#no keepsakes no place to stay while you mourn

[galsinspace]

When will tumblr stop slandering Mrs Westenra? She took the flowers because she wanted to HELP Lucy to get some fresh air!! She left everything to Arthur in her will because she clearly had some premonition okay, this is a supernatural story and she was worried for her daughter's health and she turned out to be RIGHT to do this, even if the lawyers noted that it would have been wrong in 99% of cases.

[stormgardenscurse]

A Solstice Ball (Lilia Vanrouge)

About: Lilia x Reader (gender neutral) where Diasomnia invites you to spend the holidays with them back home, including the celebration of the winter solstice.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.6k

The Valley of Thorns, despite its rather prickly name, is a place that shines with an otherworldliness unique to itself.

It’s the same kind of timeless beauty that you’ve come to associate with Diasomnia. Even Silver, who is not fae himself, wields the aura. You’re a little jealous that they’d grown up in such a place, where mountains were aplenty and stars glittered clearer than you’ve ever seen.

And when you’re wandering around the hallways on a sleepless night, said stars lend you their company. It’s easy to gaze out of the windows since there are plenty flanking the walls. You’re currently staying in the castle and home of your friends, who were generous enough to invite you to celebrate the winter solstice together.

It’s tradition for the royal family to host a ball welcoming the Sun after a night of festivities - meaning the event would be run for almost twelve hours, starting with the evening and continuing into the next day, where the guests would eventually transition from the ballroom into the main gardens to witness the sunrise together. Malleus, for the past years, has been responsible for the ‘welcoming’, which according to Sebek was a magnificent sight, but Lilia insisted you not be spoiled of the details just yet, wanting you to witness it yourself.

Recounting the events that lead up to now helps calm your mind a bit, but the effect falls away briefly when you notice a figure walking down the hall toward you. While it’s unlikely they pose any danger to you, the suddenness of it spikes your heartbeat nevertheless. Many fae are undoubtedly graceful and agile in their movements, so it wouldn’t be a surprise to not have caught the noise of footsteps at first. 

However… This person is entirely soundless, and it’s only when you catch a glimpse of pink-dyed strands that you realise why.

Lilia settles into a kind smile as he nods at you in greeting, making his way to you. “Is something keeping you up, Y/N? I never took you for one to wander about at night.” He holds his chin to ponder it for a second. “Though young people do tend to retire to bed at later times...”

“You say that as if your sprightly self doesn’t do the same.” You shake your head, lips lifting amusedly. “Between your liking for strolls and gaming habits, I sometimes wonder how you find the energy to cause trouble.”

Lilia chuckles, “I suppose that was deserved, for my prank on poor Silver. He usually doesn’t express himself too explosively, so it’s always a treat to be gifted with the sight.”

“...If only that wasn’t at the cost of his risotto.” You lend him a scolding look, albeit jokingly. “He was looking forward to it too - Silver may never recover from the shock, poor guy.”

“The experience is sure to be a valuable one.” His eyes glimmer like garnets, and you’re suddenly reminded of their dark-red hue. Mysterious and lively, and somehow communicating a depth forged through his long-lived life. “A knight has to be alert after all, both on and off the battlefield.”

“...I suppose so. And knowing how dedicated those two are, they likely accepted that excuse?” 

“Indeed.” Lilia looks out of the window and at the landscape beyond. Part of you feels like he’s reminded of a memory, from the fondness in his expression. “Sebek and Silver are reliably hard-working. Even if they are mere hatchlings as of now, they will surely prove formidable someday. I hope you’ll be there to cheer them on when that time comes.” 

“Of course, I look forward to seeing them grow.” Your smile grows warm at the thought. “They want to make you and Malleus proud after all. Their resolve burns brighter than most their age.”

A comfortable silence fills the air, and you notice Lilia’s posture loosening a bit more. His gaze turns to meet yours, light and content. “Malleus and I have regretfully been busier with the ball’s preparations, but I promise to take you to our favourite places once this is over with.” Lilia makes a small gesture toward your hand, to which you give a nod, allowing him to interlace your fingers and place a kiss to the back of it. “It’ll be fun to show you around our hometown. There are some things you can only experience in the Valley of Thorns after all~ Like that shop that sells enchanted sweets! I’ve been meaning to make a stop there before we return to Night Raven College.”

Your lips quirk as you raise a brow at him. “Why is it that you sound more excited for that than the ball tomorrow? Just before break, you were reminiscing of the winter solstices you attended in the past.”

“While the event is an annual one, it is the first time you’re spending the holidays with us.” Lilia winks at you playfully. “That, I am more excited for. And seeing what attire the fairies have come up for you - It’s not often they take to someone and mend them an outfit, after all.”

“Please don’t remind me…” You groan at the memory. “When they took my measurements they wouldn’t stop arguing about the colors. And at the end they never settled on a decision, so I’m left in suspense!”

Lilia laughs at your mournful expression. “This group is known for their craft, so it’ll certainly be worth the wait. Both for you and me.”

“Oh?” You narrow your eyes playfully. “So you’re looking forward to that.”

“A chance to see you more stunning than usual is always one I’d be interested in,” Lilia counters without missing a beat. “I just have to be sure no one else steals you away from the ball before I can - There was something I’d wanted to show you tomorrow.” He gives your hand a light squeeze, eyes bright. “The surprise will be around midnight, so please bear with it until then.”

“I’ll try,” you laugh as he presses a light kiss to your cheek. “Tomorrow is going to be a busy day, huh?”

~

Looking back, truer words couldn’t have been spoken. Right from the moment you awoke till right before the ball, you were constantly moving about preparing your attire and helping the others run small errands, like delivering a message or checking on the status of the main hall.

The venue was pretty before, but now that guests have trickled in and the night has begun to celebrate, the entire place transformed into a magical sight.

Despite the late hours the event has journeyed into, the room is lit just like any other time of the day. The lighting helps keep you active, thankfully, while the crowd seems to never tire; dancers exchange partners while others conversed at another side of the ballroom. The melody that lives in the air takes turns being magically played and performed by musicians, though the transitions are so practiced and quick that you barely notice until later on.

To your surprise, you find yourself at no short of stamina throughout the night. Perhaps it’s the shared energy in the room, the refreshments, or the entertaining chats you’re led into, but time flies as swift as a bird.

From some spellwork, flowers that glow like stars float above the crowd, reminding you of lanterns. On occasion the odd one would wrap into itself and descend onto the crowd, by which a guest could catch it, watching the enchanted bud unravel and bloom. It would then start to shine, before drifting off into the air like a feather caught in a breeze.

Throughout the night the flowers take turns falling onto the crowd, earning the attention of those nearby with their soft but colorful hues. You’re starting to suspect the intervention of a friend as the shadow of one floats above you; the third one this night.

Despite receiving them multiple times, the sight of petals unfurling so gracefully never ceases to put you in a state of awe. This time it is one of gentle lavender, though tinged with hints of blues and pink. It’s unexpectedly light to the touch compared to its size, which is just a little smaller than your head.

The bloom eventually starts to float out of your grasp, by which you give it a little push into the air as it rejoins the sea of flora. A familiar face approaches you from within the crowd, his gaze lending itself to the sight above before settling on you.

“It seems that the flowers enjoy your company as well,” Lilia jokes, before extending a hand for you to take. He begins to lead you somewhere, sending a small smile your way. “People say that receiving them repeatedly is an auspicious sign.”

You hum thoughtfully, “I was starting to think that the places that they landed are being controlled by magic. Sebek and Silver were there the first time, then Malleus at the second…”

Lilia grins almost proudly, the tips of his fangs showing. “Third time’s the charm~ I’m glad to have witnessed you carrying that flower. It was a fitting sight, especially with your attire.”

“I still can’t quite believe it.” You admit, looking down at the fabric - it feels weightless on your skin, yet is still woven with such detailed patterns. “The fairies really outdid themselves, this feels like something out of a fairytale… I feel a little bad keeping it.”

“Well, seeing as it was a gift, you have every right to have it as a keepsake of tonight.” He reminds you, pushing a door open. It wasn’t the main one that guests entered through, but another on the side of the ballroom. The air is quieter out here, save for the castle staff that would cross the corridor every now and then.

With every step away from the ballroom, Lilia starts to shed away his formal stance and shrugs off the feeling of the party behind. He sighs a little, sounding more tired of the situation than physically exhausted. The fae catches your amused look as he raises a brow in return, his smile more mischievous and relaxed - just like his usual self, outside of events like these. “Oh? What an expression you’re making. Do I have something on my face?”

“Not quite.” You mirror his tone. “But rest assured I’ll let you know if you do~ I have a question though, where exactly are we heading?”

“The gardens,” Lilia informs as your arms loop together. It’s less of a childish act and more reminiscent of a knightly escort - perhaps it’s because you’re in a castle and just left a ball, but you’re starting to see more and more noble qualities in the things he does. “I’ve been wanting to show it to you for sometime, but now seems like the most appropriate chance. It does offer a view of Malleus’ welcoming later on, so we’re free to stay until the end of the event.”

“You still never told me much about it,” you muse lightheartedly, “You overestimate my patience, Lilia. I’m growing curiouser by the minute.”

“In that case…” He’s led you to an outdoor garden on the upper floors, which extends into a balcony that overlooks the grounds. “Would this do for now? It’s one of my favourite spots in the castle,” he chuckles, “I hope you'll enjoy it.”

How unfair. There were flowers of every kind dotting the bushes and growing into overhangings. With this amount of space, you felt like it could pass for an attraction in itself. It was different from the grandness of the ballroom decorations, but held its own with its serene charm. Lilia takes your reaction as a sign of agreement. He chuckles and bows toward you, offering his palm. 

“May I have this dance?”

You both start a simple one, more for the sake of enjoying yourselves and the cool air than trying to show off any moves. Although this doesn’t stop Lilia from adding a few twirls and steps to the rhythm as he hums softly, a tune that you swear you’ve heard before but couldn’t pinpoint where or when.

You wonder aloud of how your limbs hadn’t started to tire from the festivities, to which Lilia explains that the refreshments from the ball are suited to help replenish energy and revitalize the body, due to the sheer length of the event. The topic flows to other things, like an ice cream parlour he’d like to visit with everyone and how you’re adjusting to Twisted Wonderland. At this point the dance has also broken off into a simple stroll about the gardens.

Eventually you’re interrupted by the sound of doors opening and the chatter of guests.

"The sunrise." Lilia confirms in response to your questioning gaze. The two of you make your way to the balcony for a better view, where you can see Sebek and Silver accompanying Malleus to an open space that's elevated like a stage of sorts. Gargoyles guard the marble platform at its feet, though their presence is no comparison to the prince's, who stands facing his back to the crowd.

You briefly see the glint of a gem as Malleus waves his magic-pen in a swift motion, summoning a plant from the ground.

Or perhaps… It was more accurate to say that he grew it right before your very eyes, shaping the branches of what you realise to be a tree to form a circular frame of sorts. You doubt that any old magician could perform such a feat in mere minutes, judging by its sheer size.

Lilia smiles from beside you like a proud parent, though it edges into a smirk as he briefly mentions that this tree was more elaborate than last year's with its patterns. You're left confused for a moment before realising that it indeed has spiral carvings throughout its trunk and branches, ones that depicted the sun and moon, and even illustrating dancing figures and musicians. It held the story of the winter solstice and the ball that celebrated it, and you're left with your breath stolen from such a sight.

Yet the star of the show (quite literally, in a sense) only makes its appearance soon after - the Sun rises from the horizon and peeks between the mountains in the distance, accurately falling into the frame that Malleus created with the tree. He waves his hand once more, taking the moment to expand the light like a fracture.

You hear a chuckle from beside you as you shield your vision from the brightness. As soon as you lower your hand you notice a ball of light remaining where the Sun had passed, like a star captured in the frames of the oak. It still shone with a youthful light, as if daring its surroundings to challenge its worth.

"How temperamental," Lilia echoes your thoughts bemusedly. "I expect this year's tree to shine longer than the last ones."

The crowd bursts into applause as Malleus steps down from the stage. You're about to ask Lilia something when you suddenly realise how close his face was to yours.

"Is this another tradition?" You ask, studying his eyes.

"There is a saying about it, yes." Upon your answering smile, Lilia starts to lean in closer, a hand cupping your cheek. "Sharing a kiss with someone at the welcoming of the Sun is a good luck charm of sorts."

You can't help but laugh after pulling away, lips tingling from the contact. For someone mischievous, Lilia liked to use oddly innocent excuses to steal moments of affection. "Happy winter solstice, Lilia."

"May a fortuitous time be ahead." He returns, smile content. "I'm glad you're here to spend it with us."

[venushasvixens]

Ch. 6 Confliction - Life is but a Dream (Spike Spiegel x Reader)

[A/N] I really want to give a huge, huge thank you to @tebdundy on tumblr for editing and dealing with my constant check ups and stuff, you are so amazing for helping me. It means a whole lot. You can find more of me on instragram, wattpad, and AO3 (under the same username). Okay, onto the chapter!

WARNING: a lot of angst, rejection

Your ship was on fire. Every belonging, every single thing you had worked so hard for was gone. Your guns, clothes, even appliances you had never given a second thought, gone. And it hit you like a shot. The moment you took in that your ship was on fire, you shut down. Your mind began to wander. What did I do to deserve this? Why is this happening to me?

The next thing you could remember was Spike shaking your shoulders to snap you back to reality. You struggled to form a response. You tried to open your mouth, give some indication that you could feel and see him. In reality, the only thing you could really feel was a dull ache in your spine, each vertebrae mounting with an odd, uncomfortable pain.

The shock was setting in.

You blinked, eyes glassy as you watched firefighters put your ship out of her misery. There was no noise. You couldn't feel your fingertips, your face. You couldn't feel anything. Just that dull ache creeping up your spine.

Thoughts spiraled through your aching head, moving so quickly you could hardly keep up. It felt like you were at war with yourself, trying to keep yourself conscious and cognizant of the situation, while you sank deeper and deeper into your head.

This is just a small hiccup.

Just an obstacle that needed to be conquered, a hurdle you needed to jump over.

This is all your fault, you’ll never bounce back.

Everything happens for a reason, right?

Maybe if you hadn’t been so stupid.

You always ruin everything for yourself.

You might as well give up now.

There’s no coming back from this one.

You’re a disappointment.

You’ve failed.

It ate you up like a starving monster devouring a poor soul who crossed its path. Dark tendrils of shame, anger, and sadness weaved into your head, wrapping around your mind and tightening with every passing second. You were going to drown.

Push it down. Push it down. Grieve later. Think now. Grieve later. Think now.

You needed to figure out what you were going to do next. You needed to get out of your head. You desperately tried to claw your way out of this state. Taking a deep breath, you tried to make sense of the chaos around you.

You were sitting on the ground, a blanket draped over your shoulders. You felt the cold stone of the dock under your legs, felt the itchiness of the thick wool wrapped around you. You watched as Jet ran over to Spike, shouting over the sounds of panic that had flooded your head just moments before. Spike was staring at you, his face riddled with concern. You heard him call your name. You didn’t respond.

It was usually so hard to read him, to figure out what he was feeling. But now, it was so incredibly clear. You saw the emotions flashing in his eyes as he called for you again. Loss, guilt, despair, mania, heartbreak.

You felt Jet’s strong hand on your shoulder, shaking it gently.

"Hey kid, you okay?" He said, his brows furrowed.

You swallowed. Do not cry. Do not cry. Wait until you're alone. Push it down.

"I think...I think— a glass of water."

-

"How much do you have?"

"About 200,000 woolong."

"Well, that ain't much."

"Well, I wasn’t expecting to lose everything I own."

You sipped your coffee slowly as you, Spike and Jet discussed a solution to your giant, unavoidable problem. No matter how much you told them that you were okay and could take care of yourself, they insisted on helping you. Deep down, you appreciated it, because you definitely weren’t okay and wouldn’t be able to take care of yourself, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself.

You picked at the eggs on your plate, imagining sleeping in your own bed right now. Wearing your favorite shirt. Eating breakfast in your small kitchen. Watching the morning news in your room. Maybe have someone with you, showing him everything you owned like an excited child because you were so proud of how far you came from your first bounty to now. Things you’ll never be able to do again.

You felt silly and materialistic, mourning the loss of your belongings. But when you worked so hard for something you wanted for so long, building it up over the years, and losing it all in seconds? It's very hard to not mourn.

You had tried to pack light, to not become attached to material possessions. That was one of the first things that you were told by other bounty hunters. When you had first considered entering this god-forsaken profession, you sought out the help of any bounty hunter you came across, trying to glean any useful knowledge from those more experienced than you. You got too comfortable and started to ignore that piece of advice, and now you’re crying over some clothes and dishes.

But your keepsakes, your souvenirs. Ties to your troubled past. Memories of old friends, places, and happy times. Gone, burnt to a crisp.

"How much is a night stay here in town?" You spoke up, interrupting Spike and Jet’s bickering.

"You don't even want to know. The further you go into the city, the worse the rates are. I looked at a couple of places, and it does not look good." Jet replied, taking a sip from his mug.

"And staying on the streets isn't too good either," Spike muttered.

"Wasn't planning on it, but thanks for the advice." You snapped back.

The tension was thick in the air between you and Spike. Maybe it was because of your interrupted intimacy from the previous night, or the fact that neither of you had slept for the past 24 hours. But you couldn't understand why he was taking his frustration out on you. You hadn’t planned for your ship to burn to ash. You didn’t want to be a burden.

"I have a suggestion. Well, more of a proposal." Jet said.

You perked up. "And what's that?" Even before Jet could say anything, you already felt guilty about it.

"You can stay with us on the Bebop until you find your feet again."

You breathed a sigh of relief.

"Do what now?!" Spike hissed softly.

"But, "Jet held up his hand to Spike, who sighed loudly, annoyed. "I have a few conditions."

It kind of pissed you off how Spike was reacting to all of this. Actually, kind of was an understatement. It really pissed you off, almost offended you on how he was acting. Just a few hours ago, he was desperate to get into your pants, and now he was throwing a hissy fit at the thought of you living on the Bebop. Isn't this a good thing, you being able to spend more time together?

"Just contribute to the Bebop. Whenever you cash in a bounty, set some aside for fuel, food, all that good jazz. Maybe cook dinner sometimes, or clean the bathroom. Other than that, don’t worry about it." Jet said.

A cloud of suspicion settled across your thoughts.

"That's it?" You asked, “Are you sure?”

Jet chuckled. “There’re other rules, but you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I have a feeling you know how to respect other people’s spaces and belongings. Just don’t do anything stupid.”

You glanced at Spike, who was leaning back, staring out the window. He met your gaze, eyes unreadable once again. He closed his eyes and shook his head. He felt like an entirely new person, one who just wanted you to piss off and leave him to his business. You tried to shrug off his sudden coldness, but it bothered you. It stung.

-

The walk back to the Bebop wasn't too bad, but trying to initiate a conversation with Spike was difficult. All he did was grunt in response, a few "oh yeah”s and “huh”s thrown in for good measure. You hoped it was because he was tired, and not that he was pissed off that you were going to be invading his space.

The guilt was heavy on your shoulders. You certainly weren’t a freeloader, but you couldn't help but feel like you had already overstayed your welcome. And you haven’t even stepped foot on the ship yet. You didn't want Spike to be distant from you. Even though you had just met him, you wanted him to be closer to you than anyone else. You wanted to reach out to him, hold onto him and never let him go. Instead, he was pushing you away.

You weren’t good with rejection. Rejection defined who you were today and had been a driving factor to almost everything in your life. You had managed to take ahold of those haunting feelings and build them into a hard shell to protect yourself, vowing to never show your vulnerability or true feelings. You had pushed the old version of you so deep down that it would never escape. You had been doing so well, but the last few days had shown you that the hard work you put into being a completely emotionless bitch was all for nothing.

Jet was going into an extensive explanation of the ship, where you could take a shower, where your room was. He explained that the Bebop was once a fishing ship from Ganymede, and how he had fixed it up to be a high-tech, fully functional ship of today (his words, not yours).

"She operates well when treated right. However, some of our crew members would say otherwise." Jet grumbled. "Speaking of, did Faye tell you-"

"I haven't seen Faye since two days ago. Her ship was still gone, the last I saw." Spike muttered, throwing his jacket over his shoulder. "Besides, why do you care?"

Jet held up his hands. "It was just a question. Jeez." Spike muttered something in response.

You suddenly remembered the bounty on Faye’s head, but it didn’t really matter right now. That was all on the back burner for now, seeing as every plan you could think of required a ship that wasn’t the one Faye was living on. And you really didn't want to make enemies of your new crew this early on. All you cared about right now was taking a shower to wash all of last night's events off you and getting some shut-eye.

You wondered whether Jet was aware of your previous intentions of collecting the big bounty on Faye. You had asked him if Faye was joining the group for dinner last night, with no context. There was no answer, but that also could mean he took in what you said and was processing what you really intended to do if Faye did show up at the dinner. Remembering your first meeting with Spike, he told you clearly he doesn't care if she got captured or not. So you have two people who are on opposite ends of the discussion. One is in charge of the Bebop and which bounties to pursue, and the other one likes to smoke and philosophize.

The obvious correct choice was clear, but you decide to choose the latter.

"When you come in, don't be too surprised by some of our unique characters." Jet remarked. "You've already met us two, but there are a few more along the way."

"I like to think I'm also a unique character, so we should get along." You replied happily, a tint of exhaustion underlying in your words. Spike scoffed, walking over to open the small hatch.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You snapped, a full night's worth of frustration threatening to overflow in the form of obscenities and insults.

"Are you talking to me?" Spike said over his shoulder, punching in the security numbers on the small pad. The hatch to the side of the Bebop creaked open, landing on the stone pier with a hard thunk. "I’m tired. And when I’m tired, I don’t put my energy into pulling punches and being nice.Got it, (Y/N)?"

You bit down on your tongue. "Never mind. What were you saying, Jet?"

You could hear a quiet, "Yeah that's what I thought." echoing up into the Bebop. Rolling it off your shoulders, you turned your focus to Jet as you both walked into the ship.

Opening a round metal door, you looked up to see a dimming bulb illuminating the cylinder passage. The walls were yellowing, patched with dark, aging metal, and littered with hazard signs. Jet walked over to a ladder bolted on the wall and began to climb.

"I'll tell you, you’ll get a real workout just getting around this ship." Jet laughed, his voice bouncing off the walls.

"Are there a lot of these around the ship?" You said, following.

"Oh yeah, plenty. But if you stay in the living area, you don’t really need to worry about them. I'll show you around anyway, just in case we need you to get something. We wouldn’t want you to get lost." Jet smiled.

He hopped into the center gravity passage, holding out his hand to you. You grabbed it gratefully, not realizing how much of a drop it was to the floor of the tube until you looked back down.

"Oh damn." You exclaimed, looking down. "That's pretty far."

"It’s just 15 feet. Your eyes must be playing tricks on you." Jet chuckled, closing the metal door. "Alright, so this is the lower gravity passage. It leads to the living area, that includes bedrooms, kitchen and living room, and to the storage area."

Spike was nowhere to be seen in the passage. You assumed he was already in the living room, smoking before heading off to bed. Jet opened a sliding metal door marked “Storage”. You peered into the dark room.

"This is where we keep extra ammunition, supplies, and medical boxes.”

Jet pressed a button next to the storage door, one that opened to the living area. The walls were a gradient blue color, illuminated with warm lighting. The staircase was a dark, metallic gold leading to a dark blue platform. On the floor was a yellow couch, and across from it was a single matching seat. In between them sat a knee-level coffee table with a holoTV, a computer, and someone's breakfast. Jet walked in first, stepping down. "This is the living room.” He pointed to the set on top of the table. “You’re welcome to use the holoTV and the computer, everybody shares them.” He chuckled. “I’m not sure whose breakfast that is, but don’t touch it. People are pretty possessive of food on this ship.”

Right as you took a step in, you heard the light pattering of paws bouncing into the living room. From a staircase leading down, two small light brown ears popped up. Then two big brown eyes peered over, searching for the source of commotion in the room.

"You guys have a dog?!" You asked, practically jumping down the stairs. The small Welsh corgi was seemingly just as excited as you were, running and tripping up the stairs to meet you. You extended your hand, letting him sniff you.

Jet chuckled. "Cute little thing, isn't he? His name is Ein."

"Oh, he's adorable. Who’s a good boy?" You cooed, bending down to rub Ein's ears. He stretched his head out, his little stumpy tail going a hundred miles a minute.

"And usually tagging along with Ein is-" Jet was interrupted by the pounding footsteps coming from downstairs.

"They're back, they're back, they're back!" a scrawny red-headed kid rejoiced, waving their arms about. "Ed was worried, but now Jet’s back, and Ed is okay again!"

The kid's smile stretched from ear to ear, clearly more than ecstatic to see Jet back home. They grabbed the plate from on top of the table and plopped down next to a box with a computer on top. They gobbled up what was left of their food, before bending their head back to get a look at you. "Who are you?"

"This is (Y/N), they're going to be staying on the Bebop for a little bit." Jet replied, walking over to the table. He turned back to you. "Ed is a computer genius and a damn good hacker. You ever need someone to work out some malicious malware, Ed’s your girl."

“Hi, it's nice to meet you." You said, giving Ed a small smile and a wave. She scampered over to you on all fours with her behind high in the air, chattering to herself.

“Stranger, changer, danger! Hihi...”

You laughed nervously, glancing back at Jet, who was standing with his arms crossed, looking amused. The girl stopped at your feet. “Edward Wong Hau Pepelu Tivrusky the Fourth,” she said matter of factly. Ed grabbed your hand and sniffed. You had met some oddballs in your time, but this one took the cake. She made a face and jumped back, her hands covering her nose and mouth. "Ed thinks you stink!"

You sucked in air between your teeth. Did you really smell that bad, or was it another talent of this child prodigy? That’s so embarrassing. "Is it that noticeable?"

Jet half-smiled. "Doesn't bother me none. Thought I wouldn’t mention it till you could do somethin about it."

He was just going to let you find out later? No wonder Spike didn't want to be anywhere near you. It wasn’t even your first day of being on the Bebop, and you were not making a great first impression.

"Let me show you the kitchen." Jet motioned for you to follow up a small set of stairs through a large circular door frame leading down a small hallway. You turned into the kitchen, completed with a fridge, stove, oven, and a small countertop. The kitchen was dark, the only light in the room was the dimming orange ashes of Spike's cigarette falling on the floor. He was leaning against the countertop, staring down at his cig.

"There you are, Spike." Jet flipped the lights on, revealing a slightly disorderly kitchen. Spike winced, covering his eyes.

"Jesus, Jet give me a warning next time," Spike mumbled, his voice deep and raspy. Your annoyance and anger at him suddenly disappeared. That voice. You wanted to hear that voice again. You wanted to put your hand on his chest and feel the vibrations of that voice. Every time you tried to find some way to be mad at him again, he just had to stand there, looking cool and intoxicatingly seductive. You craved him like an alcoholic craved whiskey.

"Are you finished with the grand tour?" Spike asked, his heavy-lidded eyes looking away from you and Jet.

"Not yet, but I was hoping you could finish it."

"I’m not in the mood for hospitality right now. I'm going to bed." Spike said, making his way to the door.

"Just show her on the way there. And be nice, she's our guest." Jet warned, sorting the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink.

"Yeah, show me some respect." You teased. But Spike clearly was not in the mood. Instead, he turned away from you, rolling his eyes, and walked out of the kitchen

Jet patted you on the back. "Give him a minute, he'll come around."

"Thank you for everything, Jet. It means a lot." You smiled.

"Don't sweat it, kid. Go ahead and get some rest. If anything comes up, I'll send the cavalry after you." He said, gesturing to the living room.

You took a deep breath before heading out of the kitchen. Ed was sitting motionless in a trance-like state, her eyes engulfed with giant goggles. Ein lay peacefully on the couch, watching as you followed Spike down the steps into the living room.

This was the first time you and Spike had been alone since last night. Just hours ago, you were definitely not afraid to touch him. Now, you didn't even want to take a step near him.

"Are you coming or what?" Spike called out impatiently, already halfway downstairs to the lower part of the living area. "I don't have all day."

"I'm here." You raced over, gliding your hand down the rail. Spike continued his way down, turning around a corner. The walk down the hallway was quiet, the silence uncomfortable. Neither of you wanted to do small talk. Spike probably didn’t want to talk at all, but you had to know. You had to ask him.

"Spike?” you asked quietly. You wrung your fingers around each other anxiously. Spike stayed silent, his quick pace faltering before coming to a stop in front of a door.

“Do you remember what happened last night?” You finally asked. Spike seemed to tense up, his jaw clenching. Deciding to press on further, you continued.

“I umm,” you mumbled, “I may have been drunk and you probably were too, but why are you so cold to me now when we were literally about f-“

“This is the bathroom. It has a tub and a shower.” Spike interrupted. Your heart dropped to your stomach. So much for answers. “There should be some clean towels. You can wash your clothes upstairs, Jet can show you where the washer is. Your room’s gonna be the first door you see when you reach the top of the stairs. It’ll be all yours till you leave.”

Spike puffed out a cloud of smoke before making his way slowly down the hallway. You looked at him in disbelief. He definitely remembers. And he’s rejecting it. You and him. Cutting it off before it starts, pushing you away.

You stepped into the bathroom, letting the door shut behind you before tears of anger and resentment started to fall down your face. How can you feel so much emotion for someone who shows none? You lost your home and belongings. You didn’t want to lose anything else.

-

After a long hot shower, you stood in front of the mirror, combing your fingers through your hair. You were going to have to get essentials eventually, a comb and a toothbrush would be nice. But that would have to wait. You rubbed circles on your temple, your impending exhaustion headache approaching fast.

After drying yourself off, you slipped your old clothes back on. It felt awful putting dirty clothes on your clean body, but you were not about to walk around the ship in a towel. You had already dug yourself a deep enough hole with Spike, you didn’t want to traumatize Jet, the kid, or the dog.

As you wrapped your hair in a towel, you heard shouting from outside. You combed through who it could be. Spike and Jet. Or Jet and Ed. Or Spike and Ein, or Ein and Ed. There were quite a few combinations.

“First fight on the Bebop.” You muttered to yourself. “So excited.”

This was so ridiculous, you couldn’t help but giggle to yourself. All you had to do was walk past and not get involved. Unless it was about you, then you would at least try to defend yourself. You opened the door, listening intently.

“What the fuck-“ more shouting. “And you bastards decide to tell me now?!” A shrill female voice was yelling. A table got knocked over. You could hear stomping and more shouting. “Well, where the hell are they?!”

Whoop, time to hide.

You shut the door and the latch clicked with a loud cathunk. You hoped they hadn’t heard it. You were down a big hallway, there was no way that they could’ve heard it. You had a pretty good idea of who the screaming was coming from, and you were not ready to meet her right now.

The sounds of stomping grew louder, getting closer to the bathroom door. Your fight-or-flight mode started to set in. With how pissed she sounded, stomping and roaring, this may as well be a life-or-death situation.

You rolled your neck, stretching your arms out. If you needed to defend yourself, you were going to have to do it bare-knuckled. No guns, knives, bars of soap, nothing. You flexed your hands, cracking your knuckles. You planted yourself in front of the door. The footsteps outside stopped. This was it! You were ready for anything.

Bam!

The door slid open. Faye Valentine stood on the other side, hands on her hips. She was panting from her ranting and raving in the other room. She smiled, her eyes a little too wide. You couldn’t tell if she was happy, crazy, or surprised.

“Hi there, you must be our newest crew member! My name is Faye, it’s so nice to meet you, girly!” She beamed, her eyes manic.

Not the response you were expecting. “It’s nice to meet you too, I’m (Y/N).” You held out your hand. She took it, her soft palms gripping your hand a little bit too tight. She shook your hand. She kept shaking. And shaking. You pulled back, trying your best to put on a friendly face.

“Sorry if I’m hogging the bathroom, there was an accident last night and I was so dirty, I just had to have a shower.” You smiled, stepping to the side.

“Oh no! You’re totally fine. I was just looking for the toilet, I guess I got lost.” She replied, waving her hand.

“The toilet’s just across the hall from your room, how long have you been here-“ Jet was cut off by Faye’s elbow jabbing him in the ribs. Jet grabbed his side in pain, giving you a half-smile.

“Well, I’d love to chat, but I’m really tired. I’m going to go get some sleep.” You smiled apologetically and gestured to the stairs.

Jet and Faye’s voices mingled with each other, overlapping into a confusing symphony of hospitality and kindness.

“Yeah, no worries!”

“Call us if you need anything!”

“We’ll be right here!”

Smiling, you gave a small wave, turned around, and basically sprinted down the hallway to the living room. You heard Faye hiss, “You didn’t tell me she was a girl, dumbass.”

“I was going to before you blew up at me. If you had let me finish, I would’ve. Why are you so pissed off about another crew member, anyway?”

“I’m tired of all the men on this ship, I didn’t want another one. And I thought they were going to take my room...”

Their bickering trailed off as you climbed up the two sets of stairs to your new room. Ed was still on the floor with her goggles on, humming to herself, seemingly oblivious to the fight that had just happened. Ein cautiously sniffed the overturned table, before settling onto the floor next to Ed, resting his head on her lap. You would’ve said goodnight, but they seemed to be in their own little world and you were happy to let them stay like that.

When you reached the top of the stairs, you saw two doors directly across from each other, one on each side of the landing. Spike had said it was “the first door you’d see”, but that wasn’t particularly helpful in this situation. Hoping you were correct, you quietly walked over to the door to your left, pressing the button to open it.

Your breath hitched as the door opened to see Spike fast asleep in his bed. He snored lightly, sleeping so deeply he didn’t hear the hiss and clink of the door opening. His arms were behind his head and the steady rise and fall of his bare chest was hypnotic. Even asleep he was really, really attractive. You fumbled over yourself trying to shut the door. It finally latched, and you let out a breath.

Sighing, you turned towards the door behind you. This one had to be it. You opened it to see a small, sparse room. Closing the door behind you, you flipped on the light. Pushed up against the far wall was a simple bed, and to your right was a small desk built into the wall with an old armchair next to it. There was a closet in the far corner, but the door was locked and some large boxes were stacked in front of it. They must not get many guests, it seemed like this room was mainly used for storage.

Feeling the ache of exhaustion overtaking your body, you flopped onto the bed. It was surprisingly soft, with a pillow and tan comforter neatly folded on top. You didn’t know how to thank Jet for being so kind and accommodating. Next time you cashed in a big bounty, you were going to set aside some woolongs to buy him a thank you gift.

On top of the pillow, you noticed a pair of black shorts and a yellow button-up. Pinned to the shirt was a note, clearly written in a hurry.

Some clean clothes. You smell like shit.

-S

You laughed. He’s straight-talking, that’s for sure. You slipped on the shorts and buttoned the shirt halfway up. Spreading out the comforter, you crawled underneath. You were already half-asleep, and thinking about how breathtakingly attractive Spike looked asleep relaxed you even more. Your mental snapshot of your accidental encounter was glued to your eyelids. It was never going to happen again, but you got to have one taste of beauty while here.

You gently wrapped your arms around your pillow, thoughts of Spike disappearing into clouds of empty dreams. It was so much better to fall asleep to thinking of someone, rather than no one at all.

And even though it was going to hurt, you would do it again and again.

-

[A/N] all I got to say is fasten your seatbelts for the next chapter, slut puppies.

[itsallagatha]

Agatha x OFC

Part 4

wc: 2214

warnings: mentions of implied smut?

Enjoy! 💜

A fire seemed to ignite within Agatha. She had to learn how to break this spell, and fast. After careful investigation the next morning, Agatha determined Elara had no memory of the nightmares or even “Agnes” comforting her. Agatha had yet to decide if that was a blessing or a curse. There was a new glint of pain behind her wife’s eyes that wasn’t there before that only grew with each night’s passing. Every night Elara would cry out and Agatha would be by her side in a moment only leaving once dawn broke. When the two crossed paths again in the morning, Elara would appear right as rain outwardly, but Agatha could now feel her mind screaming out just like everyone else’s in this god forsaken town. It broke her heart.

Wanda had seemingly given Elara a daily routine, or rather a daily task: a walk with Wanda herself around town. The first time Elara left, Agatha impatiently sat on her front porch with a magazine, waiting for Elara’s return, ready to punt their witchy neighbor half way across town if even a finger was laid on her wife.

Of course when she spotted Wanda walking her up the driveway, everything was fine. A bubbly laugh escaping Elara’s lips as the two approached Agatha. It didn’t quite quell all her nerves, but she stepped into her “nosy neighbor” role nonetheless. “Sounds like you two had a darling romp around town!”

“We absolutely did!” Wanda replied. “I have to say, I’m quite jealous you get this charming girl’s company all to yourself, Agnes. Ella is just splendid company.”

Agatha’s eyes narrowed as she watched Elara glance to the ground as a rosy tint began to cover her features. “I couldn’t agree more.”

“And to think this gal’s single! I couldn’t believe my ears when she told me!”

As Wanda reached a hand out to grab Elara’s shoulder, Agatha stepped forward, slinking an arm around the girl’s waist and pulling her in tightly to her side. “I thought she’d gotten hitched centuries ago, but no cigar!”

Ella’s breath hitched as she felt an arm pull her close, looking up she saw it was Agnes and was even more surprised to find those icy baby blues staring into her own green ones. She quickly looked away, desperately trying to find anything to grab her focus as to not give away her feelings, though Ella was sure her face was as bright as a tomato by now.

“Will I be seeing you two at Dottie’s tomorrow?”

“You bet, sweet cheeks! You let us know if you need anything beforehand!”

Wanda said her goodbyes and turned to go, but not before giving a wink to Ella which Agatha absolutely noticed and stiffened her hold on her waist, quickly leading her back inside the door. “Now, you’ll have to tell me what you two got up to today!”

Ella took a seat on the couch with Agnes and picked up one of the glasses of lemonade laid out on the coffee table. “Oh, you know, everything and nothing,” she answered vaguely.

“Right…”

-//-

Little did Agatha know, Elara had spent her walk with Wanda sharing just how much she was falling for the beautiful woman who had offered her a place to stay. She had serious feelings for the brunette despite just meeting and Wanda had offered her ideas and advice on how to woo their beloved nosy neighbor before it was too late.

“I don’t know why, I just feel we are destined to be together, Wanda!” Ella had told the redhead.

Wanda smiled and patted the arm linked with hers, “Well, how about you whip up a nice meal, set out some candles, and tell her over dessert! Between you and me, I wouldn’t be surprised if she felt the same way.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so! I’ve seen the way she looks at you!”

“I just don’t want to make a fool of myself. I get so nervous around her.”

Wanda paused, thinking hard for a moment when suddenly an idea hit her. “I know! I’ll stop by right before and drop off a bottle of champagne! I have some leftover bottles from Vision and I’s wedding! A little bit of liquid courage couldn’t hurt.”

“Oh Wanda, I could never accept! I wouldn’t want to take something from your special day!”

“Please, we have plenty to save as keepsakes. And Vision doesn’t drink much of anything. I can’t possibly let it all just sit around the place. It’s no bother really!”

“Only if you're certain.”

“Positive.”

-//-

Ella must have been lost in thought because Agnes had begun to call her name. She finally came back to the present when she felt a cold hand press against her cheek. “I’m so sorry, Agnes, I got lost in my thoughts.”

“It’s alright, doll, just making sure you’re okay.”

After their little chat, Agatha put away the glasses and pitcher full of lemonade and returned to the basement to continue her studies. Usually she’d astral project into her lair and continue her day to day through her physical body up above, but Agatha found herself too distracted, needing to physically touch the ancient spell books as she scoured them for answers.

Reversing a mind control spell was easy. Agatha could practically do it in her sleep. But this magic was different, it was strangely powerful and deeply rooted in the minds of those living in Westview. It was unlike anything she had witnessed before. A moment of clarity hit the witch as she looked up from the book she was holding, her eyes falling onto the Dark Hold which was situated across the room on its own pedestal.

No…

Setting the spell book aside, Agatha called the Dark Hold towards her and began magically flipping through its pages until she found the section she was looking for.

The Scarlet Witch

Now she was making progress. Agatha read the pages over and over again, refreshing her knowledge on chaos magic and the dangers it ensued as well as, of course, ways to counteract it. This was a dangerous magic much more powerful than her own. Not to mention being weld by a mourning, thirty something, Avenger. There was no way in heaven she was going to experiment with chaos magic on her wife. So Agatha decided then and there.

She needed a victim.

Thankfully the two were slated to go to some meeting with Dottie tomorrow granting Agatha the perfect opportunity to sniff out someone off of Wanda’s radar.

-//-

Just as she was setting the Dark Hold back into place, Agatha heard the soft lilt of Elara’s voice calling for her, so she quickly checked her appearance and made her way upstairs.

“Sorry, hun, time must have slipped away from me down there-“ Agatha frowned and looked around, Elara nowhere to be found. “Ella, dear, where are you?”

“Out back!”

Curiosity peaked, Agatha made her way out the back door, through the kitchen. She was a little taken aback by the sight in front of her. The table was set out on the back patio, with candles, and a home made meal ready for the two to enjoy.

“Do you like it?”

Agatha turned to look at Elara and gasped. She was wearing a sleeveless, pastel pink dress with a lace overlay. Her hair was no longer tied away and fell just past her shoulders in perfect curls. She looked absolutely stunning.

Elara cleared her throat causing Agatha to blink, remembering she’d been asked a question. “Apologies dear, you're just a...a vision in pink over there, I simply…” Agatha let an awkward chuckle slip, not usually one to be caught speechless.

A grin broke out on Ella’s face, proud she had rendered the brunette a stuttering mess. Perhaps Wanda was right all along?

As they sat down to eat, Agatha noticed the bottle of champagne. “I didn’t think I had any champagne on hand.”

“Oh it was a gift from Wanda. Something about me being new to the neighborhood.” Ella shrugged it off.

“Wanda?”

“She dropped it off while you were downstairs.”

-//-

Once the two finished their meal, Elara moved to pop the cork, but Agatha grabbed her hand before she could. “Here let me, it’s the least I can do.” Agatha stood up and made her way inside having every intention to make sure the bottle wasn’t some kind of poison. “I’ll be right back, doll!”

Left to her thoughts, Ella began to run the past half hour over in her mind. Dinner had gone surprisingly well. Agnes had only caught her staring once or twice. They had started off making small talk about the upcoming events in Westview but somehow their conversation had turned to Ella’s past. To which Ella didn’t have much to say. All she knew was that she had been lonely, possibly upset and wanted a fresh start and before she knew it she was in Westview. Agnes looked upset upon hearing that she had been lonely and began apologizing. Ella merely laughed, thinking it strange how Agnes felt the need to apologize, ensuring her everything was okay. After all, since arriving in Westview everything had been going swimmingly so she couldn’t complain.

Hearing the back door swing open, then shut, Ella was pulled out of her thoughts and smiled as Agnes walked back to the table with the now open bottle. “Sorry to keep you waiting, hun, this bottle put up quite a fight!”

Elara giggled and Agatha returned to her seat across from her. “Now, are you sure you want a glass, dear?”

“I honestly can’t remember the last time I’ve had a drink. It’ll be nice.”

Agatha remembered.

What an ordeal it had been too. Despite being in her early hundreds, Elara was a lightweight compared to Agatha who could drink almost anything and never feel a thing, much to Elara’s chagrin. On that particular night after a rather stressful magic lesson, the two decided to drink and one vodka soda later, Elara was attacking Agatha’s mouth with her own while various articles of her clothing had begun finding their way to the floor.

“Alrighty.” Agatha filled the two flute glasses and handed one to Elara before raising her own to her lips.

After the first glass the two decided to move inside to the couch. Agatha used her magic to put away the dishes that were outside.

Elara finished her second glass before her thoughts started slipping from her mouth unwarranted. Agatha merely cocked an eyebrow in amusement as she watched her tipsy wife passionately describe the ducks she had seen in the park during her walk with Wanda.

“That’s when Wanda gave me the idea. To make dinner tonight.”

“She did?”

“Yes!” Elara answered a little too enthusiastically. “I was supposed to seduce you but I think I forgot. Every time I look at you I...I forget everything I’m thinking, so I don’t know why I’m surprised.”

Agatha smirked, “Well my apologies for having that effect on you, love.” She then faked a whisper, “Can I tell you a secret?” Elara nodded and Agatha continued, “You make me feel the same way.”

Agatha laughed as Elara’s jaw dropped. “You’re too cute, toots.”

Ella felt a blush creep up her neck and poured another glass to hide her embarrassment. “I was afraid you’d think it strange, considering we just met a few days ago.”

-//-

Elara was completely gone after her third glass, and as usual, Agatha was completely unbothered. She was about to take Elara to bed when Agatha decided she’d take advantage of the situation, try and get a few more answers out of her about why she ended up in Westview. Perhaps the alcohol would let some memories slip through.

“I’ve already told you...I have no idea…”

“I know doll, but surely you remember something?”

After a moment Elara gasped as if all of a sudden she knew. In her excitement, she moved to sit on her knees and held Agatha’s shoulders. “I was...I was looking for something! Someone?”

“What darling? Who?” Finally they were getting somewhere. However her excitement was short-lived.

Elara started softly giggling again. “I like it when you call me that...darling.”

“And I like it when you answer my questions.” Agatha took Elara’s hands in her own, removing them from her shoulders. “Who were you looking for?”

Elara thought for a moment, searching for answers in Agatha’s face. “For some reason I think...I think I found her. Have we...do we know each other?”

Agatha merely frowned.

“I’m sorry, I really am!” Elara started giggling yet again, “It’s just, you’re very distracting. In a good way though! I mean...I think you're gorgeous. Kiss me?”

Agatha quickly grabbed her waist as Elara leaned in, trying to push her back, but it didn’t work. With a sigh and a wave of her hand, Agatha put her to sleep before anything could happen. Married or not, the idea of taking advantage of her giddy, under the influence, mind controlled wife didn’t sit right with Agatha. Slowly lowering Elara’s now limp body down onto the couch, she placed her head in her lap and began lazily twirling pieces of Elara’s blonde hair between her fingers.

“Well, that went well.”

[shannaraisles]

Fidèle de la Cœur - Chapter 1

In Regency era Thedas, the second family of a deceased Bann are forced to uproot themselves and build a new life far from the place they called home. Invited to live in Kirkwall by the Viscount - an old friend of their dead father - the two Lavellan sisters discover two very different paths to understanding the merit of a truly constant heart.

A Sense and Sensibility/Dragon Age mash-up, in which Brandon gets the right girl, and no one gets married before they reach the age of twenty.

Next Chapter - OR - Read on AO3

Chapter One

The sonorous tones of a melancholy piano echoed through the family wing of Ostwick Keep, lending voice to a grief that must be heard and accepted. Servants kept to themselves, speaking in hushed tones out of respect for the family so recently bereaved, yet forced to be about their business thanks to the arrival of the new Bann and his wife. It seemed to those women who could no longer call this place home that no sooner had word arrived of the old Bann's death than the new Bann Trevelyan had arrived hard on its heels, greedy to take up his position of respect, authority, and wealth. 

Johannes, they could have tolerated without much issue. The piercing gaze of his wife, Lady Goldanna, was an insult that could not be borne, and yet must be ignored for the sake of peace. She had made it quite clear that she had never approved of her father-in-law's second family, and now she fully intended to see them out of the only home they had by filling it with her ostentatious tastes and offensive personality. That her in-laws were elven appeared to make her poor manners ever more unfriendly, a fact that the servants were very quick to note. Her announcement upon arrival that her brother, Mr. Alistair Theirin, would soon be arriving to spend the winter with them was simply one more headache for the household to absorb.

The Lavellan women - for such they would now be called, no longer entitled to their half-brother's family name nor expectant of any support from him - were forced to accept this unwelcome change so soon upon the tails of the former Bann's death, and each reacted to the pain and inconvenience in their own ways. Ellana, the now Widow Lavellan, a handsome elven woman no more than forty years of age, had given way to her grief so wholly since the death of her beloved husband that she barely stepped from her rooms, weeping inconsolably as though she might never look upon the world with dry eyes again. Her somewhat romantic and dramatic view of their new circumstance was transmitted to her younger daughter, Lanise, who now chose to spend hours in the music room, playing the saddest of music at the highest of volumes, determined to cloak the house in the mantle of her grieving sixteen-year-old heart. And then there was Eralen, the elder Lavellan daughter who, though as heartbroken and saddened by their loss as her mother and sister, showed the world a calm face and gentle manner, taking on the burdens of running the household, making Goldanna and Johannes welcome in their new home, and consoling her mother during the worst of her fits of grief.

"Mamae, there is no need for this," she said, watching as her weeping mother swept about her private rooms, tossing keepsakes and personal items haphazardly into an open trunk. "Johannes will not simply toss us out onto the street."

"Yet he was quick to arrive and take charge of the estate," Ellana snapped back at her daughter. "And sending that woman ahead of him to hurry us along! Vultures, the pair of them, taking stock and inventory, laying a price on every precious memory we have made here. I will not stay to be a stranger in my own home, I will not -"

Yet here she crumbled, collapsing onto the stool by her vanity, her tears renewed with a wail muffled only by the press of her handkerchief to her mouth. Eralen bit her lip, moving further into the room to lay a gentle hand on her mother's back.

"I will start making enquiries to finding us somewhere else to live," she said quietly, not knowing what else she could say in the face of her mother's distress. "But until we have somewhere to go, you will have to bear it, Mamae."

Ellana groped for her daughter's hand, pressing her wet cheek against Eralen's knuckles.

"What would we do without you?"

Eralen smiled faintly, bending to kiss her mother's hair. As she straightened, the sonorous music faded for just a moment, only to be replaced with a melancholy rendition of a song the late Bann had dearly loved. Eralen winced just a split second before her mother burst into tears once again, throwing herself fully into her grief for the loss of the husband she had loved. 

With an imperceptible sigh, the elder Miss Lavellan left her mother to her weeping, calling for Orana to bring Mrs. Lavellan a cup of tea and sit with her a while until she was calm again. As the young maid nodded and hurried away, Eralen turned her face toward the music room, steeling herself to enter the whirlwind of dramatic emotion that was her younger sister. 

Passing one of the drawing rooms, she paused at the sound of voices, tilting her head toward the cracked door to briefly overhear what her half-brother and his wife were discussing. 

"Really, my dear, three women can live comfortably enough on the annuity granted by the terms of your father's will without putting you to the trouble of overseeing such a thing yourself," Goldanna was saying. "Indeed, they will be quite set up for life. And, of course, when the mother dies, the girls will receive ten thousand between them, which is not a sum to be sniffed at."

"My dear Goldanna, I made a promise to my father that I would see them cared for," Johannes answered, but even Eralen could tell he was being persuaded by his wife's greedy reasoning. "What do you say to the occasional gift of fifty gold every now and then?"

"And what would they spend it upon?" was Goldanna's reply. "In their situation, it would be more an insult than a help, I am sure, and we must think of our sweet Henry's inheritance. I feel certain your Papa never meant for you to help them with anything so vulgar as money; indeed, you need only give them the assistance they shall need when it comes to their relocation."

"No, Fanny, I must be plain on this case. My stepmother and sisters may remain here at Ostwick for as long as necessary to secure them a comfortable living."

"Of course, my dear," Goldanna soothed her husband in syrupy tones. "Yet one cannot help feeling that they cannot be allowed to engage in polite society with us. Miss Eralen is, I concede, acceptable in appearance and manner, but your stepmother and Miss Lanise are simply out of the question. Such violence of emotion cannot be allowed to stand and taint our reputation with the memory of the former incumbent."

"Oh, I quite agree on that point -"

Forcing herself not to frown, Eralen continued on, anxiously sweeping her hands down along the soft wool of her dress. So Goldanna was already working to have them gone with no inconvenience to herself; that was no surprise. She was saddened by Johannes' attitude, however. She had thought her half-brother stronger of spirit than this, yet it seemed he would bow to his wife's will. They could not expect any assistance from him. It was disappointing. But they would manage. Eralen had kept the books and helped run the household for several years now; she could keep her mother and sister from living beyond their means somehow. 

She opened the door to the music room, a sympathetic cast to her gaze as she looked upon her sister, not more than four years her junior. Lanise's eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks glistening with tears as she watched her own fingers dance heavily over the keys before her. The music was beautiful, yes - Lanise had always had a gift for it - but the heaviness of emotion she instilled into it was enough to make anyone's heart break for her. 

"Lanise, da'len," Eralen began, moving into the room to catch her sister's attention. "Could you play something else? Mamae has been weeping since breakfast."

Lanise sighed tearfully, her fingers stilling on the keys, and for a long moment, the sisters simply looked at one another - one openly passionate in her grief, the other calm and composed in spite of it. Then the younger nodded, lowering her eyes to begin playing once again. This tune was no less melancholy than the last, though lighter in sound and complexity.

"I meant something less mournful, da'len," Eralen said, but she knew she was defeated before she began.

She loved the passion and fire in both her mother and sister, envying them the freedom to express whatever they felt in any moment. Yet in grief, they fed off one another, each one plunging the other deeper into more violent expressions of loss, until she herself felt inadequate in her own pain. No doubt Lanise thought her cold in many ways, but Eralen knew one of them had to keep a calm head in this trying time. If the conversation she had overheard was any indication, the sooner they were gone from Ostwick, the better things would be for all of them. 

[meta-squash]

Brick Club 1.3.3 “Four For Four”

Hugo introduces the chapter by going over the many changes that have happened in Paris since 1817. However, I think it’s kind of an unintentional “the more things change, the more they stay the same” moment when he talks about all these changes, and then a few paragraphs later mentions M. Delincourt and M. Blondeau, law professors at the school whom Bossuet and Marius are still taking courses from 15 years later.

It also feels like a “pay attention” moment here in terms of Hugo talking to the reader. He’s describing these changes that have happened between 1817 and 1862, and yet it’s a moment for the reader to take stock of what has changed in the world between then and the present in which they’re reading, and also what is still the same. Technology is drastically different, social standards are drastically different, and yet you will still find eight friends running around on a weekend having fun, and you will still find a person who falls in love with someone who uses her, and you will still find women who are happy with quick-and-dirty flings, and others who get screwed over by the men in their lives. Technology is ever-changing and constantly advancing, but certain aspects of humanity and human interaction are universal.

In all this discussion of joy and fun, Hugo specifically references Edme-Samuel Castaing, a doctor who in 1822 murdered one close family friend and attempted to murder his brother, in order to gain their fortune. Kind of dark for such a happy occasion. Each chapter leading up to the climax of the dinner seems to have a reference or two that’s just slightly sinister or strange, in the middle of all the happiness.

This chapter really tries to put you in the shoes of the grisettes, with all it’s direct discourse to the reader as well as its beautiful and detailed descriptions of all the places they go and things they do on their outing and how much fun they’re having. The reader is set up for just as intense a disappointment as Fantine here.

Hugo also describes the poet Jean-Pierre-Jacques-August de Labouisse-Rochefort (guy’s got a Tikki Tikki Tembo-level name) walking past them and comparing them to the three Graces, but noting that there’s one too many. Again, this feels like a separation of Fantine from the others. She’s not supposed to be there, not supposed to be in this situation, because she’s not like the other grisettes and perhaps isn’t treating this outing in the same way that the other three girls are.

What are the “keepsakes” Hugo mentions here? I know about Victorian memorial jewelry for mourning or hair-based jewelry and art to commemorate certain occasions, but this seems more romance-based and google is giving me nothing.

Tholomyes is in control here, and everyone knows it, even though Favourite is leading the group. It seems implied that he’s kind of been the one calling the shots the entire time this group has known each other. He’s pretty much a walking display of up-to-date fashion and wealth here. I’m not sure if the “nothing being sacred to him, he smoked” line is in reference to some sort of specific smoking etiquette of the time, or simply just idea that instead of frolicking with the others, he’s hanging back on his own and puffing on this cigar for his own singular pleasure. Either way, giving off pretty big “look at me I’m cool and idgaf” douchebaggery vibes here.

We see Fantine happy! Hugo also draws more attention to her teeth and hair, even having her hold her hat instead of wearing it. Maybe I’m wrong, or maybe working women had different fashions, but my conception of early 1800s hairstyles is fairly pin-heavy updos, so it seems like Fantine’s flyaway hair is just another symbol of her childlike-ness or naivety, especially paired with the description of her “babbling” in the next sentence. Her clothes are also described as being much more conservative than her friends. Altogether the picture of innocent, modest youth.

Erigone is the origin of the constellation Virgo. (Sidenote: trying to look up images of actual ancient Greek masks in the dumpster fire of 2020 is ridiculous.) I couldn’t find any mask references, but there are plenty of Erigone paintings from the late 18th and early 19th century. She also apparently featured in pastoral poetry quite often, so the use of her image here makes sense.

Hugo references Galatea earlier in his description of Fantine, and then again when he says “you could imagine underneath this dress and these ribbons a statue, and inside this statue a soul.” Hugo seems to imply less that she is a sort of Galatea-esque figure, and more that she is like Galatea in that she has a potential inside her that is as yet unrealized. And unfortunately it will remain unrealized, at least until she dies and becomes this symbolic, religious sort of spirit venerated by Valjean.

“A gaiety tempered with dreaminess.” Fantine is so head-in-the-clouds so much of the time. She seems to operate on a slightly different level from everybody else. Somebody mentioned a headcanon of her being autistic? That certainly seems to scan for a lot of this. (I also love it and hate it at the same time. More autistic main characters please! But also less tragic autistic main characters please!)

Hugo is very not subtle about Fantine being a symbol for Innocent And Pure Woman here. He really goes all out when describing her as this working girl who has all this ideal beauty and grace and modesty.

He also really wants to hammer home how important her modesty is specifically. I feel like there are some interesting implications here. Fantine at this point seems to be having as much sex as the other grisettes in her cohort. She gets to be modest and pure despite her sexual activity, while the other grisettes do not. Obviously we don’t really know much about the other girls, so maybe they also have children, but it seems like Fantine may be the only one. So despite the child out of wedlock and the sexual activity, Fantine gets to be pure and modest in personality, in dress, and in symbolism, while her friends are not. Partly I think this is, as Hugo said in the last chapter, an aspect of the powers of Love and how Fantine’s capacity to love so completely makes her different. But what does that say about the other grisettes, who don’t have that passionate and loyal love, and yet are still negatively affected by society or poverty? I mean, I get what Hugo is doing, making Fantine extremely sympathetic, but also making her this pure and modest woman instead of just a regular working girl like her friends seems to imply a betterness? Or at least a Reason for her goodness, while perhaps that reason wouldn’t exist had she been a grisette who acted like the rest of her friends do.

“Love is a fault; be it so. Fantine was innocence floating upon the surface of this fault.” The reason for Fantine’s wisdom is her capacity to love. It’s also her downfall. Because she loves without pretense, without experience, she is ruined. This makes me feel like her “wisdom” isn’t necessarily an intrinsic knowledge of any kind, it’s more like this unhindered ability to love despite the world’s cruelty? Every other main character starts out with a lack of love and then slowly discovers the ability to love (and also to be loved). Fantine starts out with not only the ability to love, but the ability to love completely. She gets screwed over by Tholomyes, and she does harden a little bit, but she never loves Cosette any less. Compare this to the Thenardiers and their children, or Magnon and her children. Fantine’s unique wisdom is that her love does not diminish the more hardship she encounters or the more miserable she becomes.

[sounddrive]

Terrible Fate

WARNING: CONTAINS SPOILERS FROM LUCIO’S DEATH CHAPTER.

Content Warning: Canon-Compliant Character Death and some mild body horror.

⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ⁂ ⁂

“You’ve met with a terrible fate, haven’t you?”

Since the day the furnaces were lit, the Lazaret regurgitates the ashes of the dead. High, high the gritty, blackened plumes swirl away from this mausoleum. The trails permeate into the sky above, the winds carrying the choking motes to Vesuvia.

On the gray, sandy beach of this wretched place stand two entities. One, as old as human thought, leans against their walking stick. Their face is obscured by the hood they don. Strangely, they’re barefoot, cloak gently fluttering in the breeze.

Beside them is a grotesque apparition. If one blinks, one would assume it to be a flicker of the light. The companion is black and red, skeletal in appearance. They bare no flesh; it’s not solid flesh, at least.

If Fool were to think it, the other’s ‘skin’ is more like melted paint. Their companion is made of harsh lines and blood curdling imagery, and yet they’re so brittle.

There’s ashes upon Fool’s hand from when the apparition grasped at them. Fool couldn’t help feel sympathy when MC balked as parts of themself broke off.

The poor facsimile of a spirit couldn’t answer any of Fool’s questions, much less talk; their jaw’s missing.

Earlier, the pair were looking around the mounds that littered the sands of the Lazaret. Neither knew how long they were at it, but neither really cared. The jawbone was necessary to hold a conversation; the Spirit didn’t want to lose whatever left was of their hands if they gesticulated their words.

“Do you have any idea where you could be?” Fools asks, neck craning to try and see the tippy-top of the Lazaret from their spot.

All MC does is shake their skullish head in turn.

“Hmm, pity... would make this much easier, my friend,” Fool sighs. They turn and look at what’s become of this magician.

They wanted to find a cure for the Red Plague. Instead of finding a solution, the price of their dedication, or recklessness really, was their death.

The spirit sits, legs—‘legs’—crossed beneath their emaciated body. Either out of boredom or unsure of what else to do, they carefully drag their hands through the sand in front of them.

Where MC sits, it’s close enough to the walls of the Lazaret where it’s not as dyed with the ashes of the dead. It’s also the furthest part away from the mounds of bodies behind them.

Walking over, The Fool murmurs, “You can stay here; I’ll go and look for your jaw. Once within an arm’s reach, Fool gently taps the carapace of the other’s shoulder with a finger. The spirit waves them off, not looking away from the sand.

With that, Fool continues to look around the area. Their grimace deepens the more and more they find, and the more they couldn’t find.

⁂

Many suns and moons pass overhead. How many, neither of the two entities care to count.

MC got up every once in a while, pacing about the walls of the Lazaret listlessly. With each lap, they seem to be even more lost. They only give passing glances to the other spirits, fellow victims of the Red Plague’s. Those ones flash in and out of reality, screaming and clawing the air around them in vain.

It’s too cacophonous at times. Fool envies the corporeal living for being unable to hear it.

Fool knows they’ve been on this plane for too long, but they still have a mission to fulfill.

That jawbone had to be somewhere...

⁂

For once in the dead of night, the typical din of the dead is a low babble instead of a roar.

Fool’s seated themself down in the sands, their forehead atop the knees pulled to their chest. Their hood is pulled almost too far over their face, as if trying to hide it from the other spirits.

Arcana don’t sleep, but they can try.

As the waves crash into the beach, the sea water passes through Fool. For a moment, they are still. Their ears perk up at a familiar sound: a rowboat.

A rowboat is approaching. It’s another load of dead to be fed to the fiery bellies of the Lazaret, Fool thinks.

What they’re surprised to find, however, is that there’s only one passenger.

By the light of the full moon, the lone rower uses magic. From the water, the stranger launches their vessel harshly into the ash-caked beach. The force of the landing smashes a furrow into the sand, the pilot almost falling out from their boat.

Fool recognizes him immediately, slowly shaking their head.

“You’re too late, child...”

Magical compass in hand, Asra struggles to calm his breathing. His hat is left discarded in the boat, red scarf whipping around him as a strong sea breeze passes over the island.

The needle jerks around, rattling loudly as Asra scrambles about the place.

“No, no no no no, please, no...” he pleads, choking on tears as he finally follows the direction the arrow settles upon.

Fool follows behind him, curious. Of course, this garners the attention of a certain spirit. MC follows just five paces behind Fool.

The Fool cannot decipher what their companion is feeling beyond that their emotions are strong, yet unknowable.

Eventually, Asra finds the mound. Fool stops about a meter behind him. The spirit on the other hand, walks until they stand just a breath away from where Asra kneels.

As their friend digs with his bare hands, MC looms behind him. In the ash-choked sky, the spirit casts a menacing shadow over the white-haired magician.

Fool finds it admirable Asra can bite through the pain: his nails chip and break, his skin is scraped and his hands drip with blood from his efforts.

As the magician continues to dig, Fool maintains their meter-long distance away from Asra. However, they circle around, wanting to see what his face would be when he finds them.

Eventually...

Asra stops, eyes wide as his fingers touch bone. Hands shaking, he lifts a skull from the pit.

There’s no jaw to be seen.

The dam within Asra finally breaks. Cascades of tears flow freely from his eyes, dripping down his face and wetting the sand below him. He presses the skull to his forehead, sobs renewed as he begs for forgiveness from their friend.

The spirit behind the mournful magician casts their gaze upon the skull in Asra’s hands. Their expression, as ever, is inscrutable.

“Well,” Fool shrugs, “at least we know where you are now.”

⁂

How Asra gets off of the island with his mangled hands, along with the bones of his dear friend, Fool could not remember.

Their goal was to assemble a jaw for the spirit kneeling in front of them. Fool couldn’t miracle them back to life, but at the very least they could give MC a jaw-like apparatus.

“Almost there...” Fool sews magic into MC’s skull-like face, making the right adjustments. It’s like sewing a mask directly into place. Fool’s tools are a magical needle and thread made of light. Motes of fiery ash float around MC’s head, acting like anchors for Fool’s handiwork.

As the Arcana works the needle through MC’s disembodied ‘cheeks’, streaks of ash dribble from their eye sockets.

Fool stops sewing a moment, looking at their companion’s face. “Does it hurt?”

The spirit gently shakes their head in no. With a nod, Fool continues their work until it all settles into place.

“Alright, try to talk.”

MC works their new jawbone for a while. Once it properly pops into place, they squawk, their whole body juddering from the sudden re-connection.

“Th-thank... you...”

Fool offers their deceased companion a small smile. They extend their arms out, shoulders scrunched with this unfamiliar gesture.

MC takes up the unspoken offer, hiding their skeletal face to Fool’s cloak. Fool carefully supports MC as their body shudders, ashes spilling out of their eye sockets to their cloak.

Fool didn’t mind being in that hug for too long. Before they have to leave MC behind in this place, they make sure the anchoring motes around MC’s head will remain charged.

Strangely, they look like spikes. The four points extended from the top of their head in symmetrical angles. MC didn’t seem to mind.

Even if their jaw is barely visible, it was the least Fool could do for them in this circumstance.

“I’ll miss you,” Fool murmurs, gently squeezing MC’s ashen hands. MC returns the gesture, some flakes of themself sinking into Fool’s own.

Fool won’t bother to wash the ash off. It’s a macabre keepsake, but it’s a keepsake all the same.

Bringing down the butt of their staff to the ground twice, a portal opens up behind them. As Fool steps through the entrance to their realm, floods of other deceased begin gather, wanting to follow after the Major Arcana.

MC remains a statue behind that mass, a towering shadow above all the rest as they rush for the portal.

Fool wishes they can’t hear. As the portal to their realm closes behind themself, the agonized screaming of the restless spirits will forever ring in their mind.

A/N: Before anyone asks, I don’t know a lick of the Legend of Zelda lore. All I know is that quote and it felt very fitting for this piece.

Thank you very much for reading; I hope you enjoyed it as much fun as I had writing it!

[birdwholanded]

The Goldfinch (Spoiler)

If you want to read the Goldfinch for yourself to get your own understanding and opinion on it, read it for yourself before you read this because this is what I thought about it for myself.

    Donna Tartt’s The Goldfinch is divided into the chapters Boy with a Skull, The Anatomy Lesson, Park Avenue, Morphine Lollipop, Badr al-Dine, Wind Sand and Stars, The Shop-Behind-the-Shop, The Shop-Behind the Shop, continued, Everything of Possibility, The Idiot, The Gentleman’s Canal, and The Rendezvous Point. At the beginning of the book there is a quote ,“He’s telling you that living things don’t last-it’s all temporary. Death in life. That’s why they’re called natures mortes. Maybe you don’t see it at first with all of the beauty and bloom, the little speck of rot. But if you look closer-there it is.” (24) I like this quote because I can relate to this. My grandfather passed away from cancer in December of last year while my aunt was also very ill with leukemia during the time. My hamster passed away and so did both of my parakeets. I didn’t know how to take it when my parakeet passed away at the bottom of his cage with his feet up in the air. It affected me a lot. My mom took him out of his cage and made him a nice home in a box with tissue paper and clothes so he could rest nicely in them. My mom and I had a funeral for him and said nice things about him and the memories that we had about him and then I buried him underneath a tree in my backyard. My hamster was breathing heavily and his heart stopped beating one morning when my dad woke up. He woke me up by coming into my room and telling me that he had passed away overnight. We put him in a nice box too and buried him by my parakeet. I did not know how to cope with the avalanche of sickness and death that has happened to my family members and my pets at the end of last year and the beginning of this year. I grieved in my own way because it was a really sad time. I felt like I shut off and became angry at the world because I did not understand why things happened the way that they did. My family also lost a distant family member this year from a heart attack.       People cope with loss in different ways too. It is very personal.       I enjoyed the section of the book where his mother gave him the painting to keep and hold on to to remember her by. It is a keepsake and an heirloom.   A mother was taking her student son to an art gallery in New York City but an explosion went off in the gallery while they were inside and everyone was rushing to try to escape the gallery. The son left, but the mother never did. She passed away in the explosion and the son has to come to terms with it and where he is going from there. He doesn’t have a home to stay at anymore so the social workers want to put him with his grandparents, but his grandmother’s back is going out and she can’t take care of him properly. He feels out of place and he doesn’t belong anywhere. “But suicide wasn’t the ansswer.” (93) He felt isolated and disconnected. He wanted to go back in time.     His father is not a presence in his life when he is living in New York. He is irritated and cold a lot of the time. He doesn’t  like to come home and wants to stay out drinking. It is described that he has a lot of stressors on his mind and that he even wants to move to Atlantic City and start over again. He is fearful. The son can’t look up to him because he doesn’t want to be involved with anything. The son is taken to a home where his friend is in AP classes and he is dedicated to his studies so he can’t do anything because all of his time is taken up. He watches old Turner classic movies to distract himself. Theo misses his mom and questions if he could have done things differently to prevent her death while he is staying at the temporary house. He wants to leave the house but he has nowhere to go. Theo wants to disappear and hide. He goes to therapy and while he is there he thinks about a girl named Pippa that he saw at the museum with his mom when the explosion happened. He cannot get Pippa off of his mind and he fantasizes about her. He meets with her and he finds out that she is moving away to Texas because her mother had passed away too so she is looking to start a new chapter in a new location. A fresh start.      He gets to move in with his father in Las Vegas and is charmed by his father’s lifestyle. It is a completely different lifestyle living with his father and girlfriend than living with his temporary housing family Andy and the Barbours. He meets a guy named Borris in his class in school and Boris lived in Ukraine and Russia and he introduced him to that culture. Boris is a main character in the book and is almost Theo’s wingman. Boris is not a good influence for him because he introduces him to a darker lifestyle.       Theo, the narrator of the story gets early admission to go to college and he goes into a European film class. His friends are taking classes like intro to Russian literature. The book, The Idiot by Doeskevsky is referenced too and philosophical things are taken out of the book and questioned by Boris near the resolution of the book. He has a painting called the goldfinch that his mother gave him. When the explosion at the art gallery happened, some paintings got ruined.       He discovers that his friend Andy had died and he is contemplating death some more.     I liked how the beginning of the book connected to the end of it in the way that it explains the characters’ fate and circumstances. At the beginning of the book he is in Amsterdam, but it is not explained why he is there until the ending of the book where he commit capital murder to save the painting his dead mother gave to him.  “It was a social and moral lesson, if nothing else. But for all foreseeable time to come-for as long as history was written, until the icecaps melted and the streets of Amsterdam were awash with water-the painting would be remembered and mourned. Who knew, or cared, the names of the Turks who blew the roof off the Parthenon? The mullahs who had ordered the destruction of the Buddhas at Bamiyan? Yet living or dead:their acts stood. It was the worst kind of immorality. Intentionally or no:I had extinguished a light in the heart of the world. An act of God:that was what the insurance companies called it, catastrophe so random or arcane that there was otherwise no taking the measure of it. Probability was one thing, but some events fell so far outside the actuarial tables that even insurance underwriters were compelled to haul in the supernatural in order to explain them-rotten luck, as my father had said mournfully one night out by the pool, dusk falling hard, smoking Viceroy to keep the mosquitoes away, one of the few times he tried to talk to me about my mother’s death, why do bad things happen, why me, why her, wrong place wrong time, just a fluke kid, one in a million not an evasion or copout in anyway but-I recognized, coming from him-a profession of faith and the best answer he had to give me, on par with Allah Has Written It or It’s the Lord’s Will, a sincere bowing of the head to Fortune, the greatest god he knew.” (701-702)      He describes going through drug withdrawals in some parts of the book and he talks about morphine, xanax, oxycontin, riboxycotin. He was snorting coke too. His father was taking vicodin which is hydrocodone. I didn’t expect for there to be so much discussion about drug use. The father relies on drugs to ease his situation. He got sober however. The father was addicted to drugs because of the relationship he had with his wife, the mother of Theo. The husband and wife got at each other’s throats and they would argue. He didn’t appreciate the situation he had when he was around her. He tried to escape. I think drug use is escapism but is also used for relaxation. Cigarettes, marijuana, alcohol are ok to use because they are soft drugs that put one at ease. When one starts to use hard drugs like cocaine, then it is not so good because they rely on it for its effects and get addicted to it. They have to get enough money for drugs too. It’s a cycle that is hard to break because one always craves the drug rush. I have smoked cigarettes and marijuana and I drink. I don’t care if people drink. I don’t care what people do unless it is illegal. I think that things are ok in moderation.     The Goldfinch is about appreciating every moment in life whether good or bad, its ups and downs because it's a very rare and precious thing. One has to appreciate life because at any second one’s relative could pass away in a car accident, shooting, etc not to say that it will happen, but anything and everything is to be expected and can happen. The Goldfinch is a rare creature that moves quickly. One moment it could be here and the next moment it can be flying away and migrating to a different location with its species to be never seen again for a while.  When I was reading this book, I went outside to sit in my backyard and continue to read and I had my parakeet and dog sitting outside with me. I went inside the house to get something, but my dog alo wanted to come inside the house at the same time while my parakeet’s cage was very close by. My dog was biting my pants trying to get inside the house first, and I had slightly kicked him trying to get him to stop biting me, but in doing that, my parakeet’s cage had toppled over into the flower bed by accident and my parakeet was free. She tried to fly away through a hole in our fence to get into my neighbor’s yard, however I was quick enough to come and get my mom to help save her, because I had thought that I had lost her. She did not go very far and was stuck in the fence. My mom was able to get a hold of her and put her back in her cage. I had fixed her cage after it had fallen down. It was scary because she could have easily been gone for good like my two other parakeets. My parakeet looks like a gold finch because she is golden and bright like the sun. I call her sundrop. Her name is Coronja.        ‘...if bad can sometimes come from good actions-? Where does it ever say, anywhere,that only bad can come from bad actions? Maybe sometimes-the wrong way is the right way? You can take the wrong path and it still comes out to where you want to be? Or, spin it another way, sometimes you can do everything wrong and it still turns out to be right?....What if all your actions and choices, good or bad make no difference to God? What if the pattern is pre set?...What if our badness and mistakes are the very thing that set our fate and bring us round to good? What if, for some of us, we can’t get there any other way?”  (745-746) This quote discusses predestination. The idea of if you will go to heaven or hell or some other universe. “Predestination is the doctrine that all events have been willed by God usually reference to the eventual fate of the individual soul.” (wikipedia.org) “Explanations of predestination often seek to address the paradox of free will.” (wikipedia.org) “Therefore as predestination includes the will to confer grace and glory so also reprobation includes the will to permit a person to fall into sin and impose the punishment of damnation on account of that sin.” (wikipedia.org)     “It’s not hard to see the human in the finch. Dignified, vulnerable. One prisoner looking at another...the bird looks out at us…” (766) From this quote I get the idea of reincarnation and that animals do have human characteristics. Animals have little souls that are like people. They have common traits that cannot be denied.       “...wade straight through it, right through the cesspool, while keeping eyes and heart open. And in the midst of our dying, as we rise from the organic and sink back ignominiously into the organic, it is a glory and privilege to love what Death doesn’t touch. For if disaster and oblivion have followed this painting down through time-so too has love. Insofar as it is immortal (and it is) I have a small bright, immutable part in that immortality. It exists; and it keeps on existing. And I add my own love to the history of people who have loved beautiful things, and looked out for them, and pulled them from the fire, and sought them when they were lost, and tried to preserve them and save them while passing them along literally from hand to hand, singing out brilliantly from the wreck of time to the next generation of lovers and the next.” (771) This quote talks about even though people are unhappy,achy, fragile, unhealthy and sick, there is still a bright side to things and to see things through, like my grandfather. My grandfather had given up in his elderly age and would lay on his couch and just watch the news or the stock market. He did not want to have that much of an existence when he got old. He had a stroke when I was ten years old and he could not get around that much and his speech was slurred. He had to go to physical therapy. The main message of the book is to say don’t take anything for granted and to be appreciative because everything can be taken away in an instant and your whole life can change by the small actions that you choose to make or not to make.  At the beginning of the story, the main character is on house arrest in Amsterdam and it ties in with the ending of the story to say that he is on House Arrest for the actions he decided to make. He cannot appreciate the city of Amsterdam and everyone there knows him as a criminal. He got charged with capital murder and has to stay where the cops knows where he is at.     People move quickly and do make poor decisions that affect them for the rest of their lives. Small choices have a great impact being if you commit a crime such as embezzling money, committing fraud, stealing, etc then you will have big punishments. It affects a lot of people in negative ways. People’s feelings can get hurt and everything can change for the worse in a matter of seconds.         It is difficult to deal with death of loved ones and animals and even the idea of it is scary and hard to come to terms with. When there are situations where one is faced with it, he or she can make harsh decisions that they will regret later on whatever they may be. Things can be altered so much that there could be no going back to the way things were. Small events can have a large impact. In the heat of the moment though, anything can happen, and regrets made. That is why it is important to be appreciative and loving to everyone, because people can grieve over the loss of their pet, over their loss of money, over the loss of a friend, etc. Even if you don’t want to wake up day after day after day because you did have loved ones pass away, you still need to wake up for yourself and see the good in everything because there are so many wonderful things to appreciate and cherish, so many opportunities to be had and loved and memories to be made. Love the pets that you have and love your family and friends. Cherish everything because everyone and everything is valuable and meaningful and adds to the quality of your life.       Theo comes to terms with his mother’s passing and grows from it and learns how to live with it.      Donna Tartt, the author of The Goldinch, puts in philosophical ideas and examples in this book that I appreciate. She uses quotes from Albert Camus, “The absurd does not liberate; it binds.” What I understand of this quote is absurdity doesn’t make one free, it ties one down and wraps one up. She uses another quote, “When we are strongest-who draws back? Most merry-who falls down laughing? When we are very bad,-what can they do to us?” This is said by the French poet Arthur Rimbaud. I get from this quote that who is there to watch people fall when times are hard? “We are so accustomed to disguise ourselves to others, that in the end, we become disguised to ourselves.” is a quote by François De La Rochefoucauld. Rochefoucauld is a noted French author of maxims and memoirs. He is part of the literary movement of classicism and is best known for his maxisms. “It is not flesh and blood, but heart which makes us fathers and sons.” by Schiller. I like this quote because people have hearts and want to enjoy the good things and get past the bad things that happen.    “We have art in order not to die from the truth.”-Nietzsche.     Tartt grabs philosophical examples from The Little Prince in some parts of the book.  

[toggle1-mrfipp]

In Remembrance

In Remembrance

Summary: 2B knows what it is like to mourn, and YoRHa is remembered.

The elevator shuddered to a stop, and 2B stepped through the door as it opened up before her, bathing her in the soft light of the cavern's field of flowers, Lunar Tears, a rare and delicate flower, or so she's told. She was never sure what it was about them, but there was something about these ethereally beautiful flowers that called out to her, attracted her to them and filled her with such a strong sense of calm and serenity that she was never able to explain. In other life time not so long ago, she had planned to bring 9S down here when the inevitable order came through.

He would have appreciated this being his resting place.

Now, however? She can bring him here with the reason of of spending time with him, and she'll do that the next time she came down here, but right now she's alone. It was on a whim that she decided to come here, after making a small delivery to to the Resistance station in the Forest Kingdom, 9S and A2 each up to their own tasks at the current moment, and as she passed through the mall, she realized that she had not been down here since the first time with Emil. A small smile appeared on her face as she knelt down in the middle of the field, gently cupping one of the frail flowers in the palm of her hand, her thumb stroking the soft petals.

Something caught her, eye, something that had not been here the last time.

It was a wooden stake, sticking out of the middle of the cavern, and tied around the top of it was a long strip of black cloth.

“What is this?” she asked as she stepped up to it. Her hand reached out to the fabric, and through the touch she could feel the familiar texture of the cloth. “A YoRHa visor?”

“Correction: The visor in question is registered to unit 2B.”

“Me?” She looked up to Pod 042 as it floated in the air beside her. “But I haven't worn mine for months.”

042 continued. “The visor unit 2B was equipped with upon reactivation was salvaged from a deceased YoRHa unit, while the visor here was removed by you before meeting with unit A2 while infect with the logic virus.”

“Oh? That's odd. But, how did it end up down here?”

“During your... absence, Pod 153 and myself observed units 9S and A2, and exchanged data on what they had done during this period. According to Pod 153, unit 9S had assisted a Resistance member in retrieving mementos from his deceased friends, and he imparted him the knowledge that humans had a tradition of honoring their dead with keepsakes. Upon finding your discarded visor outside the shopping facility, unit 9S came down here and erected this marker as a way to commemorate your memory.”

“Nines did this?”

“Affirmative.”

With a heavy heart, 2B got down to her knees next to the stake, taking the cloth in her hand, and clenched it in her fist.

2B wished, more than anything, that things had been different back then, that she had been there for him so he wouldn't have gone through all that alone, by himself, so that he wouldn't be forced to mourn her like this. She had mourn him enough times to know how horrible it was, even more so when you were alone and had no one to help you through it. Even now, after all this time, she's still mourning him.

“I... I think we should go now.” Letting the fabric fall from her hands, 2B stood up and made her way to the exit, 042 following silently behind her.

000

Days later, the memorial she discovered hadn't left her mind, the idea of leaving something behind for the sake of the dead was strange to her, as nothing was ever left behind of 9S to honor, his corpse always retrieved, recycled and reformatted for the next one. YoRHa units were never allowed such things, since they could always just be given new bodies, no matter how many times they died, so death was not something most feared. But they were gone now, nearly all of them, and what had they gotten in the end?

“I think we should have some kind of memorial for YoRHa,” she said a week after discovering her own grave.

“2B?” 9S looked up from the screen in front of him, an uncertain look on his face. “A memorial?”

“It's just... I saw what you left behind. In the Lunar Tear field.”

“Oh... 2B, I just...”

“No. It's fine... But, thank you, Nines.”

“Yeah... But what does this have to do with YoRHa?”

“You took the time to remember me, I just think that we should do something for them.”

“Why would we do that?” There's a dark look in his eyes. She knew how he felt about YoRHa, now after everything that happened, and a part of her doesn't blame him, since maybe if things had been different she would have felt the same as him.

“Nines, just please. They need this.” Her hand is placed atop his own, and that dark look faded away, mostly.

“Fine. I'll help with whatever I can.”

“Thank you.” Reaching over to him, she wrapped her arms around him and held him tight, and he returned the gesture.

000

In the week that followed, she and 9S had planned and made arrangements with how to proceed with this, and they discovered that something like this was not an easy task. They had decided that the memorial itself would be the flight unit that 2B had crashed down in the flooded city in, as it was the last, mostly intact piece of YoRHa equipment there was. After that they had talked about what to do with it, it was with Anemone's help that they were able to move to a section of the city that the Resistance had cleared out as part of their overall restoration goals.

“If this is important to you, I'll do what I can to help. It just makes me wish I had done something like this,” she had said to them.

Of course, not everyone in the Resistance had been happy to help this idea, many of them having been angry with YoRHa for its lies about humanity, for giving them false hope, some distrustful of the few survivors because they now knew the black box held its origins in machine technology. Some of them were very against the idea of giving anything to remember them, but Anemone was able to keep them silent on the matter, which is something that 2B was grateful for. This was something she felt they needed, what the other survivors needed.

After that, they sent word out to said survivors, the remaining YoRHa androids who still lived, telling them what they were doing, when they were holding the service, and to bring something to honor the ones they lost.

They all replied that they would be there.

000

It was her idea to have this, so it was only fitting that she be the one to stand here.

The crowd before her mostly consisted of Resistance members, each of who wished to say goodbye to someone they knew from YoRHa, some of the members that had been stationed in the area over the years, and she's glad for that. The more androids who were missed the better, because that meant their lives meant something to someone.

Then there were the surviving YoRHa androids, and a pit filled her gut as she took in how few there were left; herself, 9S, A2, 4S, 42B, 65B, and 31B. Seven YoRHa left. Hundreds of members across the world, and all that was left were these seven androids. It's hard to believe that they were all that was left, each one surviving through improbable circumstances, while the rest of their friends and comrades had been killed by the logic virus, The Bunker exploding, or the resulting chaos on Earth itself.

“We are here today to remember YoRHa,” she said before the group. “YoRHa was founded with the goal of defeating the machine lifeforms and returning humanity from their cradle on the moon, but we now know that wasn't true. In truth, YoRHa was created in order to spread the lie that humans had survived, and that they were their guardians, as a mean to give androids hope for a better future, and what was willing to be done to safeguard that secret. The logic virus that hit The Bunker was allowed in through a backdoor in the servers, a backdoor which opened as the start of a system to eliminate all YoRHa units, as a means to further protect its secrets.

“I know that there are androids who are angry with YoRHa for their lies, for giving them false hope, but we're not here today for YoRHa as a military organization, instead we're here to mourn the hundreds of androids that comprised YoRHa. The androids who were manufactured, fought, and died for a cause they believed to be true, because they all thought they were fighting for a better future for all androids. We have that future now, there is no more war, and we are all working together to rebuild the world into something better, but those who died were never able to see this, their hopes and dreams dead.

“These are the androids we honor right now.”

She stepped aside, leaving behind the memorial, her old flight unit. It was too broken to fly, and the replacement part too difficult and expensive to make from scratch, and the message she left to 9S wiped from its systems and copied to his own hard drive. At first, no one in the crowd moved, and she was worried that this would go wrong, that they would simply walk away and leave them behind, and she didn't know if she could handle that, but they stayed. Then after they stayed, one-on-one they began to move to the memorial, each one placing down a memento in front of it, ranging from books and flowers, to odd little devices and other such things. She didn't know what the stories behind these items were, but she did know that there were memories attached to them relating to someone from YoRHa.

Anemone stepped up, leaving behind a small bouquet of assorted flowers, each one different. She gave 2B a single nod and a solemn expression on her face before she rejoined her men.

She was most surprised to see Jackass step up, putting down an empty flask down in front of the flight unit. Her usual manic eccentricities were absent as she remained silent, and after she stood back up, she quickly left the service all together.

When the Resistance finished up, the remaining YoRHa stepped up, each with their own little tributes.

42B and 65B left behind a pocket full of sand and an e-drug respectively. An odd choice, but she didn't question it as 42B gave the YoRHa salute, while 65B stood slumped to her side.

31B left behind a beetle fish skull. As she stood up her shoulders began to tremble as she suppressed a sob and quickly moved away.

4S stood in front of the memorial, silently staring at it before he gently placed a single book down.

Even A2, who had been very vocal against this whole thing, made her own tribute, ripping off the little remains of her old YoRHa dress from her torso, and after folding neatly she carefully put it down on the ground.. She then raised her hand and placed it against the hull of the transport and bowed her head in silence.

When 9S grabbed her hand, holding it tightly in his own, they both walked up to the memorial and put forth their own items; 9S offered a broken toy, and beside it 2B laid a desert rose. As they stood there, taking it what they were doing, 2B did something she never thought she would do.

She prayed. She prayed for someone who for once deserved it.

She prayed for 6O, who only wanted to see the wonders that Earth had to offer, and to be find someone to love and much as she wanted to be loved.

She prayed for 21O, who was so lonely and craved a family to call her own, only for that family to be taken away from her, time and time again.

She prayed for the other Type-Es, and the androids they killed, who suffered the same pain she and 9S did, but were never able to escape their own cycles of death.

She prayed for A2's squad, for No. 4, No. 16, and No. 21, because even though they died before she was even a concept, she knew what their absence had done to A2.

She prayed for the Commander, because even though she no longer knew what to think about her, she still deserved this.

She prayed for 9S, for the forty-eight previous iterations of him that she had known, that she had erased from this world forever.

She prayed for them all, and all the hopes and dreams that left unsaid, unrealized.

“You okay?” 9S asked, giving a tight and comforting squeeze with his hand.

“Yeah...” she said, her voice strained, and she could feel the tears already welling in her eyes.

“I... I think you did good here, 2B. Everyone, they would have liked this.” There's an undeniable hitch in his voice as she tried to keep himself in check.

She didn't respond to him, all she did was turn to him and bury her head into his shoulder and silently cry.

2B knew what it is like to mourn, but no matter how much she mourned she was never allowed to recover. Maybe now that they have the option to move on with their lives, that they can finally start to heal.

000

Please be well,

Mrfipp

[letterfromtrenwith]

Crowned With Consolation

1806: George & Elizabeth receive some devastating news, tearing their contented life apart.  

A future fic which is AU for both the series and the books, although it is inspired by some events from the later books. 

~

Prologue

“Oh, Kitty, would you please open the window?”

“Of course, Ma’am.” George and Elizabeth shared a small smile when the young housemaid could not resist pausing to take a breath of the warm summer air. As the girl departed, the faint sounds of birdsong floated into the great hall.

“Can you hear the birds? They’re very happy today!” Elizabeth smiled down at their youngest child, Nicholas, who sat contentedly on her lap, playing with the embroidered hem of her shawl. The other children had been sent back to the nursery for their lessons so he was able to spend some time alone with his parents as they lingered over the end of their breakfast.

“Because it’s summer,” he replied, quite seriously, and George could not help but laugh as Elizabeth gave him a look of astonished delight.

“Why, yes! How clever of you to know that!” Nicholas beamed at his mother’s praise, cuddling closer to her. Although just three years old, he was a bright boy, taking after his elder siblings in their tendency to precociousness. His sisters read to him from their books, while his brother took him for walks in the gardens, pointing out flowers and insects, and showing him birds’ nests in the trees. At twelve, Valentine would be off to school soon and so they were making the most of his time at home. They would miss him terribly they knew, although school was the best thing for him.

“Are you at the Bank today?” Elizabeth asked, handing the last piece of her scone to Nicholas, who ate it eagerly, smearing a spot of jam on his chubby cheek. She wiped it gently away.

“Yes, I must go this afternoon. There are some papers that need sent to Gloucester by tonight.” The Warleggan Bank had expanded greatly over the years, with offices all over the South West, and even a small one in London. Once upon a time, George had travelled often between them, but now he preferred to remain close to home as much as possible. Close to the warmth and comfort of his family. It was his age, he supposed – he was getting startlingly close to fifty, although he felt as fit as he ever had – or perhaps it was simply the years teaching him that no matter how successful his business, it could never give him the same happiness as his wife and children. “What do you have planned for today?”

“Oh, not a great deal. I was going to ride over to see Ruth, but she sent a note saying Agneta has a fever. Nothing serious, I understand, but I will visit another day.”

“That poor child is often ill. She seems prone to it.” Agneta Treneglos was one of Ruth and John Teague’s four daughters and was of an age with George and Elizabeth’s eldest daughter, Ursula, and her cousin, Loveday Carne. Malicious gossip had it that there was something wrong with her, some infirmity of mind, but on the occasions Ruth had visited with her children, the girl had seemed quite ordinary, playing with the others and joining them in pestering Cook for sweets. She was perhaps not quite so quick and lively as Ursula and Loveday, but she was only eight years old and they were both clever for their age, not to mention fortunate enough to have parents who were happy to educate girls the same as boys. A lack of sons was a great disappointment to John Treneglos, something both he and his father were not exactly shy about making known. It was very unbecoming behaviour in George’s mind; his own daughters were the light of his life, and brought him more joy than he could describe. Besides, if it was a matter of inheritance, John had a nephew to whom he could will what little of the family fortune he had not already frittered away. Then again, considering George had two much adored sons of his own and had acquired another by marriage, perhaps it was easy for him to take such an attitude.

“I think I will take the girls out into the garden this afternoon, if the weather stays fine.” Elizabeth glanced out at the clear blue skies. “The flowers are blooming beautifully now, and it is time we had some spring colour in the house.”

“I am sure they will be delighted, my dear.” All of their children had inherited their mother’s love of nature, but the girls especially so. The twins, Clare and Susannah, recently turned six, were already prone to clattering in splattered with mud and leaves, much to the despair of the housekeeper, Sarah, who complained only partly in jest that they were half-wild.

Sarah – or Mrs Ewer, more properly – entered now. Irish by birth, she had served the Warleggan family since George’s father was alive, and had been one of a handful of servants who had followed George to Trenwith upon his marriage, somewhat understandably not wishing to remain at Cardew with only Cary as master. Competent and loyal, she had been an invaluable servant over the years, and was now housekeeper. She had asked if they would keep her on even after her marriage – to a respectable coachman – and they had readily agreed. Today, her pleasant face wore a grave expression and George noticed that she was gripping her hands rather tightly together.

“Sir, there are two gentlemen here who wish to speak with you, on a matter of some importance.”

“Well, show them in.”

“Forgive me, Sir, but I think it would be better if you would step outside.” He exchanged a questioning glance with Elizabeth. This was highly irregular, but Sarah was not one for silliness or flights of fancy. If she thought this was for the best, then she would have good reason.

“Very well.” He rose, feeling a twinge in his left shoulder. He had dislocated it in a riding accident over a decade ago and now age occasionally niggled at it. Out in the stone-flagged entrance hall stood not merely two gentlemen, but two soldiers, their uniforms almost glaringly bright in dark-walled space.

“Sire, you are Mr George Warleggan, are you not?” asked the taller of the two. George looked between them, confused as to what their purpose could be.

“I am, but – “

“Stepfather of Lieutenant Geoffrey Charles Poldark, of the 81st Regiment of Foot?”

“Yes…” The solider continued to speak but George did not hear him. His voice faded away, along with everything else that had been in George’s mind that morning, because the other officer was holding out a letter. A letter edged in black.

I

Elizabeth’s grief was almost harder to bear than this own. Her misery was total and all-consuming. As he’d stepped back into the hall that day, feeling as if he was suddenly in another world than he had been when he’d left it, it hadn’t been the matter-of-fact way in which he’d just been told that his son was dead which truly agonised him, but the knowledge that he must now tell Elizabeth. She’d been playing some sort of game with Nicholas, making him laugh, sheer happiness on her face. He’d watched them for just a moment, wanting to draw out the time before he had to shatter her heart completely. She knew him too well not to see that something was dreadfully wrong as soon as she saw him. He’d watched her beautiful, beloved face fall and her soft eyes fill with tears, and he’d felt an icy hand take hold of him inside and squeeze as if it were trying to crush the very life out of him.

Such was the depths of her despair that when, about three weeks after that day, he had not been able to find her, a terrible possibility had occurred to him. A truly dreadful thought which had almost paralysed him with horror, until he realised that there was one last place he had not looked. He had not thought to look there, because he himself could not bear to go there.

Geoffrey Charles’ bedroom was exactly as he had left it on his last visit home. His books piled on his writing desk and the bedside table, the mantelpiece littered with childhood keepsakes – shells, old coins, some of his toy soldiers, now faded and worn. The sight of their painted red coats made George look away quickly.

Elizabeth lay on the bed, her mourning dress flowing inky-black across the coverlet. Her face was wan, her eyes red and she was clutching what it took George a moment to recognise as Geoffrey Charles’ school coat. He had not realised that the boy had kept it, but then again, by all accounts, his stepson had fonder memories of his schooldays than George.

“Here you are, my dear. I have been looking for you.” He was careful not to let any of the panic he had briefly felt into his voice.

“I thought there might be something of him left in here, but there’s nothing.” Her voice was so soft George had to take a step closer to hear her. “It just all reminds me that he’ll never come back here – never read his books or wear his clothes, never look out of his window or sleep in his bead.”

Her voice broke into a quiet sob and George felt her words keenly. The shock of Geoffrey Charles’ loss had been so brutal, so sudden, with no time to prepare or say goodbye. Yes, they had known he was going off to war, to face terrible danger at every moment. They had seen their friends and neighbours experience the loss and suffering of their husbands, brothers and sons; and yet, somehow, George knew that some part of them both had always believed that Geoffrey Charles would come out all right, that somehow not even a war was enough to take him from them. But they had been wrong, so very wrong. That spirited, clever young man, with his love of riding and cards and sensational novels, his ready smile and dandyish air, was gone. Snatched away, leaving behind only a great hole ripped in the lives of those who loved him.

Not knowing what to say – he hardly knew what to say to anyone at the moment – George came to sit beside her on the bed.  She shifted slightly, laying her head on his lap.

“We cannot even bury him,” she whispered. Pain poured through her every word. Elizabeth was a wonderful, loving, devoted mother to all of her children, but Geoffrey Charles was her first born, their special bond strengthened by the time after Francis’ death when they had only had each other. George knew that nothing he said could make it better, so he simply sat and stroked her hair in silence. After a while, although he did not know how long, he heard her breathing slow and felt her relax against him. He dared not move for fear of disturbing her, so he leant back against the headboard and closed his eyes. It would be an uncomfortable night, but it was worth it to bring Elizabeth even a moment of comfort.

~

The old Poldark family church was cool even in the height of summer. There was a faint hint of damp, in fact, and George absently thought that he must have word with the estate manager about seeing to it. Perhaps he would speak to the stonemason when he came about Geoffrey Charles’ memorial. There may be no body for them to bury, lost on the battlefields of Europe, but his passing would not go unmarked. His stone would go next to the one commemorating his father. The letters of Francis’ name were looking a touch worn, George noticed; that would have to be fixed as well.

George had never been a man of any particular piety. He attended church as often as was thought proper, but was not especially interested in religion. The clergy spent their time lecturing their flocks on temperance and Christian charity, but were almost inevitably a feckless, grasping bunch themselves. However, he had found this place oddly comforting these past weeks. It was quiet and peaceful. Here, he could be alone with his grief. At home, he spent all his time worrying about Elizabeth and the children. He did not come often, and when he did he asked Sarah and Kitty to take care of Elizabeth as best they could, without pestering her of course.

Originally, he had told only Valentine what had happened. He was too old, and too intelligent to be deceived, and George had not wanted him to find out any other way. He at first tried to be stoic, with the typical twelve year old boy’s idea that he must be very grown up about everything, but his resolve had quickly crumbled and he had cried properly for the first time since he was a little boy. It pained George deeply to see him so upset. He himself had been barely older than Valentine when his father died; there was no right age to have death first intrude on one’s life.

“I – I never wrote to him,” he’s stuttered between sobs.

“Yes, you did, I sent your letters myself.”

“No, I – I mean, the last time. His last letter, I kept putting off writing back, and I never did, and now he’s…”

“Shhhh, my boy. Geoffrey Charles did not need letters to know that you were thinking of him.” Despite their age difference, the two boys had always got along well, Geoffrey Charles patiently reading to him from Mrs Barbauld, and playing hide and seek with him in the maze of old attic rooms upstairs then, as Valentine grew, taking him riding and showing him how to play chess.

George had extracted a promise that he would not tell any of the other children, nor any of his cousins. However, Ursula, as usual, could not be fooled. One day, as he sat alone in the parlour, Morwenna having managed to cajole Elizabeth into at least sitting outside with her, if not taking a walk, Ursula had burst in quite suddenly, a determined look on her little face.

“Papa, is Geoffrey Charles dead?” The blunt, direct question was typical of her. “I asked Valentine but he won’t tell me.”

“Ursula…” It had been on the tip of George’s tongue to lie, but he had seen that there was no point. “Yes, my love, he is. I am so very sorry.”

He could see from her face that a small part of her young mind had hoped that her Papa would tell her she was being silly, that it was all a terrible mistake, but he had not. In the end, she had cried into his coat for an hour, every sob like knife in his chest.

The younger children could sense the terrible cloud of pain that hovered over their once idyllic home, but George absolutely could not bring himself to tell them its cause. Nicholas was certainly far too little. Perhaps the twins were not, but he could at least try to preserve their innocence a little longer.

He was startled out of his reverie by the church door opening behind him, and the soft brush of a woman’s shoes upon the floor. The woman did not hesitate to approach, but he did not look up, not until she stood over him.

“May I sit?”

“Of course, my dear.” Morwenna Carne was a married woman with children now, and almost thirty years old at that, but George still often thought of her as the sweet young girl who had come to them as Geoffrey Charles’ governess. Although she had stopped being that girl when she absconded from her home and her engagement to the odious Osborne Whitworth to marry Drake Carne, a decision which may have caused a great upheaval, but which she had blessedly never had reason to regret.

“How is Elizabeth?…But that is a foolish question, of course.” She shook her head, looking down at hands clasped on her lap. It may have been warm outside, but she was dressed quite sombrely, her long coat a pale grey. In deference to the church, perhaps, or her own way of mourning. The special connection which had formed between her and her charge had never lessened over the years, and although she had endeavoured to bear up for the sake of Elizabeth and the children, George knew she must feel her own sense of loss just as deeply as they did. “I will visit again this week, if she would like.”

“I am sure that she would.” Morwenna had been the only visitor Elizabeth would see. George had turned away several in the first weeks, from the genuinely well-meaning likes of Caroline Enys, to the morbidly nosy Mrs Teague. By now, they had stopped coming. He did not miss them.

“I – I have something I must tell you. Drake says I should not, but I believe it would be wrong of me to keep it to myself.” George looked at her curiously. She sounded regretful, almost guilty, but he could not imagine why. “You will remember when Geoffrey Charles first announced he wished to join the Army? You were both so set against it, but he would not listen to you. Elizabeth begged me to persuade him not to go, and I told her that I would but –“

“But?”

“I did tell him that I did not want him to go, but I also told him that I could not tell him what to do, and that he must trust his own judgement. I encouraged him to go to his death.” Her voice wavered at the last word, and she looked away, her hat covering her face. It would be easy to be angry with her, but he was not. She had not fired the rifle or the canon which had killed Geoffrey Charles – it was not her fault.

“You knew him as well as any of us, Morwenna. Even if you had told him unequivocally that you would never approve of his going, do you think he would have listened?”

“No, I do not suppose that he would,” she conceded after a moment.

“If he had been considering any other decision, I might well have told him the same thing.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her nod, although she kept her eyes down.

“I just – I wish there was something I could do. To – to make it better.”

“We all wish that, my dear.”

II

All of the pain and misery gathering at the house had to boil over eventually, and it did so one day in early October. The summer had passed in a sort of grey blur, each day much like the next. George continued with his work purely out of necessity – he could take no pleasure in it at all now. Almost one penny in three which passed through his hands had something to do with the war. It had tripled their income, but at a terrible cost. The thought of it had made him somewhat uneasy right from the beginning, but since the loss of Geoffrey Charles he loathed it. He would gladly throw every coin into the sea if he could.

Sometimes, he would forget for moment, and for that all-too-brief second it was as if their world had never been destroyed. As if his dear wife were not consumed by her agony, his children’s young lives falling in the shadow of death. As if he had not lost his son. George had been Geoffrey Charles’ godfather before he became his stepfather; he had held the boy at his christening, encouraged by a smiling Elizabeth, her pure adoration for her child written all over her face. In the first months of George’s marriage to Elizabeth, his relationship with Geoffrey Charles had not been the easiest, but over the years they had become much closer, and George loved him as he loved all of his children. He had never hesitated to tell anyone who asked that he had three sons, and Geoffrey Charles had quite happily introduced his friends to ‘my parents’.

If George was laid low by his grief, it was naturally taking a much greater toll on Elizabeth. She had lost weight, rarely eating, and he knew she was not sleeping properly. Partly because he was not either, but he often woke during the night to find her sitting at the window seat, simply staring out into the darkness, or frequently gone altogether. The servants had told him that she had taken to wandering the house at night, like some melancholy spirit. She would rarely speak unless spoken to, and then very little. The children tiptoed around her, not wishing to upset her further, although she tried her best to hide her sadness from them. It hurt the youngest children the most, because they did not know the reason for their mother’s melancholy.

The time was rapidly approaching for Valentine to go to school. George had considered putting it off, and asked Valentine if he wished to stay at home a while longer. To his surprise, Valentine had said not.

“It is only proper that I go….I do not think Geoffrey Charles would approve if I did not.” That had brought the first genuine smile to George’s face in a long time. Valentine was probably right. Geoffrey Charles had done very well at school, and often spoken of it to his siblings. Upon reflection, George thought that going away might in fact be good for Valentine – he could make new friends his own age, and find something else to think about other than the absence of his brother.

When George had attempted to broach the subject with Elizabeth, she merely nodded her understanding, but commented no further. He had seen her watching sadly as Valentine’s boxes were piled up in the hall, ready to be loaded into the carriage, but she’d turned away as soon as she saw him watching her.

That night, she barely touched her dinner yet again, disappearing into the parlour. George sent Valentine to bed, and looked in on the others, sitting with Ursula until she fell asleep, and watching Nicholas dream his innocent dreams. He found Elizabeth staring into the fireplace, sewing sitting long untouched on the table beside her.

“My dear,” she turned her head slightly towards him. At first, she had clung to him for comfort, but every day he felt her drawing further away, further into herself. He could stand it no longer. “I beg you, you must eat, and I know you have not been sleeping. I cannot bear to see you this way. Geoffrey Charles would not wish you to suffer like this.”

“How would you know?” He was so surprised by her question that he did not answer, and she turned entirely in her chair to face him. “How would you know what he would wish?! You were not his father! If you were any sort of father to him you would have stopped from going! He could still be here, at home, with me, but you let him go! You let him go and now he’s dead!”

George could not reply; her words had cut him deeply, to the point he felt tears prick at the back of his eyelids. After she had finished her tirade, her sudden burst of energy seemed to drain out of her and sat heavily back down, looking away once more. He did the only thing that he could think of – he turned and walked away from her.

He sat up the rest of the night in his study, not wishing to go to bed alone. There was a chamber upstairs set aside for his use, but he and Elizabeth had spent barely more than a handful of nights apart since their wedding. He had no desire to lie alone in a cold bed that smelled of nothing but laundered sheets.

After a while, he opened one of the desk drawers and took out two letters, one well-read, the creases deep from being opened and refolded so many times. The other was almost pristine, despite being several months old. George had read the first letter Geoffrey Charles had sent him after his departure many times over. Despite Elizabeth’s assertions, George had in fact had a furious row with Geoffrey Charles over his decision to enlist – George demanding that he think of his mother and siblings, of his responsibilities to his estate, but Geoffrey Charles had been defiant and in the end George threw up his hands in defeat.

“Very well! Go if you wish!” They had barely spoken thereafter, and George had regretted that their last words had been cross long before Geoffrey Charles was lost. This letter had arrived a few weeks after he left home/

My dear Uncle

I write to you from Plymouth; we depart tomorrow at last. I wish that my departure from home had been a more harmonious one, but I want you to know that I am not upset with you. I understand entirely why both you and Mama feel as you do, and I cannot blame you for it, but I must do what I believe is right. Please be assured that I am happy with my choice, even if it pains me dreadfully to leave you all.

You asked me to think of Mama, and of the children, and of my estate. I could not say it then, but the truth is that I feel able to go because I know they will all be in your excellent care, Uncle. Knowing that you are all waiting for me at home gives me the strength to go forth, and I believe will help me come back safely.

I will write as often as I can, and I ask that you do the same. Tell me all – what new words has Nicholas learned? What little games have the twins devised? Which of the horses has foaled? What gossip is old Mrs Teague spreading now? It will help me to miss you all less.

Please do not be angry with me, Uncle. I could not bear that.

Your affectionate son,

Geoffrey Charles

George could almost recite the words from memory now, and they remained as simultaneously comforting and saddening as ever. Some part of George agreed with Elizabeth – he should have forbidden Geoffrey Charles from going. Or at least tried. He had always indulged Geoffrey Charles, partly out of affection and partly to please Elizabeth, but perhaps he should have been sterner. George glanced at the portrait of Francis on the wall. Its glaze was yellowing now, but his long gone friend’s gaze was as direct as ever. Would Francis have been able to keep Geoffrey Charles at home? With a sigh, George turned to the second letter. It had never been opened, its ominous black seal still in place. The letter the young officer had given George that fateful day; it contained the report of Geoffrey Charles’ death. Nobody had especially wanted to read it, and George had locked it in his drawer. He had taken it out and turned it over in his hands once or twice, but still it remained sealed.

I must read it, he thought. It is only right that I should know the fate I allowed him to go to.

After so long, the wax parted easily from the paper, and George steeled himself for a moment before reading the small, neat hand.

Dear Mr & Mrs Warleggan

It is with regret that I must inform you that your son, Lieutenant Geoffrey Charles Poldark, of the 81st Regiment of Foot, has been killed in action. He fought and died bravely at the Battle of Maida, where the French troops were beaten back by his battalion. I am told that he sustained his fatal wounds while rescuing his fellow men who were pinned down by enemy fire. He served his country with great honour, and his heroism will not be forgotten.

Your &c.

Major Edward Darnley.

So that was it. A single, formal paragraph detailing the end of a young man’s life. George might as well have burned it as read it, it made no difference. He felt neither better nor worse. Geoffrey Charles was still dead; the fact that he was hailed a hero did not change that. Dropping the letter back into his drawer, George closed it with a click and sat back in his chair.

Sometime after midnight, he was disturbed by the door opening, and realised that he must have been dozing. Elizabeth stood there in her night-clothes, her light dressing gown giving her a ghostly appearance in the moonlight. He could see that she had been crying.

“Oh, George, I am sorry for what I said, it was so dreadful.” She came and knelt beside his chair, her eyes shining with tears as she looked up at him. “Of course I do not blame you and it was so very wrong of me to say that I did. And you were a father to Geoffrey Charles, he told me so himself many times over. I spoke so cruelly do you, can you ever forgive me?”

“Oh, my love…” He stroked her cheek softly and she closed her eyes, leaning into the touch. “There is nothing to forgive.”

“But – “

“No, Elizabeth. I cannot deny that your words cut deep, but only because I have sometimes thought them myself.”

“Oh, George…”  She rested her head on the arm of the chair and gently ran his fingers through her hair. After a few quiet moments, she spoke again. “You were right to say that Geoffrey Charles would not want this for us. For me. I believe he would be quite cross with me, in fact.”

“He would never be cross with you, my love, but I know that he would hate to see you so unhappy. No one could ever blame you for feeling so – certainly not I – but it pains me to see it consume you like this. If you continue as you have, you will make yourself ill and…I cannot bear to lose you as well.”

“George, I am so very sorry. You have only tried to care for me and I have given you nothing in return when you too have been hurting. I have been so selfish, and such a poor mother to the other children besides.”

“You did not want them to see your pain. You have done nothing wrong, Elizabeth, not to my mind. Many others would have done the same in your position.”

“But you did not. You have been so very strong where I have been weak.”

“To grieve is not a weakness, Elizabeth. Your love for Geoffrey Charles is not a weakness. And I will say, I have not felt very strong these past weeks.”

“Oh, my love…” Elizabeth took her hand in both of his and kissed the back of it. “Now, I think, we must both try our best to be strong together. Not just for the children, but for ourselves too. That is what Geoffrey Charles would want.

~

The November air was bitingly cold against his face as George stepped out of the Bank. He had barely been to the offices in months, disliking being away from home, and unable to concentrate. There had been some business he simply could not put off, however, and so he had made the journey into Truro. This time, his reluctance to leave had blessedly little to do with worry. Elizabeth’s release of anger, and their subsequent talk in his study, seemed to have done her some good. She was still grieving, of course; they would all be for some time yet, but he had been pleased to see some of her old warmth return to her. She was eating and sleeping better, and her health was much improved. The children had noticed the uptick in her spirits as well. Until he had been nearly bowled over by Nicholas and the twins barrelling along a corridor after Sarah’s little terrier, he had not realised how quiet they had been of late. Although they had not known the reason for it, their parents’ sadness had subdued them.

Elizabeth still regretted her words to him that night, although he had assured her many times that he was not upset with her. In the heat of the moment he had been stung by hearing his own guilty thoughts from her lips, but he had truly meant it when he told her that she did not need to ask his forgiveness. She had still wished to try to explain herself, turning to him one night in their bed, her brow creased in a small frown.

“For all those weeks, I was so very angry. It built and built inside of me. I was angry at the war, at the generals who order young men to their deaths, at whichever damn Frenchman shot my boy; I was angry at the whole world, even Geoffrey Charles for going in the first place. And then I took my rage out upon you and I realised how foolish I was. It would not bring him back, and all I had accomplished by it was to push you away when I most need you. I know that I have not shown it, but you are my greatest comfort, George. Even long before this, from when we were first married, I have always felt that I could face anything if you are with me.”

“Elizabeth…” Too overwhelmed to say anymore, he had simply gathered her close, kissing her forehead.

It was perhaps remembering this which had him so distracted as he crossed the street towards the confectioner’s that he almost ran into the woman in the green coat. He was halfway through an apology when she looked up from under her hat and he realised it was Demelza Poldark.

Save brief glimpses across a ballroom or a banquet hall, George had barely seen anything of the Nampara Poldarks for he did not know how long. Years. His intense dislike for Ross had never changed, and it was safe to presume it remained mutual, but over time they had both become too preoccupied – and too old – to have a care as to do anything about it. George had sent a note to Nampara to tell them of Geoffrey Charles’ death; they had been his family, after all, and so far as George knew, Geoffrey Charles had still spoken to his aunt and cousins or occasion. For some time afterwards he had half-expected Ross to come barging into Trenwith, demanding they all get out at once. With Geoffrey Charles gone, Ross and his family were the last of the Poldarks, so the family property now surely reverted to them. Not wishing to distress Elizabeth or the children, he had put off broaching the subject of them having to leave Trenwith, but he knew he could not delay much longer.

With a polite nod, he stepped around Demelza and continued on his way, until he was pulled up short by the sound of her voice.

“It’s like a shard of glass in your heart.” Of course he knew exactly to what she referred, for Demelza Poldark had lost a child, too. It was many years ago now, almost eighteen if he was not mistaken, but he was sure such things did not slip easily away into the mists of time. George had thought often these past months of how young Geoffrey Charles had been, how much of his life he had yet to live; Julia Poldark had been barely more than a babe in arms when she died, the question of who and what she would grow up to be left forever unanswered. Behind him, he heard Demelza take a step forward, and he turned his head but did not face her. He did not think that he could. “It pierces your soul, and the agony is so terrible you think it will never end. You think it will kill you. Sometimes, it seems like it’s getting a little better and then something will remind you – a word, a sound – and the pain comes back all over again. One day the wound will heal over, but the scar is always there. It will never stop hurting, but it does get a little better.”

“….” He wanted to say something, but could not. With a short, sharp nod of acknowledgement, he strode away. In her desire to be kind – even after everything that had passed between their families over the years – Demelza had inadvertently re-opened the very wound to which she referred. After he was sure he was out of her sight, he had to spend ten minutes standing in the shadow of the alley next to the shop until he was able to master himself.

III

The answer to the mystery as to why Ross had not come to claim his family property was answered one day early in December when an officious little man appeared at the house, announcing that he was Mr Silas Pettyfer Esq, Geoffrey Charles’ attorney, and he was here to read them his will.

“I would have come earlier, but it seems that the Army neglected to inform me of Mr Poldark’s passing,” he complained in his nasal voice, giving George a look of mild disapproval. “Among others.”

George frowned. He did not especially care to be chastised by complete strangers in his own home, let alone over such a distressing matter.

“I might have informed you, Sir, had I not been entirely unaware of your existence until this moment.” That took the wind out of Mr Pettyfer’s sails somewhat and he coughed awkwardly, fishing in his little folio for some papers.

“Mr Poldark had not informed you he had made a will?”

“Lieutenant Poldark, and no he had not, although I cannot imagine why.”

“Perhaps he did not wish to upset us,” Elizabeth said quietly. George covered her hand with his and she gave him a small, sad smile.

“Shall I begin?” Pettyfer looked between them.

“Forgive me, Mr Pettyfer, but I believe we know its contents, the Nampara Poldarks…”

“Ah, no, Mr Warleggan. That is just it. Mr – Lieutenant Poldark expressly made the will to avoid the automatic passing of the family property.”

“He did?” Elizabeth was frowning, and George knew his expression would match hers.

“Yes, Ma’am. Aside from some small bequests to his cousins – that is, Mr Jeremy and Misses Clowance and Isabella-Rose Poldark – and some personal items willed to, ah, Mr & Mrs Drake Carne, Mr Poldark has left the entirety of his estate to you both, to divide as you wish amongst your remaining children. I have the will here, if you should wish to see it.” George took it, a combination of incredulity at its contents, and years of business teaching him never to agree to a document without reading it. It did indeed reflect what Mr Pettyfer had said, and was, so far as George could see, properly signed and witnessed. He passed the paper to Elizabeth and, out of the corner of his eye, saw her trace the loops and whirls of Geoffrey Charles’ signature with her fingertips.

“Was that everything?” If Mr Pettyfer was displeased at being treated so abruptly, he endeavoured not to show it.

“Not quite. There is also this.” He produced a folded letter. George immediately recognised Geoffrey Charles’ seal. “I was to give it to you if…”

“I see. Thank you.”

“Now, unless there is anything else you wish to discuss I must visit…Nampara?…to discuss those bequests.”

“Does Ross Poldark know that he is no longer to inherit Trenwith?” George did not really know why he asked.

“Yes, I believe Mr Poldark informed him before he made the will.”

“Thank you. If there are any items for them to collect, please tell the Poldark children they may come for them whenever they wish.” George might have once felt some sense of satisfaction at Ross being deprived of the property, but now he felt nothing. It was not the value of Trenwith that would have been the greatest loss. Elizabeth had lived here for most of her life, since she was barely twenty years old and all of the children had been born here; for George, it was the place he had been happiest in his life. It was where all of their memories were. To leave it all behind forever would have been deeply saddening.

After Pettyfer had departed with an obsequious sketch of a bow, George and Elizabeth sat quietly for a while. Eventually, George picked up the letter which had been left on the tea table. He held it out to her, but she shook her head.

“Read it to me? Please?”

“Of course, my love.” They sat close together on the sofa and, as he opened the letter, Elizabeth rested her head on his shoulder. Taking a deep breath, George prepared to read their son’s final words to them.

My dear Mama, Uncle George, Valentine, Ursula, Susannah, Clare and little Nicholas,

As you are reading this letter, it seems that the worst has come to pass. Before I sat down to write, I thought that it would easy to decide what to say to you all, but now I put pen to paper I find it almost impossible.

There is not enough parchment and ink in the land to capture how much you mean to me, and how deeply I will miss you all. You will be always in my thoughts while I am away from home, and I am sorry if we shall never see each other again. I wish only to come home safely to you all, but of course that must not be the case.

As this is so inadequate a way to express what I wish to say, perhaps I can discuss some everyday matters instead. If Mr Pettyfer has shown you my will, you may be wondering as to its contents. The Poldarks may be my family in name, but you are my family in my heart. If I cannot be there for them in life, I wish to do something for the children in death, even if that is simply to make sure they will always have a home here. I know, Uncle, that you are more than capable of providing for their futures, but let me help you also.

Oh! There is so much in my heart I wish to say, but I cannot make come out of the end of this pen.it is my fervent hope that I have made it all plain to you over the years. Please do not weep too sorely for my memory, but remember the happy times we have all had together.

If I allow myself, I will continue this letter forever, as if by doing do I could put off the event it is designed for. I think I shall have to be content to sign myself…

Your ever loving

Geoffrey Charles

~

There was nothing but a sheet of pure white outside of the windows, wind swirling the flake madly. Snow had been expected all over Christmas but the sky had remained quite clear – much to the disappointment of the children – until almost the very end of January. Now, it seemed quite relentless. Thankfully, Valentine would have arrived safely back at school before it began. He had returned for the Christmas holidays filled with confidence and good cheer, much to his parents’ delight. They had hoped school would be good for him, and so it had proved.

It had been a lovely Christmas in the end, although Geoffrey Charles’ absence had hung heavily over them all. About two weeks before the festive day, George had almost bought him a Christmas present, forgetting for a moment that Geoffrey Charles would not be coming home for the season, or ever again. George looked up now at the fine portrait of him on the wall – a Christmas gift from Morwenna; she had come to George a week before to show it to him.

“It is a larger version of the miniature I painted for his twenty-first birthday. I wanted to ask you if you thought it would be….I am worried it would upset Elizabeth, or the children.”

“No, my dear, quite to the contrary. I believe it would please them very much indeed.” And so it had. Elizabeth had wept a little over it, but not in misery. She had become much more able to remember Geoffrey Charles with happiness. Now, the portrait hung in pride of place over the fire, above another piece of Morwenna’s work – matching silhouettes of George and Elizabeth. She had a truly find hand.

Wet flakes spattered against the windows, obscuring the view even further. George had been writing letters in the parlour – although it would be days before they could go anywhere – and was now resting his eyes; he had been fighting a losing battle against the need for spectacles for several years now, and it was only a matter of time before he was forced to surrender.

With a soft click, the door swung open and Elizabeth entered. The first thing George noticed about her was her dress. Although her spirits had gradually improved these past few months, she had remained in her mourning clothes – her previous array of blues and pinks and greens replaced by grey and black. George had said nothing to her about it; if that was how Elizabeth wished to mourn her child, he would not stop her.

Today, however, the black was gone. Her dress was not quite so bright as some of those she used to wear, but it was a warm brown, almost the exact colour of drinking chocolate. It suited her eyes, and her simple gold necklace.

“Elizabeth….” She glanced down at herself with a soft smile.

“Do you like it?”

“Very much so, my love. But…if I may ask, what has brought this on?” Elizabeth came to sit next to him at the table. There was something different about her, something else besides the dress, but George could not put his finger on what. She was smiling, but she had been doing that more often recently, some of the light returning to her eyes. Of course, their loss would never leave them, but it pleased George to see her able to be happy again.

“The time just seemed right. Although, perhaps there is a particular reason why I feel I must put away my mourning garb.”

“There is?”

“Yes.” She took his hands. “For, although we have suffered a great loss, we have now received a great blessing.”

“What – “ He frowned, and Elizabeth gave him an affectionate look.

“I am with child, George.” He had to confess to being entirely astonished. Such wondrous news…and so unexpected. Elizabeth would be forty-three this year, and as time had passed since Nicholas’ birth, they had come to accept he would be their last child. But now….

“Are you quite certain?”

“Yes!” She frowned a little. “You are pleased, are you not?”

“Of course! Forgive me, my dear, I am simply surprised. Wonderfully surprised.” 

Epilogue

The street was busy today, filled with people – servants hurrying about on errands, gentlemen striding along with importance, ladies twirling their parasols as they strolled. A few carriages trundled by, sunlight glancing off their livery. Two young officers passed by, laughing at some jest, and George felt a pull in his chest.

It was just over a year now since Geoffrey Charles’ death at the Battle of Maida. They missed him as much as ever, but Demelza Poldark had been right – the pain was still there, but it was not quite so sharp as it once was.

Glorious sunshine filled his office at the Bank, making it almost glow. Recently, he had been able to pay more proper attention to his work again. Geoffrey Charles’ desire to provide what he could for the children even if he himself was no longer here had motivated something in George. He could not neglect the businesses he had devoted years of his life to building up, for the sake not only of Valentine, who would one day inherit them, or his other children whose futures depended upon their success, but to all those whose livelihoods were connected to them.

He still preferred to be at home with his family, especially now. Valentine was home from school for the summer, and the children had spent the long, sunny days playing in the gardens. Last summer had been a cold, dark time for them all, and for no reason to do with the weather. Valentine and Ursula still talked of their elder brother, but it was with happy remembrance as much as sadness. The twins had to be told in the end, asking too many questions about when Geoffrey Charles would be coming home. Like their siblings, they had been terribly upset, but had borne their sorrow with impressive maturity for their young age. Nicholas would find out when he was old enough; being so small when Geoffrey Charles left, he had not known his brother the way the others had. Perhaps that would lessen the sting a touch.

After a sip of tea, George stifled a yawn. The reason for his tiredness was their greatest joy – their youngest child, a beautiful baby girl, arrived only a week ago. They had named her Flora, and to them she was a true blessing, a sign of brighter times to come after a truly dark time in their lives. Of course, the fact that she had had a sibling she would never know was always with them, and she would be told all about her brave brother, who had lost his life fighting for what he believed was right.

Returning to his desk, George scanned the shelves behind it for a particular ledger he needed. Behind him the door opened, and a secretary gave a discreet cough.

“Sir, there is a young man here to see you.”

“Show him in, Preston.” George dropped the ledger onto his desk as Preston’s light tread was replaced with a heavier, bolder one. He looked up to greet his visitor and paused. He felt the teacup slip from his hand, heard it crash upon the floor, but he did nothing, frozen in place.

“Good Heavens, Uncle! Am I such a shocking sight?”

~

Title part of a quote from Shakespeare’s Anthony & Cleopatra: “For grief is crowned with consolation.”

[ashesurnsjewellery]

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Also Read:- Types of Keepsake Jewellery

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[roseofbaron]

By The Honor of My Sword

Words: 2358 Summary: Rosa sits in contemplation in front of the dwindling embers of a campfire. The dangers of Mt. Hobs weighing heavy on her mind and causing her to doubt her strength and resolve. She finds, however, that she is not alone in her doubts as the world falls steadily into the flames of war. Also available on: FFN // AO3

The night was well underway, darkness looming over the world in a thick, starless blanket. The only light source provided to the party came from the two moons hanging in the sky and the dwindling flames of a campfire near forgotten.

Mt. Hobs was less than hospitable, thankfully only partially inhabited by the undead. More so than Rosa would have liked, though her own magic and the newly acquired spells of the young summoner that accompanied them were enough to keep the boys alive. The trek upwards was exhausting, creatures of all kinds attacking any chance they got. Supplies were low, magical resources depleted, morale plummeting quickly…

It was a blessing when the four of them managed to find a safe space: a place the creatures seemed to avoid. It was the perfect spot for a campfire and some rest. After a quick meal, Rosa volunteered to take the first watch, staying awake while the others dozed. It was easier for her just to stay awake the extra few hours if it meant she could sleep the rest of the night through. However, there was much that weighed on her mind, heavy emotions, doubts, fears. None of which were settled by Cecil’s earlier words of comfort. He was confident in their goal, convinced of the king’s corruption. He maintained a calm composure and a stride worthy of a commanding knight. Every ounce of him exuded leadership and fortitude. Nothing seemed to weigh on his mind.

Of course, Rosa could see more than what was skin was deep. She could tell he also held doubts, could understand his pain as he quietly mourned the loss of his dearest friend. She saw in him the regrets he held towards the actions elicited by his dark blade. The night-colored armor he wore was slowly eating him alive, though to the others he seemed complete. Put-together. Not as though he were falling to pieces. Rosa shared in his pain: wanted to share the burden with him. The other two, while experiencing and suppressing pain of their own, could never enter the bubble Rosa and Cecil shared—the pain in knowing their home, which had once been so peaceful, was now the source of a planet-wide war. Or what seemed to be the start of one.

As Rosa sat prodding the embers of the fire, caught in the rare moment of serenity and lingering thoughts, she noticed the figure of the young girl stir from her sleep, sitting up slowly and wiping a hand across her face as if she had been crying, though not wanting that fact to show.

Rosa offered a smile to Rydia as she met her gaze, the girl quietly getting up to sit next to her by the fire. She had known the young summoner for only a few days now, yet she found herself rather fond of the girl. There was a kind of maternal instinct she elicited from Rosa, one that Rosa herself had never felt towards anyone, even around the young children in Baron. They had not been the victims of mass genocide as this girl had been, yet Rydia was stronger than any child she had met back home. More mature. She had been forced to grow up far quicker than any child should have, and she took it in stride. Should Rosa have been in her shoes at her age, she would have given up immediately. As strong as Rosa needed to be for Cecil, she could never be that strong for herself.

Or perhaps Rydia’s strength was for Cecil as well. This stranger whom, by all accounts, she should despise. And yet, Rydia hardly ever left his side. She saw the light in his heart just as Rosa did.

“Having trouble sleeping?” Rosa asked softly, offering the stick she had been using to prop the fire with, if for no reason than to give the girl something to do. Rydia took it and began poking at the fire, some jabs more violent than others, causing sparks to fly up from the shifting logs. Her face remained passive. It was an outlet, at least, for her pent-up emotions.

Rydia said nothing, staring into the light of the fire. Those mesmerizing flames in which Rosa could imagine the ghosts of a burning village dancing around. The young girl’s face proved that was exactly what she saw when she looked upon the fire as well. She had overcome her fear of it—a feat Rosa was inexplicably proud of her for—but the memories of destruction and death would undoubtedly haunt her forever.

Heavy silence lingered between the two, clouds shifting over the light of the moons and casting more dramatic shadows to spring up from the flames. It would have been a relaxing night had the weight of the world not been placed on their shoulders.

“Rosa?”

The weak voice from the girl beside her snapped the white mage out of her thoughts, a soft hum of acknowledgement, coercing the girl to continue. There was a brief pause before she finally did.

“Can you fight with a sword like Cecil can?”

Rosa was caught off guard by the question, not entirely sure where it came from or how to answer. All she could manage was a small chuckle at her inquiry, “Why do you ask that?”

“You carry a sword with you, but I have never seen you use it. Do you know how?”

Hands instinctively moved to rest upon the elegantly decorated hilt of said sword. Anymore the weapon was such a constant presence amongst her accessories, she hardly ever noticed it was there. It was like the earrings dangling from her ears, the tiara-like pin in her golden hair, or the capes and beads that hung from her figure. It was a decoration that got lost amongst the others. Not for any practical use, but it gave her comfort to have it, despite her mother’s constant insistence that it was unladylike for a woman to carry around such a weapon. Her father would have disagreed had he still been alive…

That was the real reason she carried the blade on her person: it had belonged to her father. The mighty dragoon who had captured the heart of Lady Joanna. It was a source of security and offered her the comfort she needed to continue carrying the weight of Cecil’s sins. The sword, to her, represented all her mother had done for her father and it represented all Rosa was willing to do for Cecil in the future. She was there to protect him, not the other way around. She would lay down her life if it meant Cecil could live to fight another day. That was the role of a white mage to her knight. That was Rosa’s role in life.

Many would call her foolish, including her mother. Many would even say she was delusional to believe in her love so strongly. They were wrong; her father’s blade rested on her waist in proof of that. On the right side, not meant for her to unsheathe as she was not left-handed, but for Cecil should his blade become lost and he require another. Kain had often teased her for carrying the weapon, claiming it was nothing more but extra weight that she need not burden herself with. And yet, that too became a symbol to her. A physical reminder of the weight she carried for Cecil and for Kain.

The question Rydia had asked was complicated to answer. The sword was symbolic, it was practical, it was a memento… It held such a deep presence in her heart and in her mind that she could not even begin to explain to the child why it meant so much to her. She supposed Rydia could understand holding onto a keepsake from a deceased parent, but that was merely the surface of her reasonings. Rydia did not understand love and sacrifice the way Rosa did. She was nowhere near old enough.

Deciding finally on how to simplify her answer in a way that would be satisfactory, Rosa smiled at the young girl. “I know how to hold it, yes, but the sword is not mine to fight with. It is Cecil’s, should he require it in a pinch.”

“Oh.” A moment of silence passed between them as the girl contemplated the answer she had received. “That’s rather nice of you to carry his sword. You must care for him a lot.”

“More than anything,” Rosa admitted easily, a small smile gracing her lips.

“He loves you too. I could tell when you were sick. He was worried.”

Her eyes glanced over to the sleeping figure of Cecil, her smile widening slightly. She knew he had been worried. He had told her so himself and the embrace they shared when she awoke from her fever proved how deeply he cared. He had done so much for her already and she wished for nothing more than to do the same for him.

“Cecil has a heart of gold, despite his fears that he is being engulfed by the darkness. He worries for everyone. Despite the things he has done under orders of our king, he is a good man.”

“I know.” The response came immediately from the girl, her eyes still fixated on the fire, though occasionally Rosa would catch her looking over at the sleeping men.

Once again, the silence built up around them. It was less heavy than it had been before, though it was clear they both had much on their minds. And once again, Rosa’s mind began to drift to thoughts of the future and concern over their lost friend Kain. She thought about Edward and how he had found a love as strong as her and Cecil’s, only to have it stripped away from him along with everything else. Rose prayed she would not encounter a similar fate. Were she in his shoes, should Cecil be taken away from her, Rosa wholeheartedly believed she would not be able to continue living.

She was lucky compared to her two companions. She could easily imagine herself in either of their places, yet she had not had the displeasure of experiencing such drastic grief as they had. Her own losses seemed minute compared to theirs. Was she being selfish trying to keep Cecil so close to her?

She did not have time to contemplate her own question, a strong hand resting tenderly on her shoulder. Somehow, she had completely missed Cecil move to get up, focused so heavily on her own thoughts. His body was clad in dark armor though his face was bare of the helmet; his warm smile ebbed away her worries and her doubts and she returned it without issue. However, his focus was not on her long, turning his attention to the young green-haired summoner.

“Are you not sleeping well, Rydia?”

She shook her head, “I was having nightmares.”

Cecil hummed in understanding, crouching toward the ground to be at her height as he spoke gently. “We need all your strength come morning. Rosa and I will be nearby. Nothing will hurt you; I promise.” His smile was as illuminating as the moon; Rosa watching the scene with her own small smile spread across her lips. “Please get all the sleep you can.”

Rydia nodded curtly, consoled by his words. She found her spot again a laid down, making herself as comfortable as possible.

The sound of an amused chuckle could be heard from Rosa, Cecil giving her a look of inquiry. “When did you get so good with children, Cecil?”

He let out his own chuckle, moving to sit closer to the blonde woman. “I’m not sure. Perhaps it is a natural gift.”

“One of many you have been given.”

Another chuckle from Cecil before they fell into a comfortable moment of silence. Cecil watched the flames of the dwindling fire, though not with as much malice as Rydia had. His eyes were thoughtful, sad, perhaps.

“You are thinking about Kain, aren’t you?” Rosa knew all too well that the disappearance of their friend weighed heavy on his mind. They could only hope for the best: that he returned to Baron and was safe and alive.

“Yes.” He paused, turning his attention upward toward the sky. “You say he was pronounced dead by the Baron guard, though I cannot believe it to be true. Kain is far too stubborn to die, especially by something as trivial as an earthquake.”

There was a hint of jest in his voice. Kain had bragged once about his ability to survive in the harshest of weather conditions, making a statement that not even a strike of lightning could take him out. It had become a joke amongst Rosa and Cecil that nothing, not even natural forces, could slay Kain. And yet… here they both were in doubt that they would ever see their friend again. Rosa herself had been told that Kain and Cecil were killed on their assignment. She refused to believe it when she first heard the news and now, knowing that Cecil had lived, she had even more reason to believe that Kain was still out there as well. She only hoped they would be reunited soon.

“You should get some sleep as well.” Cecil replaced the grip of his hand to her shoulder, squeezing gently, comfortingly. “We need your strength too if we hope to survive the treck up this mountain.”

Rosa nodded; her own hand placed atop his if only to reassure herself that he was there beside her. “If we return to Baron—”

Cecil held up his free hand to cut her off, a knowing look on his face. “When we return to Baron, we will talk then.” He placed a chaste kiss on her lips, ending as quickly as it had begun, and smiled his warm, affectionate smile. “Now get some rest.”

She hesitated only a moment before nodding once more and moving to a more comfortable space to lay. “Goodnight, Cecil.”

There was a slight pause before his low voice replied, “Goodnight, Rosa.”

[hollymontford-industryportfolio]

Memory Giving

The pitch given by the team at St. Wilfred's Hospice stated that they were aiming to ‘create effective social media content around our In Memory Giving parts of fundraising.’

Due to this being the focal point of the content I need to create, I did further research on these 6 methods of memory giving. Overall, Memory giving is described on the website as a way ‘family and friends pay tribute to their lives and help those in need by doing something to benefit future patients and families by helping us provide specialist care and support.’ The way in which they are presented on the website is definitely positive, with imagery standing out as bright and colourful. Emphasis here is definitely focused on memory rather than mourning. 

The ways in which memory giving is carried out varies quite widely, with a range of online tributes, public tributes and personal tributes to be kept by the family and friends of the deceased. Each donation method has details of the specific steps needed to carry it out, as this is something that would be difficult to translate through the art of animation or film, a voiceover could be useful to ensure the work is educating audiences on how they can get involved. 

These donation methods are:

Forget-Me-Not Tribute Funds- This is an online space crafted in memory of a person. This almost creates an online community, bringing people together after experiencing a loss. St Wilfred’s states it can be used for fundraising events, activities and donations, although many other options seem possible. This method is clearly very personal, and can be crafted around the person who is lost. This tribute is also long-lasting compared to some of the other methods.

Memory Tree- This is a donation to the hospice which results in a gold, silver or bronze leaf being placed upon a shared memorial in the hospice, engraved with the name of your lost one. This method is not permanent like some of the others, and after 12 months the leaf is taken down. However, your donation can be renewed or you can keep the leaf as a keepsake after this period is over. The positives of this method include giving family and friends a place to come together to remember their lost one fondly.

In Memory Keepsakes- These are small badges and charms that can be purchased in memory of a persons lost one. This method of donation is a lot less dear than the minimum of £100 needed for a leaf on the memory tree, with charms costing only £1. This makes this method good for a large group of people who each want a small but sentimental keepsake that is personal to them. 

Memory Garden- Similar to the Forget-Me-Not Tribute fund, this is an online space that can be used to remember a lost one. However, rather than a website, this is simply a small memorial on the St. Wilfred's Hospice page. This definitely emphasises the value of community, as a shared space for people mourning their different friends and family members, all brought together by a virtual garden.

Forget-Me-Not Memorial Seeds- These are packets of seeds sold to remember a person who has died. This method leads to the new life of plants in remembrance of a lost life, making a very positive statement about death. 

Donating at Funerals- This is a very straightforward method of donation, with a donation box being placed at funerals or donations being given instead of flowers.

It is clear that imagery of flowers and plants are used throughout these methods, with some even named after ‘forget-me-not’ flowers. This imagery could be useful in illustrating the 6 methods through animation. 

Furthermore the tribute methods all seem to be incredibly personal. The compassionate and personal aspects of the brand are clearly very strongly utilised, and this is something to keep in mind with our content we create. While we need to educate audiences on the subject matter, we must stay true to the brand philosophy by doing this in a positive and compassionate way.

[beautifulessencewildmind]

while you sleep
I pace holes into the floorboards
of my bedroom,
I bore gaping wounds into the walls
with my silence. I ask my head why it rejects these ideas of
love,
why when things seem to go right,
all I am left with is small reminders
of how much of me is wrong. and I’ve tried for years
to hug and repair all the seams
that unravel at everyone’s touch. there are so many parts of me that wish I was
more for you;
less broken,
less tired,
less like I am starved for affection. I hope some day I learn to love all the cracks
and scars that people have left behind,
small keepsakes from those who had
too much fire at their fingertips. I do not mourn for all that I am,
but rather all that I am not
and my dear sweet love,
the one who kisses my neck
and traces the fissures on my hips,
I am tired of poking at the dark places
in my soul,
hoping that the rips could bring in some light. you are grace and goodness,
kindness and stability,
and I am so so sorry that I am as fragile 
as the mere idea of acceptance. lover,
friend,
I am afraid I will never be good enough for you,
and that I will murder something beautiful inside you,
but most of all,
I am afraid one day you’ll look at me and realize,
there is nothing within me worth 
staying for.

I'm sorry I feel this way

[sarissophori]

Hither Yonder, Chapter 8

The Vision

Late spring passed, and Halli’s arm had mended. It was in her hands again to move on from the Gallenwood, yet she lingered, keeping her place with Noma and Amerrotaieu on the herding fields. Leaving the Nosi and their way of life behind proved difficult, and she fought against herself to remain. Spring became summer, and still she tarried, through the heat of the season and the burgeoning of the harvests. It seemed to Amerrotecus and Luxwannen that Halli made her choice to stay in Meadow-home, and were glad for it. They had since looked on her as a foster-daughter, hoping that she would choose to stay past her mending. In the depths of Halli’s heart, her urge to remain was stronger than they knew; still, she was torn between the comforts of an adoptive family, and an errand postponed. The longer summer went, the more she sought solitude, even from Noma.

 It was the first day of autumn, still in the warmth of late summer. Amerrotaieu and Luxwannen were out overseeing the final harvests, and Amerrotecus was walking the lawns of his longhouse alone. Halli went to him and walked with him a while, explaining her odd moods at times and thanking him and his people for the help they gave her, and the love they showed. Her burdened thoughts and words were slow to build to their intended point.

      “I have rested here too long” she said at length. “Not that your hospitality is needing –that’s what’s made leaving Meadow-home so hard, but there is something I set out to do, and I can’t put it off any longer. I must say my goodbyes before I go.”

      “If that be your choice, Halli” Amerrotecus said. “You have waited until your arm has healed, which was my only condition. There is no law among my people to keep anyone here against their wish; freely you came, and freely you may go, but I must ask, to where do you go, and for what do you set out? You mentioned nothing of this before.”

      “I didn’t feel the time to be right until now, forgive me” Halli said. “I go to find my sister, who is in the far west, beyond the Great Sea.”

      “She is dead, you mean?”

      “Yes” Halli said. “She died when we were in Dumbria. I’ve come all this way, though there be many more miles ahead. I seek the lands of Tarmaril.”

      “The Westerlands?” Amerrotecus said softly. “By the gods, why there? Why not to Arthon south of the Wood, or some other way? Have you not heard of what happened there?”

      “I have” Halli said. “They are simply ghost-stories, I think. Besides, they are the only people I know who have made ships worthy enough to cross the sea to its other side. In that I place my greatest hope, if any still live there.”

      Amerrotecus stopped walking. He regarded her in wary thought, speaking to himself in Nosi for a moment, then saying, “It is as I feared when Noma smelled their blood in you; that you would be drawn to those lands, sooner or later, were you not compelled to stay. Yes, as I feared.”

      “I want to, but I can’t” Halli said. “I must do this, dassa.”

      “Indeed” Amerrotecus said with an unhappy smile. “I said I would hinder you not, no matter the path. Yet before you go, there is something I have to show you, a thing that concerns such a path.”

      Putting a hand on her shoulder, he turned her around and took her back to the longhouse.

 Behind the main hall was a narrow hallway that led to the personal rooms of the longhouse, including a shrine dedicated to the ancient gods hidden away, like all the rooms, behind a curtain of thick dark pelts. Amerrotecus took her to the shrine, a shelf crowded with stone idols, totems and talismans, and bowls of incense. Under the shelf was a small wooden chest that he opened, retrieving something bound in cloth and tied with a knot of sage. Unwrapping this, he held in his palm a crystal sphere that glinted in a pearly translucence, even in that darkened space, its core shimmering like polished diamond.

      “What is that?” Halli said.

      “History” Amerrotecus said. “Memories. This is how the Westerlanders recorded their wisdom and lore unchanged through the ages, using high skill-crafts now lost. This, my child, is a tarmaril.”

      Halli gazed at it in wonder, drawn to its polished gleam and desiring to touch it, withdrawing her hand when she realized she was reaching for it.

      “You felt its pull, did you?” he said. “You are not the first. A powerful magic resides within this jewel, subtle but alluring to the unwary.”

      “I read about tarmarils when I was in Dumbria” Halli said. “They were designed so that only Tarmarillians could view their histories un-fragmented, and some were even protected by spells.”

      “Such a spell may lie on this one” Amerrotecus said. “It was found by my grandfather on the slopes of the mountains past the Middlesea, amid the bones of many men whose bright swords had long since rusted. What they were doing there, and what slew them, he never discovered, but he brought back this jewel as a keepsake, smitten by it as he was. He tried to unlock its secrets and peer into its hidden knowledge. It gave him only nightmares. So here it has lain since, dormant, until this hour.”

      “And you want me to look into it, after telling me that?” Halli said.

      “You are partly Tarmarillian. You may be able to see its visions clearly.”

      “Is that enough? What if all I see are nightmares?”

      “What is in you is sufficient to understand Noma” he said. “If that fear is enough to stop you, then I would advise you to stay away from the Westerlands, for worse things will you find there. If not, then glimpse what you may, and see what dangers lurk there still in the shadows, on that path, for yourself.”

       In trust Halli took the tarmaril from him. It was warm, and tingled her skin. She fixed her eyes at its center, watching as its heart glowed to her touch and began to swirl. Colors blurred, then her body lost perception of the material world. Her mind felt like it was being dragged through a mist, until her physicality as she knew it was unfamiliar; no recall of heartbeat, pulse or breath, as her consciousness ascended to the tarmaril’s higher plain. As in a waking dream, Halli saw what the jewel had to show.

 Knowledge was not so much seen as perceived, until Halli could focus her concentration through the mists. When she did, she saw in her mind’s eye a history scattered, discombobulated, events and patterns more felt than witnessed. A people unfolded before her, austere and stately, gray-eyed and light-haired, whose lives and achievements were revealed in tantalizing fragments, but clarity was still fleeting. She honed her thoughts, and the ethers drew back. Visions moved quickly but perceptively, and the vibrations around her consciousness reverberated in twain. Tarmaril of old was once a beautiful and wonderful land, the Tarmarillians learned supremely in nature’s intimacies, and in the lore of the stars. They became as they were to be, to the world’s ending, in an evolution begun by divine tutelage, and allowed to grow of its own accord. The vibrations were in harmony, wavering like strung beads of glass blown by a gentle wind.

      Suddenly, one image showed itself in a sharp contrast against the haze, that of a white ship sailing through vast waters, its sail bulged by sea-breezes, captained by some lone figure setting course for the west, though who Halli couldn’t guess, for the clarity soon shifted. The vibrations grew frayed, and the harmonies became sour. It was more difficult to focus the visions in this plain of the tarmaril, so close to the core. She stumbled into a blankness that was heavy and oppressive, like the bowels of a cave. She felt vulnerable to entities no longer benevolent, but cold and cruel, unburdened by human sympathy. Here, there were monsters. As Tarmaril would betray the gods, the monsters of their creation would betray Tarmaril, preying on them as any other, with the zeal of a malignancy run amok. What Halli felt here made her wander quickly away, to another plain of calmer vibrations, gray and somber. Pallid shapes took form, mournful of loss, yet bitter of it also. She strayed, seemingly, into a dream of some physical caliber, the sharpest memory of the tarmaril her senses could unlock, and she beheld it as it unfolded.

      There was torchlight. Halli was standing in a lofty court of pillars and arches, under a dome of crystal-glass that reflected the moon. A table was directly below, crowded by councilors, generals and noblemen, their backs bent, their fingers tracing lines on a map of the Hither and Hinterlands, discussing a second war against Ahn in the east. A high throne was on the other end, flanked by black marble columns and placed atop many steps. There upon sat Amornidaz the Splendid, last and mightiest king of Tarmaril, obscenely clad in opulence, girt with the ancient sword of his line. His crown was diamond and silver, a tarmaril set on his brow to preserve his own history, as with all other kings and queens before. Halli stared at him in awe, and yet recoiled, for his handsomeness was a mask for his cruelty, his majesty for his cravenness, and even if she hadn’t known it before from Sador’s books, she could sense it from his brooding airs.

      A robed figure came out from the shadows, face hidden by the hood, and the torches in the chamber flickered, drawing everyone’s attention to him.

      “I seek an audience with the king” he said, before any could demand a reason for this intrusion, or how he bypassed the guards.

      “Who seeks it?” a general asked.

      “I have no pronounceable name in mortal tongues” he said. “I come as a messenger, from those who dwell on the hithermost shores.”

      The court murmured in a whisper, the Undying Lands.

      King Amornidaz scoffed. “The Undying Lands? How preposterous! Seize him, and throw him into the pit. Then he will tell us his true name and purpose.”

      The royal guards moved in, yet as the messenger raised his hand they fell immediately as if struck, and lay stunned. The councilors and noblemen backed away from the table as he approached.

      “Have I convinced to satisfaction, lord?”

      Amornidaz leaned forward on his throne, hand on hilt, then thought better of it and sat down again.  

      “Your trick has won my audience, but not my fear.”

      “I wish that not” the messenger said. “I desire only council, if you will heed it.”

      Amornidaz reclined. “Proceed.”

      “You are responsible for much grief, lord, and many blasphemies. We have observed as Tarmaril has waged war on her neighbors and perverted the natural order. The cries of the abused have reached our ears, speaking ill of your race. You are a wise and gifted people. We hoped you would own your wrongs and cease these actions of your own accord. To our dismay, you have not. We will stand aside no longer. You as king are hereby demanded to end your wars, disband your legions, and atone for the mutations of your alchemists, under the doom of divine consequence.”

      Amornidaz sat uneasily as he listened, checking his indignation, his humiliation, and more than a little fear. He resented being addressed like a malcontent, but even he dared not interrupt.

      “This is your one chance, your one warning” the messenger said. “It is yours to accept with wisdom, or to ignore with peril. Please, lord, consider the fate of your people with more than a whim.”

      “Whim” Amornidaz said. “I will not be spoken to as this by a sprite in a cloak, a mere herald who comes at another’s stead. You may not give me ultimatums in my own court. My word is absolute here, not theirs. Tell them that, revenant.”

      “Arrogance is less befitting than you deem it” the messenger said. “The hubris of mortals cannot ever supersede the designs of nature or the divine, lest monsters be the result, and chaos unfathomable. You betrayed the oaths made by your ancestors, and are under a harsh judgement for it. Hear me! Even in this hour Tarmaril may earn forgiveness. Do not throw your destiny away in rashness, atone!”

      The king was silent, brooding on what thoughts none could say. Then he stood, magnificent in his regalia, deciding that pride would deliver his words.

      “I am King Amornidaz, son of King Argomenes, heir of a line unbroken for one thousand years. I have not ascended to my grand-sire’s throne to be goaded by a memory of our oldest stories. I fear you not, nor your masters, any more than a child’s fable.”

      Amornidaz raised his voice so that it rang through the court, up into the colonnades.

      “This is my kingdom, I am Tarmaril! Are the all-powerful gods so frightened of us that they see it fit to meddle in our affairs? They forbid us from the hithermost shores, and now they will control us here? Does that itself not break our covenant? Nay, it is not us who should fear them. It is they who should fear us, for we stand to usurp their supremacy!”

      The messenger stood unmoved by the king’s show.

      “There will be no other warnings. Stay your pride, and end your wrong-doings.”

      “Why wait?” Amornidaz said. “If I truly be so wretched, then may the gods in their unerring wisdom strike me where I stand!”

      He drew his sword and held it high, catching the red glint of torchlight. His court froze in tenseness, not as sure as he to tempt punishment, but there he was, unsmitten, his arrogance justified. A long moment passed until they breathed a sigh of relief.

      “I am supreme here, herald” Amornidaz said. “Your errand has failed. So much for divine foresight.”

      The messenger bowed. “Then the choice is made. I shall return to my masters and inform them of your decision. Be prepared for their response.”

      “Response?” Amornidaz said. “Retaliation, you mean. That, undoubtedly, is a breaking of our covenant. The satisfaction will not be theirs. It is I who declares war on them. Take that back with you.”

      Here the vision faded, leading Halli into another. It was daytime, yet the skies were gray and low. She stood outside, on the steps of a battlement overlooking an immense harbor shaped from the mouth of a wide river. A high wind blew from the bay, carrying the scent of salt and foam, and catching the flags of the warships at anchor; hundreds at the piers, hundreds moored offshore, and still more along the coast, their masts like a barren forest stripped of green. It was the largest fleet ever amassed by any people of that age, for the purpose of waging war on the gods themselves. With such strength of arms and industry before her, Halli understood the arrogance of Amornidaz, and felt her skin go cold. Then from the towers on the hills came a crescendo of blaring horns so great, the air itself was shaken, and Halli’s body was stunned to its core. Warning was thus given to the enemies of Tarmaril, that her legions were again unleashed, this time across the sea to lay low the Indomitable Ones, while the gathered masses cheered them on.

      The already gloomy sky then darkened, ominously so. It made Halli nervous, knotting her stomach with anticipation. Somehow, she knew this was no storm or squall, or indeed weather of the world.  She backed away from the battlements, out of crowds that heeded her not, looking up for some sign of doom.

      It would not come from the skies. The waters in the harbor receded, and the ships sat lower in their docks. A thin gray line appeared over the world’s bend from a point beyond sight, a line so small at first glimpse. Drawing in more of the sea, it surged across the shallows as a mounting wave, racing fast over the exposed shore, roaring louder than any force of wind. People screamed as the wave rose, arched over, and slammed into the piers, pounding the harbor to rubble; those who weren’t stiff with fear fell over one another trying to escape it. Warships hundreds of cubits long were carried up like toys and smashed on the water breaks, or pulverized against the hills. Masts as thick as tree trunks were snapped like twigs, thrown as shivers into the sky, then fell as rain. Those moored on shore were rolled up and subsumed, broken and gouged into the beach or dragged out to the ocean, taking all hands with them. Soldiers, sailors and captains, the armada in full was beaten to its base timbers, a tithe of the sea sweeping away in one moment the pride of Tarmarillian might.

       Halli…Halli…

      The upper battlements were also overcome by the surge, intensifying the panic. The Tarmarillians quailed and begged for forgiveness, to no avail, as everyone, repentant or no, was swept away where they stood, their screams lost to the roaring wave.

       Halli? Halli!

      Something pulled on her tunic, bringing her to the ground. She raised her hand against the coming wave, even as everything blurred. The sensation of being pulled grew stronger.

      “Halli!”

 The vision faded. Halli’s mind raced speedily from the jewel’s inner depths, saved by the intervention of reality. She blinked, then started coughing; she could almost taste the salt of the water, prepared to feel it pulverize her body in its fury. She still half-expected it to, lying on the floor of a room in a hall far from the western sea. Noma was licking her forehead, having snapped her out of the tarmaril’s grasp by pulling on her sleeve. Amerrotaieu was kneeling beside her, her hand in his, chanting softly in Nosi to cleanse the remainder of the spell.

      “Are you alright, Halli?” Noma said. “You were silent, then your body stiffened, and your breath was labored. You looked very afraid.”

      “I think so” Halli said. “But I’m not doing that again.”

      “And you needn’t” Amerrotecus said, taking the tarmaril after it fell from Halli’s grasp and wrapping it in its bundle as before, then locking it away.

      “Your Tarmarillian blood has allowed you to wander far within the jewel, and showed you all you could see. It is an evil thing, and far worse will you find in the Westerlands. This is but a taste of their sorcery.”

      “What is this about?” Amerrotaieu said. “Why did you let her look into the devil’s eye? That was a foolish thing, father!”

      “It was a necessary test” Amerrotecus said. “She had to see for herself the dangers of that road and what awaited her at the end, for that is the road she intends to take.”

      Amerrotaieu’s face blanched. “She…what?”

      Noma, at first relieved at Halli’s recovery, tucked her ears to her head, her swishing tail dropping still, swishing no more.

      Halli sat up uneasily and sighed. “Yes, it is, to keep a promise I made long ago.”

      “To whom?”

      “Her sister, who has passed” Amerrotecus said. “She goes to the cursed lands, and from there, she will sail to the shores of the gods.”

      “Is that not forbidden?” Amerrotaieu said.

      “So the legends say.”

      “I will find out, at my peril” Halli said. “I must. For my sister, I must.”

      Amerrotaieu stood stiff, mouth hung with empty words. He then leaned clumsily and braced his shoulder on a wall. The uncomfortable silence lengthened.

      “She is a stubborn one, father. Mother will not like this when she hears it.”

      “Yes, a pity for us all” Amerrotecus said. “Yet her mind is made, and set in stone. The only way to stay her, I deem, is to imprison her with force, which the laws do not allow, nor are we prepared to do so even if we wished.”

      “I would still go, if you tried” Halli said. “The visions haven’t changed my mind.”

      The chieftain and his son glanced at each other, unsure of what to say, figuring at length that any gainsay would be pointless.

      Amerrotecus sighed. “Is there anything we can have readied for you, then?”

      “I’ve already taken more than was my right” Halli said. “I can ask no more.”

      “Nonsense. You were wet and hungry when you first came here, as I recall. Whatever we can give in food or cloth is yours.”

      “Thank you” Halli said. “Keep it light, please. The way will be a long one, and a lonely one as well.”

      “No, not lonely” Noma said. “Not with a companion at your side, for I volunteer myself to go with you.”

      She sat before Halli’s feet and gave her a long steely stare, every bit the image of her wolf-kin from the mountains. Amerrotaieu had a look of dismay, but kept silent.

      “Noma” Halli said. “I love you, and I want you to come with me, but this is where you belong. Stay here, with your master.”

      “I have no master” Noma said. “My pack lives among the Nosi, but each may come or go as they please. Yet not until now had any of us a reason. I love you also Halli, too much to let you go alone. Amerrotaieu and his father would both pledge themselves as readily as I if not for their duties to the tribe, or the uncertainty of the journey. I give you my service as protector and companion, if there is a place at your side.”

      Halli, moved by Noma’s pledge and the fondness that was its wellspring, set aside her proud stubbornness in being the solitary wanderer.  Her heart rising in her chest, she grazed her hand along Noma’s ear and down her flank, through the softness of her fur.

      “There is. I will take you, Noma, if Amerrotaieu grants it.”

      “I do” Amerrotaieu said, though with hesitance. “Your need for her will be more than ours before the end. May she protect and guide you through all dangers on your road. Her friendship is now yours to command, as it was once mine.”

      “I shall miss you dearly, teonan” Noma said. “I must say goodbye to my pack, before we leave. Oh, how sudden this all is –when do we leave, Halli?”

      “I was thinking early next morning, come sunrise” Halli said.

      “That will give us time to supply you” Amerrotecus said.

       “And for mother to say farewell” Amerrotaieu said.

      “Maybe it won’t be a farewell” Halli said. “There is a chance I may return to mortal lands, I hope. If I do, I’ll return to Meadow-home and live with you again, and Yuta too, permanently this time. This I promise.”

      “And you are one good for promises” Amerrotecus said, laughing. “We will keep a lantern hanging for you on the hills, then. May it be that you glimpse it on the roads through the forest, should you come by this way again. Until then, let us prepare for tonight’s supper, and make it hardy.”  

[azworkingdogs]

Best Gift Ideas for Small Dogs and Their Owners

Billions of dollars are spent every year on food, supplements and accessories for dogs. Small dogs are toted in their own designer purses and dressed with color-coordinated booties. Specialty toys encourage learning and training. Bottom line: gift ideas for small dogs can be a little overwhelming.

If you are looking for unique and memorable gift ideas for small dogs, start by thinking about the dog lover that calls themselves mom or dad. Dog lovers stop at nothing to find the latest trends for their baby.

Here are some great gift ideas for dog moms and dog dads everywhere.

Small Dog Gift Ideas by Occasion

Gift ideas vary depending on the reason for buying a dog gift. While most dogs find presents under the Christmas tree or for their birthdays, there are many other times of the year to get a dog (or his owner) a present.

Holiday Season Gift Ideas for Small Dogs

Holiday gifts for small dog owners start with traditional reindeer ears, peanut butter dog biscuits and flannel pajamas to sleep by the fireplace waiting for Santa to come. There are many other great gift ideas for dogs during the holiday season.

Pet Pillow: What dog doesn’t need a new cozy pillow to lay his head on while waiting for his owner to start his favorite movie, Lady and the Tramp. Holiday pet pillows help small dogs fall fast asleep so the reindeer can land on the roof undetected by alert ears.

Dog Jacket: The snow and freezing conditions of winter mean that even the thickest dog coats can leave a dog chilly. Small dogs often start to shiver. Keep those pups warm during the snowball fight with a jacket that is both stylish and functional.

DNA Test: Dog owners always wonder about the actual breed of dog they have. Even a papered pure breed might have traits suggesting some breed other than his known parents. A DNA test is an interesting gift to understand the quirks of man’s best friend. It also helps pet owners mitigate potential genetic health issues.

Personalized Stocking: All family members should have a stocking on the mantle. Give a small dog an extra special stocking with her name stitched in. Once filled with her favorite dog treats, she’ll know Santa thought she was a good girl.

Bow Tie: The holidays are filled with many holiday parties. Prep the pup in style with a fashionable bow tie collar.

“Dog Perignonn” Plush Toy: Let the pup ring in the New Year with his very own plush bottle of Dog Perignonn. He’s sure to be the life of the party without needing to worry about being the designated driver.

Family Matching Pajamas: Nothing says family more than matching pajamas. Now families can get a pair for mom, dad, kids, dogs and even the family cat. Enjoy a night in with the entire family watching a movie and cuddles on the couch.

Moncler Mondog Jacket: The dog wearing the Moncler Mondog Jacket is the style-envy of the neighborhood. It is both stylish and warm for those cold winter walks around town. This jacket comes in a variety of colors to go with a small dog’s favorite colors.

Heated Pet Bed: Since dogs can’t have hot chocolate, give them a heated pet bed to cozy up while mom dog enjoys a cold winter’s night indoors. A safe way to keep your dog cozy without having him steal your covers.

Paw Print Ornament: A little craft-time together helps a family bond. Paw print ornament kids are located at most craft stores where mom dogs and dads can create a unique keepsake Christmas ornament for the tree.

Housewarming Gifts for Small Dogs 

When a small dog moves into his new home with his parents, he can feel a little overwhelmed. Few things are familiar and most of his items may even be packed away when he first gets there. But new digs mean new things for your furry friend. Here are some gifts for the dog that needs to set up his new dog pad.

Sheffield Dog Bed: Every dog loves being the king of the castle and nothing says “king” better than his very own Sheffield Dog Bed. The sleigh bed platform design is easy for him to climb in, feel safe and cozy and leaves dog owners a little more space on their own beds.

Flirt Pole: Small dogs like hunting little critters just as much as kitty cats do. In fact, many dog breeds are bred as critter hunters. This is why the flirt pole resembling a fishing pole is a great gift idea for the pet owner who wants to keep their puppy busy without a lot of running around themselves.

Tornado Treat Dispensing Dog Toy: The smart toys are all the rage because large and small dogs alike are starting to do algebraic problems. To help dogs get ahead of the puppy training curve, a Tornado Treat Dispensing Dog Toy forces the dog to work the puzzle before the treat is accessible.

BarkBox Gift Subscription: Dogs don’t bark at the mailman when their own little care package arrives every month. The Barkbox comes filled with seasonal treats, chew toys and special toys that will have your dog jumping in to get started.

Neater Feeder: Even small dogs benefit from the ergonomic design of the Neater Feeder. Not only does this food dish holder keep a dog’s head perfectly aligned, but it also keeps feeding time clean without slashing of water and overflow of food.

Pawdicure Kit: Give small dogs a little pampering with a pawdicure in between grooming sessions. Working with your small dog’s claws not only keeps her healthy but is an important bonding period where a dog builds trust with her owner.

Insect Repellant Bandana: A simple and stylish way to protect dogs from fleas, ticks, mosquitos and flies when away from home. The bandana is odor-free but treated with repellant that withstands up to 70 washes.

Sleepypod Mobile Pet Bed & Carrier: Make traveling as luxurious as home for your small dog. This mobile pet carrier has a cushioned bed to helps pets feel safe and comfortable. Less stress on pets leads to more enjoyable excursions for the entire family.

Pet Stroller: That tiny four-legged furball just can’t always keep up with the pace of an active family. But no one wants to stay at home. A pet stroller lets small dogs enjoy a day out with the perfect place to rest while on the go.

Year-Round Gifts for Small Dogs

Holidays throughout the year are a great way to let that small dog and his owner know how much you care. Whether a Mother’s Day gift to honor the dog mom or graduation gifts to celebrate training success, get in the party mood with these small dog gift ideas.

Bone Toggle Collar: For the stylish pup in your life. This leather toggle style collar will make any small dog find their big dog posture. It’s the perfect accessory to a day out shopping with mom.

Pet Wi-Fi Camera: A perfect gift for the pet owner who feels guilty about leaving Fifi at home alone. The pet wi-fi camera lets pet owners see their pets while they are away. Interactive options even reward the pet for answering the call.

Dog Breed Chef’s Apron: A chef’s apron is the perfect companion to your companion helping catch those accidental scraps that make their way to the floor. Honor that little taste tester with the ultimate in kitchen styles with a special dog breed chef’s apron.

Friendship Collar and Bracelet: Like mom dog, like dog daughter. Isn’t that how the saying goes? This friendship collar is the ultimate matching accessory that gives mom a bracelet that matches her dog’s stylish collar.

Pet Massager: Even dogs need some help with rest and relaxation and the pet massager is the perfect solution. A couple of rolling balls that guide along the back muscles of your pup will certainly relax their body after a busy day playing fetch.

Pooch Selfie Ball: No mom dog or dad is without a phone full of dog photos. But selfies can be hard when the little pooch gets distracted. Solution: the pooch selfie ball sits over the phone so the dog’s attention is on what he wants, the ball. Instagram watch out!

Fetch Machine: It isn’t always convenient for dog parents to play fetch. But that little puppy doesn’t need to wait if he has his very own fetch machine that launches a ball down the hall or across the backyard. He brings it back, drops it in and starts all over for hours of fun.

Dog Teepee: Stylish and practical, small dogs love having a dog teepee. It gives them a place of seclusion to sleep and adds a fun whimsical element to a room compared to a traditional dog bed.

Custom or Handmade Gift Ideas for Small Dogs

Pet owners love custom gifts. Find the perfect handmade or customized gift idea to make every dog feel loved and unique.

Personalized Pet Harness: Many pet owners use a harness for their dogs to make walking and handling a little safer for both. A personalized pet harness embroiders the dog’s name and contact information on the harness. Customize color combinations to match the dog or his owner’s personality.

Socks or Leggings: Get customized socks or leggings with your dog’s picture on it. With low-cost drop shipping imprint companies, these are easy to do and a fun way to always keep your dog’s personality with you at all times.

Fast Book: Every dog has a story and a fast book helps tell that story in your favorite pictures. These are small so they can easily fit in a purse to show your small dog off when he can’t be there with you.

Doggie Clone Plush: Send a picture in and get a little plush copycat of your dog – well copydog. Your dog may be confused with the intruder that looks like the one in the mirror but he’ll grow to love his plush companion as much as you do.

Memorial Gifts for Mourning Owners

It’s hard to talk about the grief of losing a dog. For the mourning dog owner, it can be hard to describe the emptiness that happens with a void that doesn’t seem like it could ever be filled. If you know someone who has just lost their dog or is spending their first holiday without their furbaby, think about a gift that will not just be a beautiful memorial but opens the door for a conversation to help them get through the grieving process.

You could get a personalized memorial stone or cremation urn that becomes a beautiful celebration of the life for the dead dog. Hand drawn sketches and portraits are another way to memorialize a dog that has died. Some companies offer sympathy boxes for pet owners in grief and many charities will allow you to donate on behalf of a pet owner in memorial of their loved dog.

Choosing a Small Dog Gift

With so many great ideas, how does a gift-giver choose? Consider the personality of the pet, the personality of the owner as well as any allergies or health restrictions the pet may have. Also, consider the lifestyle of the dog family. It doesn’t give anyone any enjoyment if a gift just doesn’t fit the activities that the dog and his owner do regularly.

Toys as Choking Hazards

There are a lot of toys on the market for dogs. Heck, most dogs can enjoy a good stick to gnaw on. This means that dog owners and gift givers need to be aware of potential choking hazards. Just like kids, there are many toys not made with safety in mind and the pet industry is not regulated to the same degree as for human babies.

Be aware of plush toys that have parts such as eyes or buttons that easily come off. These can choke a small dog or even their big brothers). The inside of the toy is also a danger if the dog ingests it. The stuffing of the plush can obstruct digestive tracts. Rawhides, antlers and bones also become choking hazards and in some cases lead to digestive issues.

Always supervise dogs with toys and remove the toys when they start to break. When buying toys, look for items that don’t have a lot of extra parts sewn together or added on. The less there is to break off, the easier it is to manage the dog’s play with the item in a safe fashion.

If you are concerned with whether a dog product is deemed safe, go online to see what others are saying about the product. Does it last long or get destroyed quickly? The Center for Pet Safety does a lot of safety tests and ratings of products found in the market to give a more scientific review of dog toys, carriers and other products.

Health Issues and Treats

Some dogs just can’t have the same types of food or treats as others. Deficiencies in many popular dog brands have led to allergies, digestive issues and weight problems for some dogs. If you plan on buying specialty treats of any sort, make sure it won’t create a health issue.

Small dogs watching their waistline need low-calorie treats. Don’t let the size of the treat fool you. There are recipes that let a small dog have a big treat designed to fill him up with fewer calories.

Ask questions about ingredients. Many dogs have sensitive tummies. Treats that are too rich in protein might lead to diarrhea. Just like humans, some dogs might also have allergies to things like peanuts, thus peanut butter treats are out of the question. While most pet owners know what their dog can or can’t have, a gift giver should ask to make sure everyone remains healthy and happy.

The Dog’s (and Owner’s) Personality

A fetch machine is a great idea until you realize that the dog could care less about chasing after a ball. As hard as it is to believe, many dogs don’t have the attention span for extended periods of fetch.

Buying a play gift for a tog means understanding the dog’s personality. Retrievers and many sporting dogs love to play fetch and will go nuts with anything that makes the game even better. Then there are hunting dogs like little terriers that really love squeaky toys as they pretend to be the hunter around the house.

And then you have those, like the pug, whose favorite game is sleeping on a friendly lap. He’d probably love the matching pajamas. Spend the time to learn about the dog, its breed and regular habits to find a gift that matches the dog with the best possible item.

Setting a Gift Budget 

Dogs might choke on some toys; people tend to choke on the sticker prices of pet products.  American pet owners spent nearly $70 million on their pets in 2017 meaning it can be easy to rack up some costs with pet gifts. Quality gifts are not cheap and finding that special something that is as unique as the relationship between a dog and his owner means specialty gifts.

Buying a present for your own small dog is easier than buying one for a friend. After all, money is no object for your own furbaby. Plus, there isn’t a guarantee that Fido’s friend will love what he does.

Set a budget before you start shopping for gifts. This gives the search a narrow focus. Then create a list of gift ideas. You might not be able to afford the Moncler Mondog Jacket, but if you know that is what you are looking for, you can start to look for similar items at a better price point. Whatever you end up buying, check reviews to make sure the product is good quality and not hazardous.

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