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warrioreowynofrohan · 3 years

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Aredhel and Eöl

[I’m not sure if this is the take I want to stick with on Aredhel and Eöl, but it’s an idea that popped into my head and I wanted to explore it. There are a lot of fraught topics in here, so if I have messed things up, I apologize. There are triggers for abusive/controlling relationships.]

When Aredhel arrives in Aglon, she expects that her friends will soon return to join her. As the months pass, her enjoyment of the grand forests of this new land fades into impatience, then annoyance, then anger. At times she thinks of riding further east, so seek out both her cousins and this strange people of the Naugrim she has never seen, but at first she tells herself the wait will be only a little longer, pride forbids trailing after those who once abandoned her and now purposely snub her - for after so long, and with no question that they must have heard of her presence, their absence can only be deliberate. She had wanted to boast to Celegorm of her battles against the giant spiders and other terrors of the dark valley, but the stories of her adventures have grown old with waiting.

She rides further and further afield into the expanse of Middle-earth, and one day reaching the Celon on the borders of Himlad, she impulsively fords it and dives into the wood, its trees greater than any she has yet seen, blocking out the sun. She thinks to cut directly through the forest, and so come to Estolad and see the Secondborn of whom rumours have drifted north. She did not leave Gondolin to seek her cousins only, but adventure, and newness, and all things strange to her, the wonders of this wide land.

In the pathless forest she loses her way, who has never been lost in woods since she was a young girl (and then only for the joy of it), even in the great forests of Oromë in Valinor. For a time this is exciting, but as nothing reveals itself to her eyes but the same trees endlessly repeated it griws tedipus and wearisome. The sight at last of a hall and hearthfire is a joy to her, and the stranger who welcomes her intriguing. His accounts of the Naugrim and their deeply-dolven halls in the mountains, the treasures he shows her of both their making and his own - better even that Curufin’s, she thinks disloyally - and the descriptions of their making (for, though not a craftswoman herself, she is Noldor still and delights knowing how the work is done), keep her as a delighted guest for weeks, and his tales of the fearless dark before Sun and Moon during the years of Morgoth’s chaining enthrall her for weeks more. He is as good company as she has ever had, and yet new and different and fascinating like none others she has met. He tells her the story of Thingol and Melian, meeting in this very wood, ringed about by delightful allusions, compliments, and significant looks, and a new excitement stirs that she has never felt before. She wanted Middle-earth - and here is Middle-earth, in all its wonder and history and strangeness, desirous and enraptured of her.

When he asks for her hand, she accepts with the same impetuousity that has governed all the rest of her life.

At first, she is happy in his company, wandering together under the stars or hunting alone. Eöl prefers craftwork to hunting, but she rejoices in it and is far more skilled in Oromë’s arts than the servants, chasing boar and venison. She learns the ways of the wood and it ceases to appear directionless and unform to her. One days she says she feels she has become acquainted with the trees, and Eöl laughs and takes her into a new part of the wood, where she is astonished to see the strangest being imaginable, a tree with the limbs of a man and with hands taller than Aredhel’s whole body, whom he greets in a language beyond her comprehension. Learning the being’s language is a fascinating work of years, and his history yet more delightful; he has lived in Beleriand since the days the first elves awakened.

She is bitterly disappointed that Eöl will not take her to visit the dwarves in Nogrod and Belegost, but they are careful of their secrets, he explains, and would not abide him bringing a stranger uninvited to their fortresses. Nor will he permit her to visit the humans to the south, whom he views as uncouth intruders. Yet in spite of this they are happy, and all the more so after the birth of their son. She is troubled that he will not name the boy; he says that children ahould be named for their personalities, and an infant does not have one yet. In her own tongue, she names the boy Lómion.

One day, a little after Lómion has learned to walk, she suggests to Eöl that she could pay a brief visit to her cousins, who must be worried about her after so long; her anger at their neglect has cooled, and she wishes at least to let them know she is well. Prior to her marriage, neither her partiality for the Fëanorians nor Eöl’s hatred of them had been discussed; in the later years his sentiments became clearer, but still rarely expressed, and she likewise had spoken little of them. Now he calls them Kinslayers and murderers and thieves and invaders, and forbids her to see them - her fury rises in return, asking what he must think of her if he regards her kin so - he snaps that he does not blame her for their crimes - and in an intemperate instant the fateful word “Their - ?” leaves her lips, and he stops short, frozen, as if he had never seen her before. He holds her gaze, and memories deeply buried force themselves to the surface again - of darkness and blood and the heat of battle and the burning desire for freedom and the cold shock afterwards - and they are both shaking, and his gaze snaps away like the gate of a fortress crashing shut.

He leaves the house, and does not return that night, and she sleeps alone. On his return the next day, he does not speak for hours, sometimes staring at her intensely, sometimes letting his gaze slip away, attempting to look at anything - everything - else. In the evening he sits tensely, crouched in a chair, fingernails scraping at his arms as if he wished to scour away his own flesh.

He avoids the bed that night as well. So does Aredhel.

In the morning he breaks his silence in tones hard and chill as granite. Aredhel may depart as she wishes. His son will remain with him.

She refuses this. She will not leave her child, not under any circumstance and certainly not with a father who has not yet named him. She has not deceived him: he knew of the Kinslaying long before he saw her, he knew she was a Noldo and a Finwëan, and he had never asked her anything about it. She will not deny that she was in the wrong; yet something within her, too, has frozen in seeing her husband stare at her as if he had unwittingly married an orc.

They move into separate bedrooms. He never touches her again, save out of the most mundane necessities. It is two years before he will allow her to be left alone with their son; when Eöl is not present, a sevant must be. When he sees that she makes no difficulties and does not appear to be contaminating the child with Kinslaying Noldor ideas, this gradually lightens; at the same time, the bonds around her tighten. Eöl never repeats the offer that she may depart, mistrusting her, fearing what she may say to her kin of her treatment, fearing she could say he holds her son captive.

She seeks for the Ent, feeling the need of a friend and someone to talk to, but he is gone.

Years later, when Lómion is older, and called Maeglin by his father, Eöl takes him on his journeys to the dwarf-kingdoms, teaches him metal-working, and delights in his swiftly-growing skill. For the sake of their son, Aredhel and Eöl reestablish something that is more civility than silence.

Once Lómion is old enough that she can trust him to keep silence to his father, she finds relief in speaking to him of the things she misses, things she has not spoken of in decades, the beauties of Valinor and of Gondolin that once she wearied of, but were far less prisons than this gloomy forest. One day many years later, when he has reached his full maturity, Lómion - with the boundless optimism of youth - disregards her warnings and asks his father that he and Aredhel may visit her family. Eöl goes into a cold fury and threatens to chain him up.

When her son suggests they leave together for Gondolin, she rejoices, feeling freedom quicken the air air again, her heart beat faster with the thought of it. Lómion is old enough now that he could have been wed and had children already, were they not trapped in the forest; he has a right to choose what life he wants.

Fortune betrays them.

Why does she plead for her husband’s life when he kills her? Is it for some lingering affection? For the wish that their son may not be an orphan?

She looks at her brother and thinks, I want there to still be one of us who is not a Kinslayer.

#tolkien #the silmarillion #aredhel #eöl #maeglin #cw abuse

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twh-news · 3 years

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Loki’s production designer on the Modernist inspiration behind the show’s stunning visuals | The Art Newspaper

By Helen Stoilas

Kasra Farahani explains why the Time Variance Authority waiting room looks so much like the Breuer building, and how the inside of a Fabergé egg became an alien train carriage.

Fans of Modernist design can find a lot to appreciate in Loki, the television series starring Tom Hiddleston recently released by Marvel Studios on the streaming channel Disney+. The stunning production is clearly influenced by Brutalist and Neo-Futurist architecture, as well as Soviet Socialist art and sculpture. Visual references can be seen from the very first episode, in which the magic-wielding god of mischief is apprehended by a universe-spanning police force known as the Time Variance Authority for “crimes against the Sacred Timeline” (stay with us).

One early scene, for example, was filmed on a custom-built set that bears a striking resemblance to the lobby of the Marcel Breuer building in New York which once housed the Whitney Museum—and now houses the Frick—while another was shot on location in the Neo-Futurist Atlanta Marriott Marquis hotel, designed by the architect John C. Portman, Jr (with some monumental statues later edited into the soaring atrium). The Art Newspaper spoke to the series’ production designer, Kasra Farahani, about his inspirations for the look of the show.

The Art Newspaper: Loki's director, Kate Herron has called this series a love letter to sci-fi and you see a lot of visual homages to films like Brazil, A Clockwork Orange and Blade Runner. But there's also a clear influence of Modernist design on the look of the series overall. You studied industrial design early in your career. Were there specific examples of Modernist architecture and design that you were looking at when you started working on the series?

Kasra Farahani: So many, everyone from Frank Lloyd Wright to Breuer, to Mies van der Rohe to Paul Rudolph—you have a shot in the John Portman building—to Oscar Niemeyer. And then a lot of Eastern European, Soviet-influenced Modernism played a big part in it as well. I can honestly tell you that my first and foremost inspiration was Modernism. Part of that is because the TVA (Time Variance Authority) is a bureaucracy and I think, archetypically, so much of what we know a bureaucracy to be is that post-war, highly funded institutional look. And there's a lot of different versions of that, whether it's the Washington, DC version, like the Hoover building, or whether it's what we had in Los Angeles, where I grew up, where there's a huge amount of post-war architecture built for the population boom. Like the elementary school, middle school and high school that I went to were all mid-century Modernist.

I was also looking a lot at Brutalism and the Modernism in former Soviet states, that are heavily influenced by Socialism and Soviet architecture, and where scale is such a big driving force of the design.

The size of some of the buildings in the show are kind of overwhelming. I know that some filming was done in the Atlanta Marriott Marquis, with that huge soaring atrium. You just completely get dwarfed by that kind of architecture.

Yeah, that's right. That one we used for the TVA archives because we couldn't justify building a big set, but once I scouted it, I saw that we could bring in these massive Time-Keeper sculptures at the scale you would typically only see in an exterior, which is a fantastical thing. The TVA sets themselves, which were almost entirely full 360-degree sets, were very much designed as an intentional paradox between the stoic, large-scale Brutalism form language, and the surfacing and palette and whimsical patterning, which is very much taken from American mid-century Modern. Those two things create these spaces that feel at once super intimidating and then uncomfortably inviting and warm at the same time.

That’s kind of the irony of a lot of Modernism, Brutalism especially, it had these utopian ideals of creating affordable social housing, but then a lot of the people found it really oppressive to live in.

Yeah. Modernism has been that way the whole time—it was designed to be super cheap and utilitarian and routinely it ends up being the most expensive kind of architecture. Another thing readers may be curious to know about is the TBA expanse, which is essentially the view outside some windows.

That futuristic cityscape you can see….

Yeah. They had very strange and unique parameters to try to design that. The TVA exists outside of the physical world—so there's no weather, there's no roofs, there's no difference between interior and exterior, there's not necessarily even gravity in the way that we know it. But there are these meandering colonnades that we took a lot of inspiration from Brasilia—and obviously a lot of the super cities that were drawn in comics. But also there's some really beautiful conceptual sketches that Frank Lloyd Wright did of a version Los Angeles in the early 20th century that had Roman-like colonnades and plazas and a lot of that fed into what the TVA expanse is.

You mentioned all the sets you built for Loki, especially for the TVA. There's two that where used a lot. The Time Theater, where so much of kind of Loki’s personal story gets told, and looks like its straight out of the Barbican in London, with these huge colour-coded directional numbers on the walls. And then there's the Miss Minutes waiting room with those circular lights that looks almost exactly like the lobby of the Breuer building in New York—to the point where I reached out to the museum to ask if you’d filmed there. You even got the silver-tipped light bulbs right.

We were very inspired by that, but it's different in some very subtle, but for me, very important ways. Number one, the size of the bulbs is much smaller, they were manipulated to create eyeballs, basically. Another important difference is that in the Breuer building, they have these dishes hanging in space, whereas in ours, they're negative space, there's a solid ceiling. It creates a matrix of eyeballs peering down, like the always-watching Time-Keepers. And maybe the most important difference is that the ceiling is slammed down—you know the cheapest apartment you can go into has an eight-foot ceiling, this is six inches shorter than that, and our actor is about six-foot-three. The idea was to create a sort of trash compactor feeling in this claustrophobic space with this matrix of eyes, watching as all of this is happening.

The time theater was for me very inspired by Pier Luigi Nervi.

I liked that waffle coffered ceiling you have in that room.

Thanks. We were very happy with it, and it created this kind of forest of light columns which helps set the neo-noirish, interrogative nature of the space. And the unnecessarily large super graphics that you mentioned are a very Paul Rudolph sort of a thing, he did that in his building too, and I love that.

For me, it’s very important not to reference a set design from other films, that why I reference architecture, painting, photography, these other art forms, more than anything else, because inevitably when you’re working in archetypes, there’s a lot of overlap.

And as Loki goes into different times and locations, you get a completely different design environment in those places. There’s a scene on a train car, that has a very Art Deco look.

That was inspired by the inside of a Fabergé egg, Art Deco meets Alien.

And when you finally meet the Time-Keepers in the most recent episode, it’s like they're in a pre-Colombian pyramid or a ziggurat.

I was looking at Indian stepwells, this almost fractal quality with these descending stairs going into one another—but we imagined them going out every direction, with an Escher-like quality, like they are tessellating themselves to infinity.

I read on Twitter that you literally bought a bowling alley from Omaha and brought it to Atlanta to create Loki's Palace in the Void in the last episode, which is this crazy, surreal, amusement park, junk yard-like place.

We bought the floor of a bowling alley, everything else we built. That was a lot of fun because the script gave us a lot of runway. The proposal was to do this bowling alley because essentially everything in the Void has been discarded from time, and more things fall into it and accumulate and so you end up with these strata. I liked the idea of like a bowling alley that's been smashed over your knee or something. The net effect is when you first enter, you have all these lane lines pointing down at this throne, which was supposed to be stolen from a mall Santa. And then there's these crazy alien plants that are growing through it that have taken parasitic hold of the place. In many ways, I think its a narrative microcosm of the Void itself, which is like a salad bar of these disparate aberrations slammed together. Things like the bowling alley all have these micro-narratives that we in the art department have come up with to help flush out the design and make them specific. For example, there's portraits on the wall of like bowler of the month, and they’re not quite human. It's not in the episode, but those things are important for us in the art department.

At the very end of the most recent episode, we get a glimpse into this city that Loki and Sylvie (played by Sophia Di Martino) are walking into. Can tell us anything about what inspired those scenes, what we're about to see?

You can call me back in a week. All I can say is that the TVA is definitely the visual and narrative anchor of the story, but there's a lot of great worlds to see. And I think what people are responding to is the breadth of the visual variety of the show. And episode six won't be any different. It's really cool, and maybe some of my favorite stuff.

#loki #loki series #production design #set design #tom hiddleston #Kasra Farahani #article #the art newspaper

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metatiki · 3 years

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A Wee Bit of Writing

I haven’t written much lately, but I finally got around to getting out one of the many versions of trans Wardens in my head in honor of Pride month. I have a lot of feels about this Warden, in that in some ways he's like me, and in other ways, he's definitely not. This is one version of him (of course I have several, hush).

Ficlet: A Wee Bit of Love Rating: Teen & Up Warnings: Small hints of lemons Relationships: Male Brosca/Zevran Arainai

Renn didn't know a lot about love. He knew his mother hadn't given him very much of it growing up, choosing instead to throw all her love and attention onto the older sister Rica, the pretty one who might actually draw the attention of a noble lord in Orzammar's Diamond Quarter who would seed her womb with a healthy male baby and lift them out of poverty. For a while, Renn had been jealous of his sister for that, and jealous of his sister's beauty, but then...well, then later it just didn't matter, and he wouldn't have taken all the beauty in the world.

His first lovers hadn't really been very loving, all told. His coupling with Leske had been more curiosity about learning what the fuss about sex was about, and though he got close to an orgasm once or twice, it always felt wrong in ways he couldn't even begin to imagine. The encounters with Beraht had been easier--*he* had always just wanted a mouth with a talented tongue wrapped around his cock, and didn't particularly care who it belonged to. Jarvia...well, Jarvia had felt wrong from the beginning, because her body kept reminding Renn about what was wrong with his own, so he'd usually just let Jarvia do what she needed and then left once the woman's drunken snoring echoed in the room.

By the time he gained his terrifying freedom on the surface, Renn knew almost nothing useful except how to swing an axe taller than he was and that he hated with his entire being the name his mother had given him, along with all the guilt and self-loathing it inspired. Renn--something short and easy to shout in a fight--was the only name he told Duncan, and it was the only name he gave to others.

Of course, how Duncan treated it did make him love the man a little. But then, how hard was it not to love a man who treated you with dignity, who had a gleam of understanding in his eye when you told him why you couldn't bear to look in the mirror or wear clothes that actually fit? He would always treasure the way Duncan had offered to cut the long locks his mother had insisted he maintain, obeying Renn's order to throw them in the fire without hesitation, and the way Duncan helped him craft an undergarment that wrestled his body into a shape he could handle. Surely that warm glow was love, though it felt more like what he felt for his sister than a lover.

But Duncan was dead, and Renn had been on the road for many of what the surfacers called moons, though he didn't quite understand how they could tell time by the changes in the largest of the white orbs in the sky. But then, he still didn't like looking up, even after a fortifying sip from the flask Oghren would sneak to him every week or so.

But the elf...there was something about the elf that left him warm inside. Not between his legs or thereabouts, but in his chest and his mind. Something about the elf's smile, about the way his hands would somehow find a way to linger on his wrist and palm when he helped him up after a fight was over, or the way the elf just seemed to understand when Renn needed a story or even just silent companionship... That all mattered. He suspected he would have accepted Zevran's not-so-subtle attempts to invite himself into Renn's tent by now if he wasn't so worried about what Zevran would think about him beneath his armor, but in the meantime it was fun to daydream, and wonder if this was what love felt like.

And then came the moment Renn had been dreading from the moment he first saw a blue sky: the inevitable return to Orzammar.

He didn't warn his companions. None of them knew that he'd had another name once, and he hoped that they wouldn't have to deal with those who remembered the Carta thug he had once been. At first, it seemed his wish had been granted--right up until they ran into a couple of his old comrades-in-crime while on the way into the tavern.

Naturally, maddeningly, the first word out of their mouth was his old name. It was enough to make Renn's stomach twist and his hands to clench into fists, but before he could react, Zevran stepped forward with a cheerful smile on his face.

"Renn," Zevran told them. "His name is Warden Renn Brosca."

"His name?" The henchman rolled his eyes. "So she's as crazy as--"

Before Renn could even cringe, or think, or speak, Zevran was already moving. The dwarf found himself slammed to his knees on the ground, forced to look upwards at the dagger point less than an inch away from his eye, as Zevran said in the same impeccably cheerful voice, "His name is Warden Renn Brosca. And the only reason you aren't dead is because you and your friend there are going to go tell anyone in Orzammar who might think differently that their memories need some correction, hmm?"

As the smell of urine permeated the air and the dwarf babbled a promise, Renn stared at Zevran with wide eyes. Once the two dwarves had stumbled away, Renn marched over to Zevran, grabbed his face, and hauled him down into a kiss. As their lips touched and Zevran's arms wrapped around him, it felt right in a way nothing really had before. In fact, it felt like love--the kind he'd read about in the books the Carta smuggled down from the surface and in the stories Leliana had told Renn at night under the stars to distract him from the wide open sky.

It felt like he'd finally found someone who saw Renn for who he really was, not what the world had been telling him to be since his birth.

And, as he pulled back and looked up into Zevran's gaze, a smile came to his face as he murmured, "Where's a tent when you need one?"

Zevran gave him a wink. "I'm a clever fellow. I'm sure we can improvise something even down here."

A statement, as it turned out, that Zevran was more than happy to prove true, and Renn was more than happy to confirm.

#dragon age #dao #brosca #zevran arainai #trans brosca #pride month #my writing #ficlet

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carewyncromwell · 4 years

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((Prevously on “Quest for the Quidditch Cup”...))

[It didn’t take long for Carewyn to track down the “witness” Rita Skeeter had mentioned. Murphy had apparently caught wind of the same rumor not long after Rita, and so he, Orion, and Carewyn followed up with the student called “Face Paint Kid” (Carewyn would’ve preferred to call him by his name, but given how stubborn he was about it, she decided there was no real reason to argue the point).

Face Paint Kid confirmed Carewyn’s initial suspicion -- it had, in fact, been an accident. Although Carewyn was glad to know that Rath hadn’t injured Skye on purpose, however, she could tell Orion was anxious. She doubted anyone else would be able to tell, given that his voice never rose out of his usual relaxed, laid-back tone -- but she could still feel something faintly tense coming off of him. Sure enough, when Murphy, Orion, and Carewyn headed to the Quidditch Pitch, Orion passed the time by balancing on one leg on his broom, rather than sitting down in the stands with Murphy and Carewyn.]

‘If he’s trying to find his center, he must be worried..’

[Right on time, Skye hobbled up into the stands to meet them. Her arm cradled the left side of her chest as she walked.]

Orion: “I’m glad to see you’ve recovered, Skye.”

[Despite his detached, dreamy voice, Carewyn could see the softness in his dark eyes. It kind of reminded her of her mother Lane when she was happy -- even if Lane had never been a loud or animated person, her eyes always deepened that same way when they were happy.]

Murphy: “Try not to scare us like that again, all right? I don’t think our hearts can take it!”

[Skye grinned confidently at Murphy.]

Skye: “Don’t worry, a Bludger can’t keep me down! Not for long, anyway.”

[Carewyn offered Skye a small smile.]

“It’s good to see you back on your feet again.”

Skye: “Thanks...Madame Pomfrey won’t let me play in the match, but I can still help our team with the Quidditch Cup! And destroy Rath in the process...”

[The mention of Rath seemed to drain the relief right out of the space. Murphy, Carewyn, and Orion suddenly all looked a lot more solemn.]

“About that...”

[Carewyn glanced at Orion out the side of her eye grimly -- the team Captain took over for her very quickly.]

Orion: “Face Paint Kid saw what happened between you and Rath.”

[Skye clearly had not “read the room,” for her face burst into a big, triumphant grin.]

Skye: “Smashing! Can’t wait to show everyone what kind of witch Rath really is...”

Orion: “He says it was an accident.”

[The grin slid off of Skye’s face. Carewyn felt as though the air had abruptly chilled ten degrees.]

[Carewyn straightened up, her shoulders locking into place in her most assertive posture.]

“He’d been on the opposite side of the Training Grounds as you when it happened. He said that Rath hadn’t noticed you at all, when you walked up behind her. When you first got hit, Rath even looked surprised at first...as if she hadn’t know anybody else was there.”

[Skye took in the explanation silently, but there was no sense of acceptance or relief in her expression. Her eyes were burning with an indecipherable emotion.]

Skye: “...You think Rath hit me with a Bludger by accident.”

[Carewyn could hear upset and anger burbling under the surface of Skye’s voice like lava.]

“That’s what Face Paint Kid said.”

Murphy: “He didn’t want to tell us, which increases the likelihood that he’s telling the truth by...87.6%.”

[Like Carewyn and Murphy, Orion had kept her voice as level and patient as possible -- Skye, however, reacted as defensively as if he’d accused her of a crime.]

Murphy: “(quickly) We didn’t say that!”

Orion: “(gently) Telling the truth as you saw it is not ‘making things up.’ You merely reached a conclusion without considering alternatives. That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Skye: “(belligerently) I’m not ashamed of it! Why should I be the one to be ashamed, when my own teammates won’t support me? Whatever happened to us being a family, Orion?”

[Orion’s eyes became a little smaller as his lips came together silently. Before he could come up with a response, however, Carewyn cut in sharply.]

“Family doesn’t mean never disagreeing about anything.”

[Memories of her mother telling her and Jacob about her abusive family rippled over her mind.]

“I know you’re upset about what happened, but don’t take it out on Orion -- ”

Skye: “(bitterly) Yup, here we go -- swooping in like a knight-in-shining armor and making me out like I’m the bad guy, just like before...”

[Carewyn crossed her arms reproachfully.]

“And here I thought you’d acknowledged starting those rumors about Rath was wrong.”

Skye: “(snaps) Who cares?”

“Not you, from the sound of things.”

[Skye got right up in Carewyn’s face, lording over her with her taller height.]

Orion: “Skye -- ”

Murphy: “Skye, take it easy!”

Skye: “(harshly) Yeah, well, maybe I don’t! It’s because of her that I can’t play in my last Hogwarts match ever -- the last chance I’ll ever have, to win the Cup for Slytherin! Why should I care?”

Orion: “Skye -- ”

[The Quidditch Captain’s voice sounded a bit pained in how he tried to talk Skye down, but Skye determinedly ignored him, which made Carewyn if possible even madder.]

Skye: “Just because you’re a little Fairy Tale Princess who can’t imagine having any enemies -- !”

[Rakepick’s smirking face flaring through her mind was the straw that broke Carewyn’s back. She didn’t either cower or get up in Skye’s face in return. Instead she rather coldly raised a hand and poked it right into Skye’s collarbone as she took a step back, so as to regain some personal space without looking like she was retreating. ]

“Just because you don’t care how much you hurt both Rath and your team’s reputation by starting up false rumors doesn’t mean nobody else does. Just because you don’t care that you mouthed off to Rita Skeeter about how terrible Rath is knowing it could end up in print doesn’t mean nobody else does. Just because you think Rath hit you on purpose doesn’t mean anybody else does. You are not infallible, Skye -- otherwise you’d see that we’re trying to help you...but all you can do is ignore everyone else’s feelings in favor of your own ego!”

Orion: “(forcefully) Carewyn, please!”

[Carewyn looked up at Orion. The Quidditch Captain’s usually clear face for the first time betrayed some anxiety.

Carewyn’s righteous anger flickered and died. Skye’s glare bore very coldly into Carewyn’s face.]

[Orion’s attempt at soothing, however, was met with no softness.]

Skye: “Yeah, well...suppose we aren’t much of a team, then.”

[Her voice dripped with passive aggressiveness as she turned on her heel, grabbing her side gingerly.]

Skye: “Have fun at your match. Bet you’ll win...now that I’m not there to muck everything up, like I always do...”

[Carewyn watched her go. Once Skye had left the stands, Carewyn closed her eyes, bowing her head and exhaling heavily through her nose.]

Murphy: “She doesn’t mean it -- winning means far too much to her for her to really bow out. (lowly) ...She’s just upset.”

[He gave Orion a reassuring look. Orion interlaced his fingers in front of him as he balanced on his broom, his dark eyes very dark and unreadable.]

Orion: “I’d hoped the truth would allow Skye to heal emotionally -- that it would bring our team together...”

[His eyes absently rested on Carewyn’s bowed head.]

Orion: “...But instead...our team’s been torn apart.”

[Carewyn felt a cold pit in her stomach as she opened her eyes, staring down at the floor of the stands.

She wanted to feel bad for Skye -- but in order to do that, she felt like she’d have to give Skye credit for how she felt -- and Skye was just too objectively wrong for that. Even so...Carewyn knew how much the situation hurt Orion. Orion and Skye had played together nearly from the beginning...and Carewyn knew how much Orion loved his team. Orion had told her about his home life -- how he’d been raised in an orphanage with no structure and little affection, and how Quidditch had become the home he’d so longed for.

With some difficulty, Carewyn forced herself to look up at Orion and meet his eyes.]

“(softly) ...I’m sorry, Orion.”

Not for what I said...but I know I could’ve said it better, if I didn’t lose my temper.

[Orion’s dark eyes softened slightly.]

Orion: “As always, your inner fire dwarfs that of a Fire Crab. It’s merely that, right now, that blaze was the last thing we needed, in a field already on fire.”

[Carewyn fixed Orion with a sharp look.]

“Maybe...but I couldn’t stay silent while Skye hurt you -- even if you are a good enough person to turn the other cheek.”

[She was again reminded of Ben’s words in Jacob’s room.

“ -- putting everyone else’s needs and feelings before your own, even when it clearly hurts you – blaming yourself for everything, letting your friends hurt you and never making any move to hurt them back – I’m grateful for it, Carewyn – but I hate it! I hate it, because I’ve seen how much fear and pressure all of that’s put you through – and I’m sick of having to watch you suffer, silent and alone, especially when it’s pointless!”]

It’s something we have in common.

[There was an odd, startled flicker in Orion’s usually detached dark eyes -- something deeper and almost a little more fragile. Before Carewyn could try to get a fix on his feelings, however, the gleam had vanished and he gave her a more usual wry smile.]

Orion: “...It’s little wonder your name includes the word ‘care,’’ Carewyn Cromwell.”

[His face then grew much more serious again.]

Orion: “Nonetheless...”

[Carewyn got to her feet.]

“(firmly) I’ll go. I set Skye off, so I’ll take responsibility for this.”

Hopefully I’ll have better luck smoothing things out with Rath than with Skye...

((OOC: Carewyn’s always been closest to Orion out of the three Quidditch-exclusive characters -- and honestly, given that Orion’s philosophical bent reminds Carewyn of her brother and the lack of love and support in his childhood reminds her of her mother, it’s little wonder why. Orion’s always nurtured a soft spot for Carewyn too, even after she left the team -- she remains one of the few people he’s ever told his life story to, alongside Skye and other select players on his team.

I tried to keep Skye’s overall attitude pretty close to how she acts in the game despite the changed timeline and relationship dynamics...but I’m sorry, Carewyn’s sentiment is the same as mine: Skye doesn’t deserve sympathy right now. If you’re more fond of Skye as a character than I am, I totally understand -- but I guess from a personal perspective, Skye just reminds me of some very toxic people I used to know, in how she disregards other people’s feelings and attacks anyone’s attempts to “check” or “correct” her, even when the person is being as sensitive as possible. There’s no reason that Murphy, Orion, and MC had to walk on eggshells about telling Skye this, or that this revelation should’ve ended with Skye being upset -- there is no sympathetic reason at all for her to be upset that it was an accident. She thinks her team thinks she’s a liar? No, they made it clear they don’t think that. She’s upset because she was wrong? No reason to shoot the messenger. She’s upset because Rath can’t get shunned and/or kicked off the team for hurting her? That would make Skye the sort of person who’d want to punish someone for having done nothing wrong. If you feel sympathy for Skye being wrong, I can understand that, and I truly am a bit sad Jam City has so effectively robbed Skye of character development -- but the way Skye’s written, I just can’t justify Overly-Sensitive!Mama-Bear!Empath!Carewyn being friends with her. Just like in the game, the two ladies will come together to figure out a way to deal with Rath and the Ravenclaws, and I do plan on writing Skye as a gray character rather than a completely one-dimensionally awful one -- but she will not be counted as one of Carewyn’s friends.))

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #roleplaying #gameplay #quest for the quidditch cup #anti-skye parkin #tagging just to be safe #carewyn cromwell #orion amari #murphy mcnully #skye parkin #ben copper #erika rath #face paint kid #lane cromwell

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blankdblank · 6 years

Text

Sango - Thranduil Prompt Request Pt 4

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 -

...

94 “Well behaved women rarely make history.”

196 “I promise I’ll be tender.”

246 “I need to be closer to you.”

387 “That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?”

…

Tags –

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea, @ggbbhehe4455, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @abiwim, @jotink78, @evyiione, @sweetlytenacious25

…

On the long ride to Moria once again King Thranduil glanced over at you as you chatted with Thorin on the pony beside your tall horse. The remorse in his eyes for losing even a sliver of your good favor still stabbed at him greatly. His eyes lingered on your back as he caught a glimpse of a smile from the Dwarf King through your attempt at a weak chuckle. The pain of not being the one to draw that joyous smile from you forced his eyes forward again as they nearly welled with tears.

His only relief was the soft ringing coming from your looped braided ponytail with his bell nestled safely in place still. You had promised him you would not run from him after a statement that your prior fight had hurt you deeply and that you would be angry with him for a time. Quietly he sat enduring the painful reaction of what he had brought on, a simple angered utterance had brought you to tears and revealed a great weakness in you he had not seen, one he’d imagined himself to only feel.

In a glance behind your back Thorin eyed the Elf King and his stoic expression and mournful gaze into the distance ahead of you. In Khuzdul he asked you, “Did you break the Elf King?”

You rolled your eyes and met his eyes replying, “That’s a melodramatic, don’t you think?”

He raised a brow at you, “He seems to be near tears. What did you do?”

“We had an argument. I’m upset with him.”

Thorin glanced at the Elf King again curiously, “You’re shunning him then?”

“It’s hard to explain. I’m just going to be, less affectionate, with him.”

He nodded, “Ah. You’re paroling him then.”

You glanced at him curiously, “Paroling, as in what criminals are on after committing a crime to keep track of them?”

Thorin nodded, “Does it not fit the position he is in?”

“Actually it’s pretty close.” He chuckled again, “He seems that upset?”

Thorin glanced up at you, “If he upset you he should be.” You chuckled softly, “After all you’re the incredible woman who’s going to restore a second Kingdom of ours. He should understand you’re the one to set the path. Even against a King your path is the one he should cater to.”

“I’m certain you’ll be leading your Kingdom after Bilbo’s wishes then?”

He smirked up at you, “In certain ways. I do have to say, I’ve never seen him this glum.”

“I’ll throw him a bone later.”

He raised a brow, “Bone?”

You giggled softly, “Figure of speech. Means I’ll give him a tug closer to lighten his mood. Maybe a hug if he keeps moping.”

Thorin, “Don’t give too much ground, he is still being punished.” You smiled at him again with a nod and his head turned to Bilbo who approached his side asking about the path ahead.

Alongside the edge of the river between Lothlorien and all of Greenwood the armies stopped for the night allowing you to dismount and stretch your legs. With a gentle stroke of your hand along your horse’s neck you walked to his head to give him a few brushes along his face while softly thanking him, before letting him join the other steeds. Off in a safe distance you glanced over at the Elf King while he stood beside his Elk pretending not to be mentally figuring out where he should rest for the night. When he finally turned it was due to the shifting glance from the Elk in front of him. Inhaling slowly he straightened up watching as you stroked the giant creature’s face softened at your presence easing the mood of the King even just a little. “Will your camp be next to the Dwarves’?”

“I, had hoped to camp close to where you are camping.”

Your head turned to meet his gaze as the Elk walked away to claim his dinner being set out for him. “You do realize me being angry at you doesn’t free you from being my pillow.”

In a stunned blink at you his lips parted and he stammered out, “I wasn’t, certain.”

With a poke at his chest plate you watched his eyes scan over your face again, “I’m going to help the boys set up the fire for supper. Feel free to join us unless you’d prefer eating with the Elves.” With another tap on his chest piece you added, “The Company’s stocked up on their families’ most embarrassing stories, we’re gonna share them, if you’re up for it.”

When you turned your hand brushed along the end of your long shirt tucked under a thick vest, leaving your armor for areas closer to Moria, his eyes scanned over your back while he straightened his outer traveling shirt and walked to your side gently claiming your bag before gripping the strap of your giant Hiraikotsu, testing its weight. The weapon nearly causing him to teeter on his feet stirring a chuckle from you as he realized just how impossible it would be for anyone to take let alone borrow your weapon, sharply inhaling he gripped it, raising it up and resting it over his shoulder.

The short walk over spread your smile as you tried to hold in your laughter as he wobbled each time it shifted along his back between his steps, “You have to time it.” He glanced down at you, “Your steps and how it moves. Takes work but you have to time it, hardest part about it.”

“I thought catching it would be the hardest.”

“Throwing it is much harder. If you don’t have the strength for it it’ll take you out before it’ll take another out or even leave your grip.”

Beside a large boulder you helped him lower your belongings and went to collect an armful of fallen timber as the Elf King lingered behind you stealing each stick and log he imagined to be over his mental marker for his to carry to lighten your load. With full arms you both returned as the Company stole glances at your massive shadow in a much more cheerful yet still timid mood around you. Around the Dwarves the Elves settled and stole glances at their King with hopeful smiles that he’d gained some ground back in your trust after their catching on to your first argument he’d obviously triggered. All obviously siding with their new Queen at just the remorse in the King’s eyes long before any of the guards had caught a glimpse of your pink eyes from the tears that had been drawn from you.

Through the preparation and sharing of the dinner prepared he happily sat beside you, inching closer whenever he could until his crossed legs were pressed against yours. When your dinner was through and cleaned up your hands rested on your thighs as the stories began your eyes lowered to Thranduil’s hand resting on his thigh barely an inch from yours as his fingers traced over the vines embroidered along the hem of his deep green outer shirt in his struggle not to claim your hand without permission.

Halfway through Dori’s first tale about Nori in his youth your left hand moved over his thigh lowering Thranduil’s eyes to his lap to watch you grip his sleeve and move his hand to lower onto yours bringing his hint of a smile wider as he curled his hand around yours. Nearly the whole company got a turn before time was called to sleep and you all moved to from your usual sleeping positions in a partial circle with you on the outer edge on the bedroll Thranduil had set out for you to replace your worn one.

Under the stars your eyes lingered on the twinkling distant lights as your smile inched wider drawing the King to scoot a bit closer to your head, curling his legs tighter as he glanced up and lowly asked, “Any ones you’re curious about?”

In as large a reach as you could manage your arm extended to point up at one of the blinking specks. His head tilted to get a better view and inched his smile wider, carefully his fingers slid along your palm to guide your fingers through the figure it was a part of while sharing the story behind it then asked, “Are the stars different, in your old world?”

You nodded easing our fingers around his and reached up to rest your joined arms on his thigh above your head, “They’re nowhere near this bright, even out in the desert or near the oceans.”

“You’ve seen oceans?”

You caught his eye when he glanced down at you, “You’re not missing much.” After his next blink you continued, “Just sand and waves, not much different than waves in rivers. All you’re really missing is the seagulls and salty smell on the breeze.”

“Sea gulls. I’ve heard of them, all the tales of those off to sail. Peaceful birds singing songs of the west.”

Your scoff brought his eyes to yours, “Sorry. Our gulls and yours are far different.” His brow rose at your soft giggle, “They’re angry, angry birds. And never, never take food to the shore. They swoop and attack anything and everything. One time, my Cousin Are,” You giggled again, “She had her earring stolen. After about an hour of her screaming we went swimming and she got slapped in the face by a jumping fish that triggered a pelican to swoop down at her.”

“Pelican?”

“It’s, sort of like a weird looking egret mixed with a swan, they have this pouch in their beak. They fly down and scoop up a mouthful of water and fish, and I’m not certain if they start to digest in the pouch or they swallow them whole, a bit beyond my studies. But,” You glanced up catching his interested smile, “I never really liked the ocean. Felt more like an endless wall blocking me in.” His lips parted, “Back there, we could map the surface, sail or surf the waves. But you can only see so far down. The farther you go the larger the creatures, and it gets darker, and colder. And the people back there, we could only go so deep so everything deeper than that is just a mystery.”

“Sounds terrifying.”

“It is. Mountains and forests were always more peaceful for me. But I suppose it fits the whole Nymph part of my name.” His eyes lowered to scan over your face while his free hand slid over the tops of your locked fingers and hands with an enamored gaze as he told you one of the countless tales of Nymphs in their world.

…

“I promise I’ll be tender.” Your eyes shot for Kili and Fili locked in a mocking conversation about Thorin and Bilbo’s vows for their nuptials. A giggle left you as Dwalin knocked Kili off the log with his boot replying, “Careful there lad. You’ll be up next on the alter so no jokes.”

On the edges of the forest your eyes shifted to the tree line once again a rustling caused your eyes to furrow. Across from the camp the Dwarves had set up you looked over the trees once again, the turn you made brought the Elves’ attention back to you and joined you in your search, but after a few moments they returned to their own camps while you cautiously hopped over a large rock to a bend in the river. In a glance down you eyed the log you were tying to cross before your head shot up and you eyed the tall blonde racing towards you, “Echo” sounded in a relieved whisper as his arms circled you. Behind you you heard the Elves all turn to inspect your possible attack only to see your feet shift making the log roll sending you both backwards into the water.

Your sharp inhale sounded when you surfaced again in the arms of the now standing dripping Elf carrying you to the river’s edge. Once on your feet again you turned to peer up at the blonde now cupping your face with a searching gaze over your face as tears filled his eyes, “It’s you.” He turned to glance at Thranduil’s Elves then back to you, “You’ve been in Greenwood? How?”

“I take it you’re Glorfindel?”

His head tilted curiously as his hands lowered to your shoulders while you reached down to remove and drain your boots before adding them again as Thranduil approached you both and started to explain the situation. In another glance at you his head turned to where you were standing before you had walked into the edge of the woods with a curious bounce towards the trio of blondes all looking you over with partially awed expressions as they gazed into your eyes. Your growing smile halted their steps as you released your lip from between your teeth before your saying, “I was wondering when I’d run into you.” Their brows rose as they looked you over again, “I know you’re Haldir,” you leaned a bit to your right glancing at the blondes behind him, “And I’m assuming, Rumil and Orophin?”

They glanced from you after their heads bowed through their repeating their names to you, a set of fingers in your hair signaled your turn to eye Glorfindel as he eyed your courting bell then turned to stare down Thranduil on his approach, “You’re courting my Daughter?!”

In your turn you swatted his arm bringing his attention back to you with a relaxing expression as you said, “Hey, I’m right here you know!”

Glorfindel’s hand settled on your shoulder, “If he-.”

You swatted his arm again, “Again, adult, right here.”

Glorfindel, “There is a tradition to these things. Rules to follow.”

You rolled your eyes turning away from them to go join the Dwarves again, mumbling, “Again with the rules.”

Glorfindel looked you up and down before glancing at Thranduil when he chuckled and shifted to join you through Glorfindel’s saying, “If your Brother was here-!”

You glanced back at him and fired back, “Well he’s not! I spent, who knows how many years, centuries in that other world, Alone, except for that spoiled Princess Aredhel, who, if she’s the same one you escorted to meet Feanor’s kin, you should have left her wherever you’d taken her from. Pompous spoiled, arrogant-!”

Your wards halted as he cut you off, “Aredhel?!” He stepped closer to you, “You’re certain?”

“Aredhel Isfin,” your hand settled at your side just by your ear, “This big, obnoxiously ridiculous, dark hair, silvery blue eyes, can’t shut up to save her life, terrified of thunder storms.”

Glorfindel, “Sounds like her.”

You nodded, “You should have left her, no wonder you let her wander off. She deserves that place.” His hand settled on your shoulder as tears filled your eyes, “You, I don’t remember my childhood. I don’t remember how I got there. But I know who I am, and that I never, ever want to go back there again.” Your voice wavered as you squeaked out, “And you can’t just decide,” In a step forward he curled you against his chest in a tight hug nestling his head against yours.

In a soft whisper Glorfindel replied, “I’m sorry. I just want you to be safe. I’ve searched so long for you.”

When you pulled back he watched you wipe your cheeks with your wet sleeve as you sniffled, “Well, if you really wanna see something, you can come join us in marching on Moria.” His brow rose as you nodded and forced a giggle as you stepped back, “Watch me slice the head off a balrog.”

Softly him and the guards whispered, “Balrog?”

You turned with another giggle, “One rule though, tie your hair up this time. And come drop by the camp, I’ll show you my Hiraikotsu.” You turned again, “I may not be the most well behaved woman in Middle Earth, but then again, well behaved women rarely make history.” Your growing grin and giggle drew a smirk on Glorfindel’s face as he watched you turn and trot back to the edge of the woods and in a teetering walk on the unsteady log to explain the situation to the standing Dwarves before accepting a bowl of stew from Thorin.

Barely above a whisper Glorfindel said, “She is so much like him now.”

Thranduil tilted his head to the side as he turned, “You should join us. For lunch at least.”

Glorfindel, “Her, Hi-, her what?”

Thranduil chuckled, “It’s a giant boomerang. Deadly. You should see her in battle.”

Glorfindel joined him on the walk to join you as he asked, “You, really believe in this march?”

Thranduil, “Jaqi does. I believe in her.”

At your side again they caught your laugh as Fili snatched your bowl away and Thorin rolled his eyes and went to grab you another as you turned to introduce the four Elves as Glorfindel bowed his head to Thorin and asked, “Battle plans?”

Thorin, “Jaqi said she knows about a hidden door we can use to get inside.”

Haldir, “Not much of a plan.”

You smirked at him, “Well if I was about a foot taller with a beard and the heir to Gondor’s throne I could call on the Men of Dunharrow-.”

Your words died as a green ghostly King appeared beside you sending you into a back step into Thranduil’s chest, being curled in his arms in a protective grip through the King saying, “Who dares-“ His scowl dropping as he bowed lowly to you, “My Lady Echo.” When he rose again he continued, “How may I be of service?”

Slowly Thranduil released you as you flashed the ghost King a smile and tapped Thranduil’s hand for release to say, “I was wondering. We’re marching on Moria, you wouldn’t happen to be willing to join us, would you?”

A smirk formed on his face as he bowed his head, “We would be honored to stand at your side on the fields of battle once more, My Lady.” With that he faded away on the breeze and you couldn’t help butt giggle.

Turning your head you caught Glorfindel’s eye, “Undead Army, check.”

He couldn’t help but smirk and he glanced between you and Thranduil, whose arms were still loosely resting around your middle and said, “I’ll fetch my armor and weapons. You’ll be here when I get back?”

Unable to stop yourself you replied, “Unless the White Lady locks you up to keep you from me.”

His brow rose and he stepped closer to you, “What, would make you say that?”

Your eyes lowered to your feet as you heard the muffled echo of a screech coming from your hidden sealed pocket in your boot. You shook your head, and flashed a quick smile, “Never mind. It’s just a hunch.”

Thorin, “This White Lady, it wouldn’t be the same one from Rivendell you told us to avoid?”

Glorfindel’s hand rested on your shoulder and he asked with slightly narrowed eyes, “Please, will you tell me what makes you not trust Lady Galadriel?”

“It’s hard to put in words. All I’ve learned about her, I just don’t trust her.”

With a nod he replied, “We will say nothing of your presence then. I will fetch my belongings and return with you to Greenwood.” You nodded and he leaned in to kiss the top of your head before turning to head into the woods again after a glance at Thranduil, who led you back to your chosen seat and collected a bowl of stew for both of you.

…

Loud vibrating shouts and clashes filled the Mines while wave after wave of the ghost army wiped out the Goblins and orcs rushing at them through the open front gate, with the Dwarves and Elves waiting outside. Upon word of Glorfindel and the Brothers joining Greenwood’s army a legion from Lothlorien joined in as well, all staring up in wonder at the returned Lady in strange armor hurling a massive weapon through the dark creatures. Swing after swing you awed them, but a loud thumping and the flames escaping the gates signaled the arrival of the Balrog. In an instant Glorfindel searched for you only to find you missing before glancing at Thranduil as he called out, “She does that.”

The pair of them raced after you when they spotted your leap onto a rocky ledge and sprint towards the Balrog now unfolding his whip. With barely a toe an his shoulder after your leap you started your swing and managed to turn, plant your feet and drive the weapon straight through his neck sending his head to the ground. The loop around of the weighty object sent you through another spin before you could plant your feet again and eyed the forces below you along with the awed Elves and Dwarves as the creature slowly buckled and dropped to its chest.

In the drop your eyes shifted to Mirromere causing your eyes to narrow and brought a flicker of a memory to flash in your mind in the form of a low hissing voice. “You imagine yourself to be well loved fair one? My place here points to the contrary. All that is fair is not good, and you, little One, are far from safe from those with darkened souls.” The Balrog crashed into the ground and your eyes lowered to the ground as you saw a giant Dragon leaning in to stop inches from your face releasing a swirling mist from between his jaws as he spoke again, “You, fair Little One, are nothing more than a bartering chip. Darker forces swirl around you and your kin. Your home is gone, people scattered.” In another hissing inhale his golden eyes flashed brighter, “You are mine, to wander through the ages unseen or felt when you fade away from the lives of the demons around you.”

As you stepped off of the Balrog your eyes rose and you smiled and chuckled weakly as Glorfindel clutched you in a tight hug, lifting you from the ground. Over his shoulder Thranduil eyed your face curiously as a tear rolled down your cheek through your blank yet saddened expression through a wave of memories of your childhood under your Brother and Glorfindel’s protection ending with your eyes passing over a mirror on the wall and seeing Galadriel’s darkened Swamp Lady face watching you pass through a hall stirring the first wave of fear through you in your short lifetime. When he released you your smile was forced back and he led you closer to the scores of Elves waiting to greet you properly as you shouldered your weapon, locking eyes with Thranduil and sharing with him in a mental whisper you would explain later.

One long night of your sharing with your fiancé left him feeling a hint of fear at just what he’d agreed to when he had confirmed Glorfindel’s opinion that Galadriel was trustworthy, the lingering reluctance at meeting with her. The image of your seeing a darkened image of her in the mirror from that piece of your childhood. Something about it stabbed at him, and in the darkened dusty elf filled hall after your sharing you settled against his chest, relenting to his request of remaining your pillow, along with his attempt to use his contact in a hope to keep any nightmares away.

At the edge of the woods your eyes landed on the growing glow coming closer to you, as best as you could you remained calm and only relaxed at Thranduil ‘s hand easing against yours to hold it firmly.

When the Lord and Lady paused in front of you your hand tightened around Thranduil’s as your memories flooded back. The dull glow your exhaustion had left you with tripled drawing the glowing marks along your skin to appear, triggering Glorfindel and Celeborn’s as well as Galadriel’s eyes darkened and narrowed towards you. Her lip curled as her glow darkened causing her kin to step away from her as you glared at her in return. In a hissing voice she ordered, “Give it to me.”

Your free hand gripped and drew your katana you held at your side urging the Dwarves to step back while Glorfindel and Thranduil drew their swords as well on her next step towards you. With a weak chuckle you replied, “Such a pretty ring.” Your eyes dropped to Nenya pulsing brightly sapping her light drawing her darker, “Makes you wonder what you had to sacrifice for its obedience.” Her eyes narrowed as she started chanting in black speech sending out ripples of her hissing chant off into the distance summoning dark creatures, “Or should I say, who.”

Her chanting grew louder as the Elves, including the growing number coming from deeper in the forest, all armed themselves and scanned around them for any sign of threats. In another step to you you continued, “In the other world we have a story about a Queen and her mirror. Who yearned for nothing more than to be the fairest in all the land.” All eyes shifted to you as your light grew even brighter striking against her darkened burst of energy at you, “In that story she had a Daughter, fairer than any in the lands surrounding hers.” Off in the distant racing feet and barks from wargs were heard causing your hand to be released as they circled the pair of you, “’Mirror Mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?’ Her request echoed through the kingdom, with all Mothers scarring their Daughters to keep them safe from their Queen. With all them safe, the only one after that drawing her eyes after this, was the Princess.”

In a glance over their shoulders the Elves glanced at Galadriel as she snarled at you and shrieked as Nenya shattered as you called out again, “Was it worth it? Your beauty?”

She dropped to her knees gasping for air in raspy gasps reaching for you as you stepped out of her reach to join Thranduil’s side as a wave of orcs raced towards you. Easily they fell while she beckoned more staring at you with her green tinted paling eyes while she clutched the grass to help drag her body closer to you between gasps and wheezes through her body withering. Her last repetition drew your eyes upwards as a giant black foot dropped through the trees clutching you drawing screams from the men below that all raced after you while Galadriel clawed her way behind them. Out of the forest they spotted the Nazgul you were frantically kicking and squirming in its taloned feet in its flight away only.

Gasps sounded from the men as they watched the giant squid from Mirromere shoot its tentacles out, gripping the nazgul and dragging you and the beast under the lake. In a full race towards the edge they watched your light dimming as the surface glossed over and sealed, not giving way to any of their attacks. Between their loud screams until your light was gone from sight completely they struck and attacked the surface, not realizing the rasping Lady had reached the edge and smirked as it allowed her to pass through drawing even more screams. The lake sealed again just as another wave of Orcs appeared, one by one they were brought down until the area was noted as all clear. With guards on the edge of the lake the mournful group followed the stunned Wizard among them muttering to himself on the path back inside Moria.

…

Between their hushed guesses at what could have happened to you Thranduil sat against the wall as tears streamed warmly down his cheeks as he stared at the floor in front of him stroking his palm at the lingering memory of your hand fixed in his.

Behind his lost gaze each memory with you relayed again and again, beginning with his guiding you through one of their dances in your first week. Timidly he guided your hands into place as he stepped just a bit closer, “I need to be closer to you.”

The dance continued until it faded ahead to the second night of the Feast of Starlight, those last few dances before your tangled path back to your gifted room where he’d once again followed you into your closet to remove your shoes and circlet in your giggling flirtatious conversation. Ending with your being pinned against the wall and wrapped around his waist as he stroked and kissed all the skin he could reach through his passionate claiming of you. Unexpected and brief but with it the bond was sealed settling you officially as his Queen, but with a knock on the door your loving embrace and deeply tangling kiss paused with a muffled groan from the King earning a giggle from you. A voice from the door called out for the King, who replied, “I will meet you outside.”

The click of the door and your fingers stroking his cheek brought his smile back and his eyes back to you only to close at your next kiss, “You’ll come back after?”

He chuckled softly claiming another kiss and lowered you carefully, securing his pants again, “Of course. I’ll hurry it along as fast as I can.” In a turn he grabbed your nightgown, carefully taking it off of the hanger and helped ease it on over your head after you pushed your gown down from its place bunched around your middle. He claimed it and added the gown to your clothes basket and led you back into your room and smiled through your fixing his robe as he leaned forward allowing you to fix his hair and crown then cupped your cheeks for a gentle kiss.

You smirked up at him and twisted from side to side nervously, “Now, go be a King.”

His smirk grew at your hand waving him away making him chuckle softly and bow his head, “Of course My Queen.” Rolling your eyes you turned to sit on your windowsill to look up at the stars while he sighed and left to head to deal with whatever problem they thought fit to take him from you.

Nearly to sunrise a single tulip was stroked along your nose drawing a scrunch of your face as you stirred from your sleep. The sun coated King smiled down at you offering you the tulip as he said, “I made breakfast, My Dearest.”

You glanced at his simple under shirt hanging loosely around him as he stood brushing down your blankets, scooped you up in his arms and carried you to the table he’d coated with his heartfelt meal to make up for his tardiness. Through it you draped your legs over his lap spreading his smile as you traded tastes of mixtures of the meal before your slide over to his lap soon taking you back to bed again to steal the last free portion of his day he’d cleared to share with his new bride.

Mingled with his regrets at urging your meeting the Lady that had led to your being stolen was your argument. A single mention of a few names of the actors you had known from the Dwarves, especially the two he had taken as former suitors had brought out a jealous near rage from him. His feet carried him directly to where you were, in his sitting room reading through a book he had lent to you as he barged in demanding to know the names of the men to have tried for your hand.

Soon it spiraled into an all out interrogation from him quickly ending with his body halting mid pace after he had said, “All these suitors, I appear to be just one in a long line. What could possibly have turned you away from them, from what the Dwarves have told me they were very handsomely paid they could all easily buy your affections.” He should have stopped there but his next statement rapidly followed, “How difficult it must have been for you to be favored by so many, it begs me to wonder why you chose to leave at all.”

In an instant he turned with mouth agape at what he’d said to see your eyes filled with tears and your quivering lip drawing tears from his in return as the shame of his angered words washed over him. In a trembling voice you replied, “I spent, years, and yes, men have shown interest. But never once,” he stepped closer to you as another tear streaked down his cheek matching yours, “Each and every person I have met, I somehow have this ability, to take the kindest, most loving people and turn their hearts to stone. I have this small section of time I can remember, everything else is, nothing.”

Your hand rested across your chest, “All I have, is me. No one or nothing else, just me. And everyone I care for and trust seems to turn away from that, for all my, amazing qualities, I am always found lacking. I am trusting you, with me.” Another tear streamed down his cheek as he drew in a weak breath of his own, “I understand you’re upset. And, I may seem to be so casual with my affections. But trust me, when I say, trust is not easy for me. It’s like breathing in flames, burning through me painfully when I know, a piece of me knows I’m going to be turned away or forgotten. It may be foolish of me to keep tearing my heart out for each person I care for, and the scars I’ve inflicted on my poor bruised and beaten heart hurts more than anything, anyone could ever do or say to me. But, I have to try, in the chance, just once, I can trust without burning, just once.”

Through another shaky breath he stepped closer to you, “I understand you’re upset, and scared. But please trust me, I would never wish that place, on anyone. Now, I’m going to go pack for Moria, ad you’re under no, obligation to go. You’re a King, and, for everything I know, there are millions of subjects and events I know nothing of, and I cannot, give you my word any of your men will survive this.”

With that you turned to the door and he stepped closer, “Jaqi, I” your body paused to hear what he had to say, “I should never have doubted you. Am so-.”

His words died when you turned back to him and said, “I understand, I really do. You have a decision to make.”

“Is this, are you ending our union?” His wavering plea cut you deeply.

“You hurt me, even unintentionally, the sting is real. I knew there might be an, issue with how we courted back there.” Another tear streamed down his cheek as he felt like this was the end, “I am angry, and I’m hurt, but that will fade.”

His eyes met yours from their spot on the floor with a hopeful glimmer, “You’re giving me another chance?”

“I am terrified of trusting people, and I know you have troubles of your own. We still have a lot to learn about each other. I’m going to go pack.” Your back turned to him again and he watched you leave his room and walked to the nearest chair then collapsed into it. His body slumped forward and he covered his face with his hands berating himself for ever having challenged his trust in you.

… Back in Moria …

Gandalf paced once again while the Elf King was informed of the need to return to their lands at words from the borders needing reinforcements. In a burning glare on the path ahead of him, returning him to the room and kingdom he’d so recently claimed as half yours, Thranduil paused and flatly stated to the Wizard. “Mithrandir.” Gandalf paused glancing at the King as all the others did at his return to his formerly stoic withdrawn self, “You brought her back once, do it again.”

Gandalf, “King Thranduil, that took centuries to plan properly, and much longer than that to even locate her.”

His head turned to meet the Wizard’s eyes revealing his bloodshot pair dripping in unending agony, “Find my Wife, or I’ll tear you limb from limb.” His head turned forward and he continued his exit to retrieve his Elk for the race back to his lands.

Returning went quickly and soon found him plenty of dark creatures to unleash his fury on before his eventual return to his rooms, where after a much needed bath he returned to his room and sat along the wall falling silent as every piece of him shattered while his tears flowed freely as every sight, sound and touch of his moments with you replayed for him over and over again. Locked in his enforced solitude, without even the comfort of the stars you had shared to comfort him. Without you the sky was dark except for the moon, without a twinkle to be found. Alone he would stay in these four walls, where he could still fell and see you, either temporary or permanently until word of your return or proof of your death had been named, but there in his corner he would sit, sit and wait, so certain of your return.

Pt 5

#Thranduil x Reader OC #Hobbit #lotr

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kuriquinn · 7 years

Text

Telanadas [2/19]

Cover Page & Disclaimer:

first chapter

Sakura’s resolve to press on only lasts a half hour, if only because Nature makes a more convincing argument than Comfort. Darkness falls sooner than expected, and they are forced to find shelter.

As the winds grow strong enough to press the travellers up against the sharp, icy façade of the mountain, Sasuke spots a cave almost obscured by rock and snow. Even luckier, it is large enough that all four of them can fit comfortably inside without infringing on each other’s personal space. Having had to sleep crowded against Naruto on at least two occasions lately and subjected to his kicking, Sasuke is more than relieved about this.

Once inside, Kakashi uses his magic to erect a barrier of fire, offering both protection from enemies and the frigid gusts of wind. As the blood flows back into Sasuke’s fingers and toes, the mage conjures a small fire. Meanwhile, Sakura takes on the undesirable job of fashioning a small latrine at the back of the cave.

“That’s all we need is for one of you to wander out to take a crap and fall off the side of a mountain,” she says cheerfully.

Sasuke doubts any of them will make use of such a thing unless they are snowed in here for days. Then again, dwarves and humans have such odd notions of hygiene and propriety he cannot be entirely sure.

While Sasuke lays out their gear and armour to dry near the fire, Naruto digs about in their supplies to put together a warm meal.

Though meal is being polite, Sasuke thinks with a grimace.

“I do not understand how you people can eat this,” he mutters, the complaint escaping him before he can stop it. He was taught to consider food no more than fuel, but after weeks of the same paltry fare he has lost patience. “Do I even want to know what it is?”

“I think it was lamb at some point,” Sakura says, accepting the makeshift bowl of tasteless noodles and jerky from the human. “But the texture…isn’t one I’d normally associate with lamb.”

“Beggars cannot be choosers,” Kakashi replies mildly, shrugging one shoulder.

“What are you guys talking about?” Naruto asks, slurping down his share. “This is so much better than that frilly stuff we had back at the castle! I hate food I can’t pronounce. And this stuff never goes bad. I bet if we packed it away, it’d still be good to eat fifty years from now!”

Sasuke stares at him in disgust. “I cannot even tell if you are joking or not.”

“He is not,” Kakashi confirms, examining what is left of their rations. “I am rather sure these are from supply caches that have not been opened since the Storm Age. They were old before I stole them from the Circle of Magi.”

“And…I’m done,” Sakura says, offering her still-full bowl to Naruto, who cheers and adds the share to his own. Sasuke is tempted to do the same, but as it might be construed as a kindness to the human, he refrains. “What about you, Sasuke-kun? You didn’t eat like this where you grew up, right?”

As always, she is trying to find out more about him.

“No.” He intends to leave it at that, but when she gazes up at him beseechingly, a follow-up question clearly on her lips, he elaborates: “Simple fare. Bread made from seeds. Milk from our halla. Vegetables.”

He tries not to lick his lips at the mere thought of tomatoes. It has been so long since they had a decent meal.

“Halla?” Sakura repeats, confused. “Is that a kind of animal in Oto?”

Sasuke tenses, realising his unconscious slip.

“Not necessarily Oto,” Kakashi answers for him, eyes widening in understanding. “Halla are creatures like horned stags. The Dalish consider them to be noble companions.” He raises an eyebrow. “I had wondered about the markings on your face, Sasuke. They resemble none of the tattoos that the House of Crows use…but I have never seen that particular vallaslin before, either.”

“Dalish?” Naruto asks Sasuke in slack-jawed awe. “Wow, really? Arl Hiruzen used to talk about the Dalish, but I’ve never actually met one before!”

“Your powers of observation are worse than I thought, as you have been travelling with one for weeks now,” Sasuke bites out.

“Oi!”

“What’s vallaslin?” Sakura asks quickly, obviously attempting to curtail an argument.

Sasuke shrugs noncommittally, not wanting to explain.

“It translates to ‘blood writing’, if memory serves,” Kakashi says in his place. “A sign of adulthood, and adherence to the beliefs and traditions of the Dalish. It is surprising that one who submitted to the ritual would then be found working as an assassin for the House of Crows.”

“Chains of a past that no longer exists,” Sasuke interrupts. “I am going to sleep. It has been a long day.”

He turns away from the fire, a clear message that he has no intention of answering any questions or pursuing the discussion further.

He can feel Sakura’s eyes on him, but after a short pause, she suddenly says, “Well, that still sounds a lot better than what happened to me. I got this—” He imagines she is pointing at the rhombus shaped brand on her forehead, “—just for being born in the wrong place.”

“Heh. I understand what that’s like,” Naruto snorts.

“Maybe. Except as far as I know, Konoha doesn’t brand a newborn with a hot poker just because his parents were unwed.”

“What? No way!”

“Uh-huh. The minute a casteless dwarf is born, we get marked, so there’s no way to mistake who we are if the nobles catch us lurking in the richer quarters. Also, it makes it way easier for Carta recruiters to decide which kids they can press-gang into doing their dirty work.”

“Carta—the dwarven crime syndicate?” Kakashi questions, sounding surprised.

Back still turned in a pretence of sleep, Sasuke frowns. He does not find that surprising at all. It certainly explains her occasionally mercenary attitude and her talent for surviving insurmountable odds. The Carta offers about as friendly an upbringing as the Crows do.

“They’re the ones who smuggled lyrium to the Templars,” Naruto whispers, a little uncomfortable. No doubt he had comrades who suffered from that particular addiction. “You were one of them?”

“There wasn’t much choice,” she replies, unembarrassed. “Since the most respectable job for a casteless dwarf is sweeping the streets, and there’s only a few people who even get that job. It’s either work for the Carta or become a noble hunter. And I’d starve to death begging before I got on my back for some jacked-up noble because I might bear him a son.” She sounds abruptly fierce just then. “No disrespect to the women I grew up with who did that—there’d be no dwarves left down there if there were no noble hunters. But I won’t sell my heart for the small chance of pretty clothes and jewels.”

Sasuke snorts at this.

There is that naivety again.

“It seems we are talking too loudly and disturbing the elf’s sleep,” Kakashi remarks wryly, but Sasuke refuses to reply. It is enough that he has been forced by close quarters to listen to this.

Sakura is not so easily fooled; though she does not speak to him, her next words are pointed.

“People should be allowed to love one another without reprisal. Without duty or society or anyone else’s agenda getting in the way,” Sakura says, and her tone has lost all the levity he would normally associate with it. She only sounds like that when defending a cause that she considers worthy.

“You’re right,” Naruto says quickly. “The world would be a much nicer place if that were true.”

“Perhaps some places,” Kakashi says carefully. “Circles of the Magi, for one. But for the good of the many, sometimes the desires of the few need to be set aside. Many a peace accord may never have happened if the belligerents in a conflict did not seal it with a marriage. And our world may have looked much different.”

“Maybe up here on the surface,” Sakura says. “Back in Iwa they’re so obsessed with blood purity that soon there won’t be anyone left to marry, diplomatic or not. If people could choose…if people could choose, Iwa might not be falling into the dust.”

There is sadness and anger in her tone, coupled with the sudden shifting of her body.

“Anyhow. It’s not like any of this matters here and now,” she goes on, and her tone is such an abrupt shift to cheeriness that Sasuke knows it is fake. “We just have to get to that temple and find those ashes to help Arl Hiruzen.”

“That is assuming they do exist,” Kakashi says reasonably. “This ‘Urn of Sacred Ashes’ could be nothing more than a rumour. Or a hoax.”

“You couldn’t have said something before we climbed half a mountain to get here?” Sakura jokes lightly. “Shannaro…”

“No, it’s real,” Naruto insists, faithful Templar even now. “Just wait, we’ll get those ashes back to him and he’ll be kicking down Danzō’s door in no time—believe it!”

The dwarf is not the only naïve one.

“I’m sure you’re right, Naruto,” Sakura says warmly. “But in order to get up there, we need to be at full strength. Which means sleep. I can take first watch if you want.”

“No, you’ve been pushing yourself pretty hard the last few days, Sakura. Take a break. Kakashi and I can keep a lookout since someone’s being a lazy arse.”

The recipient of the barb rolls his eyes.

“Naruto,” Sakura warns.

“Yeah, yeah…”

“Go on, Sakura, he is right. You are no good to your cause if you pass out and freeze to death in the snow,” Kakashi coaxes.

“Hah! Like I’d let that happen!” Naruto scoffs.

“Well, thank you guys. I guess I can take an hour—but I will take second watch at least.”

That is what you think, Sasuke decides.

Annoying as the humans are, they are correct. Sakura is no good to them dead from exhaustion. Especially since Sasuke has thrown his lot in with her, he intends to keep her alive until he figures her out.

It should not be an issue to take the next watch.

There is a sound of shifting armour and the rustling of a camp bed, and he imagines Sakura has indeed turned in for the night. Kakashi and Naruto murmur to each other quietly, not wanting to disturb her; Sasuke is not so lucky, his ears picking up even the quietest whispers.

“I’m actually just as tired,” Naruto groans. “I’ll play you for first watch, if you promise not to cheat.”

“No, you go ahead and sleep. I’ll stay up and read for a little.”

“Ugh…just make sure you ‘read’ far away from my blanket.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. You mages are all perverts…”

Sasuke silently agrees.

After that, everything goes quiet (or as quiet as they can with Naruto’s snores). Sasuke allows himself to sink into a light sleep for a few hours, but when his ears pick up on Kakashi shifting in discomfort, he rouses himself. The older man has an odd propensity to take longer watches than he ought, to let everyone else rest. This makes no sense considering Sasuke does not need as much sleep as anyone else in the party. Sakura would say it is because Kakashi is an old mother hen at heart, but Sasuke is not sure. He does not trust humans, and mages even less, even when they do not wear masks to cover all but the eyes, the way Kakashi does.

With a stretch, Sasuke climbs out of his bedroll. He heads for the mouth of the cave to take a piss, then goes to sit beside the mage.

“I will take the watch until morning,” he murmurs. “You people are no use to me dead on your feet.”

“I sense there was concern in there somewhere behind all the stoic,” Kakashi remarks.

“Tch.”

“I’m serious, Sasuke. You are so tightly wound, it cannot be good for you. You know what would do you some good?”

“I suspect you are about to tell me.”

“If you went out some time, found a girl, and did naughty things with her that did not involve trousers,” the mage continues as if he hasn’t heard him. “If you are in the market, I know of at least one who is definitely interested.”

The way his eyes slide toward where Sakura is sleeping, albeit fitfully, leaves no question to whom he is referring.

“Len’alas lath’din,” Sasuke grumbles, turning away in contempt.

“Now, now, that is not very polite,” the mage says, more amused than offended. And it should not surprise Sasuke that the older man knows Elvish, especially given his remarks earlier about blood writing. No doubt he has read about it in his studies, locked away in one of those shemlen towers.

He honestly has no intention of replying, but Kakashi continues to look more amused than he should. It reminds Sasuke a little of the teasing his cousin Shisui used to subject him to, and now, as then, his pride does not allow him to let it go.

“What makes you think I have not already?” he hedges.

Kakashi chuckles. “I can smell purity a mile away. It is a talent.”

“That proves to be useful, I am sure.”

“Not that often, as it turns out. It would be much better if I could sense Templars. It might make them easier to avoid.”

Sasuke snorts. “You have my deepest condolences.”

“Heh. Likewise.” Kakashi puts away his well-worn, orange-covered book. “And so does she.”

The comment has Sasuke puzzling over it longer than he will admit.

When he gets it, he wonders if it is too late to hit the older man.

Translations:

Halla – type of horned stag, used by the Dalish to pull their landships

Vallaslin – intricate facial tattoos worn by adult clan members of the Dalish elf tribes

Arl – feudal title; rules over an arling

Lyrium – valuable mineral/material whose consumption can strengthen a mage and boost their mana

Len’alas lath’din - dirty child no one loves; Dalish insult

Comments and concrit are much appreciated, and very motivating! For information about supporting my original, non-fandom related works, you’re welcome to check out my ko-fi tip jar, or my patreon page.

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omnical · 7 years

Text

I Sing the Body Electric... (3/?)

( Previous - Next )

Summary: We find out a few things about Detective Fareeha Amari. (Previously titled Dead Bodies)

Genre: AU (Supernatural, Cyerpunk-ish elements).

Characters/Pairings: Fareeha, Pharmercy; minor: Angela, Lucio, Hanzo

Rating: T, mentions of third party violence and rock music

Links: AO3

Detective Fareeha Amari dug for her coat’s collar underneath the scarf wrapped around her neck, taking care not to jostle her injured arm.

Looking out into the pouring rain, she stepped through the medical examiner’s office entrance, its sliding doors closing behind her with a hiss of cold air. Fareeha carefully fumbled down the marble steps which lead to the sloping sidewalk, her shoes getting drenched from the wet pavement once more. She contemplated what to do next.

The roads outside were sleek; watery reflections of white streetlights and holographic shop signs dancing and glistening on uneven asphalt and dark bricks. The pavement was lined with a layer of fog, not quite thick enough to hide the gleam of her shoes. It rolled across sidewalk cracks, curling between lampposts like smoke from a cigarette. Under the cover of rain, the streets felt like a liminal space; the urban sprawl quieting down to a whisper. It almost felt like she was walking in an old 1980s music video. Fareeha bunched her shoulders up, rain falling on her like big fat pellets, plunging her in a world of filtered gray and blue. She pulled her collar further up her face with a careful tug, hoping to warm her cheeks.

But this is real, she thought, slowing her brisk march when she reached a flickering streetlight.

She looked up at the dented torch, squinting from the rain falling on her face. Fareeha leaned her shoulder against the post, and tapped a knuckle against its metal surface twice. Light shortly surrounded her like a hundred watt spotlight. Fareeha wrapped her arm around herself, and waited.

The commercial district in Bishop Street usually bustled on a normal weekday, full of grim-faced crowds too busy and harried to slow down. Today, however, Fareeha only saw a handful of strangers huddled in their own coats; different colored umbrellas casting shadows over their heads, trying to keep themselves away from the worst of the weather. Along the roads were several lined coffee shops and quiet novelty stores. Closer to the horizon, a sky bridge hovered a few blocks away near a car dealership and a vehicle maintenance office, where she could see faraway headlights gliding across the bridge.

Fareeha inhaled, filling her lungs with the city. The smog, the food wafting from diners and eateries nearby, the hot biofuel from passing cars. With her eyes closed, she imagined the good Dr. Ziegler waiting under the bus stop after a work shift, sitting on a greasy wooden bench, protected from the elements by a layer of dirty glass and metal bars…

Fareeha hated the rain. Not for the first time, she questioned her year-old decision of moving to a place which had an overabundance of it.

Rain felt oppressive, heavy and menacing; hiding the gloom, with time frozen at the tip of a decimal point. Cairo’s streets never had the problem of crime persisting under unrelenting weather, but here in King’s Row, criminals would come out like earthworms crawling out of the mud, rising as if exposed to an electrical current; ready to take advantage of lone wanderers, darker alleyways, and abandoned vehicles. While her old security job in Cairo kept her busy, criminal statistics here in King’s Row was another level altogether. It found Fareeha sleeping in her car’s backseat most nights, too exhausted and emotionally drained to drag herself back to her flat. She spent most of her wages buying fuel, and eating street-food out among her miserable fellow city dredges.

But now, as an endless row of dark and heavy clouds rolled across the sky, Fareeha found there was another malevolent side to the city. People often said that fear came from the unknown. Fareeha argued that knowing, sometimes, is worse than not knowing.

As if possessed by a desire to do something with her hands, Fareeha turned her wrist and read the time on her wristwatch. Her hand was shaking, but it was not from the cold. Two thirty-five P.M.

A red double-decker bus swept past Fareeha, its sides covered in blinking neon advertisements of current web celebrities, dwarfing her easily as it turned left. She watched it go, warmed by its hot engine as it passed.

A number of cars followed after, heading for busier highways. Their windows were black, leaving behind the sounds of humming engines and the break of wind speed as they glided towards their destinations. Her eyes idly watched as they all disappeared around the next turning signal.

Fareeha perked up when a familiar shape of another vehicle soon came into view. She stepped closer to the edge of the street to meet it.

Her car’s headlights appeared like two bright eyes in the dark as it approached its owner, the Raptora’s bulky form cutting through the curtain of rain. Its engines roared, then slowed to a stop in front of her. She gave its hood a fond pat.

“You’re late.”

Fareeha opened the car door and quickly gathered herself in the driver’s seat, the ends of her coat bundling up over her lap. Her hands already felt numb from the cold, and water from her hair trickled down to her back. Fareeha shivered. It wasn’t the best weather for a visit to Dr. Ziegler, but she had come anyway. It was sensible, even necessary, to keep everyone informed, was it not? Of course, most of their communications were through screens and encoded channels. Meeting a few times a day in her office, fascinated by the way the doctor’s mind processed information. Dr. Ziegler was… different. Good different.

What an odd woman.

She gripped the wheel and felt around its ridges for the fingerprint scanner hidden behind it. After finding the smooth glass panels, she allowed the module to scan her prints.

The vehicle’s inner-systems hummed to life, its dashboard lights, overhead LED’s, and the windshield display blinking like the eyes of a creature forced into wakefulness.

Vehicle status…

GPS…

Radio box…

She waited a moment, allowing Raptora to scan their external surroundings.

'Welcome back, Detective Amari.'

“Thank you, Raptora.”

‘There is currently nothing urgent pending, and there are no alerts from nearby city districts.'

“Good to know.” Fareeha said with a grunt, struggling to pull the seatbelt over herself with one hand, jamming it in her haste.

‘You are scheduled for an interrogation with Mrs. Eileen Finnegan at 1600 hours. No new reports for Case File: 712, 649, 447, 328…’

“Not so good to know.” She grumbled, clicking her seat belt into place after much difficulty.

With a sigh, Fareeha relaxed into her seat and reached under the passenger dashboard. She unlatched the car’s built-in laptop from underneath, pulling its sturdy metal tray towards herself. Fareeha rubbed her fingers together before opening its lid, and pressing the blinking, yellow button at the corner of its keyboard. She began to type a few keys.

‘You have a non-urgent callback from your Tracker. Patching him through.’

She chuckled. “With Hanzo? It’s always urgent.”

“Amari.”

Fareeha grimaced.

He must have heard that.

“I thought we were on first names basis now, Shimada?”

She bit the insides of her cheek, trying to stifle a laugh as Detective Shimada went silent, the grating radio static successfully expressing his displeasure.

Fareeha could almost see him glare at her from the other side of the frequency.

“Tell me.”

“We have the results from our tech’s video analysis for Case 765.” He said, his keyboard clicking. “Quoting her report: ‘If I have to check this dumb video clip again, I will eat my equipment’. I believe her report strongly confirms she has found no further evidence of anything out of the ordinary.”

Fareeha cursed, her fingers raking through her hair. “Any good news?”

“Got a call about the wife, that Finnegan woman.”

“Eileen?”

“She cannot come for the interrogation today. I have just deleted it from your task list.”

“That’s not good news, Shimada.” She gripped the steering wheel tightly, drumming her fingers on the rim. “What happened?”

“Got the call thirty minutes ago. Neighbors and apartment staff reported she did not come home last night, and has been gone since yesterday.”

“Think she ran off before we got to her?”

“I am checking all nearby airports and train stations as we speak.” Shimada said, “Might be a good time to pay her a visit.”

“What is her address?”

Another minute of loud typing.

“I sent you the coordinates.”

“Appreciate it, Shimada”

“Don’t get shot.”

Shimada cut the audio on his side, leaving her alone with the sound of rain pelting the roof of her car, loud and cacophonous like the static of a dead television channel. Fareeha’s smile fell.

She pressed the back of her head against the leather headrest of her seat and exhaled, slow and steady, watching in a daze as her car’s wipers went back and forth across the windshield.

Stretching her numb fingers, she reached for the round metal knob of her radio and turned it on. A slow song began to play.

Welcome, my son, welcome to the machine...

The little girl woke up to the sight of a forest zipping by.

Her superhero posters and the toys on her desk were gone. Her desk was gone. Every morning she woke up to the sight of glow-in-the-dark stars hanging over her ceiling; her blinds half-open, allowing the morning light in. This looked nothing like her home.

Instead there were trees, yellow signposts, and guard rails blurring together into blotches of dizzying color.

She blinked, rubbing cold knuckles over her eyelids. For a moment, the girl had to take in a few seconds to remember where she was. Looking now at her surroundings, the girl’s mind caught up to her recent memories. They were not home anymore. They were so far away that girl did not know what this country was called anymore.

And there were so many trees.

The young girl did not wish to know what existed beyond the verdant landscapes; or beyond the faded blue mountains, which crested up into the sky like giant pointed specters. The view made her feel nauseous after staring at it for too long, and she had to look away, shaking her head. The girl supposed spending many days and nights riding a moving car for hours on end would make her stomach feel hollow and full of acid.

Up in the sky, the weather cast was blue and sunny from where she could see. It also looked windy, and pleasant, a good day. But the girl was starving, and she wished she could play outside with the children from back home instead. She imagined orange sunsets, drinking tea, and eating figs and nuts with her parents outside on the sandy balcony.

She hunched in her seat, watching thickets bearing spaces no wider than an inch or two apart whip past them as they drove far, far away. They have been driving for a long time, and she still did not know what day it was, or what time it was.

She hated traveling.

“We’re almost there, little one.”

The young girl frowned, looked down at her lap, and remained silent, fiddling with the hem of her jean jacket. The plastic yellow decoder ring around her thumb from yesterday’s cereal box was still sticky from the sugar and milk concoction she ate, but she found comfort in its weight. The girl took it off and worried it in her palm, turning the dials and trying to read a few random letters on the face.

“Still mad at me?” her mother asked, her voice rough from disuse. She sounded tired, and wary, but it was comforting for the girl to hear the familiar language again.

The girl said nothing. She pressed her head against the cool glass.

“I know you are, and I am sorry.” Her mother sighed. “I am so, so sorry. But we need to keep moving.”

“I want to go home.” the girl said, her voice soft, the hum of their vehicle drowning it out.

“We can’t, little one.”

“I want to know where ami is.”

“We’ll see her again soon.” her mother paused. “I know you’re afraid and confused – “

“I am not scared.”

“But you need to do exactly as I say. Okay?” The girl decided ignore how her mother’s voice shook. “I need to protect you now.”

“Thank you, but I can take care of myself.”

Fareeha slammed the car door shut, and looked up at the lush residential building.

It was an old and ancient structure, surrounded by well-trimmed trees and square hedgerows along the sides, separating it from the road. Its stern and sturdy form was unlike the grandiose arching designs of today’s modern architecture. It had stayed in the same place years after its construction in the mid-millennium, and Fareeha presumed it will stay in another twenty. Around the ancient building were newer structures, taller with narrower roofs reaching high into the sky; colorful hologram logos blinking and turning above every shop entrance. Talco Machinery. Jotunn Co. Kenwood Electronics.

Detective Amari felt out of place amongst the crowd of flashy local residents, their drab business suits and dresses well-starched and angular. Some were waiting for their valets, while the equally well-dressed residential staff kept their clients’ coiffed hair and makeup dry, lifting wide umbrellas decorated with a bright yellow logo above their heads patiently.

The well-dressed omnic who had approached Fareeha, holding up a dainty hand as if asking permission to collect her wet coat, nodded politely. “Very well, detective.” They lowered their arm. “Welcome to the Evergreen Complex.” The omnic opened an umbrella over her head with a flourish, and patiently waited for Fareeha to get out of her car and lock her vehicle. “We did not expect you would arrive this early.”

“Thanks… Mister, Miss…?”

“Mister Samwise-57, your loyal Residential Concierge, detective.” He nodded. “At your service.”

“I am Detective Fareeha Amari, King’s Row Constabulary. I believe you have spoken to my partner an hour ago?”

Samwise’s blue oculars blinked. “It has been most distressing.” he said, deflating visibly. “Especially considering what had happened to her husband. We are happy you came, detective. Please follow me.”

After making sure the Raptora was safely patrolling around the city district on its own, Detective Amari followed Mr. Samwise-57 to the building’s wide and golden entrance. Its well-kept exterior built with flared bricks fanning out in complex patterns, which made its design look rustic in its odd geometry. Rainwater gushed in mini-waterfalls from the white and yellow awning above its main entrance.

The door panels and curved handles were also colored gold, its surface was clear glass.

Another omnic opened the glass door and welcomed them with a small bow and an exaggerated sweep of an arm, their square jaw quirking as they smiled, and kindly told her to be careful of the slippery floors. Fareeha nodded back and mumbled a quick thank you in return. The lobby floors were spotless, and the carpeting was dry.

Warm air greeted her, and she shivered from the sudden shift in temperature. Her shoes squeaked over the shiny marble floors, sliding and squelching as she walked awkwardly to the reception. Miraculously, she did not slip.

The apartment’s lobby was a wide space, sparsely decorated, with minimalist sofas and a lingering smell of oranges. Two security guards sat behind a wide desk a walk away, watching her approach apprehensively. Detective Amari tugged her coat over herself, her hunched form making her look like a drowned castaway among the richer folk.

“Nice place, Samwise.”

The omnic perked up proudly. “Our staff works very hard to keep things going like a well-maintained machine, you could say.” He said.

A few of the tenants watched her, some murmuring about the detective’s sudden unsightly appearance. Some were sending her dirty looks as Detective Amari dripped puddles everywhere. Other, likely smarter individuals, noticed the embroidered badge and patch on her shoulder which read: ‘King’s Row Constabulary, Criminal Investigation Department. Nevertheless, they gave way to her tall presence, too busy reading the daily newspapers from their tablets, or hurrying to do their own businesses elsewhere.

“Do you happen to know Mrs. Finnegan in person, by any chance?” Fareeha asked, combing drooping strands of wet hair away from her face.

“She spoke to me a few times.” Samwise stuck his umbrella in a fancy copper bin nearby, which was already full of used wet umbrellas. “Lately to ask about her husband, but not much else.”

“Not a happy couple, I take it?”

“She wanted to make sure we caught her husband with a girl around his arm.” He said.

Once they approached the front desk, she signed her signature for the visitor’s record book, showing her badge to the security officers on-guard.

The elevator ride to the 54th floor took a while. Fareeha spent it in silence with the cheerful omnic by her side, who bounced along with the elevator jazz music.

In her mind, she was busy imagining Mrs. Finnegan’s daily routine. Retracing the woman’s journey every night, after coming back home from work.

The elevator was fairly spacious, and wide enough to fit ten people in. It was clean, the smell of perfume and cigarette smoke prominent, sticking on every surface. The wall behind them was covered in a large mirror, not a smudge marring its pristine surface.

Fareeha imagined Mrs. Finnegan fixing her make-up and hair in front of them every morning, every night.

The side walls were covered with a few LED display screens, which proudly advertised one ridiculously expensive product to another. Cheerful, multi-language voices from the ads rung out: perfumes, wristwatches, a fancy laundry service for the residents, and a ‘New Royal Mall on the Queen’s Walkway Boulevard! … Visit us today!’.

Fareeha lifted her eyes up, and saw a security cam overhead. Its small, red light blinking above its dark lense. She set her mouth to a thin line.

“You wouldn’t mind if I acquired copies of your security vids, would you?”

“Of course not, detective. Please feel free.”

Detective Amari mumbled a thank you, and grabbed a device from inside her coat, which looked like it could have fit around her wrist perfectly if one of her arms were not broken. It was as large as her hand, and it fit perfectly in her palm nonetheless. The front panel of the device split and slid apart, revealing a small glass screen. A few settings and actions appeared in blue letters. With difficulty, Detective Amari pressed a few keys on its panel with her thumb, sighing in annoyance when she found her fingers too short to work the device properly, but she managed to finish uploading the files to their database nonetheless.

The elevator dinged once it reached the 54th floor.

A long, and carpeted hallway greeted them. Fancy, seashell-shaped light fixtures hung in a precise row over the walls of the narrow hallway, each of them placed between an apartment door. The air was stale, and it smelt of leather, carpet shampoo, and – at one point, while passing room 5409 – the strong hint of brewing coffee.

Fareeha was also beginning to smell the stench of her sweat, fresh rain, and the streets hovering over her like a noxious aura.

They turned left.

“Mrs. Finnegan’s room is at the very end of this hallway, detective.” Samwise said.

“Didn’t expect this place to be huge.”

“Evergreen Complex is one of the oldest buildings in the district. Made of sturdy stuff, and recently renovated fifty years ago.” He said. “Quite close to the airport, with a train leading to the central hub a stop away. It is why most of our tenants never think about leaving.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to sell me a room.”

“Only if you can afford it, detective.”

“Ha.” Fareeha rubbed her nose with a finger, hiding her amusement at the omnic’s blithe response. “How long has Mrs. Finnegan been staying here with her husband?”

“Almost five years.”

“Do they have enemies? People they had an argument with that you know of?”

“Not to our knowledge, no.” Samwise paused. “They’re a quiet folk. Like to keep to themselves, not until their ‘domestic dispute’ reared its ugly head, at least.”

They reached the end of the hallway. The door facing them – room 5420 – seemed like any other door from the complex. Smooth lacquered wood, painted dark brown.

Fareeha reached for the doorbell and buzzed the room, hearing a musical bell jingle play inside. She waited, but heard no other sound. Fareeha’s eyebrows curled low in thought.

She turned to her guide. “May I?”

Samwise nodded, and took a few steps back, allowing her some space.

Detective Amari reached behind her ear – eyes taking in the sight of the door – and turned her virtual interface on, which filled her natural vision with a slight orange tinge and the glow of augmented reality. As the smart interface kicked in, it shortly began to scan her environment. A few details blinked in and out of Fareeha’s peripheral.

A collection of dirt and grime on the couple’s welcome mat.

Four different fingerprints on the doorknob, two from the husband and the wife.

The contents of the vase nearby had a layer of used cigarettes collecting at the bottom. Fareeha wrinkled her nose. It seemed like the local residents were not as disciplined as they liked to appear on the outside. She took note to check the discarded cigarette butts later.

Detective Amari waved away details she deemed unimportant with her hand, deciding to file them all in her memory banks in case they needed further inspection, and buzzed the doorbell again.

No sound, no movement. Not even a bio signature.

Damn. “She’s not here.”

“Our staff would have known anyone coming in or out of the building.” Samwise said, his computerized voice carrying a baffled tone. “Just like every morning, without fail, Mrs. Finnegan left for her workplace yesterday carrying nothing but her purse. She mentioned nothing about coming home late, or staying someplace else. None of our staff have seen her since.”

Detective Amari gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, her nose flaring as she exhaled.

“Thank you, Samwise.” Fareeha pulled the front of her coat down over herself. “You’ve been a great help.”

“You are welcome, Detective Amari.” Samwise said, angling his body away from her by a polite inch. “I hope you wouldn’t mind, but I must go back to my duties. Please do feel free to leave any time you wish. I believe you know your way to the lift?”

Detective Amari nodded, still staring at the door long after the omnic turned around and left, the sound of his loafer shoes muffled by the carpet.

Her brain was screaming.

Fareeha stretched her hand out and pressed the pads of her fingers a few inches below the eyehole.

“No.” Fareeha narrowed her eyes. “It can’t be.”

She froze. Fareeha took a peek behind her in case someone else was watching. She traced something on the wood.

Fifteen minutes later, Detective Fareeha Amari left Evergreen Complex in a hurry, her face gaunt and set in stone. The back of her coat flying behind her as if she was being chased by a ghost she did not wish to see.

Her mother held out her hand. Her eyes tired, dark, and yet still full of love.

The young girl bit her lower lip, but relented. She turned in place from where she sat on the hood of the car, and dropped the plastic decoder ring in her mother’s open palm.

“You like this cartoon?” Her mother asked, her slim finger tracing the grinning cartoon dinosaur decorated along the ring.

“I have never seen it before.”

After driving long into the evening, crossing strange red and purple landscapes which beheld giant loping shapes, they finally stopped under the protection of the glowing moon and the shade of black sky. Her mother had parked the car behind a large sign which, the girl presumed, showed directions to places she had yet to see. For now, her mother thought they were safe enough, and so they sat, and waited, and listened.

Her mother held out her palm again, as if boasting her novice showmanship, showing the girl where the ring was placed in the middle of her hand. She closed her hand into a tight fist, and with a twinkling eye, her mother twisted her wrist and waved her other hand over it. A genuine smile teased the woman’s lips, which finally replaced the lines of worry etched prominently on her face for weeks now. The girl perked up and reached for her curled fingers, prying them open. The ring was gone.

“Where did it go?” The girl asked.

Her mother chuckled.

She reached behind the side of her head, and as if plucking it from her ear, revealed the toy ring and its grinning dinosaur. Its shade now a powder blue. Her favorite color.

The girl bounced where she sat. “How did you do that?”

“Magicians never reveal their secrets.” Her mother smiled, booping her nose. “But I can make an exception for you, little wonder.”

“You will teach me someday?”

Her mother wrapped an arm around her daughter, rubbing her back. “I will, when you are ready.” She said, pressing a kiss in her messy hair.

“Mama…”

“Look at you, you have dirt all over your face. We need to find you a cozy room with a big tub, huh?”

“Mama, I’m sorry.” the girl said, ducking her head. Her mother fell silent, but the girl felt her chest hitch, making her wince. “I’m sorry that I got angry at you. I don’t hate you.”

“It’s all right, my dear.”

“I’ll be good next time.” The girl wrapped her heavy arms around her mother in a tight hug, sniffling. “I’ll be better tomorrow.”

Her mother caressed her cheek. She smoothed out the knots from her daughter’s black hair, feeling the front of her shirt grow warm from freshly spilled tears.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed to feel afraid, habibti. Your ami and I are sorry you had to go through all of this.” She enfolded the girl in her arms. Draping them desperately around her, as if trying to shield her away from the world. “Especially me. This is all my fault.”

“It’s not, mama, it’s those men…”

“Hush, don’t think of them again.” Her mother’s voice wavered, choking through her words. “Ami will come back, and the three of us will be here together, like before. Won’t that be something?”

The girl nodded, her tears burning her eyes and cooling her cheeks.

“I will always be with you. And I will never abandon you, Fareeha.” Her mother said. “I will do everything in my power to keep you safe…

“No matter what.”

Detective Shimada jumped when a paper bag almost toppled the steaming cup of tea on his keyboard.

He glared at the offending object, its lower half translucent from an unholy amount of grease seeped into the paper, while something savory and spicy wafted from the crinkled opening. He looked up at the newcomer, and raised an eyebrow. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” A sniffle. “You look great, by the way. Got you samosas.”

“You should follow Morrison’s advice and take a few days off.” Shimada said, curling his lip at the mess of rainwater she dripped all over his desk. He wiped them away with the bottom half of the greasy paper bag. Shimada took off his earpiece, and pushed his keyboard to the side, making small room for lunch amongst his stack of organized files. “Want some?”

“Go ahead. Already ate my share.”

He ripped the paper bag open wide, and grabbed a cold, poorly wrapped pastry. It smelled like spiced potatoes and peas.

“You forgot the chutney again, didn’t you?”

Amari grunted in reply.

She headed for her own desk, opposite his larger work station fit for a Tracker, dripping rain water and spreading puddles everywhere she went. Her leather chair squelched as she sat.

“How was the – “

Amari released a watery cough, holding her fist firmly in front of her mouth.

Shimada shook his head. “Take some time off.” He slid his tissue box over to her desk. “Make it a week. I don’t want to catch whatever you have.”

“I can feel your love and concern emanating from here, Shimada.”

Her partner muttered angrily at her in his language, before continuing to type up their report with one hand, while guiding food to his mouth with his other.

“Did you get the vids I sent you?” Fareeha asked, taking a tissue paper from the box to blow her stuffy nose with.

“Nothing there.” Shimada said. He looked up from his work, peering at her above one of his many monitors. “Unless you wish to add ‘indecent public displays of affection’ or ‘public nudity’ as one of our cases?”

Amari didn’t reply. She sat in silence for a while, her nose and eyes flushed red as she stared at her own station front of her. Her desk was sparsely decorated compared to her partner’s collection of figurines and pictures from his home life, but Fareeha supposed she preferred it that way. She had a coffee cup full of used pens at the corner, and a tray where all her memory bank chips were organized into a collection of stacks.

“I didn’t find anything, either.” She said. “No new witnesses, nothing. Her co-workers said she left early. No one else saw her.”

“Our job just keeps getting easier, no?”

“How about you, how’s your search going?”

“Still waiting for confirmation from a few airports in the country.” Shimada said, pausing to chew his food. “Otherwise, I have found no trace of her, so far.”

“Hope it’s not another dead end.”

“Morrison might throw a fit.”

Fareeha snorted.

He swallowed another bite. “What are you doing here, Amari?” He asked. “I thought you weren’t coming in until later?”

“I have to make a call.”

Shimada narrowed his eyes and made a face. He leaned sideways in his seat, tensing when he got a better look at his partner, and realized how her eyes were bloodshot and dull. He whispered. “An encrypted phone call?”

She sent him a look over one of his monitors. Shimada didn’t reply, and wisely decided to look focus back on his work while finishing his food.

Fareeha stared at the phone next to her workstation. She nibbled her lower lip and – after a moment’s hesitation – grabbed the phone and dialed a long number. Nobody answered, but she was not surprised. The call switched to voice mail.

“Hey, Jesse.” Fareeha cleared her throat when it cracked from a rising cough, and definitely not because she felt nervous. She licked her lips, turning her chair away from Shimada’s curious look. “Been a while. Listen, call me back. It’s urgent.” Fareeha swallowed and felt her chest seize up, but she managed to keep herself calm and continued to speak. “I think there’s going to be a ‘family reunion’, or something like it. Not sure if your ‘dad’ is coming. He just sent me a message, earlier. I hope he will come this time.” She doesn’t. “Anyway, call me back. Please. And not a week too late this time, or I’ll kick your ass.”

Fareeha hung up. She leaned back in her chair and grabbed the orange stress ball from inside her coat.

“Hm.” Shimada grunted, his eyes going back to his workstation. “Family shit?”

Fareeha exhaled, and allowed herself to relax once she realized Shimada wouldn’t push her to speak. She knew they both had their fair share of secrets. Things Morrison and the others didn’t need to know, especially. She appreciated that.

“Yeah.” Fareeha said, falling into her chair, pushing it as far back as she could. She closed her eyes. “Family shit.”

A/N: ok so here’s the thing, we did not expect to give this story some cyberpunk-ish elements. This was supposed to be a one shot set in modern era with some pretty basic mystery stuff, but I guess here we are? After planning the story further along, plotting out the bits and bobs and doodads, we decided welp. Hey, why not add more and make our job a tad bit harder?

Angela will return again in the next chapter, so prepare for more dead bodies in chap 4!

And yes, Fareeha’s Raptora is a cop car… I’m totally not thinking Knight Rider ha ha what’re you talking about…..

(also, yes, we finally decided to change the title.. did a little bit of a fic renovation, so to speak… hopefully my writing partner won’t kill me :D)Lastly, I would like to thank my writing partner in crime, best brother Tobe for his awesome help as always. (you’re the best I love you dude)

#pharmercy #my fics #body electric ow ff #pharah #fanfiction

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