#pouches?? one of my friends said she thought people would be willing to buy the pouches even without the deck

[iatethepomegranate]

We are not alone in the dark with our demons, Chapter 17

In which Caleb buys a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, becomes a professor, learns to be a person separate from the trauma that shaped his life for so long, and begins the arduous process of preventing what happened to him from happening to anyone else. It gets far more personal than even he could have anticipated.

Content warnings: Caleb's backstory (especially references to abuse and grooming), referenced deaths of family members, near-dissociation, near-panic attacks

Chapter summary: Caleb tries to make some positive decisions for himself and reaches out to Felix to teach him a spell (and help him cope).

Chapter notes: Chapter title is from Silhouette by Sleeping At Last

*****

Chapter 17: It must be so hard, in the mess you’re always cleaning up, to believe in the ghost of unbroken love.

Caleb and Essek dropped Caduceus at the Grove after breakfast the next morning. They would be picking him up again the day after next, along with the rest of the Nein, but any time he could spend with his family was to be treasured.

They then teleported into Beau and Yasha’s side of the house in Rexxentrum. Caleb had begun the process of putting a new teleportation circle in his laboratory, but it would take time, even with Essek’s help.

Yasha peered out from the kitchen. “Hello! You just missed Beau.” She looked at Caleb, who had slept poorly until he had given in and polymorphed himself into a cat, and swept both him and Essek into a tight hug. He liked this side of her, less concerned about making a social fuckup and just doing what felt right.

Essek awkwardly patted her back. “Hello, Yasha.”

She let them go. “Oh, Caleb! I’ll get the note. Give me a moment.” She ran upstairs, thundering around the upper floor.

Essek set a pouch of Xhorhassian spices and fried bugs from the region on the kitchen table; he had gotten lucky at the market yesterday. The peaceful conclusion of the war had freed up trade, allowing a better variety of goods to be found, especially in port cities such as Nicodranas. This also meant Essek had been able to stock up on a few hair and skincare products that were hard to find outside Rosohna. He had insisted on picking up a few products for Caleb as well. Caleb was still a little unused to being clean, let alone having a skincare routine.

Yasha pelted back downstairs and passed Caleb a little scrap of paper. “Here.”

“Danke.” Feeling the high quality of the paper between his fingers, Caleb suspected Nico had torn this piece from his own spellbook. Caleb made plans to leave some paper and ink lying around downstairs in case Nico came again while everyone was out. For now, he committed Nico’s handwriting to memory and stashed the note between the pages of his new journal. Then, he reached into his pocket and handed Yasha its twin. “For you. I thought… maybe it was time we collect happier memories.”

Yasha accepted the leather-bound journal, slightly smaller than her old one so she could keep it on her person with ease. His was identical. “Thank you, Caleb. This is a lovely gift.” She held the leather to her nose and inhaled deeply. She chuckled. “It smells like the ocean.”

“Ja, for now.” He hadn’t told the Nein what his old journal had held. But, if nothing else, the soft look on Yasha’s face confirmed she understood it was tied to his past, much like hers had been. He wasn’t sure he would ever tell the Nein, aside from Essek, what he had truly planned with the letters and the T-Dock. He was sure Beauregard suspected, and possibly Veth, and he was certain the rest, especially Caduceus, had caught on that he was headed down a self-destructive path. But Caleb had made the decision not to pursue it. Unveiling that now would upset them, and he had upset them enough. And Caleb preferred to keep that chapter of his life shut, lest he fall into temptation again.

It was time to look forward, as much as he was capable. As much as the current circumstances would allow him. The past would always have a hold on him, but he could choose to let it guide him towards making things better instead of breaking the world to undo what had already been done.

On that front, he had promised to pay Felix a visit, and Essek had burned his teleportation spells so Caleb still had his free for the day.

***

Caleb landed alone in Blumenthal. His breath still seized in his chest at the sight. He pressed a hand to his sternum and gulped down air until the world stopped spinning. He wondered, a little frantically, whether this would ever get easier. And then the panic passed, and he could breathe again.

He checked in with the gravekeeper, who confirmed they were holding off on the Baumanns’ funeral for a few more days in case Nico was willing and able to attend. He passed on the news that Nico had made a small amount of contact, and Caleb willed himself to exude what quiet optimism he could manage.

The gravekeeper was an elderly widow who had been tending the Blumenthal graves for as long as Caleb could remember. She knew him, of course, and that was unnerving as always. But he was trying to stay calm about the people of Blumenthal knowing the professor visiting Felix had once been Bren, son of Una and Leofric Ermundrud. It was hard, though, knowing there were at least a few neighbourhoods who could make the connection between what happened to the Baumanns, and what happened to the Ermendruds. They had not stated outright at any point that Nico had killed his parents, but the more people who knew about what happened, the more people were likely to suspect the truth. And, of course, the Schneiders knew. Caleb didn’t want the townspeople to think of Nico that way; he was going through enough. Caleb wasn’t sure how he felt about himself, only that there was a weight in his guts that intensified whenever he thought about it too much.

Caleb made one last stop before meeting Felix. He was here anyway, and he had not visited his parents since he had buried the letters with them. So he picked his way through the winding cemetery. It was easy to find his parents again, now that he had been here once.

“Hallo,” he said quietly, kneeling in the grass before their paired gravestones. His last visit hadn’t been that long ago, really, but he had been so swaddled in his grief that it had been hard to think straight. He pulled out the new book and rested it on his knee. “A lot has happened since I last came. I have a house now, in Rexxentrum, and a job teaching at Soltryce Academy. I’m going to stop what happened to me, and the both of you, from happening to anyone else. Best I can, anyway. Mixed success so far.” An inappropriate chuckle escaped him. “It’s… strange. Seeing these young boys, Felix and Nico, who had been set on the same path I had walked. We stopped Felix before he could… but I wasn’t fast enough to save Nico’s parents. I am… doing what I can now. They are both so young. Children, really. And, well, you know children that age rarely feel like children. I didn’t. I think Trent exploited that.”

He let the quiet wash over him. A light, fresh breeze played against his face. Most residents of Blumenthal were probably hard at work right now. This was a farming town, after all.

He remembered the journal on his knee. “Oh, and I have a new book now. This one is for happy memories. Nico left me a thank you note; I suppose that’s the first one. He’s not… he needs time. But I am starting to believe we can help him. I’m… I think that scares me. I understand what he’s going through better than most, but… this is a huge responsibility. I hope I don’t fuck it up. Sorry, mother. I would blame my new friends, but, in truth, I’ve always had a mouth on me. My friends are very cool, though. I think you would have liked them. Well, jury’s out on Beauregard, but she grows on you. Maybe I’ll tell you about our adventures next time I visit. Well, some of them. From Trostenwald, to Xhorhas, to a floating flesh city, to a Rexxentrum courtroom... we had a big year. And it’s because of them that I can bear talking to you like this.”

A tiny thought, right at the back of Caleb’s head, suggested he should bring the Nein next time. Or maybe one or two of them. Nine people clustered around a pair of graves sounded like a lot.

Caleb wanted to stay longer, but he had to check on Felix. He sighed, and pushed himself to his feet. “I will return, I promise. I will not leave you for as long as I did the first time. I love you both.”

He stepped away while he still had the will to do so. The grief was there, but he felt in control of it. For now, at least. And there was a family that needed him.

***

Louise Schneider was tending the vegetable patch in front of the house, while Friedrich knelt by a wooden cart, replacing a damaged wheel. Caleb fought off nausea at the sight of the cart; it looked just like the one his parents had owned. That… was fine. He was fine. Blumenthal-standard cart. The things were everywhere.

Louse set her trowel aside, sitting back on her heels. “Hallo… Caleb?” She was, evidently, struggling a bit to figure out what she was supposed to call him.

“Ja, hallo.” His voice was a little rough, but steady.

“Felix is in his room.” Louise wiped her brow with the back of her glove. “He’s been a little… reclusive.”

Sensing this conversation was going to take more than a few seconds, Caleb sat in the grass with her. “Okay, talk to me. How is he? And how are the two of you?”

Louise huffed a short, rueful laugh. “It is hard to tell how your child is feeling when he barely talks to you.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Caleb said, as gently as he sensed she would tolerate. “My situation was not like Felix’s, but I can understand a little. It’s… not a comfortable feeling to know that all the love in the world is not enough to… to…” He breathed. “All I know is that I have grappled with the guilt of my actions for a long time, and the fact we were able to get to him before it went that far… it does not erase the shame. It is an ugly thing, to face yourself, to face the person you have become, even if you were manipulated and abused and brainwashed to become that person.”

“What the fuck are we supposed to do?” she whispered.

“Love him. Show him you are there for him, in whatever way he can bear.”

Louise gazed back at the house. “But if love wasn’t enough…”

“It takes time,” Caleb told her. “You can’t measure it, or count it. Time looks different for all of us. But with your support, it will be easier for him to come to terms with what happened to him, and to understand he is not a bad person for the things he was persuaded to do, and almost did… easier than it is for me. You have to remember, Frau Schneider, that those of us in the Volstrucker program thought we were serving our country, and we were honoured to do it.”

“We thought the same,” Louise murmured. “When Felix was chosen for the program…” She sighed. “I told Master Ikithon to do whatever it took to help him be what the Empire needed.”

The ground was unsteady beneath Caleb, and he was relieved to be sitting down. “My mother and father felt the same, if Ikithon spoke true. He usually does.” A wave of pettiness overcame him, and he chuckled. “Did. That is why it is so difficult to process. He rarely lied to us outright. And we thought we had a choice. We did, to a degree. We chose to serve, and we thought we had to endure what he put us through and what he asked us to do… so we could serve our country.”

“What do you now believe?”

“I believe there are good people in the Empire,” said Caleb. “There are things worth preserving. The child abuse and murder of innocent Empire citizens are not among of them.” He was getting distracted, so he steered his thoughts back in their original direction. “Now is the time Felix needs you most. The biggest thing that has helped me is knowing there are people who care about me and value me, even when I don’t care about myself.”

“We’re trying,” said Louise. “Thank you. He should be in his room, if you’d like to talk to him.”

“Ja, I will. He has been working on a Transmutation spell, which happens to be my specialty.” Caleb pushed himself to his feet, straightening his coat. “And, Louise?”

“Ja?”

“We were children a long time ago,” he said. “And my memories of Blumenthal are too… complicated to linger on, but I remember your kindness. And I have seen your love for your son. You are a good mother. Remember that, and extend that same kindness to yourself, ja?”

Louise picked up her trowel, her movements slow as if through water. “Danke.”

Caleb moved towards the house, exchanging a wave with Friedrich. The front door was open, so he stepped through. The house only had one storey, so he moved past the living area to a short, thin hallway. One door was open, revealing a wide bed for two people. He knocked on the other door.

“What?” said Felix, voice tinged with adolescent irritation that brought back a fuckton of memories for Caleb, of studying in his bedroom until his mother interrupted to coax him down for a meal. It ached, but bearably so.

“It’s Caleb. May I come in?”

“Ja, I guess.”

Caleb turned the knob and slowly pushed, poking his head through first. Felix was sitting on the wooden floor, beside a low bed made from a rough timber frame. His spellbook lay on the floor in front of him, but it was seemingly open to a random page, and Felix’s hair was mussed as if he had just been lying down. On the floor, if Caleb were to guess.

“Would you like some good news?” Caleb said, stepping inside. He shut the door, leaning against it while he awaited Felix’s response.

“That would make a nice change,” Felix said flatly.

Caleb sat on the floor in front of him and pulled out his new book, removing Nico’s note and handing it to Felix. “Nico visited my home while it was empty the other day. He left this.”

Felix scanned the note with careful, controlled slowness. He passed it back, staring sightlessly at the pages of his book.

“He also responded to a Sending,” Caleb continued. “Only to tell me he did not wish to talk, but that is progress. Has he spoken to you?”

“Nein,” Felix said quietly. There was a heaviness to his posture, and he seemed to lack the energy to express himself with his face or voice. Aside from that singular spike of irritation when Caleb had knocked.

“Well, it appears he is listening. If you can bear it, I would suggest you keep talking to him.”

“Ja, okay.” The Felix in front of him was a far cry from the Felix in his messages. Exhausted, flattened… defeated, in some ways. Beaten down and ready to give up. Caleb knew the feeling well. It was why he had been messaging Felix so frequently, knowing that he had no one else who could understand what he had been through. What he had almost done.

It would have been easy enough to talk about the Fly spell and let him have a distraction, but they had things to discuss first. It was better to end their meeting today on a positive note, rather than give him a reprieve now and drag him back to earth later.

“I spoke to your mother,” Caleb said, sitting with the guilt of not giving Felix the distraction he sorely needed. Not yet.

Felix huffed quietly. “Was it a useful conversation? Mine haven’t been.”

“I have the luxury of not being family,” Caleb replied. “I can tell her things that you never would.”

Felix snorted. “Right.”

“She says you’re becoming a recluse.”

Felix shrugged.

“Why is that?”

“What am I supposed to say?” Felix muttered, and Caleb got the sense he probably would have snapped at him, had he the energy. “I know they’re afraid of me.”

“I don’t think they are, Felix.”

“Doesn’t matter. I was going to kill them, and I would’ve succeeded. I know that. They know that.”

“I don’t think they’re worried about that right now.”

“Then they’re stupid.”

“That’s not a nice thing to say about your parents, Felix.”

“Murder also isn’t nice, but I was going to do that anyway.” Felix flipped through the pages of his spellbook until he landed on one Caleb recognised: the formula for Fireball. “Push the cart in front of the door, throw one of these fuckers into the house, or maybe a Lightning Bolt would’ve looked like a freak accident.” Having not expected this, Caleb had to fight a wave of nausea and grasp tightly to the present, and hoped it didn’t show on his face; this wasn’t about him or his bullshit. “Hadn’t decided. Whatever. If I aimed right, it would be over quickly. If not… it would be over eventually. Nico had similar plans, which apparently worked.” Felix’s fingers spasmed on the page, as if resisting the urge to tear it. “If my mother and father do not fear me, they have deluded themselves into thinking I’m innocent. Makes a certain kind of sense, I suppose. I never could tell them what Trent had us do. I have nothing to say to them. I see no point trying to comfort them when they should be afraid of me. They should not want me here.”

Felix was spiralling. Badly. Caleb was out of his depth, and his brain was not turning as efficiently as it usually did, on a knife’s edge of whether to stay present or dissociate entirely. But he had to do something.

“Would you like to guess where I have been today?” Caleb asked. “It’s here in Blumenthal.”

Felix shrugged. “I hate guessing games.”

“I visited my mother and father. Spoke to them for a while.”

Confusion furrowed Felix’s brow for a moment, before he looked up, understanding. “Can’t imagine they were very talkative.”

Caleb’s laugh surprised both of them. “You’re not wrong. Rather one-sided. But maybe they can hear me.”

Felix continued to take the bait. “Fine. I’ll bite. What did you talk about?”

“Life updates. I have only visited once before, a few months ago, and that was more… intense. And, well, since then, I’ve hit several personal milestones I wanted to tell them about.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I am about to guilt-trip you into speaking to your living parents.”

“Oh, fuck you.” There was no aggression behind it, merely exhausted resignation, as if Felix already knew Caleb had the upper hand.

“I am not expecting you to bare your soul to them,” Caleb said. “I understand the impulse to hold back and I do not wish to deny you your privacy. But, it is very easy for people like us to get caught in our heads, and it can be difficult to pull ourselves out of it without help.”

“And if I don’t want to have to look at them and remember I was going to fucking kill them?”

“You seem to remember that well enough without seeing their faces.”

Felix shoved his face into his hands, sighing loudly. “I don’t know what I would even talk about. We have nothing in common anymore.”

“I’ve always found admitting I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing is very helpful.”

Felix snorted.

“And I do not agree that you have nothing in common.” Caleb didn’t try to make Felix look at him. If this were one of the Nein, he probably would have gotten obnoxiously in the way until they couldn’t ignore him, like Jester, Veth and even sometimes Essek had been known to do for him. But, with Felix, his words would have to be enough. “You have told me you love them, and they clearly love you. There is a lot of common ground there.”

“What common ground?” Felix curled more deeply inward with the gravity of defeat. “I cared more about some bullshit Trent put in my head than how much I love my parents.”

This was far more familiar territory to Caleb. “You are not alone in that, Felix. I loved my mother and father. And I killed them just the same. Trent exploited our patriotism to isolate us from our families and tie our worth to serving the empire, to serving him. And by having us kill our families based on a lie, one of the only lies he ever told us, he could ensure we had no one else to support us. That we would not believe we deserved better, even if we learned he had modified our memories. He wanted us to have nothing else but him. Did he pull that ‘we are family’ bullshit with you?”

Felix dropped his hands, snickering bitterly. “Ja. All the time.”

“Creepy, ja?”

Felix kept laughing quietly.

“He invited me to a ‘family reunion’ with him, Astrid and Eadwulf a few months ago,” said Caleb. “My friends came with me. Do you remember Caduceus?” Felix nodded. “He told Trent he was a fool, and that no one loves him.”

Felix scoffed. “You’re lying.”

“I am paraphrasing. He did call Trent a fool, but what he said about love was… wait, let me quote this exactly. I have this burned into my memory forever.” Caleb cleared his throat, and did not attempt to mimic Caduceus’s voice because he was awful at accents, but he quoted: “He said, ‘I think it has been a long time since anyone has pointed out to you that you're a fool. Pain doesn't make people, it's love that makes people. The pain is inconsequential. It's love that saves them. And you would know that, but you have none around you. You said so yourself, you surround yourself with lies and deceptions. And I wish for you, in the future, to find someone who will mourn you when you are gone. Respectfully.’ And then Trent left.”

“Okay, two things,” said Felix. “First of all, Caduceus is cooler than you. Second, your memory is terrifying and I am rethinking every word I have ever said to you.”

“Caduceus is very cool, ja. And the memory is a blessing and a curse for me and everyone around me. I also have a very good sense of time, and I have used it to annoy the shit out of my friends.”

“Nerd.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Fuck off.”

Caleb chuckled. “Back to my original point. Trent is a piece of shit. He wanted us to believe we chose to follow him, ja, but the choice was false. He wanted us to believe we did not deserve better. Even now that we are free from him, it is not easy to break that conditioning. Our minds are more fragile than we like to think, ja?”

“Ja, I guess.” The momentary brightness faded from Felix’s expression, and the heaviness returned.

“And an important step in countering that is to reach out to the people who care about you.”

Felix slammed his spellbook shut, hiding the Fireball spell from view. “And if I don’t want to?”

“Let me ask a question in return. What do you want?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you so sure you do not want to repair your relationship with your parents?”

Felix groaned softly. “Did you have to word it like that? Of course I…” His voice dropped to a murmur. “Arschloch.”

“Then, is the problem less about what you want, or don’t want, and more about what you think you deserve?” Caleb had far too much experience in feeling that way.

“Fuck you, Caleb.” Felix scrambled to his feet, hugging the spellbook to his chest. “Are you going to teach me this spell, or did you just plan on lecturing me all day?”

Ah. There was the limit. “All right, I’ve said my piece.” Caleb got up. “You said you’ve transcribed the spell?”

“Ja. I just… it’s not an easy spell to practice.”

“I know. Shall we go outside? We will need space for this.”

[expensiveglasses]

Charming Chapter 2

Summary: Prince Jungkook was as infuriating as he was beautiful. In line to one day be king, he requested your guidance in the ways of his people. In turn he will make you laugh, give your family fine gifts, and become an invaluable friend. Unfortunately, he will also make you fall in love with him. But the most unfortunate thing of all was his betrothal…to Snow White

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Fantasy, Angst, Snow white/au

Rating: NC-17

Word Count: 4538

Warnings: None for this chapter. Future warnings are TW: Major character “death” TW: Thoughts of suicide TW: Attempted suicide. Nothing is graphically described. Chapters will be noted when these things take place.

.

.

“Try this cheese, Alaric brought it to me this morning.” Else said, holding the wrapping out to you and you leaned across the windows ledge, taking a small piece of the cheese and popping it into your mouth.

Early morning had peaked, the sun still finding its place over the mountain tops and the village was slowly coming to life. Else’s family bakery was already wafting the smell of bread through the streets when you’d come up the gravel.

“It’s very soft.” You hummed, watching as she wrapped it and stowed it back in the ice barrel by her feet.

“It’s from his farm.” She replied absentmindedly, pulling a long braid over her shoulder and surveying the ends of her hair. “He made it himself.”

“You seem impressed.” You smiled and she blushed, pushing away from the window with a huff and walking further into the bakery.

“Not impressed, anyone can make cheese, you know. It does taste nice, though.” She admitted, using a cloth to wipe her hands.

“Does Alaric wish to court you?”

Else busied herself about the bakery, wiping flour down onto the dirt floor and sticking a loaf of uncooked bread in the bread oven to bake. “If he does, he should hurry. He’s not the only one who wishes to court me, you know.”

You watched as she flitted around the room, pretending to be busy in order to avoid your gaze and you smiled. “Well, you are very beautiful.”

“This is true,” she nodded, brushing a strand of hair from her face as she kneaded dough onto the bench in front of her, “so if Alaric wishes to have me as his wife he should move quickly.”

“Do you want me to convey the message?” You teased and she looked up at you quickly, eyes narrowing.

“Don’t be so forward.” She chastised. “A woman never chases a man.”

You opened your mouth to reply when suddenly-

“I agree, a man should always pursue a woman he wishes to court. Good morning, Ms. Y/N.”

You jumped, eyes widening as the prince came to stand beside you. “Your ma-” you started but as the prince’s face grew stricken you paused before continuing. “Jungkook. What are you doing here?”

Else looked up the two of you, eyebrows rising in interest. You doubted the prince was meant to be out in the village like this, though, thankfully, no one would recognize him. He was dressed simply and you wondered how he would have ever gotten clothing that allowed him to blend in. Else wiped her hands on her apron, coming around the table and leaning into the window, surveying the two of you across the sill.

You could see the interest in her eyes, the way she twisted the ends of her hair through busy fingers as she eyed the prince’s handsome face. You wanted to laugh; if only she knew how out of her depth she was. “Where are you from?” She inquired and you watched as the prince turned to survey her before turning back to you.

“I’m from a few villages over. I’ve come to visit my friend, Y/N. She promised to show me around her village.” He replied and you watched as Else’s gaze slid over to you, eyebrows perked.

“Oh? Will you go now?”

“If you have time, I would love to.” Jungkook replied, staring down at your face and you looked over at Else as she smiled, nodding.

Sighing, you pushed away from the lip of the window, dusting your hands off against your apron. “Very well, I will show you now. I assume I will see you later tonight?”

Else nodded, hands linking behind her back as she smiled out at the both of you. “Of course. Try not to have too much fun without me.”

You ventured further into the village, walking slowly to allow the prince to survey his surroundings. It must have been strange to know he would be needed by the kingdom and not know anything of its people and their needs.

He’d been away for such a long while, you imagined he knew nothing of the village at all. “Where did you find those clothes, your majesty?” You asked softly, gaze shifting around the faces of the towns people. They were busy with their lives, calling out to each other across the cobble pathways, buying and selling goods; too preoccupied to notice a handsome stranger in their midst.

“Jungkook, please.” He murmured, glancing down at you before up at the buildings as you passed. “One of the palace staff allowed me to borrow something from his personal closet; we are the same size. Has this village always had so many colors? It’s very charming.”

You looked around at the buildings and their respective pastels. It was odd the things you forgot to appreciate when they had become such a regular part of your life. The village was not overly large, but it was beautiful and filled with color.

“From as far back as I can remember.” You hummed, fingers linking together in front of you. Dirt kicked up from beneath your shuffling steps and the prince moved his hands into the pockets of his pants.

“I have so many regrets.” He sighed as you curved right, taking him down another small street, less crowded than the last.

“What do you regret?” You asked.

“How much time do you have?” He huffed, one corner of his mouth quirking, lackluster in its attempt. “I regret many things, but neglecting my people is the biggest. I don’t know anything about them, about this village.”

“Were you not being taught about your kingdom while you were away?” You queried, stepping closer to him as a child ran wild past you and up the incline before disappearing around the corner.

“I was being taught how to behave like a king and how to mind my manners, but no education is ever perfect and I’m afraid you can’t teach the personalities of people; only learn them through exposure and time.”

You hummed, nodding, “This is true.”

He clapped his hands together, smiling brightly and you looked up at him, blinking as the sun peaked over the tops of nearby roofs and into your eyes. “I’m grateful you’re willing to be my teacher.” He smiled, “I hope you will tell me about the village and introduce me to people…though my true identity shouldn’t be known, of course.”

You nodded, guiding him down another street where someone was selling candied walnuts and the prince’s eyes widened, a grin splitting his face wide. “My father used to send someone out to get these for me when I was a child!”

You watched as he rolled on the balls of his feet, eyes wide and pinned on the man as he stopped to sell a bag. “Did you bring coins? Surely you can afford them.”

The prince smiled, reaching into the pocket of his breeches and you could hear the telltale sign of coins bouncing together as his fingers sunk into the dips. “Would you like some?” He asked, moving slowly toward the man.

“Oh-” you stopped, feeling flustered, “that’s very kind, your…Jungkook. It’s not necessary, though.”

He watched you a moment before nodding and walking to the man and you turned your gaze to look through the windows of the butcher’s shop while you waited. The butcher waved, and you smiled with a nod. He raised his cleaver, cutting through the meat and bone in front of him.

“Here you are!”

You gaze switched suddenly to the prince as he moved to stand in front of you, holding out a bag for you to take, shaking it gently as you stared. “Jungkook,” you murmured, opening your hands to receive the gift and looking up at him as he dug around in his own bag and snuck a few walnuts into his mouth, eyes squeezing shut with his smile. “I told you it wasn’t necessary.”

“I know,” he nodded, grabbing a couple more nuts, “but you looked like you really wanted one. Plus, they smelled so good, I could hardly help but get two!”

You stared down at the bag, chest warming and you fiddled with a little yellow ribbon keeping the bag closed. “Thank you so much.” You replied and the prince chuckled, nudging your arm softly with his own.

“It is only a bag of walnuts.”

The two of you resumed your slow walk and you opened the pouch, pulling a nut out and chewing on it carefully. “So, tell me about your childhood, Jungkook. You told me you went to a place to learn how to be a king, but where was that?”

The prince hummed, sucking sugar from his thumb and you watched as plush lips smacked in thought. “It’s called Hallen des Efeus and it’s in Heidleberg. Many noble children go there for their education, though I mainly went for punishment.“ He grinned down at you and you couldn’t help the slow smile back.

“This was warranted.” You nodded and the prince laughed loudly, squeaky and surprising, but it made your heart squeeze with affection.

“Yes, it was.” He agreed, finishing off the bag of walnuts and shoving what was left in his pocket.

“At first I was very angry to have been sent away. I spent too many weeks in a state of rebellion and I wrote my father every day to tell him how cruel I felt he was. Finally, I made a friend. Her name is Margit, but she told me to call her Snow. I thought that was absurd, but she insisted and told me she’d call me toad if I didn’t. I found that even more absurd, but refreshing.” He grinned and the two of you stopped by the well to watch as women chatted, lowering buckets to fetch water.

“We had met before, of course, she’d come to my ball only the month before and we’d become acquainted but this was the first time really speaking with her. She’s the princess of Vildungan and was sent by her new step mother who insisted she needed more finishing. Snow thinks it’s because the queen doesn’t really like her.

Perhaps this is so, but she was only 12 at the time so she could have misunderstood. She was called home suddenly at the death of her father not long before I returned home. She’s become a very dear friend to me; she taught me what it means to be a good ruler and person. Her thoughts were invaluable to me, I don’t know who I would be if not for her gentle guidance.”

You hummed, watching as a small girl with a long golden braid down the center of her back peered over the side of the well, her mother swatting at her gently as she pulled her bucket from the darkness. “She sounds lovely. Perhaps you are in love with her.”

The prince smiled, bemused, turning to gaze down at you. “Why would you think so?”

You shrugged, ushering him to move along with you once more. Through the final bend of thatched houses as you began moving through fields, gated with stone and wood. A breeze brought with it the smell of snow crocus, sweet and calming. “The way you speak of her, it sounds like love. Or, at least what I understand of love. I do not pretend to be an expert.”

The morning was now nearing early afternoon and you wondered idly if you’d be expected home for lunch. Perhaps the prince would soon be found missing and you would hate to find out the consequences of being found with him, if that were the case.

“As a very dear friend, yes, I love her.” Jungkook finally replied, hands linked together behind his back as you paused at a gate, the wood splintered and rough beneath your fingertips. “I myself cannot claim to know what love feels like, though I hope to feel it someday. Do you, Ms. Y/N?”

He looked down at you, eyes wide and inquisitive and you fixed your gaze over the fields of forget me nots, watching the cows grazing quietly. “Do I what, your highness? Wish to fall in love?”

“Jungkook, please, and yes. Have you been in love before? Do you wish to find love?”

The sun was warm on your face as you closed your eyes, allowing the sweep of the mid spring breeze to bewitch you. “I have never been in love before,” you allow, “though I would like to know the feeling one day. I know of no one who does not wish this.”

“No one courts you now?” The prince asked and you looked up at him, watching as his gaze remained steady on yours.

“No, Jungkook, I am not presently attached.”

He watched you a moment before humming with a nod and switching his gaze back over the field. “Though you know of someone who would?”

Your fingers sunk into the wooden fence, slivers flaking beneath your fingernails. “Yes, I think so.”

“I believe you speak of Peter.” The prince replied and you turned sharply to look at him. Your questions were silent, but he understood them anyway. “I saw the way he looked at you, when you came to the castle. His concern for you when you were faint was touching.”

Burying your hands in the pocket of your apron, you leaned your back against the fence, feeling the snag of stray wood in the fabric of your dress. “Yes, you are correct. We’ve been friends since we were children and now, he is my father’s apprentice. He seems like a logical choice.”

“But you do not love him?” Jungkook inquired. You frowned; lips pursed as you watched a farmer tend to his field.

“I do love him,” you replied, “but I am not in love with him. I have no right to be particular, though. My life is as you see it.”

“Perhaps so.” He murmured; gaze distracted. “I’m afraid I must return to the castle now; my father will be looking for me soon. Would you be so kind as to show me the way?”

You nodded, pushing gently away from the fence and he followed you back into the winding village.

“I have some time again tomorrow,” the prince remarked, “would you be willing to receive my company again?”

You scraped a sliver of wood from beneath your fingernail, feigning distraction. “When would you wish me to make time?”

You looked up at him and he smiled, eyes scanning your face. You felt warm under his gaze; an intimacy you were unfamiliar with when it came to him. “Would the afternoon suit you? I have time after my morning lessons.”

You nodded, eyes moving to stare back at the cobblestone as you meandered upwards through the streets. “Yes, I will make time in the afternoon. Do you know the old oak tree, the one with the strange gnarl in the center over by the mill?”

The prince nodded, eyebrow quirking, “yes, I believe I do.”

“Then I shall meet you there tomorrow in the afternoon.” You nodded and he smiled.

“Wonderful.”

.

.

Else took her time sweeping that evening while you waited by the fountain, legs tucked under your chin and dress draped to the ground, dust caked along the edges. Normally she wasn’t this thorough, but you could see her father eyeing her with a scowl so you assumed she’d caused him trouble.

The lightning bugs were out before she’d finished, walking towards you with a frown as greeting. “Let’s go.” She muttered, and you followed after her, watching as her father finished closing the windows and doors to the bakery.

“What’s the matter?” You coaxed, “is your father upset with you?”

“He says I am too distracted.” She huffed, stomping across cobblestone, making her way towards the forest’s edge. The brook came into sight and she marched towards it, finding her favorite rock and perching on top of it. “But I was only doing what he asked of me.

“What was that?”

“Acquiring new customers!” She pulled one of her braids over her shoulder, tugging the band from the end and tangling busy fingers through dark tresses as she worked out the knots.

You smiled, watching as she moved, fingers nimble but sharp as she hastily undid her braid. “How were you acquiring them?”

She huffed, scowling over at you as she dropped her half-braided hair. “You know very well how.” She chided, returning to her task and pulling more aggressively at the strands that still clung together.

“And your father disapproves?”

“Only when it’s Alaric, I suppose.” She muttered and you grinned.

“Ah, so Alaric came by again? Did he make his intentions known?” You smile at her glare and she pulled her other braid forward, working to release the last of the strands.

“Don’t be so coarse.” She scolded but there was no bite to her words. Her anger was out of embarrassment and nothing more. “He only came to see if I enjoyed the cheese and I tried to ask if he wanted to buy some bread. I suppose we talked for too long.”

She removed her shoes and stockings, plunging toes into the water and shivering at the chill. “It’s too cold for a swim.” She remarked, subject changed and you sighed, sitting on the rock beside hers and dipping your fingers into the water.

It was cold from the mountain’s spring, biting at your fingertips and you quickly removed your hand to your lap. “It’s always too cold for a swim.” You remarked, staring down at the water, inky black with the night sky.

“Who was that man today? The one from another village?” Else asked suddenly, hands curving into the sides of the rock as she peered over at you.

You sighed, staring across the empty fields. “He is a recent friend.” You lied, “he is just visiting for a short time and I said I would show him around.”

“Is he in the same kingdom?”

You hummed, nodding. “Yes, he is.”

“He’s very handsome.” Else said, staring up at the moon. The sky was alive with stars tonight, shining down on the two of you. “Do you not think so?”

“No,” you sighed, “I know he is handsome, but I fear he knows it too.”

“Well, I suppose he does, with a face like his, he must know.”

Silence enveloped the two of you and you allowed your mind to drift with thoughts of the prince. He was so different from when he was a boy; all the pomp and circumstance of his position had somehow vanished and apparently you had someone named Snow to thank for the change.

Change couldn’t come without effort, though, and that change of heart was what impressed you most. Perhaps the prince did know he was handsome, but he certainly did not make it known.

“Where is Peter?” Else asked suddenly, swinging her feet lazily through the water. “I’ve not seen him in days.”

“He’s helping my father with the royal garments for the ball.” You hummed, pulling your legs back under your chin and linking arms around them. “I imagine he’ll be quite busy until they’re done.”

“Did you see the king and prince again? Was the prince the same spoiled child you remember?”

You smiled, twisting the fabric of your dress between your fingers for inspection. It was too dark to really see anything of substance. “I did see them both again, yes. It is too early to say, but I see some improvement.”

“And is he awkward and unattractive as the last time?” She grinned, long dark hair falling in waves around her face, the tips skimming the belt at her waist.

“He’s improved in many ways,” you sighed, “one of which is his looks.”

“How unfair.” Else tutted, “to be blessed with it all.”

“That’s what I thought.” You giggled. “I should go, though. I’ve been away from home most of the day and my mother will already be displeased with me.”

“I’ll walk with you.” Else said, pulling her feet from the brook and shaking them off before slipping her shoes back on.

.

.

Your mother was unhappy with you insisting on a few hours of freedom in the afternoon, but you’d finished your chores early so she allowed it begrudgingly. You’d made the long walk to the mill, finding the tree with the old, strange gnarl on its side and sitting beneath it.

You’d brought a small lunch with you for while you waited and you leaned back against the trunk of the tree, surveying the village down below you. The mill was quiet on this side, no need for people here while there was so much to do on the inside. It was the perfect location to meet with a prince who wished for secrecy.

A meadow pipit jumped from branch to branch above your head and you craned your neck to watch. Small and plain in appearance, it didn’t allow that to stop the beauty of its song; loud and unashamed. Sometimes you wished you could live as a bird. It seemed like there would be true freedom there in the sky, with wings spread wide and the rush of the wind as your companion.

As it was, you were not a bird, but time was your common enemy; ticking along with no thought for those it affected. It was cool beneath the shade of the oak, but pleasantly so and you laid back against the grass, staring up into the robin’s egg blue sky.

You imagined life wouldn’t always be this carefree. Someday, perhaps soon, Peter would ask to court you and then your duty as a wife would begin. You would clean and cook, tend to chickens, raise children when they came and live the rest of your life in the comforts you were already well accustomed to. You supposed it was time to accept this fate.

The thought made you sigh.

“Your thoughts seem heavy, this afternoon.”

Your eyes jumped to the voice, the princes face coming into view as he stood over you. “Your majesty-” you started, but at his frown you once again corrected yourself. “My apologies, Jungkook, you startled me.”

You began to rise to your elbows but he waved you back down. “Please, remain as you are. I shall join you.”

“A prince in the dirt?” You smiled as he settled beside you, one hand behind his head as he took in the views of never-ending sky.

“Here, with you, I wish to be nothing more than Jungkook, your friend.” His tone was carefree, but you could hear how deeply he was trying to communicate with you; to break down those barriers.

“You’re right. I am sorry; I find it’s quite difficult to break habits. My father would die from shock if he heard me calling you by your given name.”

The prince smiled, a little chuckle leaving his lips as he turned to look at you. “Then we shall keep it a secret, shall we?”

His eyes said more than you could understand, not yet familiar with his ways of communication so you simply nodded. Of course, it would be improper for the two of you to openly be friends. A prince and a peasant? Never.

“Tell me about your lessons today, Jungkook.” You said, staring back up at the sky. You could hear him shift beside you and you waited.

“It’s mostly stuff of no consequence.” He sighed, “language and numbers. I am taught politics, though, which is important; at least in maintaining peace between kingdoms. In a few hours I will be required to return and practice with swords. That is a part of my education I enjoy.”

“Sword fighting? Why do you practice swords?”

“In case there is war. I will be required to lead my people and I need to have a competent knowledge of war.”

The thought had you recoiling in shame. “Ah yes, I forgot. Men and women…we each have our uncomfortable roles to play in this life, don’t we?”

The prince smiled, nodding, “yes, I’m afraid none of us will leave this life without some discomfort. I hope not too much, though.” He turned to survey you, dark eyes rounded and deep. “Tell me about the kingdom, Y/N. I know you have not been to every village, but what of the one here? Tell me of the people.”

You smiled, wistful, staring back up at the sky as you pondered your words. “The people in this village are good and kind. Their main desire is to make an honest living for their families. Some find that easier than others. If you have a trade, you have a livelihood. It is difficult to build from nothing, you see, so often the men in the village will inherit their father’s work or they will take over the work of the father of their wife if he has no son.”

“What does Peter’s father do?” Jungkook asked suddenly and you glanced over at him.

“He is a farmer. Peter has an elder brother who will run the farm so he needed to find something of his own. I suppose I was also a logical choice for him.”

“It seems Peter is very lucky; his life has fallen in his lap in a way not many others could boast of. A good living to inherit and marriage to a beautiful woman that he already loves. I could wish the same for myself.”

“Well, you have a reasonable inheritance.” You smiled, face warm at his sudden praise and the prince chuckled.

“Yes, but I will have sole responsibility of a kingdom I know almost nothing about, the fears and desires of people I don’t know resting solely on my shoulders, I am betrothed to someone I am not in love with and with no say in the matter, and I am required to always keep my thoughts, feelings, and personal desires to myself. If they are not pertinent to the kingdom, they have no worth.”

“It sounds like you do not enjoy the role you’ve been born into.”

The prince was silent, lips pursed and your fingers went to twist in the curves of your dress. Perhaps you’d overstepped.

“No, I have much to be grateful for. A warm bed, a safe home, a father who loves me, and an abundance of food and clothing. I have never had to go without. I am very blessed. I did not mean to sound ungrateful.”

“But you still wish you could have a little more say in your own life?” He didn’t have to respond for you to know. “I understand you, Jungkook. It seems we are not as different as I had thought.”

“You must have thought I was such a ghastly child.” Jungkook remarked and you chuckled.

“I will admit I did not think well of you.” He grasped his chest and wheezed and you laughed louder, swatting at his arm. “Oh hush. You know this already.”

He nodded with a grin. “I was aware that you thought I was a foul child and when I grew up and reflected, I realized you were very right to think so.”

You could hear the miller’s children playing in the courtyard over the stone fence and you listened a moment before sitting up. The prince watched as you rummaged in your bag, pulling your lunch wrapped in cloth into your lap.

“Have you eaten, Jungkook?”

He shook his head, sitting up slowly beside you. “Not since breakfast.”

“Would you like some cheese and bread? I’ve also brought some fruit. Peter’s father grows apples on his farm and he gave me a couple this morning. I know it is not palace food, but I am hungry and willing to share.”

Jungkook smiled, dusting off his hands and settling them in his lap. “I would love to share. Thank you, Y/N.”

You took the bread from its wrapping, tearing it in half and handing a piece to the prince. “This was made by my friend Else’s father. This cheese was made by someone in the village named Alaric. He is learning how to make cheese, cream, and butter these days. My friend Else thinks well of him but she won’t say so.”

Jungkook thanked you, taking the offering from you as you pulled out an apple and a small knife to cut it into pieces. “Tell me about your life since I’ve been away?” The prince said suddenly and you paused, knife halfway through the apple.

“There’s not much to tell about it, honestly. Certainly nothing more exciting than your own.”

Jungkook scoffed, taking a bite of bread and cheese together. “Nonsense. Your life is just as interesting and valid as my own. If I’m to be a good king, I should care about all the details.”

You studied him a moment, eyebrows knit together before shrugging and cutting off a piece of apple to hand to him. “Very well. You know I have my mother and father, but I also have my grandparents nearby that I see often. My grandfather was the tailor before my father and now he raises goats and chickens. I’ve grown up with both Else and Peter; we used to play in the brook every summer or run through the fields where Peter’s father farms. One time Else pushed me in the manure and I was so angry I thought about shoving her head in. She would have cried, though; she’s very particular about her hair, says it’s her greatest charm.”

Jungkook laughed, covering his mouth. “And what say you?”

“I can promise you no man is looking at her hair. She has far better…assets on display.”

The prince laughed loudly, eyes crinkling in his mirth and you smiled, face warm. “I’m afraid I did not take notice of those particular assets.”

“I’m surprised; Else is very beautiful. I would not fault you if you had.”

“She is beautiful,” Jungkook admitted, “but I’m afraid I would need more than a pretty face to capture my interest.”

He looked down at you steadily and you cleared your throat, cutting out another slice of apple and taking a bite. “What is it you like? I’m curious to know.”

“I like a woman who doesn’t take no for an answer; someone who won’t allow themselves to be bullied. Someone who will be my better half and guide me when I have been misguided. Someone who makes me laugh at myself or smile, even when life is difficult. Physical beauty is important only to a certain degree, but it means nothing to the inner beauty.”

He watched for your reaction, like a curious fox with its prey and you took another piece of cheese with your bite of apple, allowing the salty and sweet to melt into your tongue. “It sounds to me that you’ve already met such a woman.” You surmised.

“Oh?” Jungkook questioned, watching you nod.

“Your friend, Snow. She seems to match your ideal.”

He smiled, shaking his head and staring back out over the village. The two of you were perched on the hilltop the village was located on, just outside the stone walls and to the side of the miller’s home. It provided you with shade and privacy, both necessary on this outing.

“Snow is a wonderful woman, I will admit, and I often find myself surprised that she’s not the desire of my heart, but I think you’ll find that again we come back to physical beauty.”

“Is she not beautiful?” You asked.

Jungkook shook his head firmly, eyes glazed over with thought. “No, in fact, she is very beautiful. I prefer a gentler beauty, though, and find myself drawn to someone else. Snow is wonderful, but she is soft spoken and gentle, always willing to give people the benefit of the doubt, even when it’s foolish to do so. This is not to say I dislike soft spoken and gentle, because I like that about her very much, but I fear her being taken advantage of by someone with less admirable desires. She would allow it purely out of the goodness of her heart.”

“Hopefully she will find a wise husband who will help to guide her.” You hummed and Jungkook stiffened from beside you, finishing off the last of his bread and cheese before standing and dusting his clothing off.

“I’m sorry, but I must return to the palace. They will notice my absence soon and I don’t want to cause worry.”

You nodded, standing yourself and Jungkook reached out, holding your elbow as he helped you to rise. You stuffed your lunch parcel back into your bag, dusting off your dress and gazing up at the prince.

“Thank you again for meeting with me. Perhaps we can meet again tomorrow?”

You nodded, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I’m sure I can make time.”

And you did make time for a further two weeks and sometimes, while talking or showing him around the village, introducing him to villagers who were none the wiser, you wondered, “why me?” Why had the prince chosen you as his guide and when would he grow tired of all of this? Or was he really serious in his desire for your friendship.

And if so…why?

.

.

Hello gorgeous and welcome back! Leave a comment so I know what you think! See you all again soon.

Chapter 3

Previous

Copyright © 2021 by ExpensiveGlasses. All rights reserved.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

ἀλήθεια (Chapter 3, Vοσταλγία AU)

ἀλήθεια Masterlist

Pairing: Freydis/Reader, Ivar/Reader (past)

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: The usual. My endless swooning over Freydis.

A/N: So, writing the next chapter of Nostalgia is proving harder than I intended it to, so I’m not sure I’ll be able to post it this weekend. I’ll try my best, but I’m slowly getting back to writing, I’m not at my usual speed yet, so I’m still struggling. I’m also working on a few 500 Celebration thingies, so I hope to post those soon too. In the meantime, hope you like this!

Freydis is pondering on the why you insist on speaking Norse with Galla when she is around, asking herself whether it is because you don’t want her to feel like an outsider, or because you want to remind your lifelong friend of the outsider amongst you.

She sits by the fire, working on stitching together a torn cloak, as you pace around the room, arguing with Galla.

“I’m not letting you do this.”

“Letting me?” Your laugh is mocking, arrogance lacing your words when you taunt, “You’ve forgotten a lot, my friend, if you think you have any say in what I do.”

“That is not what I-…” A sigh, and Freydis hears Galla bite back her anger. “I speak their tongue. I can do the talking, and you stay safe.”

“Why does that sound like an excuse to-…”

“I’m not trying to chain you, you know that.”

Freydis knows how much you hate being interrupted when you’re talking, so she is sure the other woman does. She cannot help but wonder if she does it on purpose.

You scoff, “I’ve heard that before.”

“I am not some Varangian that tr-...”

“Tis better you don’t speak of what you don’t know. I never meant my husband,” You interrupt, eyes blazing. Galla’s eyes give away the recognition, and full lips form around a word that once was a name. Freydis remembers the way you spoke of the man you led to his death with promises of love, she remembers that you being able -being willing- to do something like that was the first moment she felt she could completely trust in you. You take a deep breath, “We need to get to that city, it is safer if I go.”

“Safer? What happens if you are found?”

“What happens if you are?”

“I get killed, you do not.” Galla states, an uncomfortable stillness falling over the room at her words.

A sigh, and then, “Kattegat had a funeral for me, Galla. They don’t know I’m alive, no one has any reason to think I’m…h-his wife.”

You haven’t said his name ever since you left Kattegat, and with each passing day the jarring manner in which you go out of your way not to say Ivar’s name becomes more and more apparent to Freydis.

“Yes, of course. A Greek trading and trying to buy passage to the Mediterranean, who would think it has anything to do with Kattegat’s queen?” The other woman teases, but there is a concern in her honeyed voice that Freydis cannot help but feel all the way through her body.

“I can do it,” Freydis interrupts, stepping forward and letting her gaze jump between you and Galla. “They will think nothing of me, just another…Varangian.”

“Hm,” Galla states before you can say anything, dark eyes surveying Freydis slowly before full lips pull into a smile, “You’re a brave one, Freydis.”

She tells herself she shouldn’t feel so emboldened by the slight praise, but it makes her feel stronger, it makes her feel like she is reclaiming a part of herself, by letting herself do this, be this.

____

“If they so much as whisper my name, you get out. Promise me, Freydis.”

She frowns, but acquiesces with a smile, “I promise.”

You swallow, hesitate for a moment before your hand reaches for hers. It is warm, it reminds her of that particular kind of fear of that first night she was a free woman, and yet it reminds her of that particular kind of warmth of the first time she had something to call her own. The touch is soft and light, but it tethers her more than she would like to admit.

“Don’t leave me alone.” You ask her quietly, big eyes boring into hers. She nods her head, but doesn’t say anything else.

Galla puts a hand on your arm and brings you to her side, murmuring something in your own tongue that makes you smile, even if it is still tinged by anxiety and more than a tad of fear.

Freydis finds herself wanting to know what she said to you, just as she usually finds herself wanting to know what the Greeks say that makes you grow a little colder, wanting to know what the soft songs they sing at night mean to you, what the tongue of your Gods and your people speaks of.

And as Freydis makes her way through the port, she starts thinking of what it would be like to speak your tongue, share something more with you, find something other than you speaking her language that makes her belong at your side.

In a few words, she manages to sell the few trinkets Galla had stolen, and with the coin heavy in the pouch hanging by her belt, Freydis sets of to speak with one of the boatbuilders.

The conversation is short and to the point, and the man doesn’t hesitate to tell her all she wants to know, judging by the purposely meek posture and adverted eyes that she is a thrall doing as she is told. It is remarkably easy, to pretend, to lie and make them do as she wants them too.

Freydis dares think she understands a bit better why you chose to chain yourself to that Greek. She also -much to her chagrin- understands why you refused to do the same to Ivar.

As she takes her leave she sees some unrecognizable faces carrying recognizable shields. A part of her almost wants -though she knows it is impossible, though she knows even if it weren’t it would end badly for her- to see Ivar with them, to have him see her.

For all the times he took you from her side without meaning to, for all the cruel smiles he granted her as you held his hand and left her barren, for all the ways he took things from her -and for all the things he could have taken, had the tale been other-; Freydis wants to face him one last time. To prove to him that a king, a famous man, a monster, wasn’t enough to keep you with him, but her, a liar, a former slave, a woman, was enough.

Before she can ask herself whether it was the years that made her cruel or she was always this way, she recalls every time she was left starving while others feasted, and finds she does not care.

____

It is only a fortnight later that she manages to return to the camp and announce there has been set up safe passage for you and most of the Greeks back to the Mediterranean -Crete, you tell her with a blinding smile, as if she is supposed to know what that is. She still smiles back-, alongside Arab merchant vessels.

Freydis does know how to lie and play pretend around her countrymen, and she still holds on to the warm and encompassing feeling of pride that being responsible for arranging for the ships with the builders at the docks brought; but she finds herself uncertain as to how to interact with these Arabs, with their strange garbs and their stranger customs.

You, though, you breeze through conversation with them, you laugh and smile as if you can forget what brought you here and that all that surrounds you still is death and cold. And Freydis doesn’t bother looking away.

They speak their own tongue, that you share in short bursts, but they also speak Greek with you, even if theirs is choppier than yours of course. They meet you somewhere in between worlds, and the women of painted skin and covered hair make your eyes shine with warmth; and you make their laughs delighted and fascinated; as if you share more than just words, as your language and theirs mix and match.

When the night starts to set and the people -Greeks, Arabs, Vikings- set of to sleep in every nook and cranny of the wooden ship they can find, you find your way back to Freydis’ side, sitting next to her and sharing the warmth of your cloak as you set it over both your legs as if you don’t even have to think twice about it.

“Did you ever think you’d one day part from this land, Freydis?”

“No,” She offers sincerely, looking at the distant and dark sea. “Being a slave didn’t leave much time to hope for traveling.”

“And after that?”

“Kattegat was safe, familiar,” Freydis takes a breath, closes her eyes for a moment. “It was just another set of chains, maybe.”

“Those are familiar too,” You state, saying the words she cannot. All the answer she offers is a nod. You sigh, and give away a confession of your own, “Neither did I.”

“All you wanted once was to leave these lands.”

“Yet I never believed I would leave alive, not truly,” A chuckle leaves your lips, but it is biter, “I am still not convinced I am not dead, but I always thought death would feel more like…home.”

“Your…Underworld?” She asks, and you nod your head mutely.

You once told her of the creatures and Gods that inhabited that realm that you Greeks go to once you die. You told her of a king with a crown that makes him invisible, you told her of a queen that trusted and thus was condemned.

You told her of those creatures half-monster and half-woman, that punish those deserving, that drive men insane, that topple kingdoms with a word, that end battles with their presence alone.

Erinyes, you’d told her they were. They had names, but you keep those secret too, just like you kept your own once.

When she turns to look at you, her gaze lingers on the faint shine of the moon that makes your eyes glimmer, and in all the anger and the grief they harbor, there’s warmth. Too alike the warmth of fickle embers, waiting for the right breeze to burn it all again, but it is warm, and it is familiar to Freydis.

She wonders if there was more than stubbornness keeping you from giving away your name then, she wonders if the otherworldliness of you is not because of who your people are. Because Freydis looks at you, and there’s that seed of awe and fear that tugs at her heart, there’s the faint quickening of her breaths and the urge to never look away and learn each and every quirk of your mouth and shade of color in your eyes; and she wonders if you are something more than human.

You have to be, she reasons. Something more than her, more than him, more than any other. The curve of your smile isn’t like any other’s, the sound of your voice is familiar and fascinating at the same time, the way you dance easily between cruelty and gentleness is both terrifying and fascinating; you cannot be just a mortal like her, like them.

“Lord Hades saw her in that field, and fell in love,” You tell her, eyes absently travelling over the crowded room. Your smile is nostalgic when you continue, “Love made out of a God nothing but a man.”

“Careful, witch. That means love can make out of a man a God.” Valdís says, hiding a smile behind the horn from which she takes a sip, keeping clear eyes on you and giving you both a warning and something else.

“I want you to teach me your tongue.” Freydis tells you quietly, heart thumping a little out of rhythm when you turn to her with barely-masked enthusiasm, and a spark that she feared you had lost.

“Very well.” You muse, a serene smile on your lips.

You start pointing at the sky, and teaching her how to repeat the words you say. A part of her knows this isn’t how one is supposed to start learning a new language, but she loses herself in the low cadence of your voice and the lull of the ship, and finds not wanting anything to be any different, even if this doesn’t help her understand Greek any better.

It is a start, and that is all she wants. To find a way to meet you halfway between the two worlds that want you even if you don’t belong fully to neither. Freydis can learn to live in between realms, that is how she has lived most of her life: a woman when they wanted and lusted after her body, but not a woman when they refused her the chance to tell them no; someone loved when you smiled at her, but not the one you loved when your eyes met his.

But you have learned to live there too, she knows. His wife and their ‘daughter’, Kattegat’s Queen and Attica’s Anassa, yourself and what they want you to be.

Maybe, she dares think, you can both live there, in between worlds, in between places to belong to. Because even if you both belong to nowhere, you belong together.

____ ____ ____

Thank you for reading! Hope you liked it!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax @pieces-by-me​ @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless @1950schick @punkrocknpearls @ietss   @itsmysticalmystery @revolution-starter @chibisgotovalhalla @the-a-word-2214 @fae-sedai @crazybunnyladysworld   @funmadnessandbadassvikings @stupiddarkkside @aprilivar @msrawog  

[theonetheycallhannah]

A Mage’s Blood-Part Two

Summary: Geralt deals with a comatose companion, comforts the displaced Geeta, and wades through his growing affection for another mage despite his reservations.

Pairing: Geralt/OFC (Anathema of Velena) and a bit of Geralt/OFC (Geeta) (totally platonically!) but it’s half/mostly Geralt dealing with the aftermath of the monster fight in the last installment of the story.

Word count: 4.5k

Rating/Warnings: M for language and violence. Some angst. Some fluff. Almost smut, but don’t get too excited, folks. I’m a bit cruel in this chapter. Shameless manipulation of the properties and qualities of character props for my own amusement and story advancement even though there is no evidence that such properties or qualities are a thing. (If you can’t suspend reality or rather fantasy, enough to accept what I did with this, I don’t know what to tell you, I thought it was clever, please don’t @ me. And maybe fan fiction isn’t your milieu.)

Inspiration: No changes from previous inspo note. Just this beautiful show, this stunning man, and like…my feelings, I guess.

Author’s Note: I’m really excited to write this chapter for Geralt. I’ve been wanting to talk about what’s been going on under that luscious white mane for ages. We go back to Ana in the next part, but this was crazy fun to write, especially the dream. PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF THESE POSTS NEED ANYTHING! PHOTOS OR GIFS...WHATEVER. Also, again, not beta’d, because as I said in the last installment’s author notes, my friends don’t play nice with the Cavillry. Lol! But I did read it at least twice.

Masterlist with links to previous chapters.

Tags: @fcgrizi @sunflowersstan @mylittlepartofthegalaxy@mstgsmy@lareinedususpense @geekycanuck @lunedelorient and @littlefreya Please let me know if you want to be tagged or if you want me not to tag you in things! I will not be offended!

Fucking Bruxae. That's all he was gonna say about this completely twisted and unpleasant situation they were in. Just. Fucking. Bruxae.

He reached for his potions pouch for the correct one to staunch bleeding…again. Damn, good thing his mage knew what to do for detox, because he hadn't had time to whip up a potion for that, himself. And he didn't think he had all of the ingredients, anyway.

Now this bitch was trying to call him a monster. Not that he could argue. He didn't. But he thought it was damned heavy handed of her. When she and her sisters were the ones who'd slaughtered thousands of people for no good reason.

Oh…he thought, after she explained herself…he'd heard worse reasons to lay waste to cities, if he was honest. Not that he was sympathizing. But the monologuing was giving him time to heal before he ended this once and for all.

Until…fuck.

"Ana! NO!" She had NOT just given herself away! That was the opposite of staying safe! As per their agreement! If they made it out of this alive, which he felt like he was constantly thinking these days, they were going to have a conversation about who was in charge in situations like this.

The Bruxa asked Ana who she was…Geralt thought that was quite the loaded question. He wasn't sure he could answer, himself. She had come to mean so much to him over such a short time. They'd found something of themselves in each other, he thought. He'd never quite found it with anyone else. Even Yen. Her explanation knocked him out of his stupor.

"I'm Anathema of Velena. I'm a mage. And much better equipped to sustain a bite than the poor little girl you've been hunting." She looked like a true warrior, standing in the column of light being cast out of the door to the fire-lit hovel, her steel in her right hand, dagger in the other, his silver wolf swinging from her neck. Thank the gods she'd put that on. His plan, the secret part of his plan, had worked. And they might just win the night, reclaim the day, and end the reign of terror these monsters had visited on this region for so many weeks.

"I don't see why it would hurt to try." Meena keened in a cackle that curdled Geralt's blood and charged at Ana. His neck wound essentially healed and forgotten, he jumped up and rushed to the two entangled in a vile and bloody embrace. Meena released her hold on Anathema's neck gasping as though she was drowning. As her sister before her, she was choking on blood as if it were pitch, although not quite as severely.

"What…have you…done to me…witcher?" she gasped as her body weakened from the poison she had just unwittingly consumed.

"You've done it to yourself, leech." He explained. "Ana was willing to let you drink from her, but you got greedy. You took what you wanted before an arrangement had been made. Don't touch her again." he interjected when Meena scowled at Ana as if she meant to finish her off. "She knew nothing of my plan. You see, that medallion is more than just a handy device to show me where the monsters and magic are hiding. It's a part of me. And the wearer takes on some of my…attributes. For instance, any potions I take affect the person wearing the medallion. Even if taking them personally would kill them instantly. That includes the Black Blood potion. Granted, the potions aren't as strong for the person wearing the medallion as they are for me, but it's enough, in most cases to do the trick." he pulled the Bruxa up to her knees as she continued to sputter and gasp for precious breath. And then he put her out of her asphyxiated misery by beheading her with a swift and sure swing of silver.

He rushed to Ana's side, the blood had been free flowing from her neck…reminding him too much of his past…of Blaviken…of…he made himself think her name, Renfri. He couldn't let Ana die like that. He wouldn't. He took out his canteen of water to rinse the blood and cleaned the wound, which was now barely trickling blood. The Kiss potion must have worked to an extent on her, as the Black Blood had. But she was barely conscious. He shook her as the bleeding ceased altogether.

"Anathema! Ana!!! Wake up, mage!"

"Mmm, 's there bacon?" she asked, groggy and still very out of it.

"Darling, it's nearly midnight. We've just defeated the Bruxae."

"Then why won' you lemme sleep?" she moaned. The venom of the Bruxa must still be working in her system. He couldn't take more potion right now and risk the toxicity to himself. He'd just have to try to get her somewhere safe until he could detox and take more. Then they'd have to take Geeta to Aretuza, he thought.

He had summoned Roach and Clove as soon as the Bruxa had been dispatched. He saw them trotting lazily toward him up the muddy, bloody street. He chanced leaving Ana there while he went into the house to gather their things and Geeta.

"Geeta, it's Geralt. Come on out, child. The monsters have gone."

The cupboard door creaked slowly open, permitting the right eye and nose of Geeta to peek out, warily.

"You sure it's safe?" she whispered. Unsure of the man who was still a stranger to her, and rightfully so.

"I am. Quite sure. Out with you now." and she exited with skepticism.

"Geeta, Miss Ana and I are going to leave now. And it's not safe for you to stay here. We want to take you to a place where you'll be safe and taken care of. Do you have any extra clothes or anything you need to bring with you from your home here?" She looked around the grim room and shrugged. He took his satchel from around his shoulder and tied a knot in the strap. He took a few important things out of it, and a bit of food, and the alcohol he needed for drinking and potions, and put it in his potions bag.

"Here," he slung the bag across her small body. "Find a little pillow and a blanket first, and put them into this bag. Then look around and see if there's anything else here you'd like to take with you." He hated seeing a child have to do this. But he knew it was ultimately going to be for her own good. The mages at Aretuza would know what she needed and with any luck, she could put this trauma behind her.

He started to gather the few things they'd left in the room. There hadn't been much. And it may not have been worth taking, but if Ana had wanted it, he didn't want it to be left behind.

He gathered Geeta, and hurried her to the door. As he walked past the cupboard, the glint of silver caught his eye…he couldn't justify leaving the tray there for marauders. Even if Geeta didn't want it and had no use for it…it had value. They may need to sell it. He grabbed it and shoved it into his saddlebag.

"Geeta, have you ever ridden a horse before?" she nodded, eyes sparkling with a nostalgia for which she was far too young.

"Oh yes, Mister Geralt! I used to get to ride Arrow all the time…that was my papa's horse." she looked sad. And Geralt understood, but he pushed her through her grief this time.

"Well, tonight, you're going to ride Clove. She's a very good horse. She's Miss Ana's horse. And I'm going to put some other bags and things on her, too. It shouldn't be too crowded for you though." he smiled at the girl as he loaded Clove with some of Roach's burden.

"Why isn't Miss Ana riding on her horse? It's her horse!" she seemed very concerned and confused.

"Well, Geeta, Miss Ana is very tired and can't ride by herself. She's going to ride on my horse, Roach, with me." he knelt beside Ana's comatose form to check and make sure she was still breathing. She was, slowly. Pulse fairly steady, not that he was a good judge, his own heart rate being so much slower than the normal for a human.

"Come here, little one." he lifted Geeta up onto Clove and handed her the reins. "Alright, now hold on while I get Miss Ana and myself onto Roach, then we can go." He hoisted Ana heroically onto Roach's neck, and then mounted up himself, eliciting an oppressed whinny from the steed.

"Hey, if I had another option, I'd take it, alright? We'll go slow, stop at the next inn that will room a witcher, and I'll buy you a big bag of apples. Fair?"

Roach whinnied again, complicit, if not happy.

~~~~~~~~~

It felt like hours they were riding. Geeta asked a few questions here and there, but wasn't the chatty nuisance he thought she would be. It was mostly the fact that he was concerned for Ana that made the time seem not to pass. He needed to get to the inn, meditate, detox, and take another healing potion so that she could recover from the Bruxa venom.

Thankfully, he saw the lights of an inn just ahead, and picked up their pace, signaling for Geeta and Clove to follow.

The Drowsy Bear was a bit quaint and simpering for his liking. Everyone was a bit too friendly and clean. There were no brawlers in the corner. No lascivious couplings being arranged and sampled by the fireside tables in the dining hall. Just a couple of men, who were probably father and son playing dice, apparently for fun, rather than money. He couldn’t comprehend what that must be like.

He arranged the room, keeping an eye out the large front window at the girls and the horses until the affluent matron got his key ready and took his coin.

He didn’t usually trust his horse to stable boys, but under these circumstances, he felt he had no choice. He let the boy take Clove and Roach to the stables as he burdened Geeta with what she could carry of Ana’s things, and took the rest himself, along with the mage, still almost as limp as a corpse.

“Stay close to me, Geeta. These people seem kind, but something tells me not to fully trust them.”

“Maybe you’re just not used to people being nice to you.” She said, with wisdom beyond her short years as she smiled and waved at a portly old man at the bar. Well…she didn’t have to call him out quite like that. He just grunted back at her in noncommittal reply. They were finally at their room. Once inside, Geralt flung Ana onto the bed, unceremoniously, and went quickly to the hearth to build a fire.

“Why aren’t people nice to you, Mister Geralt?” Geeta asked, such true concern and confusion in her voice that, although his instinct would have been to brush her off or to snap back, he actually tried to answer.

“Witchers like me can be dangerous, Geeta. We aren’t like most humans. We’ve changed so much that we aren’t actually humans anymore. And for some people, for most people, just being different is enough to make someone scary. I’m both different AND dangerous.”

“People were scared of my gran. She could do magic. She’d make little straw dollies dance for me. The day she died I got so upset. I didn’t want to look at any straw anymore. Then the haystack behind our house caught fire while I was staring at it.”

“That must have been scary for you." Geralt sympathized.

"Not the fire. But my mum was. She started yelling and looking for where the fire came from. But I was the only one there. She took me inside. It hurt my arm how she pulled me. And she yelled at me so loud. She told me I mustn't do anything like that ever again or I might get taken away from her. So I tried to be good…to not be…like gran…but it didn't matter. Because mum got taken from me instead." she started to cry. Geralt let the fire kindle a moment while he pulled the child into his lap.

"It's alright to cry, Geeta. It's alright to be scared. But you won't be forever. Did you know, I was about your age, and even a bit younger when I lost my family?" he saved her the heartbreaking details of his abandonment. She looked into his eyes with curiosity putting a stopper in the tear ducts. "It's true. I learned about the ways of being a witcher when I was just a boy. And I wasn't very old when I became one, either. I won't tell you I was never scared and I never cried, because I don't want to lie to you. But I cried less and became less scared the longer I worked and lived this life. And you'll be taken in by lovely people just like you who know how to help you control that power in you, the same power your gran had, and maybe even use it to help people."

"I'd like to help people. Is that what people like me do?" she asked, hopeful.

"Yes, if they're good and kind. Miss Ana is like you. She's a mage. And a rather good one. And very kind. She was trained at the place we're taking you."

"Really?" excitement vibrated through her tiny frame.

"Yes, really!" he chuckled. "But right now, I've got to try to make Miss Ana feel better. And I need to rest to do that. Why don't you get out your pillow and blanket and rest, too?" she climbed off his lap and emptied his satchel of her belongings as he gathered ingredients for a few potions he wanted to replenish. About an hour of meditation would be enough to detox and set the new potions. Once everything was prepared, he knelt on a small cushion he'd pulled from the bench by the door. He placed his palms on his thighs, checked one last time that Geeta was alright, which she was, and already deeply asleep, exhausted from the eventful evening, and closed his eyes.

At first he saw the typical imagery of his meditations. Trees over-burdened with lush green leaves allowing sparse but cheerful bursts of golden sunlight to peek through. The warmth of early summer was just beginning to weigh down the late morning air. A spring at the head of a brook bubbled a lively water song, cold, refreshing, over its pebbles. His toes played in the cool, soft grass at the water's edge where he sat, clothed in linen breeks and a tunic. Both still dark in color, but the stiffness of his leather armor and boots was all but forgotten here in this place of revitalization and tranquility. Here he could cast aside the witcher and be that small nugget of Geralt that killing monsters hadn't yet managed to fracture or destroy.

It was at this point in the meditation that he often chose whether to swim in the spring or to just breathe in it's clean, crisp vapors. Today felt like a breathing day, he was thinking, when he heard a splash in the dark pool before him. His eyes remained shut, trying to stay his path. He heard a laughter that was part carefree and musical, and part mischievous and deep. It was familiar. He'd heard this chuckle flip it's switches in conversation…recently. He heard the sultry, rich, but still sweet feminine voice call to him.

"Geralt! Come swim with me!" he shook his head, knowing that she wasn't really there.

"Come on, witcher! It's cold, and I need warming up!" he felt himself stir at the thought of being close to her wet body, but resisted again.

"Don't make me use magic, Geralt of Rivia!" and he felt an inexplicable weightlessness fill him, hovering him above the ground about four hands breadth. His eyes opened at this and he sat up on the bed of air Ana had conjured for him…the Ana of his dreams, it seemed. He looked at her, wet hair, black against her warm olive skin, tanned from her travels and years of coastal living. Her eyes flashed him that mysterious misty green of precious stones, her pupils not quite threatening to overtake the color as they had the night he'd taken her virginity…just last night, he thought, although it seemed a lifetime past. He could see her bare shoulders above the rippling surface of the crystal clear water, and could tell, also, that she was nude. This was his dream, after all. He stood, removed his tunic, and unlaced his breeks to step out of them. She grinned at him. It was somehow both sly and shy, and he didn't understand how she pulled that off.

"You already are, and I don't mean the levitation." he replied to her before hopping in. He sunk like a stone, into the unknown depths of the spring, but came back up right in front of her. He held her body, chilled and riddled with gooseflesh, to his warm and solid one. She sighed, content. He did likewise. He ran his hands along her soft, smooth curves under the cold water, sending shivers through her that were entirely unrelated to the temperature, he flattered himself to believe. She held him tighter, her arms slung around his neck, their height difference neutralized in the deep water. She seemed to assess him in an almost tactical manner before beginning a series of gentle kisses all over his face. His cheeks and forehead, his nose and chin, even his eyelids, shut from the bliss of her soft, full lips against him. His mouth was relaxed in a grin that was just open enough for her to kiss gently, intruding teasingly with her tender tongue. He responded slowly at first, returning into her mouth with his own tongue, but as their grips on one another tightened, his kiss became more searching and desperate, craving her taste.

He felt himself twitch and swell as his yearning for her grew stronger. She wrapped a leg around his hip, digging a heel into his ass. As he moved to line himself up with the only part of her that felt truly warm in the chilled spring, she moaned his name.

"Mmm, Geralt."

~~~~~~~

"Mmm, Geralt." he heard her moan, in reality, back in the now overwarm room of the inn, one hour down from his meditation…all he had needed, but fuck, if all his meditations went like that, he'd go for hours. The stiffness from his fantasy coming back with him in his wakefulness. Great. He made sure Geeta was still asleep, which she was, thankfully, and he stood, erect now in multiple ways, and went to the farthest corner of the room to try to release some of the pressure he felt. He had never brough someone into his meditations. Not like that. It unnerved him. He calmed his thoughts, remembering the blood of the battle and the sour stench of the near abandon hovel Geeta was cowering in, and it was helping, until Ana called for him again, so wantonly that all progress he'd made had been lost, and he gave up.

He walked over to grab a healing potion from his kit, and downed it quickly. He needed her to be better. He had never been more sure of anything, especially now, after that dream. The terror he'd felt when she'd stepped out of the hovel offering herself to the Bruxa had been unlike anything he'd felt since he began fighting monsters. He sat next to her on the bed, waiting for the potion to work through his blood and transfer to her through the magic of the medallion. He felt that maybe, making his presence and proximity known and felt in some way might help her. He stroked her hair. Thumbing tendrils away from her face, her lovely, heart-shaped face that even now, dewey from fever and slightly twisted in a soft frown was the most beautiful he'd ever seen. He got up to get a cloth dampened with water from the nearby pitcher and dab it over her head and neck. She was still a bit grimy and bloody from the attack of the Bruxa, but she had healed fully. They were just waiting now on the potion to eradicate the venom inside her. It worked almost instantly on him…but it didn't have to go through a magical filter, then, either.

Just when he wondered if he aught to try another dose or another potion, Ana's eyes fluttered and she groaned, writhing against what he presumed was the ache of poisoned muscles and veins being freed and cleansed. He had felt it a time or two in his day.

"Anathema! Darling are you alright?" he caressed the side of her face into his body, now relaxed with releif.

"Geralt?" she asked, looking around the room, confused and a bit frightened. "Where are we? Where's Geeta? What happened?"

"Everything is fine. Geeta is here with us, and we are at an inn on our way to Aretuza."

"Aretuza?"

"What do you remember about the fight, specifically the end, Ana?" Geralt whispered, hoping not to wake Geeta.

"I remember being down to just the two Bruxa, and one of them bit you, but succumbed to the Black Blood. Then I remember something about them needing a mage's blood…Geeta's!" suddenly she seemed to remember and sit up like a bolt, wincing at the muscles that protested the sudden and unwelcome movement they were forced to perform in their delicate state. "They wanted Geeta's blood and that's why they attacked the city. And I went out to see if my blood would appease the last Bruxa--"

"Which you should NOT have done because I had things well in hand." he interrupted.

"I wanted to help if I could. But then, after my offer…and her charge at me…I can only recall snippets. It's hazy and very disjointed. And…Did you just sling me over Roach's neck like a sack of meal?" she asked, most annoyed.

"I…at first. But just to get you mounted. You try getting a lifeless body onto a horse with no one but a tiny child around. Geeta was no help at all." they giggled.

"So how did I survive a Bruxa bite, Geralt? What happened after I blacked out?"

"You killed the last Bruxa…sort of. You see this medallion of mine you kindly donned before the battle? I left it for you for a reason. You understand that it's more than just jewelry, but even more than you already know, there's a little piece of me in it and any potion I take affects the wearer of that medallion without harming them, as it would if they just took one  on their own. It filters the bad effects, but it also decreases the effectiveness a bit. So, Meena, the last Bruxa, wasn't immediately killed by biting you, only incapacitated, so I explained her error, and relieved her of her head." Geralt smirked at Ana, proud of his kill, even if he hadn't taken a trophy.

"Why didn't you tell me what the medallion would do to me if I wore it?" Ana was a bit frustrated now.

"I couldn't risk you not wearing it out of some silly pride or other noble notion you may have conjured. I did it for your own good, and for the safety of us all, Anathema." Geralt growled.

"No, I understand, the greater good, the lack of trust, perhaps? It's unfortunately a familiar tale with a familiar set of characters, Geralt." she hinted at his past deceptions as they'd spoken of before the Bruxae fight. They hadn't really finished that conversation, according to her, it seemed.

"Don't." he halted her.

"Is it not? Don't you see the similarities? I don't want us to tread that same path, Geralt. I'm not saying this is worth giving up what you and I have over. But it isn't so small that I think we should brush it under the rug, either."

"What is it you think we have, mage?" his anger at the comparison was clouding his judgement. Making him irrational.

"Don't you do that to me. Not after what we've been through over the last two nights." she grasped the medallion as if to hold him herself and the images of his dream came rushing back into his head. The beauty of nature and of her swirling all around him in the refreshing pool. The perfection of that moment. He knew he couldn't lie to her, but he didn't know how to tell her the truth, either.

"Geralt, you asked me before the battle what happy place I would go to in defense of the Bruxae song. I didn't tell you. I didn't want to make things too serious before the danger had passed. That was a mistake. I should have told you. If you had died without knowing that my happiest memories were made with you last night when we made love, I would have regretted it the rest of my days. You, Geralt. You were, and are my happy place, even now when you're being a deceptive, withholding, insolent bastard." she laughed. "It's sub-optimal, I know, our situation, but it is OUR situation, and we are…in it. And honestly, I'm very thankful that you're the one in it with me."

Geralt hadn't cried…really cried…since he was very young. But this woman, Anathema of Velena, made him well up as he couldn't remember ever doing. His traitorous manhood, having slackened during their argument was now waking again as his affection grew with the forgiveness that washed over him after the mention of the Yen situation.

He laid down, aligning his body next to hers so that he could look into the jade pools of her eyes.

"I'm…I'm sorry, Ana. It was wrong of me to handle that as I did. I see the similarities and I will endeavor to do better in the future." she smiled at his apology and promise. He continued with a confession to match hers. "Now speaking of happy places, I don't have a lot. Those that I used to cherish seem to be tainted now, some for reasons we've discussed, and some for reasons I don't want to get into yet because it's still too painful for me. But Ana, you gave me one of the most beautiful and perfect nights of my long life, and yes, that was my happy place, as well."

She nestled herself against his firm body, her head resting on his arm, and her arm wrapped around his waist.

"I had a feeling." she said, a smug giggle escaping her throat as her eyes fluttered shut to return to sleep, now that she knew her people were safe and they were out of danger.

He smiled back and thought to himself, I have a feeling too, little mage.

Part Three-Coming Soon!

[agent-hood]

@the-roanoke-society

For this year’s Secret Santa I got @missredherring and I couldn’t be more delighted bc she is truly a joy to know and create with

She had been running the bookstall by herself for years now, since her mother left to search for new and rare volumes of text. She hadn’t returned and the sales were meager, leaving her and her sisters to scrape by what living they could. Today in particular was slow, as no one wanted to venture out of their homes on an overcast winter day.

Louise was considering packing up to close early, surely the baker would be willing to sell her something for the few shillings she had, when a shadow fell into her line of sight. Before her was a man shrouded in a cloak, but even among the obscurity she could see a grin that dazzled like gold.

“Do you make deliveries?” And just like his smile, the man’s voice was charming and full of enticing promises.

“Depends. On the coin and location of course. You got someone in need of some books?”

“Oh yes,” he lowered his hood, revealing a handsome and boyish face, and pulled a scroll and a heavy pouch from inside his cloak. “As many you’re able to spare.” And before she knew it, the man was gone and Louise stood at the edge of a dark forest- half of her inventory packed away in a satchel.

The journey was shockingly easy. She could see the path was littered with brambles and branches, but all obstacles seemed to shift out of her way before she reached it. Within an hour’s hike she was standing before the tall and ancient tower marked out on the map she was given.

There was no door from what she could see, but there was an open window at the top so maybe her voice would carry.

“Hello~! I was paid to deliver some books! ...Should I just leave these on the ground or..?!”

To her surprise a young woman leaned out from one of the larger cracks a little ways up. She was pretty and slight, but her expression was stern and distrusting- at least until she got a look at Louise and smiled.

“Ah, I see Carter’s been disobeying orders and buying me gifts again. Sorry for all the trouble, especially on a day like today.”

“Oh it’s no trouble! He paid for my time and my wares, but I likely would’ve come anyways- he said you’re in need of some books and from just what I can see here it looks like books are your only company.”

“Yes and no. I get visitors every now and again, but I have read all the stories I have nearly ten times over by now.”

“Then I see my services were sorely needed!” Louise smiled as she began shrugging off her pack and quietly formulated a schedule to make delivery visits. The girl in the tower seemed friendly enough, and she wasn’t one to turn a blind eye to someone in need- especially when the need was company and a good book.

“Those are quite numerous volumes I see you’ve brought, I don’t think I’ll finish those until at least a season’s turn from now.” For being so high above her, they held conversation surprisingly well.

“Well the man didn’t specify what kind of books you’d like, so I just brought a variety.” The girl appraised her approvingly before she responded.

“It must have been a rough walk up here, so if you’d like I could bring you up for a cup of tea and a meal. Perhaps show you the works I’ve already read.”

And just like earlier, before she knew it Louise was being carted up to the top window from a pulley basket. It was sturdy and the view she gained was one she had never seen before. The whole of the kingdom and forests beyond were illuminated with the sun that managed to peak through the heavy blanket of clouds, making the scenery shimmer and shift from the height she could see. It was breathtaking.

The evening was pleasantly spent, and Louise was happy to have made a new friend, Parker. Before she left she shared her thoughts on making a delivery schedule- perhaps even having her on a lending plan for more variety. In return, the girl shared with her a secret.

There were others like her; people who for one reason or another were under some sort of enchantment that kept them from society. In particular there was an ancient castle only a days journey from her tower that she knew to be under a spell. Parker had her brother check it out a few times but never saw anyone, but she was sure there was someone there. Someone in need of company and kindness far more than she needed it.

“I could be wrong of course. But that part of the forest just seems so much... lonelier than the rest.” Louise knew where she was referring to, and to think of someone alone in that desolate area made her heart ache. And before it was even asked, she knew she’d be making her there at first light.

After all, whatever enchantments there were that she’d have to face couldn’t be more powerful than the simple magic of sharing a good story.

[fitzdizzyspells]

Great Things

On an average day, the back room of Diagon Alley's ice cream parlor would typically smell of sweet elderberry sorbet, iced mooncakes, and hot chocolate. But today, for the first time in what felt like ages, it was filled with smoke and laughter.

"If you think you've an easy advantage over all of us, Albus, you're wrong." Florean Fortescue wagged his pipe at Dumbledore accusingly. "Meet my eyes as much as you like, you won't uncover any secrets that way."

"I'm wounded, old friend," Dumbledore said. "You think I'd stoop to such lows?"

Garrick Ollivander chuckled quietly and rearranged the coins in front of him. "Dumbledore doesn't need Legilimency, Fortie. A mountain troll could notice your tell."

"And," Aurora Sinistra added, "it's all the more noticeable the more you try to close your mind."

Florean replaced the pipe in his mouth. "Fine," he grumbled, replacing his coins in a small leather pouch. "Urdrig. I'm out." Purplish-grey smoke curled from his mouth in petulant bursts, forming loose, unruly spirals that matched his wild grey hair. Still, Garrick noticed the corners of his friend's mouth twitch briefly upwards. He knew Florean well enough to recognize when he was in high spirits. Even Garrick was willing to let himself feel a brief flicker of the same warm nostalgia. It was nice to return to the old routines, which years of war and grief had forced them to neglect.

"You are a delightful addition to our Ballynok game, Aurora," Garrick said. "Albus used to always invite Filius or Horace to these gatherings. Imagine my surprise when he turned up with you."

Dumbledore glanced happily at Professor Sinistra and said, "After weeks of meetings with the school governors, I sought a friend who could drown out the coughs and sputters of old warlocks."

"I see only one elderly man in this room, Albus," Florean said, pipe between his teeth.

"Certainly," Dumbledore said. "I find my coughs and sputters the most tedious of them all."

Garrick smiled at Professor Sinistra. "You're a quick study, Aurora, it's quite impressive. I should have known better than to gamble against a witch wielding a dogwood wand with a dragon heartstring core."

"Oh!" Aurora said, beaming. "You remember the wand you sold me!"

"Don't encourage him, hen," Florean said with a pained look. "He needs to learn that this tick of his isn't nearly as charming as he thinks it is."

She sighed, looking at her coins. "Well, unfortunately for me, it appears that dogwood and dragon heartstring can only take me so far. Urdrig. Besides, I have a feeling it's never wise to bet against Dumbledore." She gestured at the large bid Dumbledore had pushed to the center of the table.

"Perhaps," Garrick conceded. "It's no match for Albus's elder wood wand, and, ah," he snapped his fingers absentmindedly, "forgive my forgetfulness, Professor, what is the core of your wand, again?"

"I would say 'nice try,' Garrick," Dumbledore said cheerfully, "except that it might've been your weakest attempt yet. And Aurora, you overestimate my Ballynok skills. Although I am wise enough to guess you only want to end the game early to study the Mourning Moon tonight."

She laughed. "I'm sure I bored you to tears this morning, talking about it all through breakfast."

Garrick's eyes became unfocused as he stared at the coins in front of him. Of course. The Mourning Moon was in the sky tonight. Phoenix feathers that were plucked during this time were strikingly magical.

Garrick sighed. He should've known that Dumbledore would be no less industrious in peacetime.

Albus cleared his throat. "Well, Garrick? Feeling confident?"

"Not particularly, no."

"Have some courage, man." Through the smoke, Albus's eyes caught the candlelight as he smiled over his half-moon glasses. "Don't underestimate yourself."

"Sometimes restraint is the best thing a wizard can exercise." Garrick surveyed the coins before him, irritated by these sudden distractions. He'd nearly forgotten the coins' true value — the value he'd seen before he'd taken most of them out of his leather pouch. Four of the coins in front of him — two silver, one made of stone, and one made of alabaster — were actually four gold coins, that was easy enough to remember. The obsidian coin he'd grabbed from the community pile was, in fact, an obsidian coin. But his last wooden coin — that had been obsidian, right?

Garrick clicked his tongue softly. Florean Fortescue and his blasted goblin games.

"Well, everyone," Garrick said, "this seems as good a point as any to end the night. I've an early morning tomorrow —"

"How unfortunate," Dumbledore said. "I had just thought of a way to make things more interesting, if you happened to raise the stakes."

"More interesting?" Garrick frowned at the large pot in the center of the table. "How so?"

"I thought you might appreciate the chance to finally sate your curiosity." Dumbledore examined his elder wood wand with a half-interest. He smiled at Garrick, who had frozen in his chair, eyes wide. "Let me be clear," Dumbledore said, "lest you think this a suspiciously bold wager: I am not betting my wand. I am offering you the opportunity to examine it, if I lose. I'll confess, I've been a dreadful friend to have kept it from you all these years. It's quite the secret."

Dumbledore's offer had jogged Garrick's memory like a lightning bolt. He was certain now that he had four gold coins, and two obsidian. "And," Garrick said, "if I lose?"

"If you lose," Dumbledore said, "then I would humbly ask you to craft a wand, with materials of my choosing."

The room stilled. Florean looked up at Dumbledore with a deep, disapproving frown. Aurora's gaze flicked nervously between Dumbledore and Garrick.

Garrick gave a shaky scoff. "Not this again," he said. "For now, it's unnecessary for me to make any more wands. My inventory is diverse, it's robust. A good wandmaker knows to pause for a decade or so and wait for a new generation of dragons and unicorns."

"Certainly," Dumbledore said, "and you are the expert. But in this particular case, I must respectfully —"

"Yes, Albus, I am the expert, as much as you may think otherwise," Garrick said. He threw his cloak around his shoulders and snatched his hat off the table. "Keep your gold and your wand. You have won both, after all. Besides, I'm sure I could write to Gregorovitch. With a bit of prodding, he'd likely share what wand he sold to that terrible wizard, all those years ago."

"While that conversation undoubtedly would be interesting to you," Dumbledore said, "it would not give you any insight into my current wand. This is not the wand Grindelwald received as a boy."

Garrick furrowed his brow. Florean and Aurora continued to watch them.

"Grindelwald couldn't have..." Garrick paused. "He didn't make a wand for himself... did he?"

"No. He sought a particular one out, and he found it."

Garrick stared at Dumbledore, turning that statement over in his head. What could that mean?

Dumbledore's wand switch had been apparent to Garrick mere days after the defeat of Grindelwald. It wasn't just that the curious elder wood wand had caught Garrick's eye the moment he'd first seen Dumbledore cast magic with it. The object had a palpable energy to it. It produced a tension in the air, as if a long, drawn-out hum suddenly stopped. Even now, as Dumbledore used his wand to levitate and rearrange his six coins on the table, there was a ringing in Garrick's ears.

Three years ago, he had promised himself he would never make another wand again. But he wouldn't have to, if he won.

Garrick sighed, placed his hat back on the table, and returned to his seat. He gathered his remaining Galleons and placed them in the middle of the table. "I see your twelve Galleons, and I raise you any wand of your choice."

Florean leaned over to Garrick and muttered in his ear, "More than anyone, I agree that returning to your work would be good for you. But don't let him force you into it."

Garrick shrugged. "Perhaps luck will be on my side tonight."

Florean raised his eyebrows dubiously as Dumbledore tossed his wand into the pot.

"Well." Dumbledore clapped his hands together. "Let's see what we have here."

Florean raised his hand and, after a second's hesitation, snapped his fingers. For a moment, nothing happened. Then Garrick's silver coin popped, not unlike a kernel of corn, and transformed into a gold coin. Each coin eventually changed in much the same way — a few at a time, then many at once, until a thunderous cacophony of pops and jingles filled the room as the coins rattled on the table.

Dumbledore's seven iron coins lay in a line on the table. Seven of a kind — one of his coins had in fact been two. Garrick stared at them and felt a prickling, feverish sense of dread.

*

A stony expression had clouded Fortescue's face, and Aurora's eyes were flitting nervously between the three wizards in the room. The Galleons and Sickles in the middle of the table were cascading like a waterfall of gold into a small pouch that Dumbledore held out. "The phrase 'embarrassment of riches' always comes to mind in this situation," he said as the last few Sickles clinked into the bag, "but if Ballynok teaches us anything, it's that nothing gold can stay. I'm certain you'll win it all back the next time I'm here, Florean."

Garrick asked, in what he hoped was a casual voice, "Shall we make an appointment to discuss what sort of wand you'd like me to craft? In a month or so, perhaps? I'll be freer in the new year."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows and smiled. "I'm surprised you're so booked up. I had no idea Ollivander's experienced a Christmas rush. A wand is a rather odd gift to buy a friend."

"Well." Garrick coughed. "People are accident-prone this time of year. Office parties at the Ministry, family gatherings — wands are dropped and stepped on with a frequency that breaks my heart. I often wonder why we abandoned wand scabbards years ago. I think it might do the wizarding world some good to —"

"When was the last time, Garrick," Dumbledore asked, "that you obtained a phoenix feather on the night of a Mourning Moon?"

Garrick's eyes flicked to Aurora Sinstra, who was bidding Florean goodnight. "Plenty of times."

"I'll admit," Dumbledore said, "my understanding of wand-making is rudimentary at best, so forgive me for forcing you to entertain the theories of a novice. But the fact that you've sworn off crafting wands during a time of such historic significance..." Dumbledore looked thoughtful as he watched Florean levitate the table and chairs to a corner of the room. Once the room was tidied, Florean pulled a box of jelly slugs off a shelf in his stockroom and began to munch on them, casting sulky glances at the table that had previously supported a fair amount of gold. "Wands made during this time could contain some exceptional magic, don't you think?" Dumbledore asked.

"There is something unsavory, Dumbledore," Florean said, still skulking in the corner, "about meddling in the affairs of a grieving man."

Could historic significance of a particular time influence the magic of a wand? It was the kind of theoretical question that Garrick used to love to debate, and even now he felt a ripple of his former curiosity. Would a phoenix feather procured on the first Mourning Moon after You-Know-Who's death be any different than any other phoenix feather? Who could say? The thrill of an intriguing wandlore experiment stirred something in his Ollivander blood. In his darkest days of late, however, he had started to wonder if his passion for wandlore should be treated more like a hereditary curse.

Garrick donned his hat and said, suddenly animated, "Albus, even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to find a phoenix in time. Even if I did somehow manage to travel to Asia tonight for a quick jaunt to the top of the Himalayas, these hunts can take weeks before we're successful. Even if I knew precisely where a nest was — and I've not corresponded with my contacts there for, Merlin's beard, two years at least — one does not simply track down a phoenix in a matter of hours."

"Ah! Well, thank goodness you're well acquainted with one of the three people on earth who has managed to successfully domesticate a phoenix."

Dumbledore's smile wavered as Garrick paled and his eyes widened in sudden horror. He turned on his heel.

"Ollie?" Florean looked up from his snack, baffled, as Garrick shouldered past him and out the door that led to the front of the shop, behind the ice cream parlor's counter. Garrick, who'd spent thousands of hours of his life in this shop, was better equipped to navigate it in the dark than Dumbledore was, and he stormed past the buckets of ice cream on display behind the glass until he reached the part of the wooden counter that flipped up. It fell back down with a bang as Garrick made his way across the tiled floor, and he heard a soft but satisfying "oof" as Dumbledore stumbled behind him.

Garrick's breath caught in his throat as he strode out into Diagon Alley, illuminated by a few lanterns and that blasted Mourning Moon shining above his head. He put his hands on his knees before Dumbledore eventually joined him.

"Garrick, I —"

"Absolutely not." Garrick's words came out in a short, ragged croak.

"I thought it was obvious what I —"

"That was not what I agreed to," he said, raking a hand through the air. "Had I known that was what you were getting at, I would never have agreed."

"I assumed, incorrectly, that you always knew I was talking about Fawkes. As ego-bruising as it is to admit, I'm in neither the mood nor the shape these days to scale the Himalayas at a moment's notice."

Garrick straightened shakily. "I'll make you a wand. But I'll not use another feather from that bird. What could come of that, but another Dark Lord?"

"That's the sort of nonsense I would expect to hear from a wandmaker with a fraction of your knowledge and talent, Garrick," Dumbledore said. "Surely you don't believe that a wizard is made Dark by his wand."

"Back at my workshop," Garrick pressed, "I have tail hairs from unicorns that I stumbled on in Brocéliande, and wood from that forest as well. I would be happy to work with those materials, to make you a wand from that."

"That's excellent news," Dumbledore said with a smile, "but you will have to do that work on your own time."

Garrick turned away from Dumbledore and strode down Diagon Alley in frustration, drawing his traveling cloak a little tighter around his neck in the brisk night air. He weaved his way around a smattering of shoppers, Dumbledore trailing close behind. Garrick was still readjusting to a thriving Diagon Alley, especially this late in the evening. Less than a month ago, the high street would have been deserted at this hour. But now that witches and wizards could move without fear through their communities once again, it was startling how rapidly things had returned to normal. Or, somewhat normal. Nearly every weekend, the Ministry had to calm a jubilant crowd that was attempting to restart the celebrations of the first of November, and the confetti beneath Garrick's boots made it clear that everyone's high spirits would not be subsiding any time soon.

After the Dark Lord's fall, Garrick had watched the celebrations from his flat above the shop. Relief and joy washed over him, and he laughed for the first time in three years, watching Florean dance ridiculously with Madam Malkin. Garrick had turned to his wife, in hopes that this might be the first thing that could coax her off the sofa. However, when he saw Elspeth's vacant expression had not changed, he had sobered immediately.

Garrick pushed this thought from his mind as he passed Quality Quidditch Supplies and Eeylops Owl Emporium and reached the Leaky Cauldron's brick wall. He raised his wand and, without even making a conscious decision, tapped out the combination of bricks that was best burned into his memory. A brick in the center shook and shimmered, and the wall finally opened — not to Diagon Alley's local wizarding pub, but to the vast expanse of Flutterleaf Park.

Garrick gave a relieved sigh, and strode forward.

All the trees had shed their leaves, but the park had always been Garrick's daughter's favorite place, even in winter and even before the first snow. Grass sprawled as far as the eye could see, and a pond was just visible at the end of the path that began right at his feet. He walked forward, slower now, drinking in the air that was so much fresher here. Tall lanterns lit the path, but so did an occasional fire that huddles of witches and wizards had conjured in the cold, as did lights from flocks of fairies that flitted from shrub to shrub.

Garrick folded his arms under his cloak, and his knobble-knuckled fingers brushed against her pear wood wand he always kept nestled beneath the seam. Ten and a quarter inches. Unicorn hair for the core, naturally. Fern always had an affinity for unicorns, even as a young girl. Whenever the Ollivanders would visit Elspeth's Muggle relatives, Elspeth and Garrick would always have to lecture their daughter — in vain — not to mention unicorns to her cousins. Fern found it heartbreaking that everyone wasn't in on the secret. Her accidental magic was troublesome enough, and the breathless, unnervingly detailed stories she liked to share with anyone who would listen were enough to turn Garrick's hair grey.

As an adult, Fern would insist — in that same breathless detail — on using an unstable, enigmatic magic known as pyromancy in her wand crafting. Garrick would lose hours with her, arguing against her appeals to use phoenix fire on holly, or dragon fire with ash.

"You're letting an animal do half your job," he would scold her. "Imagine what you're burning away in those flames."

Her brow would crease, not with frustration but with intensity. "Dad," she'd reply, "imagine what we're gaining!"

Youthful follies aside, Fern had been invaluable. She was unmatched in procurement and, after her death, replacing her had proven impossible. Garrick's description of "stumbling on unicorns in Brocéliande" was quite the understatement — it had taken him days to find any magical beasts. With Fern's help, they could have found a herd in a matter of hours. It didn't help that Garrick had trudged through the forest much slower than he usually did, wondering why he was even there. The woods had felt quite haunted.

Dumbledore joined Garrick on the path, his eyes trained on the night sky. Garrick assumed momentarily that several owls swooping overhead had caught Dumbledore's attention, but, of course, it was the moon that was on the headmaster's mind, he realized with a sigh.

"Did you read the Prophet today?" Garrick asked, his boots crunching along the path. "The Ministry is considering renaming this park after the Harry Potter boy."

"I did hear that, yes. What do you make of it?"

"I don't think Marty Flutterleaf would mind. He was quite embarrassed to have it named after his family in the first place. I don't believe he thought they were notable enough."

"I'd beg to differ."

"So would I. I don't think Ollivander wands would have seen the improvements they did over the past several generations without the Flutterleafs' contribution to herbology. But," he shrugged, "they may call the park whatever they please, as long as I can still have access to the trees whenever I like."

"Ah, how intriguing. The wood here is good enough for wand crafting?"

"Yes — simple, unassuming trees are sometimes best for certain wands, especially when you're looking to balance out a particularly powerful core."

Dumbledore smiled. "I'd hoped as much. That's why I was planning to show you a specific plant in the Forbidden Forest, for the wand wood I had in mind."

Garrick turned sharply toward Dumbledore. "The Forbidden Forest?"

"Yes."

"But the merchant restrictions on that land... ?"

"Are overridden as long as you're in the presence of the Headmaster of Hogwarts."

"Yes, indeed," Garrick said, thinking. "Oh, very good. Well, well, well..."

"Would you like to see it?" Dumbledore said, offering his arm.

*

A braver, wiser wizard than Garrick Ollivander would have been terrified to find himself in the Forbidden Forest at this hour. Insidious noises punctuated the fog and the darkness around him — leathery wings beat through the air, legs scuttled over frost-covered tree roots, sudden feral cries rang out without warning. Instead, however, Garrick felt only giddy. He was surrounded on all sides by endless sources of magical materials, and it overwhelmed any sensible desire to flee that he should have felt.

He scraped some moss off a rowan tree with a fingernail and sniffed it, then absentmindedly let it crumble between his thumb and forefinger as he examined the bark. If Garrick could trust his instincts, the tree had been a longtime home for a wood nymph roughly five years ago, but hadn't been inhabited by anything more magical than a bowtruckle since then. The wood would pair well with the unicorn hairs back in his workshop. He moved forward to break off some branches, then hesitated. His habit of gathering wand materials wherever he went had proven difficult to kick. If he was no longer going to make wands, there was no reason anymore to find interesting wand wood or impressive magical creatures. Garrick caught up with Dumbledore, briefly, before he was distracted again by a chestnut tree. He wished that it were April, rather than the end of November, so that he could properly examine the foliage. He squinted up at the branches in the darkness, before he heard Dumbledore calling his name.

"Step lightly, Garrick, this isn't a place to tarry." Dumbledore was several paces ahead of him. "Fear not, this holly I have in mind will be interesting as well."

Garrick felt that prickle of excitement and dread again. Holly had, naturally, been at the corners of his mind when he'd tried to anticipate what kind of wand wood Dumbledore would want to pair with Fawkes' feather. The plant of death and rebirth...

He shivered in the cold, and then hurried to find Dumbledore.

A large stag looked up, then leapt away as Dumbledore approached a holly bush. The plant didn't appear to be anything special; it was a bit scrawny, in fact. But Garrick Ollivander, like Dumbledore, knew that appearances could be deceiving. However, as Garrick leaned in and inspected the holly — moving steadily round the plant, examining the soil around it, testing the give of its branches, taking note of the crooked direction in which it grew — he brushed off his hands and cleared his throat.

"Forgive me, Albus, but this specimen is, erm... quite underwhelming."

"It is dreadfully flimsy, isn't it?" Dumbledore smiled and loosened the purple scarf at his neck.

Garrick bent down and searched for a branch that would work best. Dumbledore pointed his wand at his throat, cleared it and said, "Sonorus." Then Dumbledore began to whistle a low, melancholy tune that likely could be heard throughout the Hogwarts grounds.

It sounded like a phoenix's song, and yet... the same tune, mimicked by man, had the opposite effect that a phoenix's warbled notes should. Light tendrils of anxiety crept around Garrick's mind as he realized that Dumbledore was calling Fawkes to him, and he thought about the last time he'd seen Fawkes' feather core wand.

It had felt surreal, when Lord Voldemort had walked quietly into the wand shop three years ago. The bell had jingled as the Dark Lord shut the door behind him and Garrick stood frozen behind the counter. Voldemort had paced around the shop as if he worked there, looking up at the shelves with keen interest.

Voldemort had pulled a wand box off the shelf and ran a finger slowly along the side of the box to remove the dust obscuring the scrawled text. "Redwood and unicorn hair. Eleven and a half inches. Crafted in the year seventeen fifty-two... fascinating... and yet, it's found no owner?"

"Wands are patient," Garrick had rasped, almost automatically. "They — they will wait, for the right person to come along."

Voldemort considered this as he removed the wand from its box. He curled it through the air, swiftly conjuring a geometric mandala out of silver light that glittered in the dim shop as the lines connected, swirled and looped before him, until Voldemort vanished it with a dismissive flick.

"It gives me no pleasure to end sacred wizarding lines," Voldemort said softly, replacing the wand back in its box. "Lines that could have produced great witches and wizards who might have served my wizarding world very well, generations from now."

Garrick did not move, his feet rooted to the floor.

"Seventeen fifty-two — a great era," Voldemort continued. "I wonder who this wand is waiting for... hopefully someone who comes of age in my lifetime." His lips curled as he replaced the box on the shelf. "Ollivander's was not selling wands to Mudbloods in the mid 18th century, if the historians are correct... What a tragically brief tradition."

"Tragic indeed," Garrick countered, his voice trembling, "if that wand is waiting in vain for someone who never had a chance to walk through these doors."

"Someone who does not have the resolve to discover these doors and force their way through," Voldemort said, producing his own wand, "was never much of a wizard to begin with."

If Garrick had not already been a dead man in that moment, he knew that his small comment of dissent had certainly made him one. He thought desperately of how he could keep Voldemort from reaching his family upstairs, what he could possibly say to pacify him, but then his eyes focused, almost out of habit, on the raised wand.

"Mr. Riddle?" he whispered, stunned. Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful. Garrick, like many others, had assumed that Lord Voldemort had emerged from a school other than Hogwarts. No one seemed to know who he was, and his Dark magic was so foreign to Garrick, so unique and strange, that he had likewise assumed that his wand had also come from elsewhere.

But it had not. The wand that had caused so much destruction, that had taken so many lives... Garrick had sold it to a small, pale boy half a century ago. It was horrid, and yet... and yet...

"That shape that you conjured just then," Garrick rasped, "what is it? What does it do?"

Voldemort laughed softly. "More than you could ever fathom materializing from one of your wands, I imagine."

"Try me," Garrick demanded, with more conviction than he ever thought he could summon before the Dark Lord. He had to know: What great magicks had Tom Riddle advanced with an Ollivander wand, one that appeared to be unchanged from the day it had been sold?

Riddle raised his wand again, and black-green light fluttered not only through the yew wood but through the veins in his hand as well — a prepared Killing Curse manifesting in a way Garrick had never witnessed before. In the moment when he knew he was about to die, his thoughts did not turn to memories of his wife or his daughter, but of a strangely contorted yew tree that grew in a dark and overgrown graveyard.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The mandala reformed, the Killing Curse invoked, and bands of light wove together his doom as Garrick gasped in the light. As the spell faded and its brightness dimmed, Garrick felt dazed, unsure why he was not yet dead until he saw Fern, lying motionless at the bottom of the staircase in the shop. Fern, who must have heard the conversation as she descended, of course she had. Fern, who had undoubtedly tried to take action when Garrick had done nothing...

"Perhaps now you will understand what you are risking, if you continue to sell wands to those who are undeserving." Tom Riddle left the shop as casually as he'd arrived, the bell jingling as the door closed behind him.

*

Fawkes flew as magnificently as he had the day Garrick had taken a feather from him.

The phoenix glided down into the Forbidden Forest as if it were a dance. Who could say how Fawkes managed to swoop through the branches without snagging its glittering golden tail, which swished across the forest floor as it landed on Dumbledore's outstretched arm. As it folded its impressive wingspan at its sides, the bird puffed itself out in a brief, frenetic shiver before settling again.

Garrick regarded it warily, from a distance. He couldn't be certain in the dark, but Fawkes appeared to be strong and healthy and nowhere near a Burning Day.

Dumbledore turned to Garrick. "I ASSUME — "

Garrick nearly fell to the ground, clutching his ears as Dumbledore's voice reverberated around them, and Fawkes flapped its wings in alarm. Dumbledore shot Garrick an amused, apologetic look and nullified the charm at his throat.

"You did that on purpose," Garrick said, massaging his temples.

"I would never." Dumbledore smiled. "I assume you'll want to return to your workshop?"

"Yes. All my materials are back in Diagon Alley." Garrick proffered his arm. "I'll bring us directly into the shop, I suppose."

"Actually," Dumbledore said, "would you be opposed to traveling by different means?"

Garrick frowned for a moment, confused, and then realization dawned on him. "Is it safe?"

"I wouldn't advise you try it with other phoenixes, but with Fawkes, it's a perfectly reliable form of transport."

Fawkes cocked his head at Garrick, who hesitated. "What do I need to do?" Garrick asked.

"Stepping a tad closer would be a good start, I think."

He was still a significant distance from Dumbledore and his phoenix. The bird opened its beak, and one soft, clear note echoed through the forest.

Fern hadn't been as good with phoenixes as she was with unicorns. Five years ago, at the top of Mount Kailash, she and Garrick had rested briefly in their tent after two freezing days' worth of unsuccessful hunting. That morning, Garrick heard her put the kettle on, and he emerged from his bedroom to find her sipping tea, lost in thought as she stared, bleary-eyed, into the middle distance.

"All this work," she had grumbled, "and the wand may just go to some quill-twiddler who uses it to enchant paper airplanes at the Ministry of Magic."

"Not everyone can go on adventures," Garrick had said, examining the flute that he used to attract nearby phoenixes.

She'd frowned with a smile. "That's the funny little myth of the wizarding world, though, isn't it? We can certainly all go on adventures."

Dumbledore cleared his throat, bringing Garrick back to the present. "We don't have a great deal of time left," he said.

Garrick took an unsteady breath and strode forward, and, just as he reached Dumbledore, smoldering ringlets began to swirl around the phoenix until the three of them were suddenly, terrifyingly engulfed in flames. Garrick gave a shout as nothing but fire filled his line of sight, and then, abruptly, the only lights before his eyes were the tall lanterns along the cobbled road of Diagon Alley.

Garrick was trembling uncontrollably, and he stumbled to his right. Clouds of vapor poured off their bodies in the brisk air as the fire around them dissipated, and yet Garrick was unharmed.

Dumbledore seemed delighted by Garrick's reaction as Fawkes settled on his arm. "I'm shocked you've never traveled by phoenix before. What did you think?"

"Albus, that was... that was..." He was exhaling in short bursts, trying to gain control of himself. "Phenomenal."

"Quite the thrill, isn't it?" Dumbledore said. "And the further one travels, the more exhilarating it is, I find."

"I think I felt this way once in 1927, when Florean convinced me to smoke some crushed Billywig stings."

"Did you, now? What a compelling endorsement for narcotics."

"Albus, if I die of a heart attack tonight, you'll have my wife to contend with."

Dumbledore chuckled, and the two of them started walking toward the wand shop.

Garrick glanced over at Fawkes atop Dumbledore's shoulder. "When was your phoenix's last Burning Day?" he asked

"Seven years ago. In fact, it's his birthday today, in a sense."

Garrick stared. "You don't say."

"Yes," Dumbledore said. "I fed him his favorite meal this morning. All the learned experts say that phoenixes most enjoy the gum of frankincense, but, in fact, I've found over the years that there's nothing Fawkes fancies more than a plate full of flobberworms. He prefers them toasted, to Hagrid's great distress."

Garrick fumbled with the key as they reached the wand shop, unable to stop inspecting Fawkes out of the corner of his eye. Its scarlet feathers shone so brightly against the shop's grimy windows and chipping black paint that he wondered if there was still some fire smoldering beneath them. A soft warmth emanated from the bird still, like a recently extinguished bonfire.

The bell bounced against the door as he opened it, and Fawkes left the headmaster's shoulder to glide inside while Dumbledore followed. Garrick's eyes adjusted in the gloom. Even as a cold wind blew into the shop, he lingered at the entrance, his hand on the door. Fawkes perched atop a lamp on the counter, eying him, and the two held each other's gaze.

"And you're fine with all of this, then, are you?" Garrick asked with narrowed eyes.

Fawkes blinked back at him.

"I used to be just as confident in my abilities," he muttered, shutting the door with a snap. He walked behind the counter, took out his wand — hornbeam, dragon heartstring, eleven and three-quarter inches, brittle — and began to summon his materials. His favorite carving knife and sanding stone flew out of a nearby drawer; a tape measure and his bottle of almond oil emerged from a cupboard behind him. He flicked his wand above his head, and a bottle of firewhisky eventually appeared at the top of the rickety staircase, spinning rapidly in the air down towards him. Garrick caught the bottle smartly in one hand.

Dumbledore said, "And the firewhisky is for — ?"

"For me."

"Of course." Dumbledore smiled. "Would you mind if I joined you?"

Garrick waved distractedly. "Be my guest." As Dumbledore conjured himself a glass, Garrick took a sip from his own conjured glass, peering at Fawkes. The phoenix pecked and picked up the tape measure, and it bobbed as Garrick reached for it, trying to keep it away. Out of pure habit, Garrick took advantage of the distraction. He set down his glass and, in one swift motion, plucked a feather from Fawkes' breast so quickly that the phoenix didn't even flinch. Fawkes looked up at him, tape measure still in his beak, as Garrick examined the feather.

"Adept, as always," Dumbledore said, and Garrick glanced up with a start. "Will that do for a core?"

"I think it'll do very nicely, yes," he murmured. "If memory serves, it's roughly the same size as the core that... as the previous core. But this is a feather near the heart, while the last one was a tail feather."

"Ah, interesting. Do you think that will be an important difference?"

Garrick ground his teeth. "We'd better hope so, shouldn't we?"

Dumbledore hummed noncommittally.

"Albus, I'm surprised that you of all people are so nonchalant about the possibility that I might be replicating the Dark Lord's wand."

"I think," Dumbledore said after a thoughtful sip, "the most important difference is not in the materials themselves, but in the state of mind of the wandmaker."

"Ah, marvelous — a wand injected with fear, trepidation and doubt."

"Well, that certainly would be quite different than Voldemort's state of mind, would it not?"

Garrick flinched at the name. He shook his head and picked up the branch of holly and his carving knife. How had he found himself in this situation? Not three hours ago, he'd been discussing Food Freezing Charms with Fortie.

"For the record," Dumbledore continued, "I would not characterize it as fear. I believe it's something more akin to humility."

Garrick took his frustration out on the branch, carving with a blur of quick, deliberate knife strokes. "You are not the first to attempt to bend the business practices of this shop to your will, Albus."

For a while, the only sound in the workshop was the knife quietly scraping against soft wood, small shavings hitting the table. Finally, Dumbledore spoke.

"If my request is in such direct opposition to what you think is best, Garrick, I will bid you goodnight and be on my way. But I know you have always carried on, doing what is right, regardless of any such attempts to sway you otherwise."

Garrick cursed as the knife caught harshly on what was now a roughly finished wand. "Well," he grumbled, "now there's a flaw in the wood, so what do you propose we do now?"

"You've always told me that magic thrives in asymmetry and imperfection. How else could humans be suitable vessels for magic?"

Garrick ran his thumb along the wand, then grasped the knife and split the wood down the middle. As he carved a trench in one of the halves, he noticed that the feather had inched closer to the wood as it took shape. "And what poor, pathetic vessels men are for magic," Garrick said. "Cruel, selfish, destructive. They use magic to attain the same loathsome goals, century after century, generation after generation. And what do the Ollivanders do? Why, we help them focus those desires, don't we? We make it easier for them to injure, to kill, and to destroy."

"My dear friend, Fern would have thought it the greatest tragedy in the world to hear you speak of magic so —"

BANG! A great cloud of glittering silver dust filled the room, and Garrick breathed heavily, gripping one half of the coreless wand with a white-knuckled hand as the smoke cleared, revealing Dumbledore calmly clutching his cheek. A thin drop of blood seeped into his beard.

"I knew there was more to that holly that meets the eye," Dumbledore said.

"You dare mention her name," Garrick said, "now, of all times? When you've strongarmed me into making a wand with a twin core of her murderer's?"

"Garrick, please. If I am truly forcing you into something against your will, then —"

"And what is my will, Albus?" Garrick demanded. Even he had not expected rudimentary magic to emerge from such an unfinished tool, but his blood was pounding in his ears and he pointed the wand half at Dumbledore like a madman. "I am certain you know, otherwise you would not be so confident in your bluff to walk out the door. You know as well as I do — better than I do — that even now, still, after everything, I would never pass up the opportunity to bring such great magic into the world again. Especially when the phoenix feather is plucked under a Mourning Moon, while the phoenix is seven years out from a Burning Day, precisely. Why, you've placed a great tankard of goblin-made ale in front of a drunkard who's spent his last Sickle!"

"I am trying to remind a great craftsman of something he's forgotten."

"Albus, let me forget. I beg you."

"I know it feels a fitting penance, to give up everything." For a fleeting instant, Garrick thought he saw a flare of pain in Dumbledore's eyes. "There is a duality to magic, yes, but —"

"I made and sold the wand that killed her." Garrick's voice cracked. "I didn't protect her. I didn't even know she was there."

"You mustn't blame yourself for —"

"But I must, Albus! You don't understand, the — the curse, it was... Albus, it was — exquisite. Such great fury, distilled so casually and with such great precision. It was elegant. Superb. I think of it as often as I think of her."

Fawkes bristled, and Dumbledore watched Garrick sadly. The wandmaker set the carved holly branch on the counter and brought his hand to his face. A steady tick tock, tick tock from a grandfather clock in the corner was the only noise in the shop. He wondered if Dumbledore would take the feather and leave. Garrick wondered if he would let him.

"Garrick," Dumbledore began, "you are not —" He stopped abruptly, and both men turned as they heard a sound on the staircase. Elspeth Ollivander was standing romrad still, her hand on the bannister as she stared down at Garrick.

His wife didn't look horrified. She only looked sad.

"Elsie," he rasped, "how — how long have you been there?"

"The bell always wakes me up." She descended slowly, her eyes on the phoenix who was staring back at her. She reached the bottom of the staircase and looked at her husband. "Is it finished?" she asked.

He blinked, in a daze.

"Have you finished the wand?" she repeated.

He shook his head adamantly. "You don't have to worry. I won't do it." He thought about setting the carved holly down on the counter, thought about knocking it to the floor. But the unfinished wand remained clutched in his hand, trembling at his side. "I won't make it. I won't make another wand."

Elspeth studied him for a long moment. "You ought to use Fawkes," she said, "for the pyromancy."

"Pyromancy?" He shook his head, incredulous. "Fawkes' feather alone will lend the wand a great deal of erratic strength. You want me to craft a wand that's even more unpredictable?" His hand drifted absentmindedly to the seam of his cloak. He paused, thinking.

Elspeth pulled her dressing gown tighter around herself, frowning slightly. "Didn't you always fear what the fire could burn away?"

"Certainly." His hand was still at his cloak. "Without question."

She was staring off into the middle distance. She and Fern always wore the same expression, whenever they disagreed with him. "She always knew the importance of burning away the darkness," Elspeth said.

Garrick glanced at the counter. The feather had inched closer to him, as his wife spoke. He swallowed and, with a glance at Dumbledore, removed his cloak from his shoulders. Elspeth watched as he ripped out the seam with both hands. It had been three years since he'd laid eyes on Fern's wand, and every groove in the wood, every small chip was exactly as he remembered it. He held his daughter's wand in his left hand, as she once had. Garrick exhaled and frowned at the ceiling, struggling to remember something forgotten. He raised the wand half in his hand. Then, in a firm and resonant voice, he began to chant.

The incantation came out in a long, dizzying string of Greek. He felt a sudden pressure in his ears, and the temperature in the room rose sharply. Dumbledore smiled. Elspeth breathed in deeply, and closed her eyes.

For the first several minutes, nothing happened as Garrick spoke, but he kept a steady pace of words and breaths, using Fern's wand to imbue the holly with magic and prepare it for the fire ritual. The phoenix feather inched closer, closer along the counter until it drifted up toward his hands and nestled itself in the trench that he'd carved.

Garrick slowed the incantation and picked up the other wand half, closing it over the feather as he turned to Fawkes. Smoldering ringlets were swirling around the phoenix again, and Fawkes breathed out a thin, soft stream of golden fire that lifted the wand out of his hands and into the air, resealing the wood, smoothing and shining one end of the wand and scorching a charred handle of rough bark onto the other. The flames illuminated the shop and three people in it, who watched the wand form in the space between them.

The fire dissipated, and Garrick took out his wand to levitate the newly finished wand just as it fell. He reached for it gingerly. It was warm to the touch, but did not burn his hand. He ran his thumb over the new wand, noting the imperfections with satisfaction.

"I rather think that wand will choose someone good," Dumbledore said.

"Someone great, I imagine," Garrick said distractedly.

Dumbledore hummed noncommittally.

Garrick crossed the room, and placed Fern's wand on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window of the shop. "This feels right," he said, "for her to make the wands we sell, from now on." Elspeth murmured in agreement, staring at her daughter's wand.

Garrick looked down at the new wand in his other hand, considering it. He still needed to test it.

He turned to Dumbledore. "Accio winnings," Garrick said, and a sudden shower of coins emerged from Dumbledore's robes, clinking in the air. Garrick levitated all the coins at once, made them flutter around the room — each column's movement one beat ahead of the next, so they all seemed to be caught in ocean waves of glinting silver and gold.

He swished the wand back in the air, and the Galleons and Sickles returned to Dumbledore's pockets.

Elspeth smiled. "Fern always did get her way."

"Quite," Garrick said. "Like someone else I know."

"I can't imagine who you're talking about," Dumbledore said. "I always defer to the experts."

Garrick chuckled and raised the wand, casting a flurry of charms that filled the shop with magic and light.

[ericsonclan]

An Unexpected Setback

Summary: The halflings and Brody head out to start their adventure together only to come across something unexpected: another halfling and a human child.

Read on A03: 

The next day they headed out of the tavern with full bellies and excited chatter, all dreaming of what they would accomplish. Brody had acclimated quite nicely to life with three halflings, maintaining a languid stroll as her three new friends bustled down the street. They weren’t sure exactly what the right next move was, but had decided together that they should start by going to the town square to see if they could find any postings or hear any news of upcoming quests. Thus they found themselves in the busiest part of the market when Louis happened to bump into a stranger.

“Oh, my apologies,” he offered routinely before letting out a surprised gasp at seeing he had collided with a halfling girl.

She smiled at him prettily, batting her eyes before continuing on her way.

“W-wait!” Louis exclaimed before being dragged along by Violet. “Vi, that was another halfling! Out here, in the world! We should have befriended her!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Violet muttered. “She was clearly busy and so are we. C’mon, I’m itching to find our first quest!”

Once they’d reached the town square, they made their way over to the nearest bulletin board, reading as far up as they could before relying on Brody to tell them what the quests on the top of the board said. Many of them seemed far above their level of experience, but there was one quest to clear a manor of pesky squirrels that seemed like a safe enough start.

“Not sure how much help I’ll be,” Brody murmured, looking down at the ground. “I don’t have any fighting experience or even any sort of sword,”

Louis patted her wrist reassuringly. “No worries! It’s not like we have to kill the squirrels, just clear them out! Tell you what, we’ll buy you a net. Then you can catch the squirrels while we scare them your way. Lemme just get some coins out, then we’ll find a good net and-” He froze, feeling around in his pack with a silent panic. He looked inside, having no better luck as he continued to rummage. “I-I’ve been robbed!” he squeaked in disbelief.

“You sure you didn’t just drop your coin purse or forget it at the inn?” Violet asked.

“No, it was just here! I could feel it weighing me down. I just got distracted reading the quests ‘cause I was so excited and didn’t realize till now!” He swung around wildly, searching the surrounding area. Suddenly his eyes lighted on the halfling girl. “Hey, maybe she can help! I bet she has more experience in this town then we do!”

Omar shrugged. “Worth a shot,”

They scampered over to her. The girl seemed shocked as they eagerly surrounded her, but kept an even stance, eyeing each of them in turn.

“Name’s Louis!” Louis thrust his hand forward in greeting.

She stared at it without moving.

Louis awkwardly pocketed his hand. “We were wondering if as a fellow halfling you’d be willing to help us. I seem to have misplaced my coin purse. I’m sure you’d be able to help us lickety split, right? Are you from around these parts?”

The girl shook her head. Her expression began to warm to them. “Just passing through. I’d be happy to help you though. Where did you last see it?”

Louis eagerly guided her back to the quest board where he’d realized the coin pure was missing, the others trailing behind the pair as they began their search. Louis quickly found himself quite taken with the girl. Her curly hair fell in ringlets around her face, framing it beautifully. Her golden eyes crinkled in amusement at each phrase he spoke, and her nose wrinkled playfully as well. She might just be the prettiest halfling girl he’d ever laid eyes on. He was about to ask her if she had any interest in joining their group in their adventures as well when Violet swore angrily behind him.

“My pouch is missing too! This is worse than we thought!”

Brody emptied her pockets worriedly. “Nothing of mine is missing, but then again I don’t think thieves would be very interested in loose buttons and a spool of thread,”

The halfling girl shook her head in annoyance. “Honestly, people in towns are the worst! No respect for private property, just taking whatever they please!”

“It really is awful!” Louis assented, nodding emphatically. “Thievery like this never happened back home. Halflings are too pure of heart to even consider stealing. We work hard for our breakfasts each and every day!”

“Not sure you’ve ever worked hard a day in your life,” Violet challenged. “But that’s beside the point. We have to find our money or none of us will eat!”

With that threat looming over their heads, the group continued their search in earnest, examining every nook and cranny and asking each stranger they came across if they’d seen anything. No luck. After a good few hours of searching they collapsed in exhaustion by the town well, taking off their packs and breathing heavily as they tried to sort themselves out.

Violet kicked the side of the well in anger. “Nothing! We’ve searched for hours and we’ve gotten nowhere! How could this have happened?”

“Don’t give up, Vi!” Louis said encouragingly, offering her a turn drinking from the cup they’d rustled up to fetch some of the water. “Worst comes to worst, we sell a few things from our packs to get Brody that net, then we head off on our squirrel herding quest. It’ll be a blast!”

Suddenly they heard a loud slap and a distressed cry. Omar leapt up from where he’d been sitting, eyes wild. “He tried to steal my cheese!” he shouted, pointing to the culprit.

A young boy, barely over 5, crouched beside the well, panicked. The belt he wore round his waist held three coin purses. It was all their money! He was the thief!

“A.J., run!” the halfling girl suddenly cried. She leapt forward, grabbing all three of their packs in a surprising show of strength before booking it out of the square.

“Stop, thief! Stop!” the halflings cried, chasing her as quickly as they could. Brody quickly outpaced them, almost catching up to the halfling girl until she took a sudden sharp turn, disappearing into an alleyway. They continued their chase, in desperate pursuit of her and the boy who’d rejoined her, but to no avail. They found themselves trapped at a dead end, watching helplessly as she and the child scaled the wall effortlessly.

“How could you?” Louis cried desperately. “Betraying your own kind? Turning against good, honest halfling folk for your own gain? You dishonor the halfling name!”

The girl turned around at those words, glaring down at them as her child companion towered behind her, his afro making her look tiny in comparison, but doing nothing to diminish her ferocity. “How dare I? I dare because halflings never did a thing for me! You’ll be fine without all your coin and fancy snacks. Go on back to your little town and let this be a lesson that fools like you have no place in the real world!” With that she turned, leaping down from the roof and onto the next building. Soon both thieves were gone and the four adventurers were left standing aimlessly in a deserted alleyway, penniless and bewildered.

Was their adventure over before it had even truly began?

[adventuresofninnaly]

The adventure begins!

Ninnaly woke up in cold sweat. Nightmares again, this time about a giant, black dragon attacking Helgen. Why Helgen? Why Dragons?! There haven’t been any dragons in centuries, if there were any to being with! Only stories for children.

She noticed the sun had start to rise, so she sat up in the bed and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, stretched her stiff body and yawning. She grabbed her worktunic and headed out of her bedroom, and down the stairs. She threw some firewood on the firepit, and casted a simple fire-spell on it. “Being raised by a former battle-mage surely had it’s perks.” Ninnaly said quietly with a slight smile on her lips. She sat down and started heating some water for her tea and grabbed a piece of bread. “I will try to remember buying some food later, before I go home from work” she thought. “but knowing myself, I’ll probably forget.”.

Ninnaly sighed and dropped down some lavender, a few juniper berries cut in half and a few drops of honey in her cup and poured some water on top. She started thinking back to her time in Helgen. She hadn’t been there in four years, since she first arrived in Skyrim. The innkeeper Vilod was nice enough to let her stay for as long as she needed, in exchange for helping him with his inn. It was Vilod who had teached her how to make the Lavender and Juniper berry tea. The honey was her own idea, being a sucker for all things sweet. Well, almost everything. She disliked sweetrolls. They looked weird, and was too sweet. Taking a sip of her tea and relaxed a bit in her chair.

“I should take a week and go visit old Vilod” She thought. “Would be a nice surprise for the old fool”. Taking a sip of the tea. “But that will have to wait until next month. I have to travel to Falkreath and deliver some alchemy ingredients to ‘Grave Concoctions’.” she exhaled and took a big gulp from the cup. “After that, I should have enough coin to buy myself a horse. Which will make my job so much easier, and I can carry a greater shipment”.

She sat down the now empty cup, took her waterskin, coinpurse and headed out. She was greeted by an amazing weather, for once it wasn’t freezing cold and raining. The birds chirped and the town had started to move. Adrianne had already started to hammer away at some order from the Imperial Legion. The children of Whiterun was already running around and playing tag. A great day, with other words.

Ninnaly headed to Arcadia’s Cauldron, grabbed the supplies and headed towards the gate. The pouch was fairly lightweight for once. Unlike that time she had accepted a request to pick up a shipment for Adrianne last month, down in Riverwood. Adrianne had forgot to mention that Ninnaly was supposed to bring Ulfberth with her, for the extra muscle. Oh well. At least now on the way back from Falkreath she could maybe get a foot in the newly opened shop in Riverwood and get a customer there too.

The trip to Falkreath was awfully uneventful, only a small fight between the Legion and the Stormcloaks. Ninnaly helped heal the wounded Imperial soldiers after the battle had ended. Ninnaly, being a half-elf, she didn’t sympathize much with Ulfric and his thugs. The leader of the small group asked if she wanted to join the Legion, but answered that she didn’t quiet make the cut. Ninnaly was both skilled in swordsmanship and spellcasting, but not enough at the time. The captain said he would recommend her, which may give her some extra leverage. After healing the troops and sharing a meal and some stories, the captain asked where Ninnaly was heading. “To Falkreath, gotta deliver a shipment.” “Is that so?” he said. “We were heading there ourselves, and as you probably can tell, that there are Stormcloaks in the area.” “Do you want company, miss?” He asked politely. “Yes, on the condition you don’t call me miss again.” Ninnaly responded teasingly. Together with the small band of Legionnaires, Ninnaly continued towards Falkreath. They continued to share stories, but keeping their guards up.

Arriving to Falkreath, the group of Legionnaires went their own way towards the Jarls keep. And Ninnaly went to ‘Grave Concoctions’. Delivering the goods. She was amazed of just how many kinds of poisons and deadly concoctions there actually is.

Happily leaving the ‘Grave Concoctions’ with a heavier coin purse, she went to the local inn, Dead Man’s Drink, to rent a room for the slowly approaching night, and get something to eat. A plate of potatoes, leek and a steak was laying in front of her, as someone approached her, and asked to join her at the table. “If you are here to flirt, you can go where you came from.” she said mockingly. “Oh no no no, I’m not interested in that!” the person said, “I’m Lucien Flavius. Scientist, philosopher, amateur wizard, and somewhat of a musician... but that’s more of a hobby, I guess.”. Lucien continued. “I am looking for someone to guide me through Skyrim. For academic purposes mainly, but the province of Skyrim is so fascinating! The flora and fauna. All the ruins, both Dwemer and Nordic. It’s architecture and politics.. “ He interrupted himself. “But, I’m not much of a fighter. I know a few spells, and can just about swing a sword. I would of course pay you, more than enough! That of course, is if you are willing to part ways with your current work. Pay would be no issue, I’m coming from a wealthy family in Cyrodiil, so gold is of no shortage.”.

Ninnaly sat quiet for a while, nibbling on her grilled leek. “I will do it. I don’t have any more orders as of now, and I certainly could enjoy some time on the roads!” She said. “And it would be a perfect opportunity to visit Vilod back in helgen. It’s only a days travel from here.” She thought for herself. “Splendid! Would 300 Septims upfront be enough for now?” Lucien said excitingly. Ninnaly almost chocking on her leek. “And compensate you for anything useful to my research.” He continued, waiting for her answer. “Y-yes, that would be enough.” She answered. “I’m Ninnaly, by the way.” “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lily! Let us get some rest for now and get on our way tomorrow!” “Wha.. No, Ninnaly.” She said, with a look of confusion on her face. “Don’t worry Lily! I just like giving people nicknames. Unless of course you have a problem with that.” Lucien said, with a hint of sadness in his voice. Ninnaly had never had a nickname. So she agreed to letting him call her Lily. Feeling a strange happiness about the ordeal she went into her rented room for some needed sleep. The following morning she stepped out into the main hall of inn and asked for some lavender tea and a piece of bread. “Good morning, Lily!” Lucien said happily upon seeing her entering the inn. “I have arranged a carriage to take us where ever we want to go. How does that sound?” “Sounds great, I’ll just eat breakfast and then we can travel to Whiterun. I need some things from my house, if that’s okay?” “Certainly! I have heard about the alchemy shop in Whiterun. I would like to visit it to buy some supplies, so that’s perfect.” Lucien said. After breakfast they left Falkreath for Whiterun. The trip was uneventful, it was spent getting to know each other better. Lucien came from a wonderful home in Cyrodiil, just as Ninnaly. So they were excited they had that in common. Arriving in Whiterun, Ninnaly was greeted with hugs by Lars Battle-Born and Mila Valentina. Her “best friends” according to themselves. “Hey guys, where’s Braith? She got in trouble again?” Ninnaly said with a smile, but also concern. “No, she’s sick. Just a cold, so she wanted to stay home today.” “I see, let me just get a few things, and meet me outside Braith’s okay?” Ninnaly smiled. “Friends of yours?” Lucien said with a smile on his lips. “My ‘best’ friends!” Ninnaly responded. “I usually play tag with them once a week. They really appreciate it. Most the adults are busy doing their work, and don’t have the time. But they like that someone can take their time to play with them.” “I see,” Lucien said. “so where do you live?” “Right here!” she said, unlocking the door to Breezehome. It had cost her a lot of Septims to buy it, and to add furniture to it. But it had been worth it. “I’m just going to get my sword and bow. Will you be a dear and take some lavender, a few juniper berries and the bottle of honey from the table in the back?” “Of course!” Lucien responded. “What is it for?” “It’s for Braith, one of the kids here in the town. A few snips of lavender, two juniper berries and a spoon of hone-” “For tea? Sounds awfully sweet if you ask me.” Lucian interrupted. “Yes, for tea. But it works wonders, and gets a sick child up on it’s feet in no time!” Ninnaly said while walking down the stairs. Now donning a short sword and a bow in her back. After exiting the house, Lucien was directed to ‘Arcadia’s Cauldron’ and Ninnaly went to Braith’s house. Saffir opened the door and greeted them. “Oh Ninnaly, how good to see you!” Saffir said, and gave her a quick hug. “Braith has gotten such a cold you could almost mistake her for a man!” she giggled. “I see. good thing I brought my miracle tea for her then!” Ninnaly answered.

After giving Braith the tea and some chit chat with Saffir, she headed out. Telling Lars and Mila to keep an eye on her house while she was away. Promising to bring them a gift in return.

Lucien stood by the gate and waited for her, and waved when he saw Ninnaly.

“All good? Is Braith okay?” He asked. “She will be. Just need to rest until tomorrow and she should be up in no time.” “Great! So, whereto now?” “Helgen.” Ninnaly said. “To Helgen we go.” -> Be sure to join in on the adventures of Ninnaly over at twitch to take part in her development, and decide her future!

*Edit: Corrected a few mistakes. cuz.. I’m a pepega.

[ironwoman359]

Our Own Villain Ch. 6

Prologue, Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch.7, Ch.8

(please look in the notes for a link to read on AO3. Tumblr’s current glitch makes adding external links to a post hide it from the search function)

Full Fic Masterlist 

 Word Count: 2,626

Summary: Maddie must make a choice...and may end up with more trouble than she bargained for. 

Pairings: Logicality, could be read as romantic or platonic.

Warnings: Food mention, please let me know if I need to add anything else!

Massive thank you to @theinvisiblespoon for helping me edit this and @a-valorous-choice for letting me yeet ideas into your dms! Love you both loads! <3

Patton wished, not for the first time that day, that he was dreaming. His mind was racing, and he found it suddenly very difficult to swallow as he stared at the poster in Maddie’s outstretched hand. He supposed most people would be upset to find their own face plastered onto a wanted poster, but oddly enough, that’s not really what bothered him. It was the handwriting, loping and elegant, yet bold and dramatic and so perfectly Roman’s that sent Patton’s heart plummeting into his stomach. He swallowed thickly, making a point to avoid looking at Logan. The last thing he wanted to see right now was the “I told you so” that would likely be flashing in his friend’s eyes.

He couldn’t stare at the poster forever though, so instead he turned his attention back to Maddie, and the expression on her face made his heart ache. Her eyes were narrow as she searched their faces, any semblance of trust they’d built with her gone. She was just a little girl, a child, she shouldn’t have to lurk in the streets just to survive and wonder if an act of random kindness would cost her everything. She wouldn’t even look so scared right now if it weren’t for them, and Patton felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He sighed, and resisted the urge to close his eyes and curl up into a ball. The last thing he needed was for this to start affecting Thomas on top of everything else.

“Enemies of The Crown...” Logan read aloud, his voice cutting through Patton’s thoughts. “So you are saying that both Patton and I are on these posters you’ve been asked to distribute?”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying,” Maddie replied, shoving the poster into Logan’s hands and quickly taking a step back.

“Kiddo, wait, just...just hang on for a—” Patton stammered out, but Maddie cut him off.

“The two of you come into town out of nowhere, have no idea about curfew or the guards or the Red Sun or anything, you say the guy I saw get taken to the castle by the soldiers is your friend, and now you’re...you’re Enemies of The Crown, or something?”

“I...no, we…” Patton struggled to speak, to somehow explain what was happening, but how could he, really? He barely understood what was happening in Roman’s realm anymore. He desperately wanted to believe that somehow Roman wasn’t responsible for all of this, but the handwriting on the poster was pretty clear. Roman had made that poster. Roman was offering 1,000 gold for Patton’s capture. Roman had just declared Patton his enemy. The thought made him feel like throwing up.

“Maddie, do you consider the crown to currently be in a good state?” Logan asked suddenly, catching everyone’s attention. The girl shrugged, still eyeing the two suspiciously.

“I dunno.”

“Well, you spoke of how the kingdom worsens whenever this Red Sun rises. Increased monster activity, more oppression from the government, an increase in traveling dangers, etc. So at its current state, would you say that The Crown is, in fact, a good thing?”

“I mean...I guess not, when you put it that way.”

“So we were declared enemies of something that you’d call bad, something that scares you,” Logan said patiently. “Doesn’t it stand to reason, then, that we would be the opposite?”

Patton glanced over at Logan, a small smile twitching at the edge of his lips. No matter what the situation, Logan always managed to impress him with his ability to assess things with a cool and level head. Patton had barely been able to stop thinking about Roman and what could have caused all of this in the first place, but Logan had been able to focus and give an answer that was simple, but still made sense.

“Yeah…” Maddie’s voice was hesitant, but there was less fear in her eyes now, uncertainty taking its place. “But...I don’t understand? You didn’t even know anything about this place. How could you be its enemy?”  

“It...is a long story,” Logan admitted. “But…” he glanced over at Patton, and Patton nodded at him encouragingly. “Suffice to say that we...Patton and I, that is...we know Prince Roman. So does our friend Virgil, the one who the guards took? The four of us...we are…” he paused, as if searching for the right word to use.

“We’re a family, Kiddo,” Patton supplied quietly. Logan nodded, and Patton’s spirits lifted ever so slightly.

“We are not from here,” Logan continued. “In fact, Roman himself...well, he created this place. We visit it sometimes, but not enough to know the intricacies of your politics or customs. Certainly, we have never before witnessed this Red Sun you are currently experiencing. And to my knowledge, Roman has never mentioned it, either.”

Logan looked to Patton, as if for confirmation, and Patton nodded. Out of the three of them, he visited Roman’s realm the most often by far, and he’d never once seen it as anything other than a cheerful, sunny paradise. Then again, Roman had never seen Patton’s room as anything other than the Nostalgia Nirvana that Patton was so careful to present whenever he invited the creative side over...was it that far of a stretch to say that Roman perhaps did the same?

“So...the prince created the whole kingdom? How, with magic?” Maddie asked, tilting her head to the side.

Logan opened his mouth, but Patton answered before he could get too in-depth about the inner workings of Thomas’s mind and Roman’s control over the imagination.

“Something like that, yeah, Kiddo.”

Maddie regarded them for a moment longer, then seemed to come to a decision.

“Well, if you’re not from here...maybe you should go. It doesn’t seem like he wants you guys around right now.”

“No,” Patton and Logan said in unison.

“We will not leave this place until we retrieve our friend,” Logan added.

“We can’t just leave him behind,” Patton said, glancing over at Logan. There was understanding in his eyes, and Patton felt some of the tension from earlier melt away.

“Get your friend…” Maddie repeated slowly. “From the castle dungeons. The most heavily guarded place in the kingdom, during the Red Sun, when everything is guarded way more than normal.”

Patton grimaced. When she put it that way, their chances of rescuing Virgil didn’t sound very good.

“We have no other choice,” Logan insisted. “Surely there must be some strategy that will grant us the upper hand.”

“Two of you against the entire royal guard during the Red Sun?” Maddie laughed. “There is no strategy where you would get the upper hand.”

“Falsehood. We just witnessed you face on an entire street gang single-handedly,” Logan pointed out. “Clearly it is not numbers that matter, it is technique.”

“I...all I did was throw a few rocks and run away.” Maddie fiddled with the pouch on her dress, running her fingers over the smooth pebbles she kept inside. “I’m honestly lucky they haven’t caught me yet.”

“Perhaps, though I would attribute it to a high level of experience and skill,”  Logan said matter-of-factly.

Maddie looked down at her feet, a shy but satisfied smile spreading across her face.

“I am serious,” Logan continued. “You were quite impressive in your methods. And between the three of us, I’m sure we can figure out a way. That is…” he hesitated, and looked over at Patton. After a moment, Patton nodded to him, and Logan turned back to Maddie. “That is, if you’re willing to assist us.”

“It’s your choice, Kiddo,” Patton added quickly. “It’s okay if you say no. But...well, like we said, Lo and I don’t really know a whole lot about this place.”

Maddie was silent for what seemed like forever, seconds stretching out as Patton waited with bated breath for her to answer. He glanced over at Logan, who was fiddling with his glasses. To an outsider, it was a seemingly innocent gesture, but Patton knew it meant Logan was also unsure. What would they do if Maddie said no? What if she decided to turn them in instead? What if–

“All…alright.”

Patton blinked. Had he heard her right?

“I’ll help you,” she added, and Patton released a breath. He looked over at Logan, who was clearly very pleased by her answer.

“Let’s do this, then,” Logan said, and Maddie gave a small nod.

Then, the three of them sat down in a circle and began to plan.

Maddie skirted the edge of the market square, nibbling on a warm roll she’d purchased with the few coins the castle steward’s errand boy had thrown her way. It hadn’t been much, certainly not a fair amount for an entire night’s work, but it was still the first time she’d had fresh food in days.

“Outta the way, you damned urchin!”

Maddie ducked away to one side, narrowly avoiding a collision with the large, gruff man shoving his way through the crowd. It was early in the morning, and people were packed into the main market square, buying their breakfast and beginning their work for the day. Maddie was no stranger to the crowds; she was fairly used to being in the square when it was this busy. In fact, it was usually the best time to find dropped coins, scraps of food, or if she was lucky, a kind matronly woman who would offer to buy her a biscuit, or an overworked apprentice who would happily shell out a few copper coins in order to have someone else run their errand while they caught a few more minutes of sleep.

But this was no ordinary morning in the square; this was a morning during the Red Sun. People all over the kingdom had opened their eyes at dawn, hoping to see a hint of golden light peeking through the clouds, only to be greeted by another day bathed in crimson and shadow. Shoulders were hunched, conversations were deprived of their usual cheerful small talk, and eyes were focused on the ground as people hurried about their day, doing their best to avoid looking up.

Maddie worked her way through the crowd, slipping past vendors and shoppers alike, keeping her eyes peeled. Usually, she would be scanning the ground, looking for anything worth scavenging, but today, her head was up, looking through the sea of legs for the flash of a familiar face in the crowd. Seth would be here soon for the morning rush. He was always one of the first to arrive, but Maddie beat him nearly every morning. It was the advantage of having a spot so close to the market, something she’d fought tooth and nail to keep. Something that, apparently, she was now willing to give up.

Just as the thought crossed her mind, she spotted him as he flashed through the crowd, his dirty face and unkempt mop of blond hair catching her eye. She wove her way towards him, ducking between legs and around stalls, reaching for a pebble from her pouch as she did so. Pressing her back up against a fruit stand, she waited until he paused to check for something on the ground before flicking the stone in his direction. It rolled to a stop in front of his feet, and his eyes snapped up, scanning his surroundings. His gaze fell on Maddie, and she tilted her head towards an alleyway before sliding into its shadows herself.

“Maddie?” he hissed as he edged in, looking around carefully. “What do you want?”

“Your pet castle servant. Where does he meet you?”

“I...what?”

“Where does he meet you?” Maddie repeated urgently. “Is it in town, or one of the servants’ entrances?”

Seth narrowed his eyes.

“What’s it to you?” he asked, and Maddie sighed, running a hand over her face.

“Seth, just listen, I don’t have time for this. Do you or do you not know where the servants’ entrance to the castle is?”

“I- yes I know where it is, Maddie, why the hell are you asking?” “I need to know where it is. Can you show me?” Maddie pressed.

“Wait…” Seth leaned back and folded his arms, a knowing look on his face. “I know what this is about.”

“You...you do?”

“Yeah. You’re trying to make a cut into my errand earnings, aren’t you?”

Maddie groaned.

“No, Seth, I-”

“It’s not enough that you have the best spot next to the market, you want to try and sneak one of the more reliable jobs right from under my-”

“Seth, if you show me where the servants’ entrance is I will GIVE you my spot by the market, okay?”

Silence hung in the air between them, Seth staring open-mouthed at Maddie as he processed what she had just said.

“You...you’ll give me the spot?”

“Yes. All you have to do is show me where the servants’ entrance is.”

Seth thought about it. The work from the castle servant already provided him with more money than most, that combined with Maddie’s spot in the alleyway, close to the market and hidden from the gangs...it’d be the closest thing to security he’d get while living on the streets. Hell, if he played his cards right, he might be able to eventually get off the streets.  It was a good deal.

Seth frowned, eyeing Maddie with a renewed suspicion. It was almost too good a deal.

“What’s the catch? And don’t you dare say there isn’t one, there’s no way you’d offer a deal like this if there wasn’t a damn good reason.”

Maddie rolled her eyes.

“The only catch is on my end. If what I have planned works, it will have been worth it for me to give it to you. If it doesn’t, that’s my problem, not yours. You have nothing to lose here”

Seth mulled it over for a moment longer, then nodded.

“Okay then, you have yourself...a…” His sentence stuttered to a stop and his eyes went wide as he stared at something over Maddie’s shoulder.

“Wha-” Maddie started to speak, but was cut off as a huge pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides and lifting her off her feet. “What the- hey! Put me down, you big- mmph!”

The arms shifted and a large, sweaty hand clamped over her mouth, effectively silencing her.

“Run along now, if you know what’s good for you,” a familiar voice purred behind her. Maddie saw Seth bolt for the market square as her assailant carried her deeper into the alley, away from the prying eyes of the early morning shoppers “Now then…”

The leader of the Arachnids came around to face her with a grin, absently twirling his knife between his fingers. Maddie squirmed, but the grip of the thug holding her only tightened, constricting her breathing as he kept his hand pressed firmly against her mouth.

“You owe us, little fly, and it’s time to pay up.”

Maddie silently cursed herself for not thinking of saving some coins to pay the Arachnids with. A foolish mistake, which didn’t happen often to her, but then again, it only needed to happen once, right?

The hand over her mouth moved until it wrapped around her neck, the thumb and forefinger pressing just a bit too tightly her windpipe. Maddie’s heart pounded against her ribcage, and she fought the sudden impulse to swallow. The message was clear: You can talk, but scream or call for help and you’ll regret it.

“I don’t have money,” she said as clearly as she could manage.

“Oh, that’s alright.” A grin spread across the bandit leader’s face, and he held up one of the wanted posters with Logan’s face on it. “You have something better, don’t you?”

A/N: Hoo boy, what a wild ride that chapter was to write! I’ve been insanely busy in my personal life, and have had major writers block on this story, so I’m so happy to finally have the next installment out .Thank you all so much for your patience on this fic, I hope you enjoyed the other fics I posted in the meantime between updates! Hopefully next time it won’t be 5 months between updates, haha. 

Because of Tumblr’s current glitch where adding external links to a post hides it from the search function, I will be posting the link to my AO3 and ko-fi page in a reblog of this, along with my taglists (so y’all who are tagged will see the links and jazz right away). Thank you all so much for your likes, reblogs, comments and kudos, they really mean the world to me!  -Taylor <3 

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The Broken Arrow: Part 1

By Bat Morda

Pairing: Xena/Gabrielle

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: Gabrielle is marked for assassination, and Xena continues to grapple with intense feelings she has for her best friends. 

Chapter 1

The Perils of Tavern Dining

The coastal fog was slowly rolling into town as Lessa wearily stepped through the tavern doorway. Squaring her shoulders, she steeled herself against the casual noise of this late afternoon crowd. "Just a quick meal," she told herself, "then I'll return to..." return to what is indeed the question. "Will I ever go home?" she wondered, shaking her head. It was best not to think too far into the uncertain future. The future would arrive when it did.

Tired but cautious, she scanned the interior of the tavern and its patrons. She selected a small table by the unlit fireplace. It had a good view of the room, her back to the wall, and clean shot at the door. No, her instincts hadn't slipped... yet. The tavern, Hog's Head the faded sign outside the door declared, had lost most of its lunch crowd. There were several farmers at a large table, regulars from the sound of them, a few merchants conversing amongst themselves and a couple of barmaids. A second glance revealed that the woman sitting at the table next to her was in fact, not a barmaid. She appeared to be a patron. A solitary female traveling alone. This was odd. Lessa noticed clear green eyes observing her. The woman appeared only slightly older than Lessa. She had a delicate mane of strawberry blond hair framing an attractive face, not overtly friendly, just curious. Not wanting to be noticed, especially not now, Lessa looked away, willing the anxiety to dissipate by sheer force. Deciding to leave, she was stopped by the barmaid's approach. She was a young girl, maybe fifteen, with short blond hair. Do I look that young? Lessa wondered to herself, then shook her head. She hadn't been fifteen for three years. It seemed a lifetime away.

"What'll ya have?" the girl asked politely.

Lessa didn't have the strength to hide the exhaustion in her voice, or pass up what was to be her first meal in two days. "Can I get some food for three dinars? And some apples for my mount?" Reaching for her money, Lessa winced as her leather armor creaked loudly, the thick hide protested the archer's lack of attention.

"I'll see what I can find," the young woman replied with a kind smile as she accepted Lessa's money. "The food won't be fancy though."

Nodding acceptance, her attention was diverted as a huge man crashed through the tavern entrance with uproarious laughter. "Who owns the funny striped pony?" he asked, jabbing a fat finger behind him and looking around the room.

With an audible sigh, Lessa raised her head. It figured. "She belongs to me, but she isn't a pony."

"I'd like to buy her for my kids," he said, still laughing with eyes that said refusal was not an option.

"I'm sorry. But she isn't for sale." Lessa thought the big man's next words as he said them.

"Everything's for sale, little girl. I want that pony."

This was why she'd not been able to eat a hot meal in two days. As soon as she stopped anywhere, inevitably someone would remark about her unusual mount. Not ideal when one was on the run. Last time she'd bolted from the tavern and taken off. Now she was too hungry. She'd already paid for her food, and Zeus be dammed, she was going to eat it.

"Look, friend," she said, with an edge creeping into her voice, "She isn't safe for kids, she isn't safe for you and she isn't for sale. I'll prove it to you if I have to." He stood staring her down, waiting. "Fine. I'll bet you ten dinars that you can't sit on my mount for two seconds."

"That little thing?" The farmer bellowed with laughter. "I'll break its back!"

"I take it we have a bet then?"

Gabrielle watched the exchange with interest. She had seen the unusual woman come into the tavern, looking as if she'd not slept in days. The woman was hard not to notice. She had shoulder length hair a color Gabrielle had never seen before. It was dark brown, but burgundy and rust as well- the color of a deep sunset after a forest fire. The woman was small, shorter than her, Gabrielle supposed, and looked like she couldn't be much more than sixteen. Dressed in dark green and black leather she had a short sword strapped to her back in a scabbard that also served as a quiver for several arrows. She looked small for a fighter. Still, Xena was the warrior Gabrielle was used to, and most people seemed small in comparison. Unlike Xena, this woman wore dark green pants that tucked into the top of her armored boots. Her midriff was bare, the armor on her chest not reaching much past her bust. Gabrielle's inventory of the stranger's armor was interrupted as the woman stood and, with the rest of the crowd in the tavern, headed outside.

The bard couldn't keep from smiling as she saw the pony the farmer had referred to. It was smaller than the horses outside the tavern, and it was impossible to tell if the animal was black with white stripes or white with black stripes. Every inch of the animal's fur was striped. Equal bands of black and white draped themselves over the animal in an exotic pattern. "Xena won't believe this," Gabrielle thought.

Lessa smiled as she approached the creature. Green eyes looked into black in silent greeting as a small crowd gathered. "This is Socrates. I'll untie her. If you can stay on her back for two seconds, I'll give you ten dinars."

"That isn't a proper saddle," the farmer complained, looking at the heavy blanket strapped to the animal's back.

"Go on, Talen," one of the other farmers encouraged. "You don't need a saddle to ride a pony." A chorus of cheers greeted the farmer as he rolled up his shirtsleeves.

"Easy girl," Lessa said gently to the striped animal, "wait 'till he's on..."

No sooner had the farmer put his full weight on the animal's back, then the head went down and the back legs kicked up. The big man flew over the beast's head, landing flat on his back several feet away. The farmers on the porch of the tavern laughed and cheered as they helped their friend up. Brushing the dust from his tunic and trousers, he walked over to Lessa, a bashful grin on his face. He looked at the animal a moment and noticed its ears flattened back against it's equine head as it stomped a foot aggressively.

"You win, young lady." The farmer reached into a pouch at his side and extracted ten dinars, putting them in Lessa's hand. "I've ridden horses most of my life, but I've never been thrown so quickly. Something tells me she also bites."

Accepting the coins with a nod and a quick grin, Lessa spent a few moments stroking the animal's head and speaking to it in soft tones before heading back into the tavern. Just as she returned to her table, the barmaid approached with a bowl and platter. "I found four apples," the young woman remarked placing the food on the table. "Hope that's enough."

"That's fine. Thank you." Lessa vaguely heard herself answer, as she handed the woman an additional dinar from her winnings. Her immediate awareness was focused on the feast before her. The bowl contained a thin soup. It was not much for flavor, but it was hot and had a few bits of meat and some onion in it. The platter had some fresh bread a few strips of dried fish and a large hunk of cheese in addition to the four large red apples. So distracted by the meal, Lessa didn't see the strawberry blond approach until she sat down at her table. By then it was too late to warn her away with a glare.

"Hi," the young woman said pleasantly, "I'm Gabrielle. That thing your horse did was amazing."

Lessa looked up with a glance and returned to her food. "Not a horse," she said around a mouthful of hot bread. "Getting thrown is not that unusual." She carefully put the four red apples in a satchel at her waist, and packed the rest of the bread and dried fish. After breaking off a small piece of cheese, she packed that as well.

Gabrielle nodded, aware that this woman was trying to ignore her. "So what is she?"

Lessa looked up, surprised that the other woman was still there. She took a moment to really look at Gabrielle. Aware of her scrutiny, the bard sat up straight and looked at Lessa without fear, kindness clear in her features. "Well, if you're that interested, Gabrielle, she's a zebra."

"Zebra..." Gabrielle tried out the word. To her it sounded as exotic as the unusual horse looked. "Not from around here, I suppose. I take it she likes apples?"

Lessa glanced around the tavern to be certain. Her first assumption appeared to be correct, this woman was indeed alone. Probably not the Gabrielle that she'd been told about. Besides, she didn't really have blond hair. "Yes, Socrates likes apples. Zebras are similar to horses in most respects. And yes, she isn't from around here." The hot soup had done wonders for Lessa's disposition. She popped the bite of cheese into her mouth, savoring the tartness of it, and ventured a question of her own.

"If you don't mind my asking, Gabrielle- you're dressed like a traveler, but surely you know the coast line and forests around it are not a place to be traveling alone."

Gabrielle smiled. "I'm not alone. I'm meeting a friend here. She had something to do when we got into town. I hope she gets here soon; I'd love for her to see your...zebra."

Lessa stopped chewing, the color beginning to drain from her face. "Does this friend of yours have a name?" She asked trying to sound casual.

"Xena."

Lessa had just taken another sip of broth from the bowl and almost choked. "Xena," she croaked.

"You've heard of her?" Gabrielle asked dubiously. "She's still a warrior, but not like she used to be..."

"Ah, no. I've never heard of her," Lessa replied, quickly draining the last of the broth from her bowl. "It's just that Xena is such an unusual name, lovely in fact. I'm sorry I won't be able to meet her Gabrielle, but I've got to be going."

Lessa couldn't get to the door fast enough, as soon as she opened it, she stood face to face with another warrior. Actually she was face to face with another warrior's chest. A female warrior.

Xena looked down, amused at the woman no taller than her shoulder. She was dressed in green and black, looking every bit the archer. "Excuse me," the slight woman muttered, pushing past Xena. The warrior watched casually as the archer quickly untied her unusual horse, leaped on, and headed out of the village at full gallop. Xena felt a disquieting suspicion begin to grow.

"How odd," Gabrielle remarked as she met Xena in the doorway. "I was just starting to tell her about you when she left all the sudden."

"What did you say about me?" Xena asked, turning to face her companion.

"Nothing, really. She just asked if I was traveling alone, and I said I wasn't and mentioned your name then..."

Gabrielle was interrupted by Xena's whistle as she signaled for her horse, Argo. "Gabrielle, I don't have time to explain," Xena said evenly, "I heard some rumors when we got into town that we were being followed, and I want to ask that woman some questions." Argo trotted up, and the warrior vaulted into the saddle. "There is a small cove two miles south of this village, by a waterfall. Wait for me there. I think we'll be having company this evening." With that, she signaled Argo and turned to go.

"How are you going to follow her?"

"This way leads to the shore- there's sand, cliffs and ocean. It won't be hard. I'll see you later." Xena lightly kicked Argo as they raced from town at full gallop.

Lessa had ridden for about ten minutes along the sandy shore when she first heard the hoofbeats off in the distance. Crouched as she was on her steed's back, head down, she risked a quick look behind her. As she feared, the big warrior was following her. Using her strong legs to signal Socrates, she headed the animal to the water's edge. The sand there was firm, she'd be able to increase her speed. Cliffs jutted up from the sand about two miles distant. If she could reach the steep trail before being caught, she was confident her compact, nimble footed zebra could outmaneuver Xena's war-horse on the narrow trail. The trick would be keeping her lead along this open expanse of sand.

As the steady thrum of hoofbeats increased in volume, Lessa didn't have to look to know the warrior gaining on her. Briefly she considered grabbing a hand crossbow attached to her blanket saddle and firing on her pursuer, then thought better of it. She couldn't kill Xena with one shot from a zebra's back at full gallop. Stopping and giving herself up never crossed the archer's mind. Xena was chasing after her for a reason, and she could guess that meant Xena knew why she'd been in Tenthe in the first place. "She must have assumed the worst, seeing me with Gabrielle," Lessa thought, sea spray whipping at her hair and face.

Xena gained steadily on the fleeing woman in front of her. It was clear to her that the woman she pursued was proficient on horseback. The striped horse and armor clad woman moved in sync as they raced across the wet sand. Xena could see a long bow and small crossbow attached to the side of the saddle; she was definitely in pursuit of an archer. Her quarry's muscular build, in spite of her small frame, indicated she was also a warrior. Looking father up the beach, she could see where the other was headed. A steep trail headed up into the cliffs, where forest abruptly met sea. If the archer made it to the trail before Xena could stop her, the smaller striped animal would have the advantage. "I'll just see that doesn't happen then," she whispered fiercely under her breath.

A half-mile to the trail, Xena caught up with the archer. Approaching from the inland side, she forced her quarry into deeper water. When she was alongside, she leaped from Argo's back into the smaller woman, knocking her off her horse and into the shallow surf. Xena didn't say a word. If words would have persuaded this woman to stop running, she would have already.

Lessa felt as if she'd been hit by a Titan. The muscular form flying into her drove her clear from her saddle and on her back into the cold salt water. Quick as lightning, she brought her legs up and with a thrust surprisingly powerful for her size, threw the warrior back over her head. With a jump she was on her feet. For a half second she thought about drawing her sword. She well knew Xena's reputation, if in fact this was Xena. If she drew her sword now, she'd probably never draw another...ever.

Xena was surprised by the throw, but managed to pull her legs in. With a graceful tuck and spin she landed on her feet, splashing in the surf. Both women eyed each other critically, trying to anticipate the other's next move. Lessa was cautiously backing up, fists at the ready, heading for dry sand. With a leap Xena was over her head, landing on the other side driving her back into deeper water. "I just want to ask you a few questions," she said flatly.

"Forgive my impertinence," Lessa replied, "but I don't believe you."

"If I wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead."

Lessa nodded. "Maybe, maybe not." With that she stopped moving backwards and lunged straight for the warrior. Connecting solidly with Xena's torso, she knocked the air from the big warrior's lungs. Surprised, and reacting from instinct, she responded with a right forearm across the archer's back. Lessa dropped, unconscious, into the knee-deep surf with a splash.

Xena sighed and turned the body over with her boot, sea foam receding off the still form leaving fine sand in its place. Unceremoniously, she hoisted the body out of the surf and positioned it across her shoulders. Any water in the archer's nose and mouth would drain out. Xena grimaced at cold wet body dripping water down her back and arms as she headed up the beach. Argo watched the striped horse with interest. It in turn was studying Xena most intently.

"Don't worry." Xena said as soon as she got within earshot of the animal. "I'm not going to hurt her." She spoke in soothing tones, looking occasionally over her shoulder at the beast as she draped the woman across Argo's back and tied her arms and her legs. That done, she tried to approach the striped animal, who deftly stepped out of her reach. "Suit yourself," she muttered, grabbing Argo's reins and heading up the shore. In moments she heard the footfalls of the smaller animal as it followed behind.

Gabrielle had just gotten the campfire under way and set water to boil for tea when she saw the vague outline of figures moving up the beach. A moment's observation and she was sure it was Xena, Argo with a something across her back, and the small striped horse. Zebra, she corrected herself. Straining her eyes, Gabrielle hunted for the other warrior, then realized she'd been looking right at her. She was that bundle across Argo's back. As her friend entered the campsite, Gabrielle rushed to her, concern apparent in her voice.

"What happened?"

"She's fine Gabrielle." Xena replied gently, soothing the other woman's concerns. "She wouldn't stop running."

"So she started swimming?" Gabrielle asked, noticing the water dripping from the still form on Argo's back. "Get her down from there, she'll catch her death of cold. So will you for that matter. Come here and warm up by the fire."

Xena smiled in spite of herself. So like Gabrielle to worry about the little things. No matter that she'd just captured someone who could be as proficient with a bow and arrow as she herself was with a sword, Gabrielle was worried about her getting the sniffles. Still, it was dusk now and the temperature was dropping swiftly. Taking a step toward her horse, Xena grimaced at the squishy feel of seawater seeping out of her boot. She didn't want to think about the effect salt water was going to have on her armor.

"Oh, hi, Socrates," Gabrielle said, addressing the zebra that had just stepped into their campsite. It kept a wary eye on her mistress.

"She won't let anyone get near..." Xena had been looking down as she positioned Lessa's body against a tree near the fire. When she raised her head she watched in amazement as the bard slowly stepped up to the unusual animal.

Socrates studied Xena with a decidedly smug look on her face. "Don't worry," Gabrielle soothed, "your friend is going to be fine. Xena didn't hurt her - well not too bad anyway." Slowly the bard reached her hand out and let the animal see her open palm, then gently stroked its head and neck.

"I'll bet this is for you," she continued, pulling a large red apple from the bag of food attached to the horse's saddle. The equine sniffed the bard for a moment before accepting the apple in a large bite. "I'm going to get your friend to wake up now. Don't wander off. I'm sure she'll appreciate a familiar face."

"And you didn't think you had a way with horses." Xena teased.

"It's because Socrates isn't a horse, she's a zebra. I must have a way with zebras."

"Is that so? You're really something, Gabrielle, you know that?" Xena said fondly as the bard joined her by Lessa's still form.

Gabrielle joined Xena in removing the cold, soaked armor from the unconscious woman. "What do you mean?" she asked, blushing at the compliment.

"You just have a way...with everyone." Xena replied shyly, not meeting the bard's appreciative gaze. "We weren't in the water very long," she continued, changing the subject, "I don't see how she got so soaked."

"Well, you're almost as soaked. When we finish with her, your armor is coming off next."

No point in arguing, the bard was right. "Yes, ma'am," she replied with a chuckle.

Lessa began to wake up as the last of her armor was gently removed. When she finally opened her eyes, she realized she was dressed in a clean dry shift her clothes and armor drying by the fire. She was grateful to see her armor was not too close to the fire. Drying out too quickly was hell on leather. She noticed that her hands and legs were tied as Xena approached.

"You slept long enough," the warrior said evenly.

"You hit me hard enough," Lessa retorted sullenly, looking down at her bound hands. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Xena extend two fingers and draw her hand back. "If you're going to poke me - cut off the flow of blood to my brain - don't bother. I'll talk."

Xena shrugged and put her hand down. "You didn't seem too willing to talk before."

"Well, I've heard about the procedure and it doesn't sound too pleasant." Lessa heard Gabrielle chuckle from the other side of the fire. "Besides, before I had a least a chance of escape, and I had my clothes on."

"Suit yourself. Why don't we start with your name."

"Lessa."

"And why were you following us?"

"I wasn't exactly following you," Lessa replied, shifting uncomfortably. "I mean, I was supposed to be following you, but I changed my mind at Delphi and I left before the two of you did. I honestly expected you to take the inland route, not the coastal."

"We did take the inland route, but that was four days ago." Xena commented. "So how did you manage to get from Delphi to Tenthe in only four days if you took the coastal route?" the warrior asked.

"By not stopping..."

"No wonder you're exhausted." Gabrielle blurted from where she sat near the fire. Xena shot her a look and the bard quickly busied herself with other things.

"So who do you work for?" Xena asked evenly.

Lessa sighed, apparently giving up. "There is a quiver on my saddle. In it is an arrow with black feathers. It will explain everything."

Xena stood and took a step towards the zebra who took an identical step backwards. The warrior shot an irritated look at Lessa who shrugged.

"I'll get it," Gabrielle offered, hurrying over to where the animal stood. The zebra nickered softly at the bard's approach, but didn't move.

"It's all right, Socrates," Lessa called. "Let her get it."

A moment later Gabrielle returned with the arrow. It was a bit fatter than most arrows, expertly made with short black feathers for flights. At its tip was a nasty looking barbed arrowhead. "Go ahead, break it open," Lessa suggested.

Before Xena could stop her, Gabrielle broke the arrow across her knee, extracting a thin piece of parchment from the hollow shaft. She unrolled it with delicate fingers and read the note, looking up with disbelief.

"You were supposed to kill me?" Gabrielle asked, stunned.

"Let me see that." Xena demanded, concerned as she reached for the note. She scanned the parchment, her eyes narrowing in anger as she muttered a single word, "Callisto." Then she offered the captive archer two more words. "Talk, now."

"I was kidnapped by Callisto's thugs during an archery competition three months ago. It wasn't so bad at first, I was looking for some travel and adventure anyway. But it was a big mistake. The work was easy, the pay was good, but there was a lot I didn't bargain for. I didn't realize that she was completely insane. She had just decided she needed an archer and...a companion. Callisto is one sick mind, I'll grant you that.

"Four days ago she left me in Delphi with that note and explicit instructions to kill Xena's companion, someone she referred to as an irritating blond named Gabrielle. I thought I'd be able to do it. In fact, if you'd gotten there in the morning when you were supposed to, I might have. But I had all day to think about it. I asked around. The stories I heard made it clear that the only thing in life I needed to fear more than an angry Callisto would be an enraged Xena." Lessa shrugged again. "So I took off and have been running ever since. I was hoping to avoid you and Callisto, but my luck seems to have run out."

"What could make you willing to kill another person in cold blood?" Gabrielle asked quietly.

"A lot of things," Xena and Lessa replied in unison, then frowned at each other for a moment.

"Did she threaten your family?" Xena asked.

Lessa nodded and Gabrielle had her answer.

"Well, it looks like you'll be traveling with us for a few days." Lessa held up her hands for Xena to untie and the warrior shook her head. "Not so fast," Xena continued, "If you're lying, we can't trust you. If you're telling the truth and we keep Callisto from killing you, I think you'll forgive me."

Lessa nodded. The warrior's logic made sense. "Can I at least take care of my zebra?" she asked.

"I don't see why not. Just don't be stupid." Xena cut the rope that tied the archer's feet together, but made no move to untie her hands.

Lessa got up and gingerly walked a short distance from the fire. Her feet were bare and clearly accustomed to boots. Socrates walked over, nickering softly, bending slightly so her ears could be scratched. Gabrielle joined them, approaching cautiously.

"Can I help you?" she asked noticing Lessa's awkwardness with her hands tied together.

"That's awfully brave, considering I was sent out here to kill you," Lessa quipped, straining to release the straps to the blanket-saddle.

"Yes. But the point is you chose not to kill me, isn't it?" Gabrielle replied, helping lift the saddle off the zebra's back, aware of Xena's watchful glances.

"If you say so," Lessa shrugged. The bard gently put the saddle on the ground near the fire. "You can give her an apple if you want while I comb her out." The two worked in silence for a few moments while Lessa brushed the zebra's coat, then inspected each of the animal's four small hooves. Gabrielle noticed Xena tending to Argo.

"I need to help Xena. I just want you to know there're no hard feelings, okay?"

Lessa smiled in spite of the exhaustion plainly evident on her face. "No hard feelings. I'll say one thing for you, Gabrielle, you're a class act. And don't worry, I don't hold you responsible for Xena's behavior," she continued, raising her bound hands. "She's taking sensible precautions." The bard smiled sadly. Giving Socrates a final scratch, she walked across the campsite.

Xena had finished with Argo and was removing their bedrolls from the saddle packs. "Xena," Gabrielle said gently, getting the warrior's attention. When she turned, the bard continued. "Leave that for later. If you don't get out of this wet armor, you'll catch your death." Xena glanced over to Lessa and noticed her lying on the ground, head resting on her saddle near the fire, sound asleep.

"You're right. But first, go toss this on top of Lessa." She handed the bard her blanket.

Xena sat patiently in front of the fire, watching Gabrielle gracefully drape the blanket over the sleeping archer who mumbled incoherently and curled into a ball, a smile on her unconscious face. She then sensed the bard's warmth at her back at the customary tugging as her armor was loosened. Carefully, Gabrielle set the pieces of armor away from the fire to dry. She handled them so gently Xena noticed, even as she felt them as slabs of ice being removed from her body. It had gotten colder than she expected. When the last of it was off she was suddenly very aware of Gabrielle's proximity...and her warmth.

"Your skin is like ice," Gabrielle commented as she lightly touched the warrior's shoulders. She felt the warrior tremble slightly. Thinking it was from the cold, she quickly retrieved a blanket from her pack. After gently wrapping it around Xena's sitting form, she poured her some fresh tea.

"I don't know what I'd do without you." Xena said, accepting the steaming mug. She tried to keep the humor in her voice, but knew she was deadly serious.

"I'll remember that." the bard replied, eyes laughing. "So what are we going to do with her?"

Xena sipped her tea thoughtfully and gazed into the fire. The hot liquid warmed her within, the wool blanket drew the chill from her skin, and Gabrielle's presence heated her in ways she thought it best not to dwell upon. "Tomorrow we'll go after Callisto. I think she and I need to have a little talk. And you," Xena looked at Gabrielle seriously, "will need to be careful whenever Lessa is around. Even if she looks like she's asleep."

"But I..."

"Gabrielle, we don't know if she's one of Callisto's plants, or if she really is running away from her. If Callisto really wrote that note, she certainly intended me to find it sticking out of your chest. I'm not prepared to gamble with your life, and I'm not prepared to have you gamble with it either." Xena did her best to communicate the gravity and urgency of her words, warmed yet again by the bards understanding smile in return.

"Thank you, Xena." she said softly. "Now try to get some sleep. Please." Gabrielle stretched out by the fire, pulling Xena down with her.

The warrior was about to protest until it became evident the bard wanted a portion of the blanket that she'd been wrapped in. Remembering it was Gabrielle's blanket, she smiled to herself. "If Gabrielle can share, I guess I can too," she thought. Stretching out between the warmth of the fire and Gabrielle's body, Xena felt too much bliss to sleep.

Chapter 2

Runaway, Archer, Thief

Lessa awoke to the customary warm breath of her traveling companion as the zebra snorted in her face, nudging her gently. "I'm awake, enough already," she mumbled as she opened her eyes to a dizzying array of black and white. Fumbling under her saddle with her right hand, she found her cache of food and extracted an apple, handing it to the expectant zebra. It was then she noticed her hands were untied.

Sitting up with a start, she looked around the campsite. Xena sat across the fire tending to her armor. Gabrielle was nowhere to be seen. "I undid the bow strings on your weapons," Xena announced flatly, and if you don't mind, I'll hang on to your sword for awhile.

"Sure, no problem," Lessa said, seeing her hopes for escape melting away like ice in summer.

"Here," Xena said, tossing the archer an oiled rag and some compound. "Your armor needs some work."

"You're telling me." Lessa picked up her leather breastplate and set to work, but was distracted by the aroma of cooking coming from the fire. A rabbit hung from the spit and some plants were steeping in liquid off to the side. The familiar rumbling in her stomach was unmistakable. "Um... I have some bread and cheese. I'll trade for some rabbit?"

Xena stopped sharpening her sword and studied the archer. Her neon blue eyes unreadable, Lessa felt naked in their gaze. "Fair enough," she said after a long moment. "But we'll wait for Gabrielle, if you don't mind."

"No, of course not..."

"You could elaborate a little on your story while we're waiting."

Lessa searched her packs and brought out the bread and cheese, placing them on a flat rock equidistant between her and the warrior. "Story?" she said, returning to work on her armor. "Does that mean you don't believe me?"

"Let's just say I'm undecided."

Lessa's retort died on her lips as Gabrielle stepped through the shrubs at the perimeter of the campsite. Freshly bathed, her hair not quite dry, she looked radiant. "You were right about the stream, Xena, it's freez- oh hi, you're awake."

The smile on Xena's face at Gabrielle's return did not go unnoticed by the archer. Lessa smiled at the greeting, doing her best to be a casual observer of the body language between warrior and bard. There was a chance Callisto was wrong about these two, so perhaps she was wrong about more as well.

"Lessa was just about to tell us a bit more about her background while we have a bite to eat." Xena explained, finishing with her sword and proficiently tucking it into its scabbard.

"Go on," Gabrielle urged, taking a seat next to Xena. She broke off a piece of bread and rabbit then handed it to the warrior. Next she served Lessa, then herself.

"There isn't much more to tell. I don't know what you're after..."

"Well, you said you were kidnapped from an archery competition. Are you any good?" the bard asked, placing a small piece of meat on a bit of bread then popping it into her mouth.

"As a matter of fact, I won the competition in the kingdom of Minos. I win every year," Lessa said, around a mouthful of food. "I returned to Socrates with my winnings, and she gave warning just as I was hit in the head." The archer turned around and frowned at the animal watching her. "A little more warning next time would be helpful." The zebra snorted and turned away.

"It looks like she can almost understand you," Gabrielle observed.

"The funny thing is, I think she can. She's the most unusual animal I've ever seen."

"Where did you get her?" the bard asked, serving Xena a second helping of food.

"I stole her."

Xena looked up at that admission, arching an eyebrow.

"A horse trader my father knew had three of these magnificent animals. When I went into market and saw them, two had already been skinned. Soc here was the only one left. The merchant discovered they couldn't be broken for riding and didn't see any other use for them. They simply won't behave if they don't want to. I didn't have the money to buy her, but when I saw those eyes, I had to do something. So I devised a plan." Lessa could see Gabrielle listening intently to her story, hanging on every word. For her part, Xena seemed divided between occasionally looking at Lessa and watching the bard listen to the story.

"That night," she continued, "I went visiting, supposedly to bring him news from my father; they were friends. He lived alone, his wife and child taken by a sickness a few years ago. I fixed him dinner. I put something in his mulled mead to make him sleep, then I set to work. I had ridden my horse, a gift from my father, which was an excellent animal. It was small for a horse, only slightly bigger than Soc, but a well-trained animal and black as pitch. This merchant, Gagnon, had three other horses as well, not too much bigger than the zebra. One was tan, the other two chestnut. I made a wash of black soot and water, and painted the other three horses so all four were solid black. It dried quickly, then I used some flour paste to paint white stripes on all four animals. I figured Gagnon would see four zebras the next morning and have to wash them all to see which one was real, only they'd all be horses. I hoped that would give me enough of a head start to avoid capture. Gagnon would naturally accuse me, when he found my horse painted like a zebra in his pen, but I'm sure my adoptive family would argue the point. They have a rather unrealistic view of me. I left evidence at home that I'd fallen in the river- an accident doing laundry, which I'm not very good at, to further confuse the issue, then set out with Soc to live as the persona I created for the archery competitions."

"So you're adopted?" Gabrielle asked.

"Let's just say that my mother thought it best I grow up with my father's family as one of their own. I've never really fit in with them though. I'm just too...different."

Gabrielle nodded, understanding. "And Lessa isn't your real name?"

"What is more real, Gabrielle, how we see ourselves, or how others see us?"

"Good point," the bard observed, pouring three cups of tea from the pot with the steeping herbs. "So when did you discover that Socrates was unusual?"

"Well, I had I funny feeling that night as I worked," Lessa continued. "Almost as if I was being watched. I guess my scheme was creative enough that Hermes smiled on me that night. Soc was as quiet as could be. I intended to walk her from town but she kept nudging me in the back. I finally got fed up and tried hopping up on her back. She didn't throw me, and I'd heard horror stories from Gagnon. She just seems to understand what I say, follows me around. Kinda like a dog I suppose." There was a loud nicker and snort from the edge of the campsite, followed by the stamp of an irritated hoof. "But much smarter." Lessa amended.

"So archery was the only reason Callisto was interested in you?" Xena asked, sipping her tea.

The archer had almost forgotten about the warrior's presence. She had been so still, so quiet. Lessa suspected she'd worked very hard at being unobtrusive. "I'm the best archer she'd ever seen. She wanted you to find that arrow sticking out of Gabrielle's heart and wanted you to seek her out because of it. Callisto is good with a sword, quarterstaff, and hand to hand fighting, but she isn't as good with a bow and she knows it. I'm certain there were other factors in her decision, but the archery was first and foremost."

"She pegged me with a dart." Xena observed.

"And don't think we haven't all heard that story a thousand times." Lessa laughed. "Fact is, she had a clean shot while you were preoccupied. I could have made that shot with my eyes closed. But piercing Gabrielle's heart, not in battle, in a crowded market place with you keeping a watchful eye on her and not have that arrow deflected or caught, now that takes an expert."

"Don't you think your family is looking for you?" Gabrielle asked, feeling uncomfortable at the turn the conversation had taken.

"I doubt it. The river where I lived was pretty treacherous. People have drowned in it before. Occasionally the body isn't recovered."

"Where is Callisto now?" Xena asked.

"When she left me at Delphi she said she and her thugs were going to Korinos to do some recruiting. She fully intends to build another army. She wants your blood, Xena, and she knows she's going to need at least an army to get it. After Korinos I think her next stop would be Eselan."

"Then I'd say we have four days to catch up with her before she reaches Eselan," Xena observed. "If you're telling the truth."

"Wait a minute. I'm not going with you. Callisto will kill me. She's going to know Gabrielle isn't dead. She also knows there isn't any way I could have missed. This is a death sentence..." Lessa's fear had an agitating effect on the zebra which began to bob its head nervously.

"You have a choice, of course," Xena said evenly. "Travel with us or risk facing Callisto on your own. I will have my talk with her. If there's anything left when I'm done, she very well may come after you. And there's one other thing," Xena continued, finishing the last of her tea. "Like it or not, you threatened to kill Gabrielle. If you choose not to travel with us and I see so much as a glimpse of you, I'll have to assume you're trying to make good on your threat." She left her words hanging, a slow smile crossing her face as she watched the archer think about them.

"Look, Xena," Lessa said, trying quell her anxiety and think clearly. "I fully intended to travel up the coast as quickly as possible. I need to warn some people about Callisto before she...discovers my disloyalty. We both know the trail that way is thin. The odds are good that you might see me."

"Then I strongly suggest you travel with us." With that the warrior got up and began to saddle Argo.

"Would the Warrior Princess mind if I got cleaned up in the stream before leaving?" Lessa asked sarcastically, standing and loosening the shift she'd slept in.

"We leave in a half hour," Xena replied, not looking up from her preparations.

The water was indeed cold, the bard hadn't lied. Socrates stood near a bend in the stream, intermittently drinking and blowing bubbles. Gabrielle approached quietly and stopped behind a large boulder. Lessa's back was to her, dark hair slick with water, appearing almost black. She was naked, reaching for her breeches, muscular arms graceful in their movements. From the back she did resemble Xena, only much smaller. Gabrielle couldn't be sure but her back appeared to be covered by a series of scratch marks. The archer turned around before she could get a better look.

"You don't hide very well, Gabrielle," Lessa commented, seemingly unconcerned as she faced the bard, naked from the waist up.

"I...I wasn't hiding." she stammered, "I was going to let you know we're leaving soon."

"I see," Lessa shrugged, putting on a leather halter. "Well, then, thank you. Soc and I are just about ready. Can you give me a hand with my armor?"

Gabrielle swallowed, carefully crossing the stream, to join the archer on the other side. Lessa put her armband in position, holding it in place while Gabrielle tied the laces. "How did you know I was there?" she asked, conversationally.

"Over there," Lessa said, gently touching her arm then pointing to the shadow cast by the tree as it splayed across the sandy bank. "Standing next to the boulder you stood out bright as day." Gabrielle nodded, helping the archer with the rest of her armor. She wore more guards on her right arm and a slightly different style of armor on her front and back. As she worked, she could feel the archer's green eyes watching her, and could feel the cold moisture on her skin from the stream. Overall, the effect was pleasantly uncomfortable. As Gabrielle adjusted the straps in the back, she got a better look at what were definitely healing scratch marks.

"You're good at this," Lessa commented.

"Thank you, I get a lot of practice. What happened here?" Gabrielle asked, positioning a buckle away from a particularly angry scratch mark.

"Callisto." Lessa said flatly.

"Why?"

Before answering Lessa looked at her for a long moment. Then a huge grin spread across her face, accompanied by a lyrical chuckle. "I guess Callisto was wrong after all," she muttered to herself.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Gabrielle, that she is mistaken in the nature of your relationship with Xena." Lessa said, softly whistling for the zebra to join her.

"How so?" Gabrielle asked, accepting Lessa's offered arm and joining her on the back of the zebra.

"Callisto thinks you and Xena are a bit closer than you are, that's all. She was trying to replicate that closeness with me and I'm relieved to discover she is quite mistaken." Lessa explained as Socrates slowly walked back to camp.

"I'm closer to Xena than I've ever been to anyone." Gabrielle protested.

"I don't doubt that, Gabrielle, but I suspect that you're not having sex with Xena. The two of you aren't lovers are you?" The trio entered the clearing of the campsite, leaving Gabrielle wide eyed and stunned. Xena was scattering the remains of their campfire and looked at the bard with concern.

"Everything okay?" she asked quietly.

"Ah... yes. Fine." Gabrielle answered in a rush, color rising to her cheeks as she saw the warrior, almost as if for the first time.

"Then get the rest of your stuff together, we've got to go."

Lessa finished tightening the saddle on the zebra, not looking up at the warrior's approach.

"We'll take the trail you were heading for yesterday," Xena said without ceremony. "You in front, Gabrielle and I will follow. If you try to hurt her, I swear I'll kill you."

Lessa looked up without anger. "Xena, if I had made a move to hurt Gabrielle, she'd already be dead. You've got my weapons, and you have my word. If you still feel that isn't good enough, then by all means kill me now. I'm tired, Xena, and I suspect that if you don't kill me Callisto will soon enough. Frankly, I think you'd be quicker about it."

"If what you're saying is the truth, archer, then you've nothing to fear from Callisto." Xena walked away, then quickly vaulted onto Argo's back. "I think you'd better ride, Gabrielle," she said turning her attention to the bard. "It's going to be a quick pace."

"Sure," Gabrielle replied. With a quick swallow, she grasped Xena's strong arm and was gracefully lifted into position behind the warrior. Still profoundly affected by Lessa's words, her arms trembled slightly as they wrapped themselves around the warrior's waist.

Heading across the beach, Gabrielle looked out into the surf and thought about the archer's words. Xena and her - lovers? "Why would Callisto think that?" she wondered. Socrates started a lazy lope in the shallow surf and Argo followed. It was the most comfortable gait that was faster than a walk, and the animals seemed to agree. With the breathtaking shoreline stretching out as far as she could see, it was easy to get lost in thought. Easier still with the rolling gait of Argo and her arms wrapped around a well-muscled, very warm body.

"You're awfully quiet," Xena commented when they neared the steep cliffs.

"Just enjoying the ride," Gabrielle replied with a bashful grin into the warrior's back. Xena turned her head in surprise, a wry smile on her face as the bard turned her head, keeping her smile out of sight.

"I'm glad to hear it. When we get to the cliffs, I want you to sit in front. It's pretty steep."

Nodding mutely, Gabrielle looked up in awe at the steep sheets of rock directly in front of them. It was almost impossible to see a trail, seeming better suited to sure-footed mountain sheep than a horse or zebra.

Lessa hopped off Socrates and walked over to Argo. "There's a small village up there called Poli. We should hit it by nightfall. It's situated by a small lake on relatively flat ground. I suggest we camp there." Xena nodded in agreement, letting Gabrielle down and rearranging some of their gear.

"Do you want me to carry some of your stuff?" Lessa offered. "There's going to be a lot of up and down, at least 'till midday."

"That would be helpful, but I'd still like to keep a hold of your weapons."

"Xena, you're nothing if not predictable."

"Then you don't know me very well," the warrior replied evenly.

Accepting their gear with a light laugh, Lessa headed back to Socrates. "I know you better than you think," she muttered to herself as she attached the gear to her blanket saddle.

The trail was an exaggerated series of steep switchbacks working their way up the cliff face. It was narrow, barely wide enough for Argo, but the horse kept her footing even in the most rocky patches. Xena sat behind Gabrielle one arm lightly around the bard's waist, the other holding Argo's reins. In the steep inclines Gabrielle could feel her body pushed against Xena as the warrior leaned forward in the saddle. Going downhill it was the reverse, Xena pulling the bard against her as she leaned back slightly, helping the horse with her footing. They didn't talk much that day, Xena was even quieter than usual. When they did converse, Gabrielle felt the distracting sensation of warm breath against her ear as the warrior spoke, or saw Xena's tan profile just behind and above her shoulder.

Lessa was not too far off, but the distance was more than casual conversation would allow. As a result, the bard was forced to occupy her mind with the scenery, which became more treacherous, by the mile. That also left more time for the awareness of immediate sensation. She could feel Xena's breathing through the armor pressed against her back. There were moments the bard thought she could almost feel the warrior's heartbeat as well. When that happened she could feel her own pulse quicken in response, desperately hoping it went unnoticed by statuesque woman behind her. It was cold out, but she was kept deliciously warm by the strong body behind and gentle arm around her middle. Her olfactory senses were enticed by the subtle smells of the sea, leather and something else equally as pleasant that Gabrielle could only surmise was Xena herself.

When they stopped for a midday rest, Gabrielle's legs felt like water. She doubted it was just from the hours of riding. "I'll have a look around," Xena announced quickly and headed up the trail. Gabrielle watched her go, puzzled. When she saw Lessa's approach, she busied herself with getting some food from their packs.

"That was abrupt." Lessa noted, looking off into the horizon.

"She's just having a look around."

"If you say so," the archer shrugged, looking back down the trail. "But it isn't as if anyone could really sneak up on us with a trail this narrow."

"What do you think she's doing then?" Gabrielle asked with genuine interest, voice slightly edged with irritation.

"I'd say regaining her composure. If not that, then she's probably taking a leak," Lessa replied, heading back to her own mount and taking a bit of dried fish out of the saddle bag.

"I've been thinking about what you said earlier, Lessa," Gabrielle said quietly, "and I really think you're wrong. I don't know where Callisto got that idea, but Xena isn't interested in me like that. Hercules maybe, but not..."

"Gabrielle, that is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Lessa said, doing her very best not to laugh outright. "It's obvious to me how she feels I suspect the only reason you've not heard anyone else comment on it is a healthy fear for their life. I, on the other hand, will most likely not see the full moon so I've got the luxury of honesty."

"But Herc..."

"Is probably a way for her to blow off some steam. No wonder she's so frightening, she's in a constant state of sexual frustration. I guarantee that if she had a choice between Hercules and you, muscle man would be lonely indeed."

"You're making fun of me," Gabrielle said, hurt she looked down into smiling green eyes.

"Maybe a little, Gabrielle, and I'm sorry." Lessa smiled with genuine kindness, her eyes widening suddenly. "Look, I've got an idea."

"Here," she said, rummaging into her saddle pack. Smiling, she extracted a polished piece of metal. It was slightly curved, about the size of the bard's hand. "When we camp tonight, I'll set this by the fire. I'll position it in such a way that you can brush your hair or whatever it is you usually do in the evenings, and you can see if Xena is watching you. If you stay put when I set this up, I doubt Xena will see it- she won't know you're watching her."

Before the bard could respond Xena came walking back down the trail. Lessa quickly tucked the mirror back into her bag, making the pretense of getting an apple for the zebra. "Last one, Soc. You'd better make it last."

"We're making better time than I expected," Xena announced, looking at the archer suspiciously. "We'll make camp outside of Poli, but we'll be able to get some supplies."

"I hope they have apples," Lessa said to no one in particular.

Chapter 3

Mirror, Mirror

The trio reached Poli well before dusk. The trail meandered into a canyon and widened out so the two equines could walk side by side. Gabrielle and Lessa talked amiably, Xena participating in the conversation only occasionally. With the small village barely in sight, they left the trail, heading towards a densely wooded area by the lake Lessa had mentioned.

"This looks good," Xena announced, deciding on their campsite.

Lessa looked around and shrugged. "If you say so." She dismounted from Socrates and stood waiting for Xena and Gabrielle to do the same. They didn't.

"Where are you two going?" Lessa asked, puzzled.

"We're going to stop by the village. You stay here, and try to keep Socrates out of sight."

"Aren't you afraid I might run off?" Lessa asked removing the zebra's saddle.

"Are you that stupid?" Xena asked in return with a smile. She turned Argo towards the small village.

"If you can, get some apples for Soc!" she called after them. Looking around the shore of the small lake, she addressed the zebra. "You heard the princess, make yourself scarce." With a flick of her head the zebra headed into the dense trees.

Looking down at her saddle, Lessa decided she might as well set up camp. She had most of the warrior's gear here anyway. After collecting firewood, starting the fire and putting some water on to boil, she set to arranging the bedrolls. While unrolling the blanket she'd used the previous night, a small pouch fell out, landing at Lessa's feet. She stooped to pick it up, surprised at how light it was. A closer examination of the blanket showed that the pouch had been sewn into the bottom, concealed under a patch. With a quick look over her shoulder, the archer dumped the contents of the pouch into her hand; a strawberry blond lock of hair tied with a thin piece of leather was its only contents. "Warriors!" Lessa thought. With a sigh, she put the pouch back where it belonged and rummaged through her gear for a needle. Taking a loose thread from the end of the blanket, Lessa set to work sewing.

"So what do you think of her?" Gabrielle asked Xena as they slowly walked to town. Argo trailed behind Xena, punctuating their conversation with the occasional snort. It felt good for the bard to stretch her legs, and as much as she appreciated the warmth of the warrior's body, it was much easier to talk to her this way.

"Well, definitely an unusual animal. What did you call it, zebra?" Xena replied with a smile.

"Not Socrates, Lessa!"

"She seems unusual as well, but not quite as charming," Xena quipped, still grinning.

"I don't think she was treated very well by Callisto. When I went to get her at the stream, I saw that her back was covered with scratch marks."

"Really" she said, arching an eyebrow.

The two women had reached the tiny village. It was easy to spot the tavern- it was the only building obviously populated. The noise level dropped significantly when the warrior and bard stepped into the main room. All eyes turned to the door, and a nervous murmur swept through the dinner crowd. It was irritating, but Xena was used to it.

"What can I get you?" an old woman asked when they'd taken a seat at a nearby table.

"I'd like to buy a bed roll and some traveling provisions, bread, cheese, a little wine, and some apples."

"Eleven dinars, fix you up real good." the woman said smiling. She was missing several teeth.

"Fine," Xena replied, nodding to Gabrielle, who discretely fished the money out of her satchel.

The old woman returned with a bundle of provisions wrapped in a blanket. An unpleasant memory surfaced at the woman's approach. Xena quickly surveyed the room. A few farmers, a blacksmith, maybe a merchant or two. This quiet, sleepy town was a raider's dream. The warrior suspected that its inaccessibility was its best protection. Pushing thoughts out of the past from her mind, Xena and Gabrielle headed out of the tavern to a patiently waiting Argo.

"You're not that warlord anymore, Xena," Gabrielle said quietly. "That isn't who you are now."

"Can you always tell what I'm thinking?" Xena asked gently, surprised by the bard's astute observation.

"Only sometimes," she replied with a reassuring grin. "Sometimes I get the feeling it's just as well I don't know what you're thinking."

"You can say that again," Xena thought to herself as they headed back to camp in comfortable silence. Walking near the warrior, arms not quite touching, Gabrielle again pondered the archer's words, her thoughts equally divided between wondering how Xena might feel about her as well as how she truly felt about the enigmatic warrior.

Gabrielle loved Xena, certainly. In a way, that was the easy part. Never had she been as open, honest, and vulnerable with anyone as she was with her friend. But physical desire? Yes, she knew there was that too, but those feelings rarely surfaced. Perhaps because she suspected Xena did not feel the same way. No, Xena probably felt towards her as one would for a baby sister. But still, sometimes she wondered.

There was no sign of Lessa at the campground when they arrived. Two bedrolls had been neatly rolled out side by side next to a blazing campfire. A skin of water hung near the flame heating, and the remainder of their gear was neatly stowed near the bedrolls. Lessa's saddle blanket was positioned on the other side of the campfire, but that was the only indication the archer was around.

Sudden sounds emerged from the dense trees beyond the campsite. Harsh words and the thrashing sound of a fight could clearly be heard through the foliage. Xena and Gabrielle ran the short distance to the trees. Just beyond they were brought up short by what they saw.

Six men, fishermen by the looks of them, surrounded the archer and were engaged in combat. One was swinging a net, another a club. Two had short swords and the remaining two grabbed for Lessa with bare hands. Gabrielle was about to charge into the fray when a restraining hand on her shoulder stopped her. "Wait a second," Xena said quietly, watching the fight with interest.

At that moment, Lessa ducked and rolled under the feet of the man with the net, who promptly released it onto his companion with the club. Rolling to her feet behind him, Lessa shoved him with a booted foot and wrapped the remainder of the net around him. A quick turn and Lessa kicked the sword out of the hand of it's wielder, catching it as it fell. Without missing a beat she kicked behind her, catching a barehanded attacker in the face with her boot. Another one down.

Gabrielle wordlessly looked from the fight to Xena who studied the archer, a thin smile on her lips. A glance down revealed that her hand had freed her chakram from its thong. "Just in case," Xena whispered.

Lessa allowed herself to be grabbed by the remaining unarmed attacker, using the leverage to kick two more charging at her. That accomplished, she threw the man over her shoulder, thrusting the sword she held down at him. She pierced the inseam of his trousers, pinning him to the ground between his legs.

"I wouldn't move if I were you." she said tightly, leaping into the air and landing a backwards flip over the head of the remaining charging swordsman. Pulling two daggers out of her boots as she landed, she let them fly. The first pieced the shirt sleeve of the sword wielder to a tree, the second landing hilt first into his hand, knocking the sword from his fingers with a painful yelp. At the sight, three of the unpinned fishermen took off at a run, carrying a still unconscious companion with them.

With deliberate slowness Lessa walked to the tree, and using her boot, hoisted the sword into the air, catching it easily. She unpinned the man's shirtsleeve, not looking as she threw the dagger at her boot. With a thwap the blade entered it's sheath. "Beat it," she muttered to the man, who took off at a run after his companions. Stooping to retrieve her other dagger, she glanced at Xena and Gabrielle before walking over to the man pinned to the ground, sword sticking out between his legs.

Casually tossing the dagger in the air and catching it, she surveyed the evident terror on the man's face. "What's your name, friend?" She asked.

"Mekor- please don't kill me."

"Mekor, you and your pals were going to steal my horse. The last person that tried that got a broken pelvis for his trouble..."

"That's gotta hurt," Xena muttered under her breath.

"Funny thing was, I didn't do it." Lessa continued. "That animal does not like strangers. And she's more foul tempered than I am."

As Lessa spoke, she tossed the dagger higher and higher over the man's face, only moving her hand to catch it at the last possible second. "And I distinctly recall," she continued easily, "that you said you were going to have your way with me." With that, she did not reach her hand out to catch the descending dagger, rather, stuck out her boot and caught the dagger in its sheath.

"Show off." Xena said, causing a smile to ease across Gabrielle's features.

"I didn't mean it," the terrified man pleaded.

"Oh I see, why didn't you say so before?" Lessa asked, her hand resting on the grip of the sword, gently rocking it back and forth. The frightened man squirmed to keep the blade away from anything sensitive. "I wish I had a better sense of humor. You should think about that before you threaten a woman, you know." With a quick pull, she freed the sword from the ground. Mekor jerked in fear, wetting himself. "It seems we have a problem," she continued, noticing the stain spreading down the front of his pants. "Tell you what, Mekor. I was planning on camping here one night. I suggest you personally see to it I'm left alone. If I have any more trouble, I just might stay a while and see to it your life is very miserable indeed."

He crawled to his feet, almost paralyzed with fear, afraid to run. "Don't forget your blades," she said, handing him the swords. He was about to flee when she put a hand on his shoulder. "And, Mekor," she jabbed her thumb behind her. He looked up and for the first time saw Xena and Gabrielle standing near the trees. What little color remained drained from his face. "Don't make me have to send my big sister after you. I'm the one with the sense of humor in the family, and she so hates it when people pick on me." In seconds he was gone.

"A little over done, don't you think?" Xena observed.

"I didn't know when you guys would show up. They thought I was traveling alone. You could have helped, you know."

"Oh, I don't know," Xena observed, getting several apples out of Gabrielle's bag. "You seem to have had things well in hand." At that, she tossed three apples to the archer who caught each one, beginning to juggle when the third arrived. Gabrielle laughed, amused, especially when Socrates nudged the archer from the back, causing her to stumble and drop an apple. In an instant it was gone, replaced by the contented crunching of the zebra.

"What's for dinner?" Lessa asked as they headed back to the fire.

"I don't know rabbit I guess," Xena said as she unsaddled Argo.

"But we had that for breakfast!" Lessa complained.

"For someone who acts like she's starving, you're pretty particular," Gabrielle observed, helping Xena with Argo's tack.

"It's not that, guys, honest. It's just that with this lake, why don't we have fish?"

"A little cold for swimming, don't you think?" Gabrielle asked, heading to the campfire to check on the heating water.

"Who said anything about swimming?"

"You want your bow," Xena said flatly. It wasn't a question, she knew the answer. For a moment she locked eyes with the archer, penetrating blue searching out resilient green. It was clear the woman could fight; did she have any more surprises in store?

"Just to catch us some fish. I'll take the string off soon as I'm done," Lessa said, not flinching from the warrior's gaze. Xena was welcome to see into her soul. The archer doubted she could however.

Xena walked to the stash of weapons. "Long bow or hand crossbow?"

"Long bow if you don't mind." Lessa said politely, not moving from her place by the fire.

Gabrielle watched the exchange with interest. It was clear some sort of understanding was being reached between the two fighters. Aside from several sarcastic comments, the archer had given Xena a wide berth, and been very clear in her acceptance of the older woman's authority. She had also been very careful around Gabrielle, treating her with courtesy and acknowledging awareness of the warrior's eyes watching her whenever she was near the bard. Her moves were measured and deliberate. It was clear she knew her life depended on it.

Xena handed Lessa the longbow, string and her scabbard. She'd taken the sword out, but left the arrows. The archer selected two arrows then handed the scabbard back. Gabrielle watched with interest as she strung the bow, checking the tension when she finished. The three of them walked the short distance to the lake, Xena's hand never straying from her chakram. Lessa climbed onto a small rock outcrop. She watched the lake for several long moments, then stooped to pick up a fist sized rock. After laying both arrows in a groove in her bow, Lessa tossed the rock high into the air. It came down with splash into a shadowed area of the lake; an instant later, she released the arrows together with a resounding thwap of the bowstring. In the blink of an eye, Gabrielle saw both arrows sticking out of the shallow bank, two large, still fish impaled through the eye with an arrow. The bard was stunned.

"How?" Gabrielle asked in wonder as the archer unceremoniously unstrung the bow, handing the pieces back to Xena.

"Did you think I was bragging, Gabrielle?" Lessa asked her with a smile as she headed to the bank to get her fish.

Gabrielle looked at Xena, amazement still apparent on her face. "But..." she stammered.

"If that's all it takes to get you speechless, I'd've taken up the bow a long time ago," Xena said with a wry grin as she headed back to the fire. "Lessa might need some help cleaning those fish," she called back over her shoulder.

No sooner had they finished eating, than the rhythmic sounds of deep breathing could be heard from Lessa's side of the fire. "She must be exhausted," Gabrielle observed, pouring another cup of wine for Xena, then herself.

"Traveling four days straight will do that to you," Xena commented, sitting away from the fire, behind Gabrielle and a short distance to the right.

"I still can't get over that shot," she muttered.

"Well, she did say she won the competition at Minos. It's a very serious contest," Xena observed, glancing at the sleeping woman.

Nodding, the bard picked up her brush and sat on her bedroll. Something shiny caught her eye. There, between the stones of the fire at the edge of her bedroll, was Lessa's shiny bracer. By shifting her seat just slightly, she could gaze down and see the face of the warrior to her side. For a moment she considered moving, of not observing Xena with such stealth, but curiosity got the best of her. It would be a simple way to find out if there was any merit to the archer's words.

As she began to brush her hair, she watched Xena drink her wine. She noticed how the warrior gazed into the fire, glanced at her, then lifted the mug to her lips. After a couple of quick glances to the softly snoring archer across from them, Xena's eyes made fewer and fewer trips to the fire. They were entirely focused on Gabrielle. Xena slowly drank her wine and openly watched the bard brush her hair. Gabrielle could see Xena's eyes focus on her hands as she lifted the brush to her hair, following the brush as it easily passed through. The warrior's eyes began a lazy descent down the bard's body, stopping briefly on her throat, then resting on her breast as her chest gently moved, breathing. When Xena's eyes reached her bare abdomen and the warrior unconsciously moistened her lips and smiled, Gabrielle almost dropped the brush. There was hunger in those penetrating blue eyes. Affection, lust, desire, it was all there.

Gabrielle could feel the color rising in her cheeks as she finished with her hair. Xena wanted her, and she hadn't known, hadn't really known until now. Why had the warrior not said anything? Why had she kept it hidden? "Maybe it was just the wine," she thought. But she knew better. When she raised her head and looked back into the curved mirror, her own desire was clear in her eyes. But Xena didn't see her, didn't know the warrior's expression had effected her so profoundly. Xena's customary unreadable look had returned. Downing the last of her wine she stood.

"I'm going to have a look around," Xena said quietly, her voice neutral. She headed off into the trees.

She didn't wait for Gabrielle's response, so the bard nodded, seemingly to no one. "If only I'd known, Xena" she whispered. "It's alright." Unsure if she had any regrets about what she had just done, Gabrielle picked up the shiny bracer and tucked it under Lessa's saddle blanket. The archer didn't even stir, and in that moment Gabrielle envied the younger woman. She had no idea how on earth she was going to sleep this night.

Xena walked for what seemed like hours. A quick glance at the moon told her she'd been gone for two at the most. There was nothing to worry about in the wooded glade by the small lake, Lessa had seen to that. As the warrior quietly stole past the tavern she'd visited earlier, she heard Mekor commiserating with his wounded friends. She doubted any of the others would risk invading the privacy of their camp.

As the warrior stole back into the woods, a thousand fragmented thoughts tumbled through her troubled conscience. Xena had given up asking why she tortured herself so. Stolen glances turning into loving looks fanned the fire of desire burning within. The sound of Gabrielle's voice, the soft glow of her skin in the firelight, the lightness of her hair, Xena drank all of this in and more. She reveled in the bard's affectionate nature and the moments when she'd feel her tender skin on her own. A touch, a caress, the holding of a hand- Xena guarded all of these memories fiercely, revisiting them often.

There were the shy glances that crackled with the electricity of their chemistry- it seemed to Xena that she and the bard had been engaged in an erotic dance since the day they'd met. She was smart enough to figure that Gabrielle was aware of this, too. How could she not be? She was certain the archer knew. She had caught the young woman's emphatic stare at midday. Xena frowned at the memory.

Again Xena reminded herself why approaching Gabrielle would be a mistake. She could not risk hurting her friend, or hurting herself with rejection. Deep down, she knew she was a monster, one that had lived her life for years, whom she kept in check only with great effort. Who, with provocation, might again resume its control. With all of the things she'd done, all the people she'd hurt, someday, someone was going to get their revenge on Xena: Warrior Princess. How could she ask the bard to share that life with her? Yet Gabrielle was already a part of that life. She did share it, willingly. Still, with that remaining boundary, she might share her life, but not the tainted darkness of her soul.

But just as Xena reminded herself why she should leave the bard well alone, she fantasized about what would happen if she didn't. In the darkness of the trees surrounding the lake, she sat and let weariness leave her as she pictured Gabrielle in her mind's eye. The shining of the sun off her hair, the gentleness in her eyes, the softness of her skin, the fullness of her lips. The warrior's breathing deepened as she focused on her fantasy. Many times she'd imagined making love to the bard, in many places, in many ways. Now though, with the moon bathing the campsite in a soft glow, she thought of only a kiss, warm lips coming together, mouths engaged in dance, tongues intertwined. She knew she could kiss those lips forever, savoring them for eternity.

Xena sighed and stood. There was a place and time for fantasy, and this wasn't it. As she headed back to camp, a sad smile on her face. She vowed to revisit this fantasy later, when she had the time and privacy to explore it fully.

[a-gay-bloodmage]

—Wings—

Pairing: Merrill x Female Hawke

Pairing Type: F/F

Words: 1,985

Warnings: Kirkwall is a Pine Forest, Blue Hawke is the Biggest Sweetheart, So Much Pining, We Love Useless Bisexuals in This House

"Ser Hawke!" Marian turned around at the child's voice. She looked down to see a small elven boy who looked like he'd been rolling around in dust. He held a note out to her.

"Oh, thank you," she smiled, bending down a little to take the neatly folded note. "Here," she said, reaching into her coin purse to hand the boy two silvers for his trouble. He grinned and thanked her profusely before darting back off into the crowd. She leaned against one of the buildings bordering the crowded marketplace, opening the letter as casually as she could.

Dear Hawke, it started, in a familiar, adorable handwriting. I quite hope that this letter finds you quickly, because I have a bit of a situation at home. Don't worry, it's nothing very bad, but I would just like you to come over before you dismiss my situation because it's a little silly. Please, do not bring your dog. I'm afraid he would not be much help. Your friend, Merrill. Hawke felt her heart squeezing at the letter, the loopy handwriting addressed to her and her alone making her all but physically swoon.

She stuffed the letter into her breastband and left the marketplace without buying anything. She'd completely forgotten what she had even come to buy, but it didn't really matter at this point. She had an elf to attend to.

• • ♡ • •

She always felt a little out of place in the Alienage. Of course, it was partly due to her round ears and overall human-ness, with the fact that she seemed to be at least half a foot taller than everyone a major reason she stuck out like a sore thumb. At least her popularity with the elves was good. They seemed to approve of killing slavers and charity.

"Merrill?" She knocked three times on the door to Merrill's tiny little home. She cringed a little as she heard things banging around inside the house, a little just a minute! calling out from somewhere inside.

The door was yanked open after a second, revealing a disheveled but excited elf.

"Hawke!" She grinned. "You got my letter, then?" Marian nodded. "Come in, come in," Merrill said, gesturing for Hawke to follow. "Oh, I do hope Lord Stubs is at home," she said. "I don't think he would do much good here."

Hawke was glad Merrill's back was to her, not noticing the dumb smile on her face. Then again, Merrill wasn't very observant when it came to people liking her—Hawke knew this fact all too well.

"So... What is it you wanted me here for?" She asked, bouncing on her toes.

Merrill turned to her and smiled. "Wait here, I'll go get him," she said, running off to a corner of the tiny, one-room home. Hawke tried not to pay too much attention to the cracked mirror covered in moving darkness in the other corner as she leaned against the wall. "Okay," Merrill said, positively shaking with excitement as she reached into a small box. "Close your eyes, Hawke."

"If you put a spider in my hand, I'm going to be very cross," she said, smiling as she closed her eyes.

"Oh, I wouldn't do that to you!" Merrill giggled, her light footsteps hardly audible on the rickety wooden floors. "Alright, hold your hands out and cup them." Hawke did as she asked. "Now, be very gentle and don't squeeze too hard."

Hawke felt something light and fluffy being placed into her hands, and jumped a little when it started to move.

"Now," Merrill began, "why don't you-" She was cut off by a little peep coming from the thing in Hawke's hands. "Shush!" Merrill huffed a little. "She's supposed to guess!"

"Uh..." Hawke couldn't help but smile. "Is it... a tiny dragon?"

Merrill giggled. "No, don't be silly, I don't have the time to go searching around a dragon's nest for a little baby dragon!" She paused for a moment. "And spitting little bitty flames might not be so good in a wooden house..."

"Okay, what is it?" Hawke really wanted to open her eyes.

"Oh, just look, silly!"

It was a duckling. A tiny, adorable little baby duck. "Where did you get it?" Hawke laughed, holding the little thing tight enough so that it couldn't escape, yet gentle enough to not crush it.

"Well, I was down by the docks trying to buy some fish, you see, but the prices were too high and I decided that maybe I could go to the boats directly and see if they were willing to sell to me for a lower price. The fishermen are always so kind, really. Well, anyway, then I heard this itsy bitsy little peeping noise as I got closer to the shore," she said. Maker, Hawke could listen to her talk for hours. "So I went over to go look and see what this little peeping noise was coming from. And, what do you know, here's this tiny little baby duck with no mother in sight," she gave it a few pats on the head with her finger, making it peep again. "Well, I gave him a bit of lettuce I had in my bag, and I turned to leave. I figured he had a mum somewhere, but then he started following me!" She shook her head with a sad little smile. "So I scooped him up and brought him home."

"So you accidentally adopted a baby?" Hawke asked, stroking down the little duck's back with her thumb.

"Accidentally," she said, nodding. "So, I figured, you have Lord Stubs so you know how to care for babies. And your last name is a bird."

Hawke wouldn't deny that her mabari was just an oversized toddler with the capability to maim. "Well," she said, shaking her head with an amused smile, "looks like you need to either set him free or get ready for parenthood, Merrill."

"If I set him outside, he'll get eaten! Or stepped on!" Merrill shook her head. "No, no, I can't do that."

"Duck mum, then?"

Merrill gasped a little and smiled. "Duck mum," she repeated, nodding with conviction. "Here, hand him to me, please," she said, holding out her hands. Hawke handed the little guy over as gently as she could. "I'm going to put him back in his box," she said, walking over to the corner. Hawke followed to see the duck's accommodations. "See?" Merrill said as she set him down. "He has water-" She pointed to a shallow wooden bowl full of water that the duckling immediately jumped into. "- and food-" There was a pile of lettuce on a tea saucer. "- and light!" She had a small orb of glowing yellow light floating just over the makeshift pond. "I think he's pretty happy," she said, looking up at Hawke. "What say you, Hawke?"

"Uh, yeah, he seems content," she said, squirming a little under Merrill's adoring gaze.

Merrill tsked, shaking her head. "You're always getting hot flashes, aren't you?" She sighed. "Here, watch the duck for a moment, I'll get you some water."

Hawke nodded tightly as Merrill left. She let out the quietest breath she could as the elf went to fetch her a drink. Lord Stubs was going to have to sit through a long, drunken, love-struck rant tonight. Again.

She sat down on her knees and reached into the little crate, gently running a finger along the duckling's soft back. "Have you thought of a name yet, Merrill?" She asked, not looking up from the little duck that had stopped moving in favor of leaning into her touch.

Merrill hummed as she came over and sat down next to Hawke, handing her a glass of water. Hawke gratefully took it. "I was thinking... No, it's silly," she said, shaking her head. Her ears flopped a little with the motion and made Hawke's stomach flutter.

"Merrill, anything you say would be better than one of my ideas."

"Oh, don't talk bad about yourself Hawke," Merrill cooed. "Well, I was thinking when I was walking him home earlier," she said. "I walked by the stall in the marketplace where you bought me that journal, you see, and I thought of you." Her face went a little pink, and Hawke had to suppress the urge to think about why. "And, it's silly, but I just thought about how your last name is a bird, but with an e at the end..."

"So... duck? But with an e at the end?"

Merrill covered her pink face with her hands, laughing embarrassedly. "I know, I know!"

Hawke grinned, scooping up the little duck as gently as she could. "Merrill!" She said in a high, babyish voice, holding the duckling in front of the elf's face. "I think it's a wonderful name!" Hawke gasped, turning the duckling to face her. "You, too, Ser Ducke?" She asked, grinning. The duckling peeped at her, seeming to be on the same page. Merrill was looking through her fingers at the odd pair, green eyes sparkling. "Well, I think that settles it!" Hawke smiled, holding the fuzzy little thing to her face. "We both think it's brilliant!"

Merrill was shaking her head, smiling. "Hawke and Ducke," she said, laughing to herself. "Oh, what am I going to do with the two of you?" She gently scratched Ducke's chin, and he peeped happily, flapping his tiny wings. "Adorable, the both of you."

Hawke tried to keep her face from overheating, laughing a little awkwardly. "Well, I think he really likes you," she said. "Do you think he thinks you're his mum?"

"Oh, I hope so!" Merrill grinned. "I should make a little sling," she mused. "Walking around the marketplace would be very amusing with a little duck in a pouch." Hawke nodded. Merrill would look no stranger than usual with a fuzzy yellow duckling accompanying her. "I'll wait for him to grow a little bit more before I take him to Wicked Grace night," she said.

"Well, tell me when he's going so I leave Stubs at home," Hawke laughed. 

"Oh, he does love chasing birds, doesn’t he?” 

"Yeah, I-"

"Oh, Hawke!" Merrill gasped quietly, shushing her. "Would you look at that?"

Ducke had fallen asleep in Hawke's hands, his little head resting on Hawke's warm palm. It was adorable.

"Awe, you're like his second mum," Merrill cooed. "Here, set him down gentle in his box," she whispered.

Hawke set him down, shushing him as he let out a little peep of protest at being moved.

"Doesn't he look cozy?" Merrill asked in a whisper, her shoulder pressing against Hawke's. She held her hand over the little yellow orb of light, changing its colour to a dark red. "There, that should be better. Nice and toasty." She looked to Hawke, a soft smile on her lips. "It was nice having you over," she said, voice quiet.

"It was nice being over," Hawke said slowly, unsure of what to say. "You going to the Hanged Man for cards tomorrow?"

Merrill nodded. "I won't bring the little fella," she said, laughing softly. "So I think Ser Stubs would be welcome. I do enjoy playing cards with him."

Hawke smiled, shaking her head. Stubs was pretty good for someone without any hands. Merrill stood, offering her hand for Hawke to take. Her hands were small and warm.

"See you then," Hawke said, walking with Merrill to the door.

Merrill gave a quick nod, opening the door. The sun was setting, bathing the usually neutral-coloured Alienage in orange and pink. Before Hawke could say her final goodbyes, the words died on her lips as Merrill stood on her toes and planted a kiss on Hawke's cheek.

"Bye, Hawke," Merrill said, a gentle hand on Marian's shoulder.

"Bye," Hawke said, her entire body flooded with warmth.

Maker, Stubs was going to get an earful tonight.

[imagine-loki]

Unofferable

TITLE: Unofferable

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 10, Magic AUTHOR: unofferable-fic ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Frigga bringing you to Asgard as a child after finding you abandoned and injured on Midgard. Uncertain as to what happened to you, Odin allows the healers save your life, and the Allmother makes it her duty to ensure your safety. 

RATING: M

NOTES/WARNINGS: Language, violence, assault, harassment. Playlist: “(-_-)” — Adebisi Shank, “Beetle” — Run River North, “Magic” — Coldplay

“You can’t be serious?”

The Warriors Three and Lady Sif wore the most befuddled of expressions, while Thor was stupidly grinning in delight.

“Oh, but I am!” he answered, plucked a fourteen-year-old Ellie from atop his shoulders, and set her down on the ground.

Loki sat nearby in the training yard, sharpening his daggers as Thor rambled on to his friends, Ellie’s little hand enclasped in his massive one.

“You want to teach the mortal how to fight?” Sif queried, totally baffled.

“Self defence,” Thor corrected. “But yes.”

Fandral gave him a look. “And why is that?”

“She is very tiny and mortal too. Loki and I know that some do not like that she is on Asgard, so it is merely a precaution. Thus I came up with the exceptional plan to train her and you, my most loyal friends, will assist me!” 

“We will?” Volstagg deadpanned.

“You will!”

 Fandral nearly guffawed. “Why not get the Trickster to do it?”

“He’s helping,” Thor stated bluntly and Loki sent them a particularly menacing grin.

The four of them stared back at him as Volstagg cleared his throat awkwardly. “Oh, no…” 

“My friends, if you must know, my brother and I have been on edge since Frey and Freyja’s comments at the banquet. We would rather teach her some of these skills as a safety measure.”

“Do you think they will act on their comments?”

“Perhaps you should refrain from talking about Ellie as though she is not there,” Loki said dryly, glancing up from his weapons.

Fandral clapped his hands and looked down at the girl. “Alright then… Are you, err, ready to learn how to defend yourself?”

Ellie merely nodded. “Sure.”

“Excellent!” Thor cheered and set his plan in motion. 

“Just no snakes this time,” Hogun grunted, giving Ellie the stink eye.

“No tricks,” Loki agreed. “I promise.”

Loki stayed as close to Ellie as he could without getting in the way, making sure that the Warriors Three and Sif did the job properly. While Thor seemed eager to have her swinging around massive claymores, Loki advised that she first learn how to evade attacks, with which Sif quickly agreed. To the passing Einherjar, it was a comical sight to behold — great burly warriors chasing around and trying to grab a slight girl who was doing her best to run rings around them. At first, she seemed uncomfortable with the practice, but once Loki reminded her of the familiar Frost Giant and Hero game, she calmed and listened to all of their instructions.

The lessons took place in-between handmaiden and princely duties, but seemed to be quite successful. The princes would make sure that the yard would be privately reserved to them so that no one would interrupt their sessions. Although Thor’s friends remained ever sceptical of the “Little Trickster”, they settled into their roles as mentors relatively easily. Perhaps now they could get a better understanding of why the Odinsons were so fond of her.

“Little one,” Thor announced one day as they were beginning. “It is time you chose a weapon.”

“You think I’m ready for that?” she replied, clearly intimidated as Thor pulled a massive axe from a weapon rack.

“Oh, I do!”

“Not a chance,” Sif said, pointing to the axe in his hands. “She is not going to be wielding that.”

Thor groaned, the very definition of a petulant child. “But Siiiiiiiiiif…”

“She will use something lighter,” she continued on, ignoring his outburst. She quickly grabbed a dagger, a quiver of arrows, and a bow from the rack. “She clearly takes after Loki, so let us work with that.”

Fandral let out a dramatic groan. “Ugh, now there’s two of them…”

“How terrible,” Loki said with a roll of the eyes.

“You will show her how to wield a dagger,” Sif ordered, addressing Loki. “And I will get her started with the bow. How does that sound?”

“Sounds great!” Ellie agreed with a great big smile as Sif helped strap the quiver to her back.

“Let’s get to work!” Thor declared, Mjölnir in hand.

Loki was sure that the Warriors Three and Sif were just delighted to spend their time teaching a Midgardian how to spar. Sif seemed to be the least bothered by it, although she was probably just happy to do it at Thor’s suggestion. The God of Thunder seemed more than happy to have Ellie in the training yard, finally showing her the things that he loved  to do. 

Much like seiðr training, progress was slow, but the young girl was more than happy to do as her superiors instructed. Although they seemed less than happy with Loki’s presence, one which he made sure to be as overbearing as possible, he stood on the sidelines for every lesson. He had never taught someone how to fight, but he simply used the same formula as before by using the techniques his mother taught him. While Thor usually acted as the antagonist in their training, he found the whole thing to be ‘great fun indeed’. As long as none of them said anything disrespectful to Ellie, Loki remained calm and collected in their company.

* * *

As was per Asgard’s tradition, workers were paid monthly. Pay day was also considered an off day, so all workers usually went to the local markets to spend their wages as they wished. This month, Loki finished his duties early in the day and decided to go down to the market to browse the stalls. He went alone considering his personal hand servant, Radburn, was off duty. 

Once he had collected his horse from the stables, he took his time riding to the markets. Usually his trips were most pleasant because no one disturbed him. It did irritate him ever so slightly that some people found him so unapproachable, but it also meant that he could peruse the stalls in the market place without being bothered by others. Sometimes, in the more expensive section of the market, he managed to find books or trinkets that grabbed his attention, or even fabrics that could be used in garments made by his tailors. Although he was fully aware he could get these items for free within the palace, he never saw the harm in giving someone decent pay when he had the gold to spend. It wasn’t like he was going to use it for anything else… It was also useful when it came to finding gifts for his mother, who was quite fond of the some of the more unusual novelties or foreign jewellery you could find there. He would also be lying if he said he didn’t get a kick out of seeing people stare as he made the rounds.

Having dismounted his horse upon spotting some interesting leather-bound books, he spent a short amount of time speaking with the stall’s owner about what she had available to buy.

“Have you received any new Midgardian fiction?” he asked, eyeing the display. “Preferably fantasy?”

“Midgardian fantasy, Your Highness?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“There is one book,” she answered politely, seemingly delighted to have a prince willing to buy from her. As she spoke, she rummaged under her stall. “Apparently it’s selling quite well down there. It’s an old book, but it’s popularity has resurged again. Where did I—? Ah! Here it is.”

Loki watched as she lifted a large black tome on to the stall. It was massive — he guessed at least a thousand pages — and landed with a severe thump when she put it down. On its cover was one large gold ring surround by three smaller rings. Within the centre was a gleaming red eye. Alas, it did not have a name on it.

“What is it?” he asked, perplexed as he picked it up.

“I can’t recall,” she admitted. “I think it had something to do with rings, Your Highness. You must understand, we do not have many people asking about Midgardian books…”

“It is alright,” he hushed her, noticing her hands twitching nervously. “I understand.” Without another word, he opened the front cover and began to read the description written on the inside:

‘This special 50th anniversary hardback edition of J.R.R. Tolkien’s classic masterpiece includes…”’Yes, yes, but what is it about? “… a sequel to Tolkien’s 1937 fantasy novel ‘The Hobbit’…’ Oh!”

“I’ll take it,” he said without hesitation, reaching to his leather pouch for gold.

The vender seemed delighted that he was taking it off her hands and when she said the asking price, he doubled it without so much as a second thought, then thanked her, and placed the book carefully into his carrying bag on the horse. He proceeded to lead the animal by the reins as he strolled through more nearby stalls that were bustling with customers.

“Prince Loki?”

He looked up at the sound of his name and turned to see the culprit.

“Hi,” Ellie greeted him with a wave, her own carrying bag tossed over her shoulder as she approached him.

“Hello, little one,” he replied with a small smile.

“What brings you to the markets today?” she asked curiously. “I don’t think I’ve seen you down here before.”

“Sometimes I do show my face among the common people,” he joked. “I came to purchase goods; same as you, I presume?”

“Yeah, I got some new clothes and stuff! And I got some ingredients because Fen and Sevda want’a teach me how to bake.”

Only then did Loki notice the two women standing either side of the girl. Fen and Sevda were two of his mother’s longest serving handmaidens who had taken Ellie under their metaphorical wing. It was due to Frigga’s request, but it was no surprise that they were happy to comply, considering they both had young children of their own. It made sense that they would be willing to help the child adjust to life in Asgard. Loki had known them for centuries.

“Afternoon, ladies,” he greeted them with a slight incline of the head.

After greeting him formally in unison, Sevda asked him. “How do you fair today, Prince Loki?”

“Splendid, thank you. It is always nice to take a break from the duties that bore me.”

“Ah yes,” Fen drawled. “Being a prince is so very hard…”

“It is far harder than you could ever comprehend, Fen!”

Sevda let out a chuckle. “Oh, please! Your duties just consist of playing tricks on Prince Thor. Why not spend your day plotting against him?”

“Perhaps he deserves a day off every now and then.”

“I have known you both since you were children and you have never given him a break. You think he deserves one?”

He paused, then shook his head and smirked. “No, he definitely doesn’t.”

Sevda shook her head, but he knew that she enjoyed the talks they had. “Shopping for something in particular today, Your Highness?”

He shook his head. “Not particularly, Sevda. I am mostly here to see if anything catches my eye.”

“Did you find anythin’?” Ellie piped up.

“I did find an interesting looking book or two…”

“No way! What is it? Anythin’ I know?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps you might know—”

“Here, you! Mortal! Get out of our realm!”

Loki whipped his head around at the sound of shouting. He immediately spotted two men on the other side of the market, staring daggers in his direction. Suddenly, he realised that they weren’t looking at him; their eyes were firmly fixed on Ellie.

The burly, bald-headed one resembled a rabid animal as he continued yelling. “You’re not welcome here, mortal!”

Sevda and Fen immediately stood closer to the girl, sending the two bulls looks that could kill.

“Do you know them, Ellie?” Fen asked.

She shook her head and tried to ignore them. “No, I don’t, I swear.”

“What a pair of cretins,” Sevda spat through gritted teeth. “Mouthing off at a child.”

Fen threw all decorum out the window and shouted back. “Shut you mouth, you fat oaf!”

While the other man kept his mouth wisely shut, Bald-head spat on the ground and refused to stop. “Fuck off, and take that mortal bitch with you!”

At this point, a crowd had formed to watch the insults rolling back and forth. They stared and chattered, most likely putting all the signs together to figure out who was being battered with insults and why. 

The sight of Ellie trying to make herself a smaller target to the hateful spew made Loki see red. “Both of you, not another word! Or, by Odin, I will cut your tongues from your mouths myself!” 

Having been chastised by the younger prince, both men were quick to heed his words and stop with their harassment. They turned red from what was probably a combination of rage and embarrassment.

Glaring at them once more, Loki turned his attention back to the Midgardian. “Ignore their words. They are fools and I will not let them hurt you.”

No one had a chance to react as the tomato struck Ellie’s cheek with a harsh smack. 

She screamed in surprise. The crowd gasped.

“Prince’s whore!”

It splattered on contact, covering all of them in its red pulp. Loki’s eyes blew wide as he hastily wiped it off his cheek and looked down at her. Her whole face was covered in red, both from the damned tomato and the impact of the strike. She looked like a cornered animal, eyes wide and blinking rapidly. Sevda and Fen both stood in shock. When Loki set his eyes on Bald-head — the clearly guilty suspect — he never wanted to wring someone’s neck so much in his life.

He swiftly turned on his heals to do just that when a hand reached around his cloak and grabbed his dagger from its sheath. Surprised, he gaped down and saw Ellie up on her feet, dagger in hand, her eyes focused on the men with utter hatred. Before she could sprint off, he grabbed her in his arms and held her back as she fought him.

“Ellie, no!” he implored her. “Stop!”

“Let me go!” she screeched, her knuckles white with the dagger in her grip.

Fen wisely grabbed her arm to help restrain her. “If you hurt them you will be charged with assault, foolish girl! They are not worth it!”

“You will let me handle this!” Loki growled, passing her off to the two women and taking his weapon back. “You will not ruin your life for this filth!”

Ellie’s body deflated as she stopped fighting, the watery tomato sliding off her face in the struggle. Sevda was carefully wiping it off with the edge of her sleeve as Fen removed it from her flaxen hair — neither woman was concerned with what had hit them; only for the poor girl. The two men looked delighted until they realised Loki had started for them. Before they could run, he knocked them backwards with a powerful blast of energy — it sent the nearby tomato cart flying — and stalked after their fallen figures. Before Baldy could get up, he delivered a precise kick directly to his fat head. Blood spattered his robes and the cobbled road below.

“You would dare to assault a handmaiden of the Allmother?” Loki roared and spat on the man’s oozing head. “She is a child. I would kill you and your friend myself, but I would rather see what the Allmother has in store for you both, you scum.”

The other man dared not move as Loki approached; he simply stared at the gaping wound in the tomato-thrower’s forehead. The Trickster did not hesitate to grab him by the neck and haul him to his feet as Einherjar quickly descended on the small market. Upon seeing the Prince strangling a man with his bare hands, they openly stared at him.

“Prince Loki?” the commanding officer addressed him. “What has happened here?”

“They have assaulted and harassed a handmaiden to the Queen,” he growled and tossed the gasping fiend to the ground, hard. “Bring them to my mother before I kill them, as I would take great pleasure in it! Tell her I will be with her shortly to further explain what occurred.”

“Yes, Your Highness!”

Both assailants were quickly grabbed by the guards and they marched back towards the palace from whence they came. The other guards quickly dispersed the spectators after some insistent crowd control. Loki quickly made his way back to the three handmaidens  and his horse when the men were out of sight.

“Sevda, return to the palace with Ellie and remain with her in your quarters until my mother arrives. The Einherjar will keep you safe. Fen, you will come with me back to the palace and we will inform her of what just happened.”

“Yes, My Prince.”

“But, Loki…” Ellie sniffled and grabbed on to his free hand. “Please don’t leave.”

His brow furrowed at the sudden contact, but when he met her red-rimmed eyes, he squeezed her hand reassuringly. “You will be safe with Sevda. I will not be long, but I must speak with my mother.”

“But—”

“I will be gone but for a little while. I will return.”

“You promise?” she asked and held up her other hand with all digits but her smallest finger clenched into a fist. It was an odd Midgardian gesture, one which apparently meant you were making an unbreakable promise with the person whose finger you clutched with your own. He didn’t understand the logic or reasoning behind it, but he looped his finger with hers.

“I promise.”

With that, Ellie released her hold on his finger as Sevda quickly led her away with a thankful nod towards Loki. Two guards went with them and stayed nearby in case anyone else got involved. The prince quickly guided Fen to his horse and mounted the animal once she was up too. Together they rode to the palace to find the Queen.

* * *

“An assault on the a handmaiden to the Allmother is an assault on the Allmother herself.”

That evening, Odin’s voice was the only thing booming through the throne room. The attacker and his accomplice — who Loki found out were called Bjorn and Elof — were on their knees before the seated King, hands cuffed securely with thick chains. The Allmother remained incredibly controlled while Fen and Loki stood to the side, glaring and observing the exchange.

“I have heard enough from the countless witnesses, my son included, to make a decision. Considering your hate speech and violent actions, Bjorn, — which I also consider to be directed towards the Allmother — you will be imprisoned within the dungeons below until I see you fit to leave before you are old and frail. Your imprisonment starts at dusk tomorrow. Elof, you will be fined and placed under house arrest for an amount of time to be chosen at a later date. Guards, remove them from my sight. Looking at them through my one good eye is too much to stomach.”

Loki blanched. Beside him, Fen wore the same expression. 

Assaults on personal staff of the royal family usually carried far heavier sentences. It wasn’t uncommon to see heads flying or life imprisonment being settled on when the crimes occurred. He had thought that such a sentence would be chosen — that’s why he kept them both alive, for fuck sake! — but now they would both walk free eventually.

“That is an unusually… kind sentence,” Fen whispered with a hint of malice.

“I agree,” was his mumbled response, still eying his father in bewilderment. Once the guards hauled the prisoners from the room, Loki was daring enough to approach the throne. “Father? Why have they received such a light sentence?”

“Light sentence, my son?” Odin replied.

“They assaulted and harassed a handmaiden to the Allmother.”

“And I chose a punishment that I saw fit.”

With a glance towards his mother, Loki frown. “Father, I have seen many prisoners sent to the chopping block for such a crime.”

“Then I will explain my reasoning to you,” he offered and stood up with Gungnir in hand. “As a future king, you must learn from the current one, yes?”

“Fen?” Frigga called her handmaiden. “Would you escort me to see Ellie?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Left alone with his father in the throne room, Loki waited anxiously for Odin to begin explaining why he had made such a decision.

“I know that you are aware of the opinions of some people within this realm, Loki. You know that these people do not welcome mortals here at all. Bjorn and Elof are two such people, it just so happens that Bjorn is far more vocal about it. Daring to assault any member of our personal staff is a bold, and incredibly stupid, move. But I do not think that sentencing two men to death for throwing fruit at a mortal is a wise decision. They both have families as well, even despite their violent tendencies. It could very well cause backlash among our people — one that could, in turn, cause attacks against her and possibly other staff to grow in severity. Their punishment is one which should silence their hate, but also not incite anymore of it. Do you understand?”

Loki’s brow creased with conflicted thoughts. Part of him — a very prominent part of him — wanted those mens’ heads on a pike. Families or no, he didn’t particularly care. They hurt a child. They called her a whore. She was defenceless. Her only crime was existing, and this is the punishment she received.

But the last thing he wanted was for Ellie to receive more of these punishments. If giving those men a milder sentence would result in her safety, then he would try to put aside the hate he felt for them and replace it with the affection he felt for her.

“Yes, Father,” he answered with the most neutral expression he could muster.

“Good, I am glad. Do not worry any more over this incident.”

“Of course, Father. Am I dismissed?”

Odin eyed his son for a brief moment before he nodded. It took Loki most of self-control to not briskly walk from the throne room and slam the doors behind him.

* * *

Unable to sleep, Loki found himself sitting in his usual chair in the library with an open book in his lap. The words remained unread as he played the events of the day through his mind over and over. He had gone to see Ellie and his mother as he so promised — after all, he did do that unusual Midgardian finger-loop thing… He had not attempted to go near the handmaiden quarters since, having just briefly stuck his head in to check on her. Afterwards, he locked himself in his rooms until the sun had gone down. He only left to collect his dinner from the kitchens — leftover stew and bread from the night before — considering the cooks also had the day off. In the middle of the night when most people had gone to sleep, he wandered the halls and wound up here. He had expected to be alone.

The doors opening and Ellie rushing inside was certainly not expected.

“Ellie?”

Her big eyes met his immediately. “Loki! I did it!”

“You did what?” he asked, leaning forward in his seat. For a brief moment, he considered the possibility that she had somehow murdered Bjorn and Elof without anyone noticing.

“The flower!” she cheered, her voice echoing through the library. “I did it!”

She held her open palms out to him and, sure enough, Loki saw a very small clematis flower within them, small tendrils of a ruby red energy surrounding it and gliding through the air. His jaw dropped. He had not expected this tonight. She gently placed it on the nearby table and both of them stared in disbelief and delight as it remained solid and alive.

Pride swelled within him as he looked at the little thing. He had never been so delighted to feel magical energy from an object before. He felt the grin pulling at his lips as he turned his attention from the flower to her. “You did it, little one, as I knew you would.”

Just as he was not prepared for her to burst into the library at all hours, he was not prepared for her to leap into his chair and fling her arms around him. She nearly knocked the wind out of him — she did literally knock the book from his lap — but her lithe arms circled around his neck and hugged him with all the might her frame possessed. 

Clearing his throat awkwardly, he flailed his arms for the briefest of moments before he recalled how her whole body shook when those threats were hurled at her; threats for simply existing and living on Asgard…

Loki slowly released the breath he had been holding and wound his arms tightly around her. He promised that he would never let anyone hurt Ellie so long as he lived.

“Well done, little one. You did it.”

[unofferable-fic]

UNOFFERABLE: 10 - MAGIC

Summary: The unexpected arrival of an injured Midgardian child clinging to life causes a ruckus on Asgard. The princes, Thor and Loki, are somewhat intrigued by this unusual guest, unsure as to how and why she ended up in such a state. What they did not expect, however, was the turn of events her appearance would inevitably cause.

Originally posted by RealWoman77

————

Set Pre-Thor 1

Pairing: Loki x child OFC (platonic)

Inspired by this imagine

Warnings: Language, violence, assault, harassment.

Word Count: 4,191

Previous Chapter     Next Chapter

Playlist: “(-_-)” — Adebisi Shank, “Beetle” — Run River North, “Magic” — Coldplay

————

A/N: Also available on AO3  and FanFiction.net.

“You can’t be serious?”

The Warriors Three and Lady Sif wore the most befuddled of expressions, while Thor was stupidly grinning in delight.

“Oh, but I am!” he answered, plucked a fourteen year old Ellie from atop his shoulders, and set her down on the ground.

Loki sat nearby in the training yard, sharpening his daggers as Thor rambled on to his friends, Ellie’s little hand enclasped in his massive one.

“You want to teach the mortal how to fight?” Sif queried, totally baffled.

“Self defence,” Thor corrected. “But yes.”

Fandral gave him a look. “And why is that?”

“She is very tiny and mortal too. Loki and I know that some do not like that she is on Asgard, so it is merely a precaution. Thus I came up with the exceptional plan to train her and you, my most loyal friends, will assist me!”

“We will?” Volstagg deadpanned.

“You will!”

Fandral nearly guffawed. “Why not get the Trickster to do it?”

“He’s helping,” Thor stated bluntly and Loki sent them a particularly menacing grin.

The four of them stared back at him as Volstagg cleared his throat awkwardly. “Oh, no…”

“My friends, if you must know, my brother and I have been on edge since Frey and Freyja’s comments at the banquet. We would rather teach her some of these skills as a safety measure.”

“Do you think they will act on their comments?”

“Perhaps you should refrain from talking about Ellie as though she is not there,” Loki said dryly, glancing up from his weapons.

Fandral clapped his hands and looked down at the girl. “Alright then… Are you, err, ready to learn how to defend yourself?”

Ellie merely nodded. “Sure.”

“Excellent!” Thor cheered and set his plan in motion.

“Just no snakes this time,” Hogun grunted, giving Ellie the stink eye.

“No tricks,” Loki agreed. “I promise.”

Loki stayed as close to Ellie as he could without getting in the way, making sure that the Warriors Three and Sif did the job properly. While Thor seemed eager to have her swinging around massive claymores, Loki advised that she first learn how to evade attacks, with which Sif quickly agreed. To the passing Einherjar, it was a comical sight to behold — great burly warriors chasing around and trying to grab a slight girl who was doing her best to run rings around them. At first, she seemed uncomfortable with the practice, but once Loki reminded her of the familiar Frost Giant and Hero game, she calmed and listened to all of their instructions.

The lessons took place in-between handmaiden and princely duties, but seemed to be quite successful. The princes would make sure that the yard would be privately reserved to them so that no one would interrupt their sessions. Although Thor’s friends remained ever sceptical of the “Little Trickster”, they settled into their roles as mentors relatively easily. Perhaps now they could get a better understanding of why the Odinsons were so fond of her.

“Little one,” Thor announced one day as they were beginning. “It is time you chose a weapon.”

“You think I’m ready for that?” she replied, clearly intimidated as Thor pulled a massive axe from a weapon rack.

“Oh, I do!”

“Not a chance,” Sif said, pointing to the axe in his hands. “She is not going to be wielding that.”

Thor groaned, the very definition of a petulant child. “But Siiiiiiiiiif…”

“She will use something lighter,” she continued on, ignoring his outburst. She quickly grabbed a dagger, a quiver of arrows, and a bow from the rack. “She clearly takes after Loki, so let us work with that.”

Fandral let out a dramatic groan. “Ugh, now there’s two of them…”

“How terrible,” Loki said with a roll of the eyes.

“You will show her how to wield a dagger,” Sif ordered, addressing Loki. “And I will get her started with the bow. How does that sound?”

“Sounds great!” Ellie agreed with a great big smile as Sif helped strap the quiver to her back.

“Let’s get to work!” Thor declared, Mjölnir in hand.

Loki was sure that the Warriors Three and Sif were just delighted to spend their time teaching a Midgardian how to spar. Sif seemed to be the least bothered by it, although she was probably just happy to do it at Thor’s suggestion. The God of Thunder seemed more than happy to have Ellie in the training yard, finally showing her the things that he loved  to do.

Much like seiðr training, progress was slow, but the young girl was more than happy to do as her superiors instructed. Although they seemed less than happy with Loki’s presence, one which he made sure to be as overbearing as possible, he stood on the sidelines for every lesson. He had never taught someone how to fight, but he simply used the same formula as before by using the techniques his mother taught him. While Thor usually acted as the antagonist in their training, he found the whole thing to be ‘great fun indeed’. As long as none of them said anything disrespectful to Ellie, Loki remained calm and collected in their company.

* * *

As was per Asgard’s tradition, workers were paid monthly. Pay day was also considered an off day, so all workers usually went to the local markets to spend their wages as they wished. This month, Loki finished his duties early in the day and decided to go down to the market to browse the stalls. He went alone considering his personal hand servant, Radburn, was off duty.

Once he had collected his horse from the stables, he took his time riding to the markets. Usually his trips were most pleasant because no one disturbed him. It did irritate him ever so slightly that some people found him so unapproachable, but it also meant that he could peruse the stalls in the market place without being bothered by others. Sometimes, in the more expensive section of the market, he managed to find books or trinkets that grabbed his attention, or even fabrics that could be used in garments made by his tailors. Although he was fully aware he could get these items for free within the palace, he never saw the harm in giving someone decent pay when he had the gold to spend. It wasn’t like he was going to use it for anything else… It was also useful when it came to finding gifts for his mother, who was quite fond of the some of the more unusual novelties or foreign jewellery you could find there. He would also be lying if he said he didn’t get a kick out of seeing people stare as he made the rounds.

Having dismounted his horse upon spotting some interesting leather-bound books, he spent a short amount of time speaking with the stall’s owner about what she had available to buy.

“Have you received any new Midgardian fiction?” he asked, eyeing the display. “Preferably fantasy?”

“Midgardian fantasy, Your Highness?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“There is one book,” she answered politely, seemingly delighted to have a prince willing to buy from her. As she spoke, she rummaged under her stall. “Apparently it’s selling quite well down there. It’s an old book, but it’s popularity has resurged again. Where did I—? Ah! Here it is.”

Loki watched as she lifted a large black tome on to the stall. It was massive — he guessed at least a thousand pages — and landed with a severe thump when she put it down. On its cover was one large gold ring surround by three smaller rings. Within the centre was a gleaming red eye. Alas, it did not have a name on it.

“What is it?” he asked, perplexed as he picked it up.

“I can’t recall,” she admitted. “I think it had something to do with rings, Your Highness. You must understand, we do not have many people asking about Midgardian books…”

“It is alright,” he hushed her, noticing her hands twitching nervously. “I understand.” Without another word, he opened the front cover and began to read the description written on the inside:

‘This special 50th anniversary hardback edition of J.R.R. Tolkien's classic masterpiece includes…”’Yes, yes, but what is it about? “… a sequel to Tolkien's 1937 fantasy novel ‘The Hobbit’…’ Oh!”

“I’ll take it,” he said without hesitation, reaching to his leather pouch for gold.

The vender seemed delighted that he was taking it off her hands and when she said the asking price, he doubled it without so much as a second thought, then thanked her, and placed the book carefully into his carrying bag on the horse. He proceeded to lead the animal by the reins as he strolled through more nearby stalls that were bustling with customers.

“Prince Loki?”

He looked up at the sound of his name and turned to see the culprit.

“Hi,” Ellie greeted him with a wave, her own carrying bag tossed over her shoulder as she approached him.

“Hello, little one,” he replied with a small smile.

“What brings you to the markets today?” she asked curiously. “I don’t think I’ve seen you down here before.”

“Sometimes I do show my face among the common people,” he joked. “I came to purchase goods; same as you, I presume?”

“Yeah, I got some new clothes and stuff! And I got some ingredients because Fen and Sevda want’a teach me how to bake.”

Only then did Loki notice the two women standing either side of the girl. Fen and Sevda were two of his mother’s longest serving handmaidens who had taken Ellie under their metaphorical wing. It was due to Frigga’s request, but it was no surprise that they were happy to comply, considering they both had young children of their own. It made sense that they would be willing to help the child adjust to life in Asgard. Loki had known them for centuries.

“Afternoon, ladies,” he greeted them with a slight incline of the head.

After greeting him formally in unison, Sevda asked him. “How do you fair today, Prince Loki?”

“Splendid, thank you. It is always nice to take a break from the duties that bore me.”

“Ah yes,” Fen drawled. “Being a prince is so very hard…”

“It is far harder than you could ever comprehend, Fen!”

Sevda let out a chuckle. “Oh, please! Your duties just consist of playing tricks on Prince Thor. Why not spend your day plotting against him?”

“Perhaps he deserves a day off every now and then.”

“I have known you both since you were children and you have never given him a break. You think he deserves one?”

He paused, then shook his head and smirked. “No, he definitely doesn’t.”

Sevda shook her head, but he knew that she enjoyed the talks they had. “Shopping for something in particular today, Your Highness?”

He shook his head. “Not particularly, Sevda. I am mostly here to see if anything catches my eye.”

“Did you find anythin’?” Ellie piped up.

“I did find an interesting looking book or two…”

“No way! What is it? Anythin’ I know?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps you might know—”

“Here, you! Mortal! Get out of our realm!”

Loki whipped his head around at the sound of shouting. He immediately spotted two men on the other side of the market, staring daggers in his direction. Suddenly, he realised that they weren’t looking at him; their eyes were firmly fixed on Ellie.

The burly, bald-headed one resembled a rabid animal as he continued yelling. “You’re not welcome here, mortal!”

Sevda and Fen immediately stood closer to the girl, sending the two bulls looks that could kill.

“Do you know them, Ellie?” Fen asked.

She shook her head and tried to ignore them. “No, I don’t, I swear.”

“What a pair of cretins,” Sevda spat through gritted teeth. “Mouthing off at a child.”

Fen threw all decorum out the window and shouted back. “Shut you mouth, you fat oaf!”

While the other man kept his mouth wisely shut, Bald-head spat on the ground and refused to stop. “Fuck off, and take that mortal bitch with you!”

At this point, a crowd had formed to watch the insults rolling back and forth. They stared and chattered, most likely putting all the signs together to figure out who was being battered with insults and why.

The sight of Ellie trying to make herself a smaller target to the hateful spew made Loki see red. “Both of you, not another word! Or, by Odin, I will cut your tongues from your mouths myself!”

Having been chastised by the younger prince, both men were quick to heed his words and stop with their harassment. They turned red from what was probably a combination of rage and embarrassment.

Glaring at them once more, Loki turned his attention back to the Midgardian. “Ignore their words. They are fools and I will not let them hurt you.”

No one had a chance to react as the tomato struck Ellie’s cheek with a harsh smack.

She screamed in surprise. The crowd gasped.

“Prince’s whore!”

It splattered on contact, covering all of them in its red pulp. Loki’s eyes blew wide as he hastily wiped it off his cheek and looked down at her. Her whole face was covered in red, both from the damned tomato and the impact of the strike. She looked like a cornered animal, eyes wide and blinking rapidly. Sevda and Fen both stood in shock. When Loki set his eyes on Bald-head — the clearly guilty suspect — he never wanted to wring someone’s neck so much in his life.

He swiftly turned on his heals to do just that when a hand reached around his cloak and grabbed his dagger from its sheath. Surprised, he gaped down and saw Ellie up on her feet, dagger in hand, her eyes focused on the men with utter hatred. Before she could sprint off, he grabbed her in his arms and held her back as she fought him.

“Ellie, no!” he implored her. “Stop!”

“Let me go!” she screeched, her knuckles white with the dagger in her grip.

Fen wisely grabbed her arm to help restrain her. “If you hurt them you will be charged with assault, foolish girl! They are not worth it!”

“You will let me handle this!” Loki growled, passing her off to the two women and taking his weapon back. “You will not ruin your life for this filth!”

Ellie’s body deflated as she stopped fighting, the watery tomato sliding off her face in the struggle. Sevda was carefully wiping it off with the edge of her sleeve as Fen removed it from her flaxen hair — neither woman was concerned with what had hit them; only for the poor girl. The two men looked delighted until they realised Loki had started for them. Before they could run, he knocked them backwards with a powerful blast of energy — it sent the nearby tomato cart flying — and stalked after their fallen figures. Before Baldy could get up, he delivered a precise kick directly to his fat head. Blood spattered his robes and the cobbled road below.

“You would dare to assault a handmaiden of the Allmother?” Loki roared and spat on the man’s oozing head. “She is a child. I would kill you and your friend myself, but I would rather see what the Allmother has in store for you both, you scum.”

The other man dared not move as Loki approached; he simply stared at the gaping wound in the tomato-thrower’s forehead. The Trickster did not hesitate to grab him by the neck and haul him to his feet as Einherjar quickly descended on the small market. Upon seeing the Prince strangling a man with his bare hands, they openly stared at him.

“Prince Loki?” the commanding officer addressed him. “What has happened here?”

“They have assaulted and harassed a handmaiden to the Queen,” he growled and tossed the gasping fiend to the ground, hard. “Bring them to my mother before I kill them, as I would take great pleasure in it! Tell her I will be with her shortly to further explain what occurred.”

“Yes, Your Highness!”

Both assailants were quickly grabbed by the guards and they marched back towards the palace from whence they came. The other guards quickly dispersed the spectators after some insistent crowd control. Loki quickly made his way back to the three handmaidens  and his horse when the men were out of sight.

“Sevda, return to the palace with Ellie and remain with her in your quarters until my mother arrives. The Einherjar will keep you safe. Fen, you will come with me back to the palace and we will inform her of what just happened.”

“Yes, My Prince.”

“But, Loki…” Ellie sniffled and grabbed on to his free hand. “Please don’t leave.”

His brow furrowed at the sudden contact, but when he met her red-rimmed eyes, he squeezed her hand reassuringly. “You will be safe with Sevda. I will not be long, but I must speak with my mother.”

“But—”

“I will be gone but for a little while. I will return.”

“You promise?” she asked and held up her other hand with all digits but her smallest finger clenched into a fist. It was an odd Midgardian gesture, one which apparently meant you were making an unbreakable promise with the person whose finger you clutched with your own. He didn’t understand the logic or reasoning behind it, but he looped his finger with hers.

“I promise.”

With that, Ellie released her hold on his finger as Sevda quickly led her away with a thankful nod towards Loki. Two guards went with them and stayed nearby in case anyone else got involved. The prince quickly guided Fen to his horse and mounted the animal once she was up too. Together they rode to the palace to find the Queen.

* * *

“An assault on the a handmaiden to the Allmother is an assault on the Allmother herself.”

That evening, Odin’s voice was the only thing booming through the throne room. The attacker and his accomplice — who Loki found out were called Bjorn and Elof — were on their knees before the seated King, hands cuffed securely with thick chains. The Allmother remained incredibly controlled while Fen and Loki stood to the side, glaring and observing the exchange.

“I have heard enough from the countless witnesses, my son included, to make a decision. Considering your hate speech and violent actions, Bjorn, — which I also consider to be directed towards the Allmother — you will be imprisoned within the dungeons below until I see you fit to leave before you are old and frail. Your imprisonment starts at dusk tomorrow. Elof, you will be fined and placed under house arrest for an amount of time to be chosen at a later date. Guards, remove them from my sight. Looking at them through my one good eye is too much to stomach.”

Loki blanched. Beside him, Fen wore the same expression.

Assaults on personal staff of the royal family usually carried far heavier sentences. It wasn’t uncommon to see heads flying or life imprisonment being settled on when the crimes occurred. He had thought that such a sentence would be chosen — that’s why he kept them both alive, for fuck sake! — but now they would both walk free eventually.

“That is an unusually… kind sentence,” Fen whispered with a hint of malice.

“I agree,” was his mumbled response, still eying his father in bewilderment. Once the guards hauled the prisoners from the room, Loki was daring enough to approach the throne. “Father? Why have they received such a light sentence?”

“Light sentence, my son?” Odin replied.

“They assaulted and harassed a handmaiden to the Allmother.”

“And I chose a punishment that I saw fit.”

With a glance towards his mother, Loki frown. “Father, I have seen many prisoners sent to the chopping block for such a crime.”

“Then I will explain my reasoning to you,” he offered and stood up with Gungnir in hand. “As a future king, you must learn from the current one, yes?”

“Fen?” Frigga called her handmaiden. “Would you escort me to see Ellie?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Left alone with his father in the throne room, Loki waited anxiously for Odin to begin explaining why he had made such a decision.

“I know that you are aware of the opinions of some people within this realm, Loki. You know that these people do not welcome mortals here at all. Bjorn and Elof are two such people, it just so happens that Bjorn is far more vocal about it. Daring to assault any member of our personal staff is a bold, and incredibly stupid, move. But I do not think that sentencing two men to death for throwing fruit at a mortal is a wise decision. They both have families as well, even despite their violent tendencies. It could very well cause backlash among our people — one that could, in turn, cause attacks against her and possibly other staff to grow in severity. Their punishment is one which should silence their hate, but also not incite anymore of it. Do you understand?”

Loki’s brow creased with conflicted thoughts. Part of him — a very prominent part of him — wanted those mens’ heads on a pike. Families or no, he didn’t particularly care. They hurt a child. They called her a whore. She was defenceless. Her only crime was existing, and this is the punishment she received.

But the last thing he wanted was for Ellie to receive more of these punishments. If giving those men a milder sentence would result in her safety, then he would try to put aside the hate he felt for them and replace it with the affection he felt for her.

“Yes, Father,” he answered with the most neutral expression he could muster.

“Good, I am glad. Do not worry any more over this incident.”

“Of course, Father. Am I dismissed?”

Odin eyed his son for a brief moment before he nodded. It took Loki most of self-control to not briskly walk from the throne room and slam the doors behind him.

* * *

Unable to sleep, Loki found himself sitting in his usual chair in the library with an open book in his lap. The words remained unread as he played the events of the day through his mind over and over. He had gone to see Ellie and his mother as he so promised — after all, he did do that unusual Midgardian finger-loop thing… He had not attempted to go near the handmaiden quarters since, having just briefly stuck his head in to check on her. Afterwards, he locked himself in his rooms until the sun had gone down. He only left to collect his dinner from the kitchens — leftover stew and bread from the night before — considering the cooks also had the day off. In the middle of the night when most people had gone to sleep, he wandered the halls and wound up here. He had expected to be alone.

The doors opening and Ellie rushing inside was certainly not expected.

“Ellie?”

Her big eyes met his immediately. “Loki! I did it!”

“You did what?” he asked, leaning forward in his seat. For a brief moment, he considered the possibility that she had somehow murdered Bjorn and Elof without anyone noticing.

“The flower!” she cheered, her voice echoing through the library. “I did it!”

She held her open palms out to him and, sure enough, Loki saw a very small clematis flower within them, small tendrils of a ruby red energy surrounding it and gliding through the air. His jaw dropped. He had not expected this tonight. She gently placed it on the nearby table and both of them stared in disbelief and delight as it remained solid and alive.

Pride swelled within him as he looked at the little thing. He had never been so delighted to feel magical energy from an object before. He felt the grin pulling at his lips as he turned his attention from the flower to her. “You did it, little one, as I knew you would.”

Just as he was not prepared for her to burst into the library at all hours, he was not prepared for her to leap into his chair and fling her arms around him. She nearly knocked the wind out of him — she did literally knock the book from his lap — but her lithe arms circled around his neck and hugged him with all the might her frame possessed.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, he flailed his arms for the briefest of moments before he recalled how her whole body shook when those threats were hurled at her; threats for simply existing and living on Asgard…

Loki slowly released the breath he had been holding and wound his arms tightly around her. He promised that he would never let anyone hurt Ellie so long as he lived.

“Well done, little one. You did it.”

[whereisvanderwood]

Fate Decides.

Yona of the Dawn | Akatsuki no Yona

Kija x Reader - Angst

My Yona of the Dawn x Reader List for more one-shots! Check it out!

"Are you really sure you want to do this?"

"More than sure. I can't stay here any longer. I want to explore, and see the world for myself."

"That is true, but it is dangerous out there. What if-"

"I'll be fine, White Dragon."

"Please, I told you to call me Kija."

With the night's veil creating a beautiful darkness over the white dragon's village, the white dragon warrior conversed with (Y/N). "Close friends" was what the other villagers referred the two as, but they knew they were closer than that. Much closer. With a glum feeling pulsing through the dragon's soul, he sighed hopelessly.

"It isn't like we won't ever see each other again; this isn't goodbye."

"I know, but-"

"Kija... I'm sorry you can't come with me. But I've become desperate. This isn't how I want to live anymore; isolated from the rest of the world in one small village that is practically unknown to anyone outside."

"...Are we really going to see each other again? I get the feeling you will be travelling around the country for some time."

"If we believe that we are meant to be together, then we'll let fate prove it to us. If we are meant to be, I know you will find me." The beautiful girl (Y/N) grabbed a homemade sack that lay on the ground beside her, filled with essential things to keep her going out in the alien cities and villages.

Setting it over her shoulder, she was more than ready. She stepped closer to the one who was precious to her, and wrapped her arms around his sullen figure. "Believe me when I say... I love you."

"And I you." Kija pulled away and forcibly held (Y/N)'s shoulders. "Swear to me that you will run away at the slightest hint of danger, and you will keep yourself healthy and strong." (Y/N) smiled gently at the warrior's soft heart. The title "dragon warrior" was misleading as it gave the impression of a fierce monster of war and battle. But when (Y/N)'s heart drifts to her loved one, she thinks not of his fighting destiny set out for him, but of his gentle heart.

"I swear on King Hiryuu's name," she replied with her hand in the air as if to take an oath.

"Then... I wish you good luck," Kija said, as he knew it was time to give in. He pulled her a little closer and softly kissed her cheek, wishing that this girl wasn't so definite in her decisions.

Slowly, she parted from his side and backed into the mysterious darkness, not turning away from the one she loved until he was out of her sight.

That was four years ago.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Pleasure doing business with you, ma'am." The silver currency jingled in (Y/N)'s hands as she handed over the basket of vegetables. "Have a lovely day!" she smiled warmly.

"Wow, lots of people want to buy your things, Miss (Y/N)!. That has to be like the one hundredth sale today!"

"I wish it was. How ever many sales I made today, I've made enough money to keep me going for the next couple of weeks!" (Y/N) shook the small bag holding all of her profit she had made that day. From only looking at how much the small bag sinks at the bottom, you could tell it weighed a decent amount in her hands. "I should be finished for today then."

"I'll help you pack up then!" a boy, whom had been assisting (Y/N) for the past few days, cheerfully offered. Although he was younger than she by at least three years, it didn't stop from either one considering the other as a best friend.

"Oh! I almost forgot..." (Y/N) opened up her pouch full of her well-deserved earnings, and took out a decent handful as she placed it in the boy's small hands. "Here's your pay for today, Haru."

"B-But you're not even going to count it!? This is... this is way too much!"

"It's fine, really! You deserve it. You worked very hard today with helping make all those sales. I couldn't have done it without you," (Y/N) spoke whole-heartedly, the boy known as Haru completely enraptured by the girl's kindness.

"Th-Thank you so much!" As if he had just remembered what his parents taught him, he bowed as low as he was able to, showing his utmost respect. (Y/N) finished gathering the rest of her things, and ruffled Haru's hair.

"Come on, I'll take you home now." The two walked with their arms full of (Y/N)'s unsold items, strolling down the settling streets of the port town. As they walked, (Y/N) ignored the flirtatious remarks of the wandering fire tribe soldiers, as well as making sure Haru stayed close to her side at this time of day. You could never know for certain what dangers were lurking in the shadows.

"Thank you, Miss (Y/N)!" Haru bid farewell as he gladly accepted what he had been given that day. (Y/N) was feeling rather generous, and wanted to be a blessing to this boy's poor family.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Haru!" (Y/N) walked further on to reach her own small house she was currently renting for the time being, just until she had decided where she would travel to next as a merchant. Out from the corner of her eye, she saw a man walk out of a store about to take down a sign. After reading the sign, (Y/N) quickly rushed over to the man to inquire about this job they were hiring for.

"U-Umm, excuse me!" The man turned around, and (Y/N) placed her things on the ground as she continued to approach him. "Are you really hiring new girls for this job?"

The man had a look on his face (Y/N) wasn't able to make out. She couldn't tell if he looked like the shady type, or perhaps he had just finished a long day of his work. (Y/N) definitely understood how that felt.

The man appeared to look her up and down, checking her figure. His expression turned to a softer, less intimidating one before he spoke. "We certainly are. If you like we could interview you now so you could start tomorrow."

"R-Really? I hate to be a bother at such a late hour-"

"Nonsense," the man rather bluntly said. He opened the door to reveal the inside looking dark and dusty, almost as if there was no shop here at all. He walked further inside, (Y/N) following behind, and opened another door on the far end of the room. "Wait inside here. I will go get the manager."

"Oh, alright then." (Y/N) was hesitant to step inside such a tiny room with very little light illuminating the walls. She walked inside, and subconsciously stood in the centre.

"Please... make yourself comfortable..." the man said as he closed the door ever so slowly. (Y/N) shuddered, knowing that this was no ordinary store. After the door was completely closed, she tiptoed towards it and pressed her ear against it as she could hear two men conversing.

"What are you doing? It's closing hours. The boss said no more today."

"Yeah but this one is a real beauty. She knows how to make money, too."

"Fine. I'll go talk to him to see what he thinks." (Y/N) backed away from the door as she heard footsteps cause creaking in the floorboards. Suddenly very nervous about the reason why the man had really asked her to wait in this room, she began to contemplate how she was going to get out of there without being seen.

But before she could take another step, the floor beneath her opened up, and she fell far below into impending doom.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ropes tightly wrapped around her hands, walking blindfolded in a line of more women who had fallen victim to the same trap, (Y/N) knew that she had gotten herself caught up in human trafficking by Yan Kum-ji. Thinking that her life is more greatly in danger than her freedom to travel, (Y/N) had become terrified.

She was lead up ramps, around corners, down multiple flights of stairs and forced to sit silently on the floor of what she could assume was an empty room. (Y/N) knew she wasn't sitting on solid ground, as she could tell from the swaying motion in whatever she was being held captive in. She knew she was on a boat, which could only mean that they were about to set sail into the middle of the ocean.

(Y/N) recognised this feeling; being trapped away from the world without a say. Her thoughts drifted to her dragon warrior friend, whom she wished was here now with her more than ever. They both knew they had feelings for one another, but where they wanted to be were both different. (Y/N) couldn't stand living in one village all her life and wanted to explore and discover the world with her own eyes. But of course, it being called the white dragon's village, Kija was not permitted to leave under any circumstance.

(Y/N) wished she only considered how lonely she could possibly become after being away from her home for so long. Thinking about her family and friends back in the village, far away from where she was now, it brought a sort of comfort to her trembling body. It gave her a new motivation to break free from this imprisonment.

"Ao..." (Y/N) faintly heard a voice next to her whisper. The next moment she heard some sort of scurrying across the floor, like a critter. Her hands suddenly fell slack and she could move them freely. She was more puzzled than ever.

"Don't move yet," another voice whispered. "Your ropes are free, but stay still for the moment." Uncertainty echoed softly amongst the women, who were now more than ever confused as to what was happening, (Y/N) included.

After some moments of obvious commotion, the women removed their blindfolds and saw that a guard had collapsed with a sort of needle in the back of his neck. (Y/N) hated needles, and averted her eyes from the sight.

"D-Did you kill him?" one of the women asked in fear.

"No, it's only a sedative. But he'll be out for a while, twelve hours at least. We still need to act quickly though."

(Y/N) stared at the two women in awe. How daring and confident they were to take a stand put (Y/N) in some sort of trance. She knew that she herself was strong willed, but not all the time. Not in life-threatening situations like this one.

"We're here to rescue you, all of you. So don't worry, we'll get you out of here soon," the one with bright, vibrant red hair spoke self-assuredly.

"We have an entire army behind us," the other one spoke with just as much confidence.

"Well, maybe not an army exactly... but a ship full of allies. They're coming to help us. I promise you."

The two women began making their way up to the deck, when one of the other ladies, Yuri, volunteered her help. (Y/N) stood up with her, really wanting to work towards being a greater blessing than she believed she could be.

Climbing up the ladder out of the basement of the ship, she felt as though a force was lifting her out of the darkness. Like Kija was right above her, extending his kind hand to break her free from her chains of dread.

"Now... we just need to figure out how to light the firework on deck-"

"I can do that!" (Y/N) jumped at the opportunity to help.

Yun stuttered at her eagerness to help, but also at the determination in her voice. He couldn't say no. "B-But how will you do it?"

"There has to be all kinds of lanterns on the deck, so I could light the firework there. But I would need you to distract the guards for me. I'm sorry I'm asking for you to do something dangerous-"

"Think nothing of it," the beautiful red haired girl spoke. "You can count on us!" Yuri, bravely decided to do the distracting with Yun and the red-haired girl, Princess Yona. But of course, the other women did not know that fact.

The three of them took the lead and crept out on deck first, causing a fair amount of ruckus. (Y/N) hurriedly snuck around the commotion and found the nearest lantern. She held the wick to the flame, setting off the firework with no problem at all. Unfortunately, it didn't take long before all four ladies had been caught and pinned onto the deck by guards who were hiding.

"What did you set off back there?" one of the men questioned (Y/N). He took the weight of his foot of her back, and walked around to her front to forcibly grab her chin. "Well? What was it!?"

(Y/N) didn't croak out a single word, and stayed silent. She noticed how the man had positioned himself, and took the chance to spin her legs around, causing him to trip over.

The other men fumbled with their weapons as (Y/N) started charging through, knocking a few overboard into the cold water. Out of nowhere, someone dropped in front of her from high above, and stood tall.

"My my, for a beautiful lady such as yourself, you sure put up a fight," he spoke in a seductive tone. After a few moments, she recognised him to be one of the pirates protecting Awa. She felt at ease once more.

"Jeaha, you made it!" The princess called out with a smile. Snapping back to reality, (Y/N) went around to help everyone up, all the while Jeaha was holding off oncoming enemies.

Abruptly the ship was rocked viciously and the group realised that another ship had attached itself to the one they were currently standing on. "Mercenaries!?" Jeaha exclaimed.

Many more men than before filed onto the ship, heading straight for the women and Yun. Before they began retreating to a safer place, a sword cut through the men swiftly. They all fell, and behind them was a man wearing a freaky mask.

"Shinah!"

"That's two dragons on our side now!" Yun happily exclaimed. "I can't believe Thunder Beast isn't here yet."

"Hak is fighting valiantly on the other ships along side Kija. I thought it would be handy to bring someone who could see in the dark," Jeaha explained.

(Y/N)... froze. Her heart beating faster than the flapping wings of a humming bird.

That name...

Was it true...?

"Where is that ship?" (Y/N) asked in a low voice, needing the answer at that exact moment.

"It's quite far away. You'd have to go through at least 3 other boats to reach it-" before the green dragon could finish, (Y/N) had already made a dash across the ladder attached between the ships.

"Wait, (Y/N)! It's too dangerous!" Yona called out after her. Shinah quickly sped ahead of (Y/N), and beat down any men that were standing in her way. The noises were draining out, and the blue dragon was almost invisible to her eyes despite him being directly in front. Her legs didn't stop.

(Y/N) had already crossed three ships, but still could not see the dragon warrior she was looking for.

"Calling my weapon barbaric? Says the guy with a dragon claw!" (Y/N) suddenly heard a voice say, and she knew instantly who they were referring to. She turned a corner where dozens of men held their weapons...

and there he was. Standing in the middle of it all.

"Kija!" The words echoed throughout the air, and the white dragon turned around, ceasing all fighting he was doing only one second ago. His mouth open in disbelief, and his entire body turned stiff.

Something glinted in (Y/N)'s vision, and she looked up to the crow's nest of the boat. She recognised a faint silhouette of a man, pulling back a bow and arrow, aimed straight for the white dragon's head.

Not having the words to cry out in warning, (Y/N) sprinted to Kija as fast as he could, and pulled him out of the arrow's direct line of fire. She stood protectively in front of the man she was hoping for so long she would meet again, and there...she took the shot.

Staggering backwards a few steps after her breath hitched in her throat, she grasped her right shoulder as she fell backwards into a pair of arms.

"(Y-Y/N)!" Kija frantically shouted. He knelt onto the ground of the deck, and Hak was instantly in front of them as well as Shinah, providing a cover for the two.

"Get her out of here, now!" Hak yelled as he fought on. Terrified, Kija delicately slipped his arms around (Y/N)'s body and hurriedly carried her away from the scene.

"(Y/N)... W-Why did you do that for me!? What are you doing here!?" Kija's eyes brimmed with tears as he tried finding Yun as soon as possible. Of all places, of all times... why here and now!?

"B-Because he was going t-to kill y-you," (Y/N) struggled out.

"S-Save your strength! Yun can help you, okay!?" (Y/N) couldn't help but smile at Kija's frantic expression he had every right to express. (Y/N) held onto the arrow where it lodged into her to stop it from shifting every step.

(Y/N) couldn't remember the last few minutes with Kija holding her close, and so she was surprised to find herself already being treated by Yun far away from where any fight was. "We have to pull it out now, (Y/N). It's going to hurt..."

Scared, (Y/N) felt her hand around the floor to find Kija's, where he instantly held her hand with his dragon hand. She breathed deeply. "Y-You'll be alright, (Y/N). I promise," the white dragon's trembling voice dared to speak. He gently lifted her head into his lap, where he stroked her face gently. It was so warm.

With a firm grip, Yun yanked out the arrow as cleanly as he could. (Y/N) tried to hold it in, but couldn't help but scream bloody murder. Kija tried his best to ease her pain as much as possible, whilst trying not to show his pain either. Yun wasted no time in applying pressure to the deep wound whilst Yona got the bandage and medicinal herbs ready.

After Yun covered carefully but quickly applied stitches to (Y/N)'s shoulder and tightly wrapping the bandage, he said that she should be alright. "I'll give you two some time alone," Yun said as he saw their expressions.

Kija brushed his human hand across (Y/N)'s face covered in tears, both hers and his own. "I... can't believe you're actually here." He bowed his head lower, trying his best to cover his emotion. "And to think you'd end up here... in the middle of all of this..."

(Y/N) squeezed Kija's dragon claw as much as she was able. "I wasn't expecting... you here either..." she huffed out. "But remember.... what I said that night?"

Kija raised his head a little and subtly nodded. "If we were meant to be... fate would prove it to us."

(Y/N) smiled. "So this proves... that we're meant to be together now... No rules..." Kija could see that (Y/N) eyes were struggling to stay open, clearly from exhaustion. He bent over low, and kissed (Y/N) passionately on her lips.

In the distance, loud cheers could be heard and the rising sun could be seen across the water.

"It sounds like we won..." Kija sighed with relief as he looked to the horizon, as well as stroking the side of (Y/N)'s face. He looked back down, where (Y/N) was smiling with content. "Get some rest, (Y/N). You deserve it."

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[thecutofmylove]

Do you have any pieces that aren't necessarily fan fiction that you'd be willing to share? - Peachy

This was for a writing contest in 2016, and it is also the closest thing I have to a non-fanfiction piece that’s fully completed.The task was to write a small piece inspired by a song.I took first place.

Friday:

Tyler warily approached the podium at the front of his English class. His professor seemed to be disappointed already by his appearance; skinny jeans and a T-shirt. Of all the days Tyler has forgotten formal wear, it had to be the day the founder of the college was visiting, and as Tyler connected eyes with the pudgy business man he felt his knees wobble. He tried to mask his nervousness by fiddling with the microphone, but his professor saw through his phony facade.

“Jethro, this is Mr. Tyler Joseph,” His professor boomed through the crowded room. “He has prepared a special piece in anticipation of your arrival.” His professor’s cold eyes returned to where Tyler stood at the front of the hall. “Whenever you’re ready, Joseph.”

Tyler could feel his heart thumping loudly in his chest, beating in rapid unison with his breath. He swallowed hard. “My n-name is Tyler Joseph,” He paused to take a deep breath. “And I chose to write about my past and h-how it has motivated me to-to do better. T-to improve myself.”

His eyes fluttered down to his paper and he took one more shaky breath before beginning; “Trees,

“During my youth I struggled to find myself, my passions, and my mind. It was an uphill battle that only became more difficult when I broke away from my pre-made future.

"It began deep inside, rather than at the surface. Writing became a way to express my confusion and my self-doubt, and when I began playing piano everything seemed to fall into place. I gathered a few friends and we began a leisure group - if you will. We practiced covering existing songs, and soon after we began playing songs of our own. We landed a few gigs, some successful, some not so successful. But, we stuck it out and continued improving, until we reached what I thought was our breaking point. My band mates left me, and I discovered a boy.

"This boy later became my drummer and my best friend. This boy goes by the name, Joshua Dun; drummer of Twenty Øne Pilots. We clicked immediately, and after graduation we became inseparable due to our intense passions for music. And despite the self-doubt and slow climb to recognition, Josh and I found solace in creating.”

Tyler broke from his speech to look out among the audience. He searched for a familiar face, a face that could calm and encourage him. He took a deep, shaky breath and continued to scan faces, his heart dropping only momentarily before he caught sight of a supportive Brendon. His hair stuck up in several directions and he groggily gave Tyler a thumbs up.

Okay, Tyler thought, Okay.

“From our garage band in Ohio, we moved to stages across the United States. Canada, and Europe. Our voices took the world by storm and we saved lives, and created memories while doing so. Through concerts, award shows, tweets, and much more, we brought people together; we created a family. It’s crazy to think that our voices reached so far, but it quickly became reality.”

He broke from his speech again, this time to blink the surfacing tears from his eyes. He looked over the blank expressions of his fellow classmates and the disappointed eyes of his professor. In that moment Tyler felt himself falling into an anxiety attack, so he looked to Brendon again. His friend had sensed his panic and was raising his hands and lowering them slowly, signaling for Tyler to breathe.

Tyler cleared his throat. “Another reality that hit us was one that we were least expecting. One evening in our hometown, I looked at Josh and I knew. I knew that someday our voices would come to an end and the world would move on to other ones. Of course, I didn’t vocalize this thought because I decided it was best to keep to myself.

"Now, here I am four years later, reading an essay to a hall of English majors in a university; another place I never saw myself standing. Unfortunately, that means that the world has stopped hearing our voices, so we’ve stopped trying to be heard. It is a rough reality that came collapsing upon me, much too quickly for me to stop it. So now when I visit Josh’s family, we no longer discuss our success or our "fifteen seconds”, but instead we discuss the future. By doing so I have realized things; things I wouldn’t have thought about on a tour bus in Germany while eating tacos with Josh. I realized that you don’t need a microphone in your hand or a camera on your face to be heard, you just have to speak to the right people.

“I wish so badly that Joshua could be up here, at this podium with me so he could share his side of learning and growing, but his life has taken him down other paths; I still visit him often and tell stories and laugh. I’ll probably tell him about this speech too.

"There was, however, one place that I’ve refused to go without Josh. We built a tree house as teenagers, and we explored the forest, speaking to the silence in the trees, and I never found it quite fitting to go alone. Maybe we’ll meet up again sometime and visit the old tree house, because to me it wasn’t just a tree house. It was an escape; a second chance to get a hold of my life and put it to good use. It was in that tree house that Josh and I decided to produce our own albums, where I decided to share my message, where we agreed to never stray - no matter how far away life took us. Together we vowed to be strong and to help others be strong.

"But back to what this had to do with self-improvement; promises. Through our music I promised myself that I would keep fighting the good fight, that "you” too can stay alive, that “ending it” isn’t worth it because this pain is temporary. So if I had to wrap this up with a single thought, I would say: Never stop creating.“

***

Sunday:

Tyler walked alongside Brendon, sipping his coffee slowly as they made their way across town. They had just left Josh’s childhood home after saying a quick ‘hello’ to his mother. The boys had left Mrs. Dun’s house in good spirits after briefly sharing current situations and discussing their plans after graduation, but now they merely walked in silence, Brendon kicking a rock every-so-often and Tyler crunching leaves.

The silence was deafening and it had been driving Brendon absolutely mad. "Hey did you grab a Red Bull?”

Tyler nodded, tapping on the can in the side-pouch of his backpack. “Yeah.”

“That’s cool. He’ll appreciate that.”

Tyler nodded again.

“How long has it been since you’ve spoken to him?” Brendon asked awkwardly, scratching at the back of his head.

“Too long,” Tyler answered. “I hope he’ll be happy to see us.”

Brendon cleared his throat nervously. “Oh. I thought-,” He looked at Tyler, who stared back with furrowed brows and confused eyes. “You know what, never mind. I’d be glad to see Josh again.” He draped an arm loosely over Tyler’s shoulders with a smug grin. “Look at us,” He sighed. “The trio is getting back together.”

Tyler smiled, nudging Brendon playfully in the ribs. “Get your own friend.”

“Really?” Brendon mused. “Because I think Sarah wanted to go out or something-you know, I’ll come back later.”

Tyler feigned hurt as Brendon spun 360 degrees and laughed loudly into the thin fall air. “I hope you wouldn’t leave us,” Tyler joked. “I’m buying Taco Bell later.”

Brendon gasped suddenly, falling dramatically into Tyler’s side and causing the smaller boy to stumble. “Food,” Brendon whined. “I’m starved.”

Tyler raised his wrist to his mouth, speaking in a deep voice to his watch, “This boy needs a taco, STAT!” He looked down into Brendon’s dramatically closing eyes. “Hang in there Brendon.”

“I-,” Brendon coughed. “I’ll never let go Tyler.”

Tyler snorted, surprising them both, and in his rush to cover his mouth, Brendon slipped from his grasp and tumbled into a pile of leaves and sticks with an ‘oof’.

A chuckling Tyler bent to help his also snickering friend, but a sharp “Hey” caused him to stiffen his back and stand upright. The boys nervously turned to see a chipper redhead carrying a cup of coffee.“You two going to see Josh?” She asked.

“We were,” Brendon interjected. “Until Tyler tried to kill me.”

“Yeah,” Tyler chuckled. “We were planning on going for food, too. Did you want to walk with us?”

“I actually can’t,” She frowned. “But can you give these to him for me?” Debby reached into her purse and produced a pair of new red drumsticks. “I kept meaning to get them to him before his birthday, but work has me so busy. Can you, maybe tell him I said hi?”

“Of course.” Tyler took the sticks from her and quickly gave Debby a hug before scurrying away, Brendon trudging along behind him.

He and Brendon made good timing, walking the last few blocks at a quicker pace. As the two finally reached the top of a grassy hill Tyler caught sight of him.

“Joshua!” He exclaimed, running to him with the unopened can of Red Bull and the drumsticks in his hands. “I brought you this,” He said through a gasp. “Debby, s-she says hi and she wanted to get you these for your birthday.”

Tyler dropped to his knees to be at eye-level, and he could feel Brendon’s hands being placed gently on his shoulders as Tyler carefully set the can and the drumsticks on the ground in front of the stone; 'Joshua William Dun, Beloved Son’.

“Hey Josh,” Brendon choked out between sobs. He rubbed comforting circles into Tyler’s back as the boy began to sob in his arms. “It’s good to see you again.”