#horsemen's mounts

[paulthepoke]

This Week in Prophecy: Olympic Spirit; Israel Engages Yemen; Russia/China/Iran Draw Closer; 3 Gorges Dam; Volcanos & Quakes

This Week in Prophecy: Olympic Spirit; Israel Engages Yemen; Russia/China/Iran Draw Closer; 3 Gorges Dam; Volcanos & Quakes

Galatians 6:7 Do not be deceived: God is not mocked, for whatever one sows, that will he also reap. The Olympic spirit is alive and well from the city of lights and love, gay Paris. Hope you had your fun with rebellion, taunting, and scoffing. I guarantee Somebody is watching and will respond accordingly and at a time of His choosing. Even as a Jew, I am infuriated by this outrageous insult to…

[cappucosmic]

The Stallion Who Mounts The World

Inspired by Viktor Vasnetsov's painting The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

[heliads]

now you see me daniel atlas x reader where reader kinda volunteered to be a prop in a trick but atlas becomes super shy and stutters? I love me some shy men

loving your 'i love me some shy men.' speak on that anon

masterlist

Honestly, you never really thought you’d swing this. It’s one thing to talk about the Four Horsemen, sure, it’s all anyone wants to do these days, but it’s something else entirely to actually make it to one of their shows. Tickets sell out within minutes, it’s practically inhuman. 

You’ve heard rumors that the Horsemen control who gets seats at their show to make their tricks work better, which makes your presence here even more exciting. Somewhere, somehow, you were meant to be at this very show. You were intended to head over to the venue with your giggling friends, you were supposed to sit in your exact chair, and above all, you were divinely ordained to watch pure spectacle unfold before your eyes tonight. 

Maybe magic and fate aren’t that far off after all. The Four Horsemen have evidently decided to take your future into their hands tonight. It’s something fascinating, to be sure, a sort of excitement that makes your stomach spin with anticipation as you find your aisle with mounting thrill. 

Truth be told, it didn’t feel real until you were walking into the performance hall. Like, yeah, you somehow managed to get your tickets, and you’ll absolutely be holding on to your paper stub until the day you die, but it wasn’t certain. Not until you were sitting down, looking with wide eyes at the stage and seats around you like you’ll be able to spot the answer to all the tricks just by keeping your gaze strong and discerning. Maybe something would happen to pull everything away just before it started.

Goodness knows you’ve been extra careful as of late, just in case. No legs will be broken, no ankles twisted, and the chance of you losing your ticket was small but terrifying. You’ve been checking transportation schedules hours in advance, just in case, and you were fully prepared to call an Uber if something really didn’t work out.

It all went your way, though, and now you’re watching the lights dim around you. This is it, then. The show of shows, what you’ve been waiting for for ages and is now finally yours. They’re saying that the Four Horsemen are going to be the pinnacle of live entertainment for this decade at least, and when the quartet of magicians appear on the stage out of nowhere, you’re inclined to believe them. This is something altogether different than anything you’ve ever experienced before.

The show starts off like most of the Horsemen’s performances do– according to the articles you’ve had the chance to read, at least. They’ll do a few tricks, get the crowd excited, then they’ll start looking to the audience and that’s when things get really interesting. Jack Wilder does a few card tricks, Henley appears and disappears out of seemingly thin air, and then it’s Daniel Atlas’ time to go, and you lean forward slightly in your seat.

You know he’ll be interesting, that’s for sure. Of all of the performers that make up the Four Horsemen, Daniel is the only one that you’d heard of before. You’ve Googled his tricks before, watched grainy videos people took of his street shows before he joined the three other magicians and finally made it big. You’ve never been able to figure out how he did anything, not that you were looking all that closely at his hands.

No, you were, admittedly, a little more interested in the bright blue eyes flashing whenever someone fell for his tricks, the swoop of russet hair he kept irritably combing back. You’re not going to go so far as to say it was a celebrity crush, but. You know cute when you see it.

Sure enough, once Henley finishes off her performance to the thunderous applause of the audience, Atlas claps once to get everyone’s attention back on him, then announces that he’ll actually be needing a volunteer from the audience for his next trick.

One of your friends elbows you in the side. “You should totally raise your hand.”

“Really?” You ask.

“Absolutely!” She laughs. “I mean, this is your one chance to get him to notice you, right?”

You roll your eyes, but grin and do as suggested. After all, getting the chance to go up on that stage and actually have Daniel Atlas look you in the eyes would be nothing short of extraordinary. So, knowing there’s no chance he’ll actually look out and see your hand among the scores of other waving palms in this crowded room, you raise your arm, just because you can.

It’s ridiculous, the odds of actually getting picked for something like this. Hundreds of people all practically dragging each other down just for the possibility of one of the Horsemen seeing them, and you think you’ll be the one they see as opposed to anyone, anyone else.

The Four Horsemen thrive on ridiculous chances, though. Impossibility is their best habit. Somehow, Merritt McKinney turns directly at you and points.

“You,” he says, “Come up here. Yeah, you, the one I’m looking at.”

You rise slowly, as if in a dream, and, when no one stops you, walk up to the stage. It feels insane to be taking the stairs and then stepping up onto the raised platform, looking around at all the people staring back at you. Merritt heads over with a grin, whispering in your ear that he hopes stage fright isn’t an issue with you. When you shake your head, he gestures for you to walk over to Daniel, who’s waiting with an outstretched hand.

You take it with a smile. “Thanks for having me.”

“Yeah,” he says a little quickly, “yeah, thanks for coming. Really.”

He doesn’t say anything else for a moment or two, not even about his trick. Merritt coughs pointedly behind him. “Would you like to ask the lovely young lady her name?”

Daniel’s eyes widen and he straightens up in a hurry. “Yes, yes. Sorry about that. What is your name?”

“I’m Y/N,” you tell him, “Y/N L/N.”

The crowd roars its approval, but Daniel doesn’t seem to notice them for a second. Funny, for someone who’s been performing for massive audiences this long, it’s like he’s almost forgotten what it is that he’s there to do.

Merritt walks behind you, mumbling something to you about how he always picks pretty girls for these sorts of things because it makes Atlas lose his mind. You laugh at that, and if you weren’t sure that Daniel wasn’t hopeless for you before, he’s absolutely gone now. Jack has to come up and tap his shoulder before he remembers to carry on with the introduction for the trick.

Your volunteer opportunity is actually pretty exciting, as if you’d expect anything less. Daniel invites you to step into a glass case just a few inches taller than you, then shatters the entire thing to smithereens to the shock of the audience, all with you locked inside. You’re fine, of course, and step out of a cloud of blue smoke to the delight of the onlookers just a few minutes later after Daniel gets everyone to chant the necessary ‘magic words’ as loudly as they can.

Daniel takes your hand again the second you’re back in sight, raising it to the sky as if you’ve won a boxing round. “Can we hear it for Y/N L/N, our disappearing girl?”

Under the cover of the cheers, he turns to you, whispers something so you’re the only one who can hear. “Meet me after the show? Please?”

When you nod, he smiles like a schoolboy, and it takes the combined efforts of Merritt and Jack to get him to focus on the script for their performance, even after you’ve walked off stage and settled back in your seat once more.

Your friends are cheering when you get back to your place. “Did you see Atlas?” One of your friends laughs, “He was totally smitten. Like, totally. He couldn’t stop staring at you.”

You stare at her incredulously. “Really? I mean, I thought so, but I wasn’t sure. It was probably just a part of the performance, though.”

“No way,” your friend says derisively, “I’ve never seen someone more head over heels. You can’t fake something like that, not even if you’re a world famous magician.”

Your friend is right, as it turns out. Once the Four Horsemen disappear from sight to the tumultuous applause, you and your friends head out to the lobby, all eagerly discussing the magic you’d just seen before your very eyes. As you’re about to leave, though, you spot someone waiting in the shadows, near the backstage entrance. Daniel Atlas, just as promised.

You tell your friends to go on without you, ignoring their knowing looks when you start heading Daniel’s way. His eyes light up again when he sees you heading over.

“I was hoping you’d wait around,” he admits when you’re close enough to hear him over the chatter of the departing audience.

“Well, I promised, didn’t I?” You say lightly.

He smiles bashfully. “I wanted to apologize for being so, uh, distracted during the show. See, Merritt likes to play this joke on me by trying to find people who’ll pull my focus, and it’s never affected me like this before, not before you, but–”

You just laugh. “Don’t worry about it, honestly. He kind of told me as much back on stage.”

“Really?” Daniel asks, somewhat horrified.

“It’s fine,” you tell him, “Honestly, I’m going to take it as a compliment. Not every girl gets to say that one of the Four Horsemen thought they were pretty, right?”

“No other girls,” Daniel says on impulse. “Really, it was– it was just you. Promise.”

You smile. “Does that mean I’m special, Daniel Atlas?”

“Very. Special enough to give me your number, maybe?” He asks hopefully.

“I’d say so,” you grin.

Daniel hands over his phone and you input your name and number. He pockets it with a relieved laugh, and is just about to head away when you realize that you don’t have his number. 

When you point this out to him, Daniel just smiles. “Actually, I think you do.”

Someone calls his name in earnest now, and he has to head away with copious apologies. When you go to check your phone, you realize that a piece of paper has been stuck in your pocket without your knowledge. When you pull it out, it’s a business card for a coffee shop down the block. A date and time has been scrawled on it, with messy handwriting asking if you’d be so kind as to meet him again. As promised, Daniel’s phone number is at the bottom, next to a carefully drawn heart.

You smile to yourself as you tuck the card back inside your pocket. Looks like you’ve got some excitement in your life after all. The only thing it took was one bit of magic.

now you see me tag list: @mayfieldss

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Turning Points

Pairing: Éomer x reader (who doesn’t want to imagine themselves hanging out with Éomer??). Plus an Elfhelm cameo because I love that dude.

Summary: Éomer’s lifelong best friend reckons with how much and how quickly his life has changed as a result of the war and wonders what that means for the life she had hoped to have with him.

************

The clear, deep sound of horns rang out in the distance and alerted all of Edoras to the imminent arrival of the army, home for the first time since that urgent, panicked ride to Helm’s Deep more than two months ago. Although word of their subsequent deeds and victories in Gondor had already reached the city, many details were yet unknown, and the mood of those who gathered in the streets was celebratory but tinged with anxiety as hopeful eyes prepared to scan the returning éoreds for a first glimpse of deeply missed loved ones.

The terrace in front of Meduseld quickly filled with people, and you slipped easily into the crowd as the first few companies of horsemen began to climb the hill. The riders smiled broadly at the cheers and flowers that rained down on them, though some still bore clear evidence of painful wounds and fractures. Others led behind them riderless horses, the mounts of those soldiers who would never return. You whispered a quiet prayer of gratitude, knowing from the messengers who had gone back and forth from Minas Tirith that both of those most precious to you were safely in the host.

No sooner had you finished your prayer than a cry went up from the crowd–“Hail, Elfhelm, Marshal of Edoras!”—and your father came into view. As gregarious as he was popular, he played shamelessly to the crowd, doffing his stallion-crested helmet and waving a shield that had clearly been confiscated from some defeated Haradrim commander. When his eyes finally landed on you, he gave a joyful whoop and sprang from the saddle. Throwing the helmet and shield aside, he ran to you with the speed of a much younger man, and the strength of his embrace forced the breath from your lungs. He spun you around several times as you kissed his sunburned cheeks, and when he placed you on your feet again he grasped your shoulders and gazed for a long moment at your face.

“Many nights have I dreamed of just this view,” he said. “There is no finer one in all of Middle Earth.”

You gave his hands a squeeze. “I have not known a moment’s peace since you left. Now that you are back, I may never let you leave again.”

“I am at your command, my lady,” he said with a smile and an exaggerated bow. “But I do not flatter myself so much as to think that I am the only one you have been missing. The royal household will be arriving soon, and I am certain you are as eager to see the new king as he must be to see you.”

Your heart leaped in your chest at the mention of Éomer, but this was not the time or the place to open the gate that held back those feelings. “For my part, I shall certainly be glad to see him home and safe. But a man such as Éomer has many friends, and no doubt he desires to see them all.”

He burst into laughter. “Do you speak such nonsense on purpose, or have I really raised you to be so naive? I know that you do not admit it to others, and perhaps not even between yourselves, but I have watched the two of you for many years now and I know love when I see it. Let us not pretend you are just one friend among many, a single star in a crowded sky. You are his sun, just as he is yours. I may be old, but I am certainly not blind.”

Your face flushed in pain and embarrassment. If your father had perceived all of this, likely others had, too. It was true that you loved Éomer, and you had always believed he loved you back. You felt his devotion in the way he trusted you and watched out for you, in the look on his face when you walked into a room. But neither of you had ever stated it outright. Perhaps you had been wrong all along, reading a great deal too much into a cherished friendship. Or perhaps what he felt was no longer relevant given his new responsibilities and duties. Either way, when Éomer married another in a few months' time, your crushed hopes would be on display for the whole city to see and discuss.

“Things have changed, father. You know that. The Éomer that I have known all my life was Éomund’s son. He was not heir to the throne of Rohan and certainly not its king. His life is very different now from the one we might have expected just months ago when Théodred was still alive.”

He sighed. “Much has happened, I concede. He has gone from nephew to heir to king. He nearly lost his sister. He comes home with much to reflect on. But his heart itself has not changed.”

“Has it not?” Despite your best efforts, your voice broke and tears began to slide down your cheeks. “Then what of the news that has already made its way back here in advance of your return? Amongst word of your victories and the death of poor Théoden, it also said that Éomer is to marry the princess of Dol Amroth. They say she is considered a proper match for a king of the Mark, and that none less than the new king of Gondor himself proposed it. If I have heard this, surely you have, too.”

Your father reached up to gently brush a tear aside. “Anyone who would claim that you–the finest woman in all of Rohan–are not a proper match for our own king does not have sense enough to offer an opinion on the subject. I have heard this talk of Dol Amroth, it is true, but I have not heard any of it from Éomer’s own lips. And I will not believe it unless I do. His choice was made long ago. You will see.” He put a finger under your chin and tipped your face up to him. “Now, I would stay here and debate this with you all day if your mother were not surely waiting for me at home. And if she thinks I have not hurried there with sufficient speed, she will soon accomplish what all the swordsmen of Harad could not!”

You smiled in spite of yourself and kissed him one last time before he remounted his horse. He gave you a wink as he rode on, and you dried your eyes before turning back to the procession of riders making their way forward.

Before long, the king’s banner appeared at the bottom of the hill. Even at that distance, it was easy to identify Éomer among the many men of his household–you would always recognize his frame and the way he carried himself even if he were not wearing his distinctive horse-tailed helmet and sitting astride Firefoot, who had now been arrayed with a saddle and bridle that sparkled with the gold of a monarch.

As he came into closer view, you could begin to discern the new trappings of royalty–the beautiful green cloak trimmed with shining gold embroidery, the neatly braided hair, the fur-lined boots. But underneath these superficial changes, he still looked like your Éomer. The same man who shared with you a lifetime of confidences and mischief and private jokes. The one who cried in your arms when he missed his parents. Who doted on you whenever you were sick and angrily confronted anyone he thought had hurt your feelings. Who stole your breath every time he turned his hazel eyes and dimpled smile in your direction.

His company dismounted near the bottom of the terrace, and he moved toward the stairs, trailed by attendants, guards and throngs of well-wishers eager to greet their new king. The clamor presented a perfect opportunity to slip away now that you had confirmed with your own eyes that he was safe and unharmed. It was the coward’s way out, but even one more day before you had to directly confront your new reality would be a gift. Just as you began to turn away, however, the sound of his voice carried over the tumult, calling your name.

You froze in place as he approached, feeling immediately uncertain of everything–how to stand, where to look, what to do. A lifetime of affectionate greetings and easy companionship had not prepared you to meet under these circumstances, not as intimate friends but as ruler and subject. Beloved and left behind. Hearing nothing but the sound of your own blood pulsing in your veins, you bowed and looked down.

“Hail, Éomer King.” When you finally raised your eyes, you could see uncertainty written on his face as well. He took another step toward you but stopped, and tentatively reached out a hand before dropping it back to his side. He looked in both directions, where dozens of attentive faces observed his every move.

“I am glad to see you,” he said quietly. His eyes sought yours, and when you allowed them to meet he gave you a soft smile. “I have missed you.”

“I…I am much relieved to see you home. These have been long and anxious months.”

Before either of you could speak again, an armored man at Éomer’s side cleared his throat and nodded in the direction of Meduseld. “You are expected in the hall, my lord. There is much business awaiting your attention, including messages due both to Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth.”

The mention of Dol Amroth sent an icy stab of pain into your chest, and you shrank back several steps, seeking a swift retreat. “Go ahead, my lord,” you managed to say. “A king’s duties must come first.”

His thick brows drew together and he frowned slightly, but eventually he nodded his assent. Your feet carried you away and down a maze of small streets and back alleys, picking up speed as you got further from the crowd, until at last you reached the edge of the city and disappeared into the surrounding fields and paddocks. You cast yourself down in the tall, sweet-smelling grass, shedding tears until you had none left and then staring up dolefully at the flat, blank sky. No matter how you considered and reconsidered your position, only two excruciating choices seemed to lay before you–either to find a new way to love Éomer, shorn of all romantic possibility and content to exist on the terms available to you, or to lose him entirely from your life. The first option felt beyond your strength, but the second was utterly unthinkable.

Uncounted hours passed until it began to darken and torches and candles sparked to life in the distance. Miserable and cold but not yet ready to join the revelry of your family, you wandered back to the city and found yourself headed to the old tack room at the marshal’s stables. Ever since childhood, the abandoned little storage space had served as a private spot to meet your friends, talk or simply to think, and during the war you had spent many hours there alone ruthlessly poring over your fears and concerns.

Throwing open the door and expecting to find it empty as always, you instead walked straight into Éomer, practically bouncing off his chest as he stood just past the threshold. Gone were the outward adornments of royalty, and he looked as you were accustomed to seeing him—simple clothing, well-used boots, hair in loose waves on his shoulders. “Éomer! I mean….I’m sorry. Excuse me, my lord.”

He grimaced a little. “Please, that is not necessary here. Not when it is us. I would like one piece of my old life that is familiar, someone who will still treat me not as king but as myself. I thought you might be here and hoped we could talk as we always have.”

He sat on an old saddle trunk and looked up at you expectantly. Here now was the first opportunity to test your strength—to be there for him simply as a friend and see if you could endure it—and so you nodded and sat next to him.

He was quiet at first, looking around the room and seeming lost in thought. The issue of his pending marriage felt to you like a heavy, palpable presence in the room, but you did not have the heart to raise the subject yet. Instead, you clasped your arms around yourself and waited for him to speak, to give some indication of what he was thinking.

“Do you remember my fifteenth birthday?” he asked suddenly.

“Your…fifteenth birthday? Yes, I think so.” Fragments of distant memories quickly reassembled in your mind. “That was the night you dragged a stolen cask of ale in here, wasn’t it? And then you drank more than half of it all on your own.”

“Which meant you had to spend the rest of the night holding back my hair while I experienced the consequences.”

You smiled. “Yes. Though I experienced some of your consequences, too, if I recall. Those shoes were never the same again.”

He snorted a laugh, and for just a moment things felt almost normal again. Easy and light, as they had been when you were just those two coltish teenagers, having fun and testing the limits of your adolescent independence. But as the laughter faded, the awkwardness returned and his face turned serious.

“I am sorry about this morning.” He shook his head slowly. “That was not how I imagined our reunion, but everything has become so difficult and formal now. I have few moments to myself or chances to do as I once would.”

You could hear in his voice the strain of this adjustment to always being the focus of attention, to being one who is honored and deferred to instead of one who is engaged with. No wonder he was thinking of earlier, simpler days. You longed to comfort him, to take his hand or sit with your head against his shoulder. “Do not apologize,” you said instead. “I understand that you have new demands on you. I regret only that I was not able to tell you how sorry I am about your uncle. I will miss his kind heart.”

He nodded. “Thank you. I take comfort in knowing that he would be proud of what his death achieved.”

Another small silence ensued before he looked up and smiled at you. “But now I must apologize again,” he said, “for I have not yet asked after you. Please, tell me how you have been since we last saw each other.”

You gave a dismissive wave of your hand. “There is not much to tell, at least nothing to stand alongside the great tales we have already heard of your heroic deeds.”

“I do not ask for great tales,” he insisted. “I want only to hear about you and what I have missed, great or small.”

“Well, what you missed were endless hours of inventories and supplies and checklists and stockpiles. Many of the men who typically see to those basic concerns were injured or killed at Helm’s Deep, or they were called away to your muster. So I filled my days with work that they would have done…tracking stores of food and medicine and equipment, ensuring they were sent where they were most needed, planning for replenishments when stocks ran low. It was nothing I have ever done before, obviously, but I am careful with numbers and can keep good records, which is most of what was required.”

He chuckled. “Old Elfhelm has always been so proud that his daughter is one of the few in Rohan to read and write. I heard him bragging as much to one of Lord Elrond’s sons back in Gondor.”

You smiled and shrugged. “That certainly sounds like him. He has never lacked paternal enthusiasm. Or the confidence to share his enthusiasm with literally anyone.”

“That is true, but he is right to be proud. You should be proud as well. Hunger and disease often follow in war’s footsteps, even for the victors, and that has not been allowed to happen here despite the destruction of so many villages and farms and the absence of so many of the normal laborers. That is a service any king would value.”

Your cheeks bloomed a bright red, and he smiled at your discomfort with praise. In truth, though, you were quite proud of what you had accomplished, and it was only hearing the praise from his lips that sent waves of warm color to your face. “Thank you,” you mumbled at last.

He seemed on the verge of speaking again, but instead he leaned back against the wall and contemplated the floor for several long moments. His knee jogged quickly up and down, a nervous tic he’d had ever since boyhood. Before you could ask what was troubling him, however, he looked up with an unsettling intensity.

“May I ask you something? And you will respond to me honestly, no matter what?”

His earnest tone sparked a flare of anxiety in your chest. Was this the moment when he intended to tell you of his engagement? When you would have to somehow react to this news with the graciousness and dignity you knew were required? “I will certainly try.”

He took a deep breath and winced slightly in anticipation of speaking. “I have spent many hours now reflecting on things that Éowyn related to me before I left Gondor. How she did not feel that she was able to live the life she wanted when she was here. That she could not be who she was meant to be simply because she was born a woman. I am ashamed that I was blind to the causes of her unhappiness and that she did not feel that she could confide her true feelings to me earlier. But having failed her then, I worry now that I may have failed others in my life as well. Others who are equally important to me.”

He suddenly turned and grasped your forearms, repositioning you both so that you now sat face to face rather than side by side.

“If you have ever felt that same unhappiness or believed that I was not willing or able to understand your feelings, will you now forgive me? I would not want anyone else to suffer as Éowyn did, and least of all you.”

Your heart broke a little at his words. It broke for Éomer, who would sooner give his life than intentionally hurt someone he cared for, and it broke for Éowyn, whose full feelings had never before been revealed to you. But, hearing now how she had felt, something in her words resonated with a deep part of you, reverberating off a chord you had not always been consciously aware of. You thought carefully for several moments before responding.

“If you ask me whether I ever resented you or the life that I led, the answer is no. I have always trusted in you above all others, and my life never felt anything but normal to me. But I, too, have reflected on these last months, and perhaps I can now better understand Éowyn’s mind.”

He nodded, encouraging you to continue.

“Amid the tragedy of these days, I found some purpose and meaning in the work I did. It was gratifying to feel truly useful for the first time. I did not know it before, as you do not know to miss something you never had, but once that instinct is awakened it is difficult to ignore. It seems it was awakened in Éowyn long ago. But, for myself, I cannot deny that I will now be deeply saddened to lose my sense of purpose once the men are all returned to their old duties and the help of a woman is no longer accepted.”

“Maybe that is not what has to happen,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I would not come to a new understanding of the world, to learn a necessary lesson at a steep cost, only to ignore that lesson and rule my kingdom as though I do not know any better. This will not be a land that I want to rule if half the people must always limit their talents and hopes to fit within the meager bounds afforded to them by the other half.”

His words hung in the air as you struggled to make sense of what you had heard. A chance to share in the great works and deeds of the kingdom, just as the elven women had always done in their own lands? To learn and achieve and stretch yourself in ways that had never before been possible, and not just when dictated by the necessity of war but as a part of everyday life? You had scarcely the courage to even dream of such a thing, but now it was being offered to you. And you knew you wanted it. “I will be the first to stand behind you in any such effort,” you say at last. “But what you suggest is a radical departure from the way that things have been for all the years of our history, indeed from the way that they have always been in all the lands of men. There may be strong opposition to change.”

“I do not fear a difficult task if I know it to be necessary. I will see it done.” He paused and gently picked up your hand to hold it between both of his. “Though I would be aided by the help of a capable queen. One who will rule with me, not as a token or a symbol, but as a true partner.”

His touch sent a jolt of lightning through your arm, and you looked down at your hand to watch his thumb run lightly back and forth over your wrist. It left a trail of fire on your skin. “I…Well, I do not think I understand. Surely you mean Prince Imrahil’s daughter?”

“Imrahil’s daughter?” He looked startled. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“Because news of a royal engagement travels quickly, perhaps faster than you realize. Half of Edoras has already heard about you and the princess of Dol Amroth.”

“Then half of Edoras has heard wrong.”

A small gasp escaped your lips before you could act to hold it back. You looked up into his eyes and drew a shallow breath. “Then…then you have changed your mind?”

“I have not, but only because it never needed changing. I am certain that any daughter of Imrahil is a good and worthy woman, but I declined that match when it was suggested. Any report to the contrary is the result of confusion or rumor. It is true that I am ready for marriage, but I do not wish to bind myself forever to someone I barely know. To someone whose heart and mind I do not yet fully understand. Not when my own heart has long been reserved for one who I already know to be the best of women.” He drew your hand up and pressed it tightly to his chest, where you could feel the steady, strong beat of that heart against your fingertips. “If she will have me.”

All the world seemed suddenly still, as though you were balanced precariously on the crest of a hill, waiting for the last tip forward that would send you rushing headlong down into a new and joyous life. You opened your mouth to respond but found that no words would come. Instead, you raised a hand to his face, lightly tracing your fingers along his jaw before sinking them into his dark golden hair and pulling him toward you for a kiss that had been decades in the making.

It was worth the wait.

[heavenlybackside]

Tom Selleck, who admitted he could not ride a horse during casting of The Sacketts in 1979, has become one of Hollywood’s top Western actors—and horsemen—during the past four decades. In Quigley Down Under, Selleck bonded so much with his horse Spike that the production company gave him the well- trained steed, who can be seen later co-starring as Selleck’s mount in Last StandatSaberRiver.

[davycoquette]

Acrostic Sentence Tag Game

Thank you for the tag, @sableglass! The word you gave me was

STRANGE

Soon you forget all about how you ran away because of her, because you didn’t want her to know you threw your life away. You can’t think why you did it, now, so it must be the devil is real. It must be he’s as real as the wild pining that dragged you out of the wilderness to tempt fate underneath bridges downtown. As real as the vanity of being wanted. As real as the mounting fear that you did it because you wanted something terrible to happen to you.

Teenage Shiloh contemplates returning home to his mother.

The last of the four horsemen does not come in.

From an old west classic saloon shoot-out scene. Four bounty hunters have ridden up to the saloon and three have filed through the door.

Right after you see it, you smell it, and it doesn’t smell anything like a man but that’s when you know it used to be one.

Child Shiloh finds a body in the crick.

Antebellum propriety is long wrung out of him, and even the treacly Charleston drawl has abraded shrewd and terse. It suits him. He’s wide-faced, with little dark eyes nobody trusts. His eyebrows are puckish and full, contrary to the sparse mustache that slants like a gable roof over his mouth. The white men call him amigo and the women call him Oliver, and the locals don’t speak to him at all.

Reintroduction to an old west story character who grew up on his parent's rice plantation in Charleston, South Carolina.

No one blamed her; this was not Donovan’s first time careening into the light.

From an old west piece called The River King. Refers to a woman's apathy as Don Rucker lays dying.

“Good. You look like you could stand to set a while. Go on — I got the laundry. You’re jes droppin’ it on the ground, anyhow.”

Arabel, daughter of the leader of an outlaw gang, suggests Ruck fuck off and let her get the chores done.

Every place is the same to you, isn’t it? You see this ancient land with forests older than the continent itself rooted to the ruins of mountains that used to pierce the sky. You see rushing whitewater and brightly colored birds and rolling fields of wildflowers, and you smell honeysuckles and pluck blackberries off the bush in the summer. Schoolhouses and clotheslines and governments – but what do you care? You never cared about home or community. Hell, the same town you were born in, the place where you grew up – it was one of these places. And now? Empty, smoldering. They say it’ll be a hundred years before the fire under the earth burns out, before that place looks like anything but a scene transplanted out of hell.

This one's from an RP character profile. Fella is a lackey for a coal mining company that's ravaging an Appalachian town.

Taglist:

@albatris

@capnmachete

@harmonic-melodii

@illarian-rambling

@michellekarnold

@nathaniel-zellos

@saturnine-saturneight

Sorry if y'all already got tagged in this one!

Also, OPEN TAG!

Your word is: FUNK

[verdemoun]

a mac and davey sidepoint i have been thinking about the callanders meeting kieran duffy

when mac and davey got out of prison they stayed with bessie and hosea which seemed fine until they walked in with their post-prison hand-me-down clothes and cold stares and mac immediately asked 'who is that'

at no point had they thought to mention kieran duffy and completely forgot he was not part of the gang when the callanders were alive

hosea immediately had flashbacks to one of the times they ran into the o'driscolls when the callanders were alive and mac running out of bullets and instead charging at fleeing o'driscolls with his hunting knife while head to toe sadie ala horsemen apocalypse covered in blood and started to sweat

not to mention the waves of panic coming off kieran was palpable and the fact he hadn't already sprinted to his room and shut the door was a prime example of the fight-flight-freeze response kicking in

hosea plastering on a conman smile and quickly explaining oh this is kieran duffy we picked him up in colter unfortunately he didn't get to ride with us too long before the o'driscolls picked him up plsdon'tlookintothat he's a gentle soul, doesn't say too much modern era is quite overwhelming for him

lightbulb moment quickly interrupts himself kieran took care of the horses!! kieran you'd remember the two tennessee walker studs we had around camp they were mac and davey's mounts

kieran snaps his head around faster than the korean ghost comic meanwhile mac actually laughs a little because he can't believe they kept mace and thistle who were as unruly to handle as their owners

kieran cannot help himself he is a mile-a-minute infodumping about what good horses they were and how he figured out just where they liked to be scratched to avoid getting bit and their favorite treats and absolutely losing his mind when he finally, finally finds out their names because the gang didn't know

the solid chestnut was mac's horse mace and he's genuinely happy to talk about his horse because he is a bit of a secret horse girl himself. it isn't long before he's sitting on the couch talking to this slightly strange man: asking questions about branwen when kieran talks about his own horse and how mace was doing and laughing about kieran retelling mace's antics about mace trying to walk himself into camp and pinning his ears back whenever someone tried to catch him

davey already sees kieran as a threat because mac isn't allowed to have friends that is His brother but kieran is blissfully unaware of the glare he's getting because he's talking about horses he's invincible

[oldschoolfrp]

Rearranging my pile of opportunity to make space before a renovation -- Finding things I've forgotten is like getting a present from past me. There's enough here for a small warband for many skirmish games or RPG encounters:

Marauder pack of 6 metal Skeletons by Trish and Aly Morrison, in partnership with Citadel, dated 1988.

3 Citadel metal miniature packs dated 1993: Skeleton Command w horn and standard, Mounted Necromancer with plastic horse (by Gary Morley), Screaming Skull Catapult with 3 crew (originally called the "Skull Chucker" by Aly Morrison).

2 Citadel boxes dated 1994 with plastic Undead Chariot and 3 Skeleton Horsemen.

[interact-if]

Could you help me find a game? I played it a while ago and really enjoyed it, but unfortunately I didn't bookmark it like I normally do. It was with the four horsemen of the apocalypse, like Death, War, Famine, and Disease. Those were actually the ROs, with the MC playing as the fifth horseman, though I don't remember specifically what they were the horseman of. I think they were referred to as harbingers as well? Like Harbinger Death or something. You and the 4 ROs are fighting some god or something who is trying to destroy the world, and you sacrifice yourself. (In the final battle??? To save the ROs?? I don't remember) Thousands of years later, you are reincarnated as a normal person with no memories of your past life. The 4 ROs come to get you to try to remember your past life, and you meet them in bar for the first time post-reincarnation. After you meet them, you dream about your past life: I remember the flashback scene taking place in the horsemen's home, with the MC commenting on some paintings. Then, after you wake up, you go to a concert with your sister and her friends, and the god who you were fighting in the past life sends creatures to attack you while you are vulnerable and don't remember who you are. Your powers are unlocked somehow at this concert, I don't remember how, and then the demo ends I think. All of the ROs are gender flippable and I remember their horses being described, like the pale mount of Death. Death is stoic and the leader I think, and I can't really remember the other ROs personalities. I think War was impulsive but friendly and charming? I really can't remember any more, but it would be super helpful if you could find it for me! Thank you!

Hi Anon,

Thank you for the long description, it did help!

We are pretty sure this is The Fifth Horseman: Fear by SuperTired. While you can find the demo here, please note that the project has been on hiatus for a while (and the Tumblr seems to be deactivated).

[herprivateswe]

The Battle of Megiddo, September 1918: A group of Australian Light Horsemen of the Australian Mounted Division sprawled at rest in front of their horses outside Damascus.

[bluestar22x]

The Riding Lesson

Summary: When you are hired at a ranch as a trail guide, the owner asks the foreman to teach you how to ride Western style.

Pairing: Jack Daniels x F!Reader

Rating: 18+ (to be safe)

Warnings: Some sexual tension and thoughts, lots of horsey terms

Word Count: 2,381

Author's Note: AU fic for the @pedrostories 1k celebration. Prompt quote was "Is that the best you've got?"

See my Main Masterlist for other Pedro character fanfics.

xxx

Summers were a busy time at Western Willow Ranch. Not only were there the beef cattle and their calves to tend to, but there were also guests coming and going for both morning and afternoon trail rides.

You were hired as a temporary employee, needed for the surplus of guests they got every year as the weather turned hot. Your role would be to help guide trail rides and keep the tack clean and polished.

Having grown up around horses and competed in jumping competitions back in California, you had plenty of experience for the job, except for one small detail.

You'd never ridden Western before.

You were confident you'd pick it up fast though. English and Western riding were different, but they weren't intimidatingly different. As far as you could tell, the only difference was the saddle shape, the speed of the horse, and the way the reins were held and used.

Though you figured you could probably teach yourself, you'd still agreed with the owner of the ranch to take a riding lesson with his foreman.

You had your riding lesson on your very first day, after you were shown around the farm by a stable hand and shown what a typical morning was like at the ranch.

The foreman was one of the few employees missing from the barn, having been out tending to the cattle.

After lunch in the employee building, you waited for him in the barn aisle as instructed, glancing at your watch every so often. The lesson had been set for one o'clock and it was ten minutes past.

He was worth the wait though.

He strolled into the barn with his mount moments later, the beautiful golden buckskin gelding following behind obediently, and you caught your breath.

Most horsemen didn't catch your attention. More often than not the horse was a lot prettier than their rider, but the foreman was handsome, and that was an understatement. Dark brown hair covered by a black cowboy hat, matching dark eyes, a mustache that fit his face perfectly, a strong jawline, curved nose, and an air of confidence to him, he was worthy of the front cover of every western magazine out there as far as you were concerned.

You couldn't help but feel disappointed he was technically one of your bosses. You didn't like mixing business and pleasure, but... damn... maybe if he didn't mind it, you could make an exception.

You shook your head at that thought. You haven't even said one fucking word to him yet. Down girl.

He said your name and it sounded like honey on his lips. You chewed yours. You really needed to chill, but it wasn't your fault his voice sounded sinful.

"That's me," you managed to say, lamely raising a hand up.

"Sorry about the wait, darlin'," he continued. "One of the calves got into trouble with the fencing."

"Are they alright?" you asked, genuinely concerned. You loved all animals, or at least, all the furry ones.

He nodded. "Yeah, he'll be just fine."

He held out his right hand. "The name's Jack Daniels."

You shook his hand firmly and repeated yours. "So, is this the horse I'm riding?" You nodded at his mount.

Jack shook his head. "Nope. Ace here is a one rider kind of horse. He don't like strangers. But I'm going to have you help me untack and groom him so I can show you the saddle and how to secure the cinch."

It turned out the cinch was like the girth on the English saddle, a strap that ran under the horse's belly to secure the saddle to their back. The cinch wasn't so simple to adjust as a girth was. The strap was longer and needed to be wrapped just right around the ring it looped through multiple times to fit proper.

You picked it up fast though, only needing Jack to show you twice to get it.

When you'd done up the cinch correctly three times in a row Jack let you untack Ace completely and had you carry the saddle back to the tack room. The saddle was probably three times as heavy as an English saddle, mostly due to the extra lift of the seat and the saddle horn. You managed to carry the saddle for the whole two minute walk to the tack room but it was a struggle, not that you'd have admitted it.

Once the tack was cleaned and put away you returned to Jack's side in Ace's stall. He was in the middle of brushing him with a soft brush and you joined in without a word, working on the horse's opposite side.

After Ace was completely groomed you both stepped out of the stall.

"Follow me to your horse of the day," Jack ordered, walking over to a stall at the back of the barn. You did as told and peered over the stall door.

A pretty little black and white mare was on the other side, too busy chewing her afternoon hay to pay attention to you and Jack.

"This here's Puzzle," he informed you. "She's an old gal. Nearly thirty. We don't ride her much anymore, but she's a great beginner horse. She'll be as patient as a lamb with you."

Were lambs patient? you wondered. Was that term even a thing?

Jack patted the saddle and bridle that were hanging over her door. "Had Bettie, one of the stable hands, get this for us this morning. I want you to groom Puzzle and saddle her up all on your own. Think you can do that?"

"No problem," you declared, setting to work.

It really wasn't a problem, though you did fumble on the cinch for a second before your short-term memory kicked in. Most else was pretty straight forward and Jack gave you an approving nod when you were finished.

"Great," he said, "Now she's all set to go, lead her out to the corral and we'll get going on the main part of this lesson."

You nodded and walked out of the stall with Puzzle close beside you. She was a cute thing. You were a bit sad she was too old to be assigned as your mount. Whichever horse you got would be at least a decade younger and more energetic. While those were the horses you were used to, you'd felt like you and Puzzle were already connecting.

Once you slipped into the outdoor corral, a round fenced in pen used for training horses, you settled the reins of the bridle over Puzzle's neck and the saddle horn before glancing to Jack for further instruction.

"Hop on," Jack commanded. "We'll get everything adjusted after."

You nodded and swung up into the saddle easily.

"How do the stirrups feel?" Jack inquired.

You tilted your heels down. "A little long. But they're supposed to be, right? Western isn't so tight?"

"It should still feel comfortable," Jack replied.

"It does."

"Good. Tighten that cinch one more time. Puzzle likes to stick out her gut when the saddle goes on."

You bent and reached to untie the cinch and tightened it, but when it came to securing it back you struggled due to the angle.

"Just takes practice," Jack assured you when you admitted you couldn't figure it out. "Here, let me help."

He approached Puzzle and tapped on your lower leg with a few fingers to signal to you to pull it back, still in the stirrup so he could get access to the cinch.

You did that and watched as he tugged on it once more before finishing the job.

When he was done, he grabbed your left lower leg, guiding it back into place, and the prolonged warm touch of his palm pressed against your jeans sent a spark through you.

What you would give for him to touch you in other places.

Jack stepped away to climb the fence and straddle it and you barely held your composure. Fuck, this job was going to be difficult, and it wasn't because of the new riding style you had to learn.

"Hold the reins with one hand centered over her neck," Jack instructed as he perched on the top railing.

You grabbed the reins and slid your fingers over into the correct position.

"Good, now take her around at a walk for a few turns and then a jog after," Jack said. "A jog's like a slow trot, for you, city girl," he added.

A decade ago teenage you would've stuck out your tongue at him, but mature you simply gave him another nod and followed his orders.

Jack was quiet as you put Puzzle through her paces, until she started jogging and you started pushing yourself up and down out of the saddle with her stride.

"What're doin' darlin'?" Jack questioned, frowning. "You sit in the saddle."

"Oh." You blushed as you sat down and slowed Puzzle. His confusion somehow had made you embarrassed about it. "It's posting. Do you not do that in Western?"

"Nope," Jack answered. "That saddle ain't made for that."

"Okay," you nearly squeaked.

You nudged Puzzle with your heels, encouraging her back into a jog and completed your task sitting down the whole time. You found that the jog was more tolerable to sit than a trot. Riding a trotting horse like that could be rough at times.

You stopped in the center of the round pen when you were done.

"How was that?" you asked almost shyly.

Jack gave you a small smile. "Excellent for your first time. It's obvious how many years you've ridden."

"Thanks."

"I think you're ready for a test run on the trail."

"On Puzzle?" you questioned.

Jack shook his head. "Like I said, she's too old. Gonna have to bring her back to her stall and get two fresh horses saddled up. Shouldn't take too long between the two of us."

You nodded and jumped off Puzzle. "Let's get to it then."

x

An hour later you and Jack were out on the plains of the surrounding Montana landscape, enjoying an easy stroll under the warm afternoon sun on two new mounts.

His was a solid chestnut mare named Trix, and yours was a black mare with a star marking named Karma.

As you moved over the landscape Jack pointed things out to you. The trailheads, the river that bordered the ranch, the cattle in the distance. Everything you'd need to know and would eventually know by the back of your hand.

The sun was beginning to fall westerly when he finished showing you around.

"You will not be alone the first few weeks you guide trail rides so we don't have to worry about checking those out today," Jack told you. "So I figure it's time to turn around."

You nodded and pulled the reins towards east, towards where the ranch house and barn were located. Jack did the same.

"Let's lope for part of the way," Jack decided.

You knew it was another test. "Sure."

He picked up the pace first and you sent Karma after him and Trix, making sure to keep enough distance between the horses as you caught up to them so not to cause them to bump into each other.

He observed you from the corner of his eye, a ghost of a smile on his pouty looking lips.

You tried not to get distracted by it, telling yourself he was only looking because he wanted to see how you were in the saddle at faster speeds, even though you sensed there was something more to it.

You were the first to slow your horse, and when Jack had Trix back at a walk beside you, he raised his eyebrows.

"Is that the best you got?"

You blinked at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

He grinned at you and you realized then that Jack Daniels was a bit of a menace.

He gestured at a fallen log several yards away. "I heard about your jumping skills. Show me?"

You didn't know if Karma had any history jumping, but the log looked harmless, just thick enough to force the mare to jump it instead of walk over it. "Sure."

You kicked the mare and she immediately shot into a lope, headed straight for the log. You focused, got yourself into position as best as you could in the bulky western saddle, and the next thing you knew you were flying over the obstacle. The rush of adrenaline as you did was amazing as always.

After Karma landed on the other side you could hear Jack clapping.

You turned her back towards him as you both settled into a walk again.

"You two make a fine team," Jack said. "Think I'll tell Dusty to assign you to her."

You grinned. "That would be great." You still were kinda stuck on Puzzle, but you really liked Karma too.

You patted her neck and turned her to face the house once more. "Race you back, full gallop."

Jack smiled. "You're on."

x

After you and Jack had settled your horses back into their stalls, he turned to you for a final time that night.

"Any questions before I go?"

You shrugged. "Not really. Just...how was I today?"

He flashed you a charming smile. "You impressed me darlin'. Not that I have any right to be. You obviously know your way around horses and jumping them is not the easiest."

"Why did you test me then?" you inquired.

"Cause you could've lied on your resume," Jack replied.

True enough. But you had ribbons to prove it back home.

"See you around," he finally said, and you could've sworn he gave you a quick once over. When he smirked you were certain he had.

So you weren't the only one interested. This was a mutual thing. Your heart fluttered. There was a chance.

"See you around, cowboy," you returned smoothly.

He beamed at you, delighted that you had used a nickname for him and tipped his head. "Night darlin’."

And with that he left the barn, and left you to watch him go, eyes trained on the shape of his ass in his tight blue jeans.

You hummed appreciatively. This summer is going to be fantastic.

xxx

Tagged: harriedandharassed

xxx

Main Masterlist

xxx

[bantarleton]

The Battle of Langside

Fought on May 13th, 1568, the battle of Langside was fought just south of Glasgow, Scotland, between forces loyal to Mary, Queen of Scots, and forces acting in the name of her infant son James VI. Mary’s short period of personal rule ended in 1567 in recrimination, intrigue, and disaster when, after her capture at Carberry Hill, she was forced to abdicate in favour of James VI. Mary was imprisoned in Lochleven Castle, while her Protestant half-brother, James Stewart, Earl of Moray, was appointed Regent on behalf of his nephew. In early May 1568 Mary escaped, heading west to the country of the Hamiltons, high among her remaining supporters, and the safety of Dumbarton Castle with the determination to restore her rights as queen.

It was Mary's intention to avoid battle if possible, retiring instead to Dumbarton Castle, still held for her by John Fleming, 5th Lord Fleming. Here she would be in a virtually impregnable position, well placed to receive the expected reinforcements from the north, and then recover her hold over the country by degrees. With the intention of by-passing Moray she marched to Rutherglen Castle meeting loyal supporters and then on a wide circuit past Glasgow, intending to move by way of Langside, Crookston, and Paisley back towards the River Clyde, and then on to Dumbarton on the north side of the Clyde estuary.

Moray drew up his army on the moor close to the village of Langside, then several miles south of Glasgow but now well within the city. Kirkcaldy, observed that Mary's force was keeping to the south of the River Cart, the Regent's army being on the opposite bank. He ordered hackbutters (musketeers), mounted behind each of his horsemen, to cross the river. They took up positions among the cottages, hedges, and gardens of the village, on each side of a narrow lane, through which Mary's army must defile. Meanwhile Moray continued to deploy the rest of the army, the vanguard under the command of the Earl of Morton leading the march across a nearby bridge. The whole army then deployed the right around the village. No sooner was this complete than the Queen's vanguard, commanded by Lord Hamilton, began its advance through the village. The battle was now under way.

Mary's army was commanded by Argyll, who was to show little in the way of real military skill, seemingly hoping simply to push Moray aside by sheer force of numbers. George Buchanan wrote that Argyll fainted at one point, though this is almost certainly a rumour spread by his enemies. With her army now engaged, the Queen stood half a mile distance to the rear, close to Cathcart Castle on a mound since named as the Court Knowe. As Hamilton attempted to force a passage through Langside he was met by close fire from Grange's hackbutters. Many in the front ranks were killed, throwing the remainder back on those following, and adding to the general confusion. Hamilton pushed on, finally reaching the top of a hill, only to find the main enemy army drawn up in good order. Morton with the border pikemen advanced to intercept Mary's vanguard. Both sides now met in 'push of pike'. According to James Melville of Halhill the forest of inter-locked spears was now so thick that staves and discharged pistols thrown at the enemy simply rested on the shafts rather than falling to the ground.

Grange, whom Moray had allowed considerable leeway, continued to act with courage and distinction. According to James Melville, "the Regent committed unto the laird of Grange, the special care, as an experienced captain, to oversee every danger, to ride to every wing and encourage and make help where the greatest height was". The battle was now at its height and the outcome still doubtful, until Grange saw that the right wing of the Regent's army – consisting of the barons of Renfrewshire – was beginning to lose ground. He immediately galloped to the main battalion and brought reinforcements. This was done so effectively, and the counter-attack pressed with such force, that it broke the enemy ranks. Moray, who hitherto had stood on the defensive, repulsing Mary's cavalry, now charged at the main enemy battalion, the fight now joined all along the line. The Queen's men crumbled, the fugitives being closely pursued by a party of Highlanders. The Battle of Langside, which had lasted for some forty-five minutes, was over.

Langside was a colossal defeat for Mary. Only one of Moray's men was killed, whereas over 100 of Mary's men were lost, a figure that almost certainly would have been much higher but for Moray's decision to avoid further bloodshed by ordering a halt to the pursuit. Over 300 of Mary's men were taken prisoner, including Lord Seton and Sir James Hamilton and many of his followers. Mary and her escort rode off, first trying to reach Dumbarton Castle, but then turning south, eventually arriving at Dundrennan Abbey. From here she left for England, never to see Scotland again.

Mary crossed the Solway Firth to Workington on 16 May 1568 at night with twenty companions. This unexpected event provoked a dispute amongst the English border officials. She stayed her first night at the house of Heny Curwen.[ On the next day she moved to Cockermouth and was greeted by Richard Lowther, the deputy of Lord Scrope at Carlisle Castle. Lowther escorted Mary to Carlisle on 18 May. Meanwhile, the Earl of Northumberland who was at Topcliffe heard the news from Workington, which was in his jurisdiction. The Earl obtained a letter of authority from the Council of the North at York to be the Scottish Queen's host and to "let none of them escape." When the Earl arrived at Carlisle on 22 May, Richard Lowther defied him, and the Vice-Chamberlain of England, Francis Knollys, upheld Lowther's actions.

Over the next five years Mary's supporters in Scotland continued a civil war with the Regents of Scotland.

[diabolik-art-blog]

Memories of that spring

‌ Prologue

AO3: Prologue

Finfiction.net: prologue

Summary: They are looking for a dead baby named princess Yui.

The forest was filled with the howling of wolves and the sound of crickets. A group of soldiers on behalf of the great king of vampires were looking for a goat treasure that could ensure the rule of the great Karlheinz for years and centuries. Horses neighing was heard everywhere and all the soldiers were looking for a dead baby in the forest.

"Sir! Please come here. I found the baby."

One of the soldiers who got off his horse and was trying to find the baby by walking in the forest informed his commander that they had found the baby that Karlheinz had given her details.

The commander came near the soldier with his white horse and immediately got off his horse and looked at the body of the baby. The baby appeared to be dead but he could still hear her breathing. The baby was still alive, but it was clear that she didn't have much time left. Her heartbeat was very slow and she could die at any moment.

"It seems that this is the girl that Nii-sama is looking for. So this girl is Princess Yui."

"Commander Richter! What should we do now? This girl cannot survive any longer."

"As King Karlheinz ordered, we will take her to the palace."

Commander Richter, the king's younger brother and his right-hand man, quickly took the baby in his arms and mounted his horse, ordering all his men to march towards the palace to deliver the baby to Karlheinz.

Richter wasn't sure why his big brother was looking for this baby. This baby was the daughter of the great king of the Makai land, King Daichi. His daughter was the heir to her father's throne but had been murdered two days ago by Karlheinz and the only thing left of King Daichi's throne was his infant daughter. Maybe Karlheinz wanted to make sure that after the death of this girl, he would never have to worry about her coming to power and becoming the queen and rule Makai herself.

The forest was still dark. Even moonlight hardly helped the soldiers, but the soldiers had no problem because they were vampires and could see everything. Richter held the baby gently so that she could live a little longer.

Just at the moment when the palace could be seen from among the trees, another group of horsemen came towards Richter. The cloaked man was the leader of them, who came towards Richter with all his majesty. The sound of breaking branches and rustling of leaves could be heard under his horse's hooves.

*Rustle Rustle*

Richter: Who are you? Get out of the way. I must go to the king as soon as possible.

???: Oh my dear brother. This way of talking does not suit you at all.

Richter: ...! oh... you...

The cloaked man appeared and all the soldiers dismounted and bowed before him. Shocked and unable to look up in shame, Richter got off his horse and bowed before his elder brother, the Great King of the Demon World.

Richter: Nii-sama. I am really sorry. I didn't want to be rude. But I did not notice your presence. I just wanted to do my duty in the best way and deliver this baby to you.

Karlheinz approached his brother with slow steps. He took his hand and lifted him up and put his hand on his shoulder.

Karlheinz: My dear brother, never forget that even a commoner should not face such treatment.

Richter: Yes, I understand. I am sorry.

Karlheinz: By the way Is this manifestation of beauty the precious treasure that I sent you in search of?

Karlheinz smiled softly as he looked at the little girl in Richter's arms. With the first look at her, he realized that this is the same girl.

Richter: Yes, brother. This is the prince who was supposed to be the heir to the throne. But unfortunately, there is no life left for her to do this.

Karlheinz caressed the girl's red cheek with his big hands. She was still breathing in her near-death sleep and it didn't seem like she had much time left.

Karlheinz: It's beautiful. Her hair shines like moonlight in this dark forest and her small face is a manifestation of purity and innocence.

Richter: ...! Ni-sama... I think it's better to kill this girl right here. In this way, there is no need to worry about the government or the inheritance of this girl who was supposed to be the queen.

Karlheinz: My dear brother, this is really cruel for such a beautiful girl.

Karlheinz held the baby gently and carefully. She was very small. She was almost the size of karlheinz's palm. Karlheinz embraced her as if she were a breakable jewel and was the audience not to break it.

Karlheinz looked at the girl's beautiful face and smiled gently. He used magic to revive the baby's heart and bring her back to life. Now the baby could breathe again and her heartbeat returned to normal. A small smile appeared on the lips of the baby who was sleeping gently in the king's arms.

Karlheinz: You see, my dear brother. This girl is a precious gem and a real manifestation of beauty that must be taken care of. She can make me achieve my dream.

Richter: I don't understand. If she survives. She may realize her identity over the years and seek revenge on you.

Karlheinz: I hope so.

Richter: .....!

Karlheinz: Don't worry my dear brother. Even if this girl finds out the truth, she will never seek revenge. Because her heart is as pure and beautiful as the sky. She is going to make me achieve my dream and help me to finally see true love once in this world. The same love that Adam and Eve had.

Richter: But how can she do that?

Karlheinz: This spell only lasts for 18 years. On her 18th birthday, her heartbeat and breathing slow down again, and only her true lover can save her. Then she becomes the queen and gives this love to the whole world. Then I will achieve my dream.

Richter was surprised and confused by his big brother's words. He could never understand Karlheinz's thoughts and goals.

Karlheinz: Brother, are there any villages nearby?

Richter: Yes, Nii-sama. There is a small village near the palace whose people are farmers and grow apple trees.

Karlheinz: The apple tree... where Eve grows up and her pure heart sees the world. Take our beautiful princess there and entrust her to a trusted man to raise her properly.

Richter: Roger Nii-sama.

After this conversation, Karlheinz kissed the baby's forehead and caressed her face. This baby was a great treasure for him to achieve his dream and to be able to realize the dream that he had been waiting for for years.

Richter took the baby in his arms and put on a black cloak and mounted his horse and galloped towards the village. No one should know his identity. The people should not know that the princess is under their protection.

Behind the dark forest was a small village with apple fields shining in the moonlight. The apples hanging from the tree were like beautiful jewels in the moonlight. Richter went to a cottage, left the baby behind the door and quickly left. That cottage was the home of the most masculine farmer here. He was an old man who had longed to have a daughter for many years.

Hours passed and little Yui woke up and was crying. The sound of her innocent cry caused the old man to wake up and go outside the hut until he noticed a beautiful girl behind the door of the hut.

The old man gently hugged the baby and brought her home.

Richter and his men, who were hiding behind the trees, realized that the girl was safe now and left there and went to the castle.

The old man, who was gently hugging the little girl, smiled sweetly and shed tears of joy. It seems that he has been waiting for this moment for years. Seeing the girl's name on a scroll around her neck, he noticed her name.

Tenjin: Welcome home my beautiful Yui.

[donutsalami]

The Silent Orchestra is one of my favs abnos from lob corp, but I just thought of something that might be a small waste of potential, like, you know how they're only vulnerable to one type of damage depending on the current movement?

It goes Pale -> Black -> White -> Red

As far as I know, there's no reason behind this, although, I feel like it could've gone like

White -> Red -> Black -> Pale

Why? Because that's the order of the four horsemen of the apocalipse.

The four damage types correspond to the color of the four horses of the horsemen, and the apocalipse would fit The Silent Orchestra given their quote: "From break to ruin, the most beautiful performance begins"

btw, the order of the horsemen matters, since the idea is that first comes (war of) conquest on a white horse, then comes (civil) war on a red horse, followed by a black horse carrying famine, (caused by the division among classes, where luxury is produced at the expense of famine to others) and lastly, comes death, mounted in a pale horse, bringing with it, afterlife itself.

Hell, even the idea that death brings hell itself would fit, considering the "Finale" it does after it finishes it's performance.

[esther-dot]

HELPPPP, I KNEW THAT DAENERYS STANS HATED MIRRI MAZ DUUR, BUT AT LEAST, I THOUGHT THEY DIDN’T HATED HER FOR KILLING DROGO. GUESS I WAS WRONG.

https://www.tumblr.com/swordsandarms/716956244482637824/ultimately-mirri-was-selfish-outside-of-how-it?source=share

I talked before about how Drogo didn’t follow Mirri’s instructions, so I’m not sure she can be blamed for his death (link) and of course, the same thing applies with Rhaego:

And, if Mirri did intentionally set out to kill Drogo, I support that, just as I would support Dany if she had determined to kill him. The man is a rapist and a slaver, if his victims chose to take him out, I’d have no complaints!

I don’t think OP’s statements about Mirri take the facts of Rhaego or Drogo’s deaths into account, and I certainly disagree with the whitewashing of Drogo. If we go back and read the set-up, I would argue we’re being guided to sympathize with Mirri—not him. I think that view/the Dany view is being undercut:

Across the road, a girl no older than Dany was sobbingin a high thin voice as a rider shoved her over a pile of corpses, facedown, and thrust himself inside her. Other riders dismounted to take their turns. That was the sort of deliverance the Dothraki brought the Lamb Men.

I am the blood of the dragon, Daenerys Targaryen reminded herself as she turned her face away. She pressed her lips together and hardened her heart and rode on toward the gate.

[…]

Slaves, Dany thought. Khal Drogo would drive them downriver to one of the towns on Slaver's Bay. She wanted to cry, but she told herself that she must be strong. This is war, this is what it looks like, this is the price of the Iron Throne.

[…]

"I've told the khal he ought to make for Meereen," Ser Jorah said. "They'll pay a better price than he'd get from a slaving caravan. Illyrio writes that they had a plague last year, so the brothels are paying double for healthy young girls, and triple for boys under ten. If enough children survive the journey, the gold will buy us all the ships we need, and hire men to sail them."

[…]

"You heard my words," she said. "Stop them." She spoke to her khas in the harsh accents of Dothraki. "Jhogo, Quaro, you will aid Ser Jorah. I want no rape."

The warriors exchanged a baffled look.

Jorah Mormont spurred his horse closer. "Princess," he said, "you have a gentle heart, but you do not understand. This is how it has always been. Those men have shed blood for the khal. Now they claim their reward."

Across the road, the girl was still crying, her high singsong tongue strange to Dany's ears. The first man was done with her now, and a second had taken his place.

"She is a lamb girl," Quaro said in Dothraki. "She is nothing, Khaleesi. The riders do her honor. The Lamb Men lay with sheep, it is known."

"It is known," her handmaid Irri echoed.

"It is known," agreed Jhogo, astride the tall grey stallion that Drogo had given him. "If her wailing offends your ears, Khaleesi, Jhogo will bring you her tongue." He drew his arakh.

"I will not have her harmed," Dany said. "I claim her. Do as I command you, or Khal Drogo will know the reason why."

"Ai, Khaleesi," Jhogo replied, kicking his horse. Quaro and the others followed his lead, the bells in their hair chiming.

"Go with them," she commanded Ser Jorah.

"As you command." The knight gave her a curious look. "You are your brother's sister, in truth."

"Viserys?" She did not understand.

"No," he answered. "Rhaegar." He galloped off.

Dany heard Jhogo shout. The rapers laughed at him. One man shouted back. Jhogo's arakh flashed, and the man's head went tumbling from his shoulders. Laughter turned to curses as the horsemen reached for weapons, but by then Quaro and Aggo and Rakharo were there. She saw Aggo point across the road to where she sat upon her silver. The riders looked at her with cold black eyes. One spat. The others scattered to their mounts, muttering.

All the while the man atop the lamb girl continued to plunge in and out of her, so intent on his pleasure that he seemed unaware of what was going on around him. Ser Jorah dismounted and wrenched him off with a mailed hand. The Dothraki went sprawling in the mud, bounced up with a knife in hand, and died with Aggo's arrow through his throat. Mormont pulled the girl off the pile of corpses and wrapped her in his blood-spattered cloak. He led her across the road to Dany. "What do you want done with her?"

The girl was trembling, her eyes wide and vague. Her hair was matted with blood. "Doreah, see to her hurts. You do not have a rider's look, perhaps she will not fear you. The rest, with me." She urged the silver through the broken wooden gate.

It was worse inside the town. Many of the houses were afire, and the jaqqa rhan had been about their grisly work. Headless corpses filled the narrow, twisty lanes. They passed other women being raped. Each time Dany reined up, sent her khas to make an end to it, and claimed the victim as slave. One of them, a thick-bodied, flat-nosed woman of forty years, blessed Dany haltingly in the Common Tongue, but from the others she got only flat black stares. They were suspicious of her, she realized with sadness; afraid that she had saved them for some worse fate. (AGOT, Daenerys VII)

The author wants us to know how horrific this is. The author tells us how abused these women are. And then the author has a sly line about Dany which initially leads us to side with Dany, believe these women are unnecessarily worried about her intentions, but what eventually befalls Mirri?

"You will not hear me scream," Mirri responded as the oil dripped from her hair and soaked her clothing.

"I will," Dany said, "but it is not your screams I want, only your life. (AGOT, Daenerys X)

The fires swept over Mirri Maz Duur. Her song grew louder, shriller … than she gasped, again and again, and her song became a shuddering wail, thin and high and full of agony. (AGOT, Daenery X)

A malicious, painful death at Dany’s hand. I simply don’t think the point of any of those scenes is that Mirri is a baddie.