#all that eventually today i shall bask in being almost done

[dragonji]

everything costs so much facking money And my stomach hurts to boot when will the suffering end !!!

[alteon77]

The Maker, the Muse, and the Sundered Song: Chapter 1

In his temple, what remains of Orpheus waits in trepidation. Something is changing. Something that he knows might alter the very fabric of the world as he understands it.

Finally freed from captivity, Calliope struggles to make any meaningful changes to the laws that saw her bound and taken in the first place. When the strange woman appears on Mount Parnassus and offers help, Calliope knows she would be a fool not to accept it. Even if she thinks that she's being lied to.

Meanwhile in the peace of the Dreaming, Morpheus grapples with guilt over his son's fate. As he basks in the love of his new children, he can't help but to regret his own failings where Orpheus is concerned.

And as for May, she's really just got a job to do. And her own traumatic issues to deal with. And if it's all hella awkward because she's having to work alongside her husband's ex-wife, she'll see it done anyway. There's even the small possibility that she might eventually admit to Calliope the truth about her identity. That is if she can ever actually work up the courage to say it aloud.

AO3 here, Masterlist here

Quick note: This is one of the short stories that I've had a ton of requests about posting, so I'm going ahead and putting it on here. This is set in the Precious Fragile Things 'verse about six years after the epilogue.

"Father!"

In the river of Fiddler's Green, Orpheus dips his hand under the clear water, rummaging around beneath its glittering surface with an intent furrow to his brow, the expression almost amusing for how out of place it seems on his youthful features. When at last he lifts the limb up and holds it out, his fingers splayed wide, Morpheus leans over to see what his son has found. Settled on his palm is a rock, one smoothed by the gentle currents here, and despite how blandly unremarkable such a trophy is, Morpheus cannot help but to smile at it regardless. 

"You have found a rather impressive stone, my son."

"Is it magic?" Orpheus asks, a grin lighting up his face as he beams. It twists Morpheus' heart in emotion, that look of utter adoration. His son loves him as Morpheus has never known love before, wholly and all encompassing in the way that only a child is capable of.

"Perhaps," Morpheus allows. "Shall I tell you a story of it?"

As predicted, the boy, his boy, clambers out of the river, making his way to Morpheus before he crawls into his lap. He's wet still, his tunic having been drenched while he'd fallen a few times in his bid to find a suitable treasure, one that Morpheus knows he will ultimately store in the small box near his bed where he keeps such things. With the lightest touch of his power, Morpheus dries him, unwilling to see this child catch an ailment or chill from the sodden fabric. 

Morpheus circles his son in his hold, his arms settling around the boy as he buries his face in his dark curls and breathes in the scent of him. He smells like sunshine and warmth, like the heat of a day spent outside playing when one is young and given to such frivolity. 

"Father," Orpheus demands in his tiny, enthusiastic voice. "The tale!"

And with a low chuckle, Morpheus gathers his child closer to him. "Very well. Shall we begin today with Chaos? Or perhaps the Titans?"

"The thread, father! I want to hear of the thread!"

Ariadne and Theseus then, unfortunately one of his son's favorites, though Morpheus does not think he will ever understand why. His boy, another smile stretching across his still babyish face, claps eagerly in anticipation, and though Morpheus is relatively tired of this telling, he can do naught but to carry on with it regardless. 

For he loves this child of his, so completely that he feels remade in the glow of his affection, so completely that he can never imagine seeing him hurt or brought low. He thinks, as a father should, that he would rend worlds to ensure this sweet boy of his always stays so happy as he is now, that he would tear the very fabric of creation apart so he might never know pain or suffering. With certainty, however, Morpheus knows this to be impossible. For Orpheus will grow as all mortals are wont to do, and once he does he will make his way into the world on his own, will be exposed to a great many things that Morpheus rather wishes he could avoid. It is the way of life, the way of all children really. They are born. They live. They mature. They pass. And despite the protectiveness that Morpheus feels for his son, he is well aware that he cannot circumvent this cycle. 

No matter how fervently he might wish for it to be different.

Though in this moment, his baby is here with him, safe and content, and Morpheus thinks he would be a fool to waste such a precious thing as that on his own melancholic wanderings. 

"As you wish, my son," he murmurs at last as he drops a kiss atop the Orpheus' head. "Once not long ago, there was a demigod called Theseus…"

"Dadda! Look!" 

Morpheus glances up, blinking out of his sorrowful remembrance slowly as he takes stock of his surroundings. He is in the Dreaming, and many centuries have passed since Orpheus was a young child content to spend time in his father's presence.

Fiddlers Green is, as it is on most days, splendid in its beauty. There's a warm breeze gently blowing through the air, carrying on it the fragrance of nearby jasmine blooms. All around him, the land is covered in rich greens, a testament to the verdancy of this place, and the sun shines brightly, its heat pleasant on him where he sits near the river bank's edge. 

His wife is in the Waking for the moment, though her reasoning for going had been relatively vague, and he had brought his son to this place in an effort to stay the worry threatening to overtake him. It is always this way, despite that he had realized years ago that his beloved would come and go as she pleased, however much he might hate the idea of her being outside of the protection of their realm. So now he finds other ways to manage his panic regarding the matter, strict as he is in his resolve to control his own frustrating fears. 

"Dadda, please look," Chalen tries again, and this time Morpheus does as he has been bid, peering down at what this boy of his is cradling in his hand.

It's a rock, one smooth and polished by the flowing water of the river here, and Chalen holds it before him as if it is a prized discovery, one worthy of admiration. 

Morpheus stares at it, his throat working arduously on a swallow at the sight of the stone perched on little Chalen's palm, his fingers curled guardedly in as if the object might sprout wings and fly from where it is nestled. 

Which, given this child's skill with his power, could very well be a possibility. 

"What have you brought me, son?" he asks, his voice rough with emotion as he again reminds himself that this isn't Orpheus. This isn't the child that he had inevitably failed so completely with his own foolish pride, with his own stubborn rigidity regarding his inability to even attempt an understanding of the boy's grief. 

No. This is instead his other son, the one that he vows daily he will never err similarly against. 

And Chalen, his sweet child of only six, smiles at Morpheus in that sometimes hesitant, shy way of his. His eyes, though, as wide and blue as a spring sky, shine in something that Morpheus can only call excitement. "It's magic," he declares, his tone sure and steady, not a hint of doubt in it. 

"Magic?" 

"Yep." 

The pebble shakes, a faint light glowing from it, and Morpheus nearly snatches the thing out of his son's hand in a fit of his oft observed protectiveness. It had been like this with his daughter, watching her learn her way around her fledgling power with an anxious lurch in his stomach every time she wielded it. This had been the compromise between Morpheus and his wife, however. Their children could work to hone their proficiency at managing magic much sooner than he had allowed Aurora, but only if their making was kept small and contained, kept as these little demonstrations that wouldn't interfere with the running of the realm. 

Between one heartbeat and the next, the stone transforms, sprouting eight legs all covered in fur that it wobbles around on as if disoriented. Atop this creation, eight glassy black eyeballs form that stare intently up at both father and son, an odd sight since the body of this soon to be arachnid is still very, very much that of a glossy rock. 

Tiny hairs grow from the creature, spreading over the entirety of its thorax and abdomen before finally it wholly resembles what he's sure Chalen had meant for it to be. His son at this point has made dozens of these, dozens of perfectly ordinary, if a little large, spiders, and Morpheus would be lying were he to say that his rendering of them is not improving with each attempt. The freshly crafted being feels out along Chalen's palm with its new pedipalps, the shortened legs nearest its head, and the boy giggles in response. 

"It tickles, Dadda," he relays just before he crouches down amongst the grass and lowers his hand near the ground, which the spider crawls quickly onto as if it is grateful to be free, as if it is all too willing to run from the gentle attention of the entity that had sparked life into it. 

"That was an impressive spider, my star." Morpheus can't help the way that his words come out so strained and rasping. He finds himself overwhelmed with his emotion, with his memories of the child he had done so poorly by. It's not a sudden feeling nor a sudden realization on his part. Instead, it is one he's harbored for decades. Long ago Morpheus had understood all of his shortcomings where his relationship with Orpheus was concerned, and the regret of that has haunted him regularly since.

This sensation of remorse, of deficiency, is only magnified tenfold when Chalen climbs onto his lap like Orpheus often did as a youth. 

"I love you, Dadda," his boy offers before weaving his small arms about Morpheus' torso to cling to him. 

And Dream of the Endless can do naught but to return the embrace, burying his face in Chalen's raven dark curls to breathe the scent of him in. Like Orpheus, this son of his smells like sunshine too, and it makes his heart unexpectedly wrench in grief. 

Still, this child is not Orpheus, and he deserves better than for his father to compare him constantly to the ghost of dereliction past, so Morpheus tightens his hold ever so slightly before murmuring, "I love you as well, my starlight." 

They stay like that for a while until Chalen is ready to run again, and Morpheus falters for only a moment before allowing him to rise, to go and do as he will. Letting go, after all, is sometimes a father's duty as well, difficult though he's always found it to be. 

In the dingy basement where she's kept, Clio pulls idly at the shackle locked tightly about her ankle. It's no use, she knows, but the metal chafes something terrible, rubbing the skin beneath it near raw so that she thinks she would do anything to have it off if even for a moment. Even the illusion of freedom at this point would be welcome to her, the ability to freely walk around the dank place of her captivity as tempting as an amphora vase of undiluted wine to a drunkard. But it is not to be. The restraints they'd put on her had been wholly unnecessary, a mocking bit of torment from the man that had abducted her. After all, while owned by the old laws, she could not flee even if she tried to, the rules regarding this contract absolute in their restriction.

It's dark here, pitch black in this forsaken desmoterion to which she has been banished, and her captors are monstrous in their demands, taking from her that which she is unwilling to give and utterly cruel in her treatment. For many years, she has not known a full meal in her belly nor the comfort of having clothing to cover her nude form. And while she is immortal and does not truly require these things, the mortals who have chained her down here act as if she is little better than an animal that they are readying to slaughter. 

And there are some days, horrible hopeless days, that Clio wishes they would do just that. 

She can still be hurt, can still mourn, can still feel the savage abuses they visit on her. When first she was stolen away from her home, she had thought that her thieves would only require knowledge, inspiration, but they seem to have no care for such a thing from her. In truth, they seem to care only for what they can do to her, for the fact that they can injure her time and time again without it bringing about her death. And injure they assuredly do. Repeatedly. Violently. Frequently enough that Clio has often cursed her immortality for its refusal to simply allow her end. 

The door atop the steep steps into her basement opens, a thin ray of light shining in through the crack of it, and Clio squints up from where she's huddled near the corner of the room. The man there descends the stairs slowly, a malicious grin curving his lips as he fiddles with the fastenings of his clothing. 

Clio gulps past the lump in her throat and prays fervently to gods, both old and new, that perhaps this time she might not survive. It is a futile thing, she knows, since nobody can hear her in this Tartarus to which she has been cursed. And so she gathers her courage as best she can, preparing herself for whatever brutality might be visited on her this night.

On Mount Parnassus, in a pocket realm hidden from the outside world, May takes a minute to collect herself and weigh the ridiculously insane but necessary action she's about to take. This could be stupid of her, she knows, wholly idiotic. But she isn't quite sure what else to do. 

It's been nearly three years since Morpheus rescued Calliope, and for almost all of them, Calliope has been attempting to rewrite the old laws, attempting to ensure that what happened to her cannot be revisited on any of her sisters ever again. And in this massive undertaking, she's made almost no progress. 

Which is to say she's made none. A fact that unfortunately isn't at all surprising to May. 

The truth of the matter is that if the muse intends to rewrite the laws woven in Great Design, if she means to undo a part of it, then she's going to require a maker. Of the two left currently in existence (which are really just May and her brother Viego) May knows that she's the only one capable of handling such a delicate, grueling task, and so she's who Calliope needs to address and end this travesty in any meaningful way. 

No matter how uncomfortable that might (probably will) prove to be.

Honestly, though, May can't for the life of her figure out why her mother had allowed such a thing in the first place. Did she not understand, as the universe grew rapidly, that slavery was wrong? Did her mother not grasp how these rules would make it so others could snatch up their victim's lives as if they had a right to them? And if she did eventually realize how bad the whole concept was, why the hell hadn't she put a stop to it right then and there? 

May shakes her head as if to force herself to focus. Despite whatever her mother should abso-fuckin-lutely have done differently, she's not able to straighten this mess now. That mantle has fallen instead to May, who resolves to try and manage what she can to fix the flaw in the Design. As draining as it might be, she'll help Calliope to take care of it.

Drawing in one more steadying breath, May gathers up her courage and walks through the entrance, the magic of this place washing over her as she does. It's a cold kind of power, and it tingles a bit as she passes, the sensation somewhat like that of being unlucky enough to catch the spray of a waterfall during a freezing winter's day. 

Once she emerges on the other side, she finds Calliope easily enough, spotting her immediately at the edge of a small lake. It's surrounded by flowers, fragrant hyacinths that bloom in rich shades of blue and lavender and rosy pink. Moss covers the entrance to a cave, and water from the lake burbles into a nearby stream that flows over the mountain's edge in a quiet, subdued murmur. The muse crouches by it, splashing her face with her cupped hands. This close to her, May can make out her clothes, from the immaculately clean, white chiton to the lacings along the back that are gold, possibly from a girdle made of the precious metal. 

May knows the moment that this woman becomes aware of her presence, however, given that she's watching as Calliope's back goes rigid in what May is pretty sure might be fear. 

"I didn't come to entrap you," May calls out, trying to keep her tone as reassuring as possible. "I promise."

Calliope stands like a soldier getting ready to make their last charge anyway as she turns to face her, and May thinks, somewhat distantly, that she's rather lovely. Her hair is unbound, and it hangs down her back in silken waves that catch the sunlight on the gloss of their strands. Her eyes, a beautiful brown, narrow as she peers at May in a wariness that May completely gets. After all, this being had spent many decades in captivity, and the lingering fear of being enslaved to another after something like that is one May understands all too well.   

"Who are you?" Calliope asks, her voice heavy with the accent that most of the remaining Grecian deities retain even to this day. 

"I'm May. May Westin. I've… come to help."

Wisely, May leaves out the part about being wed to Morpheus, thinking as she does that this entity knowing too early that she's basically her ex's new wife might not go over so smoothly. 

Which, she supposes, is entirely fair. This whole situation is awkward to the extreme, but… it must be seen to regardless. And if May can spare Calliope a little of that unpleasantness, then she's going to. Or at least that's what she tells herself despite that she can't deny the way her intentional silence on this reminds her of nothing so much as cowardice.   

"Help?" At this, the muse arches up a single eyebrow and appears for a moment as if she might scoff in disbelief.

"Yeah. With your mission to change the old ways. I… I know how to, and I heard about what you were doing, so… here I am. Ready to assist."

"You wish to… offer assistance in my quest to unmake the laws?"

Unmake. May could almost laugh at that phrasing, because this woman has no idea how right she is on that front. There will be a good deal of unmaking involved in this endeavor, but May doesn't tell her that. Instead, she simply answers, "That's right."

Calliope doesn't speak for a while, her forehead bunched up as if she's having difficulty making sense of what May's just offered. "Why?"

"Because…" May feels her heart begin to race, her hands shaking as some undefinable terror creeps over her awareness. She's remembering her own ordeal, her own brush with being forcibly bound. Because I was held prisoner, she wants to say. Because I know how horrid it is to have one's freedom snatched away like they never had it at all. Because I have a daughter that was trapped in a binding circle for a small length of time that felt like an eternity while I worked to free her. Because the thought of ever having it happen to another sickens me more than anything else ever has. 

"Because?"

"It needs to be done," May settles on instead, unwilling to unload all of her trauma on this poor woman who was just minding her business until May barged in on her not ten minutes ago.

"And you… are capable of this?"

May nods quickly. "I am."

"Then if you are truly willing to aid me concerning this matter, you might start now. I am readying to leave to my sister's side and free her from her captor."

Relief washes over May. Not at the news that yet another of these poor muses has been taken but that Calliope is going to accept her for this task. This will go so much easier if she's working with the muse as opposed to being forced to shadow her. Teamwork, as her brother likes to say, makes the dream work and all. 

"We can absolutely do that. Which sister is it, and where is she being kept?"

At this, Calliope hesitates. "It is Clio, but beyond that, I… am unsure."

May resists the urge to frown as she mentally digs through her many, many memories of the Greek deities. "Clio? The muse of… history?"

"Yes."

"Okay. That's… a bit weird. I mean, no offense to your sister, but history is…. I don't know what someone would really use her for."

"Neither do I."

May bites her lower lip in thought. "How did you find out that she had been taken?"

"The Moirai informed me of as much," Calliope supplies and in the blink of an eye, her appearance changes. From one second to the next, her hair is pinned up intricately atop her head and the water that had dripped down on her chiton no more.

"The fates? Well, then, I guess we can assume it's true." May blows out a frustrated breath. It's just like those irritating entities to give only the tiniest piece of information possible. She knows she can cast out to look for Clio with her magic, but something like that takes time, too much time that she's not sure Calliope would agree to give her. It's the binding that muddles a search like that up, the ownership aspect of what's happening to these muses making it a million times harder. It's set so firmly in the Design's weaving that it's extremely difficult to locate their threads, so to speak, hidden as they are by their captor's claim on them. 

"Do you… have any idea of where to start?"

And at this Calliope grants May a faint smile, the kind born of wry satisfaction. "Yes…. I believe so. It is a… thin lead but a lead nonetheless."

Lead. Like she's a detective in a crime drama. The absurdity of that makes May grin. "Well, then. I've got a couple of hours. Let's blow this popsicle stand."

The muse frowns in confusion. "Popsicle stand?" She repeats the words like she's trying them out for the first time, which is probably the actual case now that May's thinking about it. On further consideration, she can't imagine what reason Calliope might have had to say popsicle before this.  

"I'll… uh, explain it on the way," is May's promise as she nods her head one more time, fidgeting with her fingers as she often does when she's nervous about something. "We should... um, probably get going."

Calliope studies her anew at that, a scrutiny in her gaze that makes May think the muse is spooked, that she's going to call the whole thing off. In the end, she doesn't, though. Instead, her features go hard, impassively cold, as she brushes past May on the way to the realm entrance. "Very well, May Westin. Let us leave this place then."  

[sonickedtrowel]

#32 sounds like fun!

things you said I wouldn’t understand

Happy ever after doesn't mean forever.  It just means time.  A little time.  But that's not the sort of thing you could ever understand, is it?

Perhaps not, the Doctor reflected, his knee bouncing impatiently beneath the table as they finally approached the end of their last course.  (The food was delicious, probably.  He hadn’t really noticed; too busy gripping River’s hand, in case she got any more daft ideas in between starters and dessert, and trying not to stare too much.)  

Could he ever accept that a little time with her would be enough?  Of course not.  His entire being revolted against the idea with a ferocity that left him shaken.  No amount of years or centuries, no number of lives with her could ever be enough.  But they wanted the same thing, in the end: every last precious second they could get.  That, he would gladly give her.

Things always fell so effortlessly into place with River.  It had been wonderful enough just basking in her presence, but the instant she recognised him, they were together again.  She slipped back into that intimacy without a hint of hesitation, and it felt as comfortable and as thrilling as it always had.  Of course the Doctor had known she didn’t care which face he had on, but it was another thing to experience how joyfully she welcomed a new one.  With decades of night ahead of them, he felt the sun was truly shining on this old face for the first time.

“Staring again,” River observed, startling him out of his reverie.  She was covering a smile by dabbing her napkin at the corner of her mouth, but it did nothing to hide the light in her eyes.

“Ah,” the Doctor said, not bothering to feign embarrassment.  “Sorry.”

“Is that a particular quirk of this face?”

“Not generally, no.”

“Missed me, then?”

“You could say that,” he said, his voice wavering.

She turned toward him, laying her other hand over his.  “How long?”

A thousand years.  Five billion.  Forever.  So long that his memories of her had begun to seem like an impossibly beautiful dream; too good to have been real, to have ever graced his undeserving life.

“Too long,” the Doctor answered.  He wondered how she could look at him like that, with all the love and concern and understanding born of centuries of companionship, when just hours ago she’d been declaring he’d never loved her.  River squeezed his hand between hers.

“Well,” she announced after a moment, “this was wonderful, but I couldn’t eat another bite.  Shall we go, darling?” 

He could only manage a grateful nod in reply.

With one long last look at the towers, they turned and made their way back to the TARDIS.  River, evidently not in quite as much of a hurry as he was, stopped to speak to all the staff they passed on the way, lavishing praise on the meal and thanking them for the special attention they’d been given (as the original benefactors of the establishment, of course— not that he’d mentioned that bit to her yet.  He’d get to it eventually.)  

She was lovely when she was being kind and gracious, just as she was lovely when she was brandishing a gun at someone, but either way, the Doctor didn’t have the patience for dealing with other people tonight.  He wanted her attention all to himself.  They were owed a little selfishness, he thought, after all this time.  When he placed his hand at her lower back, she took mercy on him again and said her goodbyes to the hostess, letting him steer her into the TARDIS.  

The door creaked shut behind them at last, and a tense quiet descended over the room.  This was usually the part where they stumbled up to the console between laughter and kisses, argued amiably over the controls as they took off into the vortex or some unoccupied corner of deep space, and he made a show of pretending to complain about her half undressing him before they even made it to the bedroom.

River looked at him, and with his palm resting on her back, he could feel the stiff hesitance in her posture.  She was waiting, probably for a sign that he wanted that: to go on as if not a day had passed since they’d last been together.  And, god, he’d never wanted anything more in his lives.  But there was no pretending he hadn’t heard all the things she’d said today, not now.  He was done with taking the easy way out, and it was up to him to put her doubts to rest.  But where to even begin?

“So,” she said, flashing him an uncertain, tremulous smile.  Always the brave one.  “What do you want to…” she trailed off, her shining eyes searching his.  Her lips were slightly parted in silent question, and as his gaze settled there, the Doctor decided all at once to throw out the order of priorities.  Anyway, he was good at multitasking.

River made a strangled sound in her throat as his lips met hers, surprise trailing into an urgent whimper.  They stumbled into the railing, and he pressed up against her, leaving no space between them for her to fill in with doubts of whether he wanted this.  She grasped blindly for him, one hand gripping his jacket and the other winding into his hair.  They fit together just as perfectly as he’d remembered, but no memory could compare to this.  His tongue traced along her upper lip, and she tipped her head back, sighing with pleasure.

The Doctor worried for a moment that his knees would give out at the overwhelming feel of her, solid and warm and so alive, breathing sharply under his shaking hands.  His mind clouded with the bright aroma of her perfume, the soft heat of her skin, the lingering trace of champagne sparkling on her tongue.  He’d nearly forgotten what it was to love her and to have her.  Centuries of grief and longing met with sudden, miraculous relief, and the shocking reality of it was almost more than his nerves could take.  

He was shivering, but couldn’t bring himself to care if she noticed.  That was really beginning to bother him, though, the more he turned it over in his mind— the noticing.  Today’s events notwithstanding, River was far too clever not to have noticed a very long time ago that he was madly in love with her.  He hadn’t exactly made a secret of it over the centuries.  How, after so much time together, had he managed to fuck up this badly?

“Tell me, wife,” he mumbled in between graceless, needy kisses.  “Where did I go wrong?”  His hands fell to her waist, tracing up over her sides, the beading on her dress rasping under his fingertips.

“You didn’t, sweetie,” she breathed.

The Doctor huffed in disbelief.  “You thought I didn’t love you.”  He tried not to wince at the words.  No matter how painful it was for him, it was worse for her.  “You… think I don’t love you.”

“Oh, anyone can fool a lie detector,” she scoffed.  “Don’t you think I accounted for that possibility before planning his murder right under his nose?”

“River, come on.  Don’t do that.  When you said it, you meant it.  You meant it enough.”

“It, it’s not that—” she stammered, but he pressed on, forcing out the most difficult question before he lost the nerve.

“Did you always?  Did you really always believe that, our whole life together?”

“Oh, darling, no,” she said, stroking his face.  “Of course not.”  

“Because— I’m not trying to make excuses, I know I can be rubbish— but I thought I’d been sort of extremely clear on that point?  I’m, I’m sure there were a lot of honeymoons, and, uh, some poetry…”

River breathed out a soft laugh, her hand still resting against his cheek, and he leaned into her palm.  She had no reason to be looking at him with such affection when he’d clearly been completely inadequate as a husband to her.

“It was just… after Manhattan,” she said, and glanced down, avoiding his eyes.  “You were gone, and…  after a while, I thought I’d rather pretend it had never been real, than admit I’d lost everything.  I knew better.  I did,” she insisted, when he frowned at her.  “But it was… easier.  To run off and get into trouble you wouldn’t approve of, and tell myself you didn’t care anyway.”

The Doctor let out a heavy breath, resting his forehead against hers.  “You never lost me, River.  You never could.  You were always younger, after that.  I should have come back for you, looked for you where you are now.  But I thought if I did, I wouldn’t be able to hold this off any longer.”  He swallowed tightly, choking back tears.  “I’m sorry.  I… I did ask you to stay.”

“I know.”

“I meant it.  I’ve always wanted that.”

“Me too,” she whispered.

“Give me another chance?”

“Always.  If that’s still what you want.”

“Wha— of course it is,” the Doctor sputtered, incredulous.  “You’re my wife.”

“You do have others.”  She made a good show of teasing him, but he knew better now.

“River,” he sighed, “those were weddings, not marriages.  Any idiot can stumble into a wedding, but there’s only so many times you can keep coming back and still call it an accident.  I think we were well past that number by our wedding night, dear.  —Which,” he added as she laughed, smiling up at him through tears, “is also a thing none of the other ones had.  I married you on purpose, and I’m going to stay right here with you on purpose, because I love you, and being with you is— it’s all I want.  Is that okay?”

He was alarmed for a moment when River choked out a sob, but she was still smiling as she nodded, her tear-streaked cheeks shining.  Then she took his face firmly in both hands and kissed him with such frantic passion that his head spun.  Or, maybe not just his head.  Before he’d quite figured out what was happening, she’d flipped them about so he was pinned against the railing instead.

“Oh,” the Doctor croaked.  The sudden jolt of heat tingling through his body as he reflexively gripped her hips was another thing he’d nearly completely forgotten.  It would seem he still enjoyed nothing more than River casually demonstrating she could kill him with her little finger, but had decided to do very nice things to him instead.  It was just so her.  His wife, the obstinate assassin.  Not even a lifetime of brainwashing could compel her to do anything she didn’t want to do.  Lucky bastard that he was, she’d decided she wanted to love him.

“Know what I said about how everything isn’t sexy?” he muttered.  She pulled back just enough to raise an eyebrow at him.  “I’m prepared to make an exception.”

River laughed, pleased and warm.  “Aren’t you always?”

“Only for you, dear.”

“Mmm, good answer.”

“Bedroom?” he suggested.

“Thought you’d never ask,” she sighed.  “But… we should probably park her somewhere other than the restaurant lobby first.”

“Oh, right.  Good idea.”

They stumbled to the console between laughter and kisses, and bickered cheerfully over the map of their new home planet on the scanner, before deciding that moving her just outside the restaurant was good enough for now.  There’d be plenty of time to settle in wherever they chose later.

“You know,” River said as they turned down the corridor to the bedroom, “since you mentioned it.  You did write me the most lovely poetry.  I keep them all in my diary.  Have you written anything lately?”

“Er, written yes; poetry no.”

“Oh?”

“Electric guitar, mostly.”

“Really!” she exclaimed, delighted.  “Now that is definitely sexy.”

“Yeah?” the Doctor asked, a grin spreading over his face.

“Very.  What inspired you to take it up?”

“Ah, well, I don’t know,” he said, slipping his arm around her waist.  “Guess I’m always thinking of a song.”

[odyssiaca]

hello @yumichanhamano i’m your gifter for the the @mdzsgiftexchange !!! sorry for the time this took, but i hope it’s okay nonetheless - it’s a little on the short side so i apologize for that, but this is just pure fluff so i hope that makes up for it hehe. i really hope you enjoy it, and if you want me to gift it to you on ao3 i can!! 

edit: the link is working for some reason so i shall pop it under the cut haha :’)

_________

Light filters through the blinds, casting the entire room with a soft glow- birds chirp outside, hopping along the branches of their respective trees, feeding their young and singing to their lovers. A fresh pot of tea is resting on a small table in the main room, steam coming out of the nozzle- Lan Wangji is sitting in front of the table, his eyes closed and his hands resting on his knees; his hair is untied, flowing down his back thanks to the soft breeze blowing through the front door; his headband discarded in the bedroom where his lover sleeps peacefully- his soft snores reaching Lan Wangji’s ears even from the current distance. 

Wei Wuxian is sprawled across the bed, his hair a mess as it covers both his and Lan Wangji’s pillows- his lips are slightly parted, and there’s a single strand of hair resting over his mouth that he keeps blowing up every time he breathes. Overall, the atmosphere throughout the small house is peaceful. The only sounds outside are those of nature, and there’s no threat to be found in the area around them. 

Lan Wangji’s robes rustle slightly as he finally stands up, his cup of tea drank long ago- with quick steps he walks to the bedroom with the intention of waking Wei Wuxian up; he stops however when he sees the peaceful state his lover is sleeping in; his expression immediately softens, and against all odds he lets a small smile form on his lips- there’s a shuffle from the bed, then a quiet grunt; Wei Wuxian cracks an eye open and gazes at Lan Wangji, immediately closing the eye again and giving the other man a wide, sleepy smile. 

“ Lan Zhan, “ he starts, his voice raspy from sleep- he rubs at one of his eyes with his hand, “ you should have woken me earlier. It’s already late! “

“ Mn, Wei Ying looked peaceful. “ Is the only answer he receives. 

Wei Wuxian lets out a laugh before finally sitting up, his hair even more of a mess now than it was previously- it’s sticking out at odd angles, some of it is knotted from where he forgot to untie it the night before; he lets out a yawn, covering his mouth with his hand; he finally opens his eyes to properly look at Lan Wangji- smiling as the man in question watches him lovingly, his eyes following his every movement. A chill runs through Wei Wuxian when his feet touch the cold floor, he immediately wishes he had stayed in bed, craving the warmth of the bedding and the softness of his pillow. 

He stumbles over to Lan Wangji, wrapping his arms around the man in search of warmth- Lan Wangji automatically rests his head onto Wei Wuxian’s head, his arms resting around his waist. They remain like that for a while, neither one wanting to break the embrace- perhaps in fear that the other will disappear. Eventually, it’s Wei Wuxian’s growling stomach that forces the two to part- Wei Wuxian lets out a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“ Ah, I - “

“ Made Wei Ying food. “ Lan Wangji says before Wei Wuxian can finish his sentence- he watches as the other’s eyes automatically light up, and a grin spreads across his face. He grabs Lan Wangji’s hand- dragging him to the main room, where, just as he had said- there’s a pot of food resting on the table; there’s a heating talisman underneath the table to keep it warm. Wei Wuxian sits in front of the table, beckoning Lan Wangji over as he grabs a bowl for himself, filling it with the soup that the other had made for him; he isn’t sure what type of soup it is- but he can tell by the red hue and the smell of spice that it’s not going to be bland nor unspicy; his mouth waters slightly at the smell alone and he’s thankful when Lan Wangji sits down, allowing him to finally dig into the soup. 

The flavour is rich and the spice hits the back of his throat almost immediately, causing Wei Wuxian to cough slightly- he doesn’t stop eating, however, only eating quicker in fact. He looks up at Lan Wangji once he’s done and gives him another smile. 

“ That was wonderful Lan Zhan! “ He frowns slightly when he notices that the other hasn’t eaten any of it and has instead spent the entire watching him, “ … Are you not going to eat, Lan Zhan? “ He asks softly, confusion laced in his voice. 

“ Wei Ying’s food. “ He says as he shakes his head in response, causing Wei Wuxian’s frown to deepen, he leans across the table careful not to get his robes in any of the food and holds the spoon near Lan Wangji for him to eat- he receives another shake of the head. 

“ Lan Zhaaan, “ Wei Wuxian begins to whine, a pout forming on his face as he continues in his attempts to feed the other; he looks down at the food and then at Lan Wangji, and then he looks at the food once more, “ is it because it’s so spicy? You don’t have to make it so spicy every time you know. “ 

Lan Wangji looks at Wei Wuxian with an expression he can’t quite decipher, which makes Wei Wuxian’s pout deepen even more- he pulls the spoon away and slouches, eating the soup himself so that it doesn’t go to waste- he hums in a satisfied manner, trying hard not to show any joy as he’s supposed to still be pouting and making Lan Wangji feel bad- it’s not working. 

He stands up then, shooting up faster than perhaps necessary- he dusts off his robe and places the spoon back into the pot and turns on his heel, facing away from Lan Wangji- he mumbles something along the lines of: “ I’m going for a bath. “ Before he marches off in a huff and leaves Lan Wangji alone. 

Lan Wangji frowns as he stares at the spot that had just been vacated, had the food not been good? No, he seemed to enjoy it. Perhaps it had been cold? He places his hand on the talisman and regrets it as his hand comes back slightly burnt. He knows for a fact it had been spicy enough- his tongue is still burning as an after effect. He’s left very confused, confused as to what had upset Wei Wuxian so much- he sighs as he gets up, placing the lid on the pot so that it doesn’t go off and can be eaten at a later date, perhaps when he’s not being sulked with. 

Wei Wuxian emerges a couple of minutes later, patting his wet hair down as he goes, he gives Lan Wangji a quick look before he sits in front of him automatically- they set into their usual rhythm; Lan Wangji makes quick work of drying Wei Wuxian’s wet hair and then, as the other hums quietly, he begins to braid his hair, dividing the strands and rejoining them in a rhythm set long ago; times passes like that, just the two of them, with nothing to distract them- no outside troubles, no villains to jump out from the dark. Just them. 

They stay like that even after the braid has been completed, neither one saying anything, neither one wishing to ruin the peaceful moment they have created. After some time has passed Wei Wuxian stands up with a small groan, stretching as he does so- he looks at Lan Wangji with a soft gaze, extending his hand to him so that he can stand up as well; the other takes it and holds on tightly as he’s hoisted into a standing position- their chests are touching and Wei Wuxian tilts his head slightly to look at Lan Wangji. 

“ Shall we? “ He receives a nod in response. 

The two of them leave the coolness of the room and step out into the heat of the sun; Wei Wuxian lets out a pleased hum as he spins around, basking in the light- this body is less used to the sun so he can’t stay in it for long but he enjoys it nonetheless- Lan Wangji watches him with the tiniest hint of a smile on his face, which doesn’t fade even as the other turns to look at him with a wide smile of his own. He watches as Wei Wuxian pulls up his sleeves and run over to the vegetable patch they have grown together- he soon follows after, pulling his own sleeves up, crouching beside Wei Wuxian. 

“ Look how big they’ve grown! “ 

“ Mn. “

“ Which shall we take? “ He looks over at Lan Wangji who is once again looking at him and not at the vegetables and he gives a little pout as he points at the vegetables- attempting to make the other look at them and not him- it only works when he pouts further. 

“ Wei Ying is pouting again. “ He says, mainly to himself as he looks at the patch, scanning for which vegetables would be best to take, pointing at the tomatoes, the cabbages and then the potatoes, “ Those. We can make stew. “

Wei Wuxian nods as he grabs the basket that rests beside him, slowly he begins grabbing the one that Lan Wangji had pointed at, he hums as he does so- careful not to ruin any of the other vegetables. Lan Wangji also takes some, grabbing some he hadn’t mentioned and passes them to Wei Wuxian who takes them happily, with a soft Thank you! 

They continue picking the different vegetables for a while before Wei Wuxian once again stands up, basket in hand as he turns towards the small house and begins his way into it to set them down in the coolness of the room. Lan Wangji watches him go and stands up himself, moving towards the chickens to tend to them- he talks to them as he normally does, asking them quiet questions he knows they won’t answer. 

“ Is Wei Ying mad? “ Is his question today as he grabs handfuls of grain and throws it into the coop; the chickens look at him for a split second before their attention goes to the food they have just been provided, “ Have I annoyed him? “ He throws another handful in before he goes to change their water, he doesn’t notice Wei Wuxian stood a couple of metres behind him with a soft look on his face. 

“ I’m not annoyed, Lan Zhan. “ 

Lan Wangji’s head whips around to look at him, his usual composure disappearing for a split second before it returns as it never left; he places the fresh water into the coop and stands up, closing the small gate behind him. 

“ I was just a little confused as to why you weren’t eating the food earlier- I’m not mad Lan Zhan, I promise. Though you should make the food less spicy if you can’t eat it! “ 

Lan Wangji looks a little bashful as Wei Wuxian grabs his hands with a wide smile, he tries to hide it, but Wei Wuxian knows him too well. 

The rest of the afternoon is spent tending to the rest of their small farm; watering the plants, playing with the chickens after they’ve finished eating; after much insisting from Wei Wuxian they plant some more flowers just beside the house, by the time they’ve finished everything they need to do the sun has begun to descend and Wei Wuxian’s stomach is beginning to rumble once more and his skin is burning, hot to the touch. 

Wei Wuxian makes dinner this time, adding less spice than Lan Wangji had added to the previous food- he brings over his own little bottle of spice to add if he needs to, setting it on the table beside the pot of freshly made stew. They both eat it this time, having a quiet conversation as they do- it’s filled with laughter and joy- Lan Wangji revels in this moment, watching Wei Wuxian’s eyes crinkle at something he finds funny; watches as his hand flies to the bottle of spice over and over again to add more spice to the food that Lan Wangji thinks is already spicy enough. 

Currently, they are lying in bed beside one another, their legs in a tangled mess that cannot be separated- Lan Wangji has already fallen asleep and it’s Wei Wuxian’s turn to look at him lovingly- his eyes scan all of his features, taking them in as if it’s the last time he’ll ever see them, the line of his jaw, the softness of his eyelashes and the perfect way his hair frames his face.

He knows Sizhui is coming around tomorrow, shortly followed by Wen Ning- he knows that they’ll eventually go back to the Gusu Lan Clan as they always do, that their peace will be ruined by duties, by terrors that still prey in the dark- but right in this second, in this moment- Wei Wuxian is happy, and at peace. 

It’s just them, together. No one can take that away from him, from them. 

[aonorunic]

Moments for Us Alone, Byleth/Dimitri/Claude AU, Chapter 1: Reunion

Summary:  Claude could not be more happy to have Dimitri and Byleth in Almyra. He would have two blissful months to spend with his lovers, stealing private moments that belonged only to them.

Notes: Here is the fluff I was talking about this morning.  This is really just a series of fluff one shot, one word prompts. I'm using it as an opportunity to try and work through some characterization for these three, while also indulging in some shameless fluff.

I was trying to get the next chapter of History on Repeat done today as well, but I'm not happy with it so that isn't going to happen. I do start my new job tomorrow, so updates will be less frequent.

Read on AO3.

Claude felt like a small child on his birthday. He wanted to smile like an idiot, and bounce on his toes as he tried to get a better look at the newly arrived royal party. He wanted to sprint down the stairs and pull his spouses into his arms.

But he was king, and doing any of those things were considered undignified. He was already causing a bit of a stir by insisting on greeting the Fódlan party in the castle’s courtyard instead of the audience room. He had never much cared for rules, and in this instance he was more than happy to push his boundaries. Plus, he really wanted to be one of the first people to see Byleth and Dimitri. It had been almost six months since they were all in the same place, and it would be all too soon that they had to return to Fódlan. His eyes wanted to drink in the sight of them every moment he could until then.

Although the Kingdom and Church parties had met on their way, they were still to be received separately. Dimitri was the first into the courtyard, riding at the head of his entourage. He was the very image of what a king should look like on his white stallion. Due to the Almyrian heat, Dimitri had forgone his signature cloak, wearing lighter cottons layers than what were called for in the cold of Faerghus. They hugged his muscles, allowing Claude to see that no, his husband had most definitely not skipped on any of his training. Dimitri had also pulled his blond hair back, and that was a new look Claude could get behind.

Dimitri leapt from his horse, taking the stairs two at a time to reach Claude’s side. A strong arm found its way around Claude’s waist as Dimitri pulled the fellow king a step closer to him. Their lips met in a kiss that lasted a moment too long to be chaste, as one of Claude’s courtiers was so kind to inform them by coughing into his hand loudly behind them. Dimitri pulled back, but stayed close enough that their arms brushed against one another.

“A bit eager there, Your Majesty?” Claude teased.

Dimitri kept his smile, and oh Claude was so glad that was a habit that seemed to be sticking around, but there was a light dusting of a blush on his cheeks. “You know you wanted me to do that.”

True, Claude did. Claude would also like his husband to do many other things to him.

But the Church party was now coming up behind the members of Faerghus, and Claude’s mind turned to the thought of seeing his wife. 

“Hilda insisted they come in second, something about a ‘dramatic impact,’” Dimitri leaned down to whisper in Claude’s ear. “She wouldn’t let me see Byleth this morning, so I think our dear wife got pulled into your former lieutenant’s scheme.”

Hilda’s pink hair was easy enough to pick out in the crowd. As soon as she caught Claude looking at her, Hilda shot him a wide grin and a wink. Yep, she definitely had something planned.

Leonie, Byleth’s ever constant bodyguard, reached a hand into the palanquin covered with intricately woven cloths. That was Hilda’s doing. Byleth would have been content to simply ride in like Dimitri had. The woman Leonie helped out of the litter was so stunning she took Claude’s breath away. He registered a soft gasp from the man next to him, and was glad he wasn’t the only one Byleth had an effect on.

Hilda had dressed Byleth in multiple layers of white diaphanous cloth, draped in such a way that she was not indecent by any means, but would be cool in the desert heat. The top cut in two at Byleth’s waist, folding back on itself to drape behind her, ending at the back of her knees. Light cotton pants dyed cream hugged her legs, a pink creped ribbon that was notably Alymrian in origin circling her hips. Claude smirked as he imagined Hilda giving up on her idea to put Byleth in a dress, and compromising on those simple, yet stylish, pants. Byleth wouldn’t even put on the archbishop robes Rhea used to wear; she always complained that she could not move in the things.

Someone had even taken it upon themselves to do Byleth’s hair. She never liked having it all up, but she had allowed someone to braid small sections together. It looked both simple and complicated depending on what angle someone looked at her from. Had he not known that both Petra and Dorothea were in Brigid, Claude would have expected to see them among those who had come with Byleth. A circlet of spun silver and gold, representing both Faerghus and Almyra rested atop it all.

And he knew Byleth did not care one ounce how she looked. In fact, her calm demeanor elevated the outfit in a way Claude had only seen Hilda pull off. When he managed to turn his eyes from Byleth and back to Hilda, she mouthed ‘worth it’ to him. He was going to have to find some way to thank that woman at some point.  

“You look lovely,” Dimitri told her as Byleth joined them at the top of the stairs, taking her hand and kissing it like the gentleman he was. 

“Do I?” Byleth looked down at the clothes, her expression somewhat puzzled. “Hilda insisted that my usual outfit would not be appropriate for my first appearance in Almyra.”

Claude took Byleth’s other hand, enjoying the nearness of her that he had missed over the last few months. It was just them. They were surrounded by courtiers and retainers, but for a brief moment it was just them. 

“Welcome to Almyra,” he whispered to Byleth, leaning over to brush his lips against her cheek. 

Byleth blessed him with one of her rare smiles, reaching up with the hand still gripped in his own to caress his cheek. “I missed you too, Claude.”

Claude chuckled. He had long ago accepted that Byleth could see straight through him. 

“Shall we?” Byleth asked, reminding her husbands that there were duties to attend. “I’d like to get the politics out of the way as soon as possible.”

“I’d like that as well,” Claude agreed. “After all, the sooner we finish the sooner I get to see that stunning outfit on my floor.”

They both laughed as Dimitri’s blush reached his ears.

/

“All right, almost there.”

Claude found himself leading both of his very sleepy partners to his bedchamber, but it was somewhat slow going. Byleth was trudging along, but she was leaning so heavily against Claude he wondered if it was possible for someone to fall asleep while walking. He used his other hand to steer Dimitri. The other man insisted he was fine, but he had tripped multiple times, and Claude did not want to spend the rest of the night cleaning up a broken nose. 

“The trip here really took a lot out of you guys, huh?” Claude teased as they finally reached their destination. Dimitri’s head fell onto his shoulder for the brief moment it took Claude to open the door.

“That welcome celebration certainly didn’t help,” Dimitri answered, his tone light. “You weren’t kidding when you said your people know how to throw a party.”

Once the door was open, Byleth let go of Claude’s arm and wandered over to the large bed in the center of the room, ignoring all the other finery. “Soft,” she sighed happily as she flopped onto the mattress. 

Dimitri moved to follow her, but Claude stopped him. “Okay, let’s not mess up these nice clothes. Hilda would never let me hear the end of it.” Claude’s quick fingers made short work of Dimitri’s shirt. His pants were a bit harder as they required Dimitri’s own dexterity to be present, but working together Dimitri was eventually left in just his small clothes. 

Claude deposited the taller man on the bed, grumbling right back as Dimitri muttered at his manhandling. “You want to get under the covers?” Claude asked.

“Does it required me to move?” was the barely intelligible response.

Claude sighed and shook his head. “Never mind.” He leaned down and brushed Dimitri’s hair out of his face, placing a soft kiss to his husband’s temple. “I’m just glad you’re getting some sleep.”

“Easier to do with you two.”

And oh how that made his heart ache in such a satisfying way.

Byleth was easier, receptive to Claude’s gentle touches that turned her this way and that. It was not long before Claude had her in the same state of undress as Dimitri. She opened her eyes briefly, reaching out her hands to Claude. He saw the look in her eye and shook his head.

“I know what I said when you arrived, but not tonight. You’re both too tired.” He leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “There will be plenty of time for us to make love later.”

He stepped back and started to remove his own clothes, only for strong arms to wrap around him and pull him down onto the bed. Claude took a moment to regain his bearings, and by that point he was already sandwiched between his spouses. Byleth had settled comfortably into the circle of his arms, while Dimitri’s arms were still wrapped around his waist, Claude’s back flush against the other king’s chest. 

“Sleep now,” Dimitri demanded, nuzzling into the back of Claude’s neck.

“Well, if you insist.”

“Mmm.” Byleth hummed contentedly in agreement, mimicking Dimitri’s cuddling against Claude’s chin.

Claude allowed himself to bask in the state of utter contentment that had settled over him. He was happy and whole, and there would be two whole months of this. Even if they had not made love tonight, this warmth and joy of just being close to one another again was also more than acceptable.

Of course, when he was woken hours later by his lovers’ hands wandering over his body, that was just the icing on the cake right there.

[sidhewrites]

CHAPTER 6B. Previous Installment found here. Approx 2600 words. As always, feel free to send Asks or Messages about what’s written or anything you’re curious about. 

But sleep did not come easily that night. Coriander tossed and turned in her little bed, fighting the urge to slip into her mother’s room and curl up with her. After her father passed, it had taken years for them to be able to sleep in separate beds again, but Coriander always felt bad being the one to go to her mother. And besides, she’d caused enough trouble for one day. Bestina needed her rest.

If only Coriander’s mind would let her do the same. There was a physician so close to them, so easy to reach. Coriander could send a letter, requesting they stop by eventually, but there was no telling how long before the physician would find time for someone who didn’t need immediate help. Preventative care was all very well and good, of course, but there were plenty for whom it was already too late. Who needed splints and sutures, or tonics, or, Fate be kind, surgeries.

And there were so many things in Mowry that most everyone Knittelnau have never seen. Hundreds of people more, multi-level buildings, a clock tower.

She wrestled with her conscience for hours before sleep finally found her, though it was far from restful, and she was still tired when daylight found her. Coriander woke to the chickens crowing outside just after dawn, demanding to be fed. She dragged herself from bed, head aching, still bleary and half wishing the sunrise would reverse itself for just another hour or two. But chores had to be done, and chickens waited for nothing and no-one.

So she dressed properly -- poque belt, petticoat, bodice, and waistcoat, with her kerchief only loosely tied around her neck -- and and made way for the back door, stopping just long enough to listen at Bestina’s door. A light snoring sounded through the wood. Still asleep, thank Fate. She could have breakfast prepared before Bestina even woke up, and maybe smooth things over from last night. Coriander grabbed her boots from their place by the door and slipped out into daylight.

The garden faced northeast, and it seemed more beautiful than ever this early in the day. Coriander looked out at the the plants and spices, and the flower fields beyond, at the golden glow that seemed to make everything feel more alive. Almost magical.

She basked in the beauty for a moment -- and then a man’s yelp, followed by frantic clucking, pulled her back to reality. Coriander blinked rapidly, pulling the coat more tightly around herself, and ran for the chickens.

“Jasper?”

He had one foot keeping the coop’s door mostly shut, and one hand inside with a handful of feed. The chickens fought against him, trying to get to the small pile of feed behind him -- spilled from the overturned back that should have still been in storage.

“Ah -- good morning Miss Tippit!” He grinned, though some color turned his dark skin even darker. “Beautiful sunrise, isn’t it?”

“Um -- w-would you like to let the chickens out?”

She didn’t miss the relief in his eyes. “What a splendid idea. They’ve been clucking and cawing at me all morning, demanding a proper breakfast.”

“All morning?”

“Since dawn, at least.”

She looked out at the sun, which hadn’t even fully risen above the horizon.

Jasper laughed, and shrugged. “Well -- ten minutes, anyway. Mister Waites wants to leave early, and I didn’t want to go without saying goodbye.”

She whirled back to Jasper, eyes wide. “Mister Waites?”

He nodded. “Yes. He’s taking me there. Said he has business with a physician there, apparently. I was inquiring at town hall yesterday afternoon, I ran into him there.”

She was quiet for a moment, going between confusion about how she’d missed this, and at Jasper’s choice of words. They didn’t have a town hall. They weren’t even a proper town. The mayor mostly conducted business in his own home, and community meetings were held in the square.

“Well -- forgive me. The public house, I suppose. They’ve got two very nice rooms for travellers, though I’m sure you already knew that -- would you like me to open the door now?”

Coriander blinked, and nodded, still not totally sure what was going on.

Jasper released the chickens, who descended upon the pile of feed just as Coriander lifted the bag out of their way and began to scoop some of it up. Jasper knelt to help only for the chickens to start pecking at the pile -- and at his hands. Jasper stood with a yelp, dancing around and continuing his tale despite the fowl harassing his boots.

“Anyway there were lots of people there yesterday, all talking about Sir Erron, and asking me all these questions. And you know I loathe being the center of attention --” the smile he gave her suggested the opposite “-- but I did my best to help settle their fears that I was not a mysterious queenly spy, and certainly I wasn’t here to discuss incorporating Knittelnau into a larger territory.”

He went on, still trying to avoid the chickens. Coriander listened as he spun a tale of political intrigue. Coriander dragged the bag of feed back to its proper place, just inside the spice garden, where it seemed Jasper had left his cloak and travelling bag. He followed her out quickly, leaping up to stand on the fence, not unlike someone leaping onto a chair to avoid mice. Coriander fought the urge to laugh as she herded the chickens away from him.

Jasper finally relaxed with a sigh, leaping down to the ground on the other side of the fence. “My thanks, Miss Tippit. Those are some clever sentries you’ve got there.”

She nodded, slipping out and shutting the gate behind her as Jasper continued his tale.

“Finally, a tall fellow with an impressive beard and fine coat -- you know, Mister Waites really does have a fine coat --  he walked in to stop my assurances in their tracks and asked when I’d be going. It seems that he had business with a physician up there. He hasn’t had a travelling partner to take to Mowry for a few years yet, not since his husband passed -- Sylph keep him -- and asked if we might go together. Provided I know a few good travelling songs, of course.”

“Oh. I-I see.”

“I do, you know.”

“You do?”

“I do.”

She hesitated. “Do what?”

“Know good travelling songs.”

“Oh.”

“Shall I sing one for you?”

“Ehm…” She glanced down. Besides the bag of feed, a watering can sat at her feet.

“May I sing if I help you with your chores?”

She flushed. “Oh -- I, ehm. I can do it. But…”

He grinned, and leapt from the wall. “Just tell me when to stop singing.” He started with a simple tune, something Coriander knew herself, and rushed to the water pump so that he already hand his hands on the lever by the time she got there. Coriander hesitated, but allowed him to fill the watering can. He sang as she worked, changing to a different song once the first ended, and then to a song he’d made up himself.

Clopping sounded from the road at the bottom of the hill. Coriander had knelt down to prune one of the younger plants, and glanced up. Jasper hadn’t stopped singing, even as he looked out at the road, more forlorn than she had ever seen him. He finally ended the song and spoke, sounding as happy as ever despite his expression: “That sounds like Mister Waites.”

Did he know she was looking at him?

Jasper inhaled deeply, and turned to face her fully, his usual demeanor returning instantly. “Well. I shouldn’t keep him waiting. I told him I’d be here before we left. I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to my friend, now could I?”

Something tugged at Coriander’s heart, and a lump formed in her throat in an instant. Right … he was leaving. “Friend?” she echoed.

Jasper rushed forward to take her hands. “Don’t look so sad, Miss Tippit. I may be a poor navigator, but I’m an excellent traveller. I’m practically made up of road-stuff, you know.” He shook his hair at her, letting a few twigs fall out, and grinned hopefully.

She made herself smile back.

Jasper’s smile finally fell. “Now that’s terribly rude. I finally get a smile out of you, and it’s when we’re saying goodbye. I can write to you, if you like. Tell you all about Gaelgallah when I get there, and how handsome the elves find me. I’ll be turning suitors away left and right, wishing for the happy days where it was just us sitting in a flower field making daisy chains. And you won’t believe a word of it, because you know I’ll have already fallen in love with the handsomest man there. Right?”

She nodded. “Right.”

“May I hug you, Miss Tippit?”

She nodded again.

His arms were gentle. Coriander leaned into the hug, reluctantly at first, but as a tear slid down her cheek, she squeezed him back. He would write. And if she was lucky, her mother wouldn’t mind it too much. She wouldn’t leave home, after all. Just hear from a -- from a friend who had.

Bestina coughed behind them.

Coriander shot back from Jasper, wiping her tears quickly. “Ma -- good morning. How are you feeling?’

She leaned on the doorway in her shortgown and housecoat, loose braid thrown over her shoulder sloppily. “I was doing just fine until I saw my daughter in the arms of a scoundrel.”

“A scoundrel?” Jasper echoed, sounding almost excited, though his smile didn’t quite meet his eyes. He reached out to place a hand on Coriander’s shoulder, though he didn’t press once she flinched away. “I’ve never been one of those before, but you seem to know an awful lot about them. Tell me, how does one … scound?”

Bestina scowled. “I heard you had to leave for Mowry.”

“Oh, I do. Indeed, it’s very important I go there today. Which is why I’m here.”

“In my spice garden?”

“Bestina! You’re up early!”

All eyes turned to Waites, leaning a little too casually on the garden wall to seem natural. He smiled pleasantly, only slightly out of breath from the trek up the hill. He waved pleasantly. “Good morning, all.”

Bestina stiffened and straightened her posture, pulled her housecoat tighter around herself, and smiled. “Good morning. You don’t usually call on us so early.”

“I’m afraid I’m taking young Jasper to Mowry today. We thought it’d be nice to say goodbye first.”

“Oh. Well.” She shifted her weight and nodded again. “That’s very kind of you. Shall we send you off?”

“That would be very kind of you.” Waites looked over to Coriander and Jasper and shrugged. “Coriander? What’s wrong?”

She flinched and looked away, wiping at her face. “Oh -- ehm. I’m sorry, uh…”

Jasper shook his head. “I subjected poor Miss Tippit to my singing. I don’t think she’ll ever recover.”

“Is that so?” Waites stood upright and made his way into the garden properly to join them. “I quite liked your singing, you know. Have you ever heard him sing?”

Coriander thought it would be wiser not to nod. She glanced to her mother instead, who shook her head. “Never have,” Bestina said. “It’s a shame, Mister Jasper. You were such an interesting addition to the town. I’ll be sad to see you go.”

Liar, Coriander thought, but said nothing.

“Well, you don’t have to see him go, do you?” Waites asked.

Bestina frowned. “Do I?”

“I mean to say, we’re going to Mowry, Bess. You know, there’s a physician just moved in there. It might be a good idea to meet with them before it gets too hot.”

Oh. Coriander looked down and braced herself,  well aware of what was coming next.

Her eyes darkened but her smile remained in place. “Indeed, my Coriander told me about that just last night.”

Oh no. Waites and Bestina liked each other well enough, but they were both stubborn as an old oak tree. The slightest disagreement could start an argument that lasted for weeks before they became friends again.

Jasper reached out again, laying a hand on her arm. She flinched but didn’t pull away, waiting for voices and tempers to rise.

Waites remained unexpectedly civil, if a bit stiff. “I take it the idea of leaving doesn’t agree with you?”

“Not in my current state. Can’t make it past the farmland half the time, you know.”

“Well, I’ve got a cart. You could ride.”

They continued to discuss and negotiate, leaving Coriander and Jasper nearly forgotten. They stood silently, awkwardly, like children watching their parents bicker over menial niceties. Coriander couldn’t make herself look up from the ground, and Jasper chewed on his words, smile becoming stiffer the longer the discussion went on.

Finally Waites threw his hands in the air, though he had yet to raise his voice. “Fine, Bess. If you’re so adamant about doing nothing for your health, then at least send Coriander to speak with them.”

She paled at the mention of her name, glancing up only for a second before shrinking back into herself. Please not this again.

“Coriander isn’t going anywhere.” her mother said. “She’s not made for the road.”

Waites wasn’t having it. “You can’t sit at home and pray forever. Fate has sent a physician our way, and if you do nothing, you have only yourself to blame if things get worse.”

“What if something happens to her? How could I forgive myself then?”

“What will happen to her, Bes? It’s less than a day away. They have a single constable there. What do you think is going to happen? Are the roadweeds are going to grow legs and try to trip us so we skin our knees? Will she get too excited and spill her drink at the community theater? What?”

Bestina scowled. A long silence spread out between them.

Coriander took another step back, feeling a lump rise in her throat despite herself. This was her fault. She shouldn’t have accepted the extra money from Waites. Shouldn’t have told her mother about the physician in the first place. She didn’t need to see the clocktower. Didn’t need to go anywhere. She’d pick extra mint today, boil it into a tea, maybe make a stew out of it. And then everything would be all right. Jasper and Waites would leave for Mowry, and life would go back to normal.

Right ?

“Fine.”

Coriander’s head snapped up to see Bestina still scowling, feet planted. Had she heard correctly? She glanced over to Waites.

He looked almost smug, arms crossed, chin raised. Smirking. He was smirking. “I’m sorry, what was that?”  

“Fine.” It was almost a hiss. One that made Coriander flinch, Jasper’s hand stiffen though he kept his composure well enough. And one that made Waites grin grow just that much wider. “Coriander can go bother the physician with something that doesn’t matter.”

“You can never be too safe with your health.”

“Just keep an eye on her. I don’t want any trouble.”

“Graces, Bes. What trouble do you think a girl like her can get into?” He grinned, first at Bestina, then at Coriander, who shrank into herself further. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

Tag List: @madammuffins @aurisadventure @purpleshadows1989@fearlings-lament

[sugarcyanide]

God Among Men

This was going to be a submission to an anthology. My life tumbled and changed and I never submitted. I am posting it here to share, for now.

A God Among Men By Sugar Cyanide

Sometimes you don’t choose your Gods they choose you…

I should preface this with a little background information about myself. I have always been a rebel without a cause and become more of a rebel when given a cause. When everyone is turning right I must go left, usually, the reason is arbitrary at best. The more someone pushes me to go with the herd the more I will fight them and I do enjoy a good fight.

Many moons ago when I was a young Gothling, a wannabe Baby Bat. I had just graduated from high school and was living on my own. While attending the local community college I fell into a group of outcasts. (As one social outcast can only find another.) I soon found what was affectionately called Freaks Corner a section of the cafeteria where all of us misfits hung out. We were there in between classes, during classes and some of us didn’t even attend school there anymore. It was here in Freaks Corner where I graduated from a research Pagan to a practicing Pagan. Freaks Corner was my Mecca, it was everything I always fantasized about in the French Revolution cafes, where writers like Victor Hugo and Alexandre Dumas met till the wee hours of the morning drinking and debating, right there in modern Suburbia. It was here that I met my first real-life Pagans. People who knew about the things I was just learning and not some faceless screen name half a world way via an internet connection.

They were some of the very worst kind of Pagans that I could have fallen in with. I learned much during my time there everything except what I was taking classes on. In between LARPing Vampire the Masquerade and playing Magic the Gathering was discussions on Nietzsche, Satanism, and Anarchy. This is also where I met my first Unofficial Teacher.

I say unofficial because she refused to teach me. She had taken many a student under her wing but always refused my requests. Finally, she told me that she only teaches those who are not naturally gifted. That she was the “Special Ed” teacher. I never fully accepted this flattering refusal and figured that there was another reason she would never tell me. As one who was never easily deterred, I learned much from her by simply watching and observing.

In this group of people, there were those who dabbled in things they shouldn’t. Soon their eyes started to gleam with a sheen that is a characteristic often associated with movie villains. Everyone in the group started to go off their hinges a bit and the rumors ran rampant. There was talk of demon summoning and animal sacrifice, none of which I was a part of nor saw. I shrugged most of it off as vicious gossip and did my best to not get involved.

My life took a turn as it does and I was pulled away from the group. I would not run into any of them until years later. I had just come out of the Broom Closet to my then husband and was looking for those of like mind that I could share my beliefs. I ran into the old group from Freaks Corner who had graduated to taking up space in a local coffee house. Upon running into my old mentor this time I was drawn into the web like that of a fly to a spider. She had a habit of holding court at a friend’s place around the corner where she would proceed to channel and let herself be ridden by the spirits of her choice, much to the awe and amusement to those in her audience.

At the time the things I experienced in that room was extremely convincing and scary. The things I took part of in my own ignorance. Looking back now I do wonder how much of it was real and how much of it was a great manipulation, an answer I shall never know.

It was during such a session that the name of Set was brought up. She had stated that someone in the group had caught his attention and that he would be watching them. At which point my eye was drawn upward and what did I see? It was like a great ripping of the fabric of reality someone one had pulled way the ceiling and was peering in. With big eyes and a Cheshire grin staring right at me.

Now understand I am not an Egyptian reconstructionist and never was. I did not know who Set was at the time and didn’t really know the Egyptian Pantheon. I was still searching and that was simply not a direction my quest had gone. While I am thankful for those who research and preserve the Egyptian traditions it was simply a path I had yet to cross.

That moment of meeting Set was in the fall. The following was a year of hell. Set was literally invoked into my life and he literally destroyed everything that was not needed. For those that read Tarot, it was like getting the Death card and the Tower card in the same reading. I was completely stripped bare of everything that I had built up from before that time and had to completely start over from scratch. I lost my home, my business, divorced my husband and became seriously ill. He was a sandstorm that came into my life and stripped me down to my bones. His only response to my pleas for mercy was. “I like my children strong you will survive or perish. Anything else matters not.”

I have learned that Set is the epitome of Tough Love. Sink or Swim. I do not regret that time. I learned so much in such a short time. While the learning process was painful one does not forget those lessons because the pain has etched them into your memory. And the rewards of survival the rewards of succeeding after such tribulations are great. My reward was Rocky.

Set is still apart of my life. Sometimes he visits and drops wisdom bombs into my life. Other times he just shows up for a chat.

My God comes to me at night. He whispers in my ear, “Come, you must tell my side of the story”. I pull my overly tired body from the warmth of my bed. Sitting down at my desk, I proceed to transcribe his words as they are dancing the air.  He sits beside me on my beat up cat fur covered couch in a suit cut to fit like a glove. Dark royal blue with a soft slate gray pinstripe, a crisp white shirt underneath with the collar open at his throat. His carrot orange-red hair is swept off his face as his finely woven dreadlocks fall to his waist. He smiles at me with a big toothy grin. Chewing on his cigar the gold rings flash on his fingers. It is a cross between corporate executive and old school mobster. Just enough thug, as they say, to know he doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty. “Write my story,” he says his voice a low rumble next to me, “tell my side.”

Today, I have a story to tell. My brother’s name has been known across the millennia and I with it, as his murderer. While his story has been told and retold across the centuries, mine has been lost. I have played my part and done my duty, but the world has changed and our names have become mere echoes of the past. My duty is over and now it is my turn to share my tale.

Several millennia ago when the world was a much simpler place, a Tribal King celebrated in the news that his Queen would give birth to twin sons. It was a joyous occasion indeed, for one son was a blessing but two was a gift from the Gods. The King was most joyous for He was a hardened man and had fought many battles. Life was difficult and many died young. Having two sons was a great boon indeed for Him and His kingdom.

The day of birth came and the Queen was in labor for hours. Eventually, Her first son arrived, he was small, smaller than normal. He barely fit across both of the King’s palms. The Midwife feared he would not make it through the night. Shortly thereafter, the next baby was born. He was significantly larger than his brother and his skin was as pale as fresh milk, his hair was bright reddish white and his eyes shone red as blood. The Midwife almost dropped the boy out pure shock after she pulled him from his mother. Seeing the mother passed out from exhaustion, the Midwife laid the babe down in his cradle and fled. She was afraid that the King would blame her for this Demon Child, (and rightfully so for that boy was me.)

It took the King’s men a matter of days to hunt her down. She gave herself away by sharing her knowledge of the King’s Demon Child. It was only natural for the King to blame her. He couldn’t blame Himself and certainly not his Lady Love. Someone had to take the blame. I wasn’t quite old enough to shoulder that responsibility, just yet.

Despite my Father’s distaste for me and my Mother’s horror, I grew up in the comfort of love that only one twin brother can have for another. We protected each other; him, me from Father’s wrath and I; him from all the larger boys that would dare bully him. We were polar opposites. I was overly large, pale, red-eyed and haired, sensitive to the sun while he was smaller, dark complected with skin as dark as night and loved to bask in the sun’s afternoon rays. Our differences didn’t matter, we loved each other. Until one day that all changed.

I always felt, that my place was at my brother’s side as his protector. I knew that he as the elder of the two would ascend the throne of our Tribal Kingdom. I felt him no envy. It’s a tedious job being King and much simpler being a soldier. I was willing to give him my life for he was the only one that loved me.

One day a Great Wise One came down out of the mountains. Upon arrival, He demanded to speak to the King. ( In my ignorance, I was surprised that such a meeting was allowed. ) He came bearing a tale of a great slithering beast that would devour us all. I merely thought he was a mad old man but my Father clearly knew better. When the Great Wise One produced a scale that was the size of a chariot and reflected the colors of dawn, I knew He told no madman’s tale. The Wise One demanded a tribute: my Father’s best soldiers to fight the beast. My Father said He would send aid under one condition. The Wise One must find a suitable wife for his eldest son. The Wise One chuckled, saying he would do better and bring wives for both his sons. At this, my Father exploded into a rage, denouncing me as his son, saying that a demon such as I could have never come from his seed. I had always known my Father’s disdain for me, but there is knowing and then there is displaying it for the whole world to see. My Father sent me with the Wise One saying he could spare no one else, fully expecting me not to return.

After having prepared for the journey; shoring off my waist-length locks, burning them as was custom. The Wise One and I set upon our journey and I said farewell to the only home I have ever known, in full acceptance of meeting my death.  Alas, that was far from happening. Shortly into our journey, The Wise One revealed his true glimmering nature. He was no old and feeble wizard but a God. He told me that it was true that I was not my Father’s son and to my surprise nor my Mother’s child. Neither was my brother, he said with a toothy grin, " I created you both from Earth and Sky, my children, and implanted you both into your Mother’s womb. Come, my child, let us fight this beast like the Gods that we are."

We had walked miles and traversed much ground. We traveled in a way no human can truly fathom. As you put one foot in front of the other, the whole earth spins,  traveling miles in one stride. At the time I was so in awe of my new situation, I was quite dumbfounded and could not properly begin to take in everything that was happening. We eventually arrived at a place in-between. It was neither of the heavens nor of the earth and yet as above so below, so the landscape mirrored what was known to me.  We had journeyed into the Underworld and boarded a sailing barge.

The Shining One had said we would find the One That Slithers in the deepest of waters.  So I stood at the prow of the barge with my spear ready. At the first sign of the large iridescent scales, I struck without hesitation. The battle ensued for what seemed like hours. As I became covered in the beast’s gore, my muscles grew sore and the ship rocked in the mighty turbulence of the waters. ( I felt myself growing weaker and started to fear I would fail when the Shining One cast his light upon me giving me a strength I never dreamed possible. )  

When I thought all was lost, with one final blow, a great sound was released from the beast and the waters trembled no more. I had won, I had defeated the beast.  The Shining One looked at me with a sadness in his eyes, “You have defeated the Great Evil and have saved the world of man for yet another day but this victory comes at a price,” as a tear slid down his cheek.

I took the head of the Great Serpent as my victory trophy. We returned as we came, the light of dawn’s first rays lighting our way. I carried the head of the Great Serpent received much attention. When we had returned to my home we had a great entourage with us creating a spectacle upon my Father’s doorstep. My Father came out to investigate what all the excitement was about. Upon seeing the head of the Beast in my hands I saw pride for me in his eyes for the very first time. “Son,” he said loudly, "you do our family a great honor.”

It was in that moment that I had gained my Father’s love that I had lost my brother’s. The Wise Shining One kept his word and brought twin sisters from the Kingdom in the lower lands. Shortly thereafter, we were wedded. After a short while of peace and celebration, I was once again called upon to defeat the Great Slithering Beast. I parted sadly with my new bride, unsure if I were to return.

Alas, duty called and I was the only one with the strength to do what was needed. This soon became an endless cycle, for this beast was of no earthly making.  It would soon recover from its most grievous injuries and I would be called away yet again.  My wife grew tired of my absences and she started looking for companionship elsewhere.

My brother, having never forgotten how I replaced him in my Fathers eyes, plotted to replace me in my wife’s. I never blamed my sweet wife nor her calculating sister. I had been gone a particularly long time and my wife was fat with child. I was tired when I returned, but seeing her full of life made my heart soar.

It wasn’t until later that I learned that I wasn’t the only possible father. After a while, it began to eat at me that my brother had taken the only thing that had ever meant anything to me. I still continued to battle the beast, for it was a never-ending war. In time, our Father passed and my brother took his place. I realized one day that the Battle Of  The Beast was the only thing I had that my brother hadn’t taken from me. After a while, I could not bear to touch my wife, which drove her even more into the arms of my brother.  As my son grew I could not see myself in him.

I came to a place where I didn’t want to fight the Demon Beast anymore and the Demon spoke to me during one of our many battles. He told me to build a vessel fit for one person and bring my brother to him. The Beast will take it as a sacrifice and I would be free of my brother and his greediness.

I was weak, I was hurt and when I came home and found my brother in bed with my wife, I did as the Beast spoke. I crafted the finest vessel, gloating how it was made for me. When my brother sought to take it, as he had taken everything else, he was trapped. I gave him to the demon serpent, who drowned him and rent him to bits. I was free from my brother or so I thought…  

The Beast did take my brother to the Underworld, where he eventually rose to be King, while I united the upper and lower Kingdoms and created peace in our land.  Until my brother’s son wanted revenge for the loss of his father and the cycle started all over again.

For I am Set, and this is my story of how I became a God among men.

[inkstainedhan]

heartbreak

(( note - this is an older piece expanding on lyadri’s backstory. it’s not the first time I’ve shared it with anyone, I just wanted to put it on here. ))

It started off like any other day.

The sun's rays gently woke the lovers, dancing over their eyes and providing gentle reminder that it was time to rise. Lyadrí rested her head against her husband's bare chest for a long moment, basking in his warm embrace, before sighing to herself and sitting up. Yet again, she'd woken first. How would he ever manage time without her? Still, today was her day to look after Ilurae, and he had his Captain's duties. She looked down at him, studying his face - tousled dark blonde hair that seemed to fly everywhere in his sleep, warm blue eyes that spoke of the sky and before she'd even realised what was happening, his lips were on hers. She could feel his smile, and matched it with her own, leaning in and feeling his arms wrap around her - gods, he made her feel small. It took the birdsong outside to break their kiss, reminding them of the time, the two lovers flushed and happy in each other's arms. She gently pulled back, unwilling to look away, and broke the silence.

"Good morning, dearest of heart. Were your dreams pleasant?"  

Ryseon grinned back at her. "You were there, and remain here - is this a dream? If so, then I'm still in the most pleasant dream of my life." He'd always enjoyed watching her pale cheeks flush with warmth. She flicked his shoulder. "Ah! You wound me!"

"Perhaps, but now you are certain that we're in reality. And you, my beloved, have duties today, else you could stay here in Elysium." She sounded almost wistful, but knew he'd need to go - and more importantly, that she'd need to stay, else she'd be by his side. As they had been, before Ilurae. He took her hands in his, sensing her thoughts. He'd always been perceptive.  

"And you have our daughter to look after, angel. I won't be gone for more than a day, I promise. We're not making any pushes unless necessary. You know I'll be fine. If we run into trouble, I'll get us out, just like I always have." Ryseon leant forward once again, placing a feather-light kiss on her forehead. "Don't worry, Ilye."

Lyadrí sighed. "I'm never going to stop worrying about you, Erys. If I were better, I'd be able to help from here, but..."

"You've still come far, Ilye. Most mages at your age haven't done nearly as much as you have." Ryseon said gently, cutting her off. "You're going to be able to help from anywhere, one day – you'll probably be strong enough to take back Zeranith on your own, by then."

"I'd never do it on my own, because I wouldn't do it without you by my side."

Whatever he'd begun to reply was interrupted by a crashing noise from the other room. The two elves glanced at each other, and ran for the door, to be greeted with the sight of their daughter playing with the shards of a broken vase. A vase that had previously been high up on a shelf. With no way up to it. Ryseon looked at Lyadrí.

"I believe she's inherited your talents, dear."

Lyadrí closed her eyes for a moment, releasing a deep breath. "We are going to need to secure any fragile objects. And invest in waterproofing. Possibly fireproofing."

"...you were that bad, huh?"

Choosing to avoid the discussion for the moment, she strode forward and crouched next to the 6-year-old, checking her for any cuts or scrapes. Thankfully, none appeared. "Sweetheart, breaking things is bad. If you had wanted to play with the vase, you should have come to your father or myself." Ilurae pouted, clear turquoise eyes – a perfect blend of Lyadrí's green and Ryseon's blue – innocently looking up at her mother. "Mama was sleepy!" she whined plaintively, dropping the shard of china she'd been holding only for Lyadrí to whisk the pieces away with a wave. "Mamaaa..!"

"You have awoken me many times, darling. You may continue to do so." A chuckle came from behind them as both mother and daughter were pulled into a gentle hug, each letting out a noise of surprise.

"As adorable as this is, I have to head to the squadron. The sun's rising ever higher, and I can't keep them waiting forever." Ryseon said, squeezing them both lightly before standing back up. Ilurae immediately ran to him, latching onto his leg, pleading:

"Dada, play later? I wanna play swords!" He laughed an agreement and beckoned Lyadrí closer, ruffling Ilurae's hair. The couple hugged, lips meeting for a minute too long (Ilurae made a noise of complaint, letting go of her father and running to hide underneath a pillow), hands resting on certain assets, eventually pulling away.

"I meant what I said earlier, Erys. Please be careful. And... tell the others I said hello. I miss being with them, too."

"I will, angel. I'll let the others know, as well. Perhaps we can have some of them over soon, have a catch up."

"Let's. Erys?"

"Ilye?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too. Eternally and endlessly."

"Be safe.."

"Always. See you later?" "Of course. I'll wait here for you."

"Then I shall look forward to returning."

And he left, armour gleaming, cape blowing in the warm breeze of a summer's morning. The day was beautiful. Lyadrí watched him climb onto his horse and ride into the distance, waving until he was out of sight, Ilurae frantically trying to imitate her mama.

He didn't return that day, and she assumed it was some small setback, reassuring Ilurae that Dada was probably just stuck dealing with another silly situation.

Nor did he return the next. She told Ilurae that it must be like the time his horse had been kidnapped by another squadron by mistake.

The third day passed, and ended. She avoided Ilurae's questions.

A knock at her door, in the middle of the night, had her there in an instant, expecting – hoping – to be able to berate her lover for leaving her for so long without warning, only to be greeted by two solemn men in armour. They came bearing their condolences, their apologies, a chest, and a letter. There was no body for her to bury. They hadn't been able to recover it, only some of his belongings – the ones he refused to leave at home. A locket of them both, a drawing Ilurae had made him, his cape – stained with what she could only assume was his own blood.

Her Erys, her husband, was dead.

The letter was from their higher-ups. She was most qualified to take his position, but they understood she'd need time to grieve. Take however long you want, it said. The Captaincy will be yours when you're able to take it.

Ilurae had never seen her mother cry before that day, and after the week had passed, never would again. It took a few days for it to sink in to the child that her Dada wasn't coming back – would never come back again. The funeral was three days after Lyadrí had been told. It was a large affair. Ryseon had been charismatic and friendly, and many wanted to say goodbye. A week after Ryseon's death, Lyadrí accepted the Captaincy, to the concern of both those above and underneath her. She could handle it, she said. But balancing raising a child – one with occasional magical tendencies, at that – alongside her military duties, in addition to her now-hidden grief, wasn't easy. The only help she accepted was for Ilurae, and most of her friends worried in silence, hoping she'd recover over the next few years. It was six years later that she realised, in the midst of combat, that she was burning out. And it'd gotten them in trouble – she'd made a mistake. Tracks, at the edge of her vision.

"Sidhis, move!" She'd gotten him to scout ahead, not watching their position carefully enough nor thinking ahead – and now they were going to be ambushed, and he'd be hit. He had a wife, they had children – she couldn't let this happen, couldn't let her mistake ruin someone else's life. In desperation, she yelled her summoning command, bringing a pony into existence just in time for a hail of arrows to slam into it. Saving him. He turned to thank her, and she saw his eyes widen as pain blossomed through her chest, looking down to see the point of a blade exiting her stomach. Her vision faded to nothing as the sword was wrenched back, sending a wave of pain through her.

Her last thought was of Ilurae, alone, neither of her parents there to guide her – she'd wanted to spare her daughter that fate.

'I'm sorry.'

...

She hadn't expected to wake up, so it was a surprise when she did. She couldn't tell how long it had been, but she was at home, the familiar trinkets scattered all around her room, her bed far too large for just one person. The sun streamed through her window, as it always had on bright days - just the same as the morning she'd seen her lover last. She sat up and gasped sharply – pain. A look told her that her failure hadn't just been a nightmare. Bandages had been wrapped around her midsection. Somehow, they'd saved her. She waited quietly for someone to enter, contemplating what had happened in silence. It wasn't long - a servant walked in, took one look at her sitting up in bed and fled for the medics. She didn't even need to ask before they began to fill her in on all she'd missed. They told her she'd saved Sidhis, and alerted her squadron to the danger with her yell. They'd been able to save her, but it'd been close – she'd lost a lot of blood. Honestly, one confided in her, they'd thought she was dead upon arrival. She'd been so pale. The wound had been healed to the best of their ability, but such a lethal strike would always leave a mark. However, they'd done the best they could, and she would live. She wouldn't even feel any lingering pain. But even with the exceptional care they'd given her, she'd been unconscious for weeks. Her daughter had visited every day, and was being well taken care of, but they were sure she'd be glad to see her mother awake – she'd been so scared of being left alone, the poor child. Lyadrí could feel their gazes, heavy with a mix of judgement and pity. She'd heard those she disliked talking about how she'd clearly gone mad with grief. She wished she could say they were completely wrong, but she'd failed, and she'd nearly left her daughter motherless. However, she still refused to speak until Ilurae came in to see her, and even then, it was mainly to whisper apologies and love to the terrified twelve-year-old. Ilurae's first reaction, of course, was to hug her mother (carefully).

"Mama? Please don't get hurt again."

"I wasn't thinking, sweetest. I'll be more careful." And she gently pulled her daughter close, feeling Ilurae's tears spill against her chest. She closed her eyes. This was her child, and she was the cause of the tears. She'd make sure that wouldn't happen again.

As soon as she was allowed to, she tried to resign from the military. It was her fault, after all. She was a mage, why did she think she belonged on the front line? But she was refused – an ambush was out of her control, and besides, she had never failed them before. They weren't about to let such a promising captain leave over something so simple. She'd not expected that, but thinking quickly, she took leave for the first time since Ryseon's death instead. She didn't feel ready to get back into combat, not with the lingering pains in her chest. The next two years were far different to what she was used to, but in a better way than normal. Two years of spending time with her daughter, teaching her cantrips and control, telling her stories of her father and grandparents. They visited friends a lot, occasionally visiting Ryseon's remaining family to try and skate around the gaping hole his death had left, making sure to take a moment to visit his grave every summer on the anniversary of the day they'd learnt he was gone. Anything to remember him. She took Ilurae to train with those actually talented with martial weapons – various friends showing the young girl how to shoot with bows, and use their elven blades. Lyadrí found amusement in simply shooting a crossbow bolt at the target: "They're far more practical." After the two years, however, Lyadrí decided to return to her position. She had many more years she could spend away from the front line, or from the war in general, but she'd seen the soldiers. She'd seen the wounded, heard stories. They could always use a battlemage, one who could manage tactics and fighting. She knew Ilurae would protest, but she was more knowledgeable than before, more wary. She could manage this.

So, she asked to return, to the displeasure of the friends she'd spoken with about the topic. They were worried for her, she'd already changed so much because of the war. They asked about Ilurae; she deflected the questions. They encouraged her to travel instead. To learn more magic. To help the innocents who had no army behind them, even if they weren't, well, Elven. She could learn so many things. Why did she want to return to the army over that?

She ignored all of them, deciding to be confident in herself and not let Ryseon down.

Her leaders were gentle with their rejection. "We have spoken with your companions, and we believe it would serve you well to experience culture outside Elvandír. Your position is being taken care of. You will maintain your rank as Captain, but we are denying your request to return to the frontlines. Most soldiers travel before dying, Captain An'thimael. Experience the outside world, then return and bring your powers to our men." The General was calm, polite and yet firm with her – he was far older, of course, and she wasn't the first to attempt to devote her life to the cause.

"...Sir, I'm afraid I don't understand. What--" She almost didn't believe she'd been denied, keeping her face as neutral as possible. To be told that she needed to wander was unfathomable. Ilurae – she couldn't just leave her.

"Captain, you are young. Whilst experienced, you've not learnt much of the world. If we are to remain an informed nation, we must have some travel out and learn. As you seek knowledge of the arcane and are a trustworthy and upstanding member of the community, you are a perfect asset for this. Treat it as leave, if you will, but travel. Learn all you can, and keep us proud."

"…Yes, sir." She left the hall in silent fury, understanding their logic yet despising it. Leaving... She'd miss precious years of Ilurae's life, but if it was for her nation, there wasn't much choice in the matter. Three months later, she'd packed her bags, said her goodbyes. Ilurae would take care of Ryseon's mementos, and her friends would in turn care for Ilurae. She didn't want to risk losing the last remnants of her husband, nor did she want to even think about losing the only family she had left. They promised to keep in touch. She informed them that if they failed to, she would return as soon as possible to see what was wrong. Ilurae had giggled at that.  

And so Captain Lyadrí An'thimael left her home for the first time, scarred, a touch cynical, resistant to change both out of lingering resentment and of sheer habit, determined to do all she could to prove herself superior - and ever-loyal to Elvandír.