He brought back a wafer with a mug of water and handed it to the elf. Maglor ate it slowly and with difficulty, as though it were cram rather than the much more savoury bread of the elves.

While Maglor ate, Gimli pondered, and fragments of old lays and legends came together in his mind, forming connections and the beginnings of an idea for taking the measure of this uncommunicative stranger.

"Do you know the tale of the Quest of Erebor?"

Maglor shook his head, still chewing.

Gimli told the tale, not as it was told on days of festival or winter gatherings in Dale and Erebor - dwarves did not criticize their kings lightly, or to outsiders - but as it was told by dwarven elders to youths, when they were old enough to think and consider and understand. He told of Thorin's quest, for vengeance and for the treasure and kingdom of his forefathers; told of danger and daring and victory, of wrath and pride and dragon-sickness, of loss and of sorrow and renewal. And all the while he watched Maglor's expression closely.

He could read nothing clearly from the elf's face, though midway through the story he began tapping one finger lightly, as though keeping time with the rhythm of Gimli's account. They sat in silence for a time once the story was ended, Maglor staring abstractedly into the distance, until at last he said, "I envy your king." His weariness seemed only to increase. "He fought with valour, and died at peace and in honour. It is more than many achieve."

The elf reached for a mug of water, but his hand passed right through it. He tried again, and the same happened. On the third attempt, he managed to pick it up in a solid hand.

Gimli shivered. This was too wraith-like for his liking. “Are you some manner of ghost or spirit?”

“Not yet.” Gimli gave him a questioning glance. “Given enough time, the spirit wears through the body. I am nearly there. If I remain much longer in Middle-earth, form will fade away; I will hear and see, but not taste or smell or touch; live in the world, but not act upon it.”

Gimli could scarcely think of a worse fate than being alive but unable to touch, to shape, to craft, to work. He was glad Mahal had had the wisdom to grant his people mortality.

The question had drawn Maglor's attention back to the journey before them. "I am sure you have more right to the journey than me, but may I ask how you come to be travelling to Valinor? I had not heard that mortals were permitted."

"There have been a few exceptions. I am not one of them, and cannot say I have been invited, as such. But Legolas is my dearest friend; the sea calls him, and I will not leave him, not so long as I have life. And even if mortals die swifter in Farthest West, as some say, still it would be worth many years of life to see the Lady Galadriel again."

Maglor started at the name. "You know her?"

"Aye; and count it one of the greatest fortunes of my life that have had the chance. Fairest and kindest and wisest of all whom I have known, with a dwarf's love for beauty and craftsmanship. Greatness without pride, and power without corruption. She cast down Dol Guldur in the war, where the old king Thrain was murdered; I wish I could have been there to see it!"

"Did she!" For the first time a smile flickered around Maglor's mouth. "She would have enjoyed that. I am glad one of us had victories, in the end."

"You know her?"

"Cousin Altáriel? We were never close. It has been long ages since I last saw her. But there is something to be said for shared exile, of a sort; the two in Middle-earth, since the Great War. I had not known she had been permitted to return. That is hopeful, at least; though our cases cannot be said to be alike."

Gimli's head was swimming. "Cousin?"

"Well - after a fashion. You have heard of my father," - with a rueful look - "and his half-brother, Galadriel's father, is king of the Noldor in the Blessed Realm."

It was exceedingly strange to think of the Lady as the child of someone still living, much less as the child of a king rather than a ruler in her own right. Gimli forced his thoughts back to relevant questions.

"You swore an oath to regain the Jewels. That Jewel, by the old legends." He gestured at the greying horizon. "Do you still intend to pursue it, if you return to Valinor?"

"I cannot." The elf's eyes went to his blighted hand. "I could not hold it, if I did. Nor would I seek to. I have lost all right to it. Let those that hold it keep it." His voice sank below a whisper. "As weregild, at least."

*****

"You spoke to him?" Legolas asked incredulously.

"You never forbade me to do so."

"I told you that he was dangerous! I told you that he could not be trusted! I would think the implication was obvious!"

"Well, whatever he was in the past, I cannot think he is dangerous now. He is old, and he is tired, and and he is sorry."

"And you can understand him this well from one night's conversation! When you had not even heard of him before yesterday!"

"It is more than I would have understood otherwise. Why are you so afraid of me speaking to him? Or hearing and seeing some account of him other than your own? You did not mention that he was close kin to the Lady Galadriel!"

"If you think she would wish to see him again, you are mistaken. Very much the reverse. The people he murdered were her kinsfolk as well as mine. And if you would trust him over me so readily, that should give reason enough for why it is perilous to speak with him unwarily. Do you remember what Gandalf said to us of Saruman at Orthanc? Beware his voice. Not all power is in weapons."

"He is an elf like you, not a wizard - "

"He is not like me. In powers I am no more like him than the innkeeper in Bree is like Aragorn - or rather, like Ar-Pharazon! The elves of the First Age had strange powers, and yes, some of them were equal or greater in power than the wizards we have known. You will remember that Felagund himself fought alone against Sauron. This elf is known about all for the power of his music and his voice, and I have no wish to test it!"

"I assure you that I am not enchanted! It is not as though Saruman had any effect on me, beyond annoyance at his lies. Even if you were right about him, why would Maglor be any different?"

"Saruman was seeking to daunt us; and you are too brave and too stubborn for that. But he got to Fangorn in the end, and Fangorn is no fool; and convinced him not through threats or temptations, but through pity. The kinslayer knows he has nothing to offer you or threaten you with, but if he can play upon compassion and seek to drive you to distrust me - "

"He did not. He denied nothing that you said, and he did not mention Galadriel until I had done so. Is it so impossible that he is sincere?"

"You do not understand the Fëanorians. Even grief and regret can be deceptive. Of all Maglor's works, the most famed is the one he wrote of the First Kinslaying, a song of sorrow and regrets. It did not hold him back from slaying kin a second time, or a third, or making war against the Valar themselves. So his protestations of regret can mean little now. Whether he is dissembling, or whether he means them truly, they have never stopped him before."

"He is dying. Or what passes for it among elves. Can you ask me to go to the West and tell the Lady Galadriel that I abandoned her kinsman to die?"

"He has more than earned it."

"So had Gollum. So had Saruman, when Gandalf and the Lady Galadriel both offered him mercy. Legolas, you say you fear I am bewitched, but it is you who do not sound like yourself. You hate him so bitterly, you would leave him to die, for deed committed ten generations or more before my grandsires, in a past so distant it is scarcely memory?"

Legolas went taut, and his eyes flashed with rage. "The memories of mortals are short! His deeds live in the memory of my father, and my mother, and their fathers and mothers, who dwelt in Doriath when he attacked it and lost friends and family and home to his and his brothers' blades! No one is asking you to show pity for Azog! No one is asking you to invite Smaug into your family's home and last refuge!"

The words hit Gimli as a blow. He had to admit that he would never have spoken to another dwarf as he had spoken to Legolas. Dwarves had fought long and bitter wars over the death of their kings; not only against Smaug, but against the Orcs of Khazad-dûm and the cold-drakes of the north. And though Dúrin’s folk had never warred among themselves, other dwarven lineages had had long and bitter clan-wars over generations. If he had tried to tell another dwarf it was his duty save a bitter personal enemy, when there was blood between them, the conversation would quickly have come to ax-blows.

His opinion of the aged elf had not altered, and he had no wish to leave him behind; but it was not Gimli’s choice to make.

“You are right. I cannot understand what he has done to your people, and to your family. I have no quarrel with him, and so I have have not the right to pardon him. You are my friend; I trust your judgement and your wisdom; and the choice rightfully belongs to you. Whatever you choose, I will go with you.”

*****

Legolas spent the afternoon in thought.

What were his reasons for refusing passage to Maglor? Certainly, Legolas hated the elf, but that alone was merely a sentiment, not a reason to condemn another person to death.

He is a murderer, and a threat, and his pretences to remorse cannot be trusted. He has killed, and repented; and killed, and repented; and killed, and repented; and so his repentance is meaningless. Should we bring danger and evil again into the one place in Eä free of it?

Even if all that was true, Maglor was only one elf. Could he reasonably be said to pose a danger to the Powers? If they considered him a threat, was there anything to stop them taking him prisoner immediately upon arrival? Even among the elves, Galadriel by herself was at least his equal, and there were likely others in the Blessed Realm as powerful as she or more so.

That argument, then, was weak.

He is barred from the Blessed Realm. He has chosen his own fate, and his own doom, and the scars on his hand proclaim it plainly. He cannot enter; and if we attempt to bring him, we may never find the path, or even be destroyed as the Númenoreans were when they defied the Powers’ judgements.

This argument was stronger. The judgement was not Legolas’, but that of the Valar, and one that Maglor had fully earned. Even the attempt to bring Gimli, a mortal and not a ring-bearer, depended on the Valars’ leniency; why try their patience further, for one to whom he owed nothing?

But did he know that Maglor was forbidden to return? Maglor felt he had been given a sign.

Maglor has proved time and time again that he cannot not be trusted. He might easily be lying, or deceiving himself.

But if he was not...

If he was not, Legolas was choosing to judge where the Valar had granted mercy.

There was no way to know. Either choice could be in error: to pardon where they had judged, or to judge where they had pardoned.

Legolas was not Galadriel, or one of the Elves of old. He had not spoken with the Valar; he knew of them only through distant and hazy legends.

And through their emissary. Mithrandir, who had urged pity for Gollum, pity that had saved them all. Who had offered mercy to Saruman, a traitor and orc-breeder far worse than Maglor. There could be little doubt what Mithrandir would have chosen.

And if there was risk to the choice, to Legolas and Gimli themselves, what of that? To abandon him to death for the sake of guarding their own lives was fear masquerading as justice.

It was cowardice.

So the second argument, too, failed.

But were either of these the true reason for Legolas’ refusal?

I am returning to Elvenhome, to all the generations of elves since the world began. I am returning to my kin, and perhaps my ancestors, and to all the people of Doriath. I cannot do so in the company of Maglor Fëanorian and a dwarf!

Legolas would be living among the elves of Eressëa and Aman, for the rest of his life. If he did this, he would alienate them from the start, and destroy the chances of his people ever accepting Gimli. It could scarcely offend more if it had been calculated to do so; it could not appear but as a deliberate insult, to arrive with the greatest enemies of Doriath by his side.

They were not the same. They had nothing in common. There was no more reason for anyone to blame Gimli for the actions of other dwarves two Ages ago than there was to blame Legolas for the deeds of Fëanor. But the appearance of the thing could not help but have an effect; could not help but drawn connections; could not help but estrange him and Gimli alike from Legolas’ home and kin.

That was the true reason in his heart.

And acknowledged, it sounded ugly. Was he truly willing to condemn a person to death, or worse, merely to protect his own reputation? If he was too timid to bear disapproval or hostility for Maglor’s sake, would he also be too timid to bear it on Gimli’s account?

It was unacceptable.

*****

In the evening, he spoke with Maglor.

“How can I have any assurance that you will not again bring violence to the Blessed Realm? If your oath still binds you, are you not a danger? And if it can be broken, what possible excuse could you give for not breaking it far sooner?”

Maglor answered the question as if he had been expecting it, but unsteadily, wavering from meeting Legolas’ eyes, to closing his own, to looking away at the sand or the sea. “We swore to pursue the Jewels, and we swore ourselves to the Darkness if we kept it not, and in keeping it we more than earned the Darkness. If I am condemned, I am condemned; more in the keeping than in the breaking; but I will pursue it no longer.”

“Why do you seek to return now, after so long? If you wished to seek pardon, surely there were others you could have asked, far earlier - at Mithlond, or at Imladris -”

Maglor gave a sharp shake of his head.

“You may as well call it cowardice, on both counts. I stayed away for long ages, for fear and for shame, of seeing any that I had known or letting them see what I had made of myself. I think I would have preferred death to mercy, but for fear, being in no hurry to meet the Darkness. And so I waited, and waited, and now I am out of time, and fear fading more than death or judgement. I cannot stay here, forever, to the end of the world, without any hope of asking mercy, without any chance of saying that I am sorry -”

“What do you expect, if you do return?”

“I do not know. I scarcely care. Let the Valar do with me as they will.”

It was difficult to disagree with Gimli’s reading of the old elf. More than anything, he seemed unutterably weary.

He is not harmless. He has killed hundreds, by his sword; thousands, by his commands.

And he is willing to answer for it.

And Legolas’ decision had, really, already been made.

“Come with us, then. We depart in the morning.”

Author’s Notes

I wrote this in a very fragmentary manner and I can’t say I’m entirely happy with it. But it’s going to nag at my mind until I post it, so it’s going up in its current state.

There are two main reasons I wanted to write this.

First, I wanted Maglor to be able to return to Valinor, and I felt it important that he be held answerable for his actions by someone affected by them. It’s something he chose not to do during all his years of exile - he could have turned himself in, to Círdan, to Thranduil, to Celeborn and Galadriel, and he didn’t, and by this point there are very few people left who would qualify. Legolas didn’t directly experience the Kinslayings, but his father and grandfather were Doriathrin so there’s a definite connection nonetheless. I think that Gimli’s conclusion, that Gimli has no right to grant mercy to Maglor because he has no grievance against him, is correct; pardon needs to be given by the wronged, or by someone with authority to judge.

Second, Legolas is, of all the Fellowship, the one who never faces any real trials and temptations during The Lord of the Rings. (Even Gimli has to vie with his terror of the Paths of the Dead.) The Ring is no temptation to him - he has no desire for power or glory or greatness. Neither battle nor the spirits of the Dead nor the road to Mordor seem to daunt him. So I wanted to create a story where he has to face temptation and overcome it and do a certain amount of soul-searching. And, as is the case with many people who haven’t had to face great trials, the strongest temptation is towards condemnation of those who have faced temptation and have failed.

So I’ve tried to balance those two somewhat conflicting ideas, the legitimacy of judgement and the moral necessity of mercy.

#tolkiengenweek #fanfic #legolas #gimli #maglor #the silmarillion #the lord of the rings #tolkien

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ariparri · 3 years

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MC Patronus

I was tagged by @carewyncromwell on a post for MC patronuses! I, sadly, don't really talk about most of my characters because I'm hyperfixacted on mostly one character 😅

I'll only do this for my Hogwarts Legacy and Hogwarts Mystery MCs. Anyways, let's get to it!

I can't find the original docs I made for my MCs' patronus so majority of this was a copy paste from the site I use to figure out their patronus.

What's My Spirit Animal?

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McQuaid/Mac Uaid

I mentioned in the Mac Uaid family crest that the wolf is part of the emblem and how every McQuaid's patronus is a wolf.

As a spirit animal, the wolf comes to support and teach us about matters of personal power, balance, self-control, and our animal instincts.

Wolves are misunderstood by many to be aggressive, vicious animals who attack with no provocation. Nothing could be further from the truth.

In fact, wolves go out of their way to avoid fights. However, when they want to be heard, when they want to stave off or deter an attacker, they will stand their ground.

Wolves are incredible examples of standing in the seat of your own power. They let predators know that they can fight to the death and are prepared to do so but they rarely initiate combat.

The wolf sometimes appears when we face challenges for which we feel less than prepared. The wolf reminds you that you have all the tools in your spiritual treasure chest to handle this effectively.

For seekers who feel afraid or threatened, the wolf reminds us of how those feelings put our entire psyche off balance. Yes, fear plays an important role in personal safety unless it becomes all-consuming or is baseless. Don’t let the darkness consume your spirit.

Sometimes the wolf calls on us to become the Lone Wolf, who breaks away from the pack to discover the Sacred Self. During times of aloneness, you rediscover your dreams and passions. You also start uncovering the true self and voice that howls at the moon with abandonment!

Humans are animals, and sometimes we overlook the gifts from nature that are already within us. Life has an order and rhythm. When you run with a pack, there is a sense of community, and when you’re alone – liberation.

Those who walk with the wolf sometimes don’t trust themselves as much as they should. When you find yourself falling into that emotional pattern, rely on your keen mind and logic to renew balance.

The key caution for wolf people is your predatory nature. Now, here’s the thing about a wolf’s “predatory” nature – they mostly focus on taking down the weak, sick, and elderly.

Rarely will a Wolf prey on a strong, mature adult. Surely nature has a reason for this, but in terms of symbolism for humans, the lesson here is to make sure that you do not choose to prey on those who are not able to stand against you.

Rohan Mac Uaid (Hogwarts Legacy)

The Gray Wolf is Rohan's patronus. As his patronus is the gray wolf, he is constantly transforming himself, improving himself as he encounters the lessons and challenges of life.

The gray wolf is the wolf who stands at the Western Door. The winds of change will gently flow through the life of the gray wolf soul, stirring him to greet the change with the knowledge of the lessons that such transitional times will herald. The gray wolf soul understands that change is merely growth, an essential part of life, and thus, embraces change easily.

McQuaids with the gray wolf patronus doesn't strain to see what is not yet visible on the other side, merely acknowledges that the changes will surely take place and that the choices he/she makes, will fashion the path they take.

The individual with the totem of the gray wolf understands the importance of protecting and nurturing life in all of its varied and brilliant forms. He is the soul that desires to be of service to others and thus enters a profession which will be in alignment with these principles. She is the soul who desires to nurture the spark of soul awareness in the other members of her society, so as to ensure the survival of the species. In whatever form this urge of guardianship manifests itself, the gray wolf totem will always strive to be of benefit to the whole.

The wolf soul is one who understands the depth of connection with another, be it mate, friend or family member. These individuals will tend to be monogamous in nature. If a mate is not found that shares this same sense of loyalty, then the wolf totem will choose to live as a solitary wolf yet will still have deep and abiding bonds with friends and/or family.

The gray wolf totem is drawn to individuals who possess the ability to employ rational thought coupled with intuitive understanding. As he walks through life, wolf soul uses his keen intelligence to assess issues and situations which demand resolution. He then follows the prompts he receives from his own higher sense of knowing to achieve necessary growth and learning.

Rohan has quite a fierce temper and often scolds others for their incompetence. After meeting Avis, her gentle nature melting his heart of ice, Rohan shows more self restraint in terms of his emotions. He cares little about status or tradition, and merely judges others solely based on their knowledge, skill and loyalty.

Coby McQuaid (Hogwarts Mystery)

Coby's patronus is the Arctic Wolf. It is said that at the door of each of the Four Winds, a wolf keeps silent vigil, each bringing change to the life of those who walk the good Red Road and with the change, a lesson unique to that wind.

The arctic wolf is the Wolf of the North Winds. He stands quietly in rigid determination, unyielding at times, much as the barren landscapes of his home appear to resist the beginning of Spring. She is a soul that is comfortable with her surroundings and therefore sees no “reason” to change.

Yet the promise of the North Wind is wisdom unfolding through gratitude and acknowledgment. This is the direction in which wisdom is sifted from the sands of experience and then fashioned into a red staff of manifestation that wields personal potential. Therefore, if the white wolf soul can accept change when it appears, yet remain true to his/her values, then the higher vibration of wisdom and truth can emerge from beneath stubborn resistance like shoots of sweet summer grass bursting forth from a blanket of winter’s snow. Thus, personal power can be embraced, understood and ultimately, the soul’s individual potential manifested.

The individual with the arctic wolf as their power totem is one who is capable of withstanding numerous challenges and setbacks, only to emerge stronger than before. It is little wonder that these souls will often face adversity in their lives in order to build the resilience with which to overcome obstacles? Paradoxically, they are also gentle souls with a great deal of emotional sensitivity . . . and this is the area in which they are likely to encounter their greatest lessons. Yet by calling upon the inner strength and resilience of the arctic wolf, they can triumph and raise their heads with gratitude to the loving rays of the sun.

The arctic wolf soul is an individual who is capable of performing nearly miraculous bouts of stamina that would weary other souls as he travels the good Red Road. He possesses within him the ability to push his body and mind to the limits, and in fact, can appear to even derive pleasure from doing so.

With each new goal that has been met, the arctic wolf individual will then set his/her sights on the next task at hand. Preferably the new goal will be even more challenging than the one just completed, as this engenders the acknowledgment within their own reasoning that they are worthy of that which has been given to them, yet the truth of the matter is that anything they have received, has been honestly won.

Veruca McQuaid (Hogwarts Mystery)

The Arctic Wolf is Veruca's patronus. Although she shares the same patronus as her brother, the patronus takes on a different meaning. The Arctic Wolf patronus Veruca has, is the shadow to the alpha Arctic Wolf. So even with her patronus, Veruca is still in Coby's shadow.

When manifesting as a shadow totem, the arctic wolf brings lessons in life experience that will tend to build up a defensive wall around the shadow wolf soul. These individuals enter onto the Red Road with a good deal of vulnerability, in many instances a higher degree of sensitivity to their environments than most. Yet, as time goes by, extremely painful circumstances are met that will either construct a fortress of solitude or a friendly barrier that keeps others at a “safe” distance, thereby decreasing the chances that the individual may once again be hurt.

McQuaids who have the arctic wolf patronus are stoic and resolute individuals who appear to bear any storm with a spirit of strength and perseverance. And indeed, they are quite capable of enduring many hardships, yet the true lesson for the arctic wolf is the act of maintaining a certain measure of vulnerability in the face of the brutal lessons they encounter.

Though those with the arctic wolf patronus are naturally geared toward a mostly solitary existence, they will have a couple, to a few close & trusted friends that will be more like family members than their own biological family. The reason for this is due to the fact that the shadow arctic wolf soul will often grow up in a family that is either highly dysfunctional, or in circumstances where one or both parents are absent, be this as in the sense that the parental figures are deceased, or where the mother and father are emotionally unavailable.

Veruca isn't as close to her mother as she is with her father. Though she loves her just as much, she can't help but feel like a second thought compared to Coby. Carson is a close friend to Veruca that they consider each other siblings. Veruca even refers to the Iveys as her second family and addresses Mr. and Mrs. Ivey as mom and dad.

Again, trust is hard to earn from those who own an arctic wolf patronus, and bonds once forged in trust will rarely be broken unless there is an extreme betrayal on the part of their loved one. The ultimate challenge of these individuals is to learn to be open, vulnerable and trusting in the face of a lifetime of lessons in rejection, disillusionment, and betrayal. Yet it is interesting that these people will often be the ones to break off relationships, and are seldom the one to be “left behind.”

Right after graduation, Veruca leaves everyone behind to find her own peace and come to terms with everything that has happened. After finding her peace, she comes back to reconcile and reunite with everyone else. While on her own journey, her patronus ends up changing to match Diego's patronus.

Carson Ivey (Hogwarts Mystery)

Carson's patronus is the owl, specifically the Brown Owl. The owl cannot be deceived, which is why this spirit animal reminds us to remain true to ourselves, our voice, and our vision. The owl spirit does not tolerate illusion or secrets.

Being Veruca's best friend, it's a given Carson knows what's truly going on with her. Though it's pretty easy for him to read the moods of someone, he's not one to pry into someone's personal affairs.

The owl is a symbol of being able to navigate any darkness in our life; this spirit brings clarity, prophetic inklings, and a strong connection with the mystical world.

Those with the owl patronus have the opportunity to become far more observant. Being able to notice a lot of important details that previously eluded you. The world is filled with layers of symbolism and meaning, and the owl gives you “new” eyes with which to see those.

As a spirit animal, the owl often calls on us to release the past and put down burdens that hold us back. You have to face your shadows and fears, then move beyond them to find true happiness.

Owls don’t just honor us with the ability of “Second Sight." These majestic birds have hearing that is quite literally “perfect stereo." The owl as a spirit animal guide can aid you in hearing what is really being said despite the words and emotions coming from the messenger.

The owl spirit can help support you when the time to speak your truth has arrived. Remember, owls are birds of prey, and little stops them when they set their sites on “the prize.” What or whom do you have your heart set on? Focus, patience, and stillness can win the day.

Invoke owl energy when you need to see all the details of what or who is coming toward you and what is right in front of you.

Carson may be chaotic with his personality, but he can be patient to analyze and assess a situation. He's quite stubborn, might be because his childhood friend is Veruca and he picked up on her own stubbornness, but he will continue to push for what he stands for.

In Celtic mythology, owls knew the way to the underworld and were fierce defenders of truth and honor. The owl has no tolerance for deception, even when we are deceiving ourselves.

The Celtic Owl was tied closely to the ancient Goddess of fertility. It frequently appears in knotwork and bestiaries, being revered for its ability to see in the dark and acting as a messenger between humans and the Divine.

Avis Ni Conraoi (Hogwarts Legacy)

Avis' patronus is the butterfly. Those with the butterfly patronus means it's time for personal growth and greater awareness of mental, physical, and spiritual rhythms. Change can sometimes be challenging and daunting because it moves us out of our comfort zone.

You cannot embrace a “new you” until you release the old. With the butterfly spirit, you’ll find that you can fly gracefully above the barriers that would otherwise hold you back.

The Conraois are quite a spiritually oriented family one can say. They don't appear to worry over minor things that can cause someone to stress out to the point of exhaustion. Avis, herself, lives her life freely with no worries. Life is too short for her to take a slow path and be cautious of everything. She simply goes with the flow, following where the wind takes her on a new journey.

The butterfly as a teacher puts great emphasis on movement: Be it blossom-to-blossom, home-to-home, or one state in our spiritual exploration to another.

An old Irish blessing says,

“May the wings of the butterfly kiss the sun, and find your shoulder to light on.

To bring you luck, happiness, and riches today, tomorrow and beyond.”

Throughout Celtic regions, the butterfly represents prosperity, joy, good fortune, and honor. Butterflies also symbolizes the soul. So much was the case that harming a white butterfly was against the law in Ireland because of the belief it bore a dead child’s spirit.

The butterfly often turns our thoughts inward to review elements of our character, morals, and habits that weigh us down, keeping us stuck in a mire of negative energy.

The goal of the winged ally is restoring lightness in your being so you can dance life’s dance with unbridled joy!

People with a butterfly as their patronus have a natural lightness of spirit! They love the beauty of nature and are guided by the greatest good when it comes to maintaining balance with the environment.

Avis is normally against violence, opting to be an advocate of peace. Though if that peace has been disturbed, she will take on a more passive aggressive attitude to protect that peace.

With the butterfly patronus, you’ll find that you’re better equipped to look at difficult situations from another angle. As you fly on her wings, your perspective becomes more global and hopeful.

Butterfly people are naturally social, colorful, and vibrant. They endeavor to live each moment to the fullest.

#veruca mcquaid #carson ivey #coby mcquaid #rohan mac uaid #avis ni conraoi #mc patronus #patronus challenge #hogwarts mystery #hphm #harry potter hogwarts mystery #hphm mc #hogwarts mystery mc #harry potter hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy #hphl #hogwarts legacy mc #hphl mc

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geeky-introvert · 4 years

Text

Cut Deep . Hvitserk X OC

Summary: Being married to a son of Ragnar might seem a dream come true, but not when he can’t choose between his own wife and a slave….One-shot.

Authors note: Heads this is gets pretty dark around the middle part towards the end. Things will be interesting, in a bit of a dark way. Also I’ve decided to back off from writing smut for once for this story, it’s hinted but nothing graphic. Something different to try out. Enjoy!

Word count: 3602

Warning: Cheating, jealousy, angst, violence and death.

Tag list: @lisinfleur @mdlady @didiintheblog @alicedopey @rekdreams247 @mblaqgi @oddsnendsfanfics @aphnxrising @happydaysandersen @therealcalicali @naaladareia @inforapound @captstefanbrandt @waiting4inspiration @tabalugax @p8tn0lish @igetcarriedawaywithyou @laketaj24 @darlingp @tephi101 @youbloodymadgenius @lordsexmachine @wonderlandofsu @alwaysbenhardysgirl @sparklemichele @hecohansen31 @readsalot73 @narry88

If anyone else wants to be added to the tag list let me know please.

A life married to a son of Ragnar was just about every girl's dream. Ronalda happened to be one of them, as a joined alliance between Kattegat and her father’s kingdom. It was a duty she was prepared for, at least she thought so. She didn’t expect the perfect husband and the best marriage, but she didn’t expect him to simply not even care about her in the slightest and he made it known as well by fucking that slave Margrethe day and night, even in their own bed.

She thought it might pass, that he’ll somehow see through what he was doing. But after a whole year he continued to do what he was doing, pretending that it was all normal and that she was the one being unfair that he couldn’t have the freedom he had before.

Well, fuck him.

At least she had made friends with Ivar, talking to him as she listened to him. Perhaps things might’ve been better to marry him but her father would never agree to it, only before he was a cripple, which was a silly thing to think. There were no feelings of course, it just felt like they got along better then her and Hvitserk.

With this thought aside though, all she could do was be married to a cheating man who much preferred a slave over herself, which sounded silly from her own mind, but maybe she was the one being silly and expected too much from her husband.

It was a life she just tried to get used to, but that didn’t mean she was happy.

Kattegat was beautiful, she’ll admit, big, but her father’s kingdom further up north was but bigger, more protected and her father had an impressive army, the main reason Aslaug was eager to marry one of her sons to Ronalda. It was a good alliance, one that she was part of without choice.

That morning she woke up in the same bed all alone, no surprise there, and dressed herself before coming out to eat. She never let the thralls help her dress but only her long brunette hair. Maybe if she was blonde things might’ve been different, but why should hair colour matter.

Sitting at the table Aslaug and Ivar were already there as I joined them. Sigurd was next, then after a bit longer Ubbe and Hvitserk finally did as Margrethe followed them behind to serve us. My eyes glared at her as she passed and she noticed this. She never liked to look at me, of course not, the dirty slut she was and that’s all she’ll ever be.

As we all ate in silence for a moment Hvitserk then spoke.

“Why are you always so sad?” The question was directed at her.

Ivar giggled softly feeling the same as her.

“I have no idea what you mean.” She answered.

“You’re always moping. Like...life itself doesn’t make you happy.”

“Well, I don’t know what to say really. Perhaps it’s the change of weather, we are almost into the winter. Maybe it’s just a little sickness going about in the settlement, or perhaps it’s that my husband loves a thrall more than his own wife. You pick which you think.”

“I’m going with the weather.” Ivar answered through a light chuckle.

Hvitserk rolled his jaw a little before exhaling and digging into his pocket, taking a bag of silver and placing it in front of her. “Here, go buy yourself something in the market, whatever you want.”

Ronalda stared at the bag tossed in front of her before letting out a soft smirk.

“Yes, this solves everything, husband.” She then looked at him, showing she was kidding. Yet she took the bag and pushed herself away from the table. “Excuse me, I’m no longer hungry.”

As she made her way out she then bumped heavily into Margrethe, knocking her back and dropping the jug that spilled all over her. She didn’t stop, but she heard chairs scratch against the ground showing the boys were going to help before being told off by Aslaug to leave her be.

At least she did that for her.

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Strolling through the markets she looked at what she could buy. It wasn’t that she wanted anything anyway, she just wanted to waste his silver on something. The man thought he could buy her happiness through wealth? Yeah, sure.

However she changed her mind when she saw the starving people struggling to work, men, women and children and this gave her a better thought then. Do something good, that’ll bring the tension off from her at least for a bit.

She gave each of them a silver coin so they could get something to eat. They were very grateful and she moved on to see if there was anyone else. She still had more than enough left.

Looking at the docks she noticed a new shipment of slaves had just arrived and her curiosity tugged her over there, wondering just what was brought from England this time.

Each of them looked roughed up, beaten, starved or sickly. What was the point of selling slaves if they couldn’t even be looked after, such a waste.

Then she came across a man, a slave, but a young and handsome man about Ubbe’s age. He was filthy but under that filth she saw his dark brown eyes under his brunette curls hanging over his face. He looked up at her as she got closer, her head tilted curiously in thought.

An idea came to her mind, one she was going to have fun with. And who knows what else might happen, and the more she thought about it and stared at him, the more she liked it.

She gave the slave trader the rest of her silver and approached him.

“Tell me your name.”

“Wulfgar, my lady.”

“When it’s just you and me, you may call me Ronalda. Come, let us get you cleaned up.”

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Once he was bathed and dressed in new clothes he looked a hundred times better already.

“Come, join me, you must be hungry from the journey.”

Such kindness wasn’t at all common for slaves, usually it was to get to work right away. Not Wulfgar though, no, she had other ideas for him.

“Thank you, my lady….I mean, Ronalda.”

Some food and drinks were brought out for then as she watched him dig in.

“I’m surprised you know our language so well. Have you travelled?”

“No, I come from England, just a simple farmer.” He answered through a small smile. “My father though, he comes from these lands, that’s how I know your language. He settled in England and fell in love with my mother. A plague went through our village which unfortunately took both my parents and my little brother, leaving me to take over the farm. It was going well, until the raid came, and now here I am.”

Ronalda listened to him speak. “You’ve been through a lot. As you’re mine now, I promise to respect you if I can have your respect. I don’t have a lot of friends and I could use the company.”

“Forgive me, but surely you’re married?”

“Yes, but not happily.” She sighed. “Don’t worry, he has his own slave. This is fine and he shouldn’t have anything to say.”

Oh how wrong she was.

It felt like hours that they spoke together, learning and sharing stories. They got along very well and Ronalda found the man very charming. They were interrupted when Hvitserk suddenly sat in front of them, joined by his brothers as well, eyes firmly strained on them both.

“Who’s this?” His blunt question was so directed making her roll her eyes at him.

“This is Wulfgar, a slave I just bought.” She answered, purposely touching Wulfgar’s knee.

“Take him back, you don’t need a slave.” Now he was behaving like a child.

“What gives you the right to say what I need and don’t need? You said I could buy anything I wanted, so I bought him. You have your own slave and now I have my own. I don’t see the problem here, Hvitserk.” She held her head high.

“The problem is I don’t want you having your own slave. Take him back.”

She felt Wulfgar tense under her touch as he spoke to her so bluntly, his brothers eyeing both him and me as Ivar was curious, waiting for her reaction.

“No, I’m keeping him whether you like it or not. I don’t see why you’re so bothered by this. What’s the difference between you having your own slave and me having my own?” His silence lingered making her smirk softly. “Stop being so dramatic, you’re embarrassing yourself.” Standing up she took Wulfgar’s hand. “Come, I’ll show you around Kattegat.”

Linking her arm around his, they walked out the hall together, Hvitserk’s burning glare on her back as they left, but she felt so smug about it and finally got back at him.

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It was just a few months that had passed after this happened. Ronalda and Wulfgar grew closer and soon enough became known as her consort, a title she didn’t repeat, people just spoke what they heard and that was it.

Hvitserk didn’t like it one bit and they all knew this but she did nothing to sooth his anger and just simply. She didn’t understand why he was so bothered by it when he had his own slave, but she didn’t bother about questioning either.

All that mattered was she grew more fond of Wulfgar just as he did of her as well. She wished he was a prince, then it’ll be a way to convince her father to dissolve the marriage between her and Hvitserk so she could marry Wulfgar, but he’ll never agree to it, even more that he was a Christian. Unfortunately that’s just how life was.

But the relationship between both her and Wulfgar grew so much, even more that she fell for him just as he fell for her. They shared the same bed, they kissed, they even had sex, and it was far better then sex with Hvitserk. There was no hurry but love and passion, he knew how to take care of a woman unlike Hvitserk who only thought with his cock. Wulfgar thought of her first above anything else and she never felt so loved in her life.

In bed together Ronalda nuzzled up against his side letting out a soft hum against his chest.

“Your husband hates me.” Wulfgar suddenly said.

“So?” She shrugged lightly. “He shouldn’t be so jealous or pissed, after all he has his own slave already.”

“I know, but he looks at you as his possession. He doesn’t want anyone else having you.”

“Yeah, I figured this out not long after you came into my life. That is his problem though. If he wanted me for himself he should’ve shown his commitment from the start, and instead he buried himself between a slave's legs.” She sighed. “But it doesn’t matter, you’re a better man than him.” Leaning up she kissed him tenderly then, smiling softly.

The next morning she had a surprise for him. Over the last few days she had spoken to Aslaug about making Wulfgar a free man. At first the queen hesitated and she guessed she showed some sympathy and agreed to it.

“Where are you taking me?” Wulfgar couldn’t help but laugh softly as she covered his eyes walking towards what she had done for him.

“It’s a surprise.” Ronalda whispered before removing her hands. “What do you think?”

It was a small cabin on some newly brought land to start a farm by her. She had done this up over the last month, after all it’s what he deserved and she wanted the best for him.

“This is all yours.” She said standing beside him. “You’re now a free man. Over the coming months you’ve given me much needed love and I’ve grown more fond of you. I don’t care what people say or think, you’re a remarkable man and I want you to be happy.”

Wulfgar looked shocked by the surprise as she spoke before looking down at her, eyes shined with tears before he kissed her passionately as she kissed him back.

“As you’ve given me so much hope and love since coming here. I love you, Ronalda. No matter what happens we’ll always have each other, even though you’re married, we’ll always find a way.”

During that week Ronalda helped Wulfgar settle into the cabin and slowly build the farm together. If it wasn’t for this stupid alliance and marriage with Hvitserk, they would’ve married already. Everyday she would come and go again so they could be together. It was no secret and Hvitserk figured it out quickly that he was now a free man much to his displeasure. It somehow bothered him even more that she was hardly in Kattegat anymore, and this didn’t settle well for him.

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“I don’t understand why you’re so pissed.” Ivar argued towards Hvitserk, watching as his brothers sparred together in the forest. Hvitserk was letting out all his anger without holding back. “You have Margrethe and she has Wulfgar, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is she’s my wife!” He yelled, throwing his blade at Sigurd who blocked him with his shield. “She’s mine!”

“Are you listening to yourself?” Ivar was dumbfounded by his brother sounding like a child. “You sound fucking pathetic! Ubbe, talk some sense into him.”

Even Ubbe was a little surprised by how Hvitserk was behaving, but he wasn’t going to go against him either. “Well, she is his wife, and no offence Hvitserk but you did push her away.”

“Why couldn’t she just accept that I needed Margrethe as well? Why couldn’t she just understand that and make this marriage easier?”

“Why couldn’t you just forget about Margrethe and focus on your marriage?” Ivar continued, thinking him being so stupid.

Hvitserk however wasn’t listening anymore as he and Sigurd finished sparring and he finally sat down beside Ubbe, still holding a firm angry pouting face.

“It’s a problem.” Hvitserk stared at the ground, blade resting in his lap.

“What are you going to do?” Sigurd asked, all curious.

“I need to get rid of the problem.”

They heard him and the only one not liking it was Ivar.

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The next morning Ronalda left Kattegat with a basket full of some food to give to Wulfgar. She didn’t mind the travel, in fact she enjoyed it as it was very relaxing.

Walking up to the cabin she came to a stop as she noticed the front door was half open. Maybe a little strange she thought, but there was something cold in the air, something wasn’t right.

“Wulfgar?” She called out his name but was greeting without a response. Slowly she pushed the door open and stepped inside, seeing there were a few things knocked on the ground as if there was a struggle. Then she saw the blood.

Out from the corner of her eye that’s where she saw his body, covered in blood, lifeless on the ground. Letting out a scream she hurried over to him, dropping her basket, her shaky hands caressing his face and yelling out his name over again, desperate for him to wake up, but there was no hope for saving him.

He was stabbed and slashed over again. He was murdered, that was clear, and she already had a good feeling just who did it.

Holding him close she rocked her body as she cried out for what felt like hours, mourning the loss for Wulfgar, the only man she ever loved and the only man to love her back.

Ronalda ordered some men to prepare a burial for him, even though they didn’t want to because he was a born Christian and former slave, but she wasn’t having any of it, threatening them and then they did as they were told finally.

She gave him a burial just like any of her people and burned his body. The man didn’t deserve the fate he got, and she’ll avenge him, no matter what it took. After this she sat on the beach all alone before hearing Ivar dragging himself over and sitting beside her.

“He killed him.” She simply said looking at him. “Hvitserk killed Wulfgar, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.” Ivar simply answered. “I’m sorry. Ubbe and Sigurd were with him as well. Hvitserk, he went crazy. I honestly didn’t think he would do it, but this morning when I saw him...I knew he did it.” Ivar remembered seeing Hvitserk washing the blood off his face.

To hear them together as it happened only angered her more. Not only did Hvitserk hurt her but Ubbe and Sigurd as well. No one saw it coming, but she felt she should’ve.

“What are you going to do?” Ivar asked, now curious to hear from her.

“They took a piece of my heart, and now I’m going to take a piece of theirs.” Her red puffy eyes stared back at Ivar. “They have no idea what I’m capable of, and now they’re going to find out.”

They’ll see the kind of person she truly was.

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The following morning Ronalda sat at the large table in the hall after cleaning herself up and nursing some light wine in her hand. It had been a long, sleepless night, but she didn’t regret her choice, nor hold any sympathy. Soon Aslaug joined her, surprised to see her first at the table but knew she was going through stuff. Soon Ivar did as well, not asking any questions then the rest of the brothers as the thralls brought out breakfast.

“Ivar, have you seen Margrethe?” Ubbe asked him.

“Nope.” Ivar casually answered. He had no idea what happened but knew Ronalda was behind it.

“We didn’t see her all night.” Hvitserk now said. “It’s not like her.”

“Perhaps you didn’t know her well enough.” Ronalda answered bluntly. “Maybe she used you, gained your trust before sneaking off in the night. Slaves go missing all the time.”

They all knew she was upset about Wulfgar, so they knew she was still mourning him, but what they didn’t know was what she knew who killed him.

“Not Margrethe.” Ubbe answered, like he trusted her more than anyone else. Pathetic.

As the trays of food were brought out Ronalda eyed one that was covered that the large chickens or turkeys were kept under on special occasions. This morning was one of those. No one was aware of it until the tray was set right in front of Hvitserk and the lid was lifted, revealing Margrethe’s severed bloody head.

Hvitserk jumped from his chair, knocking it back and stared in horror at the slaves head along with Ubbe and Sigurd. Aslaug was shocked as was Ivar, but the hardest reaction was from Hvitserk and that’s what Ronalda was aiming for.

“Oh, there she is.” She casually answered, unaffected.

All eyes were on her now. The silence lingered as Hvitserk softly shook with rage, eyes becoming heavy before he grabbed the blade on the table.

“You fucking bitch!” He went to charge forward to kill her but Ubbe held him back.

“Hvitserk!” Aslaug yelled now standing up herself.

Ronalda wasn’t affected though. “Go ahead. You can kill me if you like but I promise the second that you do my father will hear of it. He has eyes and ears all over Kattegat, everything that happens he is aware about. If he finds out about my death, his only child by your hands he’ll rain fire on Kattegat without mercy. You’ve seen his army, are you prepared to face that?”

Hvitserk broke out of Ubbe’s hold but stood there as his eyes stung with tears, showing the hurt and emotions for the slave. Ubbe and Sigurd struggled as well, all wanting to kill her.

She then stood up. “You took a piece of my heart and now I’ve taken a piece of yours. You now know of my pain, and you have no one to blame but yourself for it all to come to this. I now carry Wulfgar’s child, a blessing, and I’ll raise him with his father’s name. I promise you that the second my father hands his throne to me I’m going home and our marriage will be dissolved, a kingdom that could’ve been yours but won’t be anymore. You could’ve had it all, but you chose a whore over your own wife.”

Her hand came up to touch his face in a mocking way but he just slapped her hand away making her smirk softly. She got her revenge and that’s all that mattered to her.

“This is just the start, son of Ragnar. A warning, to not fuck around with me.”

Turning away she felt the hall leaving the scene she made to be cleaned up by the thralls. She was proud of herself, knowing she finally got back at him, and showed just what she was capable of. Her hand caressed over her belly where her child grew. A beautiful son and heir for herself. Wulfgar would be proud, and she silently promised to give him the life he deserved.

#vikings #hvitserk #hvitserk x oc #hvitserk x reader #hvitserk x margrethe #oc x oc #cheating #loveless marriage #violence #death #dark hvitserk #dark oc #jealousy #revenge #mentions of sex #fandom #fanfiction

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anderseeds · 4 years

Text

I saw a Witcher/Hellsing crossover mentioned in the tag and I was just inundated with ideas for it, so I’ll ramble here instead of attaching a tl;dr to that post. I’m a huge fan of the Witcher, and yet somehow I’ve never actually considered a Witcher AU for Hellsing (and Andercard of course; it’s my modus operandi). This is based on the Witcher games, books, and a little bit of the The Witcher RPG since the Netflix show isn’t my thing.

First of all, for the unfamiliar:

Witcher = a person (usually as a child) that has been mutated and trained to be a monster hunter. They have greater endurance, enhanced healing, enhanced senses, are able to drink potions that would be deadly to the average person, and can perform a small degree of magic called ‘signs’. One can tell a person is a Witcher by their eyes, since they look like cats eyes. Sometimes Witcher’s have other indications, but the eyes are the most consistent feature.

To become a Witcher, a candidate must go through three trials. All of them are exceptionally difficult and painful. The first two trials, the Trials of Grasses and Dreams, basically break down the body through use of various potions and rebuild it, while the third is basically a test for those who survive the first two trials. Very few children put through the trails survive; sometimes there’s only one survivor among those brought in to undergo the trials, and those who die do so in complete agony. Understandably, many Witcher’s are bitter about this whole ordeal and resent being turned into what they are. Witcher’s are also regarded with suspicion and dislike and no better than the monsters they kill, which makes being a Witcher even more torrid.

Vampires = vampires in the Witcher aren’t like your traditional vampires. They’re a race rather than creatures born of humans and they reproduce as any other creature does. Lesser vampires are generally unintelligent, beastly, bat-like creatures, while Higher vampires are intelligent and near indistinguishable from a human. Higher vampires often live among the other races and can integrate well, though some choose to live only among their own, and a rare few even stay with Lesser vampires. While Higher vampires are very different from their Lesser counterparts, they can turn into giant bats or similar creatures.

Higher vampires also don’t need blood to subsist. They can eat whatever they like, but some vampires do drink blood because blood is addictive to them and offers an experience not unlike drinking alcohol. Blood also has rejuvenating and strengthening qualities to it. Lesser vampires do seem to drink blood as part of their diet.

Honestly, Witcher vampires require a lot of explanation, so here’s the wiki for them. They’re a really interesting take on vampires.

Conjunction of the Spheres = a point in history where different dimensions collided with the world of the Dwarves and Gnomes and various different races fell through rifts and got trapped there. At the time the books start, they’ve all been there for well over a millennia and have thoroughly integrated.

Anderson:

Since Nilfgaard is based on the Roman Empire and has a religion functionally similar to Catholicism, I think it’d be appropriate to place Anderson as being from there. He’d be proud of being Nilfgaardian and would introduce himself as a Witcher of Nilfgaard alongside mentioning his guild. But being a Nilfgaardian Witcher is kind of an oxymoron since the Witcher schools were around before Nilfgaard started spreading through the South, and Witcher’s aren’t actually wanted or really used there anymore... in fact, the school most strongly associated with Nilfgaard - the Viper school, which is where I’m placing Anderson - was straight up destroyed by Nilfgaard. An Emperor (Upsurpur of Fergus var Emreis, specially) tried to take over the School of the Viper, failed, and then the Nilfgaardian army destroyed their keep and banned the Viper Witcher’s from entering core Nilfgaardian cities. Nowadays, most Nilfgaardian’s barely know what Witcher’s even are. Viper Witcher’s are thoroughly displaced; unwanted and relatively unknown in the South, reviled in the North, and with no keep to take refuge in, but Anderson still considers himself Nilfgaardian and is loyal to the Empire and the Great Sun despite no longer being welcome in his home city. He’s also has loyalty to Emhyr because he always regarded Fergus’ son as the rightful Emperor during the Usurpers reign and he’s happy when Emhyr returns to take the throne.

Before all that happened, Anderson grew up in various orphanages in Nilfgaard, going first from a decent one in the City of Golden Towers, and then to an over-packed and impoverished one closer to the border. Support for the orphanage eventually fell through, and almost all the children ended up at the Viper school when a Viper Witcher saw an exciting opportunity to expand the guild and took all the boys. Anderson went on to become a Witcher, while all but one other orphan died during the trials.

The potions used on Anderson were experimental and had a lot of vampire components for regeneration purposes. Anderson has a chip on his shoulder about that and specialises in hunting vampires as both a consequence of his hatred, and because his enhancements make it easier for him than his fellow Witcher’s.

Continuing under the read more since this is getting long.

Since Anderson’s trials emphasised regeneration, he has very accelerated healing and benefits hugely from Witcher healing potions. To accommodate his frequent use of potions, Anderson has a very high tolerance, which has been strengthened by both himself and teachers in his youth by repeatedly testing his limits. In battle, he tends toward longer blades than his fellow Viper’s and keeps a multitude of them on hand. He’s particularly good at using them as projectiles. His signs are used on occasion, but not often; everything but his Yrden and Quen are relatively weak. Sometimes he uses potions to bump up his Igni.

He’s also just a well-read and educated as he is in manga/OVA. The School of the Viper highly valued knowledge, so all Witcher’s received a decent education. Anderson built on this by attending lectures at academy's during his journeying and has visited and appreciated Oxenfurt Academy a few times despite it being a Northern institution.

His visual mutations are fairly mild: bright green, slitted cat eyes and slightly pointed canines. He gets the same sort of toxicity appearance as Geralt in the games if he takes too many potions (reference). He can pretend to be human with some effort, but the eyes are hard to hide since the pupils are slitted and they have a degree of luminescence.

While the keep still stood, Anderson collected information on the Wild Hunt alongside his fellow Witcher’s. He also became a teacher of young Witcher’s, but many of them died during the conflict at the keep and more still when Viper’s had to remain on the path year round instead of wintering at their home. Eventually some of the remaining Viper’s did start wintering at other places/keeps despite their reclusive, secretive nature, but a lot of Viper’s simply remained on the path year round. Anderson is among those who rarely chooses to winter and will instead travel to a warmer climate to do work.

Many provinces in the south are... fairly safe and prosperous, so Anderson often travels around all the Continent to find work. He has some disdain for Northerners like he does Protestants in canon, especially since they treat him like a monster while most Nifgaardian’s don’t even know what he is. Basically, Melitele and the Eternal Fire are stupid, Elves are hot respectable beings, Northerners are barbarians, dwarves and gnomes who??, and god don’t even get him started on Skellige. Typical Nilfgaardian in his opinions.

Alucard:

Alucard is a little harder to figure out since I like to think of Alucard as one of the vampires that arrived during the Conjunction of the Spheres, and we don’t actually know all that much about the world vampires came from... the books have basically nothing. The games expand on vampire lore by giving us three tribes and links to Etruscan civilisation, but its still slim pickings. Since Alucard stayed in society and assimilated, I think it’s fair to say he was part of the Gharasham tribe.

I also think vampires were generally peaceful since if one kills a fellow vampire in the games, they’re rejected and pursued by vampire kind. That might not be the case in the world vampires came from... but since other vampires are the only ones who can kill a fellow higher vampire, they would have to be somewhat peaceful to accommodate their longevity and near inability to die. Alucard might have warred once or twice, but it isn’t until he encounters humans that he really starts going off the rails.

Over a thousand or so years, Alucard kills humans for fun and consumption and gets into human husbandry. When the Witcher’s start being made, numerous of them try to kill him over the years, and all of them fail... until a group surges in together and defeats him. He’s consequently stuck in a state of non-death for a century before a fellow vampire locates him and helps him reform. Luckily, Alucard doesn’t return to his awful ways, because a century of being isolated and stuck in a never-ending state of fear taught him a lesson in basic decency. He develops some respect for humans, and especially for Witcher’s.

His interest turns to observing humans and Witcher’s instead, and they’re a lot more complex and interesting than he gave them credit for. Especially a certain green-eyed Witcher who seems to particularity dislike vampires... he does, however, still indulge in blood on occasion, since he sees no issue with drinking of those who seek battle with him or do ill unto others. Maybe innocents get caught up in that sometimes, but he doesn’t deliberately go after them these days.

On top of being a higher vampire, Alucard would also be an Elder vampire since that seems to be the case for all vampires who came during the Conjunction of the Spheres. It fits the fact that the Elder vampires are incredibly, incredibly powerful beings. Staying true to canon, he’s perhaps the most powerful of Elder vampires, being among the first to arrive and active enough to keep him in peak form, while other Elder vampires are withered recluses.

Since he partakes in so much blood, it could qualify as a drinking problem... but he drinks so much of it that its gotten to the point that it rarely negatively impacts him.

Together:

Alucard finds himself fixated on a vampire hunter Witcher he hears about during his journeying. They clash a few times, and Alucard thoroughly impressed with Anderson’s abilities and it convinces him to tail Anderson through the North (and occasionally in the South). It takes decades for Anderson to warm up to Alucard, but Alucard’s thousands of years old; he can wait! And he does, doggedly pursuing Anderson until they develop an amicable rivalry.

This would probably take place after or before the events of the main books (not the short story ones). Otherwise, there’d be an awful lot going on around them.

#hellsing #alucard #alexander anderson #andercard

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