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heartmii · 3 months

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TOA 01

✮⋆apollo x male!reader

!warnings!: angst, mentions of blood, anything else anyone sees and is uncomfortable with please let me know!

✮⋆˙ woo chapter two!! I'm excited to release this but also super nervous because I added a twist that I'm not sure everyone will love but I mean, it's a story about mythical beings so I decided to just have fun with it!

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“What did you do?” Anger seethed through the ex-god, his shaky breath competed with the rapid thump of his heart against his chest. Apollo’s eyes snapped to the now smug smiling emperor, the fury in his chest growing.

“Oh? Are you not happy with what you see?” Caligula asked, voice laced with fake concern. He clicked his tongue, his eyes surveying his servants in dissatisfaction. “The gods,” he sighed, shaking his head. “So hard to please. You surprise them with the dead love of their life, and still, it’s not enough for them to say thank you. Such egos, it’s a shame, really.”

Apollo swallowed, an attempt at soothing the dryness that was now overtaking his throat. “That’s not possible. It’s an illusion. It has to be…” he faltered, his body deflating as he dropped onto the ground.

Apollo was a god turned mortal. He was from the mythical world and saw many things, things that one alone could not comprehend, things that don’t make sense, that shouldn’t be able to happen because it went beyond the natural order of the mortal and mythical world. Yet, somehow, you being brought back from the dead was not an acceptance that came easily to him.

It’d been years, years, since your death, but you lived. Alive in Apollo’s mind. There was not a day, not a century, not even a millennium, that Apollo did not think of you and the bittersweet memories you two shared. Your grace and your beauty, along with the essence of your soul, were immortalized for eternity in his heart, where he could forever nourish your memory and honor your legacy.

Please… Who was he kidding? Honoring your legacy? Him? Apollo had done nothing but trash on everything you stood behind! If anything, he went against what you fought so desperately for. There was blood on his hands. The blood of many innocent lives he so easily discarded with no regard for their being. The option of others having a choice was previously nonexistent in the ex-god’s mind. He’d force many people to do his bidding and castigate them if they rejected.

Including those he loved after your time.

His heart clenched as Daphne’s horrified face filled his mind. Her expression contrasting his hopeful one as he chased her through the forest surrounding mount Olympus. It was Eros who, so full of spite, caused her to hate the mere thought of Apollo’s face. So much so that she begged her father, Peneus, desperate for help. He’d heard her prayers and granted her salvation.

But even after the last branch formed from Daphne’s outstretched arm and she had fully become a prospering laurel tree, Apollo did not allow her to rest peacefully. He had plucked the leaves from her branches and formed what was now known to be one of his most notable symbols. The laurel reef.

Daphne didn’t love Apollo. No, she despised him so much that she believed death was better than remaining on earth with him, but even that he had stolen from her.

Just like you, Daphne was immortalized in the memories and stories of people but met the tragic fate of being forever tied to the very god that she had died escaping, tainting her name with his own and taking away her right to a peaceful death. Apollo may not have been the one that forced her to take her last breath, but it was he who pushed her to such a state of helplessness that she felt there was no other option.

Perhaps that was why the thought of you being alive was so agonizing to him, because then you would learn about the monster he had become and how all of those promises he made to you under the moonlight had become nothing but empty words he spewed under the drunken spell of love.

How could he look you in your eyes now? Eyes that always glimmered with determination as you spouted your ideals and all the great you planned to do in the world…how could he look at those same eyes and say that he failed to do what you had dreamed, what you both dreamed. Even if that dream died for Apollo a long time ago.

Caligula considered Apollo for a moment before grabbing your arm and moving you back into his line of sight. He turned back to the ex god, his smile now wicked and sadistic, vastly enjoying the conflicting grief in his eyes.

“You haven’t taken a proper look at him. As he was once your lover, there’s no doubt in my mind you’ve memorized his body. You should have no trouble deducing if he’s a fake or not.”

How odd was it that Apollo, who had been literally fighting for his life these past few months and wanted nothing more but to evade conflict, wished he was dodging swinging swords, and running from giant monsters that chased him and his friends instead of being here, simply standing and being forced to stare at the person most precious to him.

Yet, he had succumbed to the small part of him that was a tad curious if it truly was you.

His breath staggered, and he stood on wobbly legs, anxiously meeting your stare, only to regret it immediately.

There they were, those eyes. Hypnotic as they had willed Apollo into your grasp, and enchanted him with an infatuation that ran deep in his blood. The same hunger swirled within them in a way that could only be described as honest passion. The intensity made Apollo’s heart skip a beat, and he trembled under your gaze.

It was said that one’s eyes were the window into their soul, a quote which honestly was quite dated and overused, but as you searched deep within Apollo, he felt his own soul stir in response. His body had recognized its missing piece and, like a magnet, it fought to connect again.

Your souls were bound to each other. The fates decreed that the moment you two met. There was no way Apollo wouldn’t have known if you were a fake.

In case he was completely wrong and in over his head, he took action to make sure he was absolute in his observation. It hurt to tear his sight away from your face, but he allowed himself to survey the rest of you, as Caligula suggested.

His eyes roamed your body with a frown.

How strange. You appeared to be… out of this world.

Your aura, although it had always been charming, was different in a way Apollo could not put his finger on. Something about you filled him with an irresistible sensation he had never felt with you before.

Could it be Lester’s human hormones could not handle the gorgeous sight of his past lover and therefore appeared to be more appetizing than usual?

No, that couldn’t be it. Yes, mortals could definitely be extremely tempting creatures, but they didn’t hold the same weight and power as they did with gods. Many felt enchanted just by the mere sight of one. It was not a simple task to break away from their inviting aura and fight the urge to give in to their desires.

Your aura was similar; An inviting force emitting from you. But how? You weren’t a god… were you?

Apollo gagged internally at the thought, his insides twisting at the possibility of you being a deity.

Being mortal was the very essence of your existence. It was nauseating how you nurtured the role like it was your life’s purpose, facing no fear towards things such as death or illness, claiming that these tragedies were simply just a part of being human and running from it would do nothing but force you to live in a world of clouds where you’d constantly be lost amongst the fog.

Becoming a deity would’ve made your death a vain sacrifice for what you believed and enduring an eternity of grief would’ve been for nothing. Days of forcing the sun to shine upon the earth when Apollo himself was lost in the overwhelming darkness of his heart as his guiding light, his sun, was gone. Constantly, he searched for another you because the void left in him hurt too much, but of course, none had come as close to his heart as you did because in the end, all he wanted was you and he caged his heart behind iron bars out of fear of experiencing grief on that level ever again.

There was only one who had been close to unlocking his heart again after you. His dear Hyacinthus. Oh, how the boy had reminded Apollo of you in so, so, many ways. The both of you were graceful, heads held high as you smiled at all that you loved. Adored by many as anyone who came to meet you was always enthralled by your allure and hearts of gold. But alas, love was never in Apollo’s favor, and his precious Hyacinthus met a tragic fate when he was murdered by the conniving and envious wind god, Zephyrus.

It was almost comical how similar your deaths were. A sadistic joke played on Apollo. All hope he ever had for another love as great as you and Hyacinthus went out the window and following that was a now numb and manipulative god who allowed himself to know his lovers but never allowed them to know him.

All of that guilt he felt for abusing his authority and refusing to see his lover’s as equals, all the shame for not living up to par with what you wanted, would’ve been for nothing. Along with the stab of knowing that you didn’t choose HIM over your ideals when he would’ve burned the world for you, was all too much. No, you couldn’t be a deity because then Apollo would never forgive you.

He could not bear these thoughts and, for once, Apollo was glad when Caligula spoke to him as he had distracted him from the fogginess building up in his eyes.

Caligula waved his hand in the ex-god’s face, surveying him. “I’ll take the dumb look on your already idiotic face as confirmation that you’ve recognized that this is the real deal.” He turned to you, “I know how, uh… different…Apollo must look to you. Surely, it must be traumatic to come back from the dead and your once powerful and radiant lover is now pathetic, weak, and ugly. Do you believe this to be the god you once loved?”

Apollo huffed, once because he could not deny that Lester’s face was, in fact, idiotic and again because of Caligula’s question. Your eyes were good, but they weren’t that good. Unfortunately, you hadn’t been blessed with seeing beyond the mist, a trait that could’ve saved your life.

“You ask him a question he cannot answer. He would not recognize me in such a body—“

“Yes.” You cut him off and stepped closer. Apollo sucked in his bottom lip as your hands had come up to run your fingers through his hair. Oh, how he missed your touch. The way you handled him like he was a piece of glass. Then you spoke again, your voice being in that delicious and melodic tone that made heat travel up Apollo’s neck to the tips of his ears. Damn this body.

“Although in a different body, your scent remains the same… how bizarre. Might it be your soul I smell?” You muttered, your fingers dragging down Apollo’s cheek.

Apollo shuttered at your touch, the coolness of your finger soothing his warm face. But as much as he wanted to allow you to continue your exploration of his body, he could not shake off what you had said. “My scent—- What does that mean? — How is your nose even that good?—“

“Bravo! It appears love truly conquers all!” Caligula clapped, pulling you away from Apollo and making the ex-god frown. Something wasn’t right about you, besides being a walking corpse. Death was not his domain, but as far as Apollo was aware, coming back from the dead did not include the nose of a hellhound.

“What did you do to him?” He asked Caligula, pinning his arms to his side as they had once again trembled.

Caligula stared at Apollo questioningly. “What did I do?” He laughed. “You are funny, dear. This fiasco was not my idea. All I want from you is to squeeze out the final essence of godhood that’s left in that lanky vessel. If you were smart, you would’ve directed your attention to the only witch in the room.”

Apollo’s eyes swiftly met Medea’s sadistic ones. She had silently been watching the previous conversation from the side. Gods, he was so caught up in the sight of you he had forgotten all about the Wicked Witch of the East.

“How rude of you to put me on the spot. I haven’t prepared my speech.” Medea purrs and approaches, circling around you before landing her hands on your shoulders. “On the contrary, love does not, in fact, conquer all.” She said, referring to Caligula’s earlier comment.

“Instead, it leads people to their doom. It makes them think with their hearts and not their heads. The most powerful beings,” Apollo cursed himself for flinching after she had eyed him with a knowing look. “Have been brought down onto their knees in the name of love. As you all know, I, myself, have been a victim of this. After Jason betrayed me.”

“I don’t understand.” Apollo interjected. “I had nothing to do with Jason’s betrayal against you.”

“Oh, I am aware. But that is not why I brought him up.”

“You see, my heart had never bled as much as it did when I was in love. I yearned to serve Jason. To become half of his soul as his life, his goals, had become my own. I was high on that feeling. A feeling you must know well, yes?” The smile on her face was one Apollo did indeed recognize.

A smile that did not reach one’s eyes, that was all for show to hide your true misery. He hated sympathizing with the witch, but he knew exactly what she meant.

It seemed his face wasn’t so good at hiding his feelings either, as Madea had nodded to herself in what seemed to be satisfaction. “I needed something against you, Apollo. But what was something that would hold such great power over an ex-Olympian God? It couldn't be physical, no, that would be too merciful. I needed something, or someone, that could cause such turmoil within you that the thought of even fighting against it would cause you great sorrow.”

“Well, isn’t that thoughtful? Putting in all that effort into destroying little ol’me.”

She sneered, her eyes narrowing. “I studied you. Studied how I could control you, and imagine my surprise when I found out about an unclaimed lover of yours.” Her hands go to you, caressing your arms and making Apollo livid. “It seems not everything made it into the history books.”

Grime stained Apollo’s face, becoming one with the hot tears sliding down his cheeks. His hands ached as he pulled apart dirt from the ground with none other than his fingers. He could’ve called someone and ordered them to do the laboring task on their own. But he refused. He had to do this alone. He had to bury you himself.

No one should be able to see you, to touch you, to be around you. Not anymore. You were too sacred, too precious for this cursed world. But Apollo was selfish. He took you away from the earth, took you away from the rest of your family, just to have you rest under his domain.

The god’s choked cries turned into loud sobs as his fingers dug deeper into the sacred dirt of Delos, shimmering gold tainting the soil. He welcomed the blood seeping from his hand; the pain was deserved. It was nothing compared to what you must’ve felt when his father had struck you down, but he needed to feel something. Anything that would compensate for the agony you went through before drawing your final breath.

Delos, where he and Artemis were born. The land that had once been his aunt, Asteria, who had transformed herself into a floating island to get away from the advances of Zeus. Where she provided sanctuary for his mother as she ran from the wrath of Hera on earth. This is where Apollo would bury you, a place that would now provide you sanctuary as it did for his family. A place where you could rest unbothered by the world.

The hole was deep enough now, and Apollo had pulled himself out of it. A coffin waited for him and he involuntarily walked towards it, dragging his hand against it. The coffin had been turned from a simple block of stone to a grand piece of imagery. All along its sides had Apollo carved into it, creating depictions of milestones in your relationship. The first time you met, along with the time he revealed to you he was a god followed by the countless times he’d let you play on his lyre and of course, the first ‘I love you.’ Amongst many more.

He was gentle with the coffin when he picked it up, moving slowly when he brought it over to the open ground. Apollo bit his lip, holding back his weeping so that he could focus on lowering you into the hole.

It was done. You were really gone, and Apollo would never be yours again.

“What are you doing here?” Apollo asked, his voice hoarse and his eyes bleak. He was sitting on the ground, painting a gravestone.

Grass crunched behind him as someone approached. “You’re burying him here?”

Apollo’s wrist kept moving, his brush creating faces on the gravestone. Still, he answered, “Cut the crap, Artemis.”

Artemis crossed her arms, frowning at her brother’s words. “I was born here too, Apollo. I have just as much right to be here as you do.”

“You knew, didn’t you?” Apollo snapped, the brush falling from his fingers.

“Knew what?” Artemis asked.

“Don’t lie to me Artemis.” Apollo stood, finally facing his twin. “You knew father would kill him!”

Artemis flinched as she caught wind of Apollo’s face, the puffiness under his eyes red and throbbing. Yet she recovered quickly, shaking Apollo’s arm away. “Don’t touch me.”

He placed his hands back onto her, gripping her in more of a desperate plea than before. “Please, sister, tell me the truth. Did you know that father would kill him?”

. “I…” she started, her chest growing heavy as she felt Apollo’s fingers shake against her. Swallowing carefully, she moved her eyes to your grave. “Yes, I knew… we all did.”

Apollo’s grip on her tightened, his eyes becoming glassy at the revelation. “Why didn’t you tell me? Were you sworn to secrecy? Is that why you didn’t tell me? Father is frightening. I understand if he forced you to swear on the River Styx—”

“He didn’t force me to do anything.”

“What…?”

“Oath did not bind me to not say anything to you. I simply chose not to.” Artemis stated, throwing Apollo off of her once again. Her head held high as she watched for his reaction.

Apollo stared at her, his eyes widening in disbelief. He shook his head. “You knew how much I loved him, you knew father was going to kill him and you didn’t tell me! I don’t understand, Artemis. You are my sister, my twin, my blood. How… how could you?”

“That is exactly why! Apollo, you are my other half. We are two sides of the same coin. We might be related to the others, but their bond is not like ours. That boy was leading you to your demise. I have nothing against him, but you are who I care about most. I didn’t want to see him dead, but I didn’t want to see my brother subjected to an eternal punishment, either.” Artemis finished, her own resolve fading as she too shook at the thought of Apollo being hurt.

Apollo’s jaw clenched. “Well, sister,” he started, malice seeping into his voice, “It seems you’ve failed anyway because a life without him is the worst punishment I could ever endure.”

“Demigods!” Medea yelled out, bringing awareness to Meg and Jason’s presence in the room. They couldn’t speak anyway, not while they were stuck in the wind tornadoes Medea had stuck them in. “This is important. Pay attention.”

“Delphi was a known city-state of ancient Greece. A city state where you, Apollo, were the patron god of. But the Delphi that lives in myths, the one that we know, is not the Delphi that has always been.”

Through the corner of his eye, Apollo watched as both Meg and Jason’s expressions formed into one of confusion.

“Once upon a time ago, Apollo betrayed Zeus. However, that’s not a surprise, that is a story that still lives. What didn’t make it, though, was the entire punishment your father had you experience. The gods said you were forced to build the gates of Troy alongside Poseidon. But what they failed to mention was the part where Zeus took everything from you. Your lover and your city. Isn’t that right?”

Apollo opened his mouth to speak, eager to defend his story. He knew where this was going and dread filled his stomach.

Medea spoke before he could. “Oh, but that’s not even the best part! The original Delphi had its own royal family, a family that your boy-toy had been born to.” She comes to your side, raising your hand up. “Here stands the last prince of Delphi before its initial destruction. After a few years, Apollo rebuilt Delphi and got rid of all the evidence of its history. But thanks to my digging, I could uncover all of this.”

Behind him, the Pandai were ready to lunge forward and capture Apollo as he had taken on a defensive stance against Medea. “Who told you this? The only person who knew about where I buried him was my sister.”

Medea scoffed. “Oh, please, if you want to hide the body of your dead lover, do it somewhere that’s not your famous birthplace that everyone knows about. It was the first place I checked.”

Apollo’s eyes ripped away from hers as blood rushed to his head. She was right, and he was an idiot to think that if someone wanted to find your body, they wouldn’t look on Delos. In his defense, it had been four thousand years since your death.

Medea smirked at the red dusting Apollo’s cheeks.

“Everything fell into place for me after that. You preserved his body well, I expected dust only to find that his body was enchanted to stay in good shape. It was perfect for my plan. I needed to bring him back from the dead without actually bringing him back, as I did not want to deal with Hades. He needed to be undead. I looked for spells beyond Ancient Greece and came upon the perfect solution within the dark arts—

“I’ve had enough of your talking,” Apollo sneered, glaring at the witch. “What have you turned him into?”

“Patience.” She hissed, “I sacrificed my rarest properties along with human blood to create an elixir that would wake up this sleeping beauty. It took days to restore him to full health. But finally, when he did wake, he was radiant. No longer was he a meek mortal. His senses had heightened as he was now strong and blessed with speed, his ears picked up on sounds from miles away, and a nose made for hunting. There’s more, I'm sure of it, but he is still fresh and needs time to develop. So what did I turn him into, you ask?”

Medea sent Apollo one last wicked smile before dropping information that made the ex-god wish he was dead.

“I have turned the long-lost Prince of Delphi into a vampire.”

#pjo x reader #pjo x male reader #trials of apollo x reader #apollo x male reader #apollo x reader #trials of apollo #pjo hoo toa #heroes of olympus

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wisteriagoesvroom · 4 months

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schools of thought: part 2 🦊

A landoscar college AU, told through social media

to catch up, check out part 1 here

author's notes

thank you for your patience and the kudos on part 1 🤧 irl stuff happened and i worked on a different story for a while before getting back to this one

ignore timestamps, they don't really matter

if you enjoy it, please consider liking / reblogging / commenting! 💙

—————we pick up at the federation U library———————

lando's studying late. it's a tuesday, and there aren't too many people there - just him, linda the librarian who isn't particularly impressed at anything or anyone, and a couple of other students on other islands of desks, stuck in their own world.

lando doesn't find academic work impossible per se, it's more the sustained attention that gets challenging. and contrary to how he seems, he does actually work hard at his core modules. even if he isn't sure exactly to what end, yet.

the screen's blazing bright and lagrange's theorem is starting to make his brain statick-y, so lando rubs his eyes. one of those advice pages on tiktok said changing tasks could help sometimes to refocus on his studying. something about crop rotation or switching channels of the brain or something. if it's on social media, it must be true.

so he opens his design software instead and makes a party invite.

he sends a prayer to the holy trinity of tiesto, guetta and darude for his very basic photoshop abilities. and an extra hail-van-helden for the free software that he pirated off charles.

the party playlist is already whirring in his head. definitely some garage smashed with some old school hip hop, and he's sure there's a way to get some hans zimmer piano in there. whatever, it'll work.

satisfied with his efforts, lando sips from his hydroflask. (the drink is one part instant coffee, one part spicy honey, and a lot of hot water. carlos gives him shit about it all the time, but carlos is spanish and generally prone to dramatics when it comes to coffee and just about everything else.)

still focused on his important task of Procrastinating His Stabilizer Equations, lando texts max.

linda, to her credit, only glared at him once when he started humming kid cudi under his breath.

and judging from experience, max and charles are going to be a while, so there's nothing for lando to do but stare at the wall and keep working on his playlists. oh, and his math assignments.

meanwhile, oscar gets a ping from logan.

what is there to say about the meeting really, oscar thinks. uneventful. ———————earlier——————————

the first project catch-up with lando, they'd met under the campus bee statue. a sunny afternoon, but the campus was quiet, half of them having decamped to the nearby hills or beach for a change of scenery. it was just the pleasant and tolerable buzz of other students enjoying the warmth and doing university student things. he'd spotted a couple of people with picnic blankets out. he hadn't brought a picnic blanket, thinking this would be a quick meeting.

lando had appeared in a blur of white and orange, like a y2k elf. ear piercing, music festival rubber bracelets and all. in a t-shirt that said i'm acute angle.

"'sup osc!" lando said.

"that t-shirt's gramatically incorrect. technically." oscar had replied.

"whaa-aat. but more to the point, it's funny."

"i guess. did you do the reading yet? thought it'd be good to talk roles and responsibilities and maybe a project timeline."

"timeline?" lando said, as he tossed his backpack down and flopped on the lawn. lando extracted two heinekens from a side pocket and went through a complicated manouvre of opening them with his room keys. "thought we'd maybe crack open a beer and just chat, matey."

i'm not your matey, oscar thought. i'm a passenger to whatever train of chaos it is that you're driving and i'd like to get off.

oscar's skin prickled as he realised the double meaning of get off. he also tried to not think too hard about how overfamiliar lando was acting towards him. the worse thing was: there was a bigger part of him that was probably willing to let lando get away with it.

lando seemed to be ignoring whatever existential crisis oscar was going through. instead, lando was going on and on about philosophical youtubers and sparknotes. lando was so animated when he spoke, too: hands always in gestures, as if excitement buzzed directly out of his fingertips and onto oscar. there was a sparkle in his eyes, blue sliding into grey, that made oscar want to sit on his hands. because they were the kind of eyes they wrote about in regency novels, the windows to the soul kind of melodramatic nonsense. that would make him want to do stupid shit. like, get-in-the-way-of-the-project-grade kind of stupid shit.

so it took oscar a lot of energy to focus in that first meeting. he thought he did a pretty decent job picking up the thread of conversation, around the part where lando had called foucault's theory "the indiana jones thought thingy."

"i think you mean archaeology of knowledge."

"right! right." lando said, as he beamed up at him.

oscar had suddenly felt overly warm, then. probably just the sun on the quad, he thought to himself. he was from australia, so technically he should've known better, and worn adequate SPF. he'd have to set a phone reminder for that at a later point. he refused to be fooled again by the european summer and its apparently hypnotic effects. even if those hypnotic effects were probably mostly caused by a menacing parallel phenomenon that oscar would call solarus landonitus.

—————————————————

later, oscar's cooks dinner, and tries to decipher the instructions on the back of a frozen bag of beef mince. pato and logan are away at a football game across the border in italy, an overnighter thing.

his phone vibrates. it's lando.

oscar's hands hover over the letter keys. a party? he couldn't think of anything worse. but lando said a couple of friends, and it's true oscar hasn't really partied, and he thinks hanging out with his D&D friends doesn't really count. there had been that one instance in first year when oscar had gone to try and meet logan and pato at the ministry of sound, and he'd accidentally ended up at the ministry of state government building. after that, he'd figured parties weren't really fated for him.

but. lando, social butterfly lando, campus personality lando is the one asking. and logan's right, oscar probably does take himself too seriously.

osc types and deletes at least four different responses before be replies. he is an eng lit major, he tells himself. surely he should be better at crafting his words than this. but sometimes it is what it is.

so it isn't a commitment, and it isn't a hard no, either.

oscar stares at his phone. it's gone quiet. lando's moved on – probably uploading an instagram story. or smashing his too keyboard loudly in a public space as he solves a polynomial. or making a new and unlikely EDM song out of radiator noises, or whatever it is that lando "i'm so cool" norris decides to do with his free time.

oscar is studying the dorm kitchen tiles, thinking about not thinking about lando, when his pasta water boils over. it hits the induction stove with a loud hiss.

"shit!" osc yelps. he grabs a nearby dish towel to wipe it up.

the pasta ends up both soggy and under salted, but he eats it anyway. mind turning all the while.

——————stay tuned part 3 (hint: party party)————————

p.s. if you want to be tagged/notified on the next part/updates just lmk in comments or DM and i'd be happy to!!

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eldritch-nightmare · 8 months

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yandere sully headcanons.

a/n: don't look at me i couldn't help it okay i'll work on requests soon just let me have this. dear god it's been so long since i've written anything i hope i still know what i'm doing uhm i listened to stockholm syndrome by erra on repeat while writing this (i am obsessed w the song okay) so if that influenced it a bit then yeah it's 5am ignore the messiness and typos i just Had to write this in one sitting.

warnings: gn!reader, yandere behavior, obsessive behavior, thoughts of kidnapping, actual kidnapping, thoughts of cannibalism, kinda slight possessive behavior, scopophobia, mentions of restraints, technically a precursor to the yandere sully bot now that i'm looking at this.

He's oh so confused when he first starts feeling things towards you. It's only a brief burst of confusion, only because he's never felt this way for another person before.

Sure, he'd burn the heavens and hells for Liu, and he's pretty buddy-buddy with Eyeless Jack but this? It's new to him.

The confusion doesn't last long, that's for sure. Sully knows exactly what he wants, and he's rather in tune with his emotions so he's able to figure things out quickly.

The intensity of his love certainly surprised him though. The first time he thought 'I want to lock you up and make you mine', he took a step back and was like 'Hey man, that's pretty strange...' but he gets over this pretty quickly, obviously, or we wouldn't be here.

Besides, it's not like he's going to act out on these thoughts, right? I mean, sure, you're the most fascinating person he's ever met but he has restraint. He has a lot of restraint, thank you very much.

Haha... well... about that...

You see, Sully does have a lot of restraint, so he doesn't actually act out on these thoughts and desires for a really long time. He's fine with watching you from afar.

And also because if he did, it could lead to trouble.

He also knows that Liu would be very unhappy with him if he acted out on these desires, and Sully actually really cares about Liu and his boundaries and stuff. Sure, he could totally keep it a secret since they don't share memories and whatnot but still.

So he's content with just watching you from afar and having these thoughts. Shall I provide some examples of the thoughts he has about you?

They'd look so cute chained up and in tears.

God, I just want them to say my name like a prayer.

They're so adorable when they laugh... it makes me want to eat them.

I wonder how they'd react if I took them away from here just so I could keep them all for myself. No one will know where they are except for me... they'd never be able to get rid of me...

Wouldn't it be cute if they realized I want to make them mine? They'd probably run, but that would make things so much more fun.

I honestly think I'll kill anyone who tries taking them from me. They're mine, and I have to protect what's mine.

I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you.

He loves literally anything and everything you do. You could never bore him, even if you try really hard to. He could listen to you talk about some topic he doesn't care for for hours because it's you who's talking.

Honestly, I'm not entirely sure if he'd bother hiding his obsession with you from you. He definitely hides it from Liu, Liu cannot find out, and the others, but I feel like it's so obvious that Sully wants to just devour you.

The way he looks at you certainly sends chills down your spine, and there's something in you telling you to keep your distance, for your own safety.

He doesn't even care to be subtle when he's watching you. You can always feel his gaze on you whenever he's around, it's almost as if you're the only thing he can focus on whenever you're around. It would be kind of cute if it didn't unnerve you so much.

But it's not just that.

It's... the way he looks at you. The... the pure smitten look in his gaze as he watches you do such mundane tasks. The way his gaze always lingers whenever something or someone else needs or wants his attention. His eyes feel like they're going to consume you whole if you look into them. It's only with Sully. You never feel like this when you're around Liu.

He's well aware that you're uncomfortable with his gaze, and he thinks it's adorable how you avoid interacting with him and how you try hiding away from him whenever you're forced to be around him.

God, he could just eat you up.

And it's so hard for him to see you getting along so well with other people. He just wants to pull you away whenever you get too close to someone.

Oh man he's so very casual with all of this as well. You think it's weird and disturbing, he thinks it's romantic and a part of everyday life.

You've thought about mentioning this to Liu a few times but... what could he do? It's not like he can control Sully. Besides, Sully hasn't done anything that makes you feel as if you're in any immediate danger, he just... watches you. And smiles, occasionally, in a way that makes you unnerved to imagine what he could be thinking about.

Well, until now, that is.

What can he say? He has restraint, sure, but even he can't help but give into his desires every once in a while. And this time he just... decided to take you away.

Not while you were awake, of course.

No, he would never let you be awake for something like that. It's also just easier snatching you while you're peacefully asleep, blissfully unaware.

And you're so cute when you're sleeping, did you know that?

He lets out such a dreamy sigh as he watches you sleep on the bed he set you down on. He had brought you deep into the woods, keeping you in a neat little abandoned cabin that he managed to fix up nicely in his spare time.

Only he knew about this place. He didn't share it with Liu. It was his place. And now, yours as well.

Sully thought about restraining you to the bed... he even has a decent-length chain just for that, but...

Not yet.

He knows the chances of you running when you wake up are incredibly high, and honestly? He wants you to run. He'd love to chase you, it'd be fun for him.

You entertain him in ways no person has ever been able to. You make him feel things he's never really thought of or felt before. You're... interesting to him, which really says a lot.

He's never been so intensely interested in something before, let alone someone.

You're just special like that, he supposes, and he can't wait for you to wake up so the real fun can begin.

The only real concern that Sully has is Liu. Liu, bless his heart, would never approve of this. He's too nice, too compassionate. He wouldn't want Sully to keep you captive in a cabin in the middle of the woods. He wouldn't understand.

So, Sully does intend to keep this a secret from Liu. And the others. It's not like they'll suspect him of doing anything.

After all, he's just the guy uninterested in his surroundings, why would he have anything to do with your disappearance?

#sully x reader #sully x you #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #yandere x reader #yandere sully #yandere creepypasta #yandere sully x reader #yandere creepypasta x reader #scheduled.

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hollow-ghost-fire · 29 days

Text

Was tagged by @tamsinbeybey-she-no-porcupine to share a few paragraphs/lines of my wip. Thank you!

____________

"Thank you." The Major smiled then, licking his lips. "We can always decline next week, you know."

"I wouldn't want to offend your family."

"Not at all. We have better ideas for a Sunday morning."

The Captain didn't mean to blush but his thoughts weren't exactly behaving today. "Yes. I'm sure you family may enjoy it we were to help with the chores."

Havers chuckled fondly. "You will never stop that offer will you?"

"Compensation," he said dryly but his eyes stayed warm.

"You freeing me from church is enough compensation as it is," Havers joked.

"Well there isn't such a thing as too much help one can spread." It wasn't the line he was exactly going for but it made Havers chuckle and that was all he could hope for. Havers was glancing at him with a playfulness. It was rather hard to stop staring. God he was gorgeous. For a man who didn't believe in a creator, he sure was carved and tuned in a beautiful exposition. He was here. Really here. The last few weeks hadn't been a dream. He really did exist Infront of the Captain's eyes. That prayer had been answered atleast. He didn't need god to hail to his desires when he had everything laid out Infront of him by a kind family. He was lucky indeed.

_______

Tagging: @imperialempressofdumplingopolis @sydneyinfection + anyone else

#capvers #bbc ghosts #yes this is fix it fic #the captain

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detectivemarvelingcomics · 2 years

Text

Not Your Classic Vigilante [Ch. 8]

Alternate Dimension AU

TW: Language, Mentions of Death, Descriptions of Violence, Scar Mention, Mentioned Body Horror

CW: OC Use, See the OC Guide [Here]

Genre: Angst, Light Comedy

Pairing: Batfamily x Batsis!Reader

(8/?) [First] | [Previous] | [Next]

[DC Masterlist] | [Not Your Classic Vigilante Masterlist]

YN Pronouns: Female (She/Her)

Word Count: 3.8K

Notes: It's time for my bi-annual update of this bad boy LMAOOOOOOO see y'all in another half a year! (I'm kidding, I'll try to get more updates out before the year ends if my schedule permits lmaooo) Seriously, though, thanks to anyone who stuck it out even though I'm not a good updater! I really appreciate you all <3

Not Your Classic Vigilante: @gabytodd @peachydoki @marshmallow12435 @f0leysgurl @luminaaz @lolsnack @akuri-shinsou @pansinspace @time-shardz @lovely-maryj

Disclaimer: This series is originally by @fandom-meanderer who is a close friend of mine, but she has since fallen out of her Tumblr days and asked me to finish a few series for her, hence why I am now in ownership of the Not Your Classic Vigilante series, I hope I can still live up to her writing as I rewrite this series! (I promise not to change too much, hehe)

28 July 2022

As you’d probably expected, your slumber did not last long, as you was reminded of why you had a hard time sleeping in the first place. Of course it’d come back to you in such a vivid way, now that you’ve returned home and back to the crime scene. You wondered how different it looked now, or if any of your belongings remained there after so long.

Your nightmares were always the same, back in that horrific alleyway. Three years, and you still haven’t forgotten. Three years, and you can still feel everything. Three years, and you can still remember looking up to the sky and seeing that all too familiar smoggy sky. You can still remember, and recite from heart, the prayer you sent out to whatever god was out there to just end your suffering there. And, as your pursuer pulled on your hair, you would always wake up, your mind sparing you from reliving all of that trauma and, usually, you’d decide to work instead, but this time the circumstances were different.

‘Another nightmare?’

‘If nightmares are all I have then I’d rather not sleep at all.’

‘Tea, darling.’

‘Yeah, yeah, I know, I just wish you were here, it’d be easier. Think you can walk me through that miracle recipe you usually make?’

‘Of course, why would I say no?’ Alex’s voice drained from your head and you made your way to the manor kitchen, ignoring the light in the library this time as you continued. ‘I’m sure you’ll have all the basics. Milk, honey, lemon, and whatever tea is available.’

You had always thought that the manor was too quiet at night like there were demons in the shadows and monsters in the closets. You remember that you used to wake up either Dick or Jason to come downstairs with you when you were younger. Dick, of course, always said yes no matter how tired he was, Jason would tease you about it and get upset but in the end, he’d follow, you always relied on them to scare the demons away, and, now that you thought of it, you weren’t sure what kind of demon would be afraid of a boy in bright spandex but that was beside the point.

Then you got older, you got older and suddenly you had your own younger siblings to watch over. You had to be the person to chase their demons away, but at that time, you had nothing aside from a flashlight. You remembered asking yourself if something were to happen, would you be defending your younger siblings or would they be defending you? You, a civilian, and them, the vigilantes. Hell, you were pretty sure your dad was friends with some demons.

‘And now the demons hide from you.’

‘Very funny, Alex. Once we’re back together no more prying into my thoughts, alright?’

‘I wouldn’t pry if you were so loud.’

‘You’re insufferable.’

'I just want to brighten up your mood a little, darling. Unclench your jaw.’ You didn’t even realize that you were until he mentioned it. You scoured the fridge and pulled out the required ingredients.

‘I’m not keeping you up, am I?’

‘Goodness, no, you could never. I’m just checking things on my end. We have what we need, when you’re ready, we can head home.’

‘I’m just worried that it was too easy. Nothing ever is with this family.’

‘Let’s just consider it a blessing, for now. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it otherwise.’

‘Right,’ you shook your head. ‘Have you located Cass yet?’

‘Cassandra is as elusive as ever. Carter and I have been keeping an eye out for her, though.’

‘Good, I think she’s the only one we really have to look out for,’ you looked over your shoulder. Your sister had a knack for stealth, one that you had been aware of since now. But, it wasn’t her famed stealth that concerned you, no, of everyone in this damned family, it will be her to find out that you’re lying. You were lucky enough to have landed here when she wasn’t at the house, otherwise, you’d be screwed.

‘We’re waiting outside for you. Whenever you’re ready.’

‘You’re outside? Be careful, I forgot to tell you both earlier about the traps.’

‘Oh, trust us, we know.’

Two Hours Earlier.

“Don’t move, don’t move,” Alex hisses to Carter, who was probably in the most uncomfortable position he’d ever been in.

“I’m not moving, dammit,” Carter takes slow breaths. “Thank god his highness made us play Twister with him so often.” He holds his position steady between the number of lasers that had suddenly sparked to life. “What’s our situation, Lex?”

“Best case scenario they’d slice one of our limbs off if we’re clumsy.”

“That’s the best case?”

“The worst case scenario is that they trip the alarm system and suddenly we’d have this Universe’s strongest family on our tails.

“Great,” Carter groans. “You know a lot about the Captain’s family don’t you?”

“I do,” Alex tries to turn slowly to a more favorable position. “You know, you could just call her (Y/N).”

“She outranks me though.”

“We worked together, she just happened to figure out the system faster than we did,” Alex sighs. “I also know you two have a certain... relation, if I may presume.” Carter nearly loses his balance, saving his position by grabbing onto a nearby flower pot.

“Fuck, wait, are you serious?!” Carter whips his head towards him with wide eyes. Alex only nods calmly, keeping his movements short as a red laser was right in front of his eyes.

“I wasn’t 100% sure, but considering your reaction, I can say that I am more confident,” he says. “You make a sweet duo.”

“Ugh… we were so careful,” Carter sighs.

"Not careful enough, hard to hide things from someone who's known her since we were seven," Alex scoffs. “Anyway, I do like you, Carter, you're one of the few people in the Brigade I'd consider a friend, so, with your best interests in mind, be sure to be on the watch for his highness. He might order for your head if he finds out,” Alex says with a teasing tone to his voice.

“Alex, please tell me that you’re not planning on using this against me, are you?”

“That depends on your future actions,” Alex grins.

“I’m so fucked.”

‘Oh, and do be sure to shut down the lasers, please, I think Carter’s getting a muscle cramp.’ You could easily picture his smirk.

Alex’s side went silent and you reveled in the quiet. You never liked this telepathy thing, it was always so violating in your mind, and truthfully in his too. You both tried to avoid it until absolutely necessary, such as now. It was a by-product of your own curious case of two souls interlinked to allow for eternal life, or, at least, until Alex dies. You paused, half waiting for him to say something, mainly to correct you, but no such thing came.

Courtesy of the ruthless queen, she always held it above your head, how indebted you were to her. If there was truly one person you hated, it was her. Even your father’s stance, as absolute as it was before, paled in comparison to the queen and the leash she had around your neck. You were certain that she was somehow keeping tabs on you even here, after all, to move without knowledge of her majesty is akin to treason.

You really should be more careful. As they say, it comes in threes. You’ve died once here, you’ve died once in the other world, and the next one is bound to be your last chance. You shook your head.

“I hope Alfred didn’t move anything since I was last here,” you mumbled to yourself. It would do you well not to think about it right now, you should be more focused on the mission. Like you said earlier, it was too easy.

“He didn’t,” Tim confirms. You glanced over your shoulder and Tim smiles softly. “That used to scare the heck out of you.” Tim and Cass were, in some ways, too similar, as much as they’d argue against it. The only difference between them was that one didn’t hesitate. Ever.

“Not anymore, I guess,” you respond. You pull out a tea packet and fill the water heater to its maximum.

“Hope you don’t mind if I join you.” He walks into the kitchen and pulls out a mug.

“Of course, I wouldn’t, let’s have a conversation, Timmy,” you nodded toward him, waiting for the water to heat. “Why are you still up?”

“Bruce asked me to go through some files, just some review stuff,” he answers. “Have you spoken to him?”

“Something like that.”

“I’m not sure if anyone told him.”

“I could tell,” you rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly. The water heater finished and you swiftly poured it into your and Tim’s mugs.

“Whatcha drinking?” He asks, nudging your shoulder. It was something he always used to do when you were younger. He was testing you. You nudged him back.

“Just something I saw on Pinterest.”

‘It’s like I don’t exist to you,’ Alex chides. You pay him no mind.

“Smells good,” he says. You both take a seat at the counter, silently blowing the steam away from the tops while seemingly trying to find out what to say to the other. Strange, you’d never thought that you’d feel awkward around Tim of all your siblings, yet here you were, with your words caught in your throat.

“How are you, Tim?” You finally ask. Tim taps his mug a couple of times, looking off into nothing while he thought of his response.

“I’ve been better, (Y/N), and you?” He tosses the question back.

“I’ve been better,” you repeated. “Crazy… everything that I found out today, and no doubt more, huh?” You ask. Tim could only nod.

“A lot has changed, (Y/N), I don’t even know where to start,” he shakes his head. “It’s okay though, right? We’ll have a lot of time to spend together,” Tim says with a small smile. Your chest clenched. Ah, Tim, what a horrible habit of his. You were worried that he already had you figured out. Had you slipped up somewhere? A mannerism you hadn’t done before?

‘Stop clutching your heart,’ Alex’s voice rang. Your hand dropped to your lap.

“I see there’s a new Robin,” you answered before Tim could get suspicious.

“Oh, no, Duke’s Robin trial’s over. He’s Signal now,” Tim explains.

“Another kid who fell victim to dad’s charms, huh?” You drank some of your tea, feeling your thoughts relax afterward.

“Something like that,” Tim mutters. “But, (Y/N)… there’s something different about you.” This conversation again. You had to stay on your guard, everything you say and everything you do can and will be used against you. Leave it to Timmy, always the skeptic.

“I mean… you know what happened,” you sighed. “Where’s Cassie?” You divert the conversation.

“Last I heard she’s helping out at Steel City,” Tim hums. “I should call her over,” he reaches for his phone, but you shake your head. Anyone but Cass.

“It’s fine, sounds like she’s busy, like you said, we have a lot of time to figure things out. I’m just proud,” you grinned. “I’m proud of all of you, looks like you’ve all been doing your best since I’ve been gone and… that makes me really glad,” you nudged his leg with your foot and he looks up from his coffee to you, a sudden grief in his eyes. You were telling the truth. You were worried about Tim more so than your other brothers actually, of them all, he was the most prone to overthinking.

“What do you think?” Tim suddenly asks. You freeze.

‘He asked if you feel any different,’ Alex fills in for you.

“I’m not sure, Tim,” you sighed. “I feel like myself but, at the same time, not at all. I saw the news reports already, so… do you think…?” You looked down at your hands. Now, to be perfectly honest, you’ve thought about this before, plenty of times actually. This body you’re in, is it actually yours?

“I mean… if I may,” Tim moves his chair so he can be a little closer to you and reaches for your hand. Instinctively, you pull away and Tim’s breath hitches.

“Sorry… muscle memory maybe,” you tried to cover for your actions, placing your hand on his instead. Tim holds it gently, observing your wrist in particular, but ghosting his hands around yours entirely. You gave him your non-dominant hand for a reason. You couldn’t come up with an excuse to explain the calluses on your sword hand. “You have scar marks all around your wrist here,” he says, tracing the faint outline of the jagged cut made into it. As he did so, it was like you could feel the sharp pain from before. “Your hand was the first one they found, you know,” he suddenly says, a sharp tone switch. Again, you pulled your hand away, rubbing your wrist softly now.

“So I’ve heard,” you muttered.

“They never found your torso.”

“And yet, here it is,” you said next. He’s testing your answers now. It’s too late to act afraid. “That’s why, I had a nightmare last night, a body without a torso was running towards me,” you lied. Tim frowned, taking a sip of his drink before continuing.

“I wonder… is your situation similar to Jason’s? Or is it completely different?” He says aloud.

“Well… I don’t think I turned into an asshole, so I’m pretty sure I’m different,” you laughed. Tim broke a small chuckle.

“That’s true, that’s true,” he nods. “How do you feel about this, (Y/N)? About coming back to life and all?” Tim seems to have relaxed.

“I mean… it’s strange. You know my thoughts on death,” you mumbled. “I’m a bit glad, though. Maybe this was a gift, you know? I still have to pick up my degree from the university, I wonder if they kept it,” you rest your head against your palm now.

“Your degree?” Tim asks.

“Yeah? You know I went to college, right?” You looked at him with disbelief.

“Well, yeah, of course, I know that!” Tim defends tiredly. “It’s just… did you not see it earlier? Bruce hung it over the mantle,” Tim points to the general area of the living room and your eyes widened slightly. You didn’t even notice that.

“Oh… I guess it slipped my mind, I was too busy looking at your Boy Wonder pictures,” you chided.

“Whatever, I keep telling Alfred to move those, it’s so embarrassing,” Tim grows slightly red before his smile falls again as if remembering something else. What was he thinking right now? What was going on inside that head of his?

“Tim, are you okay?”

“Yeah… yeah, I’m fine,” he nods his head unsurely. He looks back down at his coffee. “No… No, I’m not,” he corrects himself. You hesitated before putting your hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, do you want to talk about it? Is it my fault?” You asked. Maybe your sudden reappearance shocked him, or maybe you were wrong, maybe he hadn’t been holding up well.

“I just… (Y/N), I want to trust you, really I do,” he says, meeting your eyes once again. “But there’s something different about you, something I can’t really point out,” he shakes his head. He looks away again for a brief moment, as if in thought, then he looks at you, his eyes filled with the determination to solve the case that was you. “Who are you?”

“Timmy,” whatever warning tone was in your voice wasn’t intentional. Your hand moved up to his face, holding it as gently as possible. “I knew you’d be the first to find out.” You whispered. “And I’m so sorry, I love you, you’re my little brother but… I have to do this, please understand. It’s nothing personal…” In an instant, you slammed his head against the table, leaving him knocked out.

‘Well, that can only work once,’ Alex chides.

“I know,” you chugged down the rest of your drink. “Let’s get out of here.” You rushed out to the gardens. Dammit, you knew it, why did you entertain him? Five minutes, no, less. You had to get out of here as soon as possible. You spot your two teammates, both in compromising positions that they should care less about right now. “Don’t even worry about the security system! Let’s just go!” You shout, already configuring the device around your wrist. You heard doors slamming behind you, shouts or rushed speech, you didn’t have time to differentiate. The alarm system blared, no doubt a wake-up call, and the sudden lights that shot into the night sky, without a doubt, was to call the patrolling vigilantes back home.

“Ready when you are, captain!” Alex shouts. You couldn’t ignore the stares you felt. Which sibling was it?

“Count of three!” You shout. It can’t be Dick or Jason, they would’ve said something by now.

“Three!” Alex shouts. Tim was still knocked out, knowing him, he’d be hanging behind on the cams but a quick glance earlier showed that the garden cameras were fried beyond repair.

“Two!” Carter was next. Damian? No, can’t be, he would’ve reacted similarly to your older brothers, surely.

“One!” The three of you slammed your hands on the devices, a vortex quickly pulling you into your home universe.

The three of you tumbled onto the concrete floors of the Keep, your back slamming harshly against the table that, of course, Nixon finally bolted to the ground. Carter hit the wall, sending displayed weapons crashing down. And, as expected, Alex landed as gracefully as ever, standing up nearly immediately to brush the dirt off his uniform.

And, just like that, all your exhaustion caught up to you. The constant acting, the running around Gotham, running around the manor, and even the stress of your family. All in the span of two days, you deserved a vacation after even just looking at your father, that man just knew how to drain the life out of you. If you could, you’d rather sleep right where you were. Your lumbar vertebra only slightly fractured from the sheer force of hitting the table, but, give it a couple of minutes and it’ll be fine again.

As much as you hated to admit it, it made you feel better now that you were in a more familiar place. One that you felt comfortable in, at the very least. Sure, you spent the majority of your waking hours working in this place, but it was better than the stares you got over the two days you were at the manor. For once, these ugly concrete floors felt welcoming.

“Well, that went swimmingly, didn’t it?” Alex grins. You and Carter could only groan in response. You held up the flash drive regardless and Alex takes it from your hand. Then, as soon as the tingling feeling in your legs subsided, you took deep breaths.

“It almost went too well,” you shook your head against the cold floors. You pushed yourself up using the edge of the table. “Ugh… I’m beat, I’m going home,” you waved your hand absently.

“Oh, don’t forget to take lover boy with you,” Alex points to Carter.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, Carter, I’ll give you a ride,” you beckoned him with your hand.

“Oh, nah, it’s fine,” Carter shakes his hand.

“Okay, better for me, just walk,” you grabbed your keys from the counter, taking a glance at the clock next to you. “Oh shit,” you grabbed the digital device.

“What’s wrong?” Alex asks.

“It’s been two weeks here!” You shout. “Fuck! There’s going to be so much paperwork!” You ruffled your hair harshly.

“Ah, and so the captain faces her hardest battle yet,” Alex laughs, grabbing the door for you, “deadlines.”

“I can and will kill you, Alex.”

Cassandra stood at the top of Wayne Manor. Her knuckles had turned white from how hard she was gripping the chimney top. Maybe she shouldn’t have been lurking, but when Jason suddenly texted the group chat she knew she had to come immediately. But, when she saw you sitting in the living room, just waiting for your brothers to return, all the warning signals flew up in her mind.

Threat, thief, murderer, soldier, suspicious, trained, dangerous, and god knows how more. Cassandra couldn’t believe it, no, she didn’t want to believe it. You were just sitting there, how could you set off all those alarms in her head? Wait, how could you do that? You weren’t supposed to show those to her. You were supposed to be happy, relaxed, calm, excited, or maybe even worried or concerned. But, there was one signal that kept popping up over and over again in Cass’ head.

Liar.

You acted just like (Y/N), you looked just like her, you sounded just like her, but every subliminal thing about you was not (Y/N) Wayne. But, underlying all of those, was fear. Were you maybe keeping things to yourself? Was it to protect the family? Why?

Why did you steal those files from the bat computer? Cassandra saw all of it, staying hidden in the shadows just as she was taught, she watched you upload details on who knows how many heroes into a simple flash drive, and how that was possible, Cass didn’t know. The security system should’ve fried that drive and alerted Tim or Barbara as soon as you pushed it into its port but it didn’t.

Yet, you knew the password. She saw you. You typed in the correct password, but you hesitated. Why did you hesitate? Why would you? It’s not like Bruce had ever changed it from your birthday. For a computer harboring so many secrets, the password to access it was just so simple. Your initials, underscore, then your birthday. Two capitals and no spaces. Not just anyone knew that password, Cass had only found out off-hand when, surprise, she watched Bruce put it in. Perhaps it was what she read off of you when you typed in your password. Anxious, and maybe even melancholic. Why would an imposter feel sad about a password? There would be no reason.

It was that reasoning that convinced Cass that you were, truly, you. Just with different life experiences, maybe. More experiences than death certainly. She only overheard it, your story about the lab. But when you said that, all your body language indicated were lies. How different could it have been, though? What happened to suddenly change your mannerisms fundamentally?

Did it, maybe, have something to do with your heart? Why did you continue to clutch it so throughout the short time you were in the manor?

Cass had too many questions, all of which she’d know would go unanswered. Now, just as she watched you disappear with two unknown figures, she could only feel her knees buckle while she sat against the roof tiles.

She didn’t even get to say ‘hello.’

#dc #batman #batfamily #batfam #batsis #batsis fics #batfamily x batsis!reader #batfam x reader #batfamily scenarios #batfamily x reader #batsis!reader #batfam fics #batfamily fics #batfamily x batsis #batfam x batsis!reader #batfam x batsis #my writings #nycv

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pillowspace · 7 months

Note

Hi! Hey! Hello! I just finished chapter 7 of Celestial Sundown and oh my! It was fenomenal!

I love that CSDy/n is getting more and more comfy in relationship with sun! They are getting bolder and trust each other more! Sun getting into their room is showing the big progress and trust on both parts! I don't know how CSDy/n but for me to tolerate someone in my room is a big thing. I see it was caused by his anxiety but still its the barrier they crossed one way or the other. It was so lovely and well written, what CSDy/n went through was traumatic and painful but while reading I couldn't stop think about the horrors Sun went through this entire time. If everything is okay with him the prayer should get to him and, correct me if I'm wrong, from what I understood the exact words won't come through It but the feelings and some basic meaning will be send to the God.

Therefore he could easily understood something went terribly wrong, not only that but the prayer suddenly stopped, He is far away, and from what I get without his crown he cannot teleport or manifest in different places. What happened? Are they scared? Hurt? Or maybe it was false alarm! They got scared prayed for him, and then they realised there is no danger so they stopped! But then the other call was sent and I bet If the first didn't, this one send him running. Not only that, the time has passed so he wasn't sure what state they are in, if all this time they were in danger, but the urgency of the prayer expanded. Did something happened in the house? Was it the woman he showed himself to? Why he can't go any faster? I'm sure at this time he would curse himself out... For needing to see this mural. For not waiting for the morning so they can go with him. For being so weak. If he had his crown he could do something, and now he was useless, couldn't even get to this damn forest as fast as he wanted. He is so slow. Are they hurt? Are they dead? Did the thing that attacked him came back to finish the job and found them instead? He knew them, they wouldn't panic like that over something small. They wouldn't call him for something small. The terrified calls of their heart would be fuel for him to keep going. And what would he find getting back? The empty house, with the doors left wide open. He knew something bad happened but for them to leave their beloved belongings exposed like that it was worse then he hoped. And if your shredded blanket covered with human blood, nearby was telling anything it wasn't getting better. They helped him so much, they still are trying to get him home. And he wasn't there. He should have been there. He just had to be emotional again hadn't he? What to do now? Where to go? Their prayers stopped. Is he alone again? He can't locate them. Are they alive? Mortals are fragile, and there is blood nearby but no human, no. The blood of one of his kind, a big puddle. He had to do something, he searched this forest for so long with them, he had to manage! Had to find his friend. And the trail of blood left on trees and ground was the perfect start.

Ajshshs, I'm sorry I just love it so much! Can't wait to see what happens next. The emotions your fic gives me are not from this world, you are so talented and inspiring! I can't get enough of your content. And also you created my hyperfixation of sea slugs! I didn't even know something so pretty existed and in so many forms! Keep up the good work and being amazing! Get yourself a blanket and hot tea you deserved it after blessing us with such a brilliant chapter and so soon!

Sun comfortably being able to enter Y/N's room was something I thought about, but didn't really expect anyone to notice, so I love that you did

I. I. OH MY GODDDDDDD, I JUST READ THE REST OF THE ASK. STARING AT YOU WITH THE WIDEST OF EYES RN. I DRINK YOUR ASK LIKE SOUP !? WOW

Yayyyyy sea slug liker!! YEAH, there is something so wondrous in learning what sea slugs look like. It's like learning magic's real, for me anyway

THANK YOU SO MUCHHHH

#ask #celestial sundown au #savetag #<- good ask..#celestial sundown spoilers

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sunset-peril · 2 months

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The Wolfbred Chronicles - The "Lost" Tribe - Part Two - To Zora's Domain

“What do you mean, ‘Link can’t speak Hylian?’”

“Well, if the Gerudo were cut off from Hyrule for ten thousand years, we wouldn’t speak Hylian either.”

“Then what does he speak?”

“That… I don’t know. I thought they were extinct until the moon revealed Link’s markings. If anyone would know, I’d assume it’d be the Zora royal family since most of the Wolfbred in the King’s service were relocated there.”

“Well then, I must make a trip to the Domain then, with Link in tow.”

“Would you like me to accompany you?”

“I thank you for your offer, Urbosa, but I feel Link and I should travel alone. Besides, you have your people to tend to, and the journey should give me a chance to review Link in a new light.”

~~~

“Yes, that is correct. The Wolfbred have a language all their own.” Mipha smiled fondly at Link as she affirmed Zelda's words. “I'm surprised that you did not know.”

“Ah, well, the knights are not particularly chatty when in my presence.��

“Oh, I did not mean that, Zelda. I meant that I am surprised your father did not tell you.”

“Father gave me… virtually no information regarding Link. He told me that Link is descended from my mother’s best bodyguard, and that he would be assigning Link as my bodyguard. That was it.”

“Oh, dear… probably just didn't want anyone to find out what Link is.”

“What language does Link speak? It would be irresponsible to have such a barrier between me and him, considering he has given his oath to serve me until death.”

“My apologies, but I don't know what it's called. Goponga in the wetlands has become a very Wolfbred heavy settlement since the guards were sent here, but I'm not sure if we currently have any guards in the Domain itself who can speak in both. It is a… guttural language, I will say, only high-ranking Wolfbred soldiers typically learn both. Your mother's personal bodyguard, Link’s father as you said, was one, for example. He knew Hylian. Most Wolfbred don't really want to learn it unless they have to… they don't want to know what the Hylians are saying to them. Did your father tell you anything of Link’s father?”

“Not exactly but I… vaguely remember Mother's bodyguard. Or rather, he was her favorite bodyguard. She had quite a few guards, but he was typically the one who followed her around like Link does with me. Of course, he wasn't on duty when Mother…” Zelda shooed away Mipha's offer of comfort when it was offered. “Maybe things would have been different if he'd been on duty that evening… I can see why they prefer to know only their native tongue, Hyrule blames them primarily for her death.”

“They are not seers. For Hyrule to have expected such foresight from them, it is a frustration that many of the Wolfbred stationed here have expressed. They were denied agency to do anything but follow orders, so even if they had been given such foresight, they likely could have done nothing but watch.”

“I do remember Mother continually scolding Father on the matter, that he could not order them to be dogs and expect them to act Hylian. I must have faith that some of her wisdom reached him… there is nothing I can do if Father disregards her.”

“Perhaps my father knows if any Hylian-speaking Wolfbred are in the Domain. We should go and ask.”

Zelda tentatively turned towards Link. She may not necessarily be fond of having a strange, werewolf guard follow her every moment for the rest of her life, but that didn't mean he was unworthy of basic communication with her. Father had mentioned that he was about her age, just thirteen. He deserved for her to try.

Perhaps the Goddess heard this unspoken prayer, unlike all the others, because she heard footprints and a resounding bark.

“Ah, Sir Pryze! Good morning.” The red Zora waved out towards a Hylian-looking guard who approached them.

“Morning, Princess.” The knight bowed to Mipha. When he saw Link, Zelda noticed Link's eyes lighting up. The knight had a surprising amount of splatter-like markings on his face and arms. Perhaps an accident?

Mipha helped him tuck a lock of his red hair back into his helmet. “Perfect timing, Sir Pryze, we were just talking about our need of a Wolfbred. Link does, unfortunately, not speak enough Hylian for a smooth transition into a bodyguard.”

Zelda could feel the fluttering in her chest rise. “Sir Pryze is a Hylian-speaking Wolfbred?”

“Small.” Pryze pinched his fingers before casting a quick glance over her figure. “Bigger, Princess.”

“Yes, Sir Pryze. Princess Zelda has grown quite a bit since you've been to Castle Town.”

Link looked towards Zelda for approval, then bowed to Pryze once she nodded. Pryze bowed in response to him, then a few sounds varying from woof-like to more of a chuff came from him. Link nodded.

Pryze simply turned towards Mipha after his exchange with Link. “King know more Hylian.”

“Yes, I'd figured the same, Sir Pryze. We should meet with my father.”

~~~

“Hmm, you wish to know more of the Wolfbred people? Yes, I believe I may be able to oblige.”

“A full recount is unnecessary, King Dorephan. If you would, just briefly, provide enough information for Link and I to transition into these new roles without being overly transparent of their history. I would wish for Link to provide whatever history he considers sacred by his own will.”

“But of course. How open your heart must be to him and his people. Very well. The Wolfbred have a communal society much like that of the Zora. To see a solitary one such as Sir Link here is unusual. Traditionally, they prefer to remain in groups with other Wolfbred and like an assigned duty. Many of them, if they lived outside their homeland, served as foot soldiers in the Hyrulean army for these two reasons. I supposed it was how they were made.”

Zelda looked over at Link and Pryze. While Link had never been more than a few paces away from her since they left Central Hyrule, Pryze had also drawn ever closer to Link. It did make sense, she too would prefer a familiar face if the lands of Hyrule were unfamiliar to her like they were to the Wolfbred, but the way Dorephan implied that they grouped together by design raised a million questions to her scientific mind. She cleared her throat, stepping forward so that the Zora king might allow her a question. “‘Made’, Your Majesty?”

“Ah. That is a history that I… am not sure I am at liberty to explain. But there are records from long ago that suggest… They might be proof of the claim that the Sheikah rivaled the power of the Goddess. Of course, any definitive records were lost when the Sheikah and Wolfbred were chased out of Hyrule, and I dare not threaten our relationship as the Wolfbred’s sole ally for mere speculation.” Almost instantly, another Wolfbred who carried a large bag of fish in her mouth trotted into the throne room, bowing on all fours as she offered the large catch to Dorephan. “Ah, thank you for your generosity, Kokiri.”

Zelda’s eyes widened as she glanced towards the fish-bearing woman. Her shoulders were open as she looked up at the Zora king, something she’d never seen Link do naturally. She’s seen him do it hundreds of times, of course, a knight must appear strong and confident on duty. However, it was always a forced stance.

Pryze finally stepped away from Link’s side, helping two armored Zora carry the catch to wherever they needed.

Dorephan resumed his conversation with Zelda once Kokiri, Pryze and the Zora guards had gone off to their other matters. “I will say to you, there is a painful curse that has bound Wolfbred for hundreds of generations. A chain that only Link can break. He would never ask for such, but for the sake of our dear allies, help him, please.”

“A… curse?”

“Yes, a very painful one. Link is the first of his kind to even have a chance to break it, and I fear it may take an act of the Goddess herself for him to be able to do so. Surely, you will learn of the curse in its entirety as you and him age.”

“I… see. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“But of course. Anything for Hyrule’s princess.”

~~~~

Hyrule's Final Stand Masterlist

#fanfiction #booksivewritten #legend of zelda #breath of the wild #hyrule's final stand #my stuff #the legend of zelda #wolfbred #wolfbred line #link imperial hyrule #zelda esmerelda hyrule #princess mipha #botw mipha #king dorephan #yes all of the wolfbred have twilight princess names I did that on purpose #except for pryze because his is kinda a joke name

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beatrice-otter · 8 months

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Fic: Chenelo Zhasanai

auexchange 2023 has finally revealed, which means I can tell you what I wrote! Those of you who guessed "Chenelo Zhasanai" are correct! I thought it was an easy guess because it was very on-brand for me: a longer-than-average fic about an underloved character (particularly a woman) which sticks close to canon even for an AU.

Title: Chenelo Zhasanai Author:beatrice_otter Fandom: The Goblin Emperor Length: 13,593 words Rating: General Audiences Written for: Gammarad in AU Exchange 2023 Betaed by: Irina

On AO3. On Squidgeworld. On Dreamwidth. On Pillowfort.

On good days, Chenelo did not take a sedative before bed, and her sleep was light and restless. She would spend the next day tired, but clear-headed.

Chenelo would later give many prayers to Csaivo that the day her former husband—and his elvish sons—died had been a good day.

So it was that when Othallo Neälu shook her gently in the middle of the night with the news that a courier had come on an airship, and Maia had read the message and called for her, Chenelo's mind was fogged with sleep but not with opazhin.

Neälu helped her into a dressing gown and Chenelo walked from her room—which had been a sitting room, when Chenelo could still reliably climb the stairs to the bedchambers on the floor above—into the hall. Maia sat on a bench by the fireplace; he rose at her entrance and bowed properly in the Elvish style. "I'm sorry for waking thee, mother. I hope thy sleep was restful."

"It is as it ever is," Chenelo said with a wave of her hand, sitting in the chair that had her cushion.

"Father is dead," Maia said, resuming his seat.

Chenelo swallowed, and bit back her first response, which was finally. It had been her father's consolation to her, when sending her away; Varenechibel was an older man, and the chances were that her widowhood would come early, and then she could return home. (Always assuming that her father was still alive, or that one of his allies had become Great Avar after him; if not, she would be able to remain in the Ethuveraz safely.) But they had not known, then, that her health was so precarious; Varenechibel had buried two wives before her, and she almost made a third. But none of this would be appropriate to speak of with Maia, who was Varenechibel's son, little though he liked that fact. "And thy brother Nemolis sent a courier immediately, instead of waiting for morning? But no," she said with a start, "he must be Varenechibel the Fifth, now."

That would be hard to reconcile; the name of the husband who had banished her now given to the step-son who maintained a courteous correspondence with Maia. "Has he recalled us?" He had hinted that he would, in his letters; the first time, Maia had had stars in his eyes for days, regardless of her reminder that any such event would be years in coming and for all they knew he would change his mind in between.

Maia handed her a letter. "Nemolis is dead, as well. And Nazhira. And Ciris. They were on an airship which crashed yesterday, returning from the wedding of the Prince of Thu-Athamar."

Neälu gasped, and lowered herself heavily down to the floor in that ridiculously servile prostration the Ethuveraz required for those in the Emperor's presence. Chenelo had done it only once, when she first arrived at the Untheileneise Court; after she was Empress, a curtsey was all that was required. Would they expect her to prostrate herself before her son? She doubted she would be capable of it without assistance.

"Please rise, Othalo," Maia said courteously. "We do not require it of anyone; and—" he smiled "—we would definitely not require it of our dav. Certainly not of one whose knees are as creaky as yours."

"Thank you, Serenity," Neälu said as she clambered to her feet.

Chenelo read the letter. It was from the Chancellor, regarding funeral arrangements. No matters of state were discussed, she noted. "Loyalty, he says. Yes, I'm sure he was very loyal to thy father; Varenechibel would not have tolerated otherwise."

"Didst thou know him?" Maia asked.

"No; Chavar did not rise to that office until, oh, about ten years ago, I think? He was undoubtedly at court when I was, but I did not make many friends, then." And none of those she had befriended had condescended to write, after her relegation. "He will be as like thy father as two peas in a pod; Varenechibel did not care for sycophants, but he also did not care for how powerful the Corazhas had become, that they were able to force me upon him. He would have wanted someone he could absolutely rely on, to shepherd the Corazhas in the direction he wanted."

"And a friend to my father is no friend to me," Maia said grimly. "He shall have to be replaced, and probably soon. Know'st thou … how an Emperor goes about replacing a Chancellor?"

Chenelo laughed. "Oh, no, my dear. It's not the sort of thing I needed to learn in order to wed thy father. Elvish systems are so different from Goblin ones. And of course I had no opportunity to learn after."

Maia sighed and buried his face in his hands. "Who would I even ask? I know so little of my father's court, and the only people I do know are my brothers, who have just died."

"Were thy sisters on the journey?" Chenelo asked, surprised. She wouldn't have thought so, but perhaps Vedero was a friend of the bride.

"I do not know," Maia said. "Perhaps?"

"Vedero, as an unmarried daughter of the house and thus under thy control, would probably be the safest to ask." Chenelo cocked her head. "But he'll have enemies in the court; any Chancellor would. I'm sure they would be quite happy to advise thee; the trick will be finding the ones thou canst trust." That, at least, she understood very well; growing up in the Great Avar's court had given her a ringside seat for the sort of status-climbing and jockeying for power common in any court. Elves liked to claim that they were above the sort of maneuvering common among the avars; in Chenelo's limited experience, the difference was merely that the avars were open and honest about it, whereas Ethuverazeise nobles were not.

"I'll have the rank," Maia said slowly, and Chenelo knew he was thinking of the stories of her father's court. "But he will have the allies. I'll have to consolidate my position before removing him, unless he does something very blatant that can't be ignored."

"Yes," Chenelo said. She rubbed her face, tiredly. "Thy first step, of course, should be securing the Alcethmeret both physically and legally."

"I was planning on taking the airship that delivered the courier," Maia said. "The passengers can easily wait here in comfort while waiting for a replacement airship to continue them on their journey."

"Good," Chenelo nodded. It would certainly be better than the trip to Isvaroë had been, on a boat down the Istandäartha, still mired in pain and grief from childbed, and cold and wet the whole time to boot.

"Legally … I suppose the coronation must be a priority," Maia said. He made a face. "It feels like stepping on Nemolis' grave."

Chenelo shrugged. "I doubt he'd begrudge thee. And even thy father would understand the realities of power. In his way, he was devoted to his view of what an Emperor should be. He would hate that thou succeededst him, of course … but he would also acknowledge thy right to do so."

"Yes," Maia said. He changed the subject. "I would like to have as much planned as possible before we arrive, and we'll have no privacy on the airship, so. The coronation must be my priority, of course, and the funeral; and consoling my sisters and sister-in-law." He grimaced. "As to my step-mother…?"

"I doubt she'd wish consolation from me," Chenelo pointed out. "She would doubt my sincerity, at the very least. On a related note: households. Will we have one dav, or two?"

"One, of course," Maia said in some surprise. "Why should we have two?"

"Two reasons, one political and one practical," Chenelo said. "Elvish noblemen in full control of their titles and estates—especially the Imperial family—do not generally live in the same household as their mothers. Or mothers-in-law. If I live with thee, it will be seen as odd, and people will grumble about goblin influences."

Maia waved a hand. "They'll do that anyway."

"There's no need to intentionally court it," Chenelo said. "And in any case, there is the practical reason. The Alcethmeret is a tower. With the public spaces below, and the living quarters above." She spread her hands.

Maia sagged. "I'm sure the Emperor of the Elflands must be able to command scores of strapping young men to carry his mother up and down staircases all day."

Chenelo flicked her ears to show what she thought of that idea.

"Separate quarters, then," Maia said glumly.

"It isn't as though we shan't see each other daily," Chenelo said with a smile, little though she liked it herself. She turned to Neälu. "Would you please wake the dav and explain to them what has happened? Some of them may not wish to come with us, and if it is more people than is necessary for a caretaker staff here, we will arrange for funds to tide them over until they find employment elsewhere." And oh, with her husband dead she would have full access to her dowry! There would be no scrimping to find the funds to properly run her household! "For those who wish to remain in our dav, please decide who will come with us immediately and who will stay to shut the house and grounds up and send on all the things we cannot take with us now. We'll want to leave as quickly as possible—within the hour, if it can be done."

Neälu glanced at Maia for approval, then curtseyed and left.

Chenelo felt her face heat. "I am sorry, dear one; of course it should be thy order."

"Thou art still my mother, even though I am emperor," Maia said. "I care only about the scandal it would cause at court."

***

They were not off within the hour, but close to it; Chenelo boarded using the basket they loaded baggage with. It was not dignified, but it was safer than being carried up the stairs. Maia was invited to view the sunrise, and stayed up with the crew to watch; Chenelo lay on a bench and tried to sleep.

It was no use; the stress and the change in the air had done their worst. Neälu gave what help she could, which was not much. Chenelo needed to be awake at the end of the journey to walk to whatever rooms were given to her before she could allow herself to be sedated. She wished she could be with Maia for moral support in that first meeting with the Chancellor, but knew her own limits. Besides, she consoled herself, gritting her teeth at the pain, Maia would make a better impression without her there.

***

It took Chenelo a full day to recover from the travel, and it was only through the competence of Neälu and Merrem Saveschem, her housekeeper from Isvaroë, that Chenelo had appropriate clothing for both the coronation and the funeral, and edocharei to dress her and style her hair.

"Thank you," Chenelo said, as the gown for the coronation was being fitted. "You have both done far more than you could have been expected to. We are grateful for your service." Merrem Saveschem had been hired by Varenechibel to manage Isvaroë, which was nothing to a dav in the Untheileneise. And Neälu was a treasure to whom Chenelo owed her life many times over. Acting as a waiting woman was beneath her skill as a cleric of Csaivo, but Chenelo's access to her dowry had been severely limited in relegation, as had been the number and type of people she was allowed to have in her dav, and the people she was allowed to write to. Fortunately, the local Archprelate at Sevezho had been one of them, and he had produced a cleric who was willing to come and be both doctor and servant, and paid (though not treated) as the latter.

"Of course, Zhasanai," Neälu said. "It is a time of crisis, and if we can but get through this initial time of confusion, everything will be easier."

"You must have had help, to learn the latest fashions and get such fine material, and we do not know how the sewing was accomplished in such a short time," Chenelo said, marveling at it.

"Your son's Master of Wardrobe was very helpful in providing both material and recommendations for dressmakers," Merrem Saveschem said. "And there is a new machine that sews seams very quickly."

"I should like to see it," Chenelo said.

"Of course, Zhasanai," Merrem Saveschem said. "Now?"

"No," Chenelo said. She smiled down at the woman adjusting and pinning the bodice to fit properly. "We would not wish to get in your way, for we are sure you must be very busy."

"Yes, Your Grace," the seamstress said, a little uncertainly. No doubt unused to being treated like a person by her employers.

***

Once the fitting was done, there was correspondence. A great many people Chenelo had never met, or met only briefly two decades ago, now wished a moment of her time. "We'll need a secretary," Chenelo said with some dismay. She hadn't when she'd been at Court the first time.

Neälu made a note of that while Chenelo read the return addresses to see if there were any that needed immediate attention. One in particular caught her eye. It was a scroll in the Barizheise style, with a delicate Corat' Arhos nesecho. She smiled at it and pulled the bead to unwrap it.

It had been almost twenty years since she had read her native tongue, or spoken more than a few words of it, and it took her a few minutes to remember the language of her heart. She started with the signature, to see if it was from someone she knew. It couldn't be; there had not been time for word to reach Barizhan, and yet … "Nadaro Gormened?" Had her cousin Nadaro married? She had not heard, but then, she wouldn't have.

To our most serene imperial kinswoman, Chenelo Zhasanai,

We express our great joy at being once again allowed to communicate with you, and at the end of your exile. We offer you condolences on the death of your husband exactly proportionate to your sorrow, and look forward to exchanging all the gossip and news of what has happened at home since last we spoke. We are here at the Untheileneise Court, as our husband Vorzhis is your father's ambassador. If there is anything we can do to make your transition easier, we beg of you to allow us to provide it, to make up for our silence even in this small way. With greatest love, Nadaro Gormened

Chenelo clasped the nesecho in her hands and closed her eyes with a sigh. She had never blamed Nadaro for her silence, any more than she had blamed her when they were girls and a new-flowing enmity between their families tore them apart. But her heart overflowed, and she could not answer it now.

She checked the clock. Maia would have been ensconced in the deep well of the earth beneath the Alcethmeret for some time now, standing vigil; she asked Neälu where her prayer mat had been put, and went to join her prayers to those of her son.

***

It was a long day, waiting for the coronation; Chenelo spent most of it either in prayer and meditation, or sleeping, to gather her strength for the night's activities.

Her part in the coronation did not begin until nine o'clock, and then it was only to wait in the grand entrance chamber of the Alcethmeret while government officials were ushered into the Emperor's presence to take oath to him. They had chairs to wait on, but it was drafty and there was little conversation. Half of those waiting stared at her; the other half pretended not to, but cast sidelong glances when they thought she was not looking. The government officials she did not know by sight, but most of the Drazhada she knew enough of from Maia's correspondence with them—and from newspaper reports—to guess who they were.

Csoru, her husband's most recent bride, was small and pretty in the Elvish style, though she spoiled her looks with frowns and sighs and fidgets and petulant glares which she cast at Chenelo when she thought no one was looking. No power in her own right, no skill at politics, all influence gone with Varenechibel's death. Chenelo pitied her, but otherwise dismissed her; there was neither help nor hindrance to be found in that quarter.

The other widow of Varenechibel present might be another story; Arbelan Drazharan, Varenechibel's barren first wife, had been recalled from exile as well. She'd been a force to be reckoned with, in her day, or so said what few stories Chenelo had heard of her; and from the cool, amused looks Arbelan was giving Csoru, that might still be the case. Whether help or hindrance was yet to be seen.

Unlike her fellow widows, Chenelo recognized Vedero and Nemriän from her previous time at court. Vedero had been a gangly girl twenty years ago, and now she was very tall and broad. She was worn and even paler than usual, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. Their only correspondence had been a series of perfectly correct, perfectly impersonal notes exchanged at appropriate occasions—birthdays, Winternight, Midsummer, and the like. Despite her obvious grief, she gave Chenelo a gracious nod of acknowledgement before returning to her own thoughts.

Nemriän had been a graceful young woman, not terribly attractive but with the position and stylishness to make up the lack. She was now an ordinary-looking matron, and if she were suffering from any great grief Chenelo could not see any symptoms of it. Then again, Varenechibel cared little for his daughters and had never given her reason to love him, and if she were close with her brothers, there had never been any evidence of it that Chenelo saw. A decade of living in her husband's primary seat at Ashedro had undoubtedly weakened her affection for the family of her birth.

If Sheveän had been at court during Chenelo's brief stay, she hadn't noticed her; the marriage with Prince Nemolis had happened a few years after Chenelo had been discarded. And the notes Chenelo had exchanged with her had been even more perfunctory than those with Vedero. But Nemolis had described her in his letters to Maia, and so Chenelo had no trouble identifying her as the proud woman with deep blue eyes who was clearly offended by both Arbelan and Chenelo. Unlike Vedero, Sheveän's edocharei had used cosmetics to skillfully cover up as much of her grief as could be done; but there was a redness around her eyes that could not be hidden.

The last of the adult Drazhada was a sheep-faced woman so bland that Chenelo's eyes skipped right over her. By process of elimination, that must be Ciris' fiancée, Stano Bazhevin; Chenelo had sent a note of congratulations at the announcement, but if Stano had replied, it had yet to reach Isvaroë.

There were only three children of the Drazhada present; Prince Idra, Maia's current heir, was quiet and drawn. Nemolis had written a great deal about him; he had been proud of his son, and boasted of every accomplishment. Ino and Mirëan, the two younger sisters, sat on a bench and cuddled sleepily with a nursemaid, who murmured quiet stories to keep them awake and quiet. They, too, had featured so prominently in Nemolis' letters that Chenelo felt she almost knew them.

Then at last it was the turn of the senior Drazhada to make their oaths. Chenelo had practiced the words, and did her part perfectly.

Once the private oathtakings were done, the whole group processed out of the Alcethmeret to the Untheileian at the heart of the court. The sudden shock of cold as they went through the great public courtyard set Chenelo to coughing, and she tried to muffle it with a handkerchief. The relative warmth as they re-entered the court itself was a relief, though it was still not warm enough for Chenelo to be comfortable.

The Corat Dav' Arhos, her father's palace, being half-underground, was well-insulated from both heat and cold. She did not understand how a people who lived in a clime so much colder would be worse at building palaces to handle it.

Chenelo was tired and her joints ached, and she would need opazhin to sleep tonight, but it was a thrill to see the whole court of the Ethuveraz bowing before her son. She was partial, of course, but she thought him a much better man than any that had worn that crown in the last hundred years, at least. He deserved all their adulation, and more.

Ceremony over, she went back to her apartments, where a heated dressing gown was waiting for her as her new edocharei helped her ready for bed.

"You look like you need opazhin," Neälu said, bustling over to the cabinet that held her supplies.

"Yes," Chenelo said with a sigh. She hated taking it two days in a row; but there was nothing to be gained by lying awake in pain. "I don't remember the Untheileneise Court being this cold, when I was here before."

"When you were here before, you were a healthy weight," Neälu said. "Quite aside from the rest of your symptoms, that alone would give you more protection from the chill. But these rooms are drafty, and I have noticed that the glazing in the windows needs to be redone; we shall have to see what can be done."

"Yes," Chenelo said. "Don't let me forget." As the edocharei finished with her and left, she dictated some notes on what she had noticed of the other Drazhadeise women, and the tentative ideas she had for managing them. Then she took the medicine and went to bed.

***

Chenelo woke late the next morning, and could not muster the energy to get out of bed. There was little reason to; previous experience and the long stretch of time it took her to realize she should get out of bed told her that she would accomplish little, if anything. And it would be better to put off dealing with the court than to do so when she felt this foggy.

She remembered last night's coronation, and her mind wandered to her childhood memories of her father's palace. Climbing up on benches to see out of the windows, standing with her father on the upper-story balconies to watch the waves crash on the rocks below, during storms. The wind here sounded different than the wind that came off the sea; at least, she remembered thinking that, when she first came to court. It was nineteen years since she had last seen the sea.

Maia was older now than she had been when she left the Corat' Dav Arhos for the Untheileneise. It was not the first time she had realized that, but it never became less strange.

Neälu sat in the corner and knitted, passing on what gossip she had learned from the Ethuveraseise servants, until a message came from Maia that he wished to have lunch with her.

Chenelo's head had cleared a bit in the meantime, so she dressed and had some tea and sat in her sitting room with blankets piled on her lap reading a novel until it was time to go to the Alcethmeret.

She could write her father. The thought had been swimming in her head all morning. She was out of relegation; he might answer a letter from her, now.

He had not once answered a letter to her in all her years at Isvaroë. She had stopped writing when she realized that he was never going to answer, no matter how she pleaded. No matter what she asked.

In the beginning, she had asked for him to intervene, and have her recalled, or sent back to her father's household. Towards the end, she had asked only for him to respond to her. If not for her own sake, then for Maia's, so that he might at least know his grandfather in some way, even if he would never know his father.

She had stopped writing, eventually. She didn't know if he even read them.

He would respond now, she was certain; now that she was no longer a shame to the family; now that she was no longer a woman set aside by her husband, but the mother of the Emperor of all the Elflands.

Now that she had learned to live with his silence. Now that she no longer needed his help.

What would she even say?

At last it was time to leave for lunch. The Alcethmeret was only a short distance away, which Chenelo was grateful for; today was not a bad day, but too much exertion could make it so.

A table had been set for them in one of the few private rooms on the ground floor, which Chenelo approved of. Maia was not waiting for her; as Emperor, his time was too valuable.

He charged in exactly at noon, trailed by his nohecharei. Chenelo rose to curtsey to him, but he reached out to stop her with a laugh and a hug. "Know'st thou, this might be the longest we have gone without seeing each other in my entire life?" he said. Isvaroë was not large.

"Oh! Of course it isn't," Chenelo said. "When thou wert thirteen or so, would'st occasionally get moody and refuse to emerge from thy bedroom."

"I'd forgotten." Maia's cheeks darkened with a flush. "I hope thy rooms are comfortable? Hast thou been well?"

"They are trifle draftier than I would like, and the windows need re-glazing," Chenelo said. "That can be fixed. It's no worse than Isvaroë was when we first arrived there, and it will be easier to adapt."

"And thou?" Maia said. "Thou lookedst pale and wan last night, and I could not tell if it was the late hour, or something … worse."

"Mostly it was the hour," Chenelo said. "Although the brief time outside did not help. Do not worry about me; I know to pace myself, and I have been much worse off than this, as well thou know'st." The whole year he had been eight, she had been unable to sit upright without assistance; she had truly thought she was going to die then, and without Neälu's care she probably would have. "Tell me what thou hast been up to, in my absence," she said as a serving girl brought in the meal.

"This is Isheian," Maia introduced her. "Isheian, this is my mother, Chenelo Zhasanai."

She nodded politely at Isheian, who bobbed a timid curtsey and scurried out. Even out at Isvaroë, it had taken her quite some time to get Elvish servants used to the idea of the dav; and that was much closer to Barizhan than Cetho was.

"Oh! I almost forgot," Maia said with a blush. "How terribly rude of me. Mother, these are my Second Nohecharei, Dazhis Athmaza and Lieutenant Telimezh."

"Hello." She smiled at them. "We are honored by your service. We are sure we could not trust our son's safety to anyone more dedicated." They bowed, and Telimezh thanked her.

Mindful of Neälu's constant admonitions to eat, Chenelo filled her plate, though one side effect of the opazhin was a poor appetite. Maia loaded up his plate and told her of everything she had missed: that he had had to send messengers to the Adremaza and the Captain of the Untheileneise Guard to get his nohecharei, because Chavar hadn't done it; how Chavar had dismissed the courier in a fit of pique and Maia had given him a place in the household, and now he seemed to be a secretary (though Maia was a little unclear on the man's exact role in the dav).

"A courier, for a secretary?" Chenelo asked. "Not a place in the undersecretaries, but the head? That is … quite a position of seniority."

"He knows what he's doing," Maia said stiffly. "Indeed, he has been very helpful in explaining to me all the current political and social maneuvering of the court, and he knows how to handle Chavar."

"I am pleased he has been helpful," Chenelo said. She wasn't quite convinced, but this was not the time or the place to say more; in any case, it was Maia's decision. Either it would work out, or it wouldn't, and if it didn't the man could be put in a position more suited to his talents then.

Maia described how Csevet had gotten Chavar fixed on the idea of a large panel of Witnesses, and Chavar's outrage that Maia had already petitioned a clerical Witness, and ordered that that Witness be part of the investigation.

"Though I don't know if it will make any difference," Maia admitted. "He examined the bodies of my father and brothers yesterday, and none of them knew anything. The other Witnesses confirmed it was sabotage; someone put a device on board that ignited the hydrogen. Unless one of the other dead placed it aboard and remembers doing so even now…."

"If they don't, then thou'llt know to look elsewhere for answers," Chenelo said. "And it sounds like this investigation is a worthy endeavor for Chavar; he will make sure it is done, in honor of Varenechibel, and while he is thus occupied, he shan't be interfering with thee."

"Yes," Maia said. "Which will leave me to deal with … all the audiences and letters that people keep sending me." His ears sagged, and he pulled a comical face.

"Surely thy secretaries handle most of the letters," Chenelo said.

"Yes, but I must at least know what's in them," Maia said. "And I know so little of the … the background and the history that each letter takes a very long time to understand and make a decision about, if a decision is necessary."

"Still, thy father had a whole flock of secretaries, each more efficient than the last," Chenelo said. "Some of them will have died with him, but they can't all have gone to the wedding with him. How many are left?"

Maia frowned. "I do not know."

He called for the courier, and introduced him to Chenelo; Csevet was his name.

"Serenity," Csevet said when Maia asked him what had happened to his father's secretaries, "it was not one thing but many. His two most senior had just retired and had yet to be replaced. Four were with him on the Wisdom of Choharo, and died there. Of the three left, two have no ambition to be anything other than undersecretaries, and one resigned to take a position in the chancellery."

"Why didn't they wish to be promoted?" Chenelo asked.

"We believe that they … were content with the lower workload and responsibility, and did not wish to come to His Serenity's notice," Csevet said carefully. He spread his hands. "They are very good at their job, and we would be lost without them, but there are only two."

Given what it must have been like to work intimately with Varenechibel, Chenelo couldn't blame them for wanting to stay in the background. "Surely it should be the Lord Chancellor's job to see that the Emperor has an appropriate staff. He has to have known Varenechibel's secretaries died with him."

"It should," Csevet said. "But the Lord Chancellor does not … often consider matters of staff. It may not have occurred to him yet."

Or perhaps it had, and he was simply trying to hamstring his Emperor. There was no way of knowing. "So either he is not doing his job on purpose, or he is not competent to do it," Chenelo said. She turned to Maia. "When the time comes to replace him, thou wilt have plenty of reasons; I would start compiling a list, an thou needst convince the Corazhas."

Maia nodded. "Of course." He turned to Csevet. "Please see that it is done. And also, begin hiring enough people to bring your department up to full capacity; we shall certainly need them."

Csevet bowed, and Maia dismissed him.

***

Varenechibel's funeral began precisely at sundown. Chenelo stood with the other Drazhada, Maia up above them in the Emperor's balcony, and concentrated on looking appropriately solemn. The Elvish rites required so little from the congregation that it was easy for the mind to wander, but they did require enough participation that she could not simply meditate or lose herself in prayer.

And then it was over, and it was time for the wake. Chenelo danced the first with Maia, and then sat herself along the edges of the ballroom to listen to the music and watch the dance.

Princess Sheveän approached with an insincere smile. "Chenelo Drazharan, welcome to court. We hope the funeral was not too taxing; you look quite ill."

"We are ill," Chenelo said, hiding her irritation with a smile. Her daughter-in-law had all the subtlety of a rock. It must be quite a handicap in court politics. "We have been for quite some time. But tonight we are no more so than any other night."

"Surely the death and funeral of your husband must give some trouble," Sheveän pressed.

"Grief is not the same as illness," Chenelo said. "And we knew him so little it is not a personal loss. Indeed, we know more of your husband, through his letters to our son Edrehasivar, and we are very sorry for his death and the deaths of the whole family. Nemolis was an excellent brother to Maia, and I am sure he was even better as a husband and father. You must miss him very dreadfully. As for Varenechibel, he was a good emperor, and his death is a loss to all of the Ethuveraz."

"He was a great emperor," Sheveän said stiffly, "and the loss is catastrophic."

Chenelo nodded. "We grieve with you, and are happy to hear any stories you might have of him or your husband or the others."

But Sheveän had said her piece, and excused herself. Chenelo pondered whether Sheveän had few feelings for her husband, or such a deep grief that she could not bear to speak of it in public. Or if, perhaps, she simply preferred anger to sadness.

Chenelo was not left alone to enjoy the music for long; Csoru Zhasanai was next.

"Csoru Zhasanai," Chenelo greeted her affably.

Csoru's ears flattened slightly at the reminder she was now a dowager, though her smile never slipped. "Chenelo Zhasanai," she said, taking a chair next to her and lounging gracefully in it. "We hope you are well? You only danced once! We are not used to seeing goblins so … thin, and we hope it is nothing serious."

Chenelo smiled instead of wincing, controlling her ears quite carefully. "Our condition is chronic, not acute. We feel no worse tonight than we ever do. You need not fear that we shall usurp your place at court; we intend to live a quiet life, and you may rule the social scene with our blessing. Until our son Edrehasivar marries, of course."

Csoru shot her a poisonous glance. "Of course. We do hope that you are feeling well. We understand that you spent very little time at court, as a girl, and have spent the intervening years … well. Living a quiet, retired life. The court must be such a confusing whirlwind of people."

"We were only in the Untheileneise Court for ten months, it is true," Chenelo said, "but we grew up in our father the Great Avar's court, and it is larger. Only in the winter, it is true, when the avars congregate for the political season; but we were not bewildered by the Untheileneise when we came to Cetho the first time."

"Of course," Csoru said. Elves never liked to be reminded that Barizhan was richer and at least as populous, and its court even more magnificent than the Untheileneise. "But still, it cannot be easy to be a stranger; your only acquaintances were the Drazhada, most of whom have died. We would be happy to introduce you; We are sure there are many who would be honored to dance with the Emperor's mother."

"What a kind offer," Chenelo said. And at least she was a bit subtler than Princess Sheveän had been; introducing her around would put Csoru in a position of authority and show off that she was the center of court and Chenelo the interloper. As well as ensuring that Chenelo talked to the people Csoru wanted her to. "We thank you most sincerely. But we are enjoying the music. We never had musicians of this quality at Isvaroë, of course."

Csoru pouted, and whined for a few seconds, before retreating into honeyed cooing over Chenelo's health. Chenelo responded with courteous obstinance, refusing to give the girl the satisfaction of responding to her childish tactics, and in short order Csoru gave up and retreated to her circle of young, fashionable ladies. It was not, Chenelo noted, a very large circle, even given that Csoru was no longer Empress and thus close to the reins of power.

Over the course of the next half-hour, a few courtiers approached to give condolences and introduce themselves; a wake was not a place to discuss business, but it was a place to start laying the groundwork for future business. As the only person currently at court who might be assumed to have the new Emperor's ear, she was of interest to everyone.

Arbelan joined her eventually, without the condolences. "It is such a pleasure to hear musicians of this quality," she said as she sat down next to Chenelo. "Although neither the dances nor the tunes are the same as they were in our day."

"Oh?" Chenelo asked. "We did not have time to become accustomed to Elvish music, in our day; and though there are many similarities between Elvish and Goblin dances, there are also differences."

They spent a pleasant few minutes discussing different styles of music and dance, before Arbelan glanced over at Csoru and her friends. "The youngest Zhasanai is glaring at us."

"We have already told her that our health will not permit us to become the glittering star of court functions, even if we wanted to," Chenelo said tranquilly, "and so her position there is safe … until the Emperor marries."

Arbelan's ears didn't twitch. "We imagine she was quite relieved."

"No doubt," Chenelo said. "We expect to have many of our evening meals in our apartments, and not with the larger court."

"That would be much better for your health than trying to keep up with the feasting and the revelry and the noise of the larger court," Arbelan agreed.

"Though we may perhaps invite a few people to join us, from time to time," Chenelo said. "We would hate to be lonely."

"People such as your son," Arbelan said, "and possibly members of the Corazhas? The Princes, while they are at Court?"

"Just so," Chenelo said. "Quiet affairs, that will not tax our health. We are sure you would find them restful, as well."

"Oh, indeed," Arbelan said. "We are sure we would. Dancing half the night is the province of the young, we fear, though we did enjoy it in our day." There was a hint of wistfulness in her voice, at that.

"We only had that pleasure a few times," Chenelo said, with matching wistfulness. She had only barely been old enough to attend dances when she had been married away from her father's court; and an empress publicly despised by her husband had few partners willing to risk his disapproval for a mere dance. "Do you do needlework? We are fond of embroidery, when our hands are steady enough for it."

"We do, of course,"Arbelan said. "Though we have always found lacemaking or painting to be more to our taste."

"We would love to see your work," Chenelo said. "Perhaps we might have tea together, and discuss it further."

"That sounds delightful," Arbelan said.

***

That night, Chenelo required opazhin to help her sleep, but only a half dose; and she rose the next morning refreshed and only slightly cloud-headed.

"There was a great deal of speculation about Stano Bazhevin and our step-daughter Vedero last night," Chenelo told Neälu. "Apparently there are rumors that Vedero is on the cusp of being engaged to Dach'osmer Eshevis Tethimar, but nobody knows for certain; and then there is the question of what to do about Osmin Bazhevin, given that her marriage contract was signed but the marriage was not sworn. She is half-in-between the Drazhada and the Bazhevada, poor girl. We think we should invite them to tea."

"Together?" Neälu asked.

"We think that would be awkward, don't you?" Chenelo asked. "Given the delicacy of their situations. And we've no idea if they're friends or enemies."

"Mind you don't overdo it," Neälu said. "It's no good running yourself into the ground straight away. Also, as you're making plans, we will be looking for another physician skilled in ailments such as yours; we should like to have a consultation."

"You've been such a great help, and you've been taking care of me for years," Chenelo protested. "We can't imagine that another doctor would be more knowledgeable about my condition than you. We wouldn't be alive without you."

Neälu smiled. "We are your physician because we were the only cleric of Csaivo in Sevezho who was willing to come and live in Isvaroë as both physician and companion. When that was all you could afford, it was sufficient; but now we have more resources, we want a consultation at the very least."

"All right," Chenelo said. "As long as you will stay with us—we don't wish to lose your support and care."

"Of course, Zhasanai," Neälu said with a pleased smile.

***

Stano Bazhevin was available for tea that very afternoon; apparently, she was rather relieved to be out of the Bazhevin apartments. It took very little time and a few sympathetic noises for the poor thing to pour out all her fears and frustrations.

"It's all such a nightmare," she said, clutching her teacup and staring into it. "It seemed like a dream just a week ago."

"We're so sorry, my dear." Chenelo sighed. "Your situation is nothing like ours was, of course …."

"No, but it may yet end up worse," Stano said. "Our father would like to see us sent to a cloistered order for the rest of our life, just to make the whole tangle go away. We'd rather be relegated! At least there's a chance that relegation will end. Yours did."

"You may not be entitled to Ciris' properties, but surely your dowry cannot be counted as such?" Chenelo said. "We could only access a small portion of our dowry when we were relegated, but it made life in Isvaroë far more comfortable than it would otherwise have been." Knowing that Varenechibel had already relegated one wife, her father had made sure there were provisions in the marriage settlements to provide for Chenelo in case she, too, would be set aside. She had been very grateful for those provisions.

Stano's ears drooped. "We—our dowry is … very small, Zhasanai. Our family has a great deal of prestige, and connections with every noble house in the Ethuveraz, especially in the East, but little money these days to back it up. Our marriage was supposed to remedy that. There are certain trade provisions and government positions Varenechibel bequeathed to our family in exchange for support now and in the future for various political plans—we don't know the details. But our dowry would not support a household. Or, at least, not one we would be happy in."

"Ah," Chenelo said, chagrined.

"Princess Sheveän has offered us a place in her household," Stano said.

Chenelo raised her eyebrows. "That is generous of her." She wouldn't have thought the Princess was much given to charity.

Stano shrugged. "She likes people who will agree with her and do as she says. We can do that; indeed, it's mostly what we do at home already. Except that Sheveän will not recriminate us for every penny spent clothing and feeding us. And there will be only one person to please, and not … several."

"We see," Chenelo said, and she did, although it seemed rather bleak. She supposed that she could offer the girl a place in her household, but that was a rather permanent commitment. Chenelo was not sure she liked the girl enough to want to live with her permanently. She would talk things over with Maia, and see what he said; he was the head of the Drazhada now, and thus the one with ultimate authority over Stano's disposition—and over the funds that used to be Ciris's, but which had been folded back into the general coffers of the Drazhada with his death. Something might be possible there.

On the other hand, if Stano did go into Princess Sheveän's household, and Chenelo kept up a friendship with her, it might prove a useful insight into that woman's maneuverings within the Untheileneise Court.

***

Vedero was rather more straightforward.

"The problem with alliances based on marriage, of course," Chenelo said, examining the cuffs she was working on to see if that stitch was well enough or if it would need to be ripped out and redone, "is that while the marriage is permanent, the alliance often does not prove so. And then what are you left with? Nothing good for either party."

Vedero looked at her with extreme skepticism. "The fact that your marriage set back the very alliance it was trying to create does not mean that that was typical." She had her work basket with her, but had yet to pull anything out.

Chenelo fished out another strand of silk embroidery thread and went back to work. These were for Maia; it would please both of them for him to wear her work, but she was finding white-on-white more challenging than she had thought it would be. "We may have little experience of the Untheileneise, but we spent our childhood and youth in the Great Avar's court," Chenelo said. "Alliances sealed by marriage were only slightly more permanent than those sealed by other means; and when they worked out, it was usually because the husband cared for and respected his wife, and wished her to be happy. If he didn't, what cared he if changing political winds severed her from all she loved?"

They fell into quite an interesting debate about politics and alliances for a few minutes, before Vedero laid what she obviously considered a trump card: "And anyway, we were raised to be loyal to the needs of our father's politics."

"So were we," Chenelo reminded her. "But it matters whether the aim is worthy, and whether the means chosen are likely to achieve those ends. Or all your dutiful obedience gains you—and your male relatives—no more than it gained our father."

To that, Vedero had no answer. It was clear that she wanted to believe that, but distrusted it.

"So!" Chenelo said. "We have two questions. First, what goal of Varenechibel's would be served by your marriage to Eshevis Tethimar? Second, is marriage likely to achieve that goal?"

"The Tethimada are the most fractious of the Eastern lords," Vedero said. "They are always causing trouble ranging from minor headaches to serious upheaval. Our father was trying to get them under control once and for all by binding them to him as closely as possible."

"And is Eshevis Tethimar the sort of man who would be guided in any way by his wife's wishes?" Chenelo asked.

"No," Vedero said.

"Would he be over-awed by his greater position at court, and fear losing it? Or grateful to the one who gave it to him, and wish to return service for service?"

Vedero snorted. "No. He would take it as his due, which he should have had all along."

"Is there anything you could do, as his wife, to make him do what the Emperor wants? Or that the Emperor could do through you?"

"No, obviously not," Vedero said.

"Then it sounds to us as if marriage to Tethimar would not benefit the Drazhada—or the Ethuveraz—at all," Chenelo said. "Rather, it will benefit him, by giving him a sign of his favor with the Emperor that he can use as he wishes."

Vedero opened her mouth, and closed it. "He will make a great deal of trouble to have his prize snatched away," she said at last.

"Is that any difference from the normal state of affairs, where the Tethimada are concerned?"

"Not really." Vedero looked as if hope was beginning to dawn in her, but she couldn't quite bring herself to believe it.

"Well, then," Chenelo said. "It sounds as if Edrehasivar would be better served finding you a marriage that might actually have the long-term consequences he desires for it, than wasting you on a man who won't be appreciative of you."

"You cannot make that promise on your son's behalf," Vedero said.

"No, but we can make suggestions, and he'll probably listen," Chenelo said.

***

"I'd just decided not to marry her to Tethimar, anyway," Maia said that evening as he visited before heading on to the court dinner Chenelo was missing. "Awful man. Even if a marriage would control him, I don't know that it would be worth it, to have him closer. The only way for him to be content as my ally would be if I always did exactly as he wanted—I do believe he'd see anything else as a betrayal and an affront."

Chenelo pursed her lips disapprovingly. "Yes, I know the type. Father always said they were the ones to watch most closely, and ally with least often; they were more likely to stab you in the back for a moment's gain—or a moment's pique—than anybody else."

***

Since her arrival at Court, Chenelo had been thrilled that she could now see Nadaro again, for the first time in well over two decades. But she had not been able to find the time to do so.

Her health, as always, was the major culprit; she only had so many hours per day that she was capable of doing more than lying in bed or on a couch. Even sitting in her own sitting room having tea with a visitor took more than she had to spare, on a bad day. And, as the weather turned cold, she had many bad days. She had as much coal as she could use, but it did not stop the drafts. The windows could not be re-glazed until summer, but the windows were not the only source of chill; Neälu consulted with Maia's house steward, Merrem Esaran, and found a series of large tapestries belonging to the Emperor that had not been on display for some time, and decorated Chenelo's apartments with them, which cut down on drafts considerably.

Still, the bitter cold could not be entirely shut out. Neälu brought in a few other doctors to consult, and though they did have advice (some of it good), it brought only negligible changes to her health and stamina.

And of the few hours she had every day that she could do things, there were so many things the mother of the Empress needed to do, at least when the Emperor was as new to the throne and precarious as Maia was. Every friendly conversation with someone influential was important. Every tea or embroidery session with high-bred ladies, every conversation over dinner, every dance with an Elvish noble, all of it made Maia's job just a little bit easier, his throne just a little bit more secure.

And people were watching her for Barizheise taint. They were looking for any goblin habits or preferences to use as justification for whispers and scorn. There were some things Chenelo was not willing to give up, but others … private meetings with the ambassador's wife would be too large a fodder for gossip. And Nadaro would understand.

Thus it was that the first time they met since their youth, it was at the dinner planning for the Great Avar's visit this Winternight.

Maia and Chenelo discussed the choice of Imperial bride which had been made that day as they waited for their escort. Chenelo had met all three of them, but only spent time with the Tethimadeise girl and Chavar's niece—those two families being the ones most likely to give Maia serious trouble—and she was relieved to hear that it was not either one. Paru Tethimin was not a bad girl, but too young to see what she was really like, and completely under the thumb of her brother. Loran Duchenin was ambitious in the worst way, and scornful of Maia and Chenelo to boot; she had not managed to successfully conceal that disdain. But none of this could be said in a public corridor.

"Well," she said, "if she is anything like her Aunt Arbelan, she will do very well for you indeed. I shall have to invite her and Arbelan Zhasanai to tea some day soon. And perhaps thou as well. Thy sister Vedero would also be a good addition—or perhaps we should just have a dinner party?" Though that would require inviting Dach'osmin Ceredin's parents, as well, which would make it harder to really get to know the girl.

"I would very much like that," Maia said with some relief. "I would like to get to know her at least a little before the marriage."

"It is quite awkward, to marry a stranger," Chenelo said. "Never fear, my dear, I shall see that the two of you have at least some time to get to know each other before your wedding."

And that was the last thing they had time to say, as their escort to the Ambassador's apartments arrived: two goblin pages and a pair of soldiers from the Hezhethoreise Guard in full dress uniforms.

It was lovely to be surrounded by so many goblins, and Chenelo basked in it as she and Maia chattered with the pages and guards on the way.

The dinner was even lovelier, and Chenelo's spirit was warmed even as she needed to hold a cup of tea in both hands to keep them from aching in the chill. Maia gave a very pretty speech—he was getting good at them—and once she had spoken with everyone she needed to from the Elvish contingent, she was free to sit with Nadaro and exchange news from home. Some of it she already knew—her father was not the only one in Barizhan that she'd written to; the permitted contacts had been few indeed but they had included her sister and a few aunts. But some of it they had not told her, perhaps because it was a bit shocking.

"My father, Maru Sevraseched, acknowledged his bastard daughters?" Chenelo said in some bewilderment. It had been almost twenty years since she had been allowed to speak her native language, and she was a bit rusty, and was not quite sure she understood. Surely she must have misheard?

"He did," Nadaro said with a nod.

"Wasn't their mother a low-born member of the Vazhekhada?" Chenelo said. That had been why he couldn't acknowledge them even as bastards; if the mother had been of higher rank in her clan, a diplomatic marriage would have been possible, perhaps even stabilizing relations with the Vazhekhadeise. But under the circumstances, acknowledging the relationship existed at all would only be considered an insult to his rivals.

If one of them had been a boy Maru might adopt as heir, it might have been different, of course.

"Oh, yes," Nadaro said. "I think partly it was because he missed thee and grieved thy circumstances."

Chenelo raised an eyebrow. "Then he could have responded to any of my letters at any time. After the first few years, I was not even asking for help. All I wanted was to hear from him, to know he still loved me. And he ignored me."

Nadaro acknowledged that with a flick of her ears. "The other reason, of course, is because he is old enough that he has given up hope of a son and heir. Even if he had a son, at this age, he would not live to see the son mature enough to hold the allegiance of the avarsin. His alliance will collapse with his death, and the avars will have to fight it out; what do the long-term consequences matter at this point?"

"I suppose," Chenelo said. Her memory of her father was as a giant in his prime, but twenty years … she had certainly changed; of course her father would as well.

***

Chenelo had not been able to host very many dinners, but there had been a few. This would be the last for a while; her father was arriving in state, soon, and that would take up all the time Chenelo had to give it.

It was a small dinner; the highest-ranking guests were Lords Berenar (of the Treasury), Deshehar (of Parliament), and Bromar (of the foreigners), and their wives. Arbelan Drazharan was there, as was Count Pazhis Nethenel, of Thu-Tetar, and Lashavis Erimar, whose daughter was one of those passed over for Maia's bride. If Chavar hadn't been blocking so many in the hopes that his niece would be selected, Dach'osmin Erimin would have been a serious contender, and Chenelo was hoping to soothe any ruffled feathers.

Conversation was light and pleasant over the first two courses, but as the fish was served the conversation turned to the subject of the Wisdom of Choharo and the investigation of the crash.

"And they are truly not any further in finding out who set the incendiary?" Dach'osmer Erimar said, ears flattening in surprise.

Maia pinched his lips together. "No," he said. "They have ruled out any agent within the crew setting such a device as a suicidal attack. But they have no further leads."

"Lord Chavar says the Worker's League of Cetho did it," Lord Deshehar said, "and that proof will be forthcoming in a matter of days."

"Lord Chavar … very much wishes that to be the case," Maia said carefully.

"And he says that your pet Witness is … unreliable," Deshehar said. He spread his hands. "We do not disbelieve you, Serenity, but Lord Chavar is … very adamant."

"Pet witness?" Erimar said.

"Osmer Celehar, a prelate of Ulis and Witness for the Dead in the clerical style," Chenelo said. "Lord Chavar was against his inclusion from the beginning."

"Lord Chavar does not believe in the powers of a priest to hear the dead," Berenar said.

"We do not blame him." Deshehar wrinkled his nose. "It seems … outlandish."

"When we were a girl, we once visited a cousin on a country estate," Chenelo said. "One of the local petty landowners turned up dead, and nobody could figure out who had killed him. Nor could anyone find the fortune the man was known to have had. (He was old-fashioned and paranoid and did not keep his money in a bank.) By chance, there was a prelate of Ulis who could Witness for the dead—not all of them can!—passing through on the way to the benefice he had recently been assigned. He agreed to Witness for the landowner. And, in short order, not only found out who had killed him, but also found the money. The man, in his paranoia, had buried them in chests in the forest. Buried them himself, mind, not had any of the servants do it."

"But you have not told the full story," Maia protested. He turned to Lord Deshehar. "She usually tells it much better than that."

"Thank you, dear heart," Chenelo said, smiling at him. "But the point is, the prelate had never been in that part of Barizhan before, and had never met anyone in town before he arrived, and it took him all of five minutes with the body to know exactly what he needed to know—and even if he had known anyone ahead of time, nobody living knew that the money had been buried, or where it was."

"If a clerical witness is so magical, then why hasn't he solved the case yet?" Bromar said.

"If the dead do not know, they can't tell him," Maia said. "And none of them knew what set the hydrogen alight. Therefore, they cannot have done it—and they also cannot tell the witness who did."

Berenar took a sip of his wine. "And in any case, whether you believe the clerical Witness or not, the judicial Witnesses have been through the lives of the crew and everyone in the Cetho Worker's League with a fine-toothed comb, and have found no evidence of any plot or scheme to build a device such as the one which destroyed the Wisdom of Choharo."

"Really?" Bromar said. "But we spoke with Chavar earlier today, and he said—"

"Have you spoken with the Witnesses themselves?" Berenar asked. "Because we have."

"We have not spoken with the Witnesses, despite requesting Chavar arrange for us to do so," Maia said. "He has a font of excuses as to why it must wait."

Bromar sat back, looking disturbed.

"How long before his delaying tactic becomes outright refusal?" Berenar asked.

Maia's eyes flicked to Erimar and Nethenel, whom he knew the least. Chenelo thought he was judging how frankly to speak in front of them.

"That is an excellent question," Maia said. "We are sure he was an excellent Chancellor for our father … but he is proving remarkably obstructionist for us. In any number of ways. At this point, our secretaries are doing as much as possible to handle business so that we can meet in person as little as possible."

"Why haven't you replaced him yet, if that is the case?" Arbelan asked. "You need Corazhas approval to appoint a Chancellor, but not to dismiss him."

"We do not wish to disrupt the government so soon after our father's death," Maia said. "It does not seem wise to have a new Emperor and a novice chancellor at the same time. And aside from the matters where he must work directly with us, he seems to be doing a decent job."

Berenar's ears flicked, as if he disagreed but did not wish to say it. Chenelo noted that; perhaps replacing the Chancellor could happen sooner than Maia thought. But she did not let that thought show on her face.

As people seemed to be done with the fish, Chenelo signaled for the next course to be laid out, a curry that was made in the Elvish fashion—that is, bland and very little like the dish of the same name she had grown up with. As she had hoped, servants passing around them provided a change of subject.

"Ah!" Bromar said as he tasted the curry. "You have done your research, we see, Dach'osmerrem Drazhar. It is our favorite curried lamb."

"We are pleased you approve," Chenelo said with a gracious smile, and Osmerrem Berenaran made a comment about recipes which led Nethenel to talk about the pheasant in lemon-garlic sauce that was traditional instead of curry among the Nethenada. Maia asked a question about trade routes and seasonal availability and if citrus trees could be grown that far north even in a greenhouse.

"Normally we could not grow them, your Serenity," Nethenel said with a nod. "But there are several hot springs on the Nethenada lands, and one of them we use to heat several large greenhouses, in which we grow several varieties of citrus and other fruits and flowers that cannot normally be grown in Thu-Tetar—or, indeed, anywhere in the Ethuveraz."

"Oh, very interesting," Maia said, and asked several questions about practical details of how they accomplished it.

"Your Serenity is very well-educated," Arbelan said when that discussion was wrapping up. "We congratulate your mother, because it could not have been easy to accomplish in Isvaroë."

"We had our pick of the Alcethmeret library," Chenelo said. "There were limits on how many volumes we could have at any one time, and how long we could have them for, but we were very grateful for it, as it allowed us to educate Maia as he should have been. We could not give him experiences in the wider world, but we could see that he at least was well-read."

"You had access to the library?" Arbelan's ear's flattened. "How?"

"Isvaroë is very close to the Istandaärtha," Maia said. "And there are always Drazhadeise barges going up and down it. It was a simple matter to have them carry an extra parcel on their way to or from Cetho."

"As for the permission to do so, it was in our marriage contract," Chenelo said. "Our father the Great Avar was concerned that he had already relegated one wife. He could not prevent Varenechibel from relegating us, but he could require thought to be given to our comfort. We had access to a portion of our dowry, and the quality of the house was specified, as was our access to our husband's library and any furnishings the Drazhada were not currently using."

"That was well-thought-out of him," Osmerrem Berenaran said approvingly.

"If he thought relegation a possibility, we wonder that he agreed to the marriage at all," Bromar said.

"He did not think it likely," Chenelo said. "But he did not become the Great Avar—or maintain that position this long—without learning to plan not just for what is probable, but possible."

***

Chenelo often invited the other Drazhadeise women over for tea, along with a few select other ladies of the court. Arbelan was always there; Csoru always sent flowery excuses for her absence. Sheveän did not bother with excuses; she simply never showed up. Stano Bazhevin came occasionally, though. Vedero's attendance was irregular but frequent. Since her engagement, Chenelo had invited Csethiro Ceredin, and she came more often than not.

Two weeks before the Great Avar's arrival, Stano came to tea, and seemed … less at ease, than usual. Since Stano was usually a placid girl, this was notable. Delicate questioning during the gathering brought nothing but the usual platitudes, so Chenelo contrived an excuse for her to remain after the others had gone, and dismissed Neälu with them. If Stano needed someone to talk to, it certainly wasn't going to happen in Sheveän's household.

And, as it happened, a bit of sympathy and attention in private did win an admission that there were things that were weighing on Stano's mind and heart, that she didn't know what (if anything) to do about, and she could not ask her benefactress for guidance because her benefactress's actions were the problem. A bit more sympathy and a promise that Chenelo would not be angry at her for not saying anything earlier (and a promise that Chenelo would protect her from Sheveän if necessary) resulted in an admission that Princess Sheveän had been having meetings with the Lord Chancellor that Stano did not think were quite correct.

By this point, Chenelo had a pounding headache. She had started the day worn and slightly ill, but it had not been bad enough to cancel the tea. The concentration needed to soothe Stano and get her to speak had been more mental effort than Chenelo really had to spare at the moment, coming as they did after an hour's worth of playing hostess.

But if Stano was a bit disquieted, Chenelo was horrified and fearful. Showing that, however, would spook the girl, and so she gathered the threads of her composure and played the gracious lady as well as she could.

When finally Stano had no more to tell—and she knew a great deal about Sheveän's comings and goings and who she was meeting with—Chenelo thanked her prettily. "You are certainly right to be concerned," Chenelo said, "and we do not blame you for not wanting to believe your patroness —or the Lord Chancellor!—could be doing something so improper. But surely you see that this must be dealt with now, before things progress further?"

Stano's ears drooped and her skin turned a sickly shade of grey, but she did not protest.

"We promise you that we will see you are protected and taken care of." Chenelo took her hand and squeezed it. "You have nothing to fear. Will you leave it in our hands? And repeat what you have told us to the proper authorities?"

Stano nodded.

"Good," Chenelo said. "You may leave it in our hands." She rang the bell for Neälu, who popped her head in the door from where she had been waiting outside. "We require our writing desk, and several discreet and trustworthy servants to carry messages," Chenelo told her.

Neälu nodded and left.

"You will be needed here to give testimony," Chenelo told Stano. "And by the time that is done, it will be obvious to Princess Sheveän that something is wrong. You should stay here; we would be pleased to host you until this matter is resolved."

"We would not have to face Her Highness?" Stano asked, sagging in relief.

"No," Chenelo said. At least not immediately; there would have to be a trial, and Stano's testimony would almost certainly be needed then, but at least for now, she need not face Sheveän's wrath.

Neälu returned with the writing desk, trailed by two pages, a scullery maid, and one of Chenelo's edocharei. All but the edocharei had been with Chenelo for years, before coming to the Alcethmeret, and she trusted them absolutely.

"Maia is hosting audiences at the moment, yes?" Chenelo asked. She could not be sure she was remembering his schedule through the pounding in her head.

"Yes," Neälu said.

Chenelo dictated messages for Csevet to pass on to Maia, for Maia's nohecharei (two notes; one for the on-duty pair and one for the off-duty pair), one for the captain of the Untheileneise Guard at the Alcethmeret, one for Captain Orthema, and one for Lord Pashavar, the Witness for the Judiciate. Chenelo did not think that any of them were treacherous; but if one was, the warning going to multiple people would prevent any villain from suppressing it. Chenelo handed out the notes to her messengers with strict instructions to place them into the hands of their recipients, and no one else.

Then she instructed that Stano be made comfortable, that the Drazhadeise guards assigned to her be particularly vigilant, and laid down to wait for responses in what comfort she could get.

Unsurprisingly, it did not take long for Captain Orthema to arrive, with a full squad of soldiers. "Why are you not guarding our son?" Chenelo asked him.

"We have reinforced his guard with our best men, and he is in the safety of the Alcethmeret," Orthema explained. "We are here to examine the evidence you have gathered. We have sent for Lord Pashavar."

"We have done so, as well," Chenelo said, "when we sent the message to you. Osmin Bazhevin is willing to give testimony, but she is frightened and uncertain, and we do not wish to spook her."

Orthema nodded. "We shall let Lord Pashavar do the questioning, when he arrives."

In the end, it was not Chenelo's note that reached Pashavar, but Orthema's; the Witness had been neither in his apartments nor at his office, and by the time her page had tracked down his whereabouts Orthema's note had already reached him.

Pashavar arrived, with a secretary and an escort of soldiers, and Stano was brought in and questioned. Pashavar was gentle with her, but Stano could barely speak above a whisper, and clasped her hands to keep them from shaking with fear.

"You did very well, Osmin," Pashavar said when she was done. He had her sign the deposition, and the rest of them signed it as witnesses, and then she was excused to go back to the room that had been found for her.

"It is certainly enough for an arrest warrant," Pashavar said grimly. "For both the Princess and the Lord Chancellor. We would not have thought him so lost to all reason and integrity, whatever her feelings might have been." He set his secretary to filling out the paperwork for the several warrants needed—for Sheveän and Chavar were not the only ones named—and signed them, and handed them over to Captain Orthema, who saluted and departed with one of the squads.

"We will need to attend on His Serenity, now," Pashavar said. "We should not need anything further from you or your guest today, at least, and both of you should stay in your apartments where your guards are most effective."

"We have no intention of stirring, Lord Pashavar," Chenelo said.

He bowed, and departed, and Chenelo had to be carried to her bed. She refused the opazhin that Neälu offered; today, of all days, she could not afford to be drugged insensible.

***

The next several days, Chenelo kept mostly to her bed; Maia made sure that she was informed of what was happening, but had no time to spare for her; and the tension did not help Chenelo's health.

It also did not help her peace of mind that she could not light incense for Cstheio Caireizhasan, Maia's patron goddess, for the wisdom she had granted in this case; the incense would make her head worse. And her mind was not collected enough for meditation to be of much use.

Stano kept mostly to her room, and crept about when she was out of it; Chenelo wondered what they were to do with her now. Chenelo did not dislike her, and was glad she had befriended the girl; but if she were going to take on a lady in waiting, she would prefer it to be one she liked and who could be of social and political help in ways that timid, easily-led Stano could not be.

By the time things were stable enough for Chenelo's normal routine to be resumed—and for her health to recover as much as it ever did—Lord Berenar had been confirmed as Chancellor, and Maia had a nohecharo to replace the faithless maza. Chenelo approved; Kiru Athmaza was a treasure, both knowledgeable and kind, and between them she and Neälu figured out a way to use Kiru's mazeise talents to encourage her body to stop attacking itself, when things were particularly bad. It did not provide long-term relief, but at least it proved useful in mitigating the symptoms in the short term, for which Chenelo was very grateful.

***

And then came the day she had dreaded and anticipated: the day of her father's arrival.

Chenelo awaited him in the suite which had been set aside for his use. If it were not so far away from the Alcethmeret (and Maia), she would have claimed it for herself, for it was blessedly warm and free of drafts. It was very like what she hoped her suite would be, once it was remodeled—at least part of which (the windows) would have to wait until summer. She was considering moving here until her own suite was finished, after her father left.

And that, she realized, was a distraction, something to think about that wasn't her father's arrival. She stilled her breathing, the low and slow and even breaths of meditation, but she could not quiet her mind to focus on even the simplest of mantras.

The reception would not be here, of course, but at the Gormened apartments. Properly, it should have been Chenelo, as the Great Avar's nearest blood relation, who hosted the welcome party. But while her apartments had reception space enough for it, Chenelo herself had not the stamina for so large a party. Thus it fell to Nadaro and her husband the ambassador.

But that also meant that she could see her father for the first time in twenty years in private.

She had dreamed of this day since she had been sent on a ship down the Istandaärtha to Isvaroë, Maia in her arms. There had been a thousand variations: some filled with angry recriminations for ignoring her letters; some filled with laughter and joy; some filled with tears of sorrow as he begged her forgiveness.

Those last, she knew for pure fantasy. Never once had she ever heard her father admit to a mistake.

He was like Varenechibel, that way.

The thought was bitter, and she acknowledged the pain of it, and set it aside. There would be few moments of privacy in this visit, and when he left, who knew if they would ever meet again? He was old, she was ill, and there was a vast distance between the Untheileneise Court, deep in the heart of the Ethuveraz, and the Corat' Dav Arhos on the cliffs above the Chadevan Sea.

She was not in the suite's main entrance; rather, she was in one of the sitting rooms off to the side, that they might be completely private, even from the dav.

Chenelo heard the hustle and bustle that always accompanied her father, and his booming voice, and clasped her hands in her lap, before taking the arms of the chair she sat in and gathered her strength to stand. Today was a good day; but she felt oddly unmoored by her body, and did not trust it.

The doors burst open, and he strode across the floor. He hadn't changed, she thought, and then he swept her up in his arms and kissed her cheeks soundly, and she closed her eyes as tears started to fall. "Papa," she said.

"Chenelike, let me look at you," he said, holding her at arms-length. She was grateful for the support.

"Thou hast not changed," she said, avoiding his eyes.

"Thou hast." His voice was steady, but she could read the grief in it. "Look'st very ill."

"And yet, not so ill as I have been in the past." As he would know if he had read her letters; in the deepest part of her illness, when Maia was eight, she hadn't yet given up hope that he would respond.

She'd resolved not to ask him whether he'd read them; it wouldn't change anything now. Now, when she and Maia were safe, and had allies and friends, again, through no action of his.

"Sit, sit," he urged her to a settee, and sat next to her without letting go. "Thou art very thin. Do they not feed thee well enough, the elves?"

"My cook is Barizheise," Chenelo said. "But I am not often hungry, and when I am sick it is hard to eat."

"I am glad thou hast the taste of home, at least. How art thou, besides thine illness? They tell me thou rootedst out a traitor among thy son's government." He gave a sharp nod of approval.

"I am as well as I can be," Chenelo said. "I'll be better, when my apartments have been properly updated—I get cold very easily, and this is a cold winter. When the news first came, it was a relief that I would no longer have to worry about Maia's future … and yet now I have different worries."

"As a parent, wilt always worry about thy child," her father said. "Even when they are safe. There are merely different things to worry about."

"Thy negotiations with the marriage contract protected me, a little," Chenelo said. "But they didn't protect Maia. That was what I was terrified of, until Varenechibel died: that I would die first, and Maia would be left alone and friendless, and without the protections I had. Varenechibel wouldn't have let him keep my dowry, not even the little bit I had access to at Isvaroë. Nor the books, nor the furnishings, nor any other thing that made our lives easier."

"I did not think he would hate you so," her father admitted, using the plural. "I thought, even if he put thee aside, he would do right by any children. He was a proud man, and they told me he was fair and honorable." It was as close to admitting a mistake as she had ever heard from him.

"Only when being so did not remind him of things he disliked," Chenelo said. "But I did outlive him, in the end, though it was a near thing. And now Maia is Emperor."

"Thou must be very proud of him, he seems a fine young man." His voice was warm with approval.

"He is," Chenelo said. "For all the pain and heartache—I wouldn't change anything, if it meant I couldn't have him."

He patted her hand. "I am glad thou art content."

"I am," Chenelo said. And for all the pain—for all the things she still resented her father for—she was content, these days, and happy. Maia was safe and secure, and she had things to occupy her time, and here was her father, whom she had missed so much. She leaned her head on his shoulder.

AN: I am using jacquez's timeline for Varenechibel's wives. It assumes that Maia's numbers for how long Arbelan was relegated for are wrong, because the math doesn't work. He says Arbelan was relegated for 30 years; Vedero (daughter of Varenechibel's THIRD wife Pazhiro) is 28 years old at the time of The Goblin Emperor. And the second wife, Leshan, had two children, Nemolis and Nemriän. When?!? Even assuming that 30 is being rounded, and it was more like 35, that is an awfully tight timeline for Varenechibel to have married Leshan, had two kids, been widowed, and remarried. And there's also Idra's age. Idra is 14. If Arbelan was set aside thirty years ago, then Nemolis (Idra's father) can't be more than 29 when he dies. If you figure "rounding error" and the relegation was 35 years, he's still only 34 at maximum, which is kind of young to have a 14 year old son. (If he was 29 at death, he would have been 15 when Idra was born.) It all makes ever so much more sense if you assume that Maia was a decade off and Arbelan was relegated forty years ago, not thirty.

#fiction #fanfic #fanfiction #the goblin emperor #au

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