#once he maneuvers her into an important council position

[dinner-djarin]

Until the Sun Rises

Part 2: Beautifully Catastrophic

Anakin x Jedi!reader

Summary: The Clone Wars have begun, and although you and Anakin remain best friends, you have sensed your relationship growing distant, both from your time spent apart in battle, and from the inclusion of a certain woman into his life. When you finally get a moment to share alone with him, however, things do not go as you would have wished.

Notes: Part 2 takes place probably a year or so after part 1. Reader is young, probably around 18 or 19. Another Happy Birthday wish to @hellotherebonky

Rating: T

Warnings: fluff/angst. Reader gets very angry, yikes.

Part 1

Only one year later would Anakin be made an official Jedi Knight, just after the start of the Clone Wars. And as much as you hoped for peace in the galaxy, you secretly revelled in the start of the fighting, as it meant you were finally able to leave the Temple on a regular basis. You and your Master fought many battles together, and you felt yourself grow stronger with The Force every day. Master Sente admitted they may have been wrong to keep you guarded all that time, as you proved yourself to be a very cunning and diligent warrior. You learned ten times faster out in the galaxy then you did by studying away in the record halls. Being out there, learning on the battlefield, this was what made you finally shine.

The one downfall, however, was the reality that your assignments kept you away from Anakin.

He and Obi-wan stayed close, even after he proved himself capable and passed his trials, so the two of them often went on missions together… a fate you once dreamed of for yourselves.

But in all honesty, you were thankful for the space from Anakin. Ever since Padme Amidala had been thrust back into his life, you were tormented by how different Anakin had become. He didn’t confide in you as often, and when he did, the sole topic was her. How he couldn’t stand to be away from her. How he dreamt only of her. How only she could tame the fire that seared his soul.

One might think that a war should be the cause of such an uprooting to your life - but the war paled in comparison to the return of a woman.

You could see what drew him to her. Her beauty was only paralleled by her intelligence and kindness. She was stunning - you might even say she was perfect.

Her angelic form could not rival whatever you had to offer him. In fact, you had nothing to offer him, as the Jedi Code stood between any dreams you could dare to possess. At least with her, only his own morals were tempted. He didn’t confide the true nature of his relationship with Padme to you, but in your heart, you knew things had gone too far. It broke you to see him throw away his future for her, but it broke you more that he would never do the same for you.

She was lovely enough to include you in her life too, obviously noting the fact that you were Anakin’s only true friend at the Temple. You spent lunches and dinners and nights out together at the opera. Over the short time you spent together you unconsciously came to like her. More than that, you admired her.

You admired how she continued to fight for the rights of those who had none. How she was always unafraid to speak her mind and stand against what she believed to be wrong. You also noticed just how strong willed she could be in those opinions; ready to take on any voices raised against her own.

And as much as you tried to be happy for the two best people in your life, you couldn’t help the way that they remind you of the neutron star collisions you were taught about as a youngling. Two stars burning hot and bright, caught in each other's gravity, encircling one another over and over in a beautiful rhythm, until time and space can no longer accommodate for their existence. A beauty burning so bright that it can only be catastrophic.

Padme is brilliant and caring, but she is determined and independent. Anakin is willing to fight to the end for what he loves, but he is only satisfied when it is him who makes the sacrifices, and him who makes the choices. He needs to control everything, but she cannot be controlled.

You’ve grown alongside Anakin, and you’ve grown to love Padme. Separate they are unstoppable. They believe they can change the galaxy. But you know neither sees that goal in the same way.

You recount the way Anakin fought so hard against the council, over and over, believing that he knew better, or his approach would suit the situation over theirs. Often, he was proven right. He was talented, but the council only thought of him as reckless and lucky, making him seek to push against them even harder. For nights on end, you would hear him rant on about his distrust in such a system.

“We would be better off to decide for ourselves what we thought was right” he would go on. “How can we put our faith in a group of old, washed up Master’s who have long forgotten what it’s like to put their own lives on the line.” Eventually he would finish with sentiments along the line of: “I think they’re just scared to make the decisions that needed to be made”

But you also knew how faithful Padme was to that same system. She believed in the power of diplomacy and democracy. A freedom made by sitting and talking through their issues. Words right out of the mouth of Anakin; words of distaste for a future he couldn't see himself a part of.

It kept you wondering just how long it might take for fate - for The Force - to intervene. You knew it would have to, in some form or another. It always did. You waited for the day they would implode. And you swore you would be by his side when they did.

You waited. But the day hadn’t come.

Instead, the Clone Wars dragged on. You were eventually Knighted. A relatively small ceremony for the troubled times, but even Anakin made his way to be there. He looked proud as you knelt before the council and agreed to do the will of The Force.

“I can’t believe I finally made it,” you whisper to Anakin as you shuffle out of the council room.

“I never doubted you would, little one.” His voice quiet too but resonating directly into your ear as he hunched over to place his mouth next to your face.

“I did. All the time,” you say as you tilt your face to meet his.

“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.” Just then you realized you had worked yourselves away from the crowd into the hall where your adjacent rooms were held. “Come on, for old times’ sake.” His head nodding towards his own room, but you understood the final destination he had in mind.

You both carefully maneuvered your bodies over the ledge of his balcony onto the roof of the temple. “This was easier when we were children,” you remarked through laboured breaths.

“Everything was,” he responded, settling into the spot next to you so that your two thighs were barely grazing. The positioning reminded you of a night you spent together not so long ago. Watching the life of Coruscant fill the skies. Now the view had barely changed, save for the fact you were currently watching a setting sun instead of a vast darkness.

You both sat in silence, as you often did, words rarely necessary when you felt each other's presence so clearly already. Tuning into his aura, you felt a turbulence - an unease you had never felt before. What is that? You thought, forgetting how thoroughly lodged you were in his essence. “I’m sorry, Anakin. I didn’t mean to intrude-”

“It’s alright. I have nothing to hide, not from you. Never from you.” He admits as he turns to look into your eyes. You met his gaze instantly, and whatever you had felt in his aura had also taken root in his face. Besides the new scar, there were clear signs of worry and fear - his secrets slowly burdening him from the inside out.

“Please tell me, Anakin. You know you can tell me, whatever it is.” You attempt to reassure him. You know he must have a lot on his mind, and you know there is rarely anyone else he can truly confide in. His relationship with Padme meant he could not completely confide in Obi-wan, but the nature of his role and the severity of his actions during the Clone Wars caused a further rift between him and his wife.

“There’s so much. I don’t even know where to begin,” he starts.

“How about the beginning.” Your voice is almost teasing, until you see the bleakness in his weathered face. The horrors of war depleting the once joyful and youthful peace that filled him. Now he looked harsh and serious. He had told you of the things he had done, even before the Clone Wars began, and you could piece together how easily the added burdens had manifested in his soul.

“The council gave me a Padawan.” He spoke softly as he stared at the horizon.

“Already? They must have great faith in you.”

“I think the opposite. They wish to tame me, or to see me fail.” You could sense the hint of anger breaking through his otherwise stoic appearance.

“Anakin, I know you don’t trust them but-”

“But what? When have they ever trusted me?!” His quiet demeanor abruptly dissolving. “Why should I think they’re doing this out of my best interest?”

“How has it been?” You attempt to diffuse him. “What are they like?”

Anakin takes a moment to regain his peace. “She’s like me, Ahsoka.”

“Then she’ll be trouble.” You say with a jab to his ribs.

“Hey.” He nudges you back, and you almost slip from your spot to the balcony below. “Oh Maker, sorry.” He begins again, “I just fear she’s too much like me. She deserves a Master who is knowledgeable of The Force, who can help her find strength and stability. She is wild, and takes risks-”

“And is that bad? She sounds exactly like you. Maybe she needs someone to show her that trusting herself is as important as trusting The Force.”

“I don’t know if I can be that for her. I don’t even know if I trust myself anymore.” his voice reaching a quiet once again. So low, you understand that there is more to what he has shared.

“What’s really going on, Anakin?” You sense his trouble, and you know he has not fully divulged the root of his strife. In a moment of weakness, you let your emotions surface and ask, “Is it Padme?”

“What!? Why would it be Padme? Why would you ask that?” But his voice is too defensive for you to leave the subject alone.

“I just mean keeping the secret. Keeping her a secret. It must be weighing on you. And on top of everything-”

“On top of what?” He asks sternly. But his question stirs something in you, and pokes at all the thoughts you had bottled up over the months of observing the two of them.

“I mean you two already fight enough as it is. You get jealous and she gets angry. You just never seem to be on the same page.”

“You don’t approve of Padme?” He questions harshly.

“Of course I approve of Padme, as if I even need to. I mean she’s perfect. She’s almost too damn good for you-”

“What so I don’t deserve her? You think she should be with someone else?” You saw the aforementioned jealousy rising back up in him, further proving your point.

“I think you’re throwing away your life for a relationship you aren’t even happy in!”

“How could you know If I’m happy?”

“Because I know you, Anakin! I’ve known you for most of your life. I’ve seen you happy, and you aren’t happy with her.”

“It’s not that simple-”

“How is it not? You fight all the time; you don’t agree on anything. Is it supposed to be this hard? Why are you even still with her if she makes your life so difficult?”

“Because she’s my wife!” He admits loudly, a contrast to the deafening silence that follows.

You stare at him for what feels like hours. Your tongue runs dry from the stale air that passes through your agape mouth. Several minutes pass before you realize you hadn’t taken a proper breath.

“What are you talking about, Anakin.” These are the only words you can muster, and they come out painfully against the scratch of your dry throat.

“Just after the assignment where I guarded Padme,” he begins, “I lost my arm, and the Clone Wars began, and there was so much going on. I never realized how easily it could all be taken away. I almost died fighting Dooku.”

“So you decided to get married?” Your mind running too fast, too cluttered with thoughts to string together a calm response. “You lived, Anakin. You’re alive. So you decided to throw it all away because you almost died. Because you realized you could have died. We are Jedi. We could die any day. That’s the freaking point! How could you do something so foolish?!” You scream your words at him like blaster bolts, hoping for the first time ever that you could hurt him, like he had hurt you all these years.

“It was not foolish, I loved her then, and I love her now.” He admits to you angrily.

“And I loved you. I've loved you since the day you came here. And you never gave me a second glance. You never even tried to love me back. I've been here for you the whole time. Through everything. And still, you can't seem to care for me at all. I don't even know why I should care. I should have left you alone years ago. What have I ever gotten out of this? Pain. Hurt. Anger. You’ve pushed me to my breaking point time and time again. You have been more challenging than anything I faced in the trials. But I tried. I tried to be here for you, and hear every problem, every complaint. But you were never here for me. Not once. I’m done.” you say as you slide off the roof. “I cannot believe that all this time you’ve been married to her. And you never once thought to tell me. I am your best friend. At least I thought I was. Maker, Anakin, no wonder everything implodes around you.”

As you retreated, you felt the pain resonate from his aura. Your words tore at his soul and left him to bleed out. But you had enough. You were destroyed, and you needed him to know how deeply he had wounded you first. So, you abandoned him on that roof. You walked away from the one person who you truly loved. With every step you felt the strings of your attachment snap, you felt his presence leaving you in a way it never had before.

But he let you go. Not because he wanted to. But because you were right. He hadn’t been there for you. All those years you had been his crutch. You had listened to every childish rant. You had talked through every problem with him. But what had he done for you? He used you, and he knew it. What good would it do to beg you to stay? He could only be so selfish.

But you were also wrong, because he did love you. He should have shown it better. He should have told you long ago. But his world had become a destructive mess, and he decided he deserved all the pain and torment it had brought. Anakin wasn’t even sure how he loved you. It surely wasn’t the same way he felt about Padme. No, that love was raw. It was fire, and passion. It burned him alive. He loved you softly, like a warm embrace. You brought comfort and joy, even when the world was crumbling around him. Maybe he knew he didn’t deserve such happiness. Maybe that's why he let you walk away.

Part 3

[nadiaportia]

Ximena Rubalcaba

art by magician-of-the-lantern

The disgraced exile with a past she’d rather keep hidden.

Other bios: Sayelle | Deirdra | Heloisa | Cibela

Full name: Ximena María Magdalena de Rubalcaba y Saavedra

Meaning of name: 

Ximena: Basque variant of Simone, meaning “one who has heard”

María Magdalena: Spanish variant of Mary Magdalene, derived of “of Magdala”, a village whose name means “tower” in Old Hebrew

Family: 

Heloisa and Cibela de Rubalcaba: Ximena’s elder sisters, Heloisa by 6 and Cibela by 12 years. In her youth and early adulthood, due to being closer in age she spent more time with Heloisa than with Cibela, to whom she did look up though as a role model as well as Cibela being more introverted like her in contrast to the very extroverted Heloisa. Cibela was mostly absent during her childhood, whereas she and Heloisa spent most of their free time, and tutor-free time together.

Marisol de Rubalcaba (deceased): Her mother and the former Marquesa de Rubalcaba. Having immense favouritism for her firstborn, Marisol was rather distant towards her younger daughters but would try to be an affectionate mother towards them.

Valentín Saavedra (deceased): Ximena’s late father and a sea-faring merchant prince from the higher Cartagense bourgeoisie. Like his wife, Valentín favored his eldest daughter yet tried to encourage all of his daughters’ ambitions and work. Ximena is said to be similar to him in terms of personality.

Esmerelda de Rubalcaba: The matriarch in-all-but-name of the Rubalcaba family, Marisol’s older sister and Ximena’s aunt. Esmerelda is arguably the most central maternal figure in her life, even more than her own mother, and her primary tutor. She was the one who recognized Ximena’s affinity for magic and gave her vital support when she entered the Magician’s Guild.

Agustín de Rubalcaba: Esmerelda’s only son and Ximena’s cousin. A diplomat that wasn’t under his mother’s wing unlike his cousins, he is very affectionate towards Ximena and fulfills the role of an older brother for her as well as being her only connection to her family after her exile.

Segismundo: Ximena’s familiar whom she found in the rainforests of Northern Calpacia sometime after her exile as a hatchling and nursed him back to health. Their connection is deep and he is both trusting and protective of her.

Others: Constanza de Rubalcaba (maternal grand-mother, deceased), Cristobal de Rubalcaba (maternal uncle, deceased), Máximo de Otxoa (maternal grand-father, deceased), Jaime Saavedra (paternal uncle), Genoveva Saavedra (paternal aunt), Dulcinea Saavedra (paternal grand-mother, deceased), Leonardo Buendía (paternal grand-father), Catalina Saavedra (paternal grand-aunt), Aníbal Heßling de Cordovero (brother-in-law)

Nicknames: Xime (used by both friends and lovers), Ximenita (used by family, especially since she is the youngest among her generation), Marilena (exclusively used by her mother and her aunt)

Favourite meal: Tamales de pollo

Favourite drink: Cartagense liquor

Favourite flower: White Plumeria

Favourite color: Cerulean

Birthday: 20th of November

Age: 37 during the events of the game

Zodiac: Scorpio

MBTI: INTP

Patron Arcana: Death and the King of Cups

Upright: Death reaps that which has run its course, allowing new life to grow in the space left behind.

Reversed: Death turns his back on his duty, allowing things to fester and rot in his negligence.

Upright: The King of Cups is generous and compassionate, yet never allows his emotions to overwhelm his sense.

Reversed:  The King of Cups manipulates the emotions of others callously, twisting them to fit his own agenda.

Gender: Cis female

Sexuality: Bisexual

Height: 1,65 m // 5′4″

Appearance:

Ximena is of rather slender build. Her skin is medium brown with a warm undertone and she has a round face with a rounded chin. She has a beauty mark underneath the outer corner of her left eye and an upturned nose with a low bridge. Her eyes are a color similar to dark honey and she has full lips. Her eyebrows are thick and dark, groomed but not thinned, and she has bags underneath her eyes. Her black hair is long and curly with the occasional grey hair, especially near her temples. 

She usually wears golden hoop earrings and several golden rings on her fingers. She wears a bit of eyeliner and darkened lipstick.

She gives off the impression of being rather serene and after her exile purposely tries to change the way she spoke and held herself in order to appear less like an aristocrat and more like a commoner.

Visual Inspirations: Tessa Thompson and America Ferrera

Languages spoken: Calpacian, Prakran, Firenti, Karnasso, Galbradan, Hjallen, Nopali, Nevivish, Venterran, Oriolà, Zadithi and the Common Tongue

Magical abilities:

due to the Cartagense Magician’s Guild being rather pragmatic, she is not as versatile in her skills but honed those that she is good at so well that it makes her a master in the area

high intuition and good knowledge of people, to the point that she can feel when someone is lying to her

very perceptive and aware of her surroundings

fire-based offensive magic; used to replace her profound lack of physical combat skills

Love interests:

Out of the Main 6, while I mostly ship her with Lucio (since I am rewriting his route with her as the primary main character) and Asra (her ex), her dynamics with Nadia and Portia could leave the possibility for romance open.

Isidora: An OC of mine who was once very close friends with Xime as well as colleagues on whom she had eventually not unrequited feelings.

In general, like with most of my characters; if they’re compatible sexuality- as well as personality-wise, feel free to ship them with your OCs or MCs! Hit me up with a message and we can discuss the details! 

Backstory: 

Born into the influential aristocratic Rubalcaba family based in Cartagenth, the capital of the Calpacian Empire in the West, Ximena received an extensive education and since she had the most affinity to magic within her family, a vast tutoring in magic while her sisters were put on other carreer tracks. The Rubalcabas have had a presence ever since the founding of Cartagenth thanks to Fairuza, one of the city’s original founders, and then with Xochitl I., who was rumored to be the primary force behind the union of various kingdoms into what became Calpacia. They have centuries long history of being close to Calpacia’s sovereign, the Zaan, and involvement in politics, the military and on very rare occasions the Magician’s Guild of Cartagenth, where Ximena was meant to eventually become Head of the Guild and a vital instrument in the plans her aunt Esmerelda had for her, her sisters and the fate of all of Calpacia.

Mostly due to their riches, privilege and upbringing, the climate in Ximena’s family was a rather toxic one, with a centuries-old legacy hanging over them like a Damocles sword and envy, entitlement, jealously, sabotage and power struggles running rampant among them. Esmerelda’s desire to cement her family’s position and ensure their survival in the cut-throat environment in the Cartagense court as well as wanting to function as the driving force behind the pillars of powers saw her mercilessly using her family and to see them as little more than pawns to be utilized to achieve the desired goal. 

Being maneuvered like a puppet made Ximena resent her family; her sisters for refusing to lean against it or even relishing in it, her parents for tolerating this and her aunt for being a manipulative force of nature. The straw that broke the camel’s back occurred weeks before her coronation as Head of the Guild where a vision came to her during a reading and showed how she would use her magic and that of the Guild to help in fighting a total war against everyone who refused to kneel to Cartagense’s power, resulting in the deaths of countless people - and herself as one of those who were supposed to carry on this blood-stained legacy. The refusal to partake in such future atrocities and the secret reveal of plans by the War Council to actually provoke a conflict and throw the country into total warfare caused Ximena to have her status as noblewoman taken from her and be banished from Cartagenth… or clean up her act, beg for forgiveness and mercy from her family and have the chance to correct her mistakes. That choice presented by her aunt in a final confrontation was refused and so Ximena, once a lady, now a nobody, fled Cartagenth.

Having to pretend to be a commoner was difficult at first but soon became a necessity, as well as having to adopt a different identity to make it beyond the Calpacian borders. Meeting her familiar and having someone in whom to confide absolutely everything was a much needed outlet for her, and some years her only constant companions were Segismundo, for whom she would’ve laid down her life, and the fear of being discovered by Calpacian spies even outside of the empire. She met Asra when contemplating to escape to Hjalle and from there on to the eastern countries beyond Nevivon and continue to live her life in anonymity, but decided to return with him to Vesuvia, a city of which she knew Calpacia fostered no diplomatic relations with. Her relationship with Asra at some point transcended mere friendship but even when that ended, they always remained amicable with each other and arguably the most important person in each other’s lives. The building in which Asra and she eventually opened as their ship was a gift from Agustín who was the only person from her old life Ximena ever contacted through magical and untraceable means. In Vesuvia, she also met magician and professional medium Sayelle bint Zahir from the city state of Bizatena at the Eastern Coast, and another exile from their respective home country, Deirdra Margalit of Calpacia’s neighboring kingdom Oriol.

She died from the Red Plague at the age of 34 while trying help Julian, with whom she had common friends, to find a cure for the illness that had already claimed thousands within the city. The efforts of those close to her did little in preventing her passing, and yet she woke up a year later with no memory of her previous life, her friends and the bond to her familiar being severed beyond repair.

More art:

feat. Heloisa by @missrabbitart​ | full post

feat. Lucio by @cherrygirl666​ | full post including the uncut nsfw version

[ascendantapathy]

Info

Basic

Name: Daylen Walsh Nickname: N/A Alias: N/A Age: 45 Sexuality: Bisexual Alignment: True Neutral  Affiliation: Walsh Family Position: Council Occupation: Political Consultant 

Tropes:  Pragmatic Villainy, Nothing Personal, Challenge Seeker, Evil Virtues, Combat Pragmatist, Xanatos Gambit,

Chaste ◌◌◌◌◌◌●◌◌◌ Lustful Energetic ◌◌◌●◌◌◌◌◌◌ Lazy Forgiving ◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌●◌ Vengeful Generous ◌◌◌◌◌◌◌●◌◌ Selfish Honest ◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌●  Deceitful Just ◌◌◌◌◌◌●◌◌◌ Arbitrary Merciful ◌◌◌◌◌◌◌●◌◌ Cruel Modest ◌◌◌◌◌◌◌●◌◌◌ Proud Pious ◌◌◌◌●◌◌◌◌◌ Worldly Prudent ◌●◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌ Reckless Temperate ◌◌◌◌◌●◌◌◌◌ Indulgent Trusting ◌◌◌◌◌◌◌◌●◌◌ Suspicious Valorous ◌◌◌●◌◌◌◌◌◌ Cowardly

Detailed

Personality: 

Important Info: 

The Innocent Dove- the youngest son of Daylen, 20 and deeply sheltered from the dark life of his father and family. He has an idealized perception of the family, and so far has been spared from the truth.

The Restless Soldier- the elder son of Daylen, 23 and angry at the world. He became a soldier, despite his parents protests, and was dishonorably discharged after several violent attacks against his fellow soldiers. He wants to join the family business but his over protective father has threatened to geld anyone who tries to bring him in.

The Empress- Daylen’s wife. They married young; her parents were wealthy and they were able to manipulate them into giving her power of attorney. They took all their wealth and were eventually able to remove them entirely. 

The Game- from the time he was in his thirties, Daylen has made a bit of sport out of his infidelity. He seduces a man, gets him to fall in love with him and eventually murders him. He calls them his toys, or pets. It’s an open secret in the family that his various affairs will inevitably lead to the young man going missing. His murderous intent is tolerated by the family because Daylen is so useful.

Motus Operandi- Daylen is a serial killer with a rather unusual ‘type’. He targets not racial groups, genders or sexualities but those he believes are simply... attractive. People he believes he can get to fall in love with him. Ultimately the age, gender and ethnicity of his targets are not relevant to him. So long as he or she is sexually attracted to him, they are a viable target.

Bio

Daylen grew up in relative privilege. In a powerful family with great expectations on him, he was under incredible pressure. As a young man that pressure nearly broke him, but in the end he became hardened by it. His own parents encouraged his monstrous future, seeking to make him strong. Tragically, they died when he was still fairly young. Inheriting their modest fortune, Daylen set aside what plans they had for his life and created his own. 

Eventually marrying, he and his wife, his Empress, were a powerful pair. They walked a path of deception and challenges, and only together were they strong enough to succeed. His in-laws did not approve of the union, all too aware of the criminal element of Daylen’s rather large family. He knew his future would only be certain if he claimed power, and so the loving couple set out to claim her parent’s wealth and authority. Through a series of manipulations and calculated risks they were able to gain power of attorney over their fortune. 

With that nest egg they began scheming once more. It took years, but Daylen was able to maneuver himself into a position of respect and power. He gained a place on the Council, and with his network of spies and informants he was able to uncover an investigation against the family. All it took was pulling the right strings. With naught but words and a few well placed vices he was able to unravel the investigation. With that masterful manipulation his value to the family was proven without a shadow of a doubt.

By this point their sons were born, and Daylen realized the terror of what it meant to be a parent. He saw in those squalling little humans his one true weakness. He would do anything to protect them. So he sheltered his children, keeping them safe from all harm and danger. Protecting them from the truth of the family business. He knows he cannot protect them forever, but Daylen would sooner see the world burn than let harm come to his children.

[stonebreakerseries]

Day 5: Beloved + “Unacceptable, try again.”

Another piece for @oc-growth-and-development‘s OC-tober, also incorporating the Day 5 #Fictober20 prompt. This one was, ah... a fair bit harder to merge. But I did my best!

This piece is set about 10 years prior to the events in Stonebreaker, focusing on the aftermath of the War of Chains (I might include it as a flashback or an interlude between parts - I have yet to decide).

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

Series: Stonebreaker (Original Fiction) Character(s): Dassian Varo, Alessia Torvul, Faldoran Crestus, Hemlan.

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

The pale stone walls of the war room seemed too bright that morning. Garish, pristine, uncompromising. Perhaps it was fitting, given the group that currently crowded around the replica map. The undulating landscape of central Peiora was crafted with minute and painstaking detail, spanning from Talvera all the way to the Bleakwood. It used to be the map that encompassed all of the Allied Kingdoms. Now Valcreta, the City of Artifice, stood like a stain at the southwestern corner. A reminder of their failure.

Breathing out, Dassian Varo, War King of Signea, High King of the Allied Kingdoms, found himself staring at that spot. One of the mapmakers had painted the area gold, the colour used to denote Khathi Empire territory. It was recently done; the paint was still tacky, its damp gleam visible in the mid-morning light.

Where had we gone so wrong?

Of course, Dassian knew. He knew when the decree had been passed, though he had been too much of a fool to admit it. The idea of it - freedom for the bondsmen throughout the Allied Kingdoms - had been something he had supported for years. Decades, even, though perhaps he had been less vocal in his youth. Less self-assured. Less powerful. 

Divider’s Own, what he would give, now, for even half the confidence he used to have.

Deep down, Dassian had known it wasn’t truly about freedom. It never had been. But his doubts at the time had simply been outweighed by his belief that, sometimes, intentions didn’t matter. What mattered was the result. It was hard to imagine that any man or woman, when freed from their chains, would care about whether it was done for the ‘right’ reason. All that mattered was that it had happened. Their lives were now their own, to do with as they pleased.

Or, at least, that had been the ideal, sold to them just under two years ago. It had been the start of Felling, when High King Leoric had called a meeting of the rulers. He remembered it vividly - the trees had just started to change, soft leaves turning crisp, red bleeding into green... 

“Your Majesty?”

Stirring, Dassian blinked and tore his gaze from the map. Crowded around the table stood his closest advisors. They were the only people, so soon after ascending to the throne, that he was willing to trust.

To his right stood Faldoran Crestus, his well-cared sword eternally strapped to his side. Dressed in a thick doublet, the courtly attire was barely able to contain his powerful form; an incongruity that only emphasised the man’s obvious discomfort. Recently promoted to Marshal, he was now expected to attend all meetings pertaining to Signea and her defense - a fact that, upon its discovery, had twisted his scarred face into a perpetual frown. They did not always agree on matters, but Faldoran was the only man Dassian could have chosen for such a vital position. The only man he trusted to replace him. 

Next to Faldoran, a wooden writing board resting along her forearm, was Alessia Torvul, the former king’s Cipher. The woman, with pale Talveran skin and copper hair, was a handful of years his senior, and carried each of them with pride. She met Dassian’s gaze without a moment’s hesitation, green eyes calm. Knowing. Encouraging. Most had assumed he would not trust her, given her proximity to King Leoric and his family. They had assumed he would petition other Cipher families for a replacement. 

They had assumed wrong. 

Finally, a short man stood on Dassian’s left, his brown hair thinning, his stomach straining against a dark leather belt. As though sensing Dassian’s thoughts on him, he cleared his throat. “Ah, if you please, your Majesty. With Valcreta being... u-um… well, I how should I put this---”

---“Unacceptable,” Dassian snapped, dark eyes flashing dangerously as they cut across to the man. “Try again.” 

Hemlan stiffened, mouth dropping open in shock. Dassian had expected that response from him. He’d always been spineless. But Alessia’s frown, scalding him with disapproval from halfway across the room, was his cue that he had genuinely misstepped. 

Stop it. You need these people on your side. All of them.

Sighing, Dassian leaned forward, pressing his hands to the lacquered edge of the table. “I apologise, Hemlan. Please, just... say what you mean.” Divider, he was tired. It didn’t seem to matter how much he slept. Not that he slept well, alone in a room large enough to house an entire platoon. “King Leoric may have ruled by platitudes, but I have no patience for them.”

Even as the words left his lips, Dassian winced, wishing he could take them back. There he went again. It was never wise to disparage a fallen monarch; certainly not before his funeral had even taken place. This meeting was a mistake. He should have waited another day. Divider, he was almost too exhausted to even feel ashamed of himself. 

Almost. 

“This has been… a trying campaign, your Majesty. A few improprieties behind closed doors are to be expected.” To his surprise, the timidity in Hemlan’s voice had all but vanished, even after the undeserved reprimand. By the time Dassian looked back at the man, his entire demeanour had already shifted. He stood straighter now, pale gaze regarding the map, the thumb of his right hand hooked into his belt. Bemused, Dassian sent a questioning look to Alessia, who simply shrugged, a faint smile tinging her lips. 

I see. 

He’d always wondered how a man like Hemlan had found his way into a position as coveted as Court Advisor. In truth, he was only even present at Alessia’s insistence. Whenever he had spoken to Hemlan in the past, the man had been a stuttering mess, barely making eye contact, frustrating him with his sweating and apologising and bumbling until…

Dassian froze.

… until he had told Hemlan whatever he wanted to know, just to make him leave.

“If I may,” Hemlan continued, tugging Dassian from his quiet revelation, “it is important that we discuss the potential of a Khathi assault. With Valcreta now a viable waypoint for their army and their knowledge of our weakened forces, the threat is greater now than it has been since the conception of the Allied Kingdoms.”

The Allied Kingdoms. Their formation had been a defensive maneuver, spurred by King Leoric at the beginning of this reign. That had to have been, what… twenty years ago? More?

Where had the time gone?

“Have the armies patrol the western border,” Dassian said. “I trust we still have the numbers for that?”

Faldoran nodded, arms folded, the heavy shelf of his brow almost casting a shadow over his eyes. “We do. But I wouldn’t waste any soldiers down by Tel Shival.” He leaned forward, tapping a gloved finger on the swath of blue directly east of their current location. “The Pale’s still swollen from the thaw up north, so all those feeders running into the marsh will be full to bursting.” He shook his head, straightening. “No - there’s no fear of an army getting through that way. Not at this time of year.”

It was true enough. Even their own army had been forced to swing north, bypassing the Crossroads, adding a full two-turns to their journey. In any other circumstance, ten days would have felt like nothing. But among exhausted soldiers, wounded, hungry, battle-worn…

Alessia shifted her footing. “If I may? It would still be beneficial to build more outposts along the southern outskirts. If nothing else, we will find ourselves better positioned once the weather changes.” She glanced at Faldoran, who just grunted, then returned her attention to Dassian. “If we cannot spare soldiers for the task, I imagine there are a number among the recently liberated seeking paid work.”

“Yes. Good. See it done.” As Dassian replied, he noticed that Alessia was actually transcribing the discussion, her quill scratching away over the parchment with her usual ruthless efficiency. Of course. This is all official, now. 

However, more importantly, Alessia had raised a valid point. In Dassian’s opinion - one he shared with many - the handling of the bondsmen had been one of Leoric’s greatest failings. Of all the kingdoms who had implemented the decree, the High King himself had taken the most indolent approach. He had simply declared the owning and trading of bondsmen a criminal offense, signed a few papers, and considered the matter resolved. Even back then, he had already been fixated on the war with Valcreta - the war he knew was coming. He’d lost sight of his own citizens at the very moment they needed him most.

Of course, many of the former bondsmen were resourceful. Some grouped together, forming their own communities in the kingdom’s outskirts. Some stayed put, joining the more welcoming towns and cities where they had grown up or lived out a good portion of their lives. Some returned to their homelands, seeking families that may or may not still be waiting for them. But others? Others struggled, without property, without work, without support, cut off from their pasts, uncertain of the futures. 

The rest just left Signea entirely, once they realised the extent to which the King had forgotten them. 

To some, High King Leoric was beloved. To others, his shortcomings were simply too great and too many to overlook. Dassian had yet to decide in which camp he intended to raise his own flag.

Closing his eyes, he bowed his head and drew a deep, slow breath. He could feel the concerned gazes of his closed council on him, but chose to ignore them for the moment, collecting himself, gathering his thoughts. After all, Alessia and Faldoran had seen him in far worse states than this - recently, too. 

And Hemlan? 

Well, Hemlan seemed willing and able to adapt to whatever he needed, whenever he needed it. He had yet to decide if that was incredibly useful, or incredibly terrifying.

“Tell me,” Dassian said suddenly, “what are the people saying?”

At first, silence met his question. Alessia shifted, rolling back her shoulders, but seemed hesitant to respond. Even Faldoran somehow managed to look even more uncomfortable, his mouth drawn into a tense line.

That left Hemlan.

“It is… mixed, your Majesty,” the portly man began, clasping his hands behind his back. He kept his blue eyes fixed on the map, as though he somehow knew the last thing Dassian wanted was his scrutiny. “The sudden retreat from Valcreta was a surprise to many. Soldiers, common folk, and nobility alike.”

“Damn right it was,” Faldoran agreed, crossing his arms. “Had my work cut out for me, explaining that one to the soldiers. Reckon I got through to most of the ones that mattered, but…” He shrugged. “There’s always going to be mutterings. Just the way it goes.”

Dassian nodded stiffly. Of course he knew that. But still, somehow, he just wished he could make them see. Make them understand that it had to be done. 

“Some call you a hero,” Hemlan continued, unfazed by the interruption. “Being named War King on the field of battle gained you favour among the more military-minded, as well as a number of noble families. But, as with all things, even the most valuable coin has two sides. Others call you a coward, some even going so far as to raise questions about the legitimacy of your ascension.”

“What?” Dassian stood up straight at that, alarmed. Not at the accusations of cowardice - he had expected those. Prepared for them. But the idea that he had somehow cheated his way to the throne? “There were witnesses present - several, high and low ranking alike. They have all made statements. On what grounds are they questioning it?”

“Unfounded grounds, your Majesty,” Hemlan replied quickly. “I apologise if I caused undue alarm. The accusations are not enough to pose any real threat, nor are they bold enough to outright denounce you...” He paused. Looking up, Hemlan studied Dassian’s face for a moment, gauging something. Then, he sucked in a breath, and added, “... yet. Right now, the war is still fresh, as is the memory of your coronation. It is important we continue to monitor these rumours, but at present, that is all they are.”

A cold feeling settled at the center of his chest. “At present,” Dassian repeated quietly. Divider...

Expression softening, Hemlan simply nodded. “At present, your Majesty.”

“We will be vigilant,” Alessia added, voice firm. “If the talk ever becomes serious enough to threaten your life or the stability of the kingdom, we will convene and act accordingly.” 

Dassian nodded distractedly, then paused, realising something. She had stopped writing, leaving this part of their conversation off the official record. 

So it’s that much of a concern, then.

“Very well,” he said after a moment. “Hemlan, report to me every second turn. I don’t want to find myself blindsided by any of this.” He shifted his gaze to Faldoran. “Marshal Crestus, meet with me this evening. We will discuss the fortification of the border in more detail then. For now, you are both dismissed.”

The two men nodded and took their leave, Faldoran snapping a sharp salute, Hemlan bowing low. That left him and Alessia, standing at opposite sides of the large map. Slowly, calmly, she went about organising her affairs, capping the small vial of ink, dabbing the tip of her quill against a piece of sponge inlaid in her writing board. 

Dassian just watched her, silent, and waited for the inevitable.

“You can’t solve every problem in the kingdom on your first day, Dassian.” She glanced up, green eyes seeming to pierce right through him. They always did. “It will take many Kings - High, War, whatever you like - to fix the mistakes of the past twenty years. Even then, new ones will only rise to take their place.”

“Then what would you have me do?” he demanded. She had stood by him when so many had refused; believed him on the battlefield when his own men had started to doubt. Practically committed treason with him. He owed her more than he dared admit, but sometimes she drove him halfway mad. “Should I do nothing? Delegate my duties to others, like Leoric did? I can’t do that, Alessia. I’m not that kind of man.”

As he expected - as he feared - the Cipher just sighed. She didn’t seem disappointed. Not even angry or bitter. In fact, she almost seemed to have been expecting his exact response. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d written it down before he’d even said it. “Then it is something you will just have to learn, Dassian, whether you want to or not. That, and many other things.” She shook her head and stepped away from the map, angling towards the door. “Despite the way it is portrayed in the history books, ruling a kingdom is never done alone. The crown is a symbol. It is a kind of power, yes, but it is not absolute. You need to surround yourself with people. The right people.”

She began to walk out, shoes whispering over the floor tiles. “I’m not alone,” Dassian said as she passed by him, voice low, gaze averted. “I have you, don’t I? And Faldoran. Hemlan.”

Alessia paused. Just for a breath. “You do,” she said. “But we are not enough.”

With that, she bowed and left, her floor-length dress shifting gently with each step. Soon, the War King found himself alone once more, the light streaming in through the high windows suddenly too bright. Too damning, laying bare all of his flaws. There were certainly enough of them.

Rest, he thought, leaning his weight against the table, not quite trusting his legs to hold him. I just need to rest. 

Then I can worry about fixing everything else in this damn kingdom.

[sunbentsky-archived]

𝙉𝙄𝙆𝘼: 𝙑𝙀𝙍𝙎𝙀𝙎

𝘿𝙍𝘼𝙂𝙊𝙉 𝘼𝙂𝙀 

Nika was born in Orzammar, part of House Kader of the warrior caste. Her mother was a traditionalist through and through, loyal to their House and the King. Her father, however, wanted more. He was an idealist who believed Orzammar could do much better-- their family could do much better-- and he instilled this ambition in his daughter as well. Nika joined the army at an early age, and worked her way up from a mere soldier to Orzammar's army general, impressing even the King with her feats of valor and dutifulness. Young, brilliant, ambitious, addicted to power, she maneuvered her way from the King's war table to his bed-chamber, and would soon become Endrin Aeducan's consort and give birth to a son-- Bhelen. Yet it was not enough, it would never be enough for Nika, and a new plan was set into motion: dethroning Endrin and taking his place. Nika's short-term plan regarding the coup was to remove the King from the position of Commander-in-Chief and create a War Council working independently of the Assembly. Long term plans included abolishing the caste system, opening Orzammar’s gates to the surface, and reclaiming and rebuilding as much as possible of the lost thaigs. All of this would remain only an attempt, however. Bhelen was still a baby when she was exiled after the botched attempt at taking King Endrin's life and assuming control. Nika Kader’s name was all but struck from the record. The people of Orzammar still remember her, but her legacy– all the soldiers she’d personally trained, the successful incursions on darkspawn she’d led, the sections of the Deep Roads she’d secured– has been reduced to vague mentions of a treacherous wife and mother and a cautionary tale for the nobles to better scrutinize their consorts. She survived in the Deep Roads on her own long enough to reach a Legion of the Dead outpost and then fought by their side for a couple of years before joining a contingent of Orlesian Grey Wardens and leaving for the surface. Here, she was reborn, eventually rising in rank to Warden-Lieutenant, and seeking to return to Orzammar and finish what she started.

𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙒𝙄𝙏𝘾𝙃𝙀𝙍

Nika was born to Yarina and Dzhanniy of Clan Kader, a small and modest family line but comprised of valorous warriors, loyal to Mahakam to a fault. She trained as a warrior from an early age and joined the Mahakam Volunteer Army, not shying away from any battle, no matter how unlikely the odds of victory. She rose through the ranks quickly, making a name for herself after becoming a veteran of Mayena and Brenna. Once she returned to Mahakam, she advanced further, both socially and politically, by becoming Brouver Hoog’s consort. Having a son together, Bhelen, sealed Nika’s joining of Clan Hoog and her position of relative authority over the Mahakam army.

Still, it was not good enough for Nika, as the Elder-in-Chief was the absolute ruling power, and whenever she and Brouver had a disagreement, Nika would have to accept his decisions. Furthermore, she believed that Mahakam’s status as a vassal state of Temeria-- even if only in name-- was an insult to all its inhabitants, and they would not see true independence and prosperity unless they made a move against the Northern Kingdoms, especially Temeria. Though this view was not without supporters, the majority of the Clan Council, including the Elder, were firmly in opposition.

When the Second Northern war ended and things began to settle across the Continent, Nika, backed up by a division of loyalists from the Volunteer Army, attempted a coup against Brouver Hoog, seeking to claim the role of Elder-in-Chief for herself. Though exceedingly violent and difficult to put down, the coup failed in the end. Nika and her loyalists were given swift and decisive trials, some of them sentenced to death, others imprisoned or exiled, depending on their involvement. Nika herself was exiled from Mahakam, her name struck from the records and she would only be remembered as The Usurper Mother. Clan Kader faded into obscurity and eventually died out, branded renegades and traitors due to Nika’s actions. 

Nowadays, Nika roams the Continent together with a band of warriors who have either followed her into exile from Mahakam or joined her along the way, enthralled by her ideals of war and sovereignty. Most of them are dwarves, though they occasionally pick up other people too, for the most part temporarily. Nika herself is still aware of what is happening within the borders of Mahakam and every little political gossip and intrigue as she has several spies and contacts who provide her with information. She’s still planning to strike back against Brouver Hoog and all those who support him, working as a bounty hunter and mercenary, and biding her time.

𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙎 𝙀𝙁𝙁𝙀𝘾𝙏 𝙏𝙍𝙄𝙇𝙊𝙂𝙔

Kader Nika is a warlord who fought in the Krogan Rebellions and lived to tell the tale. Even among the krogan, she is known for her ruthlessness and iron will, and has many supporters as she’s always proven to put her people’s interests first and protect them fiercely. Dissatisfied with the leadership of Clan Kader, Nika invoked the Rite of Authority and swiftly rose victorious over the previous leader. As a warlord, she went on leading her people to battle against other Clans, conquering and assimilating them and thus promoting the growth of Clan Kader on Tuchanka and beyond. Eventually, she forged an allegiance with Clan Urdnot and gave birth to a healthy child, Urdnot Wreav, which only propels her importance in krogan society.

Nika’s ambition, however, was to rule as Overlord on Tuchanka and lead the krogan to war against the galaxy once more, starting with the Council. This pushed her and her warriors to commit acts of violence against their own people, procuring large amounts of weapons of mass destruction, hiring off-world mercenaries and criminal gangs, pillaging everything in their path to a unified  Tuchanka under Nika’s rule. The climax of this was when a botched attempt at turning against Clan Urdnot and its leaders ended with the death of several mothers and their children. Perhaps ironically, the Clans on Tuchanka did unite for once due to Nika’s actions, but not to support her-- instead, they unanimously decided that she and Clan Kader went too far and would be exiled from their homeworld, branded renegades, and forbidden from ever re-entering krogan society. 

Thus, Nika, accompanied by a dozen or so members of the now-dissolved Clan Kader, left Tuchanka and are roaming the fringes of the galaxy in search of supporters and ultimately revenge.

𝙈𝘼𝙎𝙎 𝙀𝙁𝙁𝙀𝘾𝙏: 𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙍𝙊𝙈𝙀𝘿𝘼

In this iteration, Nika and most of Clan Kader signed up for the Andromeda Initiative. Nika herself played a major role in the Nexus uprising. She wasn’t part of the krogan work crews who were asked to provide military support-- she was one of the rebels, openly opposing the Nexus leadership and encouraging others to follow her against them. After the rebellion was quelled and those involved exiled, Nika and her associates ended up on Elaaden. However, they refused to join New Tuchanka or defer to Nakmor Morda‘s leadership. Instead, they chose to settle somewhere else on Elaaden, spending their days recruiting new members and leading incursions against Nexus personnel and propriety. 

[may8344]

The Journey of a Forgotten Soldier (Levi x OC)

Finally, I’ll now be caught up with this fanfiction on Tumblr, Wattpad, and AO3. Updates are still going (try) to be on Thursday at 6pm CT. 

Relationships:

Alana Frey (OC)Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)/Original Female Character(s)Levi Ackerman/Alana FreyFurlan Church/Original Character(s)Furlan Church/Alana Frey

Characters:

Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)Furlan ChurchIsabel MagnoliaAlana Frey (OC) - CharacterErwin SmithHange ZoëPetra RalGunther SchultzEld JinnOluo BozadoKeith ShadisSpecial Operations Squad | Squad Levi

Additional Tags:

Graphic Description of CorpsesBlood and InjuryViolenceMurder

Summary:

Alana Frey, a girl born in the Underground City, longed to see the true sunlight every morning that she would wake up. Alongside her comrades: Furlan Church, Isabel Magnolia, and Levi, Alana’s life as a thug continued with no way around it; until the sudden day she and her companions were offered the deal of a lifetime.

“Once you complete this job, not only will you be generously compensated for your work,

but you will also earn the right to live above ground.”

Word Count: 2.2k

CHAPTER 5: The Survey Corps 

A couple of weeks prior to the quartet’s capturing, an important meeting had taken place. Erwin Smith was accompanied by the Commander of the Survey Corps, Keith Shadies, and the Supreme Commander of the three military branches, Darius Zackly, who sat at his desk.

“I cannot accept that!” Kieth yelled in disagreement at Zackly. However, he paused, discouraged by the look he earned from the Supreme Commander. “Sir, have you looked at the proposal I sent you? If it’s put into practice, we should be able to drastically reduce the number of Survey Corps deaths outside the Walls.”

In a low, grumbling voice, Zackly lightly touched the packet of papers that sat on the wooden desk in front of him. The papers had contained a whole new proposition for the regiment. “Commander… Keith Shadis. Of course I’ve reviewed your request.” His gaze made its way to the younger blond who stood further back. “This ‘long distance enemy scouting formation.’ I hear you developed it, Erwin.” 

“Yes sir.”

“It’s ingenious. I mean that sincerely.” He put a hand to his chin in thought, his finger’s ruffling his gray beard. “On previous expeditions, the corps focused entirely on how to defeat the Titans it encountered. But your proposal puts greater emphasis on how to reduce the number of Titan encounters. This totally original thinking is most admirable.”

“I am honored that you would say so, sir.”

Humanity lived inside of three fifty meter tall, concentric, stone walls: Wall Maria, Wall Rose, and Wall Sina. On the outside of their protection, monsters known as Titan’s roamed around, eating any human in sight. They ranged from three to fifteen meters tall and mostly resemble humans but with... deformities. Most walk on two feet, and some on all fours.

Three Regiments were created in order to keep humanity alive. The Garrison Regiment is the group that maintains and patrols the Walls. If there were to be any emergency, they would help evacuate the citizens to a safer area. Their badge bore two red roses. 

The second is the Military Police Regiment. They keep order within the Walls and dedicate themselves to protect the King or Queen. Only the top ten training cadets get the option to join them. Despite having the best recruits, they are often known as corrupt and incompentent due to them staying deep within the Walls and far from the dangerous Titans.

Finally, there is the Scouting Regiment. This division is tasked with reclaiming the treacherous land beyond their outer wall, Wall Maria. Despite being very well trained, they suffer many losses and poor results in their reclamation. More often than not, they are under the constant threat of being disbanded by the government. 

“If we use conventional formations together with this new formation… we should be able to embark on even further-ranging expeditions with fewer casualties.”

The brown haired Commander spoke once more, “General. If you understand it, then why…”

“I can’t get approval of the council.” He replied bluntly. “For a long time, many members have opposed continuing the expeditions beyond the Walls. In the past, I’ve managed to persuade them to provide funding. But now, even the public doesn’t particularly believe in sending you beyond the Walls.”

“Of course. We know that.”

“Now I have Councilman Lovof demanding the outright dissolution of the Corps. He has great influence even in the house of peers, and has a lot of cronies who sympathize with him.”

Commander Shadis began to raise his voice. “But, sir! If we stop here, all of our sacrifices up till now will be in vain! If we use Erwin’s formation, we’re sure to-”

“Keith. Please understand.”

Erwin spoke out, his voice calm and collected, “Have they already decided to suspend our activities?”

Zackly sighed as he stood from his chair. Peering outside of the window, he responded quietly. “The council won’t vote on it for another five days, but… there’s probably no way to stop it.”

“Understood, sir.”

Commander Shadis and Erwin retreated from Zackly’s office and into the horse-drawn carriage awaiting them outside. The men sat across from each other on the nicely cushioned seats. Light clomping from horses could be heard from the outside as they began moving towards their next destination.

After a bit of silence, Erwin spoke up, “It was just as you suspected, Commander.”

“...Yes. So the leader of the dissolution faction really is Nicholas Lovof...”

“According to the information I’ve gathered, Lovof has connections to the Lang Company which is delivering goods to the Military Police Brigade. He must be hoping to redirect the funds that will be freed up by suspending our expeditions.”

“Is your information reliable?” Commander Shadis questioned, shocked by the details.

“Lovof sent someone to infiltrate the Survey Corps and report on it from the inside. That spy is our source. I believe the information is highly credible.”

“And if that’s true, what do we do about it? Do we appeal to the Commander in Chief? I think that, to some extent, General Zackly is already aware of it.”

“It’s likely that there are circumstances preventing him from going public.”

Their driver slowed the horses to a stop as he hopped off of his seat and made his way to the door of the vehicle. Disrupting the two soldiers’ conversation, he opened the door and notified them that they had reached their destination. “We’ve arrived, sirs.”

Commander Shadis gave him a nod, but sighed at Erwin. “I see. I’m useless with these political intrigues.” He began to step out of the carriage, but stopped as the blond called out to him.

“Sir, would you leave this matter to me?”

“What’ll you do?” Commander Shadis turned his head over his shoulder, intrigued by the sudden request.

“I have a few ideas.”

“Ideas?” Shadis continued to walk out of the carriage.

“Even if you did have contacts in the nobility, they’re not the type to be convinced by words alone.”

“You can’t mean… Lovof himself?”

“Sir. Please don’t ask me any more than that. All of these decisions must be mine alone.”

“Erwin… you’re planning to use some shady method to force Lovof to change his position, aren’t you? Even if it is for the sake of the expeditions beyond the Walls, for a young man like you to…,” He paused, worried thoughts filling his mind for his subordinate, “The palace is a bed of vipers. Do you have a way to get out in one piece?”

“Sir.” Erwin stood up, standing in the doorway of the carriage. One of his hands held onto the side and his foot rested on the small running board. His face was stern and determined. “When I entered the Survey Corps and fought the Titans face-to-face, I learned exactly how perilous humanity’s situation really is. Wealth, authority, lofty ideals. If the Titans make it inside of the Walls, all of them will disappear in an instant.” His voice suddenly rose, “And that is why… no matter what four means we must use, we can never abandon our efforts to take this world back from the Titans. Come what may!”

The commander stared at Erwin in shock and his thoughts were scattered. It took him a moment to decide what would be the best course of action. “...very well. I will leave it all to you. No matter what, we must hold onto our hope for the future.”

“Yes, sir. And at the council meeting five days from now, we will lose the first arrow in that fight.”

Days later, both Keith Shadies and Erwin Smith were called to Darius Zackly’s office once again. The older Supreme Commander readjusted his round glasses as his eyes focused on Shadis. “It passed. I never would have imagined that Councilman Lovof would change his mind. Keith, do you have any idea why he did?”

“No, sir, not personally.”

Zackly eyed him with suspicion before turning towards Erwin. “I see. There are still many voices calling for dissolution. This time, you got the go-ahead, but I can’t guarantee there will be a next time. You’ll have to produce significant results this term if you want to change the situation.”

“Yes, sir! We’ll do our utmost!” Both Scouts declared.

“General,” Erwin added, “what about the matter we asked about the other day?”

“Hm? Oh. You mean the plan for the underground operation? I passed it along to the Military Police.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“But, Erwin, no matter how good they may be with Omni-Directional Maneuvering Gear, are you sure street thugs will be of any use outside the Walls?”

“Sir, I happened to see them with my own eyes recently. I believe their skill cannot be overestimated. The man who seems to be their leader, in particular, is on a level beyond even that of even a Survey Corps veteran.”

“Is that so? Remarkable.”

“I intend to make use of anyone who has even the smallest potential during this expedition. But first while I’m close by, I plan to make contact.”

[~]

“This is humiliating, plain and simple!” A voice boomed as his fist slammed against a table.

Deep within the capital city of Mitras, securely within Wall Sina, an important meeting was held. Five figures sat at the wooden table inside an older, rundown building shaped like a castle. Each person wore a military uniform with the Survey Corps' badge attached to both shoulders and the front left pocket of their brown jacket. Both Erwin Smith and Keith Shadies were in attendance.

The angered Captain continued his ranting as he turned to Commander Shadis. “Are you honestly telling us to accept criminals into our fold when we’ve always held dutifulness in the highest regard!? The morale of the men will plummet if we allow those bottom feeders to join the ranks!”

“I agree with Flagon,” another admitted. “And to suggest we take these criminals with us on the next reconnaissance mission…”

“I understand your concerns. But I can personally vouch for their ODM Gear skills,” Erwin said, staying calm and collected as always.

Their Commander was the one who had the final decision on the matter. He was a man in his later years, amber eyes sunken in, with wrinkles and a receding hairline. He was positioned at the end of the table with his arms strongly crossed. “The new formation that Erwin has been working on is ground-breaking. It takes the emphasis away from how best to kill Titans, and places it firmly on how best to avoid them. I believe it’ll greatly reduce the number of casualties we sustain.”

Continuing his argument, Erwin spoke up, “This formation is likely to become accepted as the norm for our forces.”

“What those cretins lack are discipline and manners. It shouldn’t take too long to drill it into their skulls. They seem to have brains in their heads. Right, Erwin?”

“Correct.”

Coming to a conclusion, Commander Shadis stood from his chair. “Meeting adjourned.”

[~]

“Attention!”

The clattering of boots rang through the air in response. About fifty military soldiers were each lined up in an orderly fashion of rows awaiting commands. 

Commander Shadis’ deep, authoritative voice rose as he continued. “Starting today, these four will be fighting alongside all of you! Introduce yourselves!”

Isabel, Levi, Furlan, and Alana each were dressed in a military uniform as they stood in front of the soldiers on a pedestal type area. However, Levi wore a white cravat around his neck.

“Name’s Levi.” Levi had his arms crossed and spoke with complete indifference. He wanted absolutely nothing to do being here, and he wasn’t afraid to show it. This act caught the eyes of almost every soldier and they stared in disbelief at his disrespect.

“Levi, the first thing you need to learn is some goddamn discipline.” Shadis responded in annoyance. “Next!”

Isabel proudly stepped up, head held high. With a solid voice and her thumb pointing towards her, she spoke, “I’m Isabel Magnolia! Nice to meet ya!”

“My name is Furlan Church.” Furlan introduced himself with a saluted fist on his chest, palm facing down. His eager smile lined his face, and then he turned to Alana who was beside him. 

Unlike her friends, Alana lowered her chin as she cowered away and her left hand gripped onto the charm on her necklace. Strangely enough, the girl was afraid of the crowd. With a soft, welcoming nudge from the blond, she mumbled. “Alana… Frey.”

“Speak up, soldier!”

She raised her voice and repeated herself. “I’m Alana Frey!”

“Flagon, these three will be assigned to your squad. Look after them.”

“M-My squad, sir?” Flagon, the dirty blond haired captain, looked up to his superior in shock. Just earlier that day, he had been arguing the idea of having them here in the first place.

“Any objections?

“N-No… But shouldn’t Erwin…”

Shadis cut him off immediately. “Erwin is tasked with overseeing all the soldiers. The new recruits will be your responsibility. Is that understood?”

Flagon quickly saluted his commander; right fist on his chest, palm upwards, and the other behind his back. It was the sign of ‘devoting your hearts’. “Yes, sir! Understood!” Even with his words, it was clear that he was uneasy about all of this. 

Especially under Levi’s glare.

---

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : Part 46 of 83 : World of Sea

Return to the Master Story Index

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SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

Part 46 of 83

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2020

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Copyright fair use rules for Tumblr users

Users   of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may   reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information   remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in   my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical   compositions.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

///////////////////////

New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Chapter 16: Grandalor: The Meeting

The Grandalor loitered in the Fauline’s Spring waters but the ship was not idle.  In trial after trial of the new tactics from Sula’s manual, one helmsman stood out repeatedly.

Darkistry proved that she had an innate grasp of war maneuvers and the rare ability to translate a written page into devastating action.

Barad and Tanlin were watching another exercise.  This time, Darkistry had requested that Master Selked watch as well.  The drummer was rattling ‘jib to starboard’ and sailors forward heaved lines to pull the jibs across in a maneuver usually reserved for an emergency turn. The helm went hard down and all the main and top sails slammed and boomed as they filled with wind.  The Grandalor charged straight down the wind at the space between the two target skiffs.  The tocsin beat ‘slack all sail’ followed by ‘brace for shipwreck’ and moments later, the ship blasted through the center of the target space.  

The helm was put over again and the tocsin called for the resetting of the sails.  The Grandalor broke out on a reach across the wind and began to swing upwind, tacking into position for another attack run.

They could overhear Darkistry speaking to Master Selked, “We have plenty of power in the steering tackle to handle a larger rudder, even in a storm.  If we can add more area to the rudder, we should turn quicker.  That could be important in either a storm or a battle.”

Master Selked considered for a moment.  “You are probably right.  I’ll run the calculations to be sure, then I will survey the supplies and see what can be done.  You will have to steer by sail setting alone while the change is being made.”  He wandered in the direction of his boat-shop, muttering, “I wish Kurti hadn’t died.  She was our best repair diver.”

“T’ey’ve used nearly all o’ our supplies o’ glue an’ Strong Skin, m’ ‘Eart,” Tanlin observed to Barad.  “T’ey act as t’ough we’re really are goin’ t’ — — crush another ship on purpose.  T’ey’ve reinforced bot’ bow an’ bowsprit an’ made beams t’ spread t’e shock o’ on impact t’rough t’e ship. T’e divers say t’at t’ere’s not’in’ left t’ scrape clean.  Now t’ey’re waxin’ t’e ‘ull like a racing shell for t’e Gat’ering races.”  She seemed distressed by the whole notion.

The truth of the matter was, the preparations bothered Barad, too.  “I OKed the modifications, Tanlin, my love.  I hope that we never need them.  In the meantime, they keep the crew busy and do no harm.  Did you know that the ship’s Craft Masters came to me yesterday?  They looked at Strategy and Tactics, too.  They’ve put their heads together and come up with a war catapult design.”

“W’at’d ye tell t’em?  Oi’d nae idea we cud mount such a project,” Tanlin commented in a worried tone.

Barad looked into his wife’s troubled gray eyes and said, “I told them to go ahead, if they could find the resources.  What do you think we should do?”

She looked down and shuddered.  Sadly, she replied, “Oi t’ink ye did t’e right t’ing, Luve.  But we must dismantle t’e device as soon as tis nae more o’ need.”

Barad took a relieved breath and replied, “That is just what I told them. By the time that the Fauline gets here, it should be finished.  It will be put between the fore and main masts, just aft of the cargo hatch.”

Glad to change the subject, Tanlin asked, “‘Ow come Darkistry’s so good at Battle Commanding?  Oi grant t’at she’s a fine steersman but t’is’s more like genius.”

Barad looked out at the horizon for a moment, considering how to answer. “Darkistry told me that part of her secret is pretending that her target is the Grinna.”  He shuddered.  “I would not want to be on that ship and downwind of us, with Darkistry at our helm.”  

“W’at did t’ey do t’ ‘er, Luve?” Tanlin asked.  “Oi couldnae believe w’at Oi found oot at t’e Gat’ering.  T’e ’ule Council record reads ‘trial aboard t’e Grinna’.  T’e Council’s ane copies o’ t’e Grinna’s log make a lie o’ t’at.”

Barad replied, bitterly angry, “I know.  I have official true copies  of the fleet records and the Grinna’s logs and documents dealing with the whole sorry mess.  Because of my reputation, I have never been able to get the matter reopened.

“They threw her off.  She would have drowned at Gathering’s end if I had not taken her in.  Violation of the Marriage Laws by seduction was the charge.  She nearly died and not from drowning.  It was weeks before she was off the invalid list.  Doctor Corin says it was rape and assault covered up by false accusation.  I believe him.”

Tanlin laid a calming hand on Barad’s arm.  “Oi did do ane t’ing before we left, Luve.  Donnae tell ‘er yet, but Oi got Sarfin t’ check.  ‘E said ‘e’d look into ‘t.”

Barad calmed at once and smiled admiringly at his wife.  “Tanlin, you’re a wonder.  If Sarfin said he’ll look into it, he will.  You’ve managed more in less than one Gathering than I have been able to do in all the Gatherings since I picked her up.”

Tanlin grinned at a sudden thought.  “Ye did know t’at t’e Fauline’s Ca’tain Skua’s t’e nephew o’ t’e Grinna’s old Ca’tain? ‘T could be an interestin’ meetin’.”

A day later, the boat-shop’s roof hatch was opened and the portable crane pulled a large fabricated rudder section up onto deck.  It dropped a line back into the shop and brought out a large bucket of glue for underwater repairs and strips of both Strong Skin and heavy sail canvas.

At Master Selked’s direction, the Grandalor headed into the wind and came dead in the water.  Four divers went over the side and swam to the stern.  A refuge boat was already in the water to give the divers safety in an emergency, like a Strong Skin showing up.  The crane lowered the new rudder section down and the divers attached floats so that it could not be lost.

In other boats, men were soaking Strong Skin strips in glue.  After much fiddling, the new rudder section was properly lined up with the old rudder and the gluing began.

First, the divers filled the joint between the parts with a stiff putty-like form of glue, then several strong rigid parts were bridged between the old rudder and the new portion to make sure that everything stayed lined up.  Overlapping strips of Strong Skin were glued over the joint and finally glue soaked canvass was used to smooth and fair in the modification.  It took all afternoon to get it done.

Master Selked briefed all of the helmsmen on the new rudder and how to care for it while waiting for the work to be finished.  Through the night, until the glue was set, the Grandalor maintained her courses by the difficult method of sail handling alone.  By morning, the new rudder was ready to test.

All of the helmsmen and helmswomen were on deck to see the effect of the changes to the rudder.  Macoul had the watch, so the first test fell to him.  He hauled carefully on the tackle for a starboard turn to put the ship head into the wind.

Kreul turned to Darkistry, “Did you see that!  I’ve never seen the ship so responsive.”

Darkistry grinned and said, “I have to try this for myself.  There looks to be a sweet spot that could really be something in a tight turn.”

“The ship certainly does turn faster but what do you mean by a sweet spot?”

“I’ll show you when it’s my try.  I’ll bet that we can swap ends in a two lengths or less.”

“No! You’re serious!”

As it turned out, she was.  Dropping floats at the start of her turn showed that Darkistry could reverse the Grandalor’s course in just under two lengths.  Even though the breeze was only moderate, her sail management and rudder tackle work had purling foam almost over the starboard rail as they came about.

A few days later the boat-shop hatch was removed again.  The large pieces that were lifted to the deck looked like nothing ever seen in the Naral fleet before.  The deck crew were commenting in awe and puzzlement as they worked the crane to pull the pieces to the deck.

“I’ve never seen such a windlass as that.  It pulls with that heavy block and tackle rig.  That thing must haul tons.”

“Stop pointing and help with this block line.  At least we know what that thing is.  What I’d like to know is, what’s that big open-centered ‘H’ thing with the holes in the legs of the ‘H’?”

“I don’t know.  Swing it gently, that brute’s heavy!  Spot it careful.  Good.  Ready the next lift!”

“I recognize that part.  It’s like a gimbal mount for a hunting catapult but its way too big and taller than a catapult mount should be.”

The other Masters had journeymen and apprentices bringing up loads of items ranging from heavy cable parts to a massive sling with heavy net reinforcing.

By the end of the afternoon, the first war catapult ever built in Naral fleet waters stood on the fore deck of the Grandalor.  In the light of the setting sun, it cast a sinister shadow the length of the ship.

TO BE CONTINUED

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[cinlat]

Old Favors

Word count: 2310 Characters: Trev Brawlin & Kadu Jadon Story: Jedi Sitters

So, I’ve been editing some of mine and @kunoichi-ume AU story and I ran across this one of Big Brother Trev hitting his old friend Kadu up for a favor that will change all of their lives forever. More about young Trev and Jurr can be found under the Space Punks tag.

_______________

“I’m going to the fucking void.” Padawan and visitors dodged out of Trev’s way as he strode with purpose through Tython’s Jedi temple. He hadn’t seen Kadu Jadon in almost ten years. The Cathar had been busy during that time, halting wars, brokering peace agreements, mounting an army… And rescuing one Jedi too drunk on his own power to see the danger right in front of him.

Though Trev didn’t remember much about the circumstances that freed him from the Emperor’s grasp, he’d been given a list of names of who to be grateful to. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to see his childhood friend at the top of volunteers. They said that Kadu had taken part in the healing process, but had been called away before Trev regained consciousness.

That was two years back, and Trev was ashamed of how the time had slipped away. He’d always planned to contact Kadu, to reconnect, but it had never happened. Now, Trev had arrived to broker a favor that might trap his old friend in a position that had no escape.

Am I trading one person’s happiness for another? The question popped into Trev’s mind, startling him into missing the next step. Kadu had a good thing going on Tython. He was a teacher, a medical specialist, just like he’d always wanted. Hell, the Cathar even had a seat on the Jedi council. Now, Trev was going to ask the Cathar to give it all up so that his little sister could have a shot at a fulfilling life.

It had taken nearly a year of careful maneuvering between Trev and the current Havoc leaders to convince both the Republic and the Jedi Council that Jurr’s unique position could provide important intelligence into how the mind worked. Of course, all the leaders saw was the chance to use that information to gain an upper hand in the war. Trev just wanted Jurr to feel her worth. If no one told her this was an experiment, she’d never know. She could be happy.

All too soon, the designated door came into view. It looked like every other in the hallway, with gilded arches and decorations that were meant to project subtle class. Kadu was supposed to be in his quarters, preparing for his time in the medical ward. Trev had considered finding him there, just to ease some of the tension of seeing an old friend after so long. But, the topic of their conversation was classified. This would be worth it.

Taking a deep breath, Trev rapped his knuckles on the door. It snapped open before his hand fully descended to show the startled expression of a man who was once like a brother to Trev. Kadu’s face broke into a wide grin that exposed a wealth of sharp teeth a moment before the Cathar snatched Trev into a tight hug.

Trev grunted, then nearly stumbled back when Kadu held him at arm’s length. “Trev Brawlin.” Kadu gave Trev’s shoulders a rough shake while he looked him over. “It’s great to see you, old friend. You seem to have recovered well.”

“Yeah.” Trev rubbed the back of his neck and pulled free of Kadu’s grasp. “I hear a lot of that is down to you. Thanks, I mean.”

Kadu waved a dismissive hand as he stepped into the room, offering space for Trev to follow. The Cathar wore the standard brown robes of the teaching class. The slacks were tailors but loose, with a plain, tan undershirt that displayed a lot more muscle than he’d had the last time Trev had seen him.

“Damn,” Trev laughed as he stepped into the room and palmed the door shut. “You grew up.” Kadu had been tall and lanky. Now, he sported broad shoulders that the baggy over robes that covered the shirt wouldn’t be able to hide. He’d grown at least five inches since then too. Trev wasn’t used to feeling small.

Kadu laughed, grabbing one of the folding chairs for Trev. There was a small bed against the far wall, tucked under a window just like when they’d been kids. Kadu had always preferred being closer to the outdoors. Apart from that, only a simple desk and standalone rack stood in the spartan apartment. Trev shivered and thought back to the lavish decorations in he and Kira’s apartment. He wouldn’t go back to this kind of living for anything.

“So,” Trev began, turning back to face his friend. “What does a Barsen’thor get up to these days?”

Kadu grimaced. “Please, don’t use that title. It’s been nothing but trouble.” Trev felt his eyebrows raise at the unexpected outburst. Clearing his throat, Kadu continued. “Forgive me, you didn’t come here for my complaining. What can I do for you?”

“What makes you think I’m here for anything other than to visit an old friend?” Trev asked, then laughed at Kadu’s answering smirk. Somehow, the Cathar managed to make it a non-threatening expression, which is why Trev had come to him. “Okay, fine, I need your help.”

Folding his arms, Kadu nodded. “What have you gotten yourself into now?”

Kadu had always been the responsible friend who could be counted on to get Trev out of a jam. “Not me, this time.” That topic sucked the mirth out of the room. “Do you remember my sister?”

“Jurr?” Kadu asked with a nod. Trev had spoken of the spunky girl over the years, entertaining Kadu with her more outlandish antics. “Is she alright?”

“She is.” Trev looked around the apartment, searching for some way to take the awkwardness out of what he needed to say. “Look, I’m shit at this, so just going to jump in. Jurr has been offered the promotion of her life, command of a SpecForce squad. However, with her handicap, she needs a guardian who can handle her case.”

Kadu’s brows drew together. “I’m not sure how I can help, I not on the Council anymore. Perhaps I could ask around for a specialist to — ”

“No,” Trev interrupted, then stopped when Kadu’s words sank in. “What do you mean you’re not on the council anymore?”

Kadu looked out the window and blew out a breath. “I gave up my seat after that debacle with…” He trailed off, gesturing at Trev. Nothing else needed to be said. His time with the Emperor had left a scar on the soul of everyone who had been involved. Rumor had it that several of the Masters hadn’t approved of the way the situation had been handled, but Trev hadn’t heard of any of the council members stepping down.

When it became clear that Kadu wouldn’t elaborate further, Trev pushed forward. “I need someone I can trust, not a random stranger. Jurr’s a special case. Stubborn, loud, and angry when she forgets.” Memories from the past threatened to overwhelm him, of all the times Jurr had lashed out in fear or went along with a plan she knew nothing about because someone in authority told her to. “She’ll be at a distinct disadvantage, surrounded by people who could hurt her.”

“I see.” Kadu stroked his chin, the wheels turning while Trev waited in impatient silence. “You want me to be this, minder, for her?”

Trev let out a long breath, grateful that he wouldn’t have to go into more detail. He’d come up with a list of ways to convince the Cathar to take the job, but hoped that none of them would be required. “Yeah. I know you won’t abuse her, and with your medical training…” Trev gestured at Kadu. Damn, he should have brought Kira to help smooth this over.

“So, you’ll insert me as the medical specialist,” Kadu guessed, features softening with understanding. “I’m not well versed in traditional procedures,” Trev felt his heart sink until Kadu continued. “But, I’d be willing to brush up on them if you answer me one question — honestly.”

Wincing, Trev squared his shoulders. Kadu had always bartered with information, not the kind that could be used against the individual, but that made them search their own soul. Trev hated soul searching. He huffed in irritation and flopped into the chair with crossed arms. “Fine.”

“Why is this so important to you?” Trev’s muscles tensed, but Kadu didn’t seem to notice. The Cathar lowered on to the edge of a thin mattress and leaned forward to pin Trev with those fiery eyes. “I’ve watched you rush to that girl’s aid over the years. I understand the responsibility you feel. But, your entire life has been about keeping her out of harm’s way. Why push for this move into one of the most dangerous fields in the military?”

“Because,” Trev paused, eyes narrowed. He’d never considered that angle before. Throughout the entire process, Trev had refused to look too carefully at his own motives. Exhaustion settled over him with a gentle nudge through the Force. Kadu had always been stronger in that aspect, able to bend the minds of damn near anyone, including seasoned masters. He never crushed when a nudge would suffice, and he didn’t mask his motives.

Trev rubbed a hand through his hair and forced himself to meet Kadu’s gaze. “Jurr’s not going to make it to old age. Not with everything going against her. She’ll forget something important, or simply catch a bolt in the field, and that’ll be the end.”

Shifting his attention to the floor, Trev recalled the dead look in his sister’s eye when he picked her up from the last medcenter. Her life had no meaning, and when she was gone, no one would remember the poor, forgetful soldier. “She deserves to be proud of something. And, she’s a damn good soldier. If not for the accident, she’d have made officer years ago. Her instincts are good, she just needs a solid support team.”

A gentle hand rested on Trev’s knee. “I’ve been stationed on Tython for nearly a year.” That was it. Squeezing his eyes shut, Trev prepared to let himself out of the room and bit Kadu a happy life when the Cathar sighed. “It would be nice to see the galaxy again. No doubt your little sister could teach me numerous techniques to help with her situation.”

Trev jolted upright, staring down at his old friend. “You’ll do it?”

“If she’ll allow it.” Kadu didn’t stand, but propped his forearms on his knees. “Like you said, stubborn. I doubt a woman like that would approve of a stranger coming in to babysit her.”

“You’d just need to gain her trust.” Trev paced the small width of the room, then stopped when he realized what else that would entail. Shit, he should have thought of that before. Turning, Trev weighed the pros and cons, heart pounding with fear of what he was going to have to teach this male how to do. “You’d — need to bond with her.”

Kadu’s brows shot north. “Like you did?” Trev gave a wooden nod. When Trev used the Force to imprint himself as a safety net into Jurr’s consciousness, they’d been children. It had been solely to calm her panic when her memory banks failed. Allowing an adult male, even one as righteous as Kadu, that kind of power to her made Trev’s stomach draw into a tight knot.

“Yeah.” Trev’s voice sounded hollow as he drew out the word. Countless scenarios flitted through his mind, everything from Kadu being able to heal Jurr’s mind, to the unlikely, but vivid images of his old friend taking advantage of a woman who’d have no other option but to trust him.

Kadu stood, no doubt sensing Trev’s unease. “I’ve performed similar rituals in the past. Healing bonds that put the patient at ease. Those were always short term and faded over the course of a few days.” He crossed the room to lean on the window sill, staring out over the picturesque landscape beyond. “What you suggest is a permanent connection.”

“Yeah,” Trev repeated, managing to elongate the word even more. “You’d be able to convince her of anything…” he trailed off when Kadu turned to look at him. The men stared at one another, the silence filling with all the ways that this could go wrong.

Kadu broke their stalemate first. “I’d need time to prepare. There might be a way to create this bond while keeping my own emotions separate. When did you need me?”

Trev blew air through his lips and looked around the room. Kadu was Jurr’s only hope. He was a good, honest man. The kind who covered his eyes during sex scenes in holofilms because he felt it was disrespectful to oggle the actress. “I uh, I was kind of hoping you’d travel to Coruscant with me on the next flight out.”

“Tomorrow?” The word was a choked off laugh that contained zero humor. Trev nodded.

“She takes her new posting next week.” Trev’s chest felt tight, the back of his eyes stinging. Now that it was real, he couldn’t help but wonder if this had all been a major mistake.

Pushing away from the window, Kadu grabbed his over robe and pulled it on. “There is much to do.” He started for the door, then paused to give Trev a sideways glance. “The Force bond will be Jurr’s decision. I will not persuade her one way or another. We’ll discuss the available options, then go from there. I’m sure she’ll call you for advice.”

“Thank you,” Trev said as Kadu palmed open the door. He couldn’t put into words everything he was grateful for, but then, Kadu had never needed words. The Cathar nodded, his expression grave before vanishing into the hallway. Trev stood in the middle of the sparse room a little longer and said a silent prayer to the Force that he hadn’t just ruined two lives.

[darkpoisonouslove]

“Care Can Be the Greatest Gift Even Wrapped in Pain”

Summary: Griffin is supposed to take care of the young queen until she turns sixteen but when she won't take care of herself, Stella steps in. Griffin is grateful to have the girl in her life and maybe just a bit bitter and angry that there is so much danger looming over Stella's head. So she swears once again to do everything necessary to protect her. Part 3 of “The Poison of a Gift”.

Mentions of death, murder, poisoning, vomiting, other unpleasantness.

I had a thought about the characters from TDC and then it transferred onto Stella and Griffin. I'm still obsessed with TDC so you keep getting updates in this series.

Edmund, the butler, is a canonic TDC character and I thought it would be best to keep him instead of making OCs to do his job.

The smell of stew fished her out of the bitter taste of different poisons flowing from the string of memories the book in her hands lured forward like she was a naive little fish and not the monster from the depths of the islanders' nightmares. She felt the need to bite off the head of whoever had allowed themselves to interrupt her reading and desecrate the library by even thinking of bringing food anywhere near it but she forced it down when she knew it was Stella. No one else would allow themselves the audacity. Certainly not Griselda who shared not just her blood but also her boldness and her love of books, much less any of the servants who respected but still feared her. As if she would waste her poisons and her efforts in justifying the murders on them when she could just fire them and hire someone who could do the job right.

The door opened to see the young queen in and she held it to ease the task of Griffin's butler–Edmund–to carry the enormous silver tray in his hands inside the space of the library. It was probably done out of fear that Edmund would somehow manage to drop his load the one time he was not supposed to and stain the library floor even though he'd been carrying the main weight of the household for almost as long as Griffin had been making the decisions for the Sylvane family and the whole island and Stella was just as used to his stealth and dexterity now as Griffin herself was. He was only ever noticed when he awaited instructions as failure to carry out his tasks was not a part of his job description so it never occurred.

"What's the occasion?" Griffin asked as she briskly moved to leave her book back on the shelve where it normally resided before the food could be brought anywhere close to it.

"Just a little surprise," Stella said, trying to pull off her innocent act and Griffin wasn't surprised it was working but rather bothered by the fact how easily she was falling victim to her little queen's schemes. Though, Stella wasn't quite so young and small anymore, yet she was still just as charming as she'd been when she'd first arrived at Greavesdrake and hadn't even reached Griffin's waist.

Griffin did not comment on Stella's chosen place for the impromptu picnic and just took her seat again when she knew it was all her doing. Stella was at the dining room for every meal and none of the maneuvering presented would have been necessary if Griffin had bothered to dig herself out of her paperwork and studies and found the time to sit at the table and eat with the young queen. She'd had the ambush coming and could have prevented it if she'd kept track of how many times she'd skipped gracing Stella with her company during a meal but she'd been too swallowed in work to notice. So Stella had noticed for her instead.

"Thank you, Edmund. I'll take it from here," Stella said when he left everything on the table Griffin had left all at her book's disposal before the interruption. She was usually better mannered–as a queen had to be–but she was protective over her time with Griffin so she allowed herself to rush him out of the room.

"As the young queen wishes," Edmund bowed slightly before leaving them and closing the door behind him now that his hands were free.

Normally, the dishes would be concealed by silver cloches when carried from the kitchen but since Stella had intended to have them turn to lunch instantly, those had been forgone. All the food was left open for the inspection of Griffin's gaze.

The venison stew she'd smelled was just one portion as it was covered with rosary peas which made it most unsavory to Stella. Her gift hadn't come in yet and even a few bites of the stew would send her doubling over and falling out of her chair defeating the purpose of lunch when she emptied her stomach's contents on the library floor. The poison had soaked everything so there was no way around it either and they could only avoid all the unpleasantness if Stella's poisoner gift suddenly decided to kick in exactly that day but since it hadn't shown for the six years Stella had spent in Griffin's care, they could both agree it was better to leave it alone for now.

"How are your studies going?" Griffin asked as she watched Stella take one of the teacups and place it in front of her, the strong scent of sweet woodruff wafting through the air to draw her to the drink despite the steam coming out of it that advised caution when it came to the temperature.

At least the tea was safe for consumption by Stella as well. Woodruff was added in the May wine poisoners served to their children when their gift still hadn't come in and Stella had loved the drink as well ever since she'd become a resident of Greavesdrake half her lifetime ago. She hardly remembered anything before the poisons and the purple of Griffin's hair and at least that was going the way it was supposed to. Forgetting her sisters was the first step to killing them which was, in turn, the final step to surviving. But there was more after that which was where the lessons came.

Being an expert on poisons was what would win Stella the crown when her concoctions made their way into her sisters' veins but she needed to know how to wear it, too, how to rule. She needed to know her way through politics as well as she knew it through poisons and that cost numerous hours spent studying that felt dry and bitter and almost as horrible as the poisoning training but were at least giving better results despite how often Stella ended up with a sketch of what had become a distraction instead of paying attention to the economics she was being tutored in. Griffin had witnessed enough of that to need to put efforts into containing her regret over Stella's fate as a queen. And she most certainly always did her best not to wish that Stella could have been her child and had at least some freedom in choosing what she wanted to be.

"Almost as sweet as the Galium odoratum tea when Griselda is not watching me like a hawk the entire time," Stella said as she placed her own cup of tea on the table and it had Griffin smirking.

Griselda hardly had the time for observations now that she was the one ruling the Black Council more or less since Griffin was doing whatever did not necessitate her presence from home and avoided the Volroy on most days. No one dared say anything when she had the important task of raising their next Queen to handle and her sister was handling the rest. Griselda was sterner despite being the more controlled sister and sometimes Griffin could swear that people feared her more which was not really a problem. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"Griselda's strictness is her way of saying that she cares," Griffin said, resisting the impulse to nuzzle her cup of tea before Stella was seated herself. She'd said it before, too, but it was worth repeating when she could tell Stella struggled to believe it some days when Griselda got particularly demanding. Griffin had felt like she couldn't live up to her sister's standards herself even if she was older and the head of the family. It was just hard to compete with Griselda when she excelled in everything and expected the same from everyone else only to be disappointed more often than not. "You know she's not all academics, though," Griffin said to draw Stella's attention away from the theoretical when it wasn't her strongest suit as she preferred action.

"Right," Stella said as she moved the plates with the bloodroot salad off the tray leaving one for herself as well since she could eat it in small quantities. "After a few years of lessons in poisons, I can at least catch up with what she's saying but the moment she brings up archery practice I am left far behind," Stella said as she placed the stew in front of Griffin.

Griffin did not comment on all the care Stella was displaying for her as enough had been said already. She could never forget the confession of a nine-year-old Stella that she preferred it when there was a party or they had guests since those were the only times anyone could be sure Griffin had truly eaten something along with her poisons even if it meant Stella herself remained mostly hungry as everything served was tainted and she could hardly take a bite without getting sick. Watching her choke down half a plate of candied scorpions when she'd learned that as long as she avoided the tails, she would be fine had made Griffin hurt worse than any venom would have even if she hadn't had her gift. Though, if there was anything positive to be found in the situation, it was that Stella hadn't lost her appetite despite the harsh effects of all the poisons she'd been subjected to.

"Griselda's had years worth of practice," Griffin said to drag herself out of those thoughts even if they bled through in the present every time the toxins forced in Stella's system would force a groan out of her. "You'll get there." Griselda could be a demanding teacher but her lessons gave results at least to a certain degree no matter who she was teaching and Stella was doing her best to learn.

"I can't even touch the arrow tips when they're dipped in Aconitum and whatever I can touch is not of much help when I'm terrible at archery," Stella huffed and Griffin tried to ignore the porridge that was one of the main components of Stella's menu when she'd end up throwing up most of what she ate anyway when exposed to poison and focus on holding back her chuckle to make sure it wouldn't be interpreted the wrong way.

It was endearing to see how much Stella was striving to please. No one had made her learn the scientific names of the poisons she used and just calling the Aconitum wolf's-bane would have been enough so long as she knew what it was and how to use it while staying safe herself. Yet, she had all the convoluted names memorized when she'd color-coded them – each in the shade of the plant it came from. Both Griffin and Griselda had been impressed and Stella had been beaming with pride which had been not just welcome considering her usual bouts of doubt, but also well-deserved.

"Archery needs discipline and practice and with Griselda as your teacher you have no choice but to give both of those so I wouldn't be particularly worried about that," Griffin said and let a small smile play out on her face at the look of Stella's resigned expression. "Unless, of course, you would like to spend those hours doing other things in which case you'll need to learn to live with the disappointment." That was the understatement of her entire life. There would hardly be anything else other than disappointment and sacrifices in Stella's life when there was no glamor to being Queen, only duty. "Or you'll need to figure out an arrangement with Griselda that works for both of you," Griffin suggested and was rewarded for the leniency when Stella beamed at her. She would just have to make sure that radiance would stay there after the Ascension Year was done so the crown could be put to shame by Stella's shine.

"Do you think I have a chance there?" Stella asked, already excited despite her own uncertainty of her abilities and opportunities and Griffin's own heart was trying to jump out of the place where it was supposed to be as if to shield Stella's joy. Seeing her enthusiasm was an even better gift than the dress Stella had made for her.

In all fairness, Griffin had already had the dress but Stella had made some changes that had left the garment looking like there was a snake wrapped around the base of the bodice. It was perfect for a poisoner like Griffin who was not a fan of wearing the living version like Ediltrude and even Zarathustra had been, always wrapped in snakes that weren't even sedated to guarantee they wouldn't cause trouble. Their poison couldn't hurt the twins whose gift was as strong as Griffin's own but at an event that wasn't strictly for the Sylvane family could lead to mayhem. Which was exactly the reason why the twins had loved doing it, of course, always a bit of disaster to go with their clothes. It was the most essential accessory to the two of them and the fact that Griffin and Griselda could argue had never stopped them.

Stella hadn't let the constant poison-induced vomiting and her lack of a figure to stand in the way of her interest in fashion either. She was serious about it and Griffin couldn't find it in herself to force her to drop it even when she knew that would be best. There was no way it could go anywhere whether Stella lived or died in her Ascension Year and she had to hide it even now since they couldn't announce she was the one who had designed her own dress at a party. It was one of the few things that brought her genuine joy, though, and Griffin wouldn't let it be crushed after Stella was doing her best to be the dutiful queen everyone wanted to see.

"You always have a chance," Griffin said, knowing her words would convince Stella. "Especially when I'm there to support you." And that would be always.

Griselda wouldn't be happy with that particular idea, Griffin would find a way to convince her. Stella had already sacrificed so much when she went through poisoning after poisoning trying to put on a brave face and endure it without complaining. Even when it made her hate what she saw in the mirror and ruined her confidence keeping her from approaching any of the boys she was crushing on which Griselda said was better anyway and Griffin was forced to agree since there was just one path for a queen and any love it involved came from her king-consort. But Stella couldn't even enjoy something harmless such as dancing a lot of the time when she barely had the energy after she'd almost thrown up her guts countless times in the dead of night while the toxins gripped her body tightly and made it convulse. Griffin was not going to ruin anything for her that she didn't absolutely have to.

"Thank you, Griffin," Stella said with a look so intense that Griffin had to reach for her teacup to make sure the young queen wouldn't reach for her hand. And as much as she would like to say she was doing it for Stella, she was doing it for herself, to remind herself Stella was only hers to raise and belonged to the Goddess like all the rest of them did. No matter how much Griffin would like it to be different.

Stella moved to put the dessert on the table as well and Griffin almost choked on her sip of tea when she saw the blue fruits of moonseed adorning the pie.

Moonseed pie had been Luna's favorite as the poison wasn't quite that strong and even a giftless person could survive it. Griffin had quickly developed a taste for it as well and Griselda had eventually joined them in their little pie tradition as well, though Griffin hadn't been sure whether she'd been guarding herself from the high sugar intake or the attachment that a ritual like that bound them in. If it had been the latter, it had certainly been a good idea since Luna's death had tainted the dessert with something even the Sylvane poisoners were not immune to.

Stella couldn't have known that just the sight of the pie would almost have bile rising in Griffin's throat at the bitterness of the memories in her head. Griffin never talked about Luna even if Stella asked. She just pretended she didn't hear her questions and all Griselda ever told her was that dead queens were not talked about. And by now Stella had learned not to insist that Luna was her aunt when she knew queens had no families–they came from the Goddess and were only fostered in chosen families until they were of age to claim their birthright or die to feed the Island–and she'd finally stopped asking. Though, Griffin suspected that had more to do with Stella feeling the pain her questions caused both Griffin and Griselda rather than with the disappearance of her curiosity.

Griffin would have talked if she could find any words when she knew Stella would never find anything in a book about a dead queen that was forgotten but there just wasn't anything to say. Or rather there were many things to say that could not be said. Maybe the pain would go away if Griffin could scream it all out but she couldn't let anyone hear. She couldn't blame the Goddess for taking away from her something that had never been hers. And no queen was ever anyone's.

"There are no fruits in the pie as well, are they?" Griffin asked as she took a better look at the two slices. Stella's didn't have the moonseed on top and the filling looked free of it as well.

"No, they are just on top," Stella said, fidgeting almost guiltily and Griffin couldn't decide whether she had felt it necessary because she couldn't consume the poison or because she had an appetite for the pie despite that. As if Griffin was going to scold her for daring to want food when she hadn't fulfilled her obligation to learn to eat it when it was tainted.

"Then you can have my slice, too," Griffin said, wishing that her own stomach would relax the way Stella did. She would have to taste the pie still before she let Stella have any of it. She couldn't risk any mistakes even if just the thought of eating it was making her nauseous.

She'd only eaten moonseed pie with Griselda when they would prepare it together under the cover of night on the anniversary of Luna's death to honor their sister's memory. But for Stella she would eat all of her misery. All of her fears and all of her weaknesses. She couldn't be anything short of dauntless when Stella was hunting down her own courage every day to get through the very lessons that were supposed to keep her alive.

It was only fair that Griffin faced the things she was afraid would kill her in the name of her Queen, in the name of her precious little star when that was what would keep her shining. She would care for Stella even if it killed her. She would certainly deserve it if she couldn't keep her ray of sunshine safe.

[emjenenla]

Kanej and 84.

84. “Going somewhere?”

Thank you for the request!

I actually have a couple other requests which were submitted before this one, but I kept waffling about those so I decided to write this one to buy myself more time to decide what I want those other two fics to be about.

This fic is set after the burning building one I wrote last week, but it should (fingers crossed) make sense alone. Either way it got way too long on me. These are supposed to be short!

Inej planted herself in front of Jesper and Wylan’s front door and crossed her arms. “Going somewhere?”

Kaz gave a look like he couldn’t believe she was trying to stop him. He was leaning heavily on his cane and holding the metal box he had rescued from the fire earlier that day. “I’m going back to the Slat,” he said. “I have things to do.”

“It’s midnight,” Inej pointed out, not even trying to contain her exasperation. This was far from the first time she and Kaz had had a conversation like this, and it would also be far from the last. “You promised Nina that you would rest here for the night.”

“If I hadn’t she would have called a medik,” Kaz protested. Inej couldn’t tell if he noticed how much he was starting to sound like a petulant teenager. He probably didn’t. As far as Inej knew she was the only person who was able to make him petulant and as a result he never believed her when she pointed it out.

“She still should have called a medik,” she said. “You sound like you’re still having trouble breathing.” She was right: he was still wheezing, just a little. The instant she mentioned it he started to try to even his breathing out.

She sighed. You’re not making it easier for me not to worry about you while I’m away at sea. She didn’t say that, though. There were things Kaz needed to be in a special mood or especially cornered to be maneuvered to into talking frankly about, and his health or lack thereof was one of them. “Come back upstairs,” she said. “I know you were lying when you told us that box was business records for the Dregs.”

For a minute Kaz just looked at her, then he sighed and turned back down the hall, heading for the front staircase. “Fine.”

Neither of them spoke again until they were closed in the room Jesper and Wylan kept cleaned and furnished especially for Kaz; Inej’s was across the hall. Kaz immediately sunk into an armchair. Inej would have liked him to lie down, but she also knew she probably wasn’t going to win that argument so she didn’t push it.

“How did you know I was lying?” Kaz asked, fingering the latches on the metal box.

“I can tell when you’re lying, Kaz,” Inej said, fondly as she perched herself on one of the armrests of the other armchair. “And I know that building had one of your personal safe houses in it. And I know that you only keep records to make Anika and the rests’ lives easier: anything you don’t have memorized isn’t important enough to risk going into a burning building for.”

Kaz gave her a little nod, conceding. “Right on both counts,” he paused a bit longer, obviously contemplating what to say next. “This is some stuff for my side project for you,” he said after a minute. “I was hanging on to it to show you because the exact wording matters and my memory for words is not as flawless as it is for numbers.”

Inej smiled just a little sadly. Kaz had been helping her catch slavers for six years and he still wasn’t comfortable enough with the possibility of his own goodness to refer to his “side project” as what it actually was. She slid down onto the seat of her armchair. “Can I see?”

Kaz opened the box and handed her some of papers inside. She scanned them quickly. They seemed to just be ordinary letters about inane things. “Is this in code?”

“Yes,” Kaz said.

Inej waited for him to tell her what they said. Kaz was good with codes. Codes were basically puzzles and he loved puzzles. He was the one who had created the code they used in their letters. That code was so complicated Inej had risked carrying the key around for months, studying it in her spare moments, until she finally felt confident enough to burn it. However, tonight the minutes went by and slowly she realized that Kaz wasn’t about to spout out the answer.

“You don’t know what they actually say,” she realized.

“Not yet,” Kaz said, slowly. It was obvious it took a lot for him to admit it. “The way codes of this type normally work is that there’s some way to tell which words are important and which aren’t. That doesn’t work here. Or at least, it doesn’t work alone. I think there might be some level of anagram or substitution at work here as well. It’s also possible that you’re only supposed to use certain letters. I’ll crack it: it’s just taking me a bit longer than usual.”

“You’ll get it,” Inej assured him. “Do you know who the letters are from?”

“Did you get the information I sent you that Nina and I stole Barend Meijer?” he asked and Inej nodded. “These are letters between some of Meijer’s superiors and a man named Maxim Vasilyev who’s been making moves into Ketterdam of late.”

“He’s a slaver?” Inej asked.

“Amongst other things,” Kaz said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “All I really know about him is that his family’s Ravkan but that he grew up in the Southern Colonies. He owns a fair amount of land there under his own name and there’s some implication he owns a lot more under various pseudonyms. He has a lot of followers which most likely could be considered a gang.”

“And you know this about him because?” Inej prompted.

Kaz opened his mouth, then closed it. Inej watched him contemplate what to say.

“I strongly suspect he’s after my position,” he finally said.

“Your position in the Dregs?” Inej asked.

“My position in Ketterdam,” Kaz corrected. “Of course, I won’t know for sure until I crack the code in these letters. If I’m right then you and Nina may have come back just in time to get caught in the middle of a gang war.”

“Do you really think it will come to that?” Inej asked, mostly just for something to say. She knew he was serious.

“If I could just have him killed and end this I would have done it months ago,” he said. “And that’s not our only problem. Have you heard of Ambroos Baas?”

“Isn’t he that man from south Kerch who goes around talking about how the Kerch are offending Ghezen with their corrupt ways and should repent before they are punished?” she asked.

“The very same,” Kaz said. “He’s coming to Ketterdam. According to Wylan, he’s promised the Merchant Council that he can clean up the Barrel before winter. I don’t think he could actually manage it and I’ve told Wylan not to worry, but regardless of the ultimate outcome Baas could still stir the merchers into a frenzy for a couple months and get a lot of us Barrel rats thrown in prison right when I most need numbers.”

“Couldn’t you sic him on Vasilyev?” Inej asked. She knew that was well within the realm of Kaz’s abilities.

“I would, except that a very large portion of Baas’s trip here is being financed by Councilman van Dijk,” Kaz’s lips twisted sardonically, “and guess who’s lining van Dijk’s pockets?”

“Vasilyev,” Inej wasn’t even surprised. Of all the merchers in Ketterdam Kees van Dijk was one of the most involved in the slave trade; she and Kaz been trying to shut him down for years without success. “Does Baas know his mission of renewal is being funded by a slaver? Does he care?”

“Hard to tell at this point,” Kaz said. “Most of what I’ve heard suggests that Baas is actually very naive. He may not realize that the merchers of Ketterdam are as crooked as the Barrel rats. Either way, he arrives in Ketterdam at the end of the week and then I’ll be able to tell you for certain once I meet him.”

“You plan to meet him?” Inej asked. “That would be extremely dangerous. You’re on the top of every To Arrest list in Ketterdam.”

Kaz grinned, it was a wild, reckless expression. “I’m not going to meet him in a place where he has the upperhand, my dearest Inej. If I play it right I might be able to scare him right out of the city and back to where he belongs. Which is good,” he sobered, “especially considering that given the connection between van Dijk and Vasilyev we have to consider that van Dijk funding Baas might be Vasilyev’s attempt at splitting my focus.”

His expression didn’t change much from his neutral one, but Inej knew him well enough to tell that regardless of anything he might say, he was really worried about all of this. Inej was worried too. She’d been at sea for most of the last six years, but she still knew how Ketterdam worked. If Vasilyev managed to take over the Barrel, the first thing he would do was kill Kaz. No one who managed to outmaneuver Kaz would let him live the way Kaz had for Per Haskell.

“It probably goes without saying at this point,” she said instead of voicing any of that. Saying it made it real, a possibility, and Kaz didn’t like admitted he was, in fact, merely human and could be defeated, “but I’m with you. Whatever you need done; I’ll do it.”

“Look into the fire from this afternoon?” Kaz asked. “The fact that it started in the building where I was keeping the Vasilyev letters seems like a bit too much of a coincidence for me. I thought no one knew I had these,” he gestured at the letters spread out across their laps. “If someone does know, I need to know as soon as possible. Plus, I need to know how many of my personal safe houses are compromised so I can replace them before things go bad.”

“I can do that,” Inej said. “What are you going to do?”

“Crack this code,” Kaz replied, without a smile. “There’s only so much I can do without knowing what Vasilyev’s plan is.”

Neither of them voiced all the things that could possibly go wrong.

[xuaryxth]

BTS in Mass Effect

Hey! so since I know i’m not ever doing the series, I’m gonna post the original thing i made that had sparked it with the moodboards i made included here!

Kim Seokjin

-definitely the mess sergeant on the Bangtan -"you'll eat what i make dammit" -"you'd never get food this good in the Alliance!" -still probably uses Alliance rations half the time -willing to fight everyone on and off the ship -"THE REAPERS WILL NOT HURT MY CREW" -probably has an army of space hamsters in his quarters -all named after random food -fucking loves Blasto -the movies and games are his shit -space puns -duh -lowkey constantly worried every time the ground team goes out for a mission -or all the time -makes sure Jungkook eats his nutrition bars to keep his biotics up

Min Yoongi

-lazy ass pilot -he's great at flying -was once prized in the Alliance -left because "fuck that shit" -auto pilot is a blessing -means he can sleep until they need to do tricky maneuvers -lowkey hated Hoseok at first -"No AI is gonna fly my ship." -"You barely fly your ship." -Jungkook -"Did I stutter?" -learned that Hoseok is a lot more human than any AI he's ever met -still won't let him fly the ship -but they talk and are friends now -also taken an engineer like position alongside Taehyung -fixes things on the ship all the time when Taehyung is to busy with the ship

Jung Hoseok

-illegal AI -was referred to as J-HOPE by the people that created him -literally no one knows what J-HOPE stands for -the Council would not be happy to know he exists -but he looks exactly like a human so no one knows -doesn't quite understand all aspects of human life -like slang or certain phrases -usually ends with Jin making a pun and Hoseok being confused -confused like most aliens with human slang -very helpful for navigation -even though he's meant to actually help fly -loud -Namjoon complained -Hoseok turned up his voice settings to be louder -goes on plenty of ground missions since he's synthetic and has great aim -still sometimes screams during missions -no one understand how this AI gets so scared?

Kim Namjoon

-captain of the Bangtan   -was a Cerberus scientist at one point -realized how shitty Cerberus was but didn't want to go to the Alliance so he started his own crew -never originally wanted to be captain -but it ended up suiting him -sometimes get caught up in space talk -like everyone gets confused -wanted to be on the ground team -but he accidentally shot his own foot on the only mission he ever went on -even though almost everyone in the galaxy has translators, he learned several alien languages -he adores Asari literature and likes to read it in its native language -occasionally he'll surprise an alien by speaking in their native tongue rather than letting the translator do the work -has made a lot of allies and friends this way

Park Jimin

-ground team member -previously Alliance soldier -was never taken seriously because of his pretty face and smaller size -so he often not given missions -hated it and left the Alliance -sweet as hell but has super angry bursts -usually on missions -don't get between him and the enemy -otherwise you'll be full of bullets from his assault rifle -super chill off missions -can be whiny about injuries or kills stolen by Jungkook on missions -literally just fights with Jungkook half the time -but is totally willing to kill for him -hell, he's willing to kill for the entire crew

Kim Taehyung

-ship engineer -makes sure the stealth systems stay intact -probably a colony kid -fascinated by art and history of earth -also fascinated by Hoseok -like holy shit have you seen his body's systems? we could use similar mechanics to improve the ship! -occasionally joins on missions -he has some incredible tech to fight enemies -gets really in the zone when working on one of his side projects -and then gets upset if anyone tries to talk to him or mess with it -is great with talk about tech and the ship -kind of fumbles with 'normal' conversation and words -he's working on it and has made progress -refuses to let Namjoon touch any important part of the ship

Jeon Jeongguk

-ground team member -biotic -still fairly untrained with his biotics and they flare up with his emotions -somehow good at everything? -Namjoon sometimes jokes that he was genetically engineered to be good at everything -usually ends with him laughing awkwardly -trying to train his biotics -usually involves pranks -like pinning the rest of the crew with said biotics -or creating small blasts to scare the others -keeps his past secret -gets really quiet when the others talk about home -but it’s fine -the Bangtan is his home now

Y/N

-only alien species on the crew -Quarian -originally joined after being a hostage on a raider ship -is pretty capable with a gun -but has since become the crew’s medic -having to worry about so many health concerns of her own, she picked up knowledge on many other species’ systems -which led to her knowing how to deal with human diseases and injuries -very helpful when dealing with the 7 men aboard the Bangtan -was actually really close with Hoseok at first -until she discovered he was synthetic -then their friendship somewhat crumbled -huge navigation/ship nerd

That’s all of them... I hope you enjoyed... If you don’t know what Mass Effect is, I highly recommend you play the games if you can... they’re pretty cheap for the physical versions nowadays.

[veridium]

A return to a Skyhold brings the Inquisitor and Chief Ambassador Montilyet back to reality, but something has irrevocably shifted past the point of no return. Entering on horseback together hardly speaks of a platonic ambivalence, after all. The trajectory is interrupted by a new challenge on the horizon: Adamant Fortress, and the Grey Wardens. The room for indecisiveness is rapidly shrinking.

The towering walls of Skyhold reached for the skies, and its might extended along with it as the group finally made their way through the first gate and across the bridge. Theia could feel her grip on Josephine’s waist – which had scarcely left its spot for more than a moment or two at a time – grip slightly tighter in anticipation of letting her go. Josephine did not avoid this; in fact, the security she felt there against her chest and in the saddle was a memory she would hold closely tucked in her heart for the rest of her days.

“Ah! At long last, our fortress invites us back into its arms,” Vivienne called out from her carriage window. Riding her horse next to it was the Seeker, who could not help but grin with relief as they had finally returned from a most temperamental excursion.

Soon, the roaring sound of the second gate erupted through the cavernous mountain air, opening itself up for them. The shadows it cast as the sunlight behind the fortress flickered through its square patterned holes reflected on their contented, tired faces.

Pulling into the courtyard, Theia’s eyes scanned the stairwell and walkways for any Advisors or allies who had gathered around to be a welcome-home reception. Cheerfully, Varric waved to her from the fence guarding the upper yard, and then her eyes also found Iron Bull who nodded austerely in her direction.

She saw Leliana standing at the very top of the stairs, hands at her sides, looking like she had just managed to make it in time after the horn had blown, announcing their arrival.

The Spymaster’s discerning green eyes locked on the sight of her friend in the lap of the Inquisitor, in a rare show of creativity for the Ambassador who had upheld decorum like it was her most valued virtue. This made her intrigued as to just how much the reports she had collected from the Scouts’ ravens left out.

Back at the Courtyard ground level, Commander Cullen approached Theia’s horse, as she gently pulled the reigns until the animal halted.

“Inquisitor, glad to see you have returned in one piece. There are reports on your desk that have collected in your absence, but, I assure you nothing out of the ordinary has occurred here as far as our military is concerned,” he said light-heartedly. It took him a moment – and Josephine using both her hands to toss back her hood – to realize Theia’s accompaniment was of particular familiarity to him.

“Oh, Lady Ambassador, I—“

“What, Cullen? Did you not see me here? Was my dress so adequate a camouflage?” Josephine teased, a smile on her lips softening the blow.

Cullen sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps seeing you in such a casual shape left you unrecognizable to the unwise eye,” he jested back.

Theia couldn’t help but bite back a laugh, resting her pursed lips on Josephine’s shoulder for a moment as she tried her best to not egg either side on with her reaction. Swallowing it, she raised her face and spoke.

“Thank you Commander, I’ll see to my duties at once. I’m especially looking forward to the any scouting reports we’ve received from Hawke. Has there been any word?”

“A report came in early this morning via Raven. Leliana will be able to provide insight after you read it.”

“Thank you, that is just what I was hoping to hear.”

As Cullen nodded and withdrew from the conversation so as to check in with the troops that had come with them, she released the reigns from her hands and dismounted, landing gingerly on the ground as her concern turned immediately to Lady Montilyet who remained seated. She reached her hands up, and when Josephine took hold she braced the tension of her fall as she slid off the side, landing rather tucked between the horse’s side and Theia’s chest.

“I suppose that in return for this, you must expect me to avoid you to balance things out?” she asked quickly, while she still had her in front of her, and most of her attention.

Josephine let her hands linger on Theia’s upper arms as she listened to her question. She looked past the Inquisitor’s soldier, at her friend’s pale and observant face as she watched them from above. Exhaling, she turned her eyes back to her.

“No, but, do allow me to attend to my duties. I am sure we both have quite the workload awaiting us,” she spoke decisively.

“Fair enough. Happy writing, my Lady. I will have the treaties delivered to your office as soon as I can,” Theia said, before letting her break free from her hold. She watched the Ambassador collect her skirts as she walked briskly towards and starting up the stairs. Then, it became time to unpack, debrief, and become acquainted with the next challenge at hand.

Before that, however, some more warm greetings from good friends. An arrow shot from the upper level grounds, hitting the ground right beside Theia’s feet. She did not flinch one ounce of weight, however, and in fact looked as if she had been expecting it.

“Ah, so you missed me after all, Sera?!” she called out jovially, slipping her riding gloves off of her hands. From that point, she could see Sera’s petite stature stand up from a crouched position. Sera gave a smug grin in return for the happy remark.

“Inquisitor, back from the clutches of those fancy pants in Monty-lard. Good to know,” Sera called out, before walking back to what Theia would assume was her room in the pub…or the Undercroft.

Theia turned around and was met again with a friendly face, this time Dorian as he swaggered to her side coolly. “My friend, I do hope you will regale me with every inch of intrigue you encountered on your journey. The way you entered atop a thundering steed with a fair maiden at your side tells me you had quite the time,” he mused, crossing his arms.

“Dorian, it is good to see you. I never thought I would meet people who would make me miss how grounded you are,” she giggled, slapping Dorian’s arm with a riding glove.

“Inquisitor, if I am to be your standard for human candor, then I suggest you take up more drinking,” he replied, a warm smile appearing on his lips.

“You’re right, I should. Perhaps tonight.”

Theia patted him on the shoulder before she made her way over to the carriages, catching the last of the boxes being unloaded. She stood at the Seeker’s side as she did so.

“Seeker, thank you for accompanying us. I am always honored that you put up with me and whatever trouble follows me around Thedas.”

Cassandra shook her head. “It seems as though the Maker wishes me to bear witness to all of your entanglements. I can only assume this is the more mild of circumstances we will find ourselves in,” her observant personality shining through her words.

“Well, whatever happens next, be sure to not hold back if you ever want me to get my shit together.”

“I never tried otherwise, Inquisitor.”

--

The War Council meeting that took place an hour later brought an important decision to the center of all concerns. Theia had found her way to the piles of parchment at her desk, and indeed a scouting report had found its way from Hawke’s hands to theirs. The Adamant fortress was confirmed as being used to house the Grey Wardens while they worked to prevent future Blights by utilizing blood magic, compelled to do so by the widespread Calling evoked by Corypheus. This conclusion left little outside options available besides direct siege.

“This has to happen fast. If the Western Approach was an experiment, they must be nearing full execution,” Leliana said, walking around the corner of the table in a pacing maneuver.

“Cullen, your opinion on the age of the fort makes sense, but that still means we need considerable manpower,” Theia thought out loud, her hip leaning on the edge of the table as she eyed the region south of the Hissing Wastes, where Adamant embedded itself through the ages.

“Yes, but we have that now. And, given some more time to prepare, we can be even stronger,” the Commander insisted.

“I can continue communications with nearby nobles who have resources for transporting and fortifying siege equipment. The fortress will require usage of more than just foot soldiers and archers,” the Ambassador spoke as she wrote.

“We need trebuchets, something to break down the door, and infrastructure to support backlash,” Leliana fed off of Josephine’s thought process.

“They’ll be expecting us, with that despicable puppet at their side acting on Corypheus’s behalf. Warden Clarel has gotten herself in deep,” the Inquisitor holding her thumb against her chin.

“Yes, but she is one woman. A woman with power, but one person nonetheless. The Wardens are protective of their ranks, but they are not all without reason. Thought it may be too late to salvage the Templars, the Wardens may yet hold hope,” Leliana would wager, even with her lover off in the great wide somewhere, that there were more than just the Hero of Fereldan who would stand for reason.

“Very well. I want training to buckle-down with the troops. We march within the week, as soon as Hawke and Stroud return to confirm any last intel. Until then, we should send a Raven to ask if they can confirm possible locations of back passages for scouts before they withdraw their mission. Commander, let me know if I can assist with any restocking efforts of food and raw materials. I will work with Dagna and the Blacksmith to make sure we have everyone outfitted properly. With the latest shipments of Silverite and Dawnstone from Sarhnia region, Dagna and I should have some fun. I will see everyone tonight for supper.”

With that, The Inquisitor convened the meeting, and the Council members were free to go back to their duties. The looming anticipation of Adamant took hold of the air soon afterward with a most brutish grip.

--

“So, you await a return to battle once more,” Josephine’s voice echoed from inside Theia’s bedchamber, out to the balcony where she stood watching the sunset down over the mountains. The Inquisitor’s arms were folded as she stood in contemplation, although now her visitor called her attention to the present moment. Perhaps she was the better for it.

“Alas, I fear the only times we will ever have for each other are either during haphazard diplomatic affairs or the eve of my return to danger’s most welcoming breast,” Theia played, pivoting on her hip so as to look back at the Lady Ambassador, who was making her way out to join her. She had changed back into her gold and purple robes, looking as if they had never rode across snow-capped mountain valleys or danced on the floor of a sweaty, packed dance hall.

“You tease, but I know it weighs heavily on your mind. I’ve seen the look in your eyes before missions are begun,” Josephine lamented, at last arriving at the Inquisitor’s side.

“Oh? Are you suggesting I’m not always a peach to be around?” Theia continued to press a sense of humor into a conversation that Josephine clearly wanted to be serious. It was a confirmed suspicion when she saw Josephine’s eyes, giving her that look of quit it.

“Theia, a moment of honesty,” Lady Montilyet suggested.

Theia’s chest tensed with the pressure of the breath she held onto, trying to put together her thoughts. Her face let down the façade of wit and was now authentically in-touch with the brevity of the situation.

“I have always been ambitious in my studies, Josephine. Being a powerful and capable Mage has always been a goal of mine. Thinking about what the Wardens are gambling with, and how many people they have probably already lost and yet stand to lose, it makes me feel hollow to know such choices can be made if people are scared enough beyond sense. Blood magic is…controversial, to say the least. I cannot deny I feel intimidated by the risk of encountering a legion of Grey Wardens with the capabilities Blood Magic bestows.”

“Surely, though, the extent to which they have been able to master it has not been fully realized yet. I am not familiar as you are, but my impression of the process is that it takes time and ritual investment.”

“True, but what has yet stood in the way of Grey Wardens when they are being hunted down by time and death?” Theia shifted her weight between her feet as she talked.

“History would say the worst and most depraved of enemies,” Josephine replied, turning around to face the Inquisitor from the side. “This is why the Inquisition exists, and this is why we must succeed in our endeavors.”

“You make it sound as if there is no other possible outcome to be realized.”

“That is because there is none. If we fail, that is the end.”

“Look at you, gloom and doom before your first glass of wine with dinner.”

“Agh, it has been a long day, perhaps my sense of humor has gone to bed before I have.”

Theia grinned and turned back, walking inside to her desk and eyeing the papers she had been working on. “Tell me, Josephine, were you ever intimidated by me?” Theia asked from over her shoulder as her hands moved to organize the parchments into more tidy piles.

“Of course, who was not? You were—are, the Herald, after all.”

“Yes, but I mean me as a person. You know, underneath all that fame and superstition.”

Josephine’s eyes narrowed as she followed after her, standing a few feet away when she answered.

“I suppose so, but…in a way, I sympathized with you. When I first laid eyes on you, my first thought was of how young you seemed. Yet, your eyes and words spoke of experiences beyond the limits of your youth.”

Theia’s eyebrows raised as she turned around to face the Ambassador. “I suppose it went away then when you realized just how imperfect I was.”

“No, it merely changed to respect. Intimidation prolonged is simply a sign of underlying insecurity within oneself. Rarely is it the pure objective existence of a given person.”

“I am sure you have had many experiences to teach you that wisdom,” Theia sat back on the end of her desk, hands gripping the table surface edge. “I must say, listening to you talk makes everything feel like a matter of winning a chess game. Like the next maneuver is just right in front of your face.”

Josephine smiled softly, coming in closer until she was close enough to take hold of Theia’s hands that she watched tensely grip on the table. It was always one of the easiest ways to tell if Theia was hiding stress, the way she dislocated the feeling into other limbs of her body just so.

“People who master talking do not always master action. This is why entities like our Council are so vital, they combine both into something truly forceful,” Josephine comforted, intertwining her fingers with hers.

Theia paused before responding, her gaze lowering so as to watch their hands interweave together. Her mouth opened, but she let out a breath, stalling just a few seconds more.

“You know when you make me nervous, I can feel the anchor?”

“Really? It is that responsive? I thought it just reacted to the rifts.”

“No, it is embedded in my nerves, I think. It almost acts in concert with them. Back at the pub, that night…I felt it under the skin of my palm.”

“Should we be concerned? Has it always done this, Theia?”

“Yes, it is hardly new. I just thought it was a funny thing. First my eyes, with their colors, and now this Anchor. I’m like a walking light beacon of emotions,” she joked half-heartedly. A moment of silence compelled her to see what Josephine’s facial expression was, and when she saw the concern in it, she could only smirk bitter-sweetly.

“My Love, only one of us can be the somber one. The other must spur their temper until eventually they bite back and snap out of their sadness. I thought we rehearsed this enough for you to get the cue.”

“Theia, mi amor, if it were me in your position you would be there to hold my hands and comfort me through my despair. Let me be of service to you in that way,” Josephine muttered, leaning her upper body into her, until their foreheads touched.

Another moment passed of melancholy. Theia had wrapped her hands around Josephine’s waist, and in turn the Ambassador’s hands rested on her chest.

“Tell me you will come to me tonight. I don’t care how busy you are, bring your work. Let me watch you work with only the bedsheets to drape this body of yours. You can use my back as a hard surface to write on. I don’t care,” Theia asked, the sweetness aching in her voice.

The invitation warmed Josephine’s face, thinking of the quiet peace that would surround them if they could just fast-forward to that distinct moment, paying no mind to dinner or socialization. This interim visit could turn into an entire night of them, and they could reclaim what they had found in the mountains, keep recreating it over and over.

“Theia, until the night you leave for Adamant, you will not fall asleep alone. This I can most definitely arrange,” she smiled.

Theia’s eyes glowed with happiness that she was trying hard not to have burst forth from her body like a dozen crazed butterflies.

“Alright, but, you stick me with that quill of yours and you will be at my mercy,” she replied, biting her lip.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, surely,” Josephine nudged her nose against hers, “but if it happens, it happens.”

--

Dinner was less ceremonial than if there were visiting dignitaries to entertain. When it was simply the Inquisition, people walking between tables, grabbing food as they mingled, and there was no toast or heavy-handed ritual of entry for the Advisors or the Inquisitor herself. Theia liked these dinners best; she could be more of herself, and she was allowed to let her guard down. Whether or not she did so,

From her seat at the end of one of the banquet tables, the Inquisitor watched as the laughter and casual conversation warmed the room, and it made her less restless than she was when she was hulled up in her room, deep in thought about the upcoming siege on Adamant fortress. She had to decide which allies would be at her side, explore schematics for armor and weapon reinforcements with Dagna in time to have them crafted, see that any and all back-up plans should anything go awry were properly agreed upon. Her head was always submerged in the preparations of battle when it came time to prepare.

“Inquisitor, why do you look as though you just climbed out of a pit of demons just to find someone had stolen your last dessert pastry?” Varric’s warm and humoring voice sounded off by her left ear. Snapping herself out of her mind, she turned and smiled.

“Varric, is that a question or a testimony of guilt?” her voice ached with bittersweetness.

“You know me, I never admit to anything unless it enhances my ability to get out of an even worse mistake,” he chuckled, patting her on the shoulder with his hand. “This is the first dinner you’ve gotten to just relax, and you’re doing anything but.”

“I have a lot on my mind, and I am tired from the morning’s ride. Surely Dorian and the rest of you can make up for the absence of my poor jokes and sarcasm.”

“Honestly? That task might be more daunting than the one with the hole in the sky. Take care, Inquisitor, to take your breaks where you got ‘em,” Varric smiled and headed back to his seat. His life had made him an exceptionally qualified judge of the wits and character of women who were tasked with saving people from imminent danger.

Scanning the room, she noticed two of her Advisors were missing from the Hall. The Commander had ate and gone back to his barracks without much fuss or wasted time, which meant Leliana and Josephine were the only two remaining who hadn’t shown themselves. She had hoped it wasn’t due to anything that would inspire a lecture on safe sex or “How to Love In Time of Apocalypse 101.” But, knowing the Spymaster, it was probably just that.

--

Indeed, even with the echo the tower created, Leliana found it the most trustworthy location to invite her friend to so as to talk about private matters. They sat beside each other on the bench by her work table, the Ravens cawing and fluttering wings as they awaited their evening meals.

“So,” Leliana sat back against the wall, “you have found an exception to your many rules and regulations of behavior, no?” she had been closed off from Josephine while caring for her duties, sure, but that did not mean Leliana did not care, or that she would stand idly by while she watched her friend embark through uncharted territory.

Josephine tucked an ankle behind the other, sitting with proper posture, even as her face and shoulder softened thinking about the complexity of her situation.

“I have so many differing opinions and perspectives in my mind about what is best. First, I have my own, which says I should not jeopardize what I have worked so hard for. Then, I have words like the ones Vivienne said to me, saying to be unapologetic and unburdened by the idle minds of others. Then…”

“There’s her.”

Josephine’s lipsed pursed as she made eye contact with her. “And she is so determined and assured in this, I almost forget I am supposed to be the expert on Diplomacy and Politics.”

“There is truth to that, Josie, but you must also take into consideration just how fast she has had to learn how to maneuver and present herself. You learned through years of practice, diligence, and repetition. She has learned via the motivation to survive.”

“Then why am I here? To be a snobbish reminder that the opinions of rich nobles are more important than they actually are?���

“No, you are here because without your abilities and knowledge, we would founder. We cannot simply support the weight of military power and spies and expect all of Thedas to see us as more than a splintered group of violent rebels.”

Josephine rubbed her hands as her thoughts raced. Her eyes wandered, trying to make some sense, some kind of linear thought.

“I wrote to Mother of my...circumstance.”

“And?”

“She is curious at best, ruthlessly judgemental at worst. I defend her without fail, but even I must admit Yvette’s distaste for Mother’s critical nature is not completely unfounded.”

“Your Mother is a shrewd woman who expects her daughters to be the same. It’s not a crime to hope the girls you raise into women are courageous and independent.”

“Yes, but I have dedicated my life to honoring that commitment, and now just as I have found one thing that does not align with those goals -- or, perhaps, complicates them is more precise wording -- everything starts to go awry.”

“Josie, perhaps the Inquisitor is right, and you are running before you should walk. Pulling a muscle before the sprint is hardly wise,” Leliana sat back from the wall, resting her hands on her knees.

“I just wish something would arise, some kind of sign, then. Something that shows me I am acting in the right ways, especially after that dream I had.”

“You had the last three days happen to you and you still need a sign? Maker, Josie, no wonder she is ready to chew through wood.”

“Leliana, spare me,” Josephine put her face into her hands as she hunched over her gathered lap. “I am simply trying to do what is best for everyone involved.”

“I know all-too-well your motivations, Josephine, which is why I did some diplomatic work of my own.” Leliana stood from the bench and made her way to the tower railing. “Sera! You may come upstairs now!” she called down.

Sera, being the person whom everyone could always depend upon to make a remarkable entrance, opted out of the stairs. Instead, she swung up and over the railing, having jumped from the library railing up to the third story with ease. Josephine blinked at the abruptness of her appearance, watching the rogue elf swing a leg around the wood rails and hop onto the ground.

“Spymaster, my pleasure. Lady Josie.” she nodded to both of them, scratching the side of her hip.

Leliana couldn’t help but grin with empathy for Sera’s mischief and dexterity.

“Sera, why don’t you tell my friend here what you took great care to find out using your contacts,” Leliana gathered her hands behind her waist as she turned to look in Josephine’s direction.

“Sure, though, I gotta admit my friends are real curious now, somethin’ about women gettin’ all cuddly with other women. They were more than giddy to help,” Sera grinned, leaning back on the rail.

“Leliana, what did you and Sera do?” Josephine said curtly, rising from her seat in order to stand level with them.

“Hush, Josie, just give us a chance,” Leliana shook her head, opening the floor again for Sera. “Go ahead.”

“Nobles are all in a tizzy about who catches the Inquisitor’s eye and arse, no doubt ‘bout it. But we dropped some hints here and there, nothing dirty or...anything, about a certain diplomaty-woman catchin’ her eye. My people say that there’s no sign of trouble or hurt feelins in their ranks. We seein’ nothing too scary or concerning on our end, and our end tends to be where you get to see the Bronto’s backside of all the intrigy-stuff. Assassination plots, poison’ins, orders to spit in wine, spyin,’ that sorta stuff.”

Josephine couldn’t help but hold her breath as she did her best to make sense of what Sera was saying. When it all came together -- after about 10 seconds of critical thinking -- her attention turned to Leliana.

“So, you trial-ballooned an affair between a Diplomat and the Inquisitor to see if there would be any backlash? I should have predicted you would do something like this,” the Ambassador folded her arms.

“If you had, you would have stopped me. Sometimes it is useful to be overlooked; besides, it is my trade to go undetected,” Leliana grinned out the side of her mouth with smug accomplishment.

“This is simply a select few rumors, though. More than triple the amount are sifted through before midday in Val Royeaux. We both know everyone gossips about the many possible suitors the Inquisitor may have, such discourse is fleeting and intemperate.”

“Yes, but you may use that to your advantage. But, I would advise a more confident approach than hiding behind the ebb and flow of Court gossip. Use your abilities to your advantage -- what do you do best? You arrange and strike accords.”

Sera couldn’t help but be slightly perturbed at the nausea of aristocratic talk.

“Josie -- if I could call ya that for a second -- Josie, listen. You got your head so far up in the crust of the pie you don’t see how the dish gets baked. The people like it when they see their own selves in you people with all the power and riches and...whatever it is you spend your time playin’ ‘round with.”

“Sera is right -- if you reinforce your play.”

Josephine found herself amused underneath the tension of the situation, seeing Leliana and Sera working together, seeming to converse across two separate dialects.

“Alright, alright, I see what you are trying to get across. Thank you Sera, for taking the time.”

“It’s all good, Ambassy-der. Any time gals need help gettin’ together, my bow is ready,” she chirped back. She then nodded a farewell to the Spymaster, before grabbing at the railing and hopping over.

From below, a very unnerved Solas could be heard asking -- in a tone that said it had not been the first time -- to use the stairs. Then, a giggle that quickly grew more distant, as Sera made her exit.

“Leliana, I must say, I am surprised that you would be so forthcoming in your encouragement of this...relationship. I thought you’d sooner see one of my suitors hung off from a banner pole than nudge them closer in my direction. Tell me, have you taken a page from Seeker Pentaghast’s novels?” a smile on Lady Montilyet’s face grew as she teased.

“Josie, I am fiercely defensive of you. But, I can also see how this makes you happy. Perhaps I see it more than you do at times,” Leliana stepped closer now. “I have discussed this with the Inquisitor, but, I wish for you to know it is possible to love someone in these times of great peril. It may not always feel that way, but it is true. I trust you to be smart and decisive enough to do what must be done, otherwise, I would not have invited you to join us here as an Advisor.”

“You asked me here to be a Diplomat, not to entrench my personal affairs at the heart of a historical force for peace.”

“Yes, and the Hero of Fereldan was tasked with ending a Blight and defeating an archdemon, and must now find a way to survive that which comes for all Wardens with absolution. I still expect letters from her, as she does from me. I still trust her love, as she does mine.”

“Yes, but I am not you. I am not a woman hardened by war, savvy with such matters. I have so little to share in her experience besides intelligence and compassion.”

“Do not even think of that, Josie. I have watched your eyes turn dark with tenacity as you’ve defended that which is most important to you. You may not shoot an arrow or wield a sword, or cast magic, but you are powerful and formidable beyond question. Is that why you have held back so much from this? You fear she will distance herself from you?”

“No. Yes. Maybe--Agh!” Josephine began to pace, rubbing the back of her head with anxiety.

“Maker, Josie, is there nothing you will not let get in the way?”

“It is not that I am meaning for it to happen, Leliana. Nothing would make life easier for me than to simply forget all of these intricacies and inferences and simply be at her side, simple-minded and careless. You must understand that I am configuring with both my nerves as an Ambassador and as a woman who is unfamiliar with such fervent feelings.”

“I see.” Leliana stood by her side, her face softening with compassion.

“Yes. So, forgive me of your heroic tales of love on the front lines do very little to assuage me. It is not that I do not appreciate it, it is that I do not see myself in the reflection of such experiences. And...I fear that she will stop seeing me in the reflection of her own journey, her own histories. Where does that leave me, then?”

Leliana looked away, trying to avoid Josephine’s discerning stare as she compiled her thoughts. Clearly, her friend had been spinning about this to the point of emotional exhaustion. It was a wonder how she hid it so well -- well, it was Josephine. That would be an answer enough.

“Josephine,” Leliana spoke her full name now, “If you do not go for it, you will never truly know. All you will be left with is the certainty of both of you moving on, and that reflection of yours will indeed dissipate. I know you have an adoration for certainties, but, is that one you really want?”

Josephine’s chin lowered as she gazed into the void. The question was a good one, for it feeling so obvious.

“Thank you for talking me through this, Leliana. I will take care to contemplate all the information you have so generously cultivated for me.”

Dinner was awaiting them. And, after that, a certain woman would await her.

[ask-de-writer]

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT : World of Sea : Part 46

SEA DRAGON’S GIFT

by

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

140406 words

copyright 2018

written 2007

All rights reserved.

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights.  They may reblog the story provided that all author and copyright information remains intact.  They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fiction is actively encouraged.

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New to the story?  Read from the beginning.  PART 1 is here

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Chapter 16: Grandalor: The Meeting

The Grandalor loitered in the Fauline’s Spring waters but the ship was not idle.  In trial after trial of the new tactics from Sula’s manual, one helmsman stood out repeatedly.

Darkistry proved that she had an innate grasp of war maneuvers and the rare ability to translate a written page into devastating action.

Barad and Tanlin were watching another exercise.  This time, Darkistry had requested that Master Selked watch as well.  The drummer was rattling ‘jib to starboard’ and sailors forward heaved lines to pull the jibs across in a maneuver usually reserved for an emergency turn. The helm went hard down and all the main and top sails slammed and boomed as they filled with wind.  The Grandalor charged straight down the wind at the space between the two target skiffs.  The tocsin beat ‘slack all sail’ followed by ‘brace for shipwreck’ and moments later, the ship blasted through the center of the target space.  

The helm was put over again and the tocsin called for the resetting of the sails.  The Grandalor broke out on a reach across the wind and began to swing upwind, tacking into position for another attack run.

They could overhear Darkistry speaking to Master Selked, “We have plenty of power in the steering tackle to handle a larger rudder, even in a storm.  If we can add more area to the rudder, we should turn quicker.  That could be important in either a storm or a battle.”

Master Selked considered for a moment.  “You are probably right.  I’ll run the calculations to be sure, then I will survey the supplies and see what can be done.  You will have to steer by sail setting alone while the change is being made.”  He wandered in the direction of his boat-shop, muttering, “I wish Kurti hadn’t died.  She was our best repair diver.”

“T’ey’ve used nearly all o’ our supplies o’ glue an’ Strong Skin, m’ ‘Eart,” Tanlin observed to Barad.  “T’ey act as t’ough we’re really are goin’ t’ — — crush another ship on purpose.  T’ey’ve reinforced bot’ bow an’ bowsprit an’ made beams t’ spread t’e shock o’ on impact t’rough t’e ship. T’e divers say t’at t’ere’s not’in’ left t’ scrape clean.  Now t’ey’re waxin’ t’e ‘ull like a racing shell for t’e Gat’ering races.”  She seemed distressed by the whole notion.

The truth of the matter was, the preparations bothered Barad, too.  “I OKed the modifications, Tanlin, my love.  I hope that we never need them.  In the meantime, they keep the crew busy and do no harm.  Did you know that the ship’s Craft Masters came to me yesterday?  They looked at Strategy and Tactics, too.  They’ve put their heads together and come up with a war catapult design.”

“W’at’d ye tell t’em?  Oi’d nae idea we cud mount such a project,” Tanlin commented in a worried tone.

Barad looked into his wife’s troubled gray eyes and said, “I told them to go ahead, if they could find the resources.  What do you think we should do?”

She looked down and shuddered.  Sadly, she replied, “Oi t’ink ye did t’e right t’ing, Luve.  But we must dismantle t’e device as soon as tis nae more o’ need.”

Barad took a relieved breath and replied, “That is just what I told them. By the time that the Fauline gets here, it should be finished.  It will be put between the fore and main masts, just aft of the cargo hatch.”

Glad to change the subject, Tanlin asked, “‘Ow come Darkistry’s so good at Battle Commanding?  Oi grant t’at she’s a fine steersman but t’is’s more like genius.”

Barad looked out at the horizon for a moment, considering how to answer. “Darkistry told me that part of her secret is pretending that her target is the Grinna.”  He shuddered.  “I would not want to be on that ship and downwind of us, with Darkistry at our helm.”  

“W’at did t’ey do t’ ‘er, Luve?” Tanlin asked.  “Oi couldnae believe w’at Oi found oot at t’e Gat’ering.  T’e ’ule Council record reads ‘trial aboard t’e Grinna’.  T’e Council’s ane copies o’ t’e Grinna’s log make a lie o’ t’at.”

Barad replied, bitterly angry, “I know.  I have official true copies  of the fleet records and the Grinna’s logs and documents dealing with the whole sorry mess.  Because of my reputation, I have never been able to get the matter reopened.

“They threw her off.  She would have drowned at Gathering’s end if I had not taken her in.  Violation of the Marriage Laws by seduction was the charge.  She nearly died and not from drowning.  It was weeks before she was off the invalid list.  Doctor Corin says it was rape and assault covered up by false accusation.  I believe him.”

Tanlin laid a calming hand on Barad’s arm.  “Oi did do ane t’ing before we left, Luve.  Donnae tell ‘er yet, but Oi got Sarfin t’ check.  ‘E said ‘e’d look into ‘t.”

Barad calmed at once and smiled admiringly at his wife.  “Tanlin, you’re a wonder.  If Sarfin said he’ll look into it, he will.  You’ve managed more in less than one Gathering than I have been able to do in all the Gatherings since I picked her up.”

Tanlin grinned at a sudden thought.  “Ye did know t’at t’e Fauline’s Ca’tain Skua’s t’e nephew o’ t’e Grinna’s old Ca’tain? ‘T could be an interestin’ meetin’.”

A day later, the boat-shop’s roof hatch was opened and the portable crane pulled a large fabricated rudder section up onto deck.  It dropped a line back into the shop and brought out a large bucket of glue for underwater repairs and strips of both Strong Skin and heavy sail canvas.

At Master Selked’s direction, the Grandalor headed into the wind and came dead in the water.  Four divers went over the side and swam to the stern.  A refuge boat was already in the water to give the divers safety in an emergency, like a Strong Skin showing up.  The crane lowered the new rudder section down and the divers attached floats so that it could not be lost.

In other boats, men were soaking Strong Skin strips in glue.  After much fiddling, the new rudder section was properly lined up with the old rudder and the gluing began.

First, the divers filled the joint between the parts with a stiff putty-like form of glue, then several strong rigid parts were bridged between the old rudder and the new portion to make sure that everything stayed lined up.  Overlapping strips of Strong Skin were glued over the joint and finally glue soaked canvass was used to smooth and fair in the modification.  It took all afternoon to get it done.

Master Selked briefed all of the helmsmen on the new rudder and how to care for it while waiting for the work to be finished.  Through the night, until the glue was set, the Grandalor maintained her courses by the difficult method of sail handling alone.  By morning, the new rudder was ready to test.

All of the helmsmen and helmswomen were on deck to see the effect of the changes to the rudder.  Macoul had the watch, so the first test fell to him.  He hauled carefully on the tackle for a starboard turn to put the ship head into the wind.

Kreul turned to Darkistry, “Did you see that!  I’ve never seen the ship so responsive.”

Darkistry grinned and said, “I have to try this for myself.  There looks to be a sweet spot that could really be something in a tight turn.”

“The ship certainly does turn faster but what do you mean by a sweet spot?”

“I’ll show you when it’s my try.  I’ll bet that we can swap ends in a two lengths or less.”

“No! You’re serious!”

As it turned out, she was.  Dropping floats at the start of her turn showed that Darkistry could reverse the Grandalor’s course in just under two lengths.  Even though the breeze was only moderate, her sail management and rudder tackle work had purling foam almost over the starboard rail as they came about.

A few days later the boat-shop hatch was removed again.  The large pieces that were lifted to the deck looked like nothing ever seen in the Naral fleet before.  The deck crew were commenting in awe and puzzlement as they worked the crane to pull the pieces to the deck.

“I’ve never seen such a windlass as that.  It pulls with that heavy block and tackle rig.  That thing must haul tons.”

“Stop pointing and help with this block line.  At least we know what that thing is.  What I’d like to know is, what’s that big open-centered ‘H’ thing with the holes in the legs of the ‘H’?”

“I don’t know.  Swing it gently, that brute’s heavy!  Spot it careful.  Good.  Ready the next lift!”

“I recognize that part.  It’s like a gimbal mount for a hunting catapult but its way too big and taller than a catapult mount should be.”

The other Masters had journeymen and apprentices bringing up loads of items ranging from heavy cable parts to a massive sling with heavy net reinforcing.

By the end of the afternoon, the first war catapult ever built in Naral fleet waters stood on the fore deck of the Grandalor.  In the light of the setting sun, it cast a sinister shadow the length of the ship.

TO BE CONTINUED

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[tarysande]

Fic Update: Any Four Walls: Active Duty

On AO3

#

Active Duty

Time off active duty hadn’t dulled Shepard’s sense of impending danger. Now, of course, that instinct mostly came in handy when Rose was about to attempt something doomed to end in blood and a trip to the hospital. Still, as she sat off to the side around a crowded table watching her husband attempt to both smooth ruffled feathers and remain firm about the political stances the still-new Council deemed important, the prickle of the skin at the back of her neck went from mildly irritating to downright distracting. Had she been in the field, it would have been enough to make her draw her weapon. She simply couldn’t put her finger on why. Splitting political hairs was nothing new, after all, no matter how heated the opposition.

Her lips twisted in a self-deprecating smile and dragged her hands through her hair in an attempt to soothe herself. Doubtless it was something ridiculous. Probably some deep-seated fear for the children, though Shepard had ample proof Solana was capable of rising to any occasion—even if that occasion was two bundles of giggles, pranks and inexhaustible energy. She glanced at the time. Half an hour until the next scheduled break; she’d call then, even if it meant enduring Solana’s inevitable ribbing about people who worried too much.

The prickle did not subside.

When a turian aide entered quietly and began scanning the room, the feeling of not right, not right, be on alert only intensified. His gaze lingered for a moment on Garrus, then shifted until it landed on her. This was followed by a brief, beckoning gesture. She rose at once, moving along the outside of the room as stealthily as she was able to without actually resorting to using her tactical cloak.

Nothing good ever came of aides interrupting meetings to whisper in ears. Especially when they wore expressions as serious as this one wore.

Garrus, speaking calmly at the front of the room while another politician shouted at him about impossible demands, ridiculous concessions, never paused, but she felt his eyes follow her out. If she knew him—and she did—he’d find a way to wrap things up without anyone realizing he’d maneuvered the end of the meeting far too early.

He was getting good at that. Diplomacy. It might have made her smile, if the abrupt appearance of the turian aide hadn’t struck such a discordant, sour note in her.

What do you need me to do?

But no, it wasn’t that, not anymore. Now it was, what’s happened to the children?

The turian didn’t quite meet her eyes. He hunched a little into his cowl, mandibles pulled tight to his face. “Comman—sorry, Admiral. Admiral Shepard. I’m sorry to interrupt—”

“I’m sure you’ve got a good reason, Lieutenant…?”

He blinked at her. His eyes were very green. His markings were the same color. Though it was never particularly easy to place a turian’s age—not for her, anyway—she had the distinct impression this one was still very new to his commission. “Vatix, ma’am. And yes, ma’am. Uh, General Fedorian sent me.”

A mantle of cold clarity settled over her. She saw every anxious twitch in the turian standing before her. She heard the faint metallic whirr of the environmental systems, and over that the faintest hum of Garrus’ voice. If she’d been wearing a hardsuit, she’d have already pulled up her HUD, she’d have already been planning.

The aide looked very much as though he anticipated being the messenger doomed to get shot after delivering his message. With every nerve singing, every instinct she’d thought dormant pulled taut, she could not actually bring herself to disabuse him of this possibility.

“Go on. Is there a reason Naxus didn’t come himself?”

“Comms are dampened in here. As you know. To prevent interruptions?”

“I am aware, Lieutenant Vatix. Could we skip to the message, please? Is it Solana? The children?”

Whatever he saw on her face made the aide cough and continue quickly, “Oh. Yes, of course. Sorry, ma’am. No, he didn’t mention his wife or your children. He asked me to escort you to his office.”

“To what purpose?”

“He didn’t elaborate. Only said it was urgent.”

She closed her eyes for the moment it took to inhale a sharp, annoyed breath. “You could have opened with that, Lieutenant. Let me get Garrus—”

“He asked for you, ma’am. He said it wasn’t something, uh, requiring Councilor Vakarian’s presence.” Vatix shifted from one foot to the other. “He did have a human visitor with him.” His mandibles flicked once before drawing tight to his face once again. “Sorry, ma’am. I—should have mentioned that. He did tell me to.”

“Yes,” she agreed, narrowing her eyes and gesturing for him to precede her. “Lead on, Lieutenant.”

After two or three attempts at conversation were met with yet more nervousness and single-syllable, stammered replies, Shepard fell into silence at Vatix’s side. Her skin did not stop its incessant prickling. Her fingers itched to close around the grip of a pistol, and it took some effort to keep the bland smile on her face and her hands still at her sides. Vatix, she noted, did not have her self-control; his long digits tapped a random, nervous pattern against his thigh.

“So, is it hero worship or hate?” Shepard asked, after turning down two different hallways—each emptier than the last—and enduring another agonizing minute of total silence. “No judgement. Just curious.”

“Sorry?” Vatix asked, and though she was not nearly as expert at reading other turian subharmonics as she was Garrus and Tyrra, the young lieutenant’s discomfort was palpable even to her.

“Effortlessly being able to start conversations is something of a point of personal pride,” Shepard returned, carefully modulating her own voice. Friendly. Even. Interested. “I can’t figure out why you won’t oblige me.” She smiled mildly. “I’m not used to being thwarted. I figure you’re nervous because you’ve heard one too many exaggerated stories, or you hate my guts. Either’s fair.”

Vatix didn’t laugh. His fingers stopped tapping and immediately headed for the flap of the pocket they’d been dancing over during the entire length of their walk. Her skin burned. Before she could second-guess herself—or let the words galactic incident—override her instinct and the relatively unsubstantiated evidence she’d collected, she wrapped her fingers around his reaching wrist, spun to catch his arm behind his back, and brought one foot down on the back of his left spur with just enough pressure to ensure he froze. His audible breath wheezed with barely controlled pain. Wrex would’ve said Vatix had a quad; Shepard knew how damned sensitive—and vulnerable—an unarmored spur was. She had, of course, been counting on it.

“You want to tell me what’s really going on here, Vatix?”

“General Fedorian—”

“Wouldn’t have sent you. He’d have sent someone who knows damned well I can find his office without help.” He tried to rise up to give himself leverage to ease her pressure on his arm, but this only brought more weight down on his spur. His breath came in swift and shallow gasps. “Not my first rodeo. And I’m good with maps.”

Vatix said nothing. She put a little more of her weight on his spur, feeling the give. She didn’t think the high-pitched whine he emitted was intentional. “You want to try again?”

“It’s too late, anyway,” Vatix gasped.

Much as she wanted to finish the work she’d started on his spur, she wanted answers more. She twisted his arm further, pulling it nearly from its socket. Plates weren’t much use at the joints. Part of the reason for the bulkiness of turian armor was protection at those weakest junctures. Vatix wasn’t wearing armor any more than she was, and whatever advantage his height might have given him in hand to hand was lost to her strength and better positioning.

What do you need me to do?

“For what?” she snarled, applying just enough pressure to make him yelp. With her free hand, she reached into the pocket he’d been toying with and retrieved a syringe prepped full of a liquid she couldn’t identify. Her guts twisted and she swallowed down the bile and bitter panic that always threatened to overwhelm her when she saw needles. Of all the goddamned ridiculous things. “You’ve got about thirty seconds before I use one of the half-dozen ways I know how to kill your species without needing a weapon.” Her fingers tightened reflexively around the syringe. “Or maybe I’ll just give you a taste of your own medicine, here. Whatever the hell it is.”

“You think I’m afraid to die? I just needed to get you out of the way. And I did. I did. Your time is done.” Vatix’s subharmonics steadied; even through the pain, Shepard heard the confidence. The zealotry. She wished she didn’t have quite so much experience with zealotry; the tenor of it was unmistakable. And terrifying. “You think we’re blind? No. We see your fingerprints on everything Vakarian does. We know his face is the mask you wear to control the weak turians who wish only for new overlords to appease. We’ve had enough. We will have turian sovereignty again, free from humanity’s pestilent influence. We carried your people through the war and—”

Shepard didn’t let him finish. “So it was hate then. Good to know.”

The steps of this dance were familiar, for all she’d been avoiding practicing. Like a waltz. One-two-three, one-two-three; nothing so complicated as a tango. On one, she finished dislocating his shoulder. On two, she shattered his left spur beneath her foot. On three, she crushed the other, effectively hamstringing him. Another turn around the floor would’ve seen him cooling in a pool of his own blue blood, but she paused, thinking of his words, his warning. Thinking about time.

By the time he hit the floor, screaming, Shepard was already running.

[thomasinabergsten]

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Cat Urine Acidity

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[cwnerd12]

“War Games” A motorcade drives up to the entrance of a Gilboan army base. A group of generals stand waiting. Half of them are young AFG vets eagerly awaiting David's arrival, and the other half are older generals who served Silas, A soldier opens the door of the royal limo, and David steps out. A line of troops behind the generals all salute. David looks over them, hiding his unease, and says, "A-at ease.” The AFG officers step forward. One officer, Col. Kamal, greets him, “We’re delighted to have you here, your majesty.” David, “I’m glad to be here.” Another SUV drives up, and Shay steps out, followed by Adam. An officer from the Queens of Gilboa, Maj. Struna, steps over to greet her, “Welcome to Camp Clayton, General Mendoza!” Shay, “What’s up, Carrie? The boys treating you good?” Struna, “All the boys want to be Queens of Gilboa.” They both laugh. One of the older officers, Gen. Harel, steps forward David, “Your majesty.” David, “It’s good to meet you, sir.” Harel, "I believe I'm the one who's supposed to be calling you sir.” David, “What?” he realizes what's going on and blushes, “Oh, oh my god, I'm sorry.” Harel, “Don't apologize, sir.” David, “Oh, yeah. I- I went through my basic training here. Back then, I was just another nameless grunt.” Another SUV pulls up behind them, and Reinhardt steps out. Harel smiles, “Good morning, Minister Reinhardt.” Reinhardt, “Good morning, General Harel.” Reinhardt glances at David, “This is the man who saved my life and General Mendoza’s life by refusing orders to drone the MSS building.” David, uncomfortably, “Yes, I’m aware.” Harel, “I have very important things to show all of you.”

David stands in front of a group of screens, each one showing an image of amassed Gath troops. Harel, “Gath is amassing more troops at the border. They’re regularly engaged in practice maneuvers simulating another assault.” Reinhardt, “Can we bring more of our own troops out?” David, quickly, “No.” Everyone looks at him. David, awkwardly, “Gath is going to see any response from us as an escalation. We need to handle this as diplomatically as possible, and carefully consider every little move.” Shay, “How is the integration of the AFG going? We can’t fight if we aren’t a united front.” The AFG officers and older officers exchange awkward looks. Harel, “There’s tension.” David, “Such as?” Kamal, “There has been some predictable mistrust among AFG and old army veterans, but it’s been made clear that fighting will not be tolerated.” Harel, “I happen to disagree.” Everyone looks at him. Harel, “It’s insulting to Gilboan army veterans who have bled for Gilboa to be passed up for their deserved promotions for young AFG veterans.” David, “Many of our AFG veterans, especially among those who have been given officer positions, are army veterans who defected.” Harel, “I have officers being out-ranked by brand-new officers half their age!" He casts a look at Adam, “Like him! Is he even old enough to buy a beer?” Adam, “I’m twenty-one.” David, “Captain Solano is one of the AFG’s most accomplished fighters. He’s acted heroically many times and saved a lot of lives.” Reinhardt, “As someone who has been on the wrong end of a fight with the AFG, I can assure you that these guys know how to fight. The new officer’s ranks are earned. I’m afraid you need to tell your men to buck up, put their egos aside, and serve their country as directed by their king." David, "If gath is truly considering war, we cannot ourselves be divided like this! I know these aren't just small differences of opinion. I know that to a lot of your men, it's unconscionable to work alongside the people they so recently were fighting, but Gath is counting on us to fall apart!” As everyone talks, Adam's phone quietly buzzes. He discreetly takes it out of his pocket and looks at the screen: OMGossip! The Crimes of Caesar Reinhardt. Shay, “What is our strategy going to be moving forward?” Adam looks at Reinhardt. David, “I want to get some numbers on what Gath has amassed. Once we have something concrete, we can make more solid plans.” Reinhardt glances over and sees Adam looking at him. Adam glances away quickly. David goes on, "I'm still committed to peace. Gath is going to have to be the one who makes the first move. When they make it, we’ll be prepared."

After the meeting, everyone heads outside. David takes out his phone and sees text after text from Rose. He pauses and stares at the screen. Shay pauses next to him, “What’s up?” David, “Rose has been blowing up my phone for the last hour, it looks like." He clicks on a link, and the OMGossip article about Reinhardt comes up. Behind them, Reinhardt stares at him phone, stony-faced. Shay looks over David's shoulder and says softly, “What the fuck?” David’s phone starts to ring, David answers, “What?” Rose is on the other end, “Have you read it?" David, “I just got out of a major defense meeting. What's going on?” Rose, “OMGossip published an exposé on Reinhardt’s time as director of the MSS.” David, “Yeah, I know what he did, I looked all through is files!" Rose, “You know, but the public doesn’t. You need to get back here as quickly as possible, and read the article.”

David and Shay sit reading on their phones in the back of the royal limousine on the ride home. Reinhardt stares out the window. Adam looks at him, full of disgust and hatred. On David’s screen, a picture of Nora & Leo Levinson. He scrolls down and pictures of the people who’s names Silas once read, Frank Hatch among them, comes up. comes up. Reinhardt glances over and sees Adam looking at him. Shay scrolls, and a picture of Isaiah comes on her screen. She sighs and looks with repulsion at Reinhardt. He sees her looking and turns away.

Rose, Asher, Abby, Monique, and Joel sit waiting in the council chamber. David enters, followed by Shay, Adam, and Reinhardt. Asher makes no attempt to hide his loathing as he watches Reinhardt sit. David takes his seat. Rose, “Have you read everything?” David, “Yes. And there was nothing new in the article. I knew about it. We all knew about it.” Asher, “He gave direct orders. Go to my parents’ house and kill anyone there.” David sighs deeply. Monique, “This article is just barely scratching the surface of shit he’s done, shit I knew about long before David blew up the tank. I’ve seen friends and good people disappear into his prisons. I've watched serve you, David, and I've held my tongue. To be completely honest… it makes me sick to see him wearing my uniform.” Reinhardt, "First of all, I’d like to say that as director of the MSS, I did horrible things under the order of King Silas.” Asher, muttering furiously, "Don't say you were just following orders. Don’t you dare fucking say you were just following orders.” Reinhardt, "I was doing my job and I was doing it as well as I possibly could. I take full responsibility for all of it. No one gave those orders but me.” Joel, "I killed Abner because of Isaiah. I shouldn’t have stopped." David, “Abner could be justified as an act of war, anything else would just be murder." Joel, “Does it matter? Death is death, orders or not." Shay, "We need him.” everyone looks at her. She goes on, “The wars with Gath and Ammon left the Gilboan army depleted, and a good number of Silas's old officers left when David was crowned. We have a severe shortage of leadership, and Gath gathering its troops at our borders. Any other time, I’d say fuck Reinhardt, but this is about survival.” She looks at David, and everyone else follows suit. David sighs deeply and sinks down in his seat. He rubs his forehead, “I don’t know. I’m gonna need to think about this.” Rose, “Don’t take too long. I have to make a press announcement, and nobody likes to hear that a king is thinking about it.” Reinhardt, “May I say something?" David looks at him. Reinhardt, hesitating somewhat, "I don't pretend to be a good person. But with this job, David has given me an opportunity to become better. I can’t undo what I’ve done, but I can set myself to doing right.” Asher gets up from his seat, and approaches Reinhardt. He leans against the table and crosses his arms, scrutinizing him, trying to judge his sincerity. Finally, he says, “Forgiveness comes with honest repentance. If you were to sincerely ask me for my forgiveness, it would be my duty to grant it. But forgiveness is only granted by the people you ask it from, and guess what? You can’t ask my parents.” Adam, “I…” he falters. Everyone looks at him. He looks around awkwardly, and then quietly says, “I didn't join the AFG hoping to see the same people stay in power. This isn't what we fought for.” David, “I need to think about this!”

David and Jack sit on opposite ends of the couch. Jack watches TV, David scribbles at something in a notebook. Jack nudges David with his foot, “No work at home.” David doesn’t look up, “I’m sorry. It’s just the only thing that will help me get my mind off of work is more work.” Jack moves over to look at the notebook, “Whatcha doing?” David, “Charter Day speech.” Jack makes a face, “Get your speech writer.” David sighs, “I know, but I’m supposed to be unifying the nation I just kind of led into civil war. It should be at least a little bit personal.” He pauses, and then says, “Did Silas ever go over his speeches with you?" Jack, “Sometimes, sometimes…” he concentrates, and then adopts a low, gravelly voice like Silas, “Read this, Jack. Louder. Clearer. More conviction! A king…” he falters and returns to his normal voice, “A king…” The words get lost. He gives David a look that says, You get the point. David gently plays with Jack’s hair, “You should be in my meeting with me.” Jack, “Im not ready.” David, “You’re still my best advisor, and half of the time, you know more about any given situation than I do.” Jack, “I can’t talk.” David, “You talk fine.” Jack thinks for a moment, “Gerald wants war. He won’t stop.” David, “I know that much.” Jack, “He’s trying to… to… the pictures. You. Angry.” David, “Bait me into attacking first?” Jack, “Yeah.” David, “I’m not gonna be the one who declares war. If Gerald wants it, he has to brave enough to declare it himself.” Jack, “No promises. Gerald fights dirty.” David sighs deeply, “What should I do about Reinhardt?” Jack shrugs, “He’s your friend.”  David, “He is not my friend.” Jack gives him a look. David, “Sometimes he helps me with stuff, that does not make him my friend.” Jack, “You’re the king. It’s your decision.”

David stands at a window, looking down at a huge group of gathered anti-Reinhardt protesters. The day is grey and rainy, but the protesters are still there in full force, waving signs that call either for his resignation, firing, imprisonment, or hanging.

David sits in the treaty room across from Michael Shaw and a bunch of Gath diplomats. Abby, Shay, and Jack sit with him. David, “Don’t insult my intelligence by saying that Gath isn’t behind the OMGossip leaks. There’s absolutely no one else who could have done it, and you do this shit all the time.” Michael, “It could have been an opportunist looking to make a quick dollar.” David, “If that were the case, the pictures of Jack would have been released when he was still in the hospital and his condition was kept from the public.” Abby, “I was in the Ashdod apartment with David and Rabbi Levinson. Between the three of us, it was never empty, and we never had any visitors. The recording device could only have been planted before we arrived there. Our Ministry of Investigation currently has its finest men working on the case. In the case of the leaked pictures of prince Jack, we have footage of an unauthorized person disguised as an orderly going into the prince’s hospital room. When that person is identified as a Gath operative, it will be grounds for sanctions.” Michael, “We already have sanctions against us. As far as we’re concerned OMGossip is a news website that’s producing quality investigative journalism. Besides, Gath didn’t have to turn over anything for their exposé on Caesar Reinhardt. Honestly, we couldn’t have given them anything nearly as good as what they dug up on their own. I couldn’t help but notice he isn’t here today.” David, “I really don’t give a fuck that you’re trying to shake my people’s trust in me with that recording. I’ve been frank about my mental health all along, and I’ve received treatment since that recording was made. Jack, however, was not only shot by your father, he now has been dealt the indignity of being photographed at his most vulnerable.” Jack, slowly enunciating each word, “I want an apology.” Michael, “Gath is not responsible-” Jack cuts him off, “Bullshit!” Michael sighs and thinks for a moment, “I might be able to work something out with the expatriation of Dr. Max Othman back to Gath.” David, “No. That’s not going to happen. He not only saved my life, but he is a tremendous help to me and a number of other AFG veterans. The only way you’re getting him is if you invade Shiloh. In fact-” A sudden, loud BOOM of thunder causes him to jump. Michael smiles, “Are you all right, your majesty?” Jack reaches over and puts his hand over David’s. David takes a deep breath and re-composes himself, “I’m fine. This isn’t a negotiation. An apology would simply be good manners. If you want something from us, we have to get something in exchange.” Jack slides a piece of paper across the table, "A reduction in Gath troops along the border." Another roll of thunder causes David to shift uncomfortably. Michael looks at the paper, “Any troop withdrawal will have to be approved by my father directly.” David, “Then send it to him!” Suddenly, the sound of a loud explosion. Everyone on the Gilboa side, jumps, David covers his head. After a brief moment, everyone realizes it wasn’t a real explosion. Michael smirks and pulls out his phone, “Sooooo sorry. I should have changed my new ring tone before coming here. It’s the sound of our new Goliath XV.” David, “Jesus, that’s not funny!” Abby is visibly shaking but manages to keep her composure, “We're going to take a break.”

In another room, David paces furiously, “I can't believe they would pull a stupid trick like that!” Jack, “I can.” David, “They’re not taking this seriously at all! We’re not going to achieve anything with this!" Abby, “Achieving things isn’t the goal. We’re tying them up in diplomacy to slow down the escalation.” David, “Fuck!” Shay, “David, Shaw’s not here, you don’t have to be here, either.” David, “Yes I do, I’m the king!” David slumps against the wall. Abby, “I think it’s a good idea. If they want to negotiate with you, they'l have to respect you." David looks at Jack. Jack, “He’ll do it again. He has more. For you. Not for me.” David, “Yeah, okay, fine.” Shay, “You go relax. We'll handle this.”

In the palace gym, David has a private yoga lesson. An instructor leads him through a basic pose, “And breath deeply.” David follows the instruction. The instructor gently corrects his position, “Really open yourself up…” One of David’s arms starts to shake and his face twitches. Instructor, “Just keep holding….” David breaks the position, gasping for air. Instructor, “Are you all right?” David, “I’m fine, I’m fine!” He struggles to get up. Instructor, “Are you sure?” David, “I just need some air!” He staggers out into an empty hallway. He bumps against a wall, and then crumples to his knees, shaking and panting. He stays there for a few moments, breathing deeply and trying to re-gain some control. Eventually, he calms down a bit, and moves to sit more comfortably. He leads his head back against the wall, and then grabs his phone out of his pocket. He presses a number and holds it to his ear. In his home, Reinhardt answers, “What?” David, the words rushing out, “Have you ever had a panic attack while you're working out or something?” Reinhardt, “What?" David, “I was having a fucking yoga lesson and…” Reinhardt, bemused, "You were doing yoga?” David, “Shut the fuck up! Have you ever heard of shit like that happening, or am I just going fucking crazy?” Reinhardt, growing a little bit more serious, “Yeah. I know a few guys that sort of thing’s happened to. Something to do with the awareness of your body, feeling helpless, something like that.” David runs a shaking hand through his hair, “Fuck.” Reinhardt, "Are you all right?” David, “I… I’ll be fine.” Reinhardt, "You did the right thing, calling me. It helps to talk to someone." David sighs and rubs his face. Reinhardt, “This might be the wrong time to ask, but… do I still have a job?” David, "I should have had you tried and executed when I had the fucking chance." Reinhardt, “Yeah, you’ve told me that before. Do you want me to come in tomorrow or not?” David, “You’re the only person I can talk about this shit to. You know what it’s like to deal with it all and still be a leader. You've been through it all and come out the other side. I need that." Reinhardt, “David…" David, "What?" Reinhardt, “There is no other side. It doesn't go away. You just learn how to deal with it better.” David, “I can’t just fucking live with it!” Reinhardt, “Unfortunately, you don't have much of a choice. Do I still have a job?” David, “Yes! Shay’s right. You've got knowledge and experience that no one in the AFG has, and we need it if Gilboa is going to fucking survive.” Reinhardt, "I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then." David, "You aren’t getting paid. You’re doing this as an act of repentance and service to Gilboa. You’re going to be staying in diplomatic negotiations with Gath for however long they last. If someone’s going to suffer through them, it might as well be you.” Reinhardt, “I can deal with that.” David, “Everyone else still hates you, by the way.” Reinhardt, “Yeah, I know. I’ll see you tomorrow.” David sighs, “Yeah, I'll see you. Bye.” He hangs up. He puts the phone down and leans his head back. Tiredly, he rubs his face. He sniffs, and a single tear falls down his cheek.

The next morning, David sits in his office with Adam and Liam. David, “You guys think you can put together a little speech to introduce my big speech on Charter Day?” Liam, “Yeah, sure!” David, “Awesome. You guys are more popular than I am right now. Seriously, nothing too fancy, just a bunch of stuff about uniting in the name of Gilboa, that sort of thing.” Liam, “Totally. We’ll be great at it.” David, “You good with that, Adam?” Adam, “Yeah.” David, “Okay, great. Uh, listen, the real reason I called you in here early is because the big news story today is gonna be that Reinhardt is coming back.” Liam, disgusted, “Seriously?” Adam goes very still. David, “The fact remains that we need him right now. He’s not gonna get paid any more, he’s just…. serving Gilboa. Can you make a statement, Adam?” Adam, “I… I’m not happy that he’s back.” David, “No one is. Trust me, I’m not happy that we’re so dependent on him, but that’s just what we’re dealing with right now. If you don’t want to make the statement, I can have Liam or Rose do it.” Adam, “No, I…” he takes a shaking breath, “I can do it.” David, “Seriously, never mind. I’ll have Rose do it. She knows him better than you do.” Adam nods and doesn’t say anything. David, “Are you okay, Adam?” Adam hesitates for a moment, thinking hard, and then quietly says, “I wouldn’t have joined the AFG if I knew I’d end up working alongside Caesar Reinhardt.” David, “I understand. You just have to believe me when I say that this is about survival. Do you believe me?” Adam stares hard it him, his face inscrutable. David, “Do you?” Adam, “Yes, sir.”

A few days later, David waits in the bedroom impatiently for Jack to get ready, “Oh my god, how long does it take for you to do your hair?!” Jack, in his bathroom, “Few more minutes!” David rolls his eyes and goes out into the living room. He picks up his speech papers and looks over them one more time. He takes his phone out of his pocket and calls Reinhardt. Comfortable in his house, Reinhardt picks up, “What’s up?” David, “I’m leaving for the speech as soon as Jack gets done… which could be a while. I’m still not really satisfied with this speech, is there anything you think I should say?” Reinhardt, “You’re asking me this because?” David, “I dunno, considering that you’ve always got a bitchy remark, I just thought you’d have something to say.” Reinhardt, “I am currently enjoying a nice quiet evening with the wife and kid. I’m not taxing my brain at all tonight. One of the perks of not being king.” David, “Rub it in, why don’t you?” Reinhardt, “You’re the one who called. You okay?” David, “Yeah, just pretty nervous.” Reinhardt, “Hey, there’s no shame in acknowledging what you can’t handle. If you need to get out of there, get out of there. And call me, if you need support, okay?”  David, “Okay. You enjoy your evening.” Reinhardt, “You, too, man.” David hangs up the phone.

Charter day celebration in Kings Park: immediate sensory overload. Children run around and wave sparklers while smoke wafts from grills. Loud music plays while partygoers mingle and talk loudly. A gathering of AFG veterans and their families reminisce. Lights are bright and colors over-saturated. David stands nervously looking out at the crowd in a tented area, while behind him Jack and Michelle chat and chow down on ribs. Someone sets off a string of firecrackers, and David jumps. Jack looks up at him, “You okay?” David, taking a deep breath, “Yeah.” Michelle, “You should eat something, David.” David, “No, I’m not hungry.” Michelle, “Seriously?” David, “I’m fine.” Cut to: David stands at a podium. He looks out at the crowd that looks expectantly up at him. David, “I’ve honestly had a pretty tough time preparing this speech. Tonight, I must ask the people of Gilboa to unify as one, but, such a plea feels hollow coming from someone who’s caused so much division. In spite of everything, we must be Gilboans above loyalists or rebels, because, the fact is, we have enemies who only see us as Gilboans. I’ve been criticized quite harshly for not doing enough to punish those who once fought against me and the AFG. Not only do I see no point in further punishing those who have already lost a war, I’ve found that it’s better to make allies. Some of the friendships I’ve made may be unusual, but I’m grateful for them.”

Backstage, Jack hugs David as he comes in, having finished his speech, “You were good!” David, “I didn’t freak out, that’s good.” Michelle approaches him, “You did good, David. You always do good.” David, “Thanks.” Michelle, “You gonna come watch the fireworks with us?” David, “You take Jack out there, I’ll be with you in a minute.” Michelle, “Okay.” She takes Jack’s arm, and they go out. David takes his phone out of his pocket and calls Reinhardt. The phone rings a few times, but then goes to voicemail, “This is Caesar, leave a message.” David ends the conversation, a look of concern on his face. He goes to join Michelle and Jack, but before he’s out of the tent, a loud BOOM causes him to jump. He cowers for a moment, but then stands up. He takes a deep breath, counts silently, and then goes outside. Fireworks boom as he goes over to Jack and Michelle. He takes a seat by Jack. Jack, “You okay?” David, “Yeah, that first one startled me, but I’m okay.” Another loud BOOM and he jumps slightly. Jack, “We can leave.” David, “No, I said I’d keep my shit together through this. I’m going to enjoy the show.” Another BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, and he squirms uncomfortably in his seat. He shuts his eyes and breathes deeply. He squeezes Jack’s hand and clenches his jaw. The show continues, and David flinches with each boom. He leans in to Jack, “I’m not leaving, I’m just taking a break.” He hurries back into the tent, and pulls his phone out again. With shaking hands, he tries calling Reinhardt again. “This is Caesar, leave a message.” David, “Uuuh, Caesar, man, I really need you to pick up, I-I said I was gonna get through this whole show, but it’s just started, and,” he jumps at a boom, “J-just call me, okay?” He ends the conversation and looks around in frustration. Another BOOM makes him jump. He tries Reinhardt again. “This is Caesar, leave a message.” David ends the conversation, “FUCK!” He paces as the fireworks continue. He looks out at Jack and Michelle enjoying the show. He tries Reinhardt again. “This is Cae-” David ends the conversation and goes back out to Jack, “I need to leave. I thought I’d be able to handle this, but I can’t.”

In the back of an SUV, David apologizes to Jack, “I’m sorry, I tried calling Reinhardt, I thought he could talk me through it, but for some reason, he’s not picking up. He must be at dinner.” Jack, “You okay?” David, “Yeah, I- I’ll be okay. We left just in time, though.” He sighs heavily, “You aren’t mad about this, or anything, are you? I didn’t want to ruin your first public event as Prince-Consort.” Jack, “No.” David smiles slightly, “Okay. Thanks. I should probably call him and tell him I left. I’m pretty sure he’d have just told me to leave, anyway.” He calls Reinhardt. “This is Caesar. Leave a message.” David, “Um, hi, Caesar, I just left, uh- don’t worry about me. I’ll see you later.” He ends the conversation and shakes his head, “This is weird.” Jack, “Text him.” David, “Okay.” He types in a text, “You okay? Kinda worried. Text me back.” He sends it. David, “He’s probably just having dinner.”

(“Way Down We Go” Kaleo) Close up: Reinhardt’s phone, in his hand, dings and lights up, “Text message from ASSHOLE” A police officer, standing in Reinhardt’s living room, “Who the hell keeps blowing up his phone?” Another officer squats down and looks at the screen, “Says message from asshole.” A crime scene analyst snaps, “Don’t touch it until all the photographs are taken.” He takes a few more pictures. Reinhardt lies on his back, eyes open in surprise, phone in his hand, four bullet holes in his chest, one in his forehead. Behind the police officers, Lydia weeps uncontrollably. His phone dings again. “Text message from ASSHOLE: seriously, where are you?”