#ch: The Dying of the Dragons: The Blacks and the Greens

[stromuprisahat]

The silent sisters were sent for, to prepare the corpse for burning, and riders went forth on pale horses to spread the word to the people of King’s Landing, crying, “King Viserys is dead, long live King Aegon.” Hearing the cries, some wept whilst others cheered, but most of the smallfolk stared in silence, confused and wary, and now and again a voice cried out, “Long live our queen.”

The Princess and the Queen & Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

[iris-sistibly]

"She was my only daughter, and they killed her. They stole my crown and murdered my daughter, and they shall answer for it." -Rhaenyra Targaryen, Fire and Blood by George RR Martin

Ch. The Dying of the Dragons--The Blacks and Greens

SS: House of the Dragon S1 ep. 10 (The Black Queen)

[omnixius-writes-stories]

Dragon Knight Prophecy Book 1 Ch 1 (Rewrite)

Under the boughs of a dark forest drifted the final plumes of smoke from a dying campfire. Slowly the land was coming awake as the first rays of sunlight streaked the sky over the nearby mountains. The domain of the night faded as a solitary figure hunched beside an outcropping of stone, desperately trying not to cry.

With trembling hands, he carefully hid a dull leather pack in the crevice of the stone. His breathing was shallow as the dull glow of the sun crept over the snow-capped peaks. His thoughts were full of pain, but he focused on the final leg of his journey and wondered if he would be back by nightfall. With a weak smile, he wondered why he was still concerned about having enough time to get back. He wasn’t coming back.

The long road of his life had led to this moment, this lonely end. He had only one last thing to do to finish his task, which lay just ahead. His armor shifted as he stood, the metal plates polished to a glistening sheen. It was decorated with painted diamonds and a bronze sunburst to identify his rank as a knight commander. The red star of Astikar, the symbol of his god, was emblazoned on the left of his breastplate.

He was a soldier and a commander here to do the impossible. A task made all the more difficult by the fact that he was now alone. Over a month ago, he set out with thirty men on a quest to change the fate of a war and the despair of a people. They traveled east away from the war, covering as much ground as they could by pushing men and horses to their limits. By the second week, they had crossed the common lands and entered the eastern provinces. These were a loose collection of petty kingdoms with weak kings and rulers. He pushed on through these lands, driving for the dense forests that lay beyond.

When they reached the vast forest known to the locals as the Greenwall, his men had to slow down. These lands were sparsely populated, with dense wood over hilly terrain. The only humans who traveled these lands were hunters, trappers, and those seeking the lands fabled rare lumber.

The Greenwall was an ancient forest, having survived the shattering of the world, and in it grew some of the rarest trees. The wood from these trees was highly prized by the lands further west to be used in temples and great houses. White knotted oaks and the impossibly beautiful black onyx maple were hidden in these dense woods. Teams of men came to the forest to cut down the trees, creating temporary roads. These logging paths were all they had to travel on now, and these were little more than overgrown, muddy trails.

If he had been further north, he could have taken the farm roads and avoided the dense forest for another five days. Easier as it may have been, he feared to take that route. Too many eyes would see him pass, and too many questions would be raised. His mission was too important, and he dared not answer questions about what lurked in the mountains nearby. Better to head directly west through the sparsely populated farmlands and go through the forest, avoiding the towns and villages.

A week into the forest, he made camp on a hill in the center of a meadow. He posted guards as always since the woods were home to wild animals and beasts. He didn't expect any trouble, as most animals avoided a large force. The real danger was in the west, beyond the green plains, but that was many weeks away. This far from the bloody battlefields, he should be able to find peace. With any luck, the enemy had no idea he was not present on the front lines. By the time they knew, it would be too late, and their fate would be sealed.

Still, he and his men were troubled, and many found it hard to sleep. As a knight of Astikar they were gifted with what they called the gods' warning. It was a sense of impending danger that echoed in one's heart when a threat was near. You always felt it if the path ahead was leading you into danger. That terrible warning had started even before he rode out with his men and had been with them for weeks now. Every step they took felt as if they were walking into ruin, and many began to doubt their faith. It took all he had as a leader of men to assure them that this quest was the greatest challenge their order had ever faced. They all knew what awaited them beyond the forest and that danger was what Astikar was warning them of. As a show of confidence, he posted a light guard and ordered the rest of his men to bed. They would need their rest for the day ahead and the colossal challenge they faced.

Deep into the darkness of the night, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling of this tent. Despite his words of courage, he found it difficult to sleep with the warning echoing in his heart. Surely his god knew how important this task was? Surely he would want them to be rested for the day ahead? When the first howls split the air, his shock and disbelief held him in place. Fear and panic gripped him as he fought the sensation aside and rose to his feet. He rushed into the night in nothing but his pants as he realized he had doomed them all.

They swarmed over the camp in a wave of savagery and flailing death. His men were not expecting a battle, so armor and weapons were stacked neatly outside tents. They struggled to grab a sword and shield to stand in bare feet against the onrushing tide. They were scattered and out of formation, easy pickings for the dark forms that now raced around them. Gersius reacted the only way he could, drawing his sword and charging into the fight in little more than his pants.

Despite being caught off guard, Gersius managed to gather a dozen of his men in a frantic effort to turn the tide. They formed a tight circle, creating a perimeter in the center of the camp. Around him, he could hear men screaming in the darkness as they were ripped apart. They called his name, begging him to save them from the doom he had led them into.

He knew without question that this was his fault and every plea for help stabbed at his heart. All of these men were volunteers, eager to accompany the order's greatest champion. They jumped at the chance to follow him on a daring mission to save the land. Their heads were filled with dreams of fame and glory that would inevitably follow in his wake. Now, they screamed like frightened children as they were slaughtered for his mistake.

He was surrounded by the wild beasts from the far west as they ran about his ring of men, slashing and biting. He and his men fought with tenacity, but they were sorely outnumbered. The battle raged in bloody chaos for another four hours, the ring of men growing smaller as they fell. They stepped backward over the dying men, shortening the distance and closing the gaps. To leave an opening would spell the doom of them all, but that meant the wounded and dying had to be abandoned. If they could find just a moment to drop their guard, they could save some of these men, but that moment would never come. Instead, every man who fell became a new voice crying out his name, begging him to save them.

One by one, they fell, but so too did the enemy. His men took a terrible toll on the black forms that raced around them. For every man that fell, five or more of the monsters went with them. As the sun's rays crept over the horizon, two bloodied and trembling men still stood against the last five of the monsters. The rest of the beast lay in heaps about them, their spilled blood mingling with that of his fallen men. Exhausted and driven mad with rage the men fought on until, by mercy and grace, they remained when all else were slain.

When he finally fell to his knees, he knew the simple truth: the mission was over. A sword stained red with the blood of dozens of wild beasts fell from a hand with no strength to hold it. His gaze swept over the scene of death and horror before him, a slaughter of his own making. Only now did the warning sense fade away, leaving him in peace for the first time in weeks. This was his greatest calamity, a mistake of his own hubris that his people would pay dearly for.

He walked among the dead, looking into blank eyes as the hopes and dreams of his people died. All that he had sacrificed for had been for nothing as his great and foolish gamble failed. With it came the shame of defeat and the realization that he was no longer fit to lead. His heart read as he saw the faces of men he heard pleading for his help. He begged them to forgive him, even holding a bloody hand as the tears fell.

He couldn't understand how any of this could have happened. He was so sure this was the path, and these men believed him. Now, those men lay in pieces all around him, their trust and faith in him misplaced. He had led them to death and ruin, wasting their lives on a fruitless gamble.

His order needed to know of this disaster, so he penned a letter and handed it to his only surviving soldier. The look of pain in that man's eyes echoed the torment in Gersius's heart. They both knew who was to blame for this slaughter and on whose shoulders the shame would fall. The horses were dead, so the poor man had to take the letter on foot. He offered one final salute to the man who had been his hero and vanished into the forest, eager to escape that terrible place. Gersius knew it would be weeks before that letter reached Calathen, and by then, it would have long been over.

His heart wept for the distant city of Calathen and wished he had never left its walls. It was a grand city with ancient walls that towered over the studded plains. It was the largest city in what was once an empire, built by the man he was trying to emulate. Its massive walls were built around the base of a small mountain, the city's districts climbing up the base. At the highest point were the old buildings of the emperor's palace, standing above the city like a great crown. It was said that a man changed when they saw the city walls, and humbled when they behold the emperor's palace.

The empire had lasted but ten years, formed in an act of desperation when the lands faced certain defeat. It fell to ruin when the man who united it was slain. Assassinated, some say, but the true story of what happened was lost to time and history. The vast lands split into smaller kingdoms, dividing up the once mighty power.

That was a thousand years ago, but the people still remembered the stories of the once glorious empire. They told tales of the heroics of its champions and of dragons who aided men. He has been raised on those stories and knew the legends by heart. He dreamed of seeing the empire reborn, its power restored, and Calathen as its capital once more.

It was for Calathen and the people who made up the old empire that he'd come all this way. A new threat had risen in the west and, like the legends of old, had come with no warning or mercy. The people needed a new hero to unite the lands against this threat, and he had failed them.

Now, he stood alone, surveying the result of his decisions. Never had he felt such pain or been crippled by indecision. He had already failed in his task, leaving him only two choices. Return in disgrace and accept judgment for his failure, or press on and meet his fate. Going back was an impossibility. How could he stand before his order and tell them they had already lost? How could he bow his head in shame and tell them he failed? To return a failure was a fate worse than death, but then what was the other path? He could press on alone to face a foe he could not possibly hope to defeat and die a hero in one very brief, final battle.

“I will be with you again soon,” he said to his fallen men as he hardened his resolve. He made his choice and picked up his gear, heading deeper into the forest.

For three days, he walked the forest alone, with his guilt slowly eating him alive. He eventually found the farm road from the north and followed it deeper into the forest. The road quickly faded to a muddy track and then an overgrown trail before vanishing completely. He wadded through ferns and brush for half a day as the mountains grew closer.

Close to the cold cliffs of the ice fangs, he found a fern-covered glen split by a small stream. A large rock outcropping leaned over a small patch of gravel, providing a crude but dry shelter. He made his camp in the shade of the rock, lighting small fires at night to keep himself warm. He slept on the ground, his dreams filled with the screams of men begging him to save them. He woke every morning to the dark shadow of the mountain, slowly retreating as the sun rose. He searched the nearby base for a way through them for four days, citing an old report that mentioned a cave. He found it late into the afternoon yesterday and spent a long hour staring into the darkness. He would take one last night of rest and then set out in the morning. He would face his fate like a man, uttering one last cry of battle and glory before dying for his people. The morning had come, and despite his foreknowledge, he still prepared as if he was coming back. He wasn't coming back.

With resignation, he took up his sword and prepared to meet his fate. This long, straight blade was a typical sword of his order and felt like an extension of his body. It was emblazoned with the red star of his order with a golden stone on the pommel to symbolize the sunburst, the dawn of mercy, and justice to man through his god.

He donned his cloak and belts, adjusting the fit to ensure flexibility of movement over his armor. Last, he picked up his helm, turning it over in his hands as he steadied himself. He carefully lifted it over his head and slid it down. When he opened his eyes, he saw the world through the familiar window of his armor. A sense of protection and invulnerability enveloped him. With determination, he pushed forward, beginning the final steps of his life.

He trudged up the broken and uneven slopes at the base of the mountain. It was a difficult path in full armor, but it was the only way to reach the cave. He hoped this was one in the old document that went through the mountain to the valley beyond. This was his last chance to die a hero and avoid the shame that awaited him back home. It took him almost an hour, but finally, he stood before that dark opening.

With a deep sigh, he took out a torch, one of a dozen he had brought with him. He chuckled at the pointlessness of it all. He brought so many to ensure he had enough to make it back, but he wasn't coming back. This was the end of his journey, the last road to travel before he stood with his men to apologize in person.

A quick use of a flint and steel lit the simple torch. He descended into the darkness before him, refusing to yield to the fear welling up inside. He felt like a man lost in a storm who knew he would never find his way home. He could see only a dozen feet in a light that offered little detail. Beyond that was a total blackness that threatened to swallow him. With determination, he pushed on the path set. There was only one purpose in his life now, and that purpose lay somewhere beyond the darkness that shrouded his heart.

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[tulaladd]

世界最遅tulaladd2020best DL list

年間ベストを始めて以来、初の事態。

なんと9か月遅れのポスト。あと3か月で次の年ベスの発表時期じゃないですか…唯一にして最大の理由が、もちろんあるにはある。

暗夜行路のような唄声が車内から眺める某庁舎前の雪景色と甘酸っぱい感情を喚起させるRY Xや、このリストには登場しない自分用に作ったプレイリスト（日本語ラップ編、シティーポップ編）をひとりで何度も諳んじては胸を焦がした。それらの音楽が本来持つ資質にプラスして思い出補正でランクインした作品がいくつかある（最たるものがサントラ部門かな）。そんな変化があった2020年でした。

それを除けば、音楽ライフは基本的に前年を踏襲。つまり引き続きapple music依存型で、DIG活動もほほ休止（荷物の山に埋もれたタンテをセッティングし直せるまともな精神状態じゃなかった…）。落第生の体たらくをここ何年も続けてるわけです。とはいえ昨年と比べれば、リスト入り作品の数が格段に増えた＝それなりに楽しい音楽生活が営めていたのも事実。その充実を支えたものがアルゴリズムって点がものすごく納得はいかないけれど。（毎年書いてるけど、手当たり次第サブスクを横断する中で「もう一度聴きたい」と思えたものが以下のDLリスト。感覚的には昨年より緩い5枚に1枚。それでも昨年比3倍の約250枚！）

いつまで延命できるか分からないローカルラジオを継続できたのもラッキーだった。相変わらずみんなとあーだこーだ言いながらいろんな曲を聴く時間が音楽ライフを豊かにしてくれました。感謝。過去最高に音楽への熱が薄いテキストになっちゃうけど、9か月遅れだと致し方なしか。

三ツ星評価のうち、エル・ミシェルズ・アフェアのシングルはラジオの一戸くんレコメン、今年も熱量が持続しているサウスロンドン・ジャズ・シーンのマンスール・ブラウンEPはおなじみWOZNIAK星くんのオススメ、ほかにも人から教わってお気に入りになった作品が少なくないのは、サブスクじゃ届かないリアルの強みが感じられて、そこだけは希望があるのかな。

特筆するとすれば、Bartosz KruczynskiのEARTH TRAX以来追い続けてきたリズムセクション・インターナショナルが、旬のサウスロンドン・シーンと地下ハウス/テクノ・シーンのメルティング・ポットだったことが分かって興味が再燃させられた個人的な事件。そのセンセーションのグラウンド・ゼロにあたるTHE COLOURS THAT RISEの発見が今年No.1の成果かな。

唯一職場で音楽談義ができるために相互レコメンに特化したLINEを展開中のT氏に教えられたエディ・チャコンのアルバム、そのエディの復活劇を手掛け、若林恵さん経由でずっぽりハマったソランジュ『A Seat At The Table』の禅的ミニマリズのデザイナーでもあることが事後に発覚したジョン・キャロル・カービーの2人は、今年ならではの幸福な時間の中で何度も繰り返し聴いた一生の思い出確定盤。ジョンなんか3カテゴリーに分かれてのランクインだもんな。　

さて2021年。あと3か月しかない。今年はやる？やらない？いろいろ越えるべきものが多くすぎてそれ以前の問題かもしれないなけど。

【TECHNO / HOUSE / (NU)DISCO / ELECTRONICS】 ★★★THE COLOURS THAT RISE / Grey Doubt ★★THE COLOURS THAT RISE / 2020 EP（2017） ★★THEO PARRISH / Wuddaji ★★Machinedrum / A View of U ★Kuniyuki Takahashi / Flying Music EP ★Oneohtrix Point Never / Magic Oneohtrix Point Never ★VLADISLAV DELAY / Rakka ★LUKE SLATER / berghain fünfzehn ★Jayda G / Both of Us / Are U Down EP ★TSHA / Flowers EP ★DISCLOSURE / Energy ★DARKSTAR / Civic Jams ★Chari Chari / We Hear the Last Decades Dreaming ★HUNEE / Boiler Room : an hour with HUNEE（DJ Mix） ★Autechre / SIGN Arca / @@@@@ BURIAL / Chemz FOUR TET / Sixteen Oceans JAMES BLAKE / Before EP GLOBAL COMMUNICATION / Transmissions Sampler JOHN FRUSCIANTE / Maya TRICKFINGER / She Smiles Because She Presses the Button EP TRICKFINGER / Look Down, See Us EP 60 Miles / Swamp 2 Sea EP EARTH TRAX / LP1 EARTH TRAX / LP2 BIG YAWN / No! HIATT dB / Palimpsest EP GL / You Read My Mind DJ SOFA / Elsewhere Junior I - a Collection of Cosmic Children’s Song Mr President / One Night feat.Celia Kameni & Cindy Pooch J.A.K.A.M. / ASTRAL DUB WORX Inner Science / Made パソコン音楽クラブ / Ambience EP LOCUSSOLUS / Locussolus（Expanded） Various Artists / South DAN KYE / Small Moments OFF THE MEDS / Off The Meds BASSO / Proper Sunburn - Forgotten Sunscreen Applied By Basso（2019） Copenema / Dexia a Musica Tocar（2019） Seahawks / Eyes of the Moon（2019） Jayda G / Significant Changes（2019） MMM / Que Barbaro（2013）

【HIPHOP / R&B / BEATS / FUNK】 ★★★EDDIE CHACON / Outside（Laraaji Remix） ★★EDDIE CHACON / Pleasure, Joy and Happiness ★★Lil Narnia / Pain Extract ★★VHOOR / Baile & Sauce ★AG CLUB / Halfway Off the Porch ★MAC MILLER / Circles ★THUNDRCAT / It Is What It Is ★WILMA ARCHER / A Western Circular ★OXP, ONRA & POMRAD / Swing Convention ★DJ KRUSH / TRICKSTER ★BENEDEK / Bene’s World（2017） JOHN CARROLL KIRBY / High feat.Eddie Chacon & Nailah Hunter THE WEEKND / After Hours DRAKE / Dark Lane Demo Tapes POP SMOKE / Shoot for the Stars Aim for the Moon IVAN AVE / DOUBLE GOODBYES MOSES SUMNEY / græ PETER COTTON TALE / CATCH NNAMDI / BRAT Yves Tumor / Heaven Ta a Toutured Mind Teebs / Ardour（10th Anniversary Edition） Wajatta / Don’t Let Get You Down Lapalux / Esrevoinma EP Kutmah / New Appliance THE HELIOCENTRICS / Telemetric Sounds VULFPECK / The Joy of Music, The Job of   Real Estate JOHN CARROLL KIRBY / Lazzara（2019） Various Artists / Kutmah presents : Sketchbook Radio Archives, Vol.1（2018） Invisibl Skratch Piklz / The 13th Foor（2016） D-STYLES / Phantazagorea（2002）

【JAZZ（the New Chapter） / WORLD】 ★★★MANSUR BROWN / Tesuto ★★★JOHN CARROLL KIRBY / My Garden ★★KAMASI WASHINGTON / Harmony of Difference EP（2017） ★JOHN CARROLL KIRBY / Love Theme ★MANSUR BROWN / Shiroi ★JEFF PARKER / Suite for Max Brown ★CHICAGO UNDERGROUND QUARTET / Good Days ★TOM MISCH & YUSSEF DAYES / What Kinda Music ★KAMAAL WILLIAMS / Wu Hen ★ROB MAZUREK & EXPLODING STAR ORCHESTRA / Dimentional Stardust: ★ORLANDO LE FLEMING / Romantic Funk : The Unfamiliar ★SAM WILKES / WILKES（2019） ★YUSSEF KAMAAL / Black Focus（2016） ★ZSOFIA BOROS / Local Objects（2016） JYOTI & GEORGIA ANNE MULDROW / Mama, You Can Bet! BUTCHER BROWN / #KingButch BRAXTON COOK / Fire Sign PAT METHENY / From This Place Fabiano do Nascimento / Preludio SAM GENDEL / Satin Doll SAM GENDEL / Pass If Music（2018） SAM WILKES / Live on the Green（2019） BRANDON COLEMAN / Resistance（2018） KIEFER / Superbloom（2019） 鈴木良雄 / モーニング・ピクチャー（1984） 鈴木良雄 / ウイングス（1987） JOHN EBERSON, BJ0RNAR ANDRESEN, PAAL NILSSEN-LOVE / Mind the Gap（2001）

【（INDIE）ROCK / （INDIE） POP / SSW】 ★★★EL MICHELS AFFAIR / Reasons feat.Bobby Oroza ★★EL MICHELS AFFAIR / Adult Themes ★★THE FLAMING LIPS / American Head ★★SUFJAN STEVENS / The Ascension ★★FLEET FOXES / Shore ★★COLDPLAY / Everyday Life（2019） ★★RY X / Unfurl（2019） ★★THE WAR ON DRUGS / Lost in the Dream（2014） ★PHOEBE BRIDGERS / Copycat Killer feat. ROB MOOSE - EP ★Mk.gee / A Museum of Contradiction ★PEEL DREAM MAGAZINE / Agitprop Alterna ★BLAKE MILLS / Mutable Set ★THE STROKES / The New Abnormal ★CHS / Jungle Sauna（2019） ★KINDNESS / Something Like A War（2019） ★〝Blue〟Gene Tyranny & Peter Gordon / Trust In Rock（2019） ★STATE RIVER WIDENING / Early Music（2003） BIBIO / Sleep On The Wing Jonsi / Shiver JEFF TWEEDY / Love Is The King REAL ESTATE / The Main Thing ANIMAL COLLECTIVE / Bridge to Quite LITTLE DRAGON / New Me . Same us JAGA JAZZIST / Pyramid TAME IMPAlA  / The Slow Rush TRAVIS / 10 Songs SORRY / 925 JOSEPH OF MERCURY / WAVE Ⅱ Khruangbin / Mordechai Various Artists / Hiding From the Landlord HOWLING / Colure DEVENDRA BANHART / Ma（2019） LANA DEL REY / Norman Fucking Rockwell（2019） DAVE GROHL / Play（2018） CRITERIA / En Garde（2003）

【PUNK / HEAVEY / EXTREAM】 ★★envy / The Fallen Crimson ★★lang / There is no reply, but sweet wind blew（2018） ★envy / LAST WISH（Live at Liquidroom Tokyo） ★SLIFT / UMMON ★HORSE LORDS / The Common Task ★coriky / coriky ★Sans Visage, Look at moment / Split Single ★Sans Visage / moments（2017） ★LIGHTNING BOIL / Sonic Citadel（2019） ★Harvey Milk / Courtesy and Good Will Toward Men（2006） DEFTONES / Ohms Converge / Endless Arrow JESU / Terminus JESU / Never JESU / Ascension（Delux） KRUELTY / A Dying Truth XIBALBA / Anos En Infierno Various Artists / Speedy Wunderground Year 4（2019） RUSSIAN CIRCLE / Russian Circle Audiotree Far Out（2019） EARTH / Live at Third Man Records（2017） THE ARMED / Only Love（2018） THE ARMED / Untitled（2015）

【AMBIENT / NEW AGE / DRONE / MINIMAL MUSIC / EXPERIMENTAL】 ★★JOHN CARROLL KIRBY / Conflict ★★Dukes of Chutney / Hazel  ★HEATHERED PEARLS / Cast ★SAM PREKOP / Comma BING & RUTH / Species FRANKIE REYES / Originalitos IAN WILLIAM CRAIG / Red Sun Through Smoke WINDY & CARL / Allegiance and Conviction JONNY NASH & SUZANNE KRAFT / A Heart So White JOHN CARROLL KIRBY / Tuscany（2019） JOHN CARROLL KIRBY / Meditation In Music（2018） JOHN CARROLL KIRBY / Travel（2017） ALEXANDER RISHAUG / Shadow of Events（2011） 【CLASSIC / OST】 ★LUDWIG GORANSSON / Tenet OST ★JOHN WILLIAMS / Double Trouble ※from OST of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban（2004） DUSTIN O'HALLORAN / Ammonite OST KAMASI WASHINGTON / Becoming（Music from the Netflix Original Documentary） DUSTIN O'HALLORAN / Lumiere（2011） BETH GIBBONS, The Polish National Radio Symphony Orchestra & Krzysztof Penderecki / Henryk Gorecki: Symphony No.3（2019） ANTONI WIT, Polish National Radio Symphony Orchestra(Katowice) & Polish Choir of Krakow / Henryk Gorecki: Symphony No.2（2001） ZSOFIA BOROS / Local Objects（2016） 【DOMESTIC（without HIPHOP）】 ★★★METAFIVE / 環境と心理 ★★GEZAN / 狂（KLUE） ★★downy / 第七作品集「無題」 ★★岡村靖幸 / 操 ★★崎山蒼志 / ソフト　※FEVER LIVE ver. on YouTube ★★SILENT POETS / dawn（2018） ★WOZNIAK / Vegetable Home Run ★Ai Aso / The Faintest Hint ★jan and naomi / YES ★mei ehara / Ampersands ★ディーン・フジオカ / Neo Dimension ★LUNA SEA / Make a vow ★坂本慎太郎 / 好きっていう気持ち / おぼろげナイトクラブ ★Cuushe / Waken ★sassya- / 脊髄（2019） ★小袋成彬 / Piercing（2019） ★She Her Her Hers / stereochrome（2014） WOZNIAK / Lost WOZNIAK / Double Face mouse on the keys / Arche 5kai / Untitled #2 KAN SANO / Susanna Ovall / Ovall（2019） mabanua / Blurred（2018） D.A.N. / Aechma ふさえ / そのまま 相馬智行 & 鳴海徹朗 / 春の闇 jan and naomi / Neutrino 王舟 / Pulchra Ondo 春ねむり / LOVETHEISM 井出健介と母船 / Contact From Exne Kedy And The Poltergeists（エクスネ・ケディと騒がしい幽霊からのコンタクト） 吉田一郎不可触世界 / えぴせし 岡田拓郎 / Morning Sun blgtz / Feature EP Coff / Tiny Music（2019） 【DOMESTIC（HIPHOP）】 ★★DJ CHARI & DJ TATSUKI / GOLDEN ROUTE ★★Weny Dacillo / Hapitable Hotel ★Hideyoshi / Dead End Adventure ★GG UJIHARA / WEAKNESS EP（2018） ★DJ CHARI & DJ TATSUKI / Time feat.Yo-Sea & KEIJU（2019） ★GG UJIHARA / WEAKNESS EP（2018） KOHH / worst KEIJU / T.A.T.O. Sauce81 / S8100 MARTER / Weltraumasthetik 2020 Normcore Boyz / MEDIAGE なみちえ / 毎日来日 徳利 / REVOLUTION starscream & Page Hiiragi / Ghost(s) DJ CHARI / GAME（2019） YOUNG HASTLE & GG UJIHARA / YOUNG UJIHARA EP（2019） Weny Dacillo / AMPM EP（2017）

[bellshells]

Splitting Hairs ch.2

Yo yo yo, chapter two of Splitting Hairs. Thank you for taking time to read this, I really do hope you enjoy it. So, I don’t know if I need to do any tw or just warnings in general but, there’s mention of blood and a bit of mild smut at the end. 

Previous Chapter Next Chapter 

Word Count: 2703  Summary: Severus is full of all the feelings about Valentine. But can he look past her resemblance to Lily? Especially when she tries to deepen their relationship?

Severus was ready just after seven. He had bathed and eaten alone in his chambers and watched the slow ticking of the clock intently. His mind had raced all afternoon with thoughts of Valentine and memories of Lily. He had spent the last few years punishing himself for allowing the pressures of his youth to destroy his relationship with Lily. What might’ve happened if he had been honest with Lily about his feelings? Would it have changed anything? Would it have been his body James Potter would have discarded on a windy night in Godric’s Hollow?

He was baffled by his initial reaction to Valentine. Having not seen her face in a few hours his heart had slowed in its pounding. Severus rationalised that it must have been the shock in simply being attracted to a woman for the first time since Lily- it was obvious he had a type. Severus was staring to annoy himself, why was he so affected by this woman? She was just that, a woman. A woman for whom Severus has put on his best dress shirt. A woman who had caused Severus to drink the best part of a bottle of dragon-whisky to soothe his nerves. He had tried to read, he had tried to plan his lessons, he tried practically anything to occupy himself other than being fixated on the clock. It was useless.

At ten to eight he rose and left his rooms. He made the short journey to Valentine’s quarters, stopping just short of the door to take a deep breath. Just before he raised his hand to the wood to knock; he heard a calamitous crash and an exclaimed “Fuck!” from within. “Professor Valentine?” he called out. “Severus? Come in, would you?” Severus turned the handle of the big wooden door and saw her; a mirror was smashed into pieces on the floor. Her dress unzipped at the back hung unceremoniously around her shoulders and finally a steady stream of blood dripped form her hand and onto the floor. Her lurched towards her, grasping her injured hand in his and examined her wound. “What on earth?” he said, bewildered. “I tried to move my mirror and it slipped out of my hands.” She moaned. His eyes hurried over her; her hair was perfectly curled and swept half away from her face. She wore dark make up on her eyes a brilliant red on her lips. He dress, still unzipped fell forward as she squirmed in his grasp and granted Severus a glance at her breasts. He blushed and instantly averted his gaze, returning his attention to her wound. “Jesus, I’m so sorry,” Valentine began, “What a mess.” “Just stay still, let me see how bad it is.” Severus muttered. He moved his wand slowly over her hand and one by one the pieces of glass that were stuck in there fell to the floor. “You should go to the infirmary.” He said. “No need!” Valentine countered, “I have a first aid kit in my wardrobe-” Severus looked at her dumbly as she gestured to the other side of the room. Instructing her to keep pressure on the worst affected area; he hurried over to the wardrobe. “Top shelf.” Valentine called out. Severus peered into her wardrobe, an array of colourful dresses, shirts and all sort greeted him. He pushed them to the side, revealing a shelf at the back. He picked up an item to move it out of the way and instantly recognised them to be Valentine’s delicates. Choosing to ignore the embarrassment he felt, he continued his search finally retrieving a little green bag with a white cross on it. He brought it over to her and opened it. “Just get the gauze and a bandage, I’ve got wipes here.” She instructed. Severus produced the desired materials from inside the bag as Valentine wiped blood from her wrist and forearm. She took the gauze from him and struggled one-handed to keep it in his place. Severus rolled his eyes and snatched it back. “Just- let me.” He placed the gauze on her hand and started wrapping the bandage around it tightly. “You’ll have to let me know if that’s tight enough for you.” “I bet you’ve said that before.” Valentine said with a sly smile, Severus could feel his cheeks warm as he tied the end of the bandage. “Please tell me why I’m wasting time doing this by hand?” he asked her, she looked up at him from under her lashes. He thought he might burst. “Because there nothing quite like the satisfaction of a job well done. Especially when it���s done with your own two hands.” She countered. “That’s one for you to remember when you’re alone.” Severus dropped her hand instinctively as she chuckled. Valentine lifted her bandaged hand up to the light to examine it. “Thank you.” She said earnestly. “Shall we be off?” he asked and gestured towards the open door. “Just one more thing.” Valentine turned her back and asked over her shoulder; “Would you mind?” She pointed to the zip of her dress still open at the back. Her pale skin illuminated by the dying light caressing the window. His breath caught in his throat as he made his way to her, hands ready. Severus touched the soft fabric of her dress and pulled it taut at her shoulders. He couldn’t help himself; his hands trailed down the corners of the fabric until he reached the bottom of the zip right at the base of her back. He could see Valentine’s skin raise under his touch as he moved closer to her. He pulled up the zip torturously slow, the same stirring he had felt in the pit of his stomach returned fiercely. Valentine turned slowly, their faces only inches apart, and flashed him a grin. “See?” she whispered, “Wasn’t that fun to do with your hands?”

Severus cleared his throat and took a step back. He extended his arm to her as she threw her cloak around her shoulders. Valentine produced her wand from her cloak and waved it over the mess on the floor. The pieces of mirror scattered all over found each other like magnets and realigned before whizzing back into the frame and mounting itself on the wall. She admired her handywork and pulled her cloak tight over her chest; the tight black dress Severus had become intimately acquainted with, now obscured from view. It took him a moment to remember his purpose. “Ready?” He asked. “After you, Professor Snape.”

They arrived at the passageway up to Dumbledore’s office in less time than Severus would have liked. He said the password and watched as Valentines face lit up as the commanding eagle gave way to a staircase that wrapped itself around the walls. “That’s quite cool.” She said wasting no time. She started to climb the steps and wobbled as she missed her footing, Severus offered his hand behind her and she took it with a smile. They continued up to the headmaster’s office together, the door already open. He could hear voices and the occasional peal of laughter as they rounded the corner. The thin sound of a vinyl player somewhere hidden played a sweet melody as he guided her into the room. Minerva was on her in an instant.

“Elizabeth my dear, we were starting to think you lost your way. How kind of Severus to escort you.” She said as she whisked Valentine further into the room and handed her a tall drink from a table nearby. Champagne. Either Dumbledore really wanted to impress the new professor the staff gatherings had altered dramatically since the last time he had attended one. He stood awkwardly on the outskirts of the party, he nursed a tumbler of whisky in one hand and pretended to listen to Trelawney as she waffled on about needing a particular potion to give to her third years. He nodded in all the right places and consented to make it for her, but his eyes were always on Valentine.

She seemed to dazzle everyone around her, it seemed his colleagues gravitated towards her like she was the sun in their orbit. He watched as Minerva, then Pomona, Filius and even Hagrid made their way to engage her in conversation. She was as polite and warm to each of them as one by one they descended onto her. He barely noticed as Dumbledore sidled up beside him and quietly said under his breath; “She’s definitely making an impression, wouldn’t you say, Severus?” “Hmm.” “I dare say she must have some Veela in her. She’s exceptionally beautiful.” Albus continued. “Her hair’s too red to be part Veela.” Muttered Severus. He watched as she threw her head back in laughter in something Hagrid had said. He saw a blush creep onto Hagrid’s cheeks and the groundskeeper grinned sheepishly. “Must be good breeding then. Is it just me, or does she bear a striking resemblance to Lily Potter?” Albus whispered. Severus froze, he could feel the elder wizards gaze on him as he thought how best to answer. “I suppose you might be able to draw similarities between them. Lily was much shorter than Professor Valentine though.” Dumbledore murmured in agreement as Minerva raised her hands in the air for quiet. “I would like to take this opportunity on behalf of the headmaster to welcome Professor Valentine to our ranks. With just a few short days before our students return to Hogwarts, let us raise a glass to Elizabeth, may your year be met with ease and very few challenges,” she raised her champagne flute and toasted; “Elizabeth.” Everyone followed suit, Elizabeth’s name sang through Dumbledore’s office as they drank. Severus put his glass to his lips and drank, but not before Valentine raised her own glass in his direction and winked. Severus couldn’t supress the smile that arrived on his lips. Maybe it was the atmosphere of the party, or the sheer amount of alcohol he had consumed, but he began to relax. The conversation flowed freely between Severus and his colleagues, he even started to find their inane jokes funny. Severus allowed himself to enjoy the company he was in and for once he felt like he belonged, not like he was there at Dumbledore’s behest. He meandered over to where a game of muggle chess was being played between Professors Binns and Burbage. He whispered in Charity’s ear the best way to take Cuthbert’s knight, but she laughed him off, preparing to use her own skill. Severus laughed with her.

It was another few hours before Valentine made her way over to Severus. She had not spoken to him since they arrived and she clocked him finally, sat in a chair by the fireplace. He was deep in conversation with Professor Kettleburn, until he caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye. Severus could see her eyes glistened from across the room, she obviously had had a bit to drink. Valentine moved with such sensuality it was impossible to keep his eyes from her. He wondered what Lily would have looked like if she wore what Valentine was wearing. The calf length, tight figure-hugging dress; cut high around the shoulders yet low at the back. Lily would have looked sublime; he was sure of that. And, as Valentine continued her slow progress over to him, finally sitting on the arm of Severus’ chair; and he found his hand making its way to sit on her hip, his mind wandered once again to Lily. He imagined it was Lily putting her hand on his chest and leaning in to whisper in his ear, not Valentine. He felt a chill run through him as her breath tickled his face. “It’s quite late,” she stated, Severus raised an eyebrow. “Shall we go?” “I wasn’t aware you needed my permission to leave, Professor Valentine.” “Elizabeth,” she corrected, and traced the curve of a button on Severus’ shirt with her finger. “If you’re asking if I would accompany you back to your rooms, you need only ask; Elizabeth.”

A slow smile crept to her lips, her green eyes darkened, and she stood, Valentine stalked across the room and fetched her cloak. Severus rose slowly, his stomach in knots. What on earth was he doing? Was he flirting? Was she expecting him to go into her rooms and-? He shook his head and followed her to the door. They bid farewell to the few still left in Dumbledore’s office, the party well and truly winding down. Only a few stragglers remained, slurred tales and vacant looks abound. Severus held her hand as they descended the staircase, remembering how unsteady she was on the way up. He offered her his arm at the bottom, and she took it, and pulled her body close to his as they walked through the deserted castle.

They walked mostly in silence, like they had done only a few hours before. Only this time, he could feel the heat from her body singing to him as he couldn’t resist it. Valentine clung to his arm as they walked and Severus allowed her, turning his head to take in the scent of her. She smelled divine. In the scarce light of the corridor he could barely make out her features and he could fill in the blanks with his memories of Lily. If he turned his head away it was Lily clutching his arm, Lily tugging on his shirt and Lily pulling him into an alcove and pressing her soft lips to his.

She kissed him furiously, her hands wandered up his back and pulled him even closer. Severus returned the kiss and pushed her hard against the castle wall. His hands finding her rump and squeezing it, that same stirring he had felt all day returned with a vengeance. He felt his arousal pressed hard against his trousers, and she pushed hard against it. It was then when he felt the friction against his groin that Severus realised, he wasn’t kissing Lily and pulled away with a small “No…” Valentine stood slightly awkwardly as Severus stared at her, not quite meeting his gaze. “Sorry-” “Come.” Was all that he said. He started back towards her quarters, only giving her a cursory nod as he opened the door to her chambers. He didn’t give her a chance to respond before he closed it again and stalked towards his own rooms.

He was appalled with himself. He had been seduced by this Lily-lookalike and he was sad. Sad because he felt like it upset the memory of Lily and sad because he enjoyed it. Severus entered his bed chamber hot and confused, he needed to rid himself from the smell of her. It was everywhere on him. He stripped down to his underwear and got into bed and stared up at the dark cloth of his canopy. His mind was a tempest of thought. His skin electrified. His hand wandered down his torso to his crotch, his member hard in his hand. He began to move his hand up and down his shaft in swift pace, his breaths became short and shallow as he sunk his head into his pillow. His pleasure was overwhelming as he guided his hand over the tip of his cock. Severus was not one for self-gratification, the mood very rarely took him. But tonight, it was all he could think about. The kiss. His first kiss. He bit his lip as his brow furrowed, he could still taste her on his lips. His hands still smelled her perfume and if he closed his eyes tight, he could imagine her body pressed close against his. He moaned softly. His movements were desperate now, he was so close to the edge. His fingers of his free hand grappled with his sheets as he pumped himself to completion.

When he came it was guttural, his hips bucked upwards and he let out a deep, long moan. He had never done that before. Severus opened his eyes slowly, before he closed them again to sleep. All he could see was red hair and green eyes.

[the-marvel-ous-hobbit]

To Slay A Dragon: Ch. 5

Summary: A short stay in Rivendell.

Word count: ~6800

A/N: Happy holidays! Thank you for all the support so far :)

part four ||

The staircase takes us on a long, winding path down into the valley. At the bottom, a stone bridge spans the gorge. It’s barely wide enough for two human-sized people to walk side by side, and a quick glance over the edge sends my stomach into panicked flips. If anyone were to ever choose to attack Rivendell, they would have an extremely difficult time.

Gandalf leads the way across the bridge with long, confident strides. The Dwarves follow more cautiously, and I take a couple of deep breaths before forcing my feet onwards. Bilbo walks close to my side, though his head whips back and forth so rapidly my heart trips over itself.

Through the intricate archways bracketing the bridge, I glimpse the elegant white buildings I saw from above nestled amongst a vast array of trees, shrubs and flowers I can’t even begin to name. It’s unlike anything I have seen before in my life—such ancient, serene beauty could never be found between the surly mountains and weary cities of Skyrim. 

With each careful step, a stillness seeps into my body through my boots, easing the vertigo-induced nausea. The warmth in my chest floods to my fingers and toes, chasing away the residual tension left from the encounter with the Orcs.

For the first time since beginning this journey, I feel almost at peace.

The bridge leads us into a large, circular courtyard. A waterfall gushes over the cliff behind it, a soothing background roar in the stillness of the evening. The Dwarves drift about the space, their heads tipped back and eyes open wide. Thorin remains still, his brow furrowed and arms crossed as his company swirls about him like a current around an anchor. Bilbo hasn’t stopped smiling since we emerged from the passage, his green eyes alight with unrestrained joy.

“Mithrandir.”

A figure dressed in dark purple robes descends a staircase across the courtyard. Gandalf turns, as though they had called him by name.

“Ah!” He beams. “Lindir.”

Lindir echoes Gandalf’s smile, extending a hand in greeting. His skin is pale and ageless, his features a contrast of sharp angles and smooth planes. A silver circlet glitters across his brow, and the tips of his pointed ears peek out beneath a sleek curtain of dark hair cascading down his back.

I pat my own short hair, wincing at how matted and filthy it feels beneath my fingers, and how ragged the ends are from being sheared with a knife. Though we may be distantly related, I could never hope to look so refined and effortlessly beautiful as this Elf. I can’t recall ever feeling self-conscious about my looks—I’ve never had the time or energy—but now the scar on my face seems to mock me. 

The Dwarves’ irritation is tangible enough to raise the hairs on my arms as Lindir speaks to Gandalf in a language I assume is Elvish. The Wizard casts a look in our direction before replying in the common tongue. 

“I must speak with Lord Elrond.” 

Lindir’s placid expression doesn’t change. “My Lord Elrond is not here.”

The air shifts again as the Dwarves shuffle and mutter. Thorin glares at Gandalf hard enough to set his robes on fire.

“Not here?” Gandalf repeats. “Where is he?”

The jarring blast of a hunting horn echoes somewhere behind us. A dozen horses thunder towards us, barely slowing as they cross the bridge.

“Close ranks!” 

Solid bodies crush close, knocking the breath from my lungs. I barely have time to draw the Blade before the horses enclose us in a rotating wall of steaming bodies. The usually comforting smell of sweat and sweet hay fills my nose.  Clattering hooves and rattling armour drown out the Dwarves’ agitated shouts.

The Elves whose faces are uncovered by helmets gaze down their perfect noses at us, unfazed by the weapons pointed in their direction. They draw to a halt as one and silence descends, broken only by the Dwarves’ heavy breathing. I lift my chin to stare at the nearest Elf. He regards me with a faintly quirked brow. I scowl harder.

“Gandalf!”

I’d almost forgotten the Wizard was there—I can barely see him past the wall of horse and metal penning us in like farm animals. Gandalf greets the rider of a beautiful black stallion with a smile that I suspect is partly amusement at our expense.

“Lord Elrond!”

The Dwarves grumble again as Gandalf steps forward to speak to Lord Elrond in Elvish. Even in Gandalf’s gruff voice, the words seem to dance in the air between them like music. Bilbo stands on his toes in a vain attempt to see over Dwalin’s head.

Lord Elrond dismounts and embraces Gandalf. He moves with a purposeful, fluid grace that holds my attention captive. He shares Lindir’s pale skin, ageless face and flowing dark hair, but his features are strong and broad where Lindir’s are fine and delicate. The circle of silver across his brow sparkles in the dying light. 

“Strange for Orcs to come so close to our borders,” Lord Elrond says in the common tongue, passing a sheathed sword to Lindir. His voice is deep and smooth, each word precisely formed. “Something or someone has drawn them near.”

“Ah, that may have been us.”

At Gandalf’s gesture, the Elf-lord turns to survey us. His gaze snags briefly on me, sending a jolt down my spine, before coming to rest on Thorin. Thorin takes a few steps forward, followed closely by Dwalin. The others surge to fill the gaps, flanking them on every side. 

Elrond inclines his head slightly. “Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain.”

Thorin lifts his chin. “I do not believe we have met.”

“You have your Grandfather’s bearing,” Lord Elrond says, and it almost sounds like a compliment. “I knew Thror when he ruled under the mountain.”

“Indeed? He made no mention of you.”

I gaze up at the pale pink sky, inhaling deeply through my nose. If Thorin ruins my hopes of a bath, I’m going to murder him. Treasure be damned.

Elrond keeps his dark, steady gaze on Thorin’s face as he says something in Elvish. The words are like the whisper of a breeze through the boughs of an ancient oak, and though I don’t understand them, something within me responds. The dragon lays its head down and listens.

“What is he saying? Does he offer us insult?”

A ruckus breaks out, shattering my brief moment of calm. Gandalf cuts in quickly before the Dwarves can actually start a brawl right there in the courtyard.

“No Master Gloin, he’s offering you food.”

Whilst the Dwarves huddle together to discuss the implications of accepting the offer, Bilbo glances at me with an expression that perfectly mirrors my earlier thoughts of homicide. I don’t see what possible need there is to talk about it—if I don’t eat something soon I won’t be responsible for my actions.

Luckily, the Dwarves don’t take long to reach a decision.

“In that case, lead on.”

*

To my immense gratitude, we are escorted to a large, open-air pavilion with a perfect view of the sunset. Three tables occupy the centre of the mosaic-tiled floor—a circular one at Elf height, and two at a more comfortable level for Dwarves and Hobbits, separated by a small walkway with an empty pedestal in the middle. Elves dressed in flowing white float around the space like dandelion seeds carrying trays and covered platters. Along the open edge overlooking a vertical drop into the valley, a string orchestra plays a gentle, soothing tune.

The company—minus Thorin, who has disappeared somewhere with Gandalf and Lord Elrond—crowd around the two low tables. I fold myself onto the cushions beside Bilbo and inspect the spread, which consists of bowls brimming with salad, platters of colourful vegetables and mountains of fruit arranged like works of art. Crystal jugs brim with rich plum wine—the smell alone is enough to make me giddy.

I resist the temptation to fill my glass only when Fili flops down beside me, close enough to jostle my elbow. He grins and winks at me, but barely breaks the animated conversation he’s having with Dori, who sits down beside his youngest brother.

Ori’s picks up a lettuce leaf, wrinkling his nose at it, and Dori instantly turns into a mother hen.

“Try it,” he urges. “Just a mouthful.”

Ori looks at the lettuce as though it has personally insulted him. “I don’t like green food.”

The air fills with grumbling as I reach for the nearest plate of vegetables. I’m in no position to deny a free meal. I catch Fili’s raised eyebrow and shove the platter at him a bit too quickly. He grins again, his rough fingers brushing mine as he takes it. 

What is it about this fair-haired Dwarf prince that gets me so rattled?

Movement beyond the tables and circling Elves distracts me from the unbearable proximity of Fili’s knee to my thigh: Gandalf and Lord Elrond weave through the orchestra towards the high table, their profiles outlined in gold and pink from the west. Our host has changed out of his armour into a flowing robe of gold satin that shimmers in the soft light. Beside him, Gandalf looks every bit the vagabond he was mistaken for on the night we first met.

“Kind of you to invite us,” Gandalf says as they pass between our tables. “I’m not really dressed for dinner.”

“You never are,” our host replies with a smile.

Thorin follows several paces behind wearing his usual scowl—I think I would be alarmed if he smiled. His passage doesn’t go unnoticed—the Dwarves all but stop what they’re doing to watch him pass. His eyes flit between them all, quite obviously skipping over me and Bilbo, and he gives a slight nod before trudging after Gandalf and Elrond to the high table. I squash down the prickle of annoyance at the blatant shun and concentrate on my food, keeping my eyes on my plate in case my expression gives anything away.

After several weeks of travelling with them, the Dwarves’ attitude towards me seems to be shifting. I wasn’t sure of it before, since I always made an effort to keep my distance whilst we were on the road, but now that we’re all in close proximity it’s clear that some of their suspicion has been replaced by obvious curiosity. Some of them still take great pains to ignore me—namely Dwalin and the older ones—but the itch of probing eyes on my skin is incredibly distracting.

I look up once during the meal to find Ori openly staring at me. Dori’s elbow shatters the beat of discomfort before I can decide whether to try for a smile. He gives me a look that douses my insides with cold water, and I drop my gaze back to my plate.

Suspicion has been my shadow ever since I can remember, but its constant company is no easier to bear. Even if I have no intention of forming relationships with these Dwarves, it might be nice to actually have a conversation with one of them.

How soft I’m getting in my old age.

A flash of light draws my attention to the high table. Lord Elrond has a sword balanced across his palms and is inspecting the blade with great interest. With some effort, I tune out the music and the Dwarves’ noise—apparently Kili has just said something uproariously funny—and focus on his voice.

“This is Orcrist, the Goblin-cleaver,” he says with a note of fascination as he holds the sword up towards the sun. “A famous blade, forged by the High Elves of the West. My kin.” He passes the sword to Thorin with a slight nod. “May it serve you well.”

Thorin sits ramrod straight in his chair, feet dangling absurdly above the ground and shoulders like granite beneath his mane of dark hair. He’s poised for a fight, as though he expects Elrond to launch across the table and throttle him at any second. It must be hard for him to be surrounded by the people who abandoned him in his hour of need—that’s the sort of betrayal you don’t just get over.

Elrond turns his attention to Gandalf, and I stomp down on that sympathetic thought process before it can go any further.

“And this is Glamdring, the Foe-hammer,” Elrond says as Gandalf offers up his blade for evaluation. “Sword of the King of Gondolin. These swords were made for the Goblin wars of the First Age.”

Bilbo shifts beside me, pulling my attention away from Elrond’s explanation of the Goblin wars. He draws his dagger partially from its sheath, inspecting it beneath the table. Something tightens in my abdomen—I don’t think I’ll ever be comfortable seeing a blade in Bilbo’s hand.

“I wouldn’t bother, laddie,” Balin says from Bilbo’s other side, “Swords are named for their great deeds they do in war.”

“What are you saying?” Bilbo asks. “My sword hasn’t seen battle?”

Bushy white brows draw together over a red nose. “I’m not actually sure it is a sword,” Balin tells him. “More of a letter-opener, really.”

Bilbo hurriedly sheathes the dagger. Despite myself, I frown at Balin over Bilbo’s head. Though  it’s a little concerning that Bilbo seems to be growing more interested in the dagger, I still hate the disappointment he’s trying so hard to keep off his face. I think about patting his arm, nudging his shoulder, anything to bridge the distance and bring him some semblance of comfort. But my hands remain in my lap, and the moment passes.

“How did you come by these?” Elrond asks, passing Glamdring back to Gandalf.

“We found them in a Troll-hoard on the Great East road,” Gandalf tells him with a mouth full of bread, waving the goblet held precariously in his right hand. “Shortly before we were ambushed by Orcs.”

“And what were you doing on the Great East road?”

Thorin’s chair scrapes back as Gandalf snaps his fat mouth shut. All eyes follow him as he strides past us. A few of the Dwarves exchange glances, but Thorin’s unpredictable moods aren’t enough to distract them from their food.

Elrond watches us across the courtyard. “Thirteen Dwarves, an Elf and a Halfling.” He catches my eye and I freeze under the weight of his gaze. He regards me with faint curiosity, his head tipped slightly to one side as though I’m another artefact to inspect. “Strange travelling companions, Gandalf.”

“These are descendants of the house of Durin.” Gandalf gestures at the Dwarves, defending them more readily than I would have guessed given the events of the past few days alone. “They’re noble, decent folk—“

Nori stashes something inside his jacket that looks suspiciously like a salt cellar.

“And they’re surprisingly cultured—“

Bombur shoves a handful of lettuce into his mouth and chews with his mouth open.

“They’ve got a deep love of the arts—”

“Change the tune, why don’t you?” Nori complains at the nearest harpist. “I feel like I’m at a funeral!”

“Did somebody die?” Oin squints at his ear trumpet.

Bofur slams his hands on the table, upsetting the nearby crockery. “Alright, lads!” He turns to me and tips his hat. “And lass, of course. There’s only one thing for it!”

Bilbo flinches beside me as Bofur climbs onto the pedestal between the tables and launches  into a rousing tune. The Dwarves immediately join in, prompting a bewildered stare from our host and a resigned eye-roll from Gandalf. I snatch my plate and goblet from the line of fire and settle back to watch the carnage.

Food flies around the courtyard, splattering against spotless white pillars and statues like paint. The expression on Lindir’s face makes me choke on a mouthful of apple—clearly this is his first experience of Dwarven table manners. I settle back on the cushions, cheered by the song and Lindir’s wrinkled nose. Gandalf takes another swig of wine.

*

After dinner, the Dwarves settle in for the night in a modest but cosy set of rooms with an open balcony that overlooks the lower portion of the valley. I choose a corner and tuck myself into it, aching and exhausted. The Dwarves still seem full of energy, laughing and throwing things at one another in their usual boisterous way. I take out the Blade and a cloth, tucking my legs close and bending over my work, trying in vain to block out their noise.

Over the laughter and shouts, a murmured conversation pulls my attention away from the Blade. Gandalf, Balin and Bilbo stand in a small cluster away from the group. After a brief discussion, the three of them set off into the still night. I wait a few seconds, then tuck the Blade back into my belt and follow.

Along the path, which winds gently uphill from the guest house, a figure awaits the trio in the semi-darkness. Thorin’s eyes glitter in the silver light of the lanterns illuminating the walkways. He glances briefly at Bilbo, but the darkness and distance disguise his expression. Ultimately he says nothing, and joins the others as they continue along the path.

None of them speak as they walk, impeding my progress as I struggle to keep my footsteps silent. Sneaking around has never been my forte, despite Brynjolf’s efforts to teach me the skills coveted by the Thieves Guild. Eventually he was forced to admit that stealth just isn’t something I’m capable of, and I’m much better suited to charging at things head-on.

By some miracle, Gandalf and the others remain unaware of my pursuit until they reach their destination: a large, dome-shaped building atop the hill which, upon entering, reveals itself to be some kind of museum. Elrond’s extensive knowledge of those swords suddenly makes sense—there are artefacts of all kinds on display, from paintings to full suits of armour. Though many of them bear signs of age, every single one is polished and free from any dust. The room is open and airy, free of the must and damp synonymous with old things.

Intrigued as I am by the collection, I almost don’t notice when Gandalf and the others come to a halt in the centre of a room with a large, circular hole in the ceiling. Shafts of moonlight spill into the room, providing ample light to see by and illuminating the regal figure of Lord Elrond. His dark eyes examine each of them in his quiet, probing way. I quickly duck behind a wall and a conveniently-placed and probably ancient vase, only daring to peek my head out once Elrond clears his throat to speak.

“I am pleased you have come,” he says. “How may I be of assistance?”    

Thorin doesn’t miss a beat. “Our business is no concern of Elves.”

Gandalf’s robes rustle, his staff scraping the floor as though sharing his annoyance. “For goodness sake, Thorin. Show him the map!”

Thorin folds his hands before him, shoulder’s straight and eyes fixed on Lord Elrond whilst Balin paces back and forth at his side. “It is the legacy of my people. It’s mine to protect. As are its secrets.”

Elrond watches Thorin with the endless patience granted by immortality. I’m reminded suddenly of the Greybeards—Lord Elrond exudes the same quiet power, the same level and faintly unnerving stare and soft, resonant speech. Though he has done nothing to even hint at a desire to harm us, I can’t help the uneasy feeling in my stomach that insists he would be more than capable.

“Save me from the stubbornness of Dwarves,” Gandalf mutters. He gestures at Thorin with his staff. “Your pride will be your downfall. You stand in the presence of one of the few in Middle-earth who can read that map. Show it to Lord Elrond!”

Thorin’s eyes glow piercing blue in the moonlight. For a moment he seems about to refuse again, but instead he reaches slowly into his doublet and pulls out the map.

“Thorin, no!” Balin grips his arm, but Thorin doesn’t take his gaze off Elrond as he steps forward to hand over his precious map.

Elrond unfolds it, handling the parchment with careful precision. “Erebor.” His brows meet at a sharp angle over his nose as he looks at Thorin. “What is your interest in this map?”

Before Thorin can open his mouth, Gandalf steps in. “It’s mainly academic. As you know, this sort of artefact sometimes contains hidden text.”

I’m not sure who he thinks he’s fooling, but Elrond is already moving away towards the back of the room and a large stained glass window. Thorin shoots Gandalf a grateful look.

“You still read ancient Dwarvish, do you not?” Gandalf asks as Elrond angles the map inside the cascade of moonlight.

“Cirth ithil,” he murmurs.

“Moon runes? Of course.” Gandalf glances at Bilbo. “An easy thing to miss.”

“Well in this case, that is true,” Elrond says. “Moon runes can only be read by the light of the moon of the same shape and season as the day on which they were written.”

That sounds unnecessarily complicated.

“Can you read them?” Thorin’s voice is unusually soft, a deep rumble that sends vibrations through the stone under my feet. 

Gesturing for them to follow, Elrond leads the way through the back of the hall to a narrow, rough-hewn passage in the rock. Water thunders in the distance, covering the sound of my boots on the tile as I creep after them.

Bilbo lags behind the others, pausing occasionally to take in some of the items in Elrond’s collection. He’s so close I could reach out and touch him. 

My toe catches on something solid, sending a stab of pain through my foot. I yelp, and Bilbo whirls, catching me before I can dive around a corner. His eyes and mouth open wide, and he glances over his shoulder towards the passage.

“What are you doing?” he hisses.

I shake my head, clutching my throbbing foot. “Nothing. I was just curious, that’s all.”

Gandalf’s voice echoes off the walls. “Bilbo?”

“Coming!” He offers me a hand and hoists me back into a crouch. A small smile eases the tension in my jaw as he releases my hand. “I won’t tell,” he says.

He turns to head through the hall. I steal after him, ducking behind a rocky protrusion as we emerge onto a wide ledge beneath a roaring waterfall. Bilbo angles himself in a way that conceals me from the others, but still allows me to see Elrond peering at the map.

“These runes were written on a mid-summer’s eve by the light of a crescent moon nearly two hundred years ago. It would seem you were meant to come to Rivendell.” Elrond lays the map gently on a stone slab near the water. “Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield. The same moon shines upon us tonight.”

As if on cue, the crescent moon emerges from behind a cloud, its light spilling onto the ledge and across the map. Thorin sidles closer to the map, still keeping a healthy distance between himself and Elrond. Bilbo tries to lean around Gandalf, and I shift position as much as I dare. A faint blue glow emanates from the parchment that definitely wasn’t there before.

“‘Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks,” Elrond reads, following the words with a finger, “and the setting sun with the last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the keyhole.’”

Bilbo looks at Balin. “Durin’s Day?”

“It is the start of the Dwarves’ new year,” Gandalf says. “When the last moon of Autumn and the first sun of Winter appear in the sky together.”

“This is ill news.” Thorin looks up at Balin, his troubled expression etched in silver. “Summer is passing, Durin’s Day will soon be upon us.”

Balin holds up a pacifying hand. “We still have time.”

“Time? For what?” Bilbo asks.

“To find the entrance,” Balin says. “We have to be standing at exactly the right spot at exactly the right time. Then, and only then, can the door be opened.”

I grimace as Elrond looks between Thorin and Balin. “So this is your purpose, to enter the mountain?” 

“What of it?” Thorin growls.

“There are some who would not deem it wise.” He holds out the map. Thorin snatches it from him, tucking it safely away.

“What do you mean?” Gandalf asks.

“You are not the only guardian to stand watch over Middle-earth.” Elrond gives Gandalf a long look before departing, leaving the four of us to stare at Gandalf in bewilderment.

*

The next day, after waking early to the gentle sounds of birdsong, trickling water and thirteen snoring Dwarves, Bilbo and I break away from the others to wander through Rivendell’s halls and gardens. Bilbo seems determined to absorb as much of the Hidden Valley as possible before we move on, and I’m content to accompany him because it means spending less time around Thorin. We don’t talk much, both content to walk in amiable silence and occasionally point something out—an interesting painting or a flower Bilbo has never encountered before. I don’t know much about flowers and even less about paintings, but it cheers me a little to listen to Bilbo talk about his garden and modest art collection at Bag End. 

After returning from last night’s meeting under the pretence of a nighttime stroll, I overheard Thorin explaining our new time constraints to the others. He said very little beyond that, and spent the rest of the night in a moody silence, puffing away at a pipe. I expected him to declare we were to leave Rivendell immediately and continue on, but so far he has said nothing of the sort. It’s unclear how the Dwarves will spend their time here, but I’m willing to bet they’ll find a way to disrupt the peace.

Time passes oddly in the Last Homely House—days feel like weeks, and a few hours is no time at all. I lose track of how long we’ve been in the valley by the second or third day, when Bilbo and I take our exploration to the cluster of grand halls higher up the cliff that house Lord Elrond’s extensive collection of relics.

Upon entering the first building, something immediately catches my eye. Golden light—the light is always golden here, no matter the time of day—streams through an intricate window that resembles the roots of a tree and spills across a sword. The sharp edges glitter so bright I’m tempted to shield my eyes. Something about the way the light catches the blade doesn’t seem right. I step closer to the sword, and my breath catches.

The blade is splintered into six fragments, each a jagged shard of broken metal. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen, and doesn’t seem like it should be possible. My hand hovers above the shard still attached to the sword’s hilt, pulled by some invisible force that seems beyond my control. 

A jolt shoots up my arm and I snatch my hand back. This broken blade has been touched by evil. The chill in my veins is one I have experienced too many times before in the presence of Daedric princes, and there’s no mistaking it. A cold lump settles in my stomach at the thought that the same evil could exist here.

I look around for Bilbo and find him examining a painting across the room. It depicts a soldier—human, from the looks of him—brandishing a glowing sword against a huge, faceless figure shrouded in darkness. The sword is broken, with just the hilt and a jagged portion of the blade remaining.

Shuddering, I turn away from the sword and the painting. Bilbo remains transfixed, staring at the painting.

“Bilbo?”

He doesn’t move, and I follow his gaze to a band of gold around the shadow figure’s forefinger. It’s such a small detail that I didn’t notice it. I touch his shoulder and he jumps as though he had forgotten I was there at all.

“Are you alright?” I ask. His eyes are wide and he’s blinking rapidly, as though breaking free of a nightmare.

“I—yes. Yes, fine.” He offers me a smile that’s almost convincing, and we continue on our way, following the hallway out onto a balcony bathed in the golden afternoon.

The whole valley spreads out below us, serene and perfect. Bilbo sighs happily as a light breeze ruffles my hair and sends up a fresh burst of perfume from the flowers. I lean my elbows on the railing and take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the sweet air.

Aside from the brief moment of unease just now, my mind has never been so still. I didn’t even think I was capable of being so completely at peace with myself and my surroundings—the magic that blankets this valley is powerful indeed. Even with the distant, looming threat of the Durin’s Day deadline and whatever awaits us inside the mountain, it’s difficult to feel anything but calm.

Perhaps that’s why Thorin has been unusually subdued of late, and it’s been days since I daydreamed about his demise. 

In the midst of my contemplation, Lord Elrond steps out onto the balcony through the doorway behind us. His approach was so silent that it completely escaped my notice, or else I was too consumed by my own musings. For once, though, my initial instinct isn’t to reach for the Blade. Aside from its nightly cleaning, I haven’t even thought about it since we arrived.

Elrond stops on Bilbo’s other side, looking between us with his usual air of light curiosity. “Not with your companions?”

Bilbo looks up at me, then smiles ruefully at our host. “I shan’t be missed.”

“They’re probably glad to be rid of me.” The bitterness in my own voice makes me cringe. Bilbo sends me a pitying glance, and I clamp my back teeth together.

“The truth is that most of them don’t think I should even be on this journey,” Bilbo tells Elrond.

Doubly so for me. I don’t say the words, but somehow I sense the Elf-lord hears them anyway. I won’t be at all surprised if he can read minds. The urge to cower from him and his ancient, fathomless eyes seizes me by the shoulders, practically yelling in my face to hide. 

Bilbo’s shoulder presses against to my arm as Elrond looks down at him. “Indeed? I’ve heard that Hobbits are very resilient.”

A chuckle, but Elrond’s expression is perfectly serious. “Really?”

Elrond nods. The sun catches in the silver band across his forehead, and the delicate engravings etched into its surface. “I have also heard they are fond of the comforts of home.”

“I’ve heard that it is unwise to seek the counsel of Elves, for they will answer both ‘yes’ and ’no’.”

A second after speaking, Bilbo’s body goes very still against my arm. Elrond says nothing for a long moment, and Bilbo trembles ever so slightly under his gaze. Then, the Elf-lord smiles.

“You are more than welcome to stay here, if that is your wish.” He lays a gentle hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. Bilbo manages to nod, and Elrond’s gaze finds mine. “You are unlike any Elf I have encountered in all my years. I sense the immense power in you. It is ancient, and beyond my understanding, but all magic can be used to accomplish great things.” 

The dragon within me stirs, raising its head to regard the Elf. The air between us shifts as something akin to an understanding forms between two eternal beings. Elrond’s head tilts, as though he also felt it.

“Seek to understand yourself, and your path will become clear. Though your homeland lies far from Middle-earth, we are still kin. You have a place here, should you choose it.” A strange light enters his eyes. “Though I sense your heart lies elsewhere.”    

I’ve forgotten how to breathe. My throat is so dry I can barely swallow. I feel as exposed as if I were standing atop the Throat of the World, my body and soul laid bare to the fierce wind.

Before I can drag up any kind of reply, Elrond walks away, leaving Bilbo and I to contemplate our futures.

*

Though we spend the rest of the day together, actively avoiding the Dwarves save for mealtimes, Bilbo and I exchange very few words. Around sunset, we stop to rest beside a still pond. Pink water lilies drift across the surface, and beneath them countless fish dart in and out of the shadows, iridescent scales flashing like tiny gemstones in the sun. I sit on a stone bench near the water’s edge to watch them. Bilbo wanders to a flowerbed along the border of the small garden and bends to examine the riot of coloured petals. The dreamy expression on his face hasn’t budged since Elrond extended the invitation for him to live in Rivendell.

It doesn’t take a genius to realise he’ll be happy staying here—certainly much happier than he could ever be in Thorin’s company. I almost wish he would accept the offer, even if that means continuing on without his steady companionship for the remainder of the journey to Erebor. At least here he’ll be safe, and he’ll feel like he belongs. I couldn’t wish for anything more for him.

As I watch the fish, Elrond’s words swirl around my head like a dog chasing its tail. What had he meant by saying my magic could accomplish great things? Aside from the inevitable encounter with the dragon waiting for us at the end of this journey, I plan never to use my magic again. That part of my life ended with Alduin. The only reason I agreed to go on this quest is the huge reward waiting in the vaults of Erebor.

It’s also the only reason Thorin Oakenshield still lives.

A shiver skitters across my shoulders. That moment of weakness in the Prancing Pony, when I decided not to end Thorin’s life as my contract demanded… Had Elrond somehow sensed all of that? Did he also notice the brewing regret and the thoughts of betrayal I’ve tried so hard to keep buried? If so, did he mean what he said as a warning?

I press my palms against my eyes, pushing out the brewing headache. The questions are never-ending, and the time I spend fretting over the answers is time wasted when I could be enjoying the evening’s peace.

Though no one has expressed the thought aloud, I could sense the restless energy amongst the Dwarves at dinner. They seem fully rested and ready to move on—perhaps as early as tomorrow. To spend these last few hours in Rivendell caught in my own turmoil would be a tremendous waste.

So I rise from the bench and cross over to Bilbo, crouching beside him on the springy grass. The perfume of the flowers is strong enough to make me dizzy, but I do my best to listen as Bilbo points out various clusters of plants with vibrant blue, orange and purple petals. When he’s finished, I straighten and offer him my elbow. It feels strange and silly, but my self-consciousness vanishes as Bilbo smiles and takes my arm.

 We continue our walk well into the night. Golden sunlight fades and gives way to brilliant silver moonlight. The air turns pleasantly cool, and the birds hand over the evening chorus to cicadas and crickets.

Soft glowing lanterns light our path, and we meander along the walkways and up and down staircases that I have come to know by heart. We pass the balcony where the Dwarves are gathered, and the air fills with their discordant laughter. Though it clashes horribly with the serenity of the night, I can’t help but feel a certain fondness for their noise beneath the urge to cringe.   

As we crest a staircase, Bilbo pauses to admire the moon. I lean against the wall beside him, tracing the convex outline with my eyes. The moon never fails to bring me peace—she is one of the few constants in my life, and has stuck by me through every ordeal. Part of me insists it’s silly to feel such a connection with something like the moon, but lonely nights spent camping out in the wilderness with unknown dangers lurking just out of sight are always made slightly more bearable by her comforting presence.

“Bryn always loved the moon.”

I sense Bilbo shift to look at me. “Bryn?” he asks.

“Someone I knew. A long time ago.” The words spill out of me from some deep recess inside me, and I can’t look at Bilbo as I say them. I keep my eyes on the moon, and breathe through the bittersweet ache in my chest. “We used to sit for hours and just watch her together. Being with him like that…it was like a rare moment of stillness when the rest of the world was in chaos.” I take a deep breath, filling my lungs with the sweet night air. “Being here in Rivendell reminds me of that feeling.”

Bilbo doesn’t move closer or attempt to comfort me, but stands quietly beside me, his head tipped back as moonlight spills over us. 

 “Of course I was going to tell you. I was waiting for this very chance. And really, I think you can trust that I know what I’m doing.”

Bilbo shifts, turning to follow the direction of the familiar voice. A long stone bridge spans a large pond to the left of us, far enough away that the shadows obscure us from view. Gandalf and Elrond stride side by side across the bridge, deep in conversation.

“Do you?” Elrond’s tone is almost scolding. “That dragon has slept for sixty years. What will happen if your plan should fail? If you wake that beast?”

“What if we succeed?” Gandalf asks. “If the Dwarves take back the mountain our defences in the east will be strengthened.”

Defences? Against what? I glance at Bilbo, and the shadowy figure from the painting flashes in my mind. 

“It is a dangerous move, Gandalf.”

“It is also dangerous to do nothing! The throne of Erebor is Thorin’s birthright.”

During this exchange, another presence enters my awareness. The commanding aura it gives off is unmistakeable, and immediately sets my teeth on edge.

The culprit lurks behind us in the shadows, the moonlight catching the silver in his hair. Thorin doesn’t look at me or Bilbo, but keeps his gaze fixed on Gandalf and Elrond as they continue across the bridge. 

“Have you forgotten?” Elrond turns to face Gandalf, lowering his voice. “A strain of madness runs deep in that family. His grandfather lost his mind. His father succumbed to the same sickness. Can you swear Thorin Oakenshield will not also fall?”

I peer at Thorin over my shoulder. Though nothing in his expression betrays his feelings, he raises his chin just a fraction, and cold fingers crawl across the back of my neck. 

“Gandalf, these decisions do not rest with us alone,” Elrond continues as they begin walking again, heading towards a set of spiralling stairs that will take them out of our eyeline. “It is not up to you or me to redraw the map of Middle-earth.”

“With or without our help, these Dwarves will march on the mountain,” Gandalf says. “They’re determined to reclaim their homeland. I do not believe Thorin Oakenshield feels that he is answerable to anyone.”

Their voices fade into silence as they vanish around a corner. Thorin remains still for a heartbeat, then turns and marches down the steps without acknowledging my or Bilbo’s presence. Without a word, he draws us after him like ripples in the wake of a ship.

We arrive to find the others already packed. They move quietly around the space, rolling up blankets and rechecking their bags. Balin gestures for us to do the same, urging us to hurry without uttering a word.

“What about Gandalf?” Bilbo asks in a hushed whisper as he knots the strings on his pack. “Isn’t he coming with us?”

Thorin speaks from the doorway. “He will meet us in the mountains when his business is done.” He looks around at his company, now on their feet and awaiting his orders. His eyes find me for a brief moment, and Elrond’s words replay in my mind: A strain of madness runs deep in that family.

Thorin’s gaze flits away, but the chill in my blood remains.

*

@bluelinkmp ; @moloko-tyan ; @inumorph ; @psychomanias

[valiantly-onward]

The Serpentine War Ch. 7

Chapter 7: The Alliance

It was going so well until the giant snake showed up.

The Anacondrai were on them in an instant. Maya’s raised shield met an Anacondrai sword with a clash! Ray tried to summon his fire again, but it didn’t respond. Only his instincts saved him from getting skewered. The loss of his katana crept back in, cold and fearful.

Then a battle cry erupted from behind. Ray chanced a look over his shoulder. There they were at last, the village defenders. Red masks were pulled over their noses, reminiscent of the ninja of days long past. Despite their disorganization and haphazard collection of old swords and spears, they never slowed.

The villagers crashed into a wave of violet. Metal clanged. Anacondrai roared. Ray found himself trapped in the middle. He tried to find an opening in the chaos, but he couldn’t shoot fire without hurting one of his own.

In his desperation, he thought he might have cried, “Maya!” Whether in his mind or out loud, the crashing of the battle drowned it out.

Then world slowed. A single Anacondrai sword cleaved the air over Ray’s head. He raised a hand, uncertain if fire would follow.

But the sword never dropped. Instead, as if yanked by an invisible rope, it flew straight up and soared away. The snake it belonged to was pulled along behind it. A cluster of Serpentine rose into the air and dropped again in a jumble.

Ray stared. “What the…”

Something swooped overhead; Ray ducked instinctively. He snapped back up, ready to fight, but it was no snake, no trick of the Serpentine. It was a man in a golden helmet, hovering in the air.

Lei’s wild laugh escaped the ruckus. She stepped out of the shadows to shake her fist at the flying man. “Dojin, you cut it close!”

“And you - behind you!” the man called back.

Lei spun to face a blue Serpentine and disappeared into the battle.

The Anacondrai ranks were reforming from Dojin’s attack. Before the nearest could rise, Ray shoved forward and slammed his boot into the warrior’s snout. He swiped up the Anacondrai’s fallen sword.

Woah. Ray allowed himself a millisecond to admire the craftsmanship of the weapon, even if he had no idea what it was made of. Each serrated edge had been formed with individual precision, needle-sharp and not at all brittle.

Maya appeared at Ray’s side again - she’d lost the shield, but she seemed alright. Many of the villagers lined up behind the two of them. Ray swung the sword in a wide berth to fend off the approaching Anacondrai. They were not frightened. Before he had the chance to defend again, they rushed forward.

Above, Master Dojin dove in again. He skimmed the top of the Ancondrai, swerving between their swords. He clawed at their snaky heads, pulled some off the ground with his strange power, and basically wreaked havoc. Ray’s hope spiked. They might actually have a chance. Together, they could win this!

Stupid giant snake.

The ground began to tremble. At first, Ray thought it was Serpentine reinforcements. And in a way it was. But it was worse than Anacondrai.

It curled around from the side of the mountain, crushing a section of village wall. A giant snake. A real snake, not a Serpentine. Its mighty maw opened larger than Ray’s whole body. Purple scales, darker than the Anacondrai’s, swept through the snow and rubble.

It reared its head in an “S” behind the floating Dojin, who was busy surveying the battle.

“Dojin!” Lei’s voice cried from somewhere unseen.

The man spun just in time for the serpent’s giant fang to pierce his shoulder.

Dojin did not scream. When the snake released him, he simply dropped from the sky and landed in a heap at the base of the fountain. His helmet clanged against the stone.

Ray wanted to push through the Serpentine, but they were too thick, too strong. Like fighting a stone wall.

Thankfully, he caught sight of Lei appearing in the shadow of the mountain face. She locked eyes with him across the square and shouted, “To the outer wall!” Then she and Dojin vanished.

Ray glanced to the side, where Maya was. She shot him a quick look, a determined look, and pushed forward.

The battle raged. Ray’s fear was long since evaporated. It was all instinct now, promising him life but not particularly caring if it was wrong. And he was getting tired. His Elemental energy seemed nearly spent.

Amazingly, the giant serpent seemed to retreat, as if its work with the old Elemental Master was its only purpose. An effective purpose - Ray and Maya were the only Masters left fighting. As the snake slid back around the mountain, the Serpentine renewed their attack with force. Villagers fell under the crushing might of the huge Anacondrai.

Maya kept fighting. Her expression was a fierce, fierce thing when she was angry. But Ray was used to the feeling of losing. He knew this battle couldn’t be won.

It wasn’t really his decision to make, but he made it anyway. “Retreat!” he called to the villagers.

It seemed they’d been waiting for the word. The line broke, and the villagers scattered. The snakes raised a cacophony hiss of triumph.

Only Maya remained. Her sight of the fountain was cut off and that seemed to be interfering with her powers. Smaller and smaller balls of water emerged from her fingers.

“Maya!” Ray shouted. “Let’s go!”

She threw more water. It sputtered.

“Maya!”

She dropped her hands with a frustrated yell, then turned on her heel and sprinted after him.

The Serpentine gave chase. Ray kept Maya and the villagers moving, but he had to turn and fend off the black snakes. A blade sliced his upper arm and he barely felt it.

As the warriors dropped away from Ray’s dying fire, he saw someone approaching through their lines. A regal green Serpentine with curling black markings, bearing a golden staff. Its slitted eyes landed on Ray.

Was this the leader, then? The commander of this forsaken battle? Ray wanted so badly to dive through the warriors and set fire to the creature. But he could see his death too clearly in that scenario. It took all his willpower, but he convinced himself to wait.

And run.

They reached the outer wall. Ray took one last look at the smoking buildings, and that green snake with the staff. Even from far away, it leered at him. Smiled to show its fangs.

Ray smiled back, baring his own teeth in challenge. This wasn’t over.

He would not rest until they were free from these monsters.

~~~

“Hold still.” Maya jerked Ray’s shoulder back. “Pouting won’t make it better.”

“I’m not pouting.”

“‘He said, while pouting’.”

This caused Ray to scowl. But he was quiet as Maya finished bandaging his arm.

Flying on dragonback was actually smoother than expected, but if three was a crowd, four was certainly pushing it. Maya had to lean over Ray’s shoulder to get a good angle, which did terrible things to his pulse.

He called to Lei against the wind. “Where did that big snake come from?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” She shifted the injured Master of Gravity - for that’s what he was - against her dragon’s neck. He wasn’t dead, but he might still be, if they didn’t hurry.

Ray leaned to the side to avoid Lei’s flapping braids. Below, Ninjago was just sand and rocks. Ahead, the ridge of the Echo Canyons rose above the dunes. Lei’s dragon dipped, ever so slightly, until Ray could see their destination: a small valley between two stone walls, not quite a canyon but a tier above one.

People below scattered for Lei to land. Maya slid off, then Ray and Lei with the Master of Gravity.

Ray surveyed the “valley.” A few worn tents stood between them and the rock walls. Ray noted half a dozen people, if that, looking back at him. Many sets of eyes were drawn to the Anacondrai sword in his hand. He hadn’t realized he was still holding it.

A man hurried toward them, wearing an armored wrap and a full beard Ray would’ve killed for. The wind tousled the man’s black hair.

Lei saw him immediately. “Lorin!”

“Lei.” The man reached them. “I thought you were defending Jamanakai Village.”

“Were,” Lei corrected. “Not anymore. Lorin - Dojin is hurt.”

“I’ll take him.” The man scooped up the Master of Gravity like he weighed nothing - which he probably didn’t. His brow deepened as he turned to Ray and Maya. “Fire and Water, I take it?”

“Yes,” Ray said for both of them.

“I am Lorin, the Master of Earth.” He offered them his free hand. Pleased, Ray shook it, and Maya did the same.

“Lorin,” Lei interjected. “Where’s Wu?”

“Command tent.” He jerked his head toward one of the tents, slightly bigger than the others. “Go. I’ll come when I’ve taken care of our friend here.”

He jogged off with Dojin. Lei guided them toward the command tent. The other Masters followed - Ray assumed that’s who they were. A blonde woman in a long blue coat and boots. A short, mustached man with a fez and green vest. A pair of identical men wearing red full-body armor. What a varied, jumbled lot.

They ducked under the tent flap. Sure enough, there was Master Wu. Amazingly, his staff was away from his hands, leaning against the tent wall. He and an old man in blue robes leaned over a table of maps.

Wu looked up as they entered. “Master of Shadow. Ray, Maya - what are you doing here?”

“Jamanakai Village is lost,” Lei announced. She bowed her head. “I - I’m sorry.”

Wu’s gaze fell low, his eyes shadowed by the dim candlelight. “Dojin. I sent him-”

Lei nodded in confirmation. “He was injured, but he’ll be okay, with luck.”

“And the villagers?”

“Most of them escaped. Not all.”

No one spoke for a long moment.

Ray couldn’t stand the silence. He slammed the table with his palms. “So what? Jamanakai’s gone, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still stop the Serpentine. So what’s next? What do we do now?”

“Well said, Master of Fire,” replied the old man. He looked at Wu. “This does change things. We believed the Serpentine would abandon the effort to move through the Canyons if they could not obtain Jamanakai Village. Now that they have possession, we will likely be facing a war on two fronts. One will be here. The other will be their contingency route, which we have yet to find.”

“I see only one path.” Wu laid a finger on a map. “The direct way from the sands, south of the western Sea of Sand and the mountains. There is a pass here that will give them direct access to the majority of our lands. Ray, did you see Anacondrai?”

Ray started, surprised to be called on. “Yeah, we did.”

“Not many,” Lei added. “Only half a battalion. But that was enough.”

Wu nodded his agreement. He pointed at the brown smudge on the map that indicated the Echo Canyons. “Then of the half moving this way, few are Anacondrai. So the rest of the Anacondrai must be somewhere else. If we can stop them before they reach the pass, we may be able to push back.”

“Master Wu,” a voice rumbled from behind Ray. This was Lorin, who must’ve arrived while they’d been talking. His face was a mask of concern. “There is town in those hills, not far from the pass. My hometown. The Serpentine will have to move through it. We must defend it.”

“So we shall,” Wu promised. He straightened before the gathered Alliance. “It is decided. Five of us will remain here in the Canyons. The rest will go with Lorin and head off the Serpentine. Make haste, my friends.”

@greenygreenland

[skywillsometimeswrite]

Pieces of Glass Ch. 1

Read it on AO3

The Angry-Comforting Mother

Scar knew his "magic crystals" were absolutely worthless, just shards of glass he spent way too much time making look good so he could really sell the wizard vibe he was going for this season. The whole thing annoyed Grian, too, so that was an added bonus. It was fun, and Scar didn't really care if Grian didn't play along with his magic bit as easily as some of the other hermits. What Scar wasn't prepared for, though, was finding out that Grian was a huge hypocrite, and the wings that appeared on his back are a dead giveaway. 

Grian: you ready dude?

The beep from his communicator made him jump, causing him to drop the diamond helmet he had been enchanting. He flinched at the loud clang it made against the floor before picking it up again, looking closer at the small glowing runes etched into it. His Galactic was getting better, he figured, since he was able to recognize when the useful enchants were placed on his gear. None of which were on this helmet. He shrugged and fitted it on top of his wizard hat before pulling out his communicator to reply.

GoodTimeWithScar: You bet! Let’s go get ourselves some wings!

iskall85: you two are going into the end? alone? you guys are so going to die.

Grian: no way. not until i have an elytra in my enderchest

Grian: then i can die

GoodTimeWithScar: I’d rather avoid dying as much as possible.

ZombieCleo: can’t wait to see how that goes for you scar

Grian: im outside larry

Sure enough he heard a rock land on the ground next to him, thrown in from his doorway -- that was missing his door, for some reason -- and when he looked over the edge of the ladder he saw the iconic red sweater underneath the diamond armor. He didn’t understand how Grian could wear that in the jungle, when it was always so hot and humid. Scar was uncomfortable as it was, and he wasn’t even wearing pants! At least, he didn’t, most of the time. The armor was not making him sweat any less over his robe, though.

He quickly scurried down the ladder, jumping the rest of the way onto the slime blocks below to greet Grian with a smile. “Hello!”

“Hey Scar. You ready for this?”’

“Yes! Dude, I miss my wings so much.” Grian chuckled in agreeance and pulled out his communicator, presumably to look up the coordinates for the Stronghold. Then Scar remembered: “Oh, before we go, I prepared these for us.”

He handed Grian three small crystals: one green, one red, and one a pale orange. Grian held them in his unoccupied hand, staring at them with a confused glint in his eyes. He looked at them closer, testing how the light reflected off them, then looked at Scar unimpressed. “Bits of glass?”

“What? No! They’re magic crystals!”

“Dude, these are just shards of glass you sanded down. Great craftsmanship, but, like, these are totally worthless.”

“No they’re not. They’re- they’re magic! See, the red one gives you a health boost, the green one gives a little extra luck, and then the orange one-”

“Just sits uselessly in my inventory taking up valuable end-loot space? Yeah, thanks, but no thanks, dude.” He tossed the crystals back to Scar who scrambled to catch them midair before starting to walk away.

“W-Wait! They’ll be helpful!” He caught up to walk side by side with his friend, holding out the shards to him again. “Come on, Grian, trust your friendly neighborhood wizard, huh? The End’s a dangerous place and we can’t fly to get around yet so we could use all the help we can get, right?”

Grian gave one last look at the “crystals,” then to the man trying to scam him out of inventory space. Scar was giving him that look. That “I can do no wrong and I will win everyone over in the end” look that Scar had realized worked just as well on Grian as it had on Cub and Doc in the past. With a long sigh and an overdramatic groan he took the glass shards from the wizard. “Fine. But if I run out of room these are the first things getting tossed into the void.”

Grian led them to the stronghold, having gotten the coordinates from Xisuma after he had ventured in with Tango a few days ago. They made idle chat, Scar pointing out little observations, but their trek was mostly silent as Grian was focused on making sure they didn’t get turned around in an extraordinarily unremarkable section of the jungle with no orienting landmarks other than trees, trees, and more trees.

After guiding them through the greenery, a boat ride, and getting only a little turned around in the Stronghold, they stood above the end portal. Scar did one last check through his inventory, making sure he had his water bucket, a pumpkin, some food, and, of course, his magical crystals. Satisfied with his preparedness he looked over at Grian, opening his mouth to ask if he was ready to go, but he stopped when he saw the other man’s glare that looked like he was trying to rip the portal into atoms with his mind.

“Uh, if you stare into it for too long you’ll get dizzy.” Scar offered, noticing how Grian’s glare only faltered when he blinked, morphing into one of poorly hidden concern. “Everything alright?”

“Uh, yeah. Of course it is.” The smile Grian gave was strained and he didn’t look Scar in the eyes as he spoke, glancing between the spot behind him and the portal. “Are we certain that the dragon’s already been killed?”

“I don’t see any reason it wouldn’t be. Usually if the portal’s activated it means one of the hermits have already gone in.” He paused for a second, but when Grian’s concern didn’t fade he followed up: “That means the dragon’s been defeated, yes.”

“That’s good.” Silence dragged on between them for a few awkward moments before Grian decided to elaborate on that. “W-We don’t have to deal with that, I mean. It’s good we don’t have to deal with that.”

Scar rested a hand on Grian’s armorer shoulder, looking down at him with what he hoped was a gentle, comforting look. “It’s okay to be scared of the End, Grian. It’s a scary place! But that’s why none of us ever go in alone. We watch each other’s backs. And I’ll watch yours with all of my magical ability.” He placed his other hand on his own chest, standing proudly and attempting to fill the other man with his own confidence.

Grian’s eyes grew distant at Scar’s words, their dark color glassing over in a way Scar had never seen before, but it was gone almost as quickly as it appeared. Grian gave Scar a small smile, it much less forced than his previous one. “Yeah, you guys are cool like that. Come on, let’s not waste any more time. We have wings to find and flying to be done.”  The small hermit’s grin was wide as he gripped Scar’s arm with a firm hand and pulled them both into the starry, inky blackness awaiting them.

Scar wasn’t foreign to the feeling of being transported to the End, the strange tingling, numbing feeling that came with travelling beyond the overworld. It wasn’t like transporting to the Nether, which felt like weights were dropped onto your shoulders and took some time to get used to again if you hadn’t experienced it for longer than a week.  The End didn’t feel kinder than the Nether, per se, but it was calmer, at least until you saw the endless void below you that would swallow you and your items up if you made one misstep.

This time, though, as Scar materialized into the dimension he almost believed he stepped into the wrong portal, as an unfamiliar feeling covered him. It pulled at his hair and flowed underneath his armor and circled around his arms. He wasn’t alarmed by it, entranced more than anything, and he felt whatever it was slip down his arms and off the tips of his fingers, leaving him almost reaching for it, as soon as Grian appeared at his side.

Scar stood there, staring dangerously towards the main island from the platform they were on, and tried to wrap his mind around what had just happened. A hand waving in front of his face snapped him out of his trance, his eyes blinking furiously to return the moisture they desperately lacked. He rubbed at them with his hands for a moment but then looked at them and tried to imagine the feeling wrapping itself around his fingers again.

“Scar? Dude? You good?”

Grian’s higher pitched voice was like a needle popping the balloon of dense fog that had surrounded Scar’s thoughts. He blinked a few more times, shaking his head, and looking down at his friend whose hand was still lingering in the air.

“Yeah. I’m fine. Guess it's been longer than I thought since I was in the End. Caught me off guard, that’s all.” Scar rubbed the back of his neck, patting the hairs down that were still raised.

Grian narrowed his eyes at Scar for a brief moment, as if to deduce if he was lying, before letting out what he hoped was a sigh of relief. Grian turned to face the main island, shoving a pumpkin over his head, and made his way across the rickety path that Tango and Xisuma had made. Scar wordlessly followed behind and paid special attention to where his feet landed.

Hours passed by them, friendly banter was shared, but they were getting tired. Grian all but pushed Scar into building the next bridge, and he carefully placed cobblestone slab one after the other. The mindless task he had done several times in the span of the last few hours left his mind to wander. And it wandered right back to the feeling he had when he entered the dimension. He wanted to know what it was. He had experience with stuff like the Vex in the past, but it had felt nothing like the overwhelming surge of power that he had come to know with that magic.

This had felt gentle, yet purposeful. Powerful, but cradling. It was like a mother’s hug when comforting a guilty child for breaking her favorite vase because they had played baseball inside when she had told them not to. It was unwarranted, unexpected, yet it was comforting, but foreboding because you didn’t know how long it would last or when it would change, if it would change. Scar knew, deep down, he should be terrified, but he could only find intrigue in it all.

“Scar.” Grian’s quiet voice once again grounded him, Scar was noticing this trend, and he looked up only to feel his heart stop in his chest. He was standing on a lone slab that was disconnected from the rest of his bridge. Grian stood on the rest of the bridge, pickaxe in hand and mischievous grin on his face.

“Oh geez! No, no!” Scar yelped, placing down some more blocks in his white-knuckled grasp. The devilish snickers from the other made a smile creep on his face, and when he looked up he saw the path repaired. “Y’know, I’m a magic man, but I’m not that magic.”

They returned to silence again, it comfortably hanging over them. Scar stood up from his hunched position to stretch his back, and felt his stomach twist at the drop that awaited them without the bridge. He glanced over at Grian, the other man lazily staring at the cobblestone beneath him.

“Do you have your lucky crystal on you?” Grian’s eyes shot up to meet Scar’s and his hand rummaged in his pocket until he pulled out the shards of glass that he had given him earlier. Scar smiled and went back to his bridging. “Thank god, I was worried that-” A green glint of color sped past the corner of his vision and his eyes followed it as it fell into the void below, face contorting in what he could only assume was comical fear by the way Grian laughed at him. “No! Dude! That was magic, man! You just brought bad luck upon us!”

“No, no, no. We’ll be fine. What could possibly go wrong?”

Scar’s grips on his blocks tightened at that, something itching at the back of his mind and making his nose wiggle. “At least- At least hold the health one.” He told him, exasperated, as he shook off his uncertainty.

“Okay,” was the simple response he got, and before he could utter a thanks he spotted a red dash fly near him.

He knew it was just glass. He knew that, realistically, they didn’t actually do anything. It was all a bit. A little bit of fun annoying Grian by insisting that these shards of glass actually had magical properties. 

And yet he still reached out to grab it.

Something told him to.

Something told him not to let it fall into the void below him.

That something left him as soon as his hand wrapped around the red shard, and his feet slipped from the platform.

“Scar-!” was the last thing he heard before the rushing wind invaded his senses and whatever had come over Scar was ripped away as he felt nothing beneath him. He managed to spin and look up at the quickly retracting bridge he had just spent the last few minutes building so this very thing wouldn’t happen.

“Grian! Help!” He didn’t even hear his own useless, panic laced cries as he quickly fell away from the sound towards his painful death. He knew Grian couldn’t do anything. They hadn’t found an elytra yet. Grian was just as helpless as he was in this situation.

Scar gripped the crystal to his chest, wishing it had been the green one instead, and shut his eyes, bracing himself for the suffocating feeling of dying in the void. Why did Grian have to throw away the glass? Why did he have to try and catch it? Why couldn’t he have let it fall? They were useless, anyways. They wouldn’t save him now.

Against the encroaching darkness that was consuming him, a bright yellow light managed to make it’s way past his eyelids. He cracked one eye open but opened both as he saw something shining a bright golden color right behind his now faraway bridge. He distantly felt the feeling of the calm-angry mother tugging at the crystal in his hands.

Something was falling off the bridge now, towards him. It was falling incredibly fast and was incredibly big, and it took Scar way too long to realize that it was his fellow Hermit. Panic spread through his body tenfold at this realization. No! He thought. Both of us don’t need to die! As Grian got closer and closer to Scar at speeds that didn’t make sense, Scar noticed that the other’s back was… glowing?

Before he could make any sense of this observation, the faux wizard felt the breath in his lungs ripped from him, leaving him gasping painfully. He shut his tearing eyes against the pain that blossomed in his chest, and attempted to curl in on himself. His mind was overwhelmed with his own near death, that he completely forgot about Grian’s impending one.

It would be painful, much more than it was now, and long, but at least he would have an excuse to lay in bed for a few days while his internal wounds healed. That was the worst part of dying to the void, how it killed you from the inside out. That and that there was no way to retrieve what you lost. He would have to get all his good gear back, but he was used to that. He distantly realized he would have to come back, unfortunately, and most likely soon if he was going to get an elytra.

It felt like he was being stabbed through the throat, chest, and stomach all at once with a barbed, poison-tipped blade. Part of him wondered if his health boost crystal was actually working and prolonging his pain by healing him. It didn’t really matter, he didn’t think he could get his hands to let go of it at this point if he wanted to.

Next thing he knew, what little breath he had left was knocked out of him and a firm warmth surrounded him. Huh, well that’s new. The weightlessness that he had been experiencing had disappeared and a nauseating feeling flipped his stomach as he coughed up his lung trying to breath again. Have I already respawned?

Scar slowly opened his eyes only to be greeted with red, not the comforting purple and brown of his bed in Larry’s shell. He figured that the air was still as thin as it was in the End, because he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. He was pressed up against the soft, red whatever, and the hand not holding the crystal gripped it weakly. 

As soon as it felt as if he was finally breathing comfortably again, the air was knocked from him for the third time in what he could only assume was the last ten seconds. He rolled away from whatever he had been by, his armor no doubt denting at the way he bounced along the hard endstone. When he came to a stop he simply stared up at the void-sky and decided to focus on the chorus flowers instead. It took yet more coughing and shaky breaths before he was breathing easily and Scar finally processed what had just happened. Or rather the fact that he had absolutely no idea what had just happened. 

He had just been falling, hadn’t he? He had just been falling, with no elytra, into the void after he basically jumped in after a useless piece of stained glass that his end busting partner, who also had no elytra, had thrown. He had felt himself dying in the void. He knew he had. And yet here he was, lying on the uncomfortable, uneven endstone.

He groaned and slowly propped himself up on his elbows, making a note that he was indeed still holding the red glass in his hand so at least that venture hadn’t been in vain. His head spun at the new orientation but it didn’t last long and he was scanning his surroundings. He spotted the narrow cobble bridge he had built but felt his heart stop when he saw no red-sweater clad, crystal throwing Hermit standing on it. “Grian?” He rasped, his throat raw, as panic started to seep into him.

A groan from his left caught his attention and his head snapped over to look at the culprit and gaped. Propped up on his hands a few blocks away was the familiar, unmistakable features of Grian: red sweater, blonde hair, short stature. Scar wasn’t occupied with the fact that his friend was there completely fine, no that was normal, what wasn’t normal was the giant golden feathered wings that sprouted from the small hermit’s back.

Scar’s near death experience was completely forgotten, and he felt what was becoming a familiar sensation tug at the back of his collar when he began connecting pieces without fully understanding how they fit together. Grian was the only other hermit here, and he was clearly the one in front of him. It was undeniable and yet completely unbelievable. Scar had been presumably carried by something red and warm back up to the island he was laying on now from at least 100 meters below it. Grian had a red sweater, was definitely strong enough to carry the twig that was Scar, and had gigantic wings that looked more than capable of making the treacherous journey from death.

The other pushed himself up to sit on his knees and his eyes slowly opened. Scar made a strangled noise as he noticed the white glow that faded from them and returned them to their usual dark brown.

Grian’s head snapped over to him. “Scar! Oh my god, Scar are you okay?” His voice was echoing with worry. Literally. There was a reverb to it that garbled his words. Grian must have noticed this since he slapped a hand over his mouth.

“I…” Scar didn’t have words, his mouth dry and mind too blank to think of closing it. He blinked. “Yeah.” He said lamely, his voice pitched three octaves to high.

Silence covered them as Grian seemed hesitant to speak and Scar was still wrapping his mind around everything. Why did Grian have wings? Why had Grian’s eyes been glowing? Why did his voice sound like that? Was all of this actually normal? Did Scar just not see Grian nearly enough during last season to know this about him?

“Uh,” Grian mumbled behind his hand, shoulders falling from his ears when it didn’t come out like a bad feedback loop.

“So,” Scar tacked on, finally closing his mouth. He tried to think of a proper way to go about this but his brain was apparently still fried since all he managed was: “What just happened?”

“I don’t know!” Grian quickly responded, throwing his arms up in the air above him.

“You have wings?”

“I just saw you falling and-”

“Is this normal for you?”

“No! Well, I mean, I guess I panicked and-”

“Why were your eyes glowing?”

“My eyes were what?” Grian’s voice matched Scar’s in a panicked pitch. He sat up on his knees, patting the sides of his head.

“They were glowing. They aren’t anymore though.” Scar quickly reassured him, sitting cross legged and facing him. They shared a staring contest of sorts, Scar searching for answers and Grian’s expression providing none. “So, wings, huh?”

Grian sat up straighter, head swiveling to look behind him at the appendages that were attached to his back. Scar couldn’t see his face from the angle, but the way he hesitated when reaching back to touch them and how he flinched back when he barely grazed the feathers made him wonder if they hurt. Grian had gotten as close as Scar had been to the void, after all. Scar flipped the red glass in his hand, almost offering it to the other as a way to lighten the mood, but stopped when he remembered it was these stupid things that caused this whole ordeal in the first place. Grian turned away from his wings, hands curled up in his lap. He stared at the endstone and Scar glanced between it and Grian, trying to find whatever it was the other was looking for. He didn’t find it, though, because Grian stood up and offered a hand to help Scar up.

They both seemed shaky as Scar stood, and Grian made sure he didn’t fall as soon as he was on his own two feet again. Looking down at Grian, his wings didn’t look nearly as big. He wondered if they had shrunk or if it had been perspective the entire time. He also noted that the golden color they had been had dulled significantly to a pale yellow.

“Do you think you can make it back home without falling off another bridge?” Grian asked quietly, a steadying hand still on Scar’s arm as he looked up at him with concern.

“Uh,” Now that Scar was standing, and attention had been dragged away from Grian’s sudden transformation, the weight of what had nearly happened hit him like a falling anvil. His chest and throat still burned, his head pounded with a headache right behind his eyes, and his stomach felt like it was sloshing around inside of him. The hand that held the “crystal” was beginning to cramp and he wiggled the glass into a pocket on his robe under his armor. He took a deep breath in from his nose and let any remaining tension in his body fade and gave Grian as reassuring of a smile as he could manage. “Yeah, I think I’ll be fine.”

Grian looked relieved, giving him a nod. “Good, then you head back.”

“What about you?”

Grian walked back out onto the bridge that Scar had built what felt like hours ago and looked down at it, pulling out some blocks from his inventory. “I’m gonna keep going and see if I can find anything.”

“What? Alone? Grian, there’s a reason we use the buddy system. Heck, you just proved why-”

“Scar, it’s fine. I’ll be fine. You go rest, okay?” Scar opened his mouth to protest but Grian didn’t let him. “I need some time to think, anyways. May as well try and get something out of it in the process.” Scar still wasn’t convinced. He gave Grian a hard stare and watched as the younger man sank in on himself under the scrutiny. He looked down and then back up at Scar, a pleading look in his eyes, and spoke with a quiet voice. “Please, Scar. I’ll be fine.”

Scar gave him the same look he had given Cub and Doc countless times last season when they were working too hard, but gave up when the effort made his headache pound and he brought a hand up to rub his temples. He sighed. “Alright, okay, I’ll go home. But you better come see me the second you get back, okay?”

Grian stood up a little straighter, seeming surprised that Scar had agreed. “Okay, Scar, I will.”

Scar turned around the way they came and found the bridge that they had made to get to the current island. He carefully made his way across it and many others as he trekked back to the portal home. He tried putting a pumpkin over his head as an extra safety measure but decided he would risk the angry endermen instead when squinting through the face of the halloween decoration made his headache worse. He kept his tired eyes on the ground for the most part anyways. Who knew that nearly dying in the void was just as tiring as actually dying in the void?

Before long his feet splashed in water and he risked looking up, smiling happily as he spotted the bedrock circle that would drop him right back into his comfy bed in Larry’s shell. He let himself fall into the portal, embracing the numbness that came with it until he was on top of the purple blanket that he so desperately wanted to curl up in. He had enough of a conscience left to shrug his armor off and even take his robe off, haphazardly throwing it somewhere on the floor. Not waiting a second longer, Scar snuggled up into the soft wool of his bed and drifted to sleep.

[lo-55]

Revel Ch. 5

Itinerant Spouces                     

 Tori sat with him in the garden two days later.

 It was only partially food themed, will lollipop trees and spun sugar bushes, but the rest of the world was green plants and sweet berries. They fit neatly into the gazebo that had been built outside, painted white and inside was a small table, elevated on glass. They had lemonade,  and straws so Katakuri wouldn’t have to bother with his scarf or his insecurities.

 He was still quiet, but he answered when Tori posed questions and went along with what she might have said.

 She had been quieter since the night on the beach, but not by much. Tori had practiced for years to get used to talking to people. Before she had always ended up telling people a hundred times too much for their acquaintance, or rambling on about things that no one besides her really cared about.

 She was better about it here, but Katakuri made her nervous sometimes. He didn’t react much, but as Tori figured if he was truly bored with her he would just walk away or tune her out.

 A soft wind blew and tousled her hair, pinned tightly against against her skull before it fell in waves down her back. In the summer sun it lightened minutely and the circlet gleamed silver in the sunlight. In the back it changed from twining strips of metal to blossoms of fine gems into hollyhocks of blues, violets, and reds. Her gown was simple, for her in any case, and formed well to her as it fell pleated across her in a violet wave that set off the blue of her eyes.

 Her sandaled feet crossed beneath the long skirts. One day, she would put on jeans and run around. For now, she maintained her propriety.

 For once, it was Katakuri who broke their small silence. “What were you doing the other night?” he asked. “I didn’t know there was a water devil fruit.”

 They made quite the pair. A mirror of opposites, for Katakuri wore his spiked leather and his covered mouth and held himself with a warriors set, and Tori sat in fine georgette with her smile as her only visible armor.

 A woman's courtesies were her weapons, her first etiquette teacher had told her once. Her mother had dismissed her a mere week after and replaced her with a woman who taught Tori to aim for the eyes and use her hair pins to her advantage.

 She was also the first one to teach Tori about haki, and Tori had taken those lessons and run with them.

 Haki was so strange.

 It was in everyone, and everyone could use it, but so few trained to. And among those that did, nearly none of them pushed it to be what it could. They were contented with merely sensing who was around and darkening their skin. But the endless possibilities for haki users and the potential shot right over their heads.

 It drove Tori insane.

 So she did. She pushed it. She had little talents for kenbunshoku, mantra, observation haki or whatever other words there were for it. She could use it, but not to extent that she knew was possible.

 It was busoshoku where she excelled. For someone with soft skin that would never scar, she had an armor that was just as useful as a sweet smile. Haki was, of course, what she had used to move the water. To create a bubble around herself.

 “There isn’t one. It was busoshoku haki,” she told him. “I saw a man once use it to push at a distance. And so I taught myself to do the same.”

 It was the truth. Years and years ago she had seen Sentomaru use it against Luffy, twenty years in the future (give or take), and though it had taken her years she had eventually replicated the technique on her own. No one else knew what she could do, not even her handmaidens.

 Except, now, Katakuri.

 “You taught yourself?” he leaned his head down towards her, a strange light in his eyes that made Tori feel warm.

 Tori inclined her head. “Yes,” she confirmed, feeling just a smidgen of pride. She tried to squash it quickly. Pride would only lead to a  fall, and to the ledge of failure.

 “I didn’t know.”

 Sometimes Tori was reminded of just how little Katakuri spoke, and how awkward all of the Charlotte siblings were. Quirky and strange, and not very well adjusted. How much of it was being raised in the new world and how much of it was from their mother?

 Tori would not be asking any time soon.

 She didn’t know his siblings particularly well. None of them had visited since the wedding, but if she recalled correctly Katakuri was close with Brulee. She lifted her eyes up to him, an idea spinning into place.

 “When we go to Imperia,” she said suddenly, “You should invite Brulee to come with us.”

 “Brulee?” surprise registered in his red eyes.

 “Yes. I didn’t speak much with her, but she seemed sweet,” which was true, if not a little… strange. And Tori didn’t want Katakuri to feel completely out of place, or alone in her homeland. He was her husband, and she would do what she could for him. This included.

 “I’ll ask her to come,” Katakuri agreed. His eyes curved ever so slightly and if Tori didn’t know better she would have thought he was smiling. “If you can use haki, are you a warrior then?”

 Tori shook her head regretfully, sending a few small strands of hair falling against her delicate cheeks, dusted with pink. She brushed them away carefully, minding that none got caught in her flower printed lips.

 “No,” she confessed, “My sister is the fighter. She’s strong, and fast, and clever. I’m afraid that I’m just pretty.”

 Katakuri sat straighter. “You not      just    pretty.”

 Tori wasn’t sure which one of them was more surprised by him. Katakuri, by complimenting her, or Tori. It was something that no one had ever told her before. Not her father, not her siblings, not any of the man that had tried to win her favor and her crown.

     Beautiful,     they said      , stunning. Unparallelled. Enrapturing.  Enamoring. The Lady Moon set upon the earth.  

 Yet.

     Yet    here was Katakuri, her husband, who had her hand and her crown and owed her no flowery words or even any effort, telling her that she was not      just    pretty.

 There was a flash of red behind his scarf before he dropped his chin further in.

 “I’ll call Brulee,” he said abruptly. And left, just like that, leaving Tori sitting in the sun that slanted through the open sides, watching him go.

 Tori was grateful.

 In the months she had spent away from her homeland, little had changed. The ports were still bustling, vibrant and bright. It echoed and sang with the voices of her people, accented with a tongue half forgotten. They were forbidden, by the Celestial Dragons, to speak in the voices of their ancestors, but the flow of words still remained and though everyone would deny it to their dying day most still practiced it behind the closed doors of their homes.

 Tori breathed in the sea-salt air, the thick fragrance of lavender, lacquer and the sweet wind of home. Komugi was nice, in its own ways, but it was not her home. It was here that she was finally free of the eternal watch of the Homie’s, and the weight of their gaze faded from her shoulders as they came into port.

 It came with a sense of freedom that she had nearly forgotten. She had had so little, and what she did have she treasured.

 Imperia stretched out before them, green and vast. It’s the largest of all the islands of the archipelago, distinct by the two mountain peaks that reached their snow-gleaning summits into the sky above. Blossoming between them, visible even from the coast, was Veleia.

 A massive castle that sat dead center between the twin peaks of Fratello and Sorella, the brother and sister. Between them grew the capital city, and in it the sprawling palace. The towers stretched to the sky, the highest on the left and the smallest on the right, descending in turn.

 Veleia got its name from those towers, shaped like a sail  on a ship.

 It was the biggest castle in their archipelago, and the biggest city in equal measures. It had been Tori’s childhood playground, and it was still her brother and sisters home. One day she would return to it, and the spider-silk throne that lay within.

 They coasted into the port, coming to a halt. The harbor master and a troop of Gemma’s soldiers were there to help tie them down and escort them. The big ship that they took into the Bay of Stars, docked at Panarea. Large ships were not permitted into the bay itself, they had to be docked at Panarea, or Urbino and traded for smaller vessels that would bring one further inland. In the winter months those small boats, sloops mostly and flat barges, would take her up the river to Veleia. In the summer she and the rest of the court came to Casale Alto, the last castle before they entered the Breach.

 Tori and her handmaidens moved swiftly from the four masted barque that flew Big Moms jolly roger proudly, out onto the docks. They crossed the shoal, thick grey stone that rose from the seafloor and came near making the Bay of Stars a lake when low tide set in. It kept the bay safe from invasions, and anyone who didn’t know it was there ran the risk of destroying their ship on their way in. Lined outside of it were clippers and schooners that flew the Imperian flag. Two towers, one black and one red, and an eclipse hanging in the sky between them. Rather plain, Tori would have personally preferred an animal. Like a direwolf, or a dragon, or something else like that.

 A quetzalcoatlus. A giant goldfish.

 But, an eclipse wasn’t so bad.

 Tori stepped up onto the sloop first, holding her balance carefully. Her boots were low heeled , and hidden by her long skirts, the deep blue of the sea. The ship dipped beneath the weight of her husband and his sister, who was at least more of the size of her people.

 Katakuri was still the largest human being on the island. He would be forced to duck and dodge doorframes the entire visit. Tori was thankful it was only he and his sister, and not their mother who was coming along.

 According to their traditions, the ones of Imperia, a bride would visit home within a certain frame of time, two weeks, typically, though as they had gone quit far away that time had been extended. To ease any fears of the parents, and to prove that the couple could get along travelling , and that things were well and their union was strong.

     Ours is hardly a union at all,     Tori thought to herself. She would not share such thoughts out loud, but still the words from their nights whispered themselves through her ears, warring for her attention.

     You’re not just pretty.  

     Mama told me to.  

 Tori tapped her fingers against her side, forcing herself to stand tall at the prow of the ship. As soon as everyone was aboard they were pushed off of the shoal and sent coasting forwards with the wind in the sails that bore the twin banners, the pirates Jolly Roger and her own eclipsed castle.  The warm coastal winds pushed them forwards, across the Bay of Stars, its waves glittering in the sunlight, and unto the Breach. Where the land on either side north and south of the Bay came together, almost touching, before opening once more, the Breach was an extension of a bay that stretched far into Imperia, forming a gulf that lead in from the bay.  Here the water was warmer, pushed in by strong ocean currents that flowed across the shoal, and bringing with them all manner of fish.

 In the middle of the Breach, which lead almost all the way up to Tori’s home, sat an island. Ischia was a small dollop of land in the center of the Breach, bit enough to hold the city of Trajan, her castle, and world renowned hot springs that left the island constantly steaming like a cup of tea. Small fishing villages also dotted her shoreline, white buildings with red, green, and orange stucco roofs. As they drew further inland the sounds of Imperia rose around them.

 Bird song, and the deeper prowl of wind that passed through trees. Far off the sound of cities, merely a dull chatter of people and animals going along their lives. If Tori listened very closely she could hear the Greenmen singing in the trees.

 Steadily, as they drew nearer to the edge of the Breach, where it was fed by the mouth of the Logula river, people began to appear at the edge of the forests that surrounded them. They dotted the rising cliffs that lifted higher and higher the further inland they went, all out to see their beautiful princess and her strange new husband.

 As they grew closer to the river water grew rougher and the boat pitched side to side.

 The river came rushing down the steep inclines of the mountains and it took four men on each side to catch thick cables  from the shoreline and attach them to the ship. Thick hooks caught on specially made clasps that attached to their sloops. They pulled taut on either side of the boat until Tori and her entourage were being pulled straight up the river. The Logula was as close to being straight as any river ever was, and was so steep it was more like a water fall. Tori ushered Brulee off to the side of the cabin and showed her the ropes to hold onto at they were wenched forwards. The thick cables pulled them forwards and the wind pushed them along. Tori let the fresh water spray across her skin from the side of the boat. It shook when it struck white water and strained against the cables.

 Katakuri stood beside them, surefooted, but that didn’t stop Tori from reaching out and grasping his hand when the water got rougher. Just in case. It was warm and calloused in her own and though he didn’t pay her much mind he didn’t pull away either.

 The Logula was always the roughest part of the journey, and the one that felt like it was the longest. Tori could move from her position of she risked falling backwards and off.

 Going down was much more fun than going up.

 At last they crested the top and were pulled into Lake Logula. A queue of boats waiting to make the trip down were lined up around the shore, their decks filled with onlookers trying to catch a glimpse. They sailed across the lake until they were brought to the other side, where Logula the town lay. The ancient towers that rose in front of them had wide opening in front that the cables came from. The cables were long and looped around all the way at the bottom of the river and the end of the Breach. They were as old as Imperia itself. The ship was drawn between them and the hooks were released before they were sent back the way they’d come.

 They sailed through Logula, a city split in half by the river that would finally deposit them at the base of Veleia. The streets were lined here as well, hundreds of people watching. Tori ignored it, but she could feel the two she stood between tense with the attention. Still holding Katakuri’s hand Tori stepped forwards, no longer bound to hold onto the ship. With her newly freed hand she waved, Princess Diaries style, and the crowd roared with the cheers of her people.

 Enamored with her beauty, as they always were, a cheer rang loud enough to deafen a man.

 Tori felt no swell of pride nor vanity. If anything it made her nervous. Men did foolish things for love. She felt, more than anyone else’s, the eyes of her husband on her delicate, soft face. His fingers wrapped around her own and this time Tori did feel a lightness inside of her.

 They stood, the future of Imperia, where the world could see them, and Tori could only imagine the picture they painted. A hulking foreign pirate dressed in leathers and spikes, and their demure, pretty princess in her soft silk skirts and sweet smiles.

 Not the traditional picture, but times were certainly changing. Roger had assured that.

 He had been their protector before Big Mom, before his death, when he was sweeping the world up in his race to Raftel and his daring exploits. Tori had met him, however briefly, on his trip across her own island. She had been young then, just a scrap of a pretty teenager who wanted to see a king before he’d even gotten his crown.

 She remembered him, and his two little cabin boys, with fondness.

 While Tori was thinking they finally themselves vanished their journey. Nestled between the twin peaks sat the gleaming white walls and soaring towers of Valeia. Her home.

 It felt different now, at least to Tori as she walked off of the sloop and onto the shores. The towering walls seemed less impenetrable, and in its own way less of a prison. Tori had ventured beyond their shores, beyond their shoal, and into the great vast ocean beyond. She had seen a castle made of a cake and witnessed a giantess and her children. She had left and returned and secured the safety of her people with a sacrifice of her own.

 Perhaps someone would tell stories of her. Likely, she would be just another name lost in the obscurity of time.

 The great Infinite Gate was pitch dark, a sharp contrast to the paleness of the walls. It had stood for a thousand years, guarding Valeia against harm and opening only for those given leave by Tori’s own family. Now they swung open on ancient hinges and welcomed their wayward daughter once more into their embrace. Carved intricately upon them were long vines and faded flowers that had chipped over time. Yet, the gate stood strong.

 Tori and Katakuri walked in, and she tucked her arm in his. Back straight, chin up and smiling enough to dazzle a blind man Tori walked the growing train of followers to the palace proper. Through the long streets, away from the traders and the merchants and up the clattering streets of the craftsmen. Blacksmiths anvils were quiet this day, and the loomhouse had ceased its forever clacking. Pottery wheels did not squeak or whir.

 All those that used them were in the streets, watching their procession go by. Tori lead the way with the giant of a man that could no more hide himself than she.

 The palace keep, thick walls decorated in splendid gems and carvings, rose above them with her towers in their procession. The periwinkle sky, long fingers of orange streaking through, cast shadows and brought light upon it.

 They were greeted in the courtyard by her father, her brother, and her sister.

 They were both pretty enough. Golden haired, like their father, with the pale blue eyes of their mother. Tori alone had her same dark hair, a black so dark it was almost blue. Each of them had high cheekbones, but where Lucien’s nose was straight and narrow, Gemma’s had been made crooked through many breaks. She had their fathers strong jaw and stubborn mouth while Lucien was delicate in even his wide mouth. Both of them kept their golden hair cropped short, and out of the way.

 Tori stood out amongst them, a black sheep, a sweet lamb, and a terrible beauty.

 Lysander, his crown heavy on his head, stepped forwards to clasp her hands. Only then did she release Katakuri from her hold. Her father kissed her on each cheek, a gesture Tori returned.

 “Victoria,” he spoke loudly, letting his voice reach the ensemble staff. Maids and footmen and stable boys and soldiers, all lined up in the courtyard to see her. His eyes skated to her husband but he didn’t dare try the same courtesies. “Katakuri. Welcome home.”

 The staff dipped low bows and deep curtsies, heads dropping to chests.

 “Welcome home, Princess Victoria,” the all chorused, deafeningly loud. “Welcome to Imperia, Prince Katakuri!”

 Tori stepped away from her father to look out over the conglomeration. She smiled genially and nodded to the assembled, breaking the spell that bound them all together. She looked up at her husband, who despite his best efforts still gave off of an air of discomfort. He looked at him before he mimicked her movement.

 In a flurry of practiced movement the staff descended on them. Their trunks were taken and orders were barked, maids fluttered off to their apartments and the cooks and kitchen staff bolted for the palace. Pages rushed off to spread word to anyone who hadn’t attended their grand entrance and the steward, Astolfo, stepped forwards with the head maid, Giulia.

 Astolfo had been their steward for longer than Tori had been alive. He was a slight man, and in his youth his hair had been the pink of cotton candy. Now with age he had shrunk to be even smaller, and his hair was white with only a few pink streaks going through it.

 Giulia was a bit different. She was a tall stork of a woman with a bony, hooked nose. Her pale hair was pinned smartly behind her head, and her brown eyes were ever sparkling with mirth. She had come into her position almost fifteen years ago, shortly after Tori’s mother had died. Tori had a special place in her heart for Giulia, and whatever propriety said she hugged her when she was close enough.

 “Hello, Giulia,” she kissed each cheek in time with Giulia.

 “Little bird, we were worried you’d forget where you nest,” Giulia teased her.

 “Never,” Tori promised. She hugged her one more time before she pulled back, smiling at her.

 “We have an apartment prepared for everyone, including your guests. You can dine there tonight, we’ll put off the actual welcome party until tomorrow.”

 “You’re an angel,” Tori told her. She didn’t feel like dealing with court intrigues right now.

 “Mmmm, perhaps,” she looked over Tori’s shoulder, up at Katakuri who had come to stand behind her with Brule with him. If she thought anything of the pair of them, she didn’t react outwardly. Thank goodness.

 “Giulia, this is Katakuri, and his sister Brulee,” she introduced, gesturing to the pair of them.

 “Pleased,” Giulia dipped a proper curtsey to the pair of them. Neither of them seemed to know what to think of her actions. People certainly kowtowed to them, but this was not quite the same thing. “I have a room prepared for my lady. Someone will be along to show you to the Silver Room in the morning for breakfast, with the rest of the court ladies. I’m sure my princes can show you to the Gold Room,” Giulia added, looking at Katakuri.

 Tori touched her arms. “He eats privately, Giulia,” she said firmly. Not an argument, a statement. Giulia’s brows furrowed. She looked between them before she nodded.

 “As you say, my lady.”

 “The men and women eat separately?” Brulee asked.

 “Only for breakfasts,” Tori assured her.

 “So the married women don’t need to wait on their husbands,” Giulia added helpfully. Tori touched her arm, drawing her attention.

 “Giulia, will you please show Brulee to her apartments?” Tori asked.

 Giulia nodded. “Of course, my lady. We’ve changed the royal apartments for the accommodations. I trust you can show your      husband     along. “ There was a note of teasing in her voice that made Tori narrow her eyes and hide a smile in the corner of her mouth.

 “I think I can manage. Thank you, Giulia.”

 Giulia bowed to her before she turned to the Charlotte sister. “If you will, my lady?”

 While she lead Brulee away Tori and Katakuri went their own. He didn’t say much, and her handmaids were too busy unpacking an running around to re-familiarize themselves with the keep. It was bigger now, Tori realized. They had been remodeling. Making room for Katakuri and any giant children he was going to have by her. So tall were the doors that he didn’t even have to duck.

 Tori didn’t know which one of them was more surprised.

 The long hallways that housed the royal apartments was largely deserted. They would have been prepared long before they arrived, and by now they were largely deserted. It was just the two of them, and she hear Katakuri’s voice for the first time in hours.

 “What did she mean about waiting for a husband?” he asked.

 Tori peered up at him.

 “In Imperia, a married woman can’t start eating until their husband has. Or at least , nobility don’t by our own traditions,” which was sexist, but Tori couldn’t change that.

 Katakuri looked at her, his eyes dark with some thought Tori couldn’t read. She stopped in front of a door that had no been so big when last she’d been here, but was still in the same place.

 She pushed the door open and the pair stepped inside.

 Her already large bed had been exchanged for one that could easily fit the family of a normal human being, or in this case, she and Katakuri. The secretary in the corner was just as she’s left it and the small sitting area had been enlarged. The two doors, to the closet and the bathroom, were also bigger.

 Both Tori and Katakuri’s luggage was at the foot of the bed. When Katakuri saw that, he stiffened.

 “We’re not sharing a room,” he said firmly.

 Tori went over to the bed and hopped up onto. It was wider, but not so much higher up.

 “We are married,” she reminded him. “And we need to put on at least an act that you like me. If the courtesans,” which were not prostitutes in this country, in any case, “see a weakness they’ll take advantage of it.”

 “I don’t care. We’re not sharing.”

 Tori looked up at him. Her blue eyes narrowed minutely. Then, her face smoothed once more, serene. It didn’t really matter, in the end. As she told Madelle, the only person who’s opinion on their union mattered was Big Mom. No one elses, not even theirs, was relevant.

 “If you’re worried about you face,” she said slowly, “Whatever it is you’re hiding won’t bother me.”

 His shoulders tensed and he looked ready to fight, so Tori smoothed along, “Or, if it’s that important to you, we’ll keep the lights out and the curtains drawn, and I won’t see anything at all.”

 Like East of the Sun, West of the Moon. Only she would not break her promise.

 Given she was cheating, but that was unimportant.

 Tori didn’t know what she looked like. She was going for earnest and patient and inviting.

 Whatever Katakuri saw when he searched her face, his shoulders finally slumped. Given up.

 “If you look, I’ll know,” there was a warning in his voice. Tori was reminded, once more, that this was a very dangerous man. And yet, she felt no danger from him.

 She smiled.

 “Then I’ll be sure I don’t.

[andisinger]

Black Crow Ch.6

I could’ve sworn I posted this but thank you anon for telling me I did not. Here you are; better late than never <3 Warnings: Blood and typical violence, language  Word count: idk sorry 

Stepping into the bright light of a new day, I went to find my father in the stables preparing his beast for the naming. “Lye must quena yassen i' elders.(We must speak with the elders)” I told him, reaching to touch the cold metal of the plow. Father hummed, hid fingers fastening the belts of armor around his beasts neck. “Lle must quena ereb. Lle naa en' age. (You must speak alone. You are of age.)” He said. He turned to me; his dark hood casting a shadow over his face. I nodded slowly and looked around. “Manke naa i' travelers?(Where are the travelers)” I questioned. Father smirked, tilting his head towards the land behind our house. I whistled for my wargs, who came bounding gleefully after me. The young bard sat on a tree stump, strumming his lute and singing of my home and people. Hod stayed by my side, looking out around me. Kav trotted out to the music, curious about it. The two young beasts ran and bounced over the isles of food, following around Kav. Jaskier chuckled, holding out his palm with green treats. Hod and I walked together to where he was sitting. “What are you feeding them?” I questioned, my voice startled Jaskier. His face of shock and fear transforming into a smile. “Your father gave me some of this. I don’t know what it is but they seem to enjoy it.” I smirked and pat the young beasts. “It’s called Dragons breath. We use it while we tame; it creates a bond between us.” I stroked at the fur on Hod’s neck as I leaned into his warmth. “Where is the Witcher?” I asked, Jaskier wiped his slobbered palm on the silver warg's fur only to get his hand covered in hair and wet spit. Jaskier looked at me with disgust then at his palm. “I don’t know, I saw him go into these woods earlier.” Sighing, I shook my head. He was hunting. “Use this.” I tossed Jaskier a small rag to wipe his hands and he stood to follow me back towards the house. “Where are you going?” He asked, his hands stringing his lute behind his back. “Going to speak to the Elders. We have a celebration to plan.” Hod clung to my side as I walked alone to the elders. After discussing the naming ceremony, the town of Myomel prepared. Jaskier stayed close to the stables while I covered Hod and Kav in their armor; the metal gleaming and shimmering against the light of the sun, intricate swirls and designs covered every inch of the cold steel. The two nameless wargs would be getting their names after nightfall; I beamed with glee and pride. My hands fastening new leather straps to over their necks and beneath their chests. “What’re you doing?” Jaskier questioned. “Preparing for the beginning of the ceremony.” Tightly fastening the leather straps, I moved to attach my pouches of treats and dragons breath. “What do you do for the first part?” He questioned. “How many parts are there?” The Witcher’s voice quipped harshly behind me. “You will get your horse, Witcher.” I informed him, pulling away from the nameless beasts. The young wargs shook their heads and lifted their heads at the new feeling. The silver male stood quietly and patiently in contrast to the black female who shuffled uncomfortably. I stepped closer to her to adjust the collar which made her shake; dust flying throughout the air. Smiling to myself, Jaskier reached out to pet the nameless beasts. “You can not touch them today.Our bond needs to be strong with no distractions.” I told him. Jaskier smiled and nodded. My two nameless beasts followed me throughout the day as we helped prepare for the naming. In the center of the town near a small waterfall was a growing pile of wood set to be burned at the very end of the naming, large sets of hide drums were placed around it. The tables were set around, plates of offerings were placed on the rough wood. I swallowed at the memories of Hod and Kav’s namings; a harsh tradition deemed necessary by the spirits of the forest. The black warg pushed my shoulder with her nose, her warm breath swirling around my hood; placing my hand on her nose, I smiled knowing her name. As the dusk began to fall, the streets crowded near the gates of Myomel waiting for the silver warg and I to appear and transform our bond to steel. The drums began their quick beats on the thin hide of beasts now passed on. I stroked the silver warg's cheek, his soft eyes closing as our foreheads connected for a moment. “Lle desiel? (Are you ready)” Father asked. His hands holding out my swords. I nodded silently as I took them. Jaskier watched beneath a hood of his own next to the Witcher. Both of their faces were easily seen in comparison to my people. Father’s thumb wiped my cheek with a shiver and a quivering chin. “Amin will entula. (I will return)” I said, my hand gently wrapping around father’s wrist. As the words passed my lips, the deep drums began their steady beats. Turning to the silver warg, Hod clapped his jaws at the youngling as I mounted. I squeezed his sides with my heels and we walked down the road towards the sun falling between the gates of Myomel. The citizens stood quietly beneath their hoods, bowing with a hand over their hearts as I passed slowly. We broke into a quick gallop, thundering over the land searching for the beast to seal our bond. The silver warg beneath me hung his head as he ran, steering him to the last known sighting. We slowed to a walk, listening carefully as I looked upon what was once green lavish land; my heart sank at the black rotten trees and ash that piled on the ground. Dismounting, I stepped towards the cave carefully and quietly with the silver warg not far behind. A rumble sounded from behind us, the ground growing then falling as the beast ripped beneath us. Stepping away from the cave, the massive jaws and spiked teeth came first. The silver warg stepped back with a whimper and fallen ears as I slashed at the creature. It’s paw swiping at my thigh and knocking me to my knee, I crawled back still holding my swords and whistled. The silver warg lifted his ears, moving forward one step then staying where he was. The beast opened its jaws once more as it hovered over me. I whistled once more as I cut the creature's tongue from between its teeth. The creature stepped back and the young warg charged, leaping onto the creature with his jaws gnashing and tearing at the thick flesh and muscle of its shoulder. The creature pushed the warg away with a simple wave of its arm, my nameless silver beast falling beneath a tree. Standing on my feet once more, I charged the beast and slid between its legs. My arms swung over my head to cut the ankles with my blue swords now coated in thick green blood. The creature cried out, the sound muddled with its blood that spilled between the gaps in its teeth. The creature dragged itself by its front claws, human like but extended to great lengths and sharp as a new dagger. The creature’s red eyes watched me carefully as I stood between the nameless warg and him. The silver warg jumped over my head, now standing before me snarling and gnashing his slobbering jaws. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, coated in the green blood; the warg charged the creature. Teeth tearing into the snout and face, shredding the red eyes from their sockets. I approached quickly, slashing at the creatures throat and fingers while it attempted to grab at the viscous warg. Whistling once more, the silver warg did not stop ripping the creature’s flesh with his massive teeth. Standing between the creatures face and shoulder, I held my swords over my head and stabbed with all my might, cutting the creature’s neck deeply. The nameless warg yelped loudly from the beasts dying grasp around his ribs. My heart stilled for a moment, the ground below cracking open to swallow the dead creature’s body. I hacked at the creature’s fingers to release the nameless warg who grabbed the tail of my jacket as we began to fall into the earth. Now, we were safe but our bond was not as strong as it should be. I looked at the silver warg next to me with tears in my vision. His silver coat was covered in green blood from the creature, his paws were shivering and his jaw quivered. His golden eyes backed in black, softened as he stepped forwards planting his head against my chest. I whistled once more, a long whistle that echoed through the trees and fields nearby. My bloody hands stroked between his ears, a tear falling from my cheek. The silver warg sat, his head bowed and eyes closed. Before I could lift my sword, a tail wrapped around my leg and began to pull, dragging me away. Two heavy, quick large claws stabbed the ground as the creature ran with me. I cursed holding tightly to one sword, as I turned to roll, the tail tightened to hold me on my belly. I whistled once more, a fierce quick song; my stomach knotted as the thing holding me stopped and whipped it’s tail sending me flying through the air. Beneath me were large jaws open to reveal a dark cavernous hole of a throat that threatened to swallow me as I was. The silver warg jumped on the jaws, closing them with an explosive snap; the young male’s softly grabbed my arm in his mouth as we rolled down the unknown creature who hissed as it turned around. The silver warg and I fought this creature, tooth and nail; he clung to every whistle and found his own rhythm between each tune. Together, we slayed two creatures. Now I lay on the ash covered ground, staring up at the grey sky above. The sight was obstructed by twisted limbs of trees; closing my eyes and parting my lips to breathe, the silver warg whimpered. He used his nose to push me to my knees as he lay beside me. The darkness of night was setting in; I crawled onto the young male, holding his fur and the leather straps in my hands. Together once more, we galloped back to the gates of Myomel plunged in darkness. The silver warg kneeled at the gates to help me dismount; the rough wounds of battle still bleeding across my legs, back, and arm. Father shoved his way through the crowd to look upon the two of us with dismay; father could not touch me, no one could apart from my warg. My people stepped back as we walked together, my arm draped over the silver wargs neck. Father reached out his hand before dropping it once more, his chin quivered and a small cry escaped his throat as we passed him to stand before the large pile of wood soon to be lit. I rolled my shoulders back and stood proudly, clearing my throat. Holding out my hand and whistling quickly between my lips, the black warg trotted forwards ready to prove herself. The silver warg whimpered once more as he watched us ride out the gate again. The black warg was eager, she moved quickly with a ferocity unseen by myself; she listened to every whistle, moved her feet as though she had practiced every movement. Her teeth clashed and clattered with the large creature, her talons tearing the flesh apart. Together, we moved and cut the beast; killing it only moments after finding it. She panted as she strode towards me confidently; her bright eyes looking down at me. Pride swelled in my chest as I threw myself on her back once more and we were off towards Myomel with the head of the creature bouncing from her hip. Standing before the now lit fire, I hobbled towards the table of offerings from my people to my wargs and I. I filled my fists with the meat that was dried and seasoned, it smelt of rosemary and broth. “Amin naa Amyrnn, tinu en' Marlevaur, yassen sina offerien lye naa er. I' celeb warg, Khun. I' mor warg, Vang.(I am Amyrnn, daughter of Marlevaur, with this offering we are one. The silver warg, Khun. The black warg, Vang.)” As I announced their names, I handed them the offerings of flesh while I ate my offerings of fruit and vegetables. The beasts around us called out, their noises carrying and echoing; the people joined in, raising their fists in fits of yelps and howls. I raised my hand towards the night sky and from my throat flew the sound similar to an eagle. The drums now thundered with songs of joy and pride. The fire flickered and swayed reaching towards the trees and waterfall. The night resumed in it’s festivities, the people of Myomel rejoicing and praising the three of us as we walked past. Hod and Kav yipped and howled as we passed them; the Witcher staring directly at us while Jaskier bowed as the others did. “Let us get your horse, Witcher.” I told him. He smirked and followed me to the stables for a purchase. Khun and Vang stayed close by, their leather collars clinking softly with each careful step they took. Despite being wounded and exhausted, I was gifted a horse; a chestnut gelding with a long white blaze and four white stockings. The hooded woman at the stables bowed her head, pressing her clasped hands to her lips. I sat by the fire, the heat radiating over me and warming my wounds. I looked at the cut on my thigh, blood fell in an even stream wetting the cloth of my pants and staining my moccasins; it was a long, thick gash that stretched from the top and stretched across the inside of my thigh. Khun sighed as he lay next to me, his head stretching over and lapping at the blood of my leg. I hissed as his tongue cleaned the skin, my back straightened from the pain while my leg jolted at the feeling. Jaskier gleefully danced around the fire, his hood hardly covering his gleaming eyes as he bounced and jumped around, twirling a woman who beamed with light as she spun while holding tight to his finger. My hands began to quiver as I raked my fingers over the wound; focusing my mind, white light expelled the pain, I could feel the nerves erupt from nothing, the skin rejoining then puffing in a scar. Opening my eyes, I exhaled quickly and pulled my hand away to rest beside me on the wooden bench. I hunched over my knees, panting heavily from the relief of the pain; I couldn’t reach the considerable wound on my spine, and the bites on my arm were less than memorable in comparison. I looked up once more, enjoying the feeling that swirled around with the wind; the people of Myomel danced, rejoiced. Father stepped around gleefully, speaking with the elders; his time as elder would be approaching soon. The thought bringing a smile to my face, his well deserved time of rest and wisdom was within grasp. My fingers reached for more fruit, more offerings behind me; the flavors of the fruit and vegetables combining on my tongue. Sweet ale was offered to me and I downed it; it provided a thick warmth that spread about my stomach and through my limbs. Khun and Vang lay next to me on either side, watching the people around us with cautious eyes. The elders saw me from across the table, bowing their heads while their fingers touched their lips then extended the hand towards me. A bright smile lit up my face, and I repeated the sign of respect. I looked around once more, the Witcher brooded by the fire, his pale face hidden under the edge of his hood. Slowly, the town began to fall in drowsiness; the hold of sleep taking over. The fire continued to burn brightly as, one by one, families retreated back to their homes. Khun and Vang stayed by my side during the night; laying their heads against their paws and beginning to snore quietly. I watched my father approach with a broad smile and a cup of ale in his hand. “Amin sinte lle entula.(I knew you would return)” I chuckled at his words and looked around. “Amin nauva wanwa e' i' amrun.(I will be gone in the morning)” My father’s smile dropped as he sat near Vang while shaking his head. “Mani en' i' witcher ar' i' Lindar?(What of the Witcher and the Bard)” He asked. I turned to him and dropped my hood then reached for him only stopping halfway. I wanted to tell him to inform them of where I was going but I remembered he could not speak common; licking my lips, I looked down at Vang asleep between us. “Lle will caela a' stay.(You will have to stay)” He murmured. I nodded my head and closed my eyes once more. “Tul a. A' lle rath.(Come. To your bed)” Father said. I chuckled at his sudden act of paternity. Father and I walked back towards the house alongside our beasts still in their armor that clinked and jingled with every step or movement. “Warg Rider.” A deep voice called from our stables. I waved father inside before walking over to the stables myself. “Witcher.” I replied, my voice harsh. I relieved Hod and Kav of their armor quickly, and while hanging it on the wall, the Witcher went to grab my arm. “Do not touch me.” I spat, Khun and Vang stepped forwards past Hod and Kav with their lips lifted to reveal their sharp white teeth. The white haired Witcher glanced at them before stepping back and dropping his hand. “You were to leave tonight?” I nodded in silence, my fingers pulling on my hood to conceal my face. “The Bard and I could follow.” I scoffed, pointing at Jaskier. He snored on a bale of hay with his lute still in his arms and his hood still on his head. The man before me sighed heavily, silently agreeing that it would be in our best interest to travel in the morning. “I will gather provisions in the morning.” I wished him a goodnight before turning back to the house with my wargs close behind. The five of us were alone once more; my gut told me these moments could be few and far between but that it would always truly be the five of us. Khun and Vang stayed close to my head while I slept as Hod and Kav lingered at the door and window.

[stromuprisahat]

With Lord Corlys came his wife, Princess Rhaenys, five-and-fifty, her face lean and lined, her black hair streaked with white, yet fierce and fearless as she had been at two-and-twenty. “The Queen Who Never Was,” Mushroom calls her.

The Princess and the Queen × Fire and Blood (George R. R. Martin)

Tiny detail, but once again, I prefer the line from novella:

... a woman sometimes known among the smallfolk as “The Queen Who Never Was.”

[its-r-i-d-i-c-u-l-o-u-s]

Call Me A Freak- Chapter 1: Welcome To My Wicked World

Words: 1,946

Warnings: vandalism, gang activity, mentions of death, manipulation

A/N: Hey everyone! This is my rewrite of Descendants! I wanted to see a darker take on the Disney story (one that follows the lines of some of the grim tales they’re based off of). You can find my summary on the wip intro, if you’re interested, but basically be warned that this is a look at the story from the perspective of abused and lonely children who feel powerless against their villain parents.

Intro | Ch 2

~ ~ ~

My boots held me steady on the patchy stone walkways.

There was a thick layer of smoke that lay heavy on the streets that morning. Perhaps a nearby gang had gotten angry and burned down another house. Or one of the experimental types had caused an accident. Or maybe I was imagining things and the smoke was as it had always been… lingering.

Shouts rang out down alleyways. Stupid people who had left the house with something valuable on them and lost it a minute later. Or maybe one of the core villain kids had lost their temper and taken it out on a passerby or a shopkeeper.

It didn’t matter to me. I smirked, taking in my hometown.

I was a bit out of my neighborhood, but no one would touch me here anyway. These streets were full of lowlife villains who never made that much of an impact. I could have someone murdered on the spot just for looking at me.

And even if it weren’t for my status, I was very resourceful. Everyone knew it. My mother would have never let me leave the house if I wasn’t. She wouldn’t have let me live if I wasn’t…

I glanced to my right and found exactly what I was looking for.

I pulled off the street, veering towards the empty, carved out area between buildings. There was just enough room there, and it was smooth.

I dropped my bag to my side and pulled out my spray cans. It was time to go to work.

~ ~ ~

I didn’t keep track of time as I worked. I never did. I was well aware that I was supposed to meet up with Evie, Jay, and Carlos, but it was of no consequence to me if I was late, so I didn’t worry about it.

Lucky enough, Jay found me fairly soon after I had finished.

“Nice work!” he shouted at me as he approached. Jay knew to warn me that he was approaching while I worked on my art. I often got lost in my head and my defense instincts went onto autopilot. So, if I sensed someone around that I wasn’t expecting I would happily spray them in the face with my paints.

I didn’t turn to look at him, just began to pack up my belongings. The bottles were covered in different colored splotches from my dyed fingers.

As I stood up and threw my bag over my shoulder, I noticed Jay standing next to me, admiring my work. It was a simple design. I had made a silhouette of my mom in black, then surrounded it with green fire. Inside the silhouette were the words “Long Live Evil”. I had put up many similar signs around, ones I knew Jay had seen before, but he still liked to appreciate each design for its differences.

“Earth to Jay,” I muttered. “I assume you know where Evie and Carlos are?”

He nodded, bringing his focus back to me. “You up for an adventure?”

I crossed my arms. “I guess.”

I followed him out of the alley silently and back onto the main road.

“Carlos is pissed,” he explained.

I went to answer, but got distracted as he grabbed a piece of sheet metal along one of the walls and pushed it aside, revealing another alleyway.

“Alright,” I responded. “Is Evie also upset?”

“Nah.” Jay stopped suddenly and looked at me. “Evie was flirting with some salesman when I left.”

I rolled my eyes, then mumbled a quick, “Why are we stopped?”

Jay smirked, then patted the ladder attached to the wall beside us. “Because we’re going up.”

I groaned inwardly, watching him climb, before pulling myself up to the rooftops with him.

~ ~ ~

“We’re back!” Jay shouted, then slid down the side of someone’s roof and landed in front of Evie and Carlos.

Jay was a smooth sort of guy. Socially and physically. I had to wonder where he got it from, considering his dad was a slinky snake of a person who sat around in his early life trying to steal power from a senile sultan.

I rolled my eyes, stomping down far less gracefully

“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the latest of them all?” Evie jabbed.

I didn’t respond as Jay helped me get down from the edge of the building.

“What do you want me to say? I’m rotten to the core.”

Neither Evie nor Carlos was amused by this response.

I simply pushed past them and into the large warehouse. We had gotten word that some of Wonderland’s best were hanging in there. Jay had convinced us that it was worth raiding because of some of the strange and antique goods they collected. Jay lived for stealing things and the rest of us didn’t mind. The more mischief we caused, the happier our parents were with us.

People didn’t take notice of us as we strolled through, splitting off in different directions.

As I walked through, I started to callously knock things off tables and destroy stands.

“Freak!” someone shouted.

I turned around and winked. No point in getting angry. I had heard some pretty foul words. This meant nothing to me.

I reached into my bag, pulling out a random can and shaking it. As I passed through I started spraying certain vendors and curtains purple.

A couple people ran after me, but froze when they saw the green dragons on my back. I reached the back of the warhouse and noticed Carlos riding by on a wagon filled with hay.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet!” he snarled, before jumping down next to me.

Jay and Evie were quick to follow, leaving commotion in their wake. Jay was carrying a dirty teapot as he shuffled past and opened up the back door for them to escape.

“Welcome to my wicked world,” he chuckled to himself as we all ran out and made our way down the road.

As we went, we created a formation of sorts with me front and center. The three of them flocked me, looking around as we went.

People watched our gang walk by. We had all the confidence in the world. After a moment, we stopped, deciding to talk about what our next plans were.

The people around us lessened by the minute. I wondered if we frightened them off. Four of the most powerful teens in all of the Isle of the Lost, with connections to the most dangerous villains the world had ever seen.

But the hope of such distinction was lost as the rest of the stragglers disappeared and left our gang facing a group of men in the same, ratty, brown outfit they’d worn since I was born.

I clear my throat, trying to signal to her goons that I recognized them, before mumbling, “Hi mom.”

I would never drop my demeanor in front of my friends or my mother. I need their respect, their fear, for my own survival. But this isn’t good. My mother doesn’t step out of her “castle” just to visit her daughter. She had a reason for being there. An important one.

She pushes through the two men who were previously guiding her through the streets and faces me.

Those who had met my mother would never forget her face. She was all angles, as if made of slabs of metal. Her expression was never changing. It seemed as though anything you could say or do would ricochet off of her like it was nothing. I was perhaps the only person in the world who had truly seen her react to something and survived it. And that was only because she wanted me to see her like that. She wanted me to know what true fear felt like, coming from her eyes.

My friends didn’t move as her guards, who previously surrounded her, moved to surround the five of us. 

“Hm. What have the four of you been up to?” Her voice is deep and steady like a long drag from a cigarette. “I hope more than simply walking the streets and stealing from children.”

I didn’t respond. Why give her an answer she doesn’t want to hear?

She doesn’t question my silence and continues. “You know, Mal, when I was your age I was cursing entire kingdoms.”

I do my best not to roll my eyes. As if I hadn’t heard that one a million times.

My mother liked to remind me of her power at all times. The barrier that surrounded the Isle of the Lost prevented any use of magic while inside it. But that only stopped some of her cruelty.

“Oh! There’s news!” she finally said. “You four have been chosen to go to a different school,” she points between all of us, a smirk lit up her face, “in Auradon.”

The three behind me tense up. Carlos looked seconds away from running for his life.

“What?” I exclaimed. “I can’t go to some boarding, full to the brim with prissy, pink princesses.”

My mother looked almost excited, though. Her eyes were lit up and I realized that this is something she wanted. All that arguing would get me was pain at this point.

My friends refused to say anything. A look from my mother would silence them, even if they tried.

“You’re thinking small, pumpkin,” she informed me. “It’s all about world domination.”

She always carried her head as if there was a crown on it. I suppose those thick horns had some weight to them, but whether or not it was necessary, it gave her a sort of regality. It forced her to look down upon those around her and made the snarl of her teeth that much more frightening.

She swung around and left, her goons quick to follow behind and surround her once more. That was their main job. Protect her in the city. Because people like these would happily murder her to take her place. Not that they could if they tried.

I didn’t move from my spot. I was happy to watch her walk away and get some distance from her.

Jay slid up behind me, leaning over my shoulder, before saying, “She’s joking, right?”

I laughed at him, but there wasn’t any humor in my face. “You obviously don’t spend enough time with my mother. She would never joke. And by the look on her face… she’s got ulterior motives.”

“Why would we be invited to Auradon?” Carlos asked, walking around to face us.

I shook my head. “Who knows.”

Evie was basically straining every muscle in her body to contain her excitement. “Think about how many castles there are in Auradon! And princes!”

I scoffed, and almost immediately her face dropped to match my disgust.

“Listen,” Jay added. “I don’t do uniforms. Unless it’s leather, you feel me?” He joked, holding up a hand to Carlos, but he was far too distracted to reciprocate the high five.

“I read somewhere that they allow dogs in Auradon. Mom said they’re rabid pack animals that eat boys who don’t behave…”

I rolled my eyes at Carlos’s naive comment. It was fairly well known that Cruella de Vil, Carlos’s mother lied constantly to Carlos as a way of manipulating him. He was so sheltered that he hung off her every word about what the rest of the world was like.

“We’re not going,” I insisted. “I just… need to find out why she wants us to go so bad and convince her she’s wrong.”

It was Jay’s turn to laugh. “You? Convince your mother, the ‘Mistress of all Evil’? I doubt it.”

I glared at him. “Let’s see.”

[zenithlux]

Cadence - CH 21

Catch up on the story here!

And the voice is so clear, time after time it keeps on Calling you, calling you on Don’t destroy what you see, your country to be Just keep building on the ground that’s been won

Father to Son - Queen

 -----------

The first thing Vergil did was track down Nero.

Or, more accurately, he paced in front of Roxy’s apartment pondering what exactly he wanted to say to Nero. 

It was midnight by the time they got home, and 12:15 when Vergil got Roxy to actually go to sleep and not wander around in an exhausted stupor. The drive back had been about an hour slower, but significantly more enjoyable. The two had managed to hold a near constant conversation about nearly everything they could think of. Even Vergil, who had tried to ignore the truth for who knows how long now, felt the shift in their relationship. Before, they were balancing that line between ‘casual friends’ and ‘something more’. Now, he was fairly certain they were plummeting right off to one side.

Neither had broached the subject, however, so in Vergil’s mind they were still falling into nowhere, destined to figure it out another time. 

What they had discussed, however, was what Roxy dubbed the ‘Nero situation’. 

It had taken Vergil much of the trip to bring up the matter, even though it had gnawed at his mind since the middle of their walk. He’d thought that meeting Roxy’s mother would provide more insight into Roxy herself. And while it most certainly had, he also got a rather uncomfortable view of himself. Roxy’s mother was exactly what he had almost become; a broken mind in a failing body. The difference was, she had gone to an assisted living home. He had tried to destroy the planet.

Easy comparison to make. Clearly.

So when he did finally ask what he’d been dreading since they left, he made certain it was during the only peaceful, silent moment they’d had during the entire trip. Because that was clearly the best way to discuss such an uncomfortable subject. “If your mother could come back, and if she wanted to, would you let her?”

Roxy had been silent at first, giving Vergil his first real taste of anxiety. But then, her response had surprised him. “Your situation with Nero is much different than mine with my mother.” And Vergil, knowing he’d been caught, had asked her to elaborate. “You want and are capable of rebuilding that relationship now,” she said. “I’m not sure my mother ever will be.”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“But I don’t know what all is going on between you two,” She argued. “But let's say my mom was perfectly sane and everything could go back to normal… then..” She paused with a sigh. “I’d want an apology.”

“You think that would fix decades of mistakes?”

“Not on its own… but it would help.”

So there Vergil was, debating how to apologize for raising the Qliphoth tree, ripping Nero’s arm off, and abandoning him for over twenty years.

But just as he finally went to knock, the door swung open. Then, Vergil was met with a scowl from his fully dressed and not at all sleeping son. “How long are you going to stand out there?” Nero said as he rubbed at his blood shot eyes. “You’re lucky Nico’s not awake or she would’ve been terrified.”

Vergil blinked. “What?”

“The shadow under the door-frame,” Nero said. “Real fucking creepy if you don’t know who it is.”

“I… see.” 

Nero stepped out and closed the door behind him. “Come on, old man. There’s a 24-hour coffee shop nearby.” Vergil glanced at the door of his apartment and heard Nero snort behind him. “If I can leave Nico by herself, you can leave Roxy with her dragon familiar for thirty-minutes.” He swung Red Queen onto his back as he wandered down the hallway. And after a moment, where Vergil just stared at the doorway wondering if he was doing the right thing, he followed after Nero with as much confidence as he could muster. 

 -----------

Dream Bean was a small, hidden away coffee shop that Vergil never would have found if he wasn’t explicitly looking for it. It was the only building open on the street with the front door tucked in an alleyway near the edge of the town’s limits. Even more surprising was the interior. While Vergil would never want to live in the place with its pale greens, blues, and numerous pictures of sunflowers scattered everywhere, he could imagine spending a work day or two with Roxy in one of the absurdly padded booths in the far back corner. The area was spacious and, after a quick order from the single barista, he quickly found himself at a two person table on the second floor looking over the empty street. By now, however, all the tension he’d felt had transferred to Nero who was now tapping his straw on the table. 

“So,” Nero said before he cleared his throat and tried again. “What did you want to talk about?”

His hesitation was almost as quick as his recovery. “Maybe I was just checking on you.”

Nero snorted. “Nobody says that unless they actually had something to say.” The straw slipped from his fingers and shot across the room in a rather impressive display. Nero grimaced as he reached for a second one. “So spill it.”

This time, Vergil’s hesitation was both obvious and uncomfortable. His mouth went dry when he tried to speak. His mind went blank when he tried to rectify that, and his heart nearly leapt out of his chest when he realized that problem was the worst of them all. Nero stared at him, eyebrows raised. Vergil struggled to keep his gaze while chaos raged in his head. He glanced at the road, half-tempted to teleport away and forget all about it. But then he remembered Roxy’s mother… Roxy’s tears… her admission that things would never be the same between them. 

And, moments after the drinks arrived and Nero dared to take a sip, Vergil said,“I wanted to apologize.”

Nero’s head shot to the side as he hacked up a majority of his coffee. “What?” He said as he glared at Vergil (how was that his fault?) and reached for the paper towels. 

Vergil scowled. “Is it that big of a shock?”

“Yes!” Nero said. “You’ve never apologized for anything. At least...” Nero rubbed the back of his neck. “Not to me.”

Vergil looked away. “A mistake that I was hoping to rectify.”

“So the visit didn’t go as planned?”

An interesting leap to make, Vergil thought. “It went as expected.”

Nero whistled. “That rough huh?”

“That’s not my story to tell.”

“That’s fair.” Nero took a long sip of his coffee as Vergil finally turned his gaze to his - a small, black coffee that he’d ordered without really thinking - and waited. He’d hoped to seem like that “old father figure” that Nero was expecting, but he didn’t even like coffee. At least, not like this. Roxy’s coffee was alright, but she always had interesting flavors and extra cream. She’d joked with him once or twice that he seemed like a ‘black coffee only’ type of guy, but the bitterness brought up memories he’d rather forget. 

“I want this to work, Nero.”

He said it without thinking, but didn’t bother trying to take it back. He wasn’t lying. Not in the slightest. He did want to make this work. For Nero… and for himself. He didn’t want to end up that estranged father who everyone felt uncomfortable around until he eventually disappeared again. And even now, after finally finding something (or someone) to fall back on should that happen, Vergil didn’t want that. He wanted these two lives of his to come together. To mean something. Roxy, Nero, and the rest of his family… all of their friends...

“Then it will.”

Vergil’s head jerked up in surprise. He didn’t miss the triumphant smile on Nero’s face before he managed to hide it with a sip of his drink. “I mean it,” Nero continued. “You’re obviously capable of making whatever you want to happen… happen. So…” He shrugged as he sat his cup down and crossed his arms. “Are you free a month from now?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“We’re holding a party for one of our foster kids,” Nero said. “A family gathering of sorts. Gonna have a massive barbecue, lots of games for the kids, some for the adults, and hopefully we just have a good time.” He swirled his drink a few times before he spoke again. “I know you’re probably still not comfortable around crowds, and I’m not expecting you to stay the whole time, but if you can make it for a little while… it would mean a lot.”

Vergil nodded. “I’ll look into it.”

“Don’t think you’ll have Yamato back by then?”

Vergil hesitated.  “I’m not sure.”

“Well here’s hoping!” Nero said. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he asked, “how’s Roxy?”

“Sleeping at the moment,” Vergil said. “She’ll be alright.”

Nero nodded. “Feel free to bring her along. Kyrie’s been dying to meet her.” His face then turned a slight shade of red as he looked away. “Something about wanting to know who melted your heart.”

Vergil stared at him. “Melted… what?”

“Well she’s not wrong necessarily… right?” Nero asked. Vergil’s stare didn’t waiver. Nero chuckled awkwardly. “Well it doesn’t matter. Maybe I was reading it all wrong.”

After another long moment, Vergil sighed. “No… you weren’t.” 

It was Nero’s turn to stare, and Vergil might have chuckled was he not busy trying to keep the embarrassment off his own cheeks. “So... you’re like a thing?”

“A what?” Vergil said. 

“A couple.”

“... No.”

“No?” Nero asked.

“... Not yet.” 

“Not yet!?”

Vergil glared at him. “It hasn’t come up.”

Nero looked like he was ready to faint. “Hasn’t come up!? You’re practically living together!”

“Only when you’re here.”

“Oh come on, V.”

Had Nero called him that since he’d come back? Had he called him anything really? Maybe ‘old man’ a few times, but never by a name. He’d always avoided it… as much as they tried to avoid each other. And a part of Vergil wondered if he should be more upset than he was. Instead, he was relieved. “V” meant Nero saw him as a friend. V meant he saw him as the same man that he’d gotten to know and not the demon that had almost messed everything up. And while Vergil was contemplating all of this, Nero kept going, oblivious. “I can’t believe I’m about to tell you this but you can’t keep her waiting.”

“Keep her… waiting?”

“If you like her,” Nero said slowly. “Then go for it.”

“I hadn’t planned to talk to you about that half of my life,” Vergil said. 

“Well here we are.”

“Through no fault of my own.”

“You kind of brought it up.” Nero said.

“You’re remembering the conversation incorrectly.”

“Don’t you start.” 

“Except I’m right,” Vergil replied.

“This is weird enough as it is.”

“How is it ‘weird’”

“I’m talking to my dad about his love life.”

“I already told you…” Vergil said, eyes narrowing.

Nero countered with his own narrowed gaze. “Just because you’re afraid of her doesn’t mean we’re not talking about it.”

“I am not afraid of her.”

“Prove it.”

“I will.” 

Another moment of silence fell as they glared at each other. But when Nero burst into laughter, Vergil couldn’t help but smile. “Well would you look at that,” Nero said with a lazy grin as he snatched his cup up and propped his feet on the table. Vergil leaned back in his own seat, coffee long forgotten. “A somewhat normal, father-son argument.”

“Is it?”

Nero shook his head. “About as normal as this family’s going to get.”

Vergil couldn’t agree more with that.

Ko-fi – Master List – AO3

[gizkasparadise]

Before the beginning for the fury please you genius?

aksjda ty warnings for some gross descriptions re: Great Burning. also here @ ao3  

from ch. 4 of fury:

“Were you there?”

Arya immediately knows what he means. Unbidden, it all comes back: the screams, the smell of blood and burning flesh that will never, ever leave her. A child clutching on to a small, wooden horse. Ceilings caving in around her. A man who looked a little too much like Gendry grabbing her shoulders and asking for his wife. Arya swallows.

All her senses are submerged. Arya fights her way through the swarming crowds without seeing, her already beaten body being shoved and pushed. All she hears is a muted whistle, a solitary keening note that overpowers the screams and crashing debris and the shriek of a dragon. Arya moves without thought or intent, letting the crowd push her movements along and it’s not until she feels something heavy on her shoulder that the current is broken. 

“My wife!” She hears, distorted at first, although clearer on the second time. “Have you seen my wife?!”

Arya’s gaze focuses for the first time since escaping the Red Keep. Even then it’s a little off-center. The man in front of her is about a decade older, his eyes green and not blue, and his hair is dark but not cut as short. 

“Have you seen her?”

Her tongue is swollen. She can’t move it to form words. The man isn’t even looking at her, truly, because if he did he would understand that she doesn’t know him. Doesn’t know his wife. That it’s useless, right now, to ask about the fate of one person while thousands were dying.

He doesn’t ask again, and once his hand leaves Arya’s shoulder, it’s like whatever was drowning her releases, letting her come up fully into her senses. 

Standing on the outskirts of Flea Bottom as it burns alive, she wishes it hadn’t.

--

Arya never sees that man again, but once it’s done, she sees others. Women weeping over their children, children weeping over their siblings or parents. She sees a woman with red in her hair hunched over a boy about ten and screaming and Arya has to turn down onto another street. But it doesn’t matter. They’re everywhere.

A man sits slumped against the wall, a charred husk of something in his lap that he sings to with a voice thick from tears.

A child, no more than five, wanders around--a lone figure standing in a smoking street. He doesn’t cry at all, just stumbles in confusion in a place that isn’t, anymore.

She’s so exhausted that she trips over one of the bodies. 

Have you seen her?

--

“Why,” he can barely breathe, and so she knows this is pointed. “The fuck...you here?”

Arya sits at Sandor’s bedside. She doesn’t do anything sentimental like hold his hand. Instead her eyes find a place on the floor, staring at the red-tinted brick and trying to find an answer she doesn’t have. 

More skin of his is bandaged than not, the bandages stained yellow from sweat and pus. The Maester doesn’t think he’ll last another night.

“Go...home.” His chest can’t rise or fall deeply. Everything he says sounds like he’s running, like he’s submerged just like she was. “So I. Can die.”

Arya’s eyes burn. 

She doesn’t go home.

--

It’s Jon who cries first. Two days after the Burning, they’re alone, sitting on a stone bench in the courtyard at night. They’re talking about what it’s safe to talk about--the supplies, clearing debris--when he suddenly stops, hunching over and hiding his face as his back starts to heave. It’s small at the beginning, then bigger and bigger. Like a spiral winding out. Soon it becomes full sobs, and Arya doesn’t want him to do it. Because if he breaks, if her big brother breaks, then she can’t…

She doesn’t. Her own tears sting as the fall into the open cuts she has on her cheeks and lips, her own breathing rattles from the soot she’s still coughing out of her lungs. Neither can speak, so they don’t, and after awhile they both wipe their eyes, nose, and mouth and start talking about rations again.

--

Being in the Keep, surrounded by soldiers in silvers and blacks and reds, makes her hands shake. So Arya spends most of her time in the city. It’s backbreaking work. She clears brick, sometimes finding remains behind or under it. She scrubs the streets, scorch marks the only thing remaining of the bodies lying on top of them. She gathers what’s left of wood for the massive pyres that they’re holding in the street for the dead, as though more fire will bring any sort of closure. In the flames, more than once she sees the face of Beric, hears his blood-choked command for her to live.

Arya watches children while their parents search for their spouses, brings bread and apples for people to eat from the Keep. Arya keeps her body moving so her mind can’t catch up to it. So she can disappear like the burned stones and bodies everyone’s so eager to be rid of. 

--

When she closes her eyes, the image that keeps coming back is the man who grabbed her. But after she forgets what he looks like, the features start becoming someone else’s. It’s Gendry who is gripping her arms, Gendry whose eyes are wide and whose face is caked in blood that isn’t dried yet.

“My wife?” He asks her, hand shaking her shoulder. “Have you seen my wife?!”

No, Arya thinks as she bites down on her lower lip. No, she isn’t here.

[rubyredsparks]

Blossoming Souls Ch. 16

Relationship(s): Romantic Logince, Moxiety; Platonic every other relationship

“Tags” for the whole story: morally grey!deceit, Deceit, Remus, Thomas as a character, Romance, Minor violence, someone’s potty mouth, Foul language, Minor homophobia (it’s not that bad), Miscommunication (this one is though), Friendship

Chapter Summary: The end of the beginning

Thomas couldn’t believe his son was here in the flesh. The son that he lost thirteen years ago. The son that he thought was dead was here, standing in front of him.

“Remus- Remus, is it really you?”

“Ah, ah, ah, daddy dearest, it’s Captain Amaryllis Hollyhock now.” Remus gave him a sweeping bow, mocking smile playing on his lips. “Captain of the Wormwood Cabbage, at your service.”

Thomas was in total shock that his only thought was, “Cabbage?”

Remus shrugged, “Inside joke. Don’t get me off topic! I’m here to kill you!” He laughed gleefully, taking out a knife from a scabbard that Thomas did not want to know where it came from.

All hope that he could have his son back peacefully died when Remus stabbed the knife at the air in front of him. “Why?”

“Because Daddy Dearest, you ruined my life!” Remus said with a manic smile, and Thomas absolutely refused to acknowledge the pirate name. “There I was, an ickle ten year, bright eyed and bushy tailed, getting ready for the banquet and festival and tourney, absolutely ready to join in some swash buckling and swords flying.

“But you said no, that I was too young to participate. Took away my sword, the thing that I spent so long saving up for.” He growled, the dagger getting dangerously closer to Thomas’ face as he stepped back, hitting his desk.

“So I snuck out! No one noticed, or no one was supposed to. Imagine my surprise when Papa found me, taking me back by ear. Boy, was he mad! But guess who found us?” Remus looked expectantly at him, eyes gleaming red.

Thomas didn’t know if he was supposed to answer. He didn’t remember any of this happening. He never got word about this. Virgil told him that the two got kidnapped by pirates.

“Guess!” Remus shrieked, dagger catching on his cheek, blood trickling down. “Oops,” he giggled. “My bad, well if you won’t guess, then I’ll just tell you, though it isn’t as fun.”

Remus licked the blood from the dagger, eyes glazing over thoughtfully. And Thomas took his time to fully examine his son that he hadn’t seen in over thirteen years.

His son was taller now, a man’s build that he only felt like he remembered was a young boy the other day. He supposed it was just the other that he thought Remus was a child. Now his son was twenty three, barely half an inch taller than him and threatening him with a knife.

Times changed.

Remus was wearing a green long sleeved tunic, belt tied around his waist with what looked like an octopus as its buckle. His trousers were blue or black, Thomas couldn’t really tell at this angle, white strings keeping it up.

He was tanner than Roman, clearly being out in the sun more. And Thomas had to take a metaphorical step back as he remembered that his son had probably been turned into a pirate. It made his stomach turn in guilt.

Remus’ hair was shorn short on his left side, longer hair growing out to the side that it nearly covered his eyes as he flicked it to the side. Curiously, Thomas noticed the grey streak prominent in the middle of his hair, heart clenching when he thought about what must have happened for that to get there. He even had a scruff of a beard, something akin to peach fuzz around his mouth.

“-- And so I told him that the A and H stand for Asshole. So he could stick his concerns up my asshole for all I cared. I was going to conquer the nine seas if his life depended on it, so I stabbed him.” Remus ended his tangent with a little shrug, picking the undersides of his nails with the dagger.

“That was…” Thomas swallowed, “graphic.”

Remus’ eyes lit up, more brown than the red it was before, “If you want, I can tell you something really wild. Now, no spoilers but it involved an octopus and several men and one sword.”

Thomas really didn’t want to know that story. He opened his mouth to say something before he felt his knees buckling, staggering to lean his weight on the desk behind him.

“That must be the poison!” Remus said cheerfully. “Though it worked slower than I was promised,” he pouted. “I’ll have to kill the merchant. Shame, he had such a handsome dick.”

“Don't you mean face?” Thomas asked, face paling. Please mean face, he prayed. He really did not want to hear about his son’s exploits.

“Hmm? Oh yeah, I suppose. But his dick. I mean that cock was just-!”

“Please,” Thomas said, clamping his both of his ears with his hands as the blood drained from his face, “do not finish that sentence.”

“Spoilsport,” Remus’ pout deepened. “You’re the killjoy I remember you being, Daddy dearest. Ah well, you’re about to die anyway.”

“If the dagger’s been poisoned shouldn’t you be dying as well?”

“What a fun question!” Remus’ eyes lit up. “Of course not, I’ve built up quite an intolerance to poisons in all these years that I’ve been gone, Daddy!”

“What happened to Papa?”

The good mood in Remus’ eyes vanished. “Died protecting me from the pirates I now lead. Oh, papa, at least you tried. Unlike you.”

Thomas’ stomach left him as all hope vanished. With Remus standing in front of him, he could delude himself into thinking J- his husband was still alive. But all of that disappeared by the hard look Remus gave him. He couldn’t hold his weight anymore, sliding to the floor.

Remus leaned over him, mouth near his ear. “Enjoy hell, daddy. I’ll enjoy ruining your kingdom.”

The door slammed open, and Remus tore himself away from Thomas, hand outstretched after throwing a knife. It made a thud against the frame, Roman peeking out from behind the door.

“Darn, that was my last knife,” Remus whigned, stamping his foot slightly. “Guess, I’ll have to make do with swords instead.”

He pulled out a sword from somewhere again that Thomas definitely didn’t want to know came from, and swung it in his hand lazily as he waited. Thomas wondered how it could be Roman when he distinctly remember that Roman was at the tourney.

The door opened wide, Roman holding his sword at the ready, still decked out in his armour, face furious. Thomas couldn’t see his face as he stepped closer, obscured by Remus stepping in front of him.

Roman stalked forward as his eyes settled on Remus and his grip faltered. “Rem-rem?”

“Hello~ Ro-ro!” Remus sang, swinging his sword jauntily.

“You’re a pirate?” Roman said in disbelief, taking in his attire and figuring out much quicker than Thomas did. “Why would you be a pirate? Pirates ruined our lives. They took you and Papa away from us!”

“No, they saved my life!” Remus threw back. “Papa died, saving me, and I became a pirate for him.”

“That’s a bit of flawed logic,” Roman scoffed.

“Oh suck a dick,” Remus growled. “Daddy dearest over there ruined our lives. He let Papa die!”

“Father did no such thing!” Roman yelled, sword arm swinging. “He searched for the both of you for years! He mourned for you! I mourned for you!”

“Well, I’m alive! So stick a finger up your asshole!”

Distantly, he noticed that Remus had stalked forward enough that Roman was able to crowd him away from Thomas and more toward the window he came in. He heard quiet footsteps, “Hello, your Majesty.” Logan said, hushed. “It’s me, Logan. Help is on the way.”

Thomas grabbed Logan’s hand in gratitude. He wondered if the dizziness he was feeling was the poison making its way into his heart. Poisoned twice in a row. Virgil was not going to be pleased.

“Don’t think I don’t see your boy toy, Ro-ro,” Remus taunted, and Thomas’ grip on Logan’s hand tightened.

“Don’t call him that,” Roman gritted out, his hand a flurry as his rage got more intense.

“What is he then?” Remus pointed out, stabbing toward Roman. “He’s your Intended. Daddy announced it at the ball. Your Destined as they call it in Aowhea.” Remus chanced a sly look at Logan, and Thomas could see the fury in Logan’s eyes. “Or is he just another toy you’re stringing along. You’ve got a listful of them after all.”

“You’ve kept track?” Roman asked, spinning to dodge an attack.

Remus tensed, stabbing forward mercilessly quick again. “NO!”

“You did, baby brother, you do care!” Roman laughed in delight, neatly dodging Remus’ furious attacks.

“Stop calling me baby brother!” Remus demanded. “You’re barely a minute older!”

“Still older,” Roman sang. “And, it seems I'm taller than you too, Rem-Rem!”

“Half an inch!” Remus growled, lunging in anger. “I’m Captain of the most feared pirate ship in all the nine seas! What have you done? You couldn’t even kill the Dragon Witch!”

“I thought we said we were never going to talk about that!” Roman screeched as he dodged. “Besides what kind of name is Hollycock anyhow? Are you calling yourself a chicken.”

“It's Hollyhock, And at least I’m getting cock,” Remus leered, and Roman flushed red, glancing away.

Which was his inevitable downfall. Because Remus swept his leg under Roman’s, making him fall hard on his butt on the floor. Logan cried out in shock. “Oh, shut up, boy toy,” growling as he kicked Roman’s sword away.

Remus towered over him, sword pointing at his neck and foot resting on Roman’s chest. “Finally after thirteen years, I get to slice that obnoxious face of yours to pieces.”

“We have the same face!” Roman protested, the heel of Remus’ boot putting more pressure on his chest.

“Mine is better,” Remus sneered. He lifted his sword, ready to swing.

Roman braced himself, eyes screwing themselves closed without his meaning to. Only for a loud clang to reverberate throughout the room.

Roman opened his eyes to see King Ernst standing over Remus’ unconscious body with a disgruntled look, dropping the metal vase with disgust. “Well, that was tedious.”

“What?” he asked at the varying degrees of disbelief staring at him. “You left the door open. He should’ve been paying more attention to his surroundings.”

“Father, what’s this about me being someone’s Destined?” Logan asked, fury prominent in his voice despite its evenness.

King Ernst had the grace to look away to hide his guilty look. Deliriously, Thomas thought that he was still the same man Thomas remembered meeting over twenty years ago.

“I’m still poisoned, I hope you realized.” Thomas said weakly before vomiting.

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

“So, I guess the wedding’s off?” Virgil asked, staring at the pond.

“I don’t think so,” Patton said thoughtfully. “Prince Logan is furious with his Father, but he understands why his Father did it the way he did. He might not agree with it, he may be very furious with the decision, but he understands. What about Roman?”

“I think the idiot Prince is in love with your Prince,” Virgil said with a shake of his head. “He might be willing to do a longer courtship now. Take the slow road.”

“Well, I suppose that’s fair, especially after all they’ve been through.” Patton nodded his head, hand absentmindedly feeding oats to the ducks surrounding them. “What happened to Remus?”

“They’ve thrown him into the stocks three days a week for two months,” Virgil said, watching Patton coo over ducklings feeding from his palms. “He’s left doing the grunt work, scuttling around to make up for his offenses. He’s cuffed, can’t go anywhere without at least three guards. He’s been stripped of his prince’s station, but he’s still royalty, just lower in rank. A duke, I think.”

“His Majesty?”

“King Thomas is going to be fine. Healer Brian said that the poison Remus administer to him was a low dosage. He’ll just be incredibly sick for the next two weeks.”

“Can you believe this all happened when we’ve only been here for almost a month. That was a wild b-ride from start to finish.”

“Pat,” Virgil said annoyingly fond, “that was terrible.”

“Thank you!” Patton beamed. “I couldn’t tear myself away from that pun! I’d rather book it than let in lie in pieces.”

“Patton, please,” Virgil begged.

“Ah, there you two lovebirds are!” An annoyingly flamboyant voice startled the two, making them jump apart.

Virgil sighed in annoyance, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What do you want Roman?”

“Can’t I hang out with the two of you without any secret motives?” Roman blinked innocently.

“You clearly have one, you don’t come around to me without one.”

“What if I wanted to talk to Patton?” Roman pouted, crossing his arms.

Virgil raised his brow, and Roman deflated. “Okay, I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to talk to Patton too, but mainly you.”

“What’s up, kiddo?” Patton took pity on him.

Roman glanced nervously over at Logan, who was obliviously reading under a gazebo. He took out a small velvet box, and Patton gasped, hands on his cheeks and pushing his glasses up.

“Is that-?”

Roman shushed him, looking around to make sure Logan didn’t see anything. “I don’t want Logan to know.”

“Merciful Lady, Roman, is that a ring?” Virgil asked in exasperation.

“It’s my something small,” Roman defended himself. He opened it up, showing the two the ring.

It was cast in a soft coloured gold, small blue sapphires and rubies encrusted into the metal. It was nothing fancy, simple but luxurious enough that it was obvious Roman spent time and money into this. Patton inspected it closer, noticing something inside the band. “Are those-?”

Roman nodded fondly, “Asters and wisterias. I’ve been reading up on them, the languages. Wisteria means welcome or welcoming and asters have a whole slew of meanings, but I’m going to use the universal one: which is symbol of love.”

Virgil snorted, “How very you.”

The Prince only preened, not taking any offense. “I’m going to give this to him now.” he said, standing up.

Patton waved, out of duck feed, “Good luck.”

Roman nodded determinedly, he walked over to Logan’s side, procuring a bouquet of light pink and dark red roses from nowhere. He looked nervous as Logan looked up.

“You think they’ll be alright?” Virgil asked out of the blue.

Patton hummed, giving it some thought. His hair fell in front of his eyes as he turned to face Virgil, “Yeah, I think they will.”

“And… and us?” Patton could practically taste Virgil’s anxiety in the air. He heard a shriek and hid a smile.

He dug in his pockets, pulling out something small. “Here, something small, right? That’s how you Eiehdens do it around here?”

Virgil looked at the object in Patton’s hand with a little hint of confusion. But he took the small beaded bracelet with charms carefully, holding it reverently in his fingers.

“I’ll help you put it on,” Patton said with a small smile, taking the purple bracelet and looping it around Virgil’s wrist.

He wrapped an arm around Virgil’s shoulder carefully, feeling how he tensed. “I think we’re going to be alright.”

He glanced back, seeing how Roman and Logan were hugging the life out of each other. Patton smiled, wide and broad.

“I think we’re all going to be alright.”

A/N: and that marks the end of Blossoming Souls. Thank you so much for reading!

Masterpost | Previous

[colorfulhearts]

Colorful Hearts Ch. 9

*buzz-buzz*

Jackie looked up to her desk from where she was sitting on the floor to see a light coming from her phone. She crawled over to her desk on her hands and knees and grabbed her phone.

New Message flashed on her dim screen. Opening it, she saw that it was from Ethyn.

Ethyn: Come to my room please.

Jackie: Sure! Be there in a sec. Gotta clean up the explosion of fabric.

She put down her phone and quickly picked up the bits of fabric she had been working with.

Exiting her room and going one door over she lightly knocked on Ethan’s very blue door. She heard him answer her knock with a muffled ‘Come in’. Opening the door she saw him curled up in his computer chair looking a little annoyed.

“Hey Eth,” she greeted him as she made herself comfortable on the small couch he had in the corner of his room. “What’s up?”

With a bit of frustration he scratched at his head and growled a response, “Miko canceled on going to the faculty costume party.”

“Why?” She asked puzzled. Miko and Ethyn had planned the whole evening. They even asked her for help with their outfits. Ethyn and Miko were going to the party in Phantom of the Opera inspired outfits that they had managed to put together but had asked Jackie for accessories. The rose that she had made was sitting in a vase on his desk. The silk had been hand dyed and made to glow in the dark. She also made them each a mask. Ethyn had them hanging above his desk. He had been really excited and the look he had on his face now broke Jackie’s heart.

“What happened?”

He reached up over his head and grabbed the mask that was hanging on the edge of the shelf. “He has some family coming in that day.” His fingers traced the shape of the half mask. “I’m not mad, just bummed. You worked so hard on these masks and they’ll never see the outside world.”

“Pfft,” Jackie waved her hand in front of her, “Yes they will. Sadly just not at this party.” She shrugged her shoulders and gave him a huge smile. She didn’t want him to be upset over something silly like that. “Are you still going to the party?”

“I want to but I don’t want to go alone,” he wrinkled his nose. “That’s never any fun.”

The two sat in silence for a while when a thought crossed Jackie’s mind. But before she would share her idea she needed some confirmation.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and began to text Phelix and Marco. The two guys gave her the green light on her idea.

“What are you so smiley about?” Ethyn probed.

She didn’t waste any time.

“How would you like Marco, Phe, and I to be your dates to the party?”

Ethyn looked stunned by her question. The thought clearly had never even occurred to him.

“You three are willing to go with me?”

“Duh!” She exclaimed. “An excuse to go out and have a good time, especially with you? You know we are all about that.”

The laughter became uncontrollable for a while after that. Both remembering moments that the four of them spent having a great time together. It wasn’t until Ethyn remembered that the party had a costume requirement that he stopped to ask what he thought was the obvious.

“We need costumes!” His face somewhat panicked. “The party is next Saturday, what are we going to do?”

Jackie got up off the couch and headed for the door of Ethyn’s room. “Don’t you worry about that. I’ve got it covered,” she said calmly with a wink as she left his room.

***ONE WEEK LATER***

It was a few hours before the party and Ethyn was pacing in his room.

“I haven’t even seen what she’s working on! I knew a week wasn’t enough time!”

“Will you please calm down. When has Jackie ever let you down, especially fashion wise?”

Ethyn stopped his pacing and looked towards his computer desk. There on his laptop he could see his boyfriend’s smiling face. He calmly walked over to his computer chair and sank into it. He didn’t say a word; he was trying to release the nerves that were trying to take over his body with little success.

“Just breath, Ethyn.”

He listened to him. Closing his eyes and bringing to mind all the times Jackie pulled through not only for him but anyone she knew. After a few moments he opened his eyes and saw that Miko was still smiling at him.

“Better?”

Ethyn nodded. Changing the subject he asked, “When do your parents get in?”

Miko picked up his phone and checked the time, “They said they’d be in town by 6:30.”

Checking his own phone he saw that it was 5:37. He also saw that his phone had no messages. Checking his phone wasn’t the best idea. He could feel the nerves rising again. As if Miko could read his racing thoughts he began to softly speak to his nervous boyfriend, “It’s still early, Eth. The party isn’t until 8:00. You have time.”

He was about to nod in agreement when there was a pounding on his door. It surprised him in a very unpleasant way.

“Who knocks like that?” Miko made a disapproving face as Ethyn went to open the door. But before he could even take a step away from his computer desk to reach it the door swung open and entered three color coordinate humans he recognized vaguely as his friends and roommates.

As they entered his room they formed a line, all three in clear view of both Ethyn and Miko.

Jackie dressed in a double breasted flare coat with three quarter sleeves in a deep emerald shade of green that stood out over a fitted white button up blouse. The flowy layered skirt she was wearing was the same emerald green. Black floral lace tights and her signature black boots with dragon wings completed her look.

Next to her was Marco, wearing a two toned red and black layered fitted vest with a white button up shirt underneath tucked into blood read jeans that Ethyn knew right away had been hand dyed by Jackie with three gold chains hanging from his belt loops. Adding a bit of intimidation to a preppy look. Black combat boots were on his feet but that wasn’t all. Marco was also wearing a blood red bow tie. How Jackie got him to do it no one would ever know but it suited him perfectly.

Last but not least was Phelix. He was wearing what could only be described as 80’s era varsity jacket without the patches in a golden yellow. Underneath the jacket he wore a simple white fitted T-shirt paired with jeans and yellow high top converse shoes. Phelix wasn’t the jock of the group but he sure did dress the part extremely well.

As if on cue, all three of them looked towards Ethyn and began to look him over.

“Ya know, ya know, ya know? This could be beautiful,” Marco commented as he stepped closer to Ethyn.

Ethyn had nowhere to go. His computer desk was behind him. He looked towards his laptop and saw that Miko had a huge grin on his face as if he was in on this whole situation that was unfolding in his room. He turned back towards Marco and saw that Jackie and Phelix hadn’t moved but we’re still looking him over in what he could only assume was a judgemental way.

“A bit of this and that,” Marco flicked his hand toward Ethyn. “Get this guy some accessories!” He snapped his fingers and Jackie and Phelix moved to flank him. “And Heather I need your brush!”

Together they said, “Let’s make him beautiful!”

“Okay?” Marco smirked.

With those last few lines Ethyn finally knew what was going on. Jackie had always said that their signature colors reminded her of her favorite movie turned musical. A smile crept onto his face as he recited the next line, “OKAY!”

Miko on the laptop shouted, “How very!”

That took them all out of character and laughter erupted. It took some time for them to compose themselves but when they did Ethyn couldn’t wait any longer.

“So where’s my outfit?” He looked to Jackie for the answer.

She extended her hand to him to take and he did. Together they walked out of his room and into the hallway.

It wasn’t long until Jackie returned and opened the door wide and stood next to the boys sitting on the couch in Ethan's room. Miko was still on video chat when his boyfriend strode into his room. Striking a pose and with an overly confident voice only Ethyn could muster up he said loudly, “Ask me how it feels looking like hell on wheels!”

Ethyn was decked out in dark midnight blues. A sports jacket that had three quarter sleeves made to look rolled up. The exposed lining of the jacket was blue plaid and similar to the others he was wearing a white button up shirt but the buttons were blue rhinestones. Dark wash jeans with tears exposing the same blue plaid that the jacket was lined with and solid black converse completed his Veronica inspired look.

Miko in his best impersonation of JD said, “Greetings and salutations. I’d fight for you any day.”

Jackie, Marco, and Phelix couldn’t help but aww in unison. Ethyn blush as he walked closer to the laptop. The other three got up off the couch and stood behind their friend.

“You guys really look great,” Miko continued to compliment. “Jackie, considering this was all last minute it looks like you’d been working on them for months.”

“Thanks Miko!” She blushed, “A compliment from you is one of the highest of praises.”

“Can you four stand together I wanna get a screenshot,” Miko requested. The four of them did as they were asked but before he could take the shot Jackie squeaked.

“Wait! Hold on, I forgot something!” She ran out of the room and quickly returned with four croquet mallets, each in their signature colors and their names engraved on the handles.

“Wow!” Phelix exhaled in surprise, “You really went all out.” Jackie just shrugged with a sweet smile that said she knew as she handed them their props and posed for Miko. He quickly took the screenshot and gave the group a giant grin.

“Beautiful! But I want better pictures please!”

“You got it, babe.” Ethyn smiled as he got closer to his laptop.

“We are definitely getting better pictures of these outfits. If not at the party then at a proper photo shoot for my site.” Jackie proclaimed proudly. “Robynn will demand it.”

The rest nodded. Soon Ethyn said a quick goodbye to his boyfriend who’s family would be arriving at any moment. Both promising to see each other soon.

“Bummer he couldn’t make it tonight,” Jackie half smiled to Ethyn as he put his computer into sleep mode. He just sighed.

“I did however make him an outfit just in case his plans changed.”

“What?” Ethyn was shocked.

“You know me,” Jackie shrugged as she lightly shifted her weight from one foot to the other, “the overachiever.” She waved her hand for him to follow her to her room. She opened her door and lead him inside. To the far side of the room 5 mannequins lined against the wall; four of them bare but one still wore an outfit.

“It’s pretty simple,” Jackie began to explain as Ethyn walked up to the mannequin to get a closer look at her creation. “But the trench coat is what I’m truly proud of.”

Lifting the coat away from the mannequin he saw what she meant. It was lined with the same plaid his jacket and jeans had.

“JD worshiped Veronica. Granted in a very unhealthy way but I thought it was fitting that he’d hide a secret token for her.”

“Your mind..” Ethyn couldn’t even finish the sentence. Her creative mind was something that couldn’t be described with mere words. He stepped away from the mannequin and engulfed her in an embrace that translated his thanks to her for everything.

When they finally parted she smiled at him with a smile that told him she understood his hug.

“Come on. Heather and Heather are waiting. There’ll be plenty of time to gawk at our outfits at a photo shoot. Right now we have a whole party waiting to fawn over us.”

The two laughed as they joined Marco and Phelix in the living room.

“Ready?” Phelix asked as he tossed his car keys from one had to the other.

“Very.” Ethyn answered.