#sounds like something a priest of mara would say

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

When you protect yourself from pain, be sure you do not protect yourself from love.

Erandur, a Priest of Mara, probably

[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

Ooops, was struck by inspiration. Oops ×2 - accidentally created some OCs and lore

Anyhow - have another trinket.

#####

- M-manager, is it supposed to be so errie here? - Billy was looking around nervously, one of his hands fidgeting near the gun holster. The surrounding ruins only grew more dark after the lighting that seemingly answered the gunslinger's question.

- Soon the monster must appear. - Anby declared with her usual stoic expression. - It always happens after people question their quides like that.

Nicole sighed quietly, muttering "You both watch WAY too much movies" under her breath. She looked at their guide - Phaeton's bangboo simply continued their track, looking for all the world completely unbothered by surroundings or the threat that was accompanying their latest task.

Nicole chewed on her lip - Butcher was a highly dangerous Ethereal all on its own. And, just their luck, they seemed to attract the attention of New Eridu's dark Legend.

"Etheral Eater", "Chaos Slayer", "Shadow of Salvation". Titles as numerous as they are mysterious applied to their newest "acquiatance". People were both terrified and taken by this "Kresnik" - tales of them saving people at the last second were mixed with cautionary ones. You were either to be saved from the most deadly situation or to suffer in the most horrible manner.

Nicole huffed out a laugh. "They are a deity, young lady. That's what people believe - and faith can grant a lot to the subject of it." That's what an old priest told her when he heard the kids at the orphanage talk about "Kresnik" again.

- Deity, huh? Some people consider Phaeton a god too.

- What's that, Nicole?

- Nothing, Billy. Eyes upfront - don't lose caution!

- Yes, boss!

Phaeton's bangboo stopped, its ears perking up.

- Everyone, the Ether's readings are skyrocketing! Be careful - something's happening to the left of us!

                                         ****

Wise's eyes were glued to the feed they were getting. And his ears were too, so to say.

- Fairy, what is this music? - Belle asked before him.

- Running a search. Several similar records - all connected to ancient religions and cults. Found a perfect match - the poster has labeled it "Mara's Dance".

- Mara's Dance?

- A group that claims to "follow their ancestor's footsteps and helping the spirits .

                                       ****

- Ohmygod, that's so cool! They are like Starlight Knights - but more scary! They even have a theme song! - Billy seemingly forgot about stealthiness altogether, openly fanboying over the spectacle below.

Nicole could easily admit that she was impressed too.

A group of four people was cutting through the crowd of Ethereals - with ease too. And grace befitting a dance, not deadly combat. But the most striking thing wasn't even their skills or strength - it was the reason for their display.

If Nicole was right - and she was sure of it - the group was cutting a path for something. It looked like they were creating a clear shot-

The sound akin to thunder filled the air - and everything in the straight line seemingly vanished.

Only for a second Nicole could see the figure perched on the spire in the distance, before it vanished again. The group below hastily followed and Nicole sighed.

- Well, that's that! The "Kresnik" has joined us again, it seems! - Phaeton's declared with way too much happiness.

Would it be too much to hope that "deity" would strike down a monster for them?

I am loving this idea so, so, SO much.

Now, time to show you my addition!

Everything was going to plan.

Practically perfect.

That should’ve raised a hundred red flags to Nicole.

Nothing ever went to plan in this business.

And, of course, something went wrong exactly when they needed it NOT to go wrong.

The tanker didn’t get struck by lightning as Fairy calculated it would.

And, like most things would be, The Butcher was not a fan of being crushed by a tanker of highly explosive ether.

It tossed the massive hunk of metal, nearly crushing Billy, forcing Anby to take evasive maneuvers, and forcing Nicole to dodge, sending her to the ground.

Enraged, The Butcher grabbed its previously discarded spear in two of its four hands, and locked onto the first thing it saw.

Nicole, laid out on the ground, dazed and defenseless.

With a terrifying roar, The Butcher rushed forward, fully intending to shish-kebab Nicole and turn her into a bloody mess.

Billy lacked the firepower to stun the beast.

Nicole was too far away to help with her sword.

Nicole’s Briefcase was just out of reach.

And there was nothing the little Bangboo named Eous could do.

But then, just as everyone was ready to scream in vain at the seemingly fatal situation Nicole was in, a miracle happened.

A sword clashed with the tip of the spear, stopping The Butcher from impaling Nicole, sending The Butcher stumbling back, and sending a shockwave out that stopped the rain from falling.

Then, they appeared, the sword still spinning end over end in the air and the air crackling with the sound of pure ether.

After that, no one could truly see. The speeds that both “The Butcher” and “Kresnik” were moving at were far, far beyond the comprehension of the human eye and only just barely visible to Billy, Eous, and Fairy.

Not to mention, the sounds of thunder shaking the entire Hollow to its core, and the blurs of greens, Blues, and purples.

It wasn’t until all of them returned to Random play that they were able to see what happened by extracting the data and putting it together.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The sword spun end over end and then, you grabbed it out of the air as your mask began to glow with ether between the cracks and crevices. Purple and pink lightning running down the length of your blade.

Then, you spun on the spot, building momentum and then throwing your blade straight at The Butcher's core.

However, the blade was swatted away by The Butcher’s weapon, sending it careening over the spear.

Exactly as you intended.

You snapped your fingers and, in an instant, you were standing on the haft of the spear, sword in hand and the sound of thunder screaming behind you.

Reacting instinctively, The Butcher swung its weapon skywards, trying to send you flying away.

But you were already gone, with half of its spear with it.

Then, The Butcher was sent flying into the side of the crater, embedding it deep into the stone.

Right behind where The Butcher once stood, was you, holding your sword as if it was a baseball bat you had just hit a home run with, the half of The Butcher’s spear impaled in the ground.

In retaliation, The Butcher threw the half of the spear it still held at you like a javelin, intent on impaling you.

You effortlessly dodged to the side.

“It seems this one is smarter than the average Ethereal.” you thought to yourself as The Butcher rushed forwards to grab its broken weapon, swinging it like a club.

You slid under the weapon, perfectly avoiding the head of the spear being torn from the ground by the blow and all the mud from the extraction as well as you stabbed the tip of your sword off the ground and used it to launch yourself upwards and onto a piece of rubble, sitting on it with your masked face in one hand and leg crossed over the other as you pointed the tip of your sword at The Butcher.

In retaliation The Butcher grabbed the head of the spear by what remained of its haft from out of the air and slammed its second pair of arms on the ground sending a shockwave out and causing the pile of Rubble you were on to become unstable which you were seemingly unbothered by as you leapt off and high into the air, lightning arcing through the sky behind you.

It was an intimidating silhouette.

A shadow in a black long coat, a mask glowing with neon purple and pink light, clawed hands covered only by fingerless gloves, one of which were wrapped around a longsword with a wide blade and purple and pink lightning surrounding it.

The Butcher raised its second set of arms to block the incoming attack, Ether Crystals forming on its skin to enhance its defense.

They were cut clean off with ease, like a hot knife through butter.

The Butcher swung the arm holding the head of the spear.

It was caught by your free hand and torn from its grip before using it to send The Butcher flying towards the Tanker.

“Uh-oh.” Anby muttered while Nicole screamed and Billy screeched as he grabbed the pair, Eous hitching a ride on his back.

After that, everyone lost sight of what happened next.

However, the massive explosion and the Hollow Shrinking to minuscule levels gave them a good idea of what occurred.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Sis, you’ve watched that video a hundred times…” Wise muttered, concerned for his sister’s newest obsession.

This mysterious “Kresnik” person.

If they were a person…

He had never seen someone fight like that… ever.

Were they bending space time in a localized and controlled area, creating a stable and intentional version of the Fissures that riddled Hollows?

Or were they just that fast?

They definitely had the strength the stories said they had if the way they kept ragdolling The Butcher around was any indication.

Still… was this “Kresnik” a friend or a foe?

It was too early to tell.

However, before Wise could get too deep into his own thoughts, Fairy spoke.

“Correction: Master has watched the video 156 times. This is her 157th.”

Wise shook his head.

“Alright Belle, time for bed.” he declared as he grabbed her by the back of her jacket.

“Five more minutes!” Belle whined as she was pulled out of her seat.

“Nope. We’ve got work to do tomorrow. Besides, is that Video really that cool?” Wise asked as he continued to drag Belle along.

“YES!” Belle exclaimed with stars in her eyes causing wise to sigh and shake his head for the 157th time today.

[argisthebulwark]

Your last post but also Erandur. Erandur who loves tld so much more than hes ever loved mara it's honestly a little scary. Erandur whos torn between "i should love mara most of all" and "no, mara would want me to find a love like this its what shes all about." Erandur who, when absolutly and totally and completely lost in fucking tld, doesn't even realize his moaned words of praise have become "rewritten" prayers to mara, in which he's saying tld's name instead of mara's.

I need this priest so bad he's doing something to me

oh fuck you're right!!! again, this one's nsft. minors shouldn't read or interact. i just wanna fuck that priest so bad man.

"This is not right," Erandur groaned the words against your skin, damning himself yet fully unable to stop. He was intoxicated on the scent of you, enraptured by your hips rolling against his and the breathy sounds you made with each new touch.

"Is this wrong?" You asked and the priest knew he should cease this. He'd long ago pledged his heart to Lady Mara - she was his savior, the guiding light that had kept him sane on his darkest days. He had vowed to hold no other above her but the sight of you spread before him, limbs wound together and promises whispered in the dead of night, he found proper prayer difficult.

"Yes." Erandur agreed, though it did little to deter him from tasting your skin once more. Lips danced over your chest and he marveled at your reaction; back arching, fingers digging deeper into the back of his robes. He knew you wanted more of him and gods, he wanted nothing more than to give you every shred of himself.

"Should we stop?" Peering at him through your lashes, he knew. Despite the thick haze of arousal you were offering him an exit. Erandur's eyes wandered along the expanse of your throat and the soft swell of your lips and found that damning himself once more was fairly easy.

"Lady Mara, forgive my transgressions."

"You can pray if that would help," your kind words did not ease the guilt, though Erandur was fairly sure he was beyond salvation. Lady Mara would want him to find a love like this, but how would she punish him for daring to hold you above her? Would she strike down a pious believer for loving you so dearly?

"It is only you that I want." Your lips on his skin, your hands pressing him into the soft mattress, your body clambering upon his. Your little gasp was far better than any hymn when your hips settled against his, a gentle rhythm dragging out every filthy sound he was capable of.

"By your words I am renewed, now and forever." He babbled a sacrilegious version of the prayer he'd repeated for so many years. Surely loving you could not be a sin, there was nothing a priest could do more to honor Lady Mara than love so deeply that it hurt. "Sacred love of mine, it is through you that I am remade."

Thank the gods you were slow with him, allowing Erandur to fully savor every second with you. Your head fell back in ecstasy and his own voice rang through the room, a steady and reverent mantra of your name. Not once did he consider Mara - all that he knew was you.

"Glory be yours forever. I will be yours forever."

[ego-osbourne]

Pipe

POV: It’s a quiet night at the inn. You’ve just emptied your cup of mead and are fingering your pockets for some coin, about to stand from your chair and head to the bar counter. You’re thirsty, and boring nights like this should be drowned in spirits.

Before you can stand, though, the door opens. You frown at the cold wind that pushes through the entryway, looking over to see who would be coming in this late at night—maybe it was the old man across the creek from where you split wood each day, barging in with another drunken-induced raving.

Your suspicions are incorrect, however, as you see a group of people spill though the doorway. They’re all dressed extravagantly, like the warrior-mages you used to read about when you were young. There’s six of them, and two are wearing golden masks, and you realize that the rumors you’ve been hearing as of late about the First and Last Dragonborn walking around Skyrim are true, because they’re here. They’re in your hometown, with the rest of their band of adventurers, and you’re suddenly stuck to your seat. You want to stand and… do something, anything! Greet them, buy them ale, sing the old song—oh, what was that song?

But you don’t. You can’t. Your blood is pumping too fast now and you’re worried you’ll make a fool of yourself. That’s fine, though. Watching from a distance can be entertaining, too. The group doesn’t pay you much mind, speaking quietly but with kindness to each other, mindful of the other sleeping patrons, it seemed. One of them, a dunmer, walks up to the counter and asks for meals and rooms for them all.

You watch their routine, trying not to appear nosey as you do. A friend of yours emerges from his room in the inn, awoken by the sound of footsteps despite the party’s carefulness. He meets you and confirms his suspicions: “They’re the Dragonborn group,” he says after you tell him so.

There’s the two in masks, the aforementioned dunmer, an altmer mage, a nord, and a breton. Your friend can rattle off the names of three of them: Ego the Last, Miraak the First, and Erandur the Mara priest. He tries to recall the names of the others—he swears that the nord’s name starts with an ‘S,’ or was it the breton’s? Either way, he struggles with the others, and the two of you debate quietly while they eat and converse with each other.

Eventually, though, the group finishes their meals and leaves to their respective rooms. You and your friend decide it’d be best to interact with them in the morning, if you decide to interact at all. For now, though, you thumb at the still-empty mug in your hands as the inn quiets once again.

And just as you’re beginning to doze off, you hear this from the room that the Last Dragonborn entered.

Ego has just fallen from their bed in their sleep. Their skeleton is made of metal. Yes that’s the whole joke.

[qzwrites]

Ayla’s Side part 2

I keep having to take breaks from this because it makes me too emotional to write and think about asd;flkjasdf

*

It was extremely weird, the things people assumed about Ayla when she told them she wasn't interested in sex.

When Ayla woke up in the night, terrified because she'd awoken to a mighty clap of thunder, and crossed the covered porch between their houses to ask if she could sleep with them, Mara warned her that Nic was naked. As if Ayla hadn't been around plenty of naked people in her life--including Nic, since they'd shared a tent and then a house for months. As if nudity was inherently sexual, even, which was ridiculous. In her home village, everyone swam in the river naked, and during the summer when the fields didn't need that much attention and the days were hot, most of the village spent their time in the river, or on its banks.

But Mara was trying to be considerate, which was something Ayla would have been shocked by, earlier in their acquaintance. Early on in his existence, which was still so weird to think about. Ayla had been the first person to speak to Mara that day on the beach, which turned out to be his first day in a body instead of doing whatever it was gods did when they weren't occupying a mortal form.

(Mara did have strong, and highly specific, magic powers, but he didn't remember anything before that day on the beach when Nic and Ayla found him. He could sometimes bring up magic or history facts, but it was always stuff about the world or his powers, not what it was like being a god. The priest who visited to report to Mara the Arizedo Church's progress dismantling its harmful policies--and killing priests who refused to follow orders to dismantle those harmful policies--said mortal minds weren't meant to carry divine knowledge, so of course Mara would have a limited understanding of his prior existence. As long as Mara continued to not want to take over the world, Ayla could live with it.)

Ayla slept much better the rest of that night, nestled against Nic's back with Mara's arm thrown over zeir side and resting on Ayla's hip. When she woke up in the morning, a little later than usual, Nic rolled over and smiled at her. Ze, at least, didn't try to cover up or protect Ayla from the knowledge that ze had nipples.

"Trouble sleeping?" ze asked.

"The storm," Ayla said. Nic grimaced and nodded. The prison ship had wrecked because of a storm. Ayla was sure she wasn't the only one in the village who'd had trouble sleeping last night.

"I let her in," Mara murmured. Ayla heard the soft sound of Mara kissing Nics neck or shoulder. "Good morning." He reached over Nic and touched Ayla's arm. "Hope you don't mind I let you sleep in."

"Nah," Ayla said. "I have to let the ground dry some before I check the field anyway." She thought about saying she had missed this, sharing a bed with them, but it was harder to say then she expected. She managed, "Thanks."

Nic hugged her, briefly, and said, "Any time."

*

She didn't take zem up on that as often as she wanted to, but she did sometimes knock on their door after dinner--after it had been a while, so they'd hopefully be done having sex--and ask if she could sleep in their bed. Whoever opened the door always said yes, apart from the times they told her to come back later. She did kind of wish they were down a hall, instead of across a covered walkway, but it wasn't as though anyone in the village didn't know she lived with them before they got together.

The first winter was tough. It did snow, but it didn't get cold enough to freeze much of the ground. They were able to nurse some plants through the weather. Nic and Ayla spent some time debating the merits of a fruit wall or walled winter garden.

"I wonder how easy it would be to make glass," Nic said. "You know, to let the sunlight in but help trap the heat."

They were in Ayla's part of the house, sitting in front of the stove Nic had restored for her. It was a little too cold in the houses without bundling up or sitting around a fire. Ayla was making a loaf of bread every day, since she had the stove going all the time anyway. Mara tended to lie on the floor with his head on one of their laps, and his feet in the other's. Today, his head was resting on Ayla's lap, with his feet tucked under Nic's thigh. Nic went on, "The beaches north of the pier are pretty sandy."

"I can make sand," Mara said. "Tell me what rocks make the best sand for glass, and I'll just disintegrate them."

"That almost feels like cheating," Nic said, frowning over at them.

"Of course it's cheating," Ayla said. She tugged one of Mara's curls straight, then let go, and watched it bounce back into a ringlet for a second. "But if it lets us make better glass, and that lets us trap more heat in a southern-facing wall, then we should cheat."

"Do you know how to make glass?" Mara asked Nic.

"Sort of," Nic said. "I've seen it done. I couldn't do anything fancy, but I think I could figure out how to make a sheet of glass to put up a lid or ceiling. I bet I could ask at the mine, I'm sure their smelter gets hot enough to melt sand."

"Bringing back the stove was bad enough," Mara said, waving a hand at it, "how would we get a sheet of glass all the way back here?"

"You could probably cushion it well enough," Ayla said. "Although you'd be limited by the size of the wagon then."

"Or I could just go and ask Bunny if she knows anything about it," Nic said. "Maybe do some practice with their smelter before I try it here. I think the kiln I've been planning for ceramics would work for melting glass too. And I knew I'd have to ask them for tools anyway."

"If we went before planting, you could come with us," Mara said to Ayla, looking up at her. "Then you could tell her what kind of tools you need directly."

"And we need to ask about trade routes," Ayla said. "And seeds."

"Oh, we should ask if we can bring back some potatoes," Nic said. "You said we could probably plant potatoes at the tail end of winter."

"They won't have that many seed potatoes to share," Ayla told zem.

"No," Nic said, "but if we bring back a few and start cultivating them for seed ourselves, we could have a decent number by next year."

"Could we plant them in the garden?" Mara asked. "I'm sure I can keep things from digging up stuff that close to the house. And then you could both keep an eye on them without having to go out of the way."

"Well?" Nic asked.

"That's a good idea," Ayla said.

Mara grinned up at her.

"Do you think we should go soon?" Nic asked. "Or should we wait until closer to spring?"

"Didn't the bartender guy say they get most of their snow at the end of winter?" Mara asked. "We should go soon, so we can get there and back before the heavy snow."

Nic frowned at the stove. "I don't like the idea of traveling when we don't know what the weather here is going to be like," ze said. "You're by far the best source of firewood."

"And fire," Ayla added, because Mara could start a fire out of what seemed like anything. It was harder to keep it going, but if all you needed was a spark, Mara could make one easily. He claimed everything was made up of fires just waiting to happen, which sounded like complete nonsense, but Ayla had seen him start a fire with literally nothing, so he had to be on to something.

"I can spend a few days chopping wood before we leave," Mara said. "So there's extra if they need it."

"We've got plenty of food in the larder," Ayla said. "And that runestone you found for the well is working great. You worry too much."

"This is already the most snow I've ever had to deal with," Nic said.

"Well, not me," Ayla said. "And I'm telling you, it's fine. What was it, a week to the mine? Call it a week and a half, since there might be more snow on the way to deal with. The village will be fine without us for three or four weeks."

"We could ask everyone else if they feel like they'll be okay," Mara said.

Nic sighed. "Everyone would just ask Ayla what she thought anyway," ze said. Ze looked over at her. "If you say it's fine, then I'm sure it's fine."

Mara sat up. "There's a big tree up towards the cliff that's got some kind of disease," he said. "It'd be plenty of wood if I cut it down, and that way we wouldn't have to worry about it falling over in the spring."

"Where are you going?" Ayla asked. "It's after noon, you can't go out to the cliff now. Even you can't get there and back before dark."

"You can go tomorrow," Nic said. "Ayla and I can figure out what to pack and what we want to try and get while we're there while you do that."

"Okay, fine," Mara said, and laid back down, putting his head once more in Ayla's lap. She patted his hair down so she could see his face. He smiled up at her, like a contented cat.

*

Traveling to the mine was both annoying and nice. Annoying because hiking a fading, rarely-used trail in the winter wasn't Ayla's idea of a good time, but nice because they shared a tent and their bedrolls, to carry fewer supplies and conserve body heat. Every night, she got to crawl into their combined bedding without worrying they didn't want her there. They mostly remembered not to feel each other up while she was there, although that might have been partially because of how exhausting the travel was.

The mining settlement itself was fine. Meeting new people was good, although there weren't many of them, but the bar and the miners weren't really Ayla's scene. Plus Ayla found Bunny, the bartender's daughter and the closest thing the miners had to a smith, extremely annoying.

It wasn't entirely Bunny's fault. She was fifteen or sixteen, excitable and naive. Despite being a smith, she was girly and feminine in a way Ayla had never been able to manage. Not that she wanted to, but it was what people wanted and expected, at least in the village where Ayla grew up, and even if she didn't want to, it rankled that it wasn't an option.

What was Bunny's fault, however, was the way she consistently misgendered Nic. The fact that she had such an obvious crush on zem only made it more insulting. Mara hadn't listened to Eli's idiotic assertion that he should try to get Nic to act more like a woman, after all. If Bunny had any respect for Nic, she wouldn't have to pretend ze was a man to justify having a crush on zem.

She didn't understand why Nic didn't correct her. Or Mara, for that matter! He grumbled enough about Eli that Ayla was surprised Eli didn't seem to notice that Mara no longer liked him. Nic once told Ayla that High Priest Indiyit's final words had been misgendering zem, and that was what made Mara mad enough to break through the magic Indiyit had been using to control him.

She told herself it wasn't her business. Nic and Mara must have a reason for letting Bunny get away with it. They'd known her longer than Ayla had.

They'd been at the mining settlement for a few days when Ayla went to the forge to ask Nic a question, but as she came up to the door, she heard Bunny's voice, and paused.

"Is there a reason you got a separate room for your girlfriend?" Bunny asked.

"Who?" Nic asked. Then ze laughed. "Oh, do you mean Ayla? Ayla's not my girlfriend."

"She's not?" Bunny asked. She sounded as if that was good news.

"Ah, I'm with Mara, actually," Nic said. "He's my boyfriend."

"I noticed that," Bunny said, and Ayla imagined she was rolling her eyes. "But I figured Ayla was both your girlfriend."

"Oh," Nic said. Ze laughed again. "No, not at all."

Ayla knew it was her own fault for eavesdropping, but she still couldn't stand listening to this any longer. She spun around and hurried back to the inn.

So what if Bunny thought it was an option? What did she know? People didn't do that. Even if they did, Nic and Mara wouldn't date her. Ayla wasn't the kind of girl people wanted to date, even before you factored in the way Ayla not wanting to have sex was apparently a betrayal of some fundamental principle. Bunny was young, and foolish.

Still, for some reason, Ayla had trouble dismissing the idea. Except every time she thought about it, about whether or not it was something she would want, if it was something people did, she thought about the way Nic laughed and said Not at all. Even if it was something people did, even if it was something Ayla might want, there was no reason to think Nic and Mara would be at all interested.

When they got back on the road to head home, Ayla felt guilty, for some reason, every time she happily crawled into the tent alongside Nic and Mara. She told herself she shouldn't, because it hadn't even occurred to the two of them. It didn't really help.

*

Ayla was having one of those days where everything went wrong. She knew it wasn't fair to snap at Danny the way she did, and she knew it wasn't anyone's fault that the beans had succumbed to frost, but she was going to scream if one more thing went wrong. That, or burst into tears. Possibly both.

She knew it didn't help that she had been trying to keep her distance from Nic and Mara. Not that staying away from them entirely was even possible, given the size of the village and the fact that for all intents and purposes they still lived together, but Ayla hadn't let herself ask to sleep in their bed since they got back from the mine. She even suffered through the end of winter sleet storm in her own bed, which had been a bad idea; she got no sleep and felt sluggish for two days afterward.

But there was only so long Ayla could suffer, knowing how easy it would be to get both comfort and another person to solve any problems that cropped up. So she took her tools back to the barn, then tracked down Nic and Mara.

It wasn't hard; Nic was outside the workshop with zeir table set up, trying to make paper that didn't crumble and flake like an autumn leaf in a storm. Mara sat on the ground next to zem, crushing chunks of wood into pulp with his bare hands and dropping it into the big tin bucket they had brought back from the mine that winter.

"Hey," Ayla said, and they both looked up and smiled at her. "Can I steal Mara for a while?"

Mara looked in the bucket. "This'll keep you going for a while, right, babe?"

"Totally," Nic said. Ze beamed at him. "Thanks for your help."

Mara tossed his final pulped piece of wood into the bucket, and stood up. He kissed Nic on the cheek, wiping his hands with a rag on zeir work table. "I will crush anything you need me to," he said. "Just apparently not right now."

"Have fun," Nic said, already looking back down at zeir frame full of pulp.

Ayla led Mara to the house, and went in his and Nic's side.

"What's up?" Mara asked, closing the door behind them.

She wasn't even sure how much to say. He'd never asked any questions before, and Nic had explicitly told her she could sleep in their bed "any time", but it had been weeks since she did, and now it felt awkward. She said, "I've had a really bad day. Could you...I mean, can we cuddle?"

"Of course," Mara said. He walked over to the bed and flopped onto it, then patted the mattress next to him.

Ayla hesitated. "Would it...be too weird to take our clothes off?" she asked. "I mean, you usually sleep naked anyway, right?"

"Yeah," Mara said. He sat up, and started pulling off his shirt. "I don't think I'll be falling asleep, even if you do," he said. "But sometimes it's just better not to have clothes in the way, right?"

"Right," Ayla said, relieved. "Thank you."

"Of course," Mara said. He frowned, and asked, "Do you...want me not to look?"

"I don't care," Ayla said. She reached under the hem of her tunic to untie the drawstring of her shorts. "It's just a body, right? I mean, you've seen boobs before."

"Just making sure," Mara said. "I mean, it should still be your decision." He swung his legs off the side of the bed and shoved his trousers down.

Ayla kicked her shorts off her feet and started squirming out of her tunic. It was kind of a pain to get in and out of, but if she wore it any looser, her boobs went wherever they wanted and got in the way. She could have worn some kind of stays or breast band, like Chiamaka and Nan, but that was just another layer of clothes to worry about washing.

"Can I help with that?" Mara asked.

"Gods, yes," Ayla said. With Mara doing the pulling and Ayla able to concentrate on making herself small enough to get through the opening, it was much easier to get out of the tunic than usual.

Mara dropped the tunic on top of Ayla's shorts, then laid back on the bed. He wriggled under the blanket and patted the mattress next to him once again. Ayla crawled under the blanket next to him, and into his waiting arms.

Ayla wasn't completely ignorant of what people thought was attractive. She knew Mara was a good-looking guy. Well, what kind of god given mortal form wouldn't be? Who would stand for going through all the trouble of making a physical avatar for their god and not bother to make sure it was a handsome one? But it mattered to Ayla as much now as it had the first time she met him, which was not at all. Except, it was kind of nice that someone everyone agreed was attractive would spend his time cuddling Ayla, just because she asked him.

Mostly, though, he was warm, and safe, and Ayla trusted him. He could have looked like the ugly carvings the Arizedo Church had behind the altar of the church Ayla was held captive in--which might have been supposed to represent Mara, come to think of it--and it wouldn't matter. He cared about her, and he wouldn't let anything hurt her. And if she asked for naked cuddles, he would apparently ask very few questions, and those would all be about what Ayla was comfortable with.

Ayla could feel the tension drain out of her as she snuggled into Mara's embrace. He gave such good hugs. She hooked her arms under his, and laid her face against his chest. "I really appreciate the way you're not making this out to be sexual," Ayla murmured.

"You always said you weren't interested in sex," Mara said. "I assume you'd say something if that changed."

Ayla couldn't help but tense up again, just a little. After a moment, she said, "I didn't think you were attracted to anyone but Nic."

"I wasn't even attracted to Nic until ze suggested it," Mara said. "I love you. If you wanted to try, I'd be willing."

"Oh," Ayla said. She turned that over in her mind a bit. One reason she had asked Mara for this, instead of Nic, was how he never expressed attraction to anyone other than Nic, even in passing. Before he and Nic got together, Ayla had thought it possible Mara was like her, although with the amnesia that turned out to be actual lack of experience, she wasn't sure if that was even something Mara could know. Still, Mara saying he would be willing to try if Ayla was interested didn't feel nearly as much like an imposition as the boys in her first village telling her how attractive they found her. In fact, it also felt kind of nice. Finally, she said, "I'm still not interested, but...I like knowing that."

"Good," Mara said, squeezing her with the arm draped over her side.

Ayla sighed happily, then squirmed even closer to him, pressing their bodies together from their chests to their thighs. She hadn't realized how much she missed this kind of physical contact. As her friends in her first village had grown up, they stopped doing this kind of thing. At least, they stopped doing it without ulterior motives. Even her family had drawn away from her towards the end, saying Ayla was too old to be so clingy. She supposed the assumption was that she should be getting this kind of cuddling from a sexual partner, preferably a boyfriend she would eventually marry.

After a while, Ayla murmured against Mara's neck, "You know, I have wondered if I'd like kissing. If I knew the other person wouldn't think it was foreplay."

Mara hummed in response, then said, "I think it's nice."

Ayla smiled. "I know you do," she said. "If you spent any more time with your lips on Nic's body, you'd starve to death."

Mara laughed. "Just tell me when," he said.

"Oh," Ayla said. She hadn't thought that might be taken as an invitation. "What about Nic?" she asked.

"I'm sure ze'd be happy to kiss you too," Mara said, oblivious to the way that made Ayla's insides twist themselves into knots. "But between you and me, I don't know if ze'd be as good at keeping zeir hands to zemself."

Was he being obtuse on purpose, Ayla wondered. "No," she said, "I meant, wouldn't ze mind? If you...if we..."

"I don't see why ze would," Mara said.

Ayla huffed. "Mara, it's been long enough you should know people usually don't like it when their boyfriends kiss other people," she said.

"But you're you," Mara said. He rubbed his cheek against Ayla's forehead, then kissed her hair. "You're our best friend. It's not like you're a threat to our relationship."

Ayla wondered which of their idiosyncrasies meant Mara could say things that were simultaneously reassuring and irritating. Was it her idiosyncrasies, or Mara's? It wasn't that Ayla wanted to threaten her best friends' relationship, but the way Mara automatically dismissed the idea that she could was kind of insulting. Just because she wouldn't and didn't want to shouldn't mean she couldn't. She said, "I'll think about it."

"Mmkay," Mara said. "Whatever you decide is fine. I'm not going anywhere."

That, at least, Ayla could trust.

[markynaz]

7/26

Belief / Dragons Written for @tes-summer-fest 2021 Wordcount: 3146 Content Warning: slight emotional abuse mentions, as appropriate when discussing Bastian Hallix's upbringing AO3 Mirror: here

“And who’s your favorite Divine?”

It was a common question for children in Daggerfall, usually asked in lieu of the small talk one would make with adults. It wasn't exactly proper to ask a child - no matter how well bred - about court gossip, or the price of bolts of Redguard cloth, or the war news that was on everyone else's lips. And it was unspeakably gauche to ask a child about their parents or family. A society as full of intrigue and gossip as the Bretons cultivated couldn’t stand for a child’s truth in any answer. No well-bred Breton of any variety would even think to put a child in the place of guarding family secrets.

So, inoffensive questions it was, and Bastian Hallix, ward of the influential Silvelles, had grown quite sick of them all by the time he was old enough to hide his annoyance.

The one about the Eight Divines was perhaps his least favorite. The easy answer was Julianos, protector of mages, but admitting it would mean admitting his magical aptitude - something the Silvelles were loathe to have Bastian say in company for reasons of their own. Barring that, it would have been easiest to make up a stock answer and stick with it, but lying never sat right with Bastian.

He was thinking about this instead of listening to the priest one Sundas afternoon. They sat - him, Quistley, and the Lord and Lady Silvelle - on the cushioned pews in King Emeric’s chapel, the sun glittering in through the stained glass windows and setting every piece of pristine silver or gold in the place glittering. Large statement jewelry was in fashion that summer. It was a fad from Cyrodil, according to Bastian’s tutors, and the concave silver brooch on Lady Silvelle’s breast was reflecting sunlight right into Bastian’s eye. He looked up to avoid the glare and examined the artful stained glass windows of the Divines while the priest started another prayer for the war effort.

Mara, goddess of love, was the first his eye fell on. Bastian stopped himself from making a face. He remembered, very faintly, thinking she was pretty at one time - remembered her being his favorite Divine when he was very, very young. Every artist put such an expression of goodness in her countenance that her face was always the first Bastian looked for. But… it was hard to believe in Mara, knowing what he knew of marriage from Lord and Lady Silvelle. Knowing what he knew of love from them, and from his brother, Quistley.

A priest had once told Bastian that Mara’s love was unconditional. Bastian didn’t think there was such a thing, but he supposed if there wasn't, Mara wouldn't still be watching over the world.

Her gentle face made him sad. He shifted his gaze.

Arkay, god of death and cycles. His sphere sounded more serious than the stained glass looked. He had one hand raised, and a kindly expression, so much that Bastian could almost forget or ignore the dead wolf at his feet and the graves filling the background of the picture.

When he'd been particularly angry with Quistley once - actually lost his temper on his foster brother, an incident that made his ears burn with shame to recall - he'd been quietly pulled aside, still fuming, by a priestess of Arkay who’d seen the whole of the confrontation. Quistley had run off to his parents, Bastian assumed to tell them how he'd behaved, and he was in no hurry to follow. Going with the priestess to calm down was by far the most agreeable option.

She'd had him hold the holy oil she was using to bless unmarked graves of paupers and disgraced women and men in the back alleys of Wayrest, talking softly to him in between murmuring prayers to her Divine. Cycles showed in life as well as death, she'd said. Bastian might have been angry with Quistley then, but one day Quistley would be angry with him, and he should always try to model the behavior he'd like shown to him in the next cycle. And - because she was a priestess of Arkay - she had added, one of them would very likely outlive the other. A life spent in cycles of rage was one the survivor was very likely to regret.

It had made sense to Bastian once he'd calmed enough to hear words. He'd returned to Lord and Lady Silvelle resigned to whatever punishment they'd assign him, and hoping to be a better brother and foster son going forward.

And then he'd found out, upon returning, that Quistley hadn't said a word to his parents, and was going to use Bastian’s fit of temper to blackmail him into doing favors for the next half year.

Bastian was fairly sure Arkay would never be his favorite Divine. Quistley shifted in his seat next to him, and in a burst of irritation, Bastian realized he was blatantly asleep in chapel.

He set his jaw and cast his gaze to the other row of stained glass.

Dibella, goddess of beauty. Her form was pleasing enough, but it held nothing for Bastian’s eyes. He could do little more than admire the artwork - for artists tended to be closer devoted to Dibella than any other Divine, and most would jump at the chance to depict her in their ideal of beauty.

Last year, Bastian had seen an artist depict Dibella in a male form for the first time in his recollection. He finally understood what had Quistley and his friends so enamored with the sculptures, stained glasses, and art pieces. He hadn't been able to tear his eyes away from the perfect musculature- the long hair flowing over defined back muscles - the chiseled features with just a hint of facial hair - the eyes, glimmering with intent behind his courtly Breton facade-

His ears were burning for a different reason, thinking about it.

The Silvelles hadn't cared one way or the other when his preferences were revealed. Bastian thought he even detected a hint of relief in Lady Silvelle’s voice, and thought - though it shamed him to think so meanly - it might be from the lowered likelihood of Bastian fathering children someday. It would mean fewer Hallixes for them to connect themselves with.

Not that he would force them to, if that ever came to pass. He knew his place.

Stendarr, god of justice and mercy. Bastian hadn't connected the cup on his altar to the object held in his hand for an embarrassing number of years. In his defense, the artist who’d rendered it in the Silvelles’ home chapel had either painted it very ill indeed, or it had been later ruined by some splash of ink.

The Redguard training master who’d been brought in to tutor Bastian and Quistley on the art of conflict swore to Stendarr sometimes, when he was mildly displeased. When he was really angry, he would revert to the Redguard pantheon. Bastian rarely heard that directed at him. More often, if he wasn't performing to standards, the wiry old man would heave a great sigh and say, “Young Bastian. One day, you'll either be delivering Stendarr’s justice, or begging his mercy at the other end of the sword. Which will it be today?”

He could almost hear it in the training master’s voice, really. Once Tutor Thierren told him about about Bastian’s aptitude for magic, he'd set to training him with a staff as well as a blade - setting up obstacle courses to get through with a weighted stave in hand, sessions where he'd give Bastian a staff with an iron core and come at him with a sword. It was always better to be on the correct side of Stendarr’s hand, and if his magicka was depleted, he needed to be able to survive and get away.

Bastian flattered himself that Thierren saw more in his future than court etiquette and uncomfortable questions answered by half-truths that made him burn inside. He was nearly seventeen now, almost a man grown. Lord Silvelle had been hinting recently that it might be time for Bastian to look after the family's interests without such a stern hand guiding him, and Bastian relished the thought.

Kynareth, goddess of the wilds and the winds. Bastian had named her as his favorite several times in response to the condescension of noble adults. Lord Silvelle’s comments that Bastian might start beginning to pay the Silvelles back for his excellent education and shelter by looking after their interests in other parts of High Rock were starting to seem more appealing the longer Bastian thought about it. Being blown about by Kynareth’s winds, seeing more of both civilization and the wilds…. It sent a little thrill through him. Being out from under the Silvelle’s roof was scarcely less exciting.

But if he kept daydreaming in that line, he knew he’d grow quite insensible to the speeches of the priest. That wouldn’t do if anyone asked him about it later. Reluctantly, he shifted his gaze.

The stained glass at the front of the chapel was the grandest of all. Akatosh, the One, head of the pantheon. Bastian could appreciate the artistry in the massive stained glass, tracing with his eye how every sliver fit so perfectly into the illusion of glittering dragon scales. Most recently he'd been reading about how Akatosh,, in some manner or another, appeared in almost every pantheon across Tamriel. He'd had an animated discussion with Quistley’s tutor about it, which saved him from the more awkward conversation on why he had been caught doing Quistley’s assignments.

But unlike some of the other stained glasses, Bastian felt nothing in his heart when he looked at the image of Akatosh. After a moment of consideration, the only thing coming up seemed to be a slick, greasy guilt at not feeling anything greater.

The other Divines had expressive human faces to feel things about, he tried to rationalize to himself. And usually, it was older Bretons who took amulets of Akatosh as their personal guide, kept close to the heart. Perhaps one day he'd feel what he ought to for such an important figure. For now, he averted his eyes almost as quickly as he had looked away from Mara.

Next to him, Quistley half-snored. Bastian quickly jabbed an elbow into his ribs to keep him quiet. Quistley shifted and jabbed him back, catching Bastian in the side with not just his elbow, but the sharp, hard bit of statement jewelry on his wrist down and catching Bastian’s hip.

Bastian bit his lip to stop any sound of pain.

The bubble of resentment that burst in his throat was startling in his vehemence. This wasn't fair. If Quistley was caught sleeping in chapel, Bastian would be scolded along with him - chastised for not keeping his foster brother attentive and polite. Even when Quistley got himself into deserved trouble, he always seemed to drag Bastian down with him until they were both flailing, covered in shame, neither looking good.

No. No. He was getting angry. He couldn't. Bastian took a deep breath, exhaled as quietly as he could through parted lips, and then, catching Lord Silvelle’s head begin to turn toward him, tucked his chin and closed his eyes as if in prayer. He stayed that way until he felt his face was under control.

When he lifted his gaze again, it fell on Zenithar. Bastian examined his wizened face, how the artist had used space between the glass pieces to give the impression of lines.

Zenithar, god of fair work and commerce. Maybe one day Quistley would get his just desserts, Bastian thought with sudden savageness, and just as quickly reeled in and tempered those thoughts. No. No, Quistley didn't deserve any such thing, and in any case, he would never be allowed to fail. Anyone with the Silvelle name couldn't be allowed to show proof of family weakness.

So, perhaps, one day he would step up and be the son his parents so wished him to be. That was a much more charitable thought fo fix on, and Bastian set himself on it with the same ferocity which a deer rubbing the velvet off his antlers might set himself on a tree.

Yes. It would be so much better if Quistley would stop grieving his parents. If he would pull his weight, step up to the responsibility of being the Silvelles’ heir. Divines knew there was enough to manage and look after, from what Bastian had been able to find out. There was certainly enough of an opportunity for Quistley to earn the life he seemed to want to live.

He didn't realize until several minutes had passed in this fashion that his hand had slipped into his pocket, seeking and finding the small medallion of Julianos that he wore on a chain connected to his belt whenever he could. His fingers had fallen into the familiar habit of tracing the sharp edges of the triangle, one, two, three, four, and then twice more in that fashion before the count matched up again with the point where he'd started. The counting, the rhythm, soothed him, even enough to ignore that Quistley had slipped back into even breathing and slumber in the pew beside him.

Still tracing the edges of his amulet, his eyes lifted to the stained glass of his own protector, Julianos.

~~|\|~~

Ten years later, in the same chapel, Bastian traced the now-worn edges of the medallion as he glanced over the stained glass windows.

This time, he wasn't in King Emeric’s chapel on the good will of the Silvelles. No; those days were long past, and Bastian was learning to look on their passing with more and more relief.

The windows weren't as grand as he'd remembered them in his childhood memory. He supposed after the better part of a decade spent traveling Tamriel, seeing the wonders of the continent, it was no surprise that fading pieces of art in a Breton king's chapel would carry less mysticism. Still, something in his heart throbbed at the loss. There was just a little less beauty in the world now that he saw the images for just images, and not stand-ins for his belief in the Divines.

And yet….

Still tracing the edges of Julianos’ symbol with the pad of his thumb, Bastian looked to his companion.

Arcturus Crane. Adopted son of noble merchant lord Earl Crane, and adopted in a sense of the word that had made Bastian nearly gasp with alarm the first time he'd heard them talk to each other with frankness bordering on insouciance. Arcturus Crane, who had helped him drag Quistley out of trouble twice without complaint, who was now speaking so casually with the priest of High King Emeric’s chapel in an effort to find out the date and particulars of a certain Clairene Auzin’s marriage.

Bastian kept his focus on Arcturus’ animated hands - he always gestured so much when he talked, a habit stopped only when one hand was curled around the heavy haft of a stave - and tried to keep his breathing steady. His pulse didn't sound steady in his ears. He pressed the tip of his index finger into a worn point of the triangle on his medallion with quickly increasing pressure until he could almost feel an edge.

It might be most natural for his eye to fall on Julianos, abusing the Divine’s symbol in nervousness as he was, but instead he found his gaze on Mara instead. Mara, who had never been a Divine he understood, flowing hair and expression of kindness and warmth.

Unconditional love.

In untangling what, exactly, he felt about things the Silvelles had told him to feel a certain way about - not least of all their own actions - Bastian was starting to think he might have misjudged Mara’s sphere. Unconditional love.

The Silvelles loved Quistley unconditionally, not that he could justify that. He'd spent decades trying. Lord Crane, in contrast, didn’t treat Arcturus like the Silvelles coddled Quistley. He seemed to hold something a great deal like respect for his adopted son. Perhaps not love - he didn't act like there was any sort of paternal feeling there, and Arcturus didn't bother to affect a child's adoration - but there was still…. Something. Something Bastian couldn’t quite put a name to.

And in Arcturus’ own behavior to him. The way he grinned when Bastian got excited over a scrying eye or a new bit of magic, his instant expression of chagrin when his twisting path of shadows caught an innocent mouse and Bastian couldn't bite back his disappointment in time. Bastian had lain awake several nights chastising himself over the outburst, but… now, thinking about it, Arcturus had been rather more careful about how he placed his traps and barriers and magical effects.

Unconditional love was Mara’s sphere. He’d never understood.

Perhaps, Bastian thought, it was less of love, and more of…. trust. A trust baseless enough to be belief, that the other person would do as you expected. And a fondness strong enough to stay steady even if that belief was proved wrong.

His sister. Bastian had no expectations of her, but in the few short weeks he'd known her to be alive… he’d begun to hope. Could she harbor the same feelings for him?

Could she believe in him like he wanted to believe in her?

Bastian released his medallion of Julianos, letting it drop at the end of its short chain back into his pocket as he stood straight. There was no way to find out except by finding out. Arcturus was turning from the priest, and from the look in his bright blue eyes, he didn't come away empty-handed.

The shock of fear that struck Bastian at the thought wasn't a surprise. Rather, he was surprised at how quickly it passed.

Why should I be scared? I won't be alone for this, he told himself, and the thought was quickly chased by, I trust him to stand by me through whatever happens.

Belief. Trust. He still shied away from the word ‘love,’ but….

Perhaps. Perhaps, in time. For now, as Arcturus strolled back to him and flashed a crooked smile (intended to put him at ease, he realized, when normally it was him scrambling to make others easy) and offered a sardonic comment in the way of letting Bastian know they had a lead, the belief in his good will was quite enough to stop the fear from freezing Bastian dead.

He walked out of High King Emeric’s chapel. He held the door for Arcturus, stepped into the bright midday sun, the sounds of Wayrest muted beyond the mage-protected castle wall. He stood there and waited for his eyes to adjust, and hoped - wished - believed, that the end of this road might finally be in sight.

[the-tharns-speak]

What is the general reaction towards mental illnesses in Tamriel? Are there specific restoration mages dedicated to such treatments and therapy?

I know it's more than a little ironic to ask you this, considering your spouse.

-Little Galerion

Mental illness. That is... a difficult question, especially because we don’t know what exactly it is. Sure, the definition is “not being sound of mind” but what is just a slight deviation from the norm like a crooked nose in a face, what is actually unsound of mind, and what is just scarring from a difficult experience? There are cases which we recognize. There are cases in which we... do not.

Given that lack of mental and physical health both are associated with Daedric Princes and the Daedric Princes are not well regarded in nearly all of Tamriel (with the notable exception of Reach, partly Wrothgar, and whatever is the relationship the Dunmer have with the Corners of the House of Trouble), you would find it hard to find positive view on any mental deviation.

It is a thing that I had occasionally discussed with Eustaar, my friend and classmate in Battlespire, who was, and still is, a Clockwork Apostle. The Apostles differentiate between two types of “not default” mental states, wherein the rest of Nirn lumps them all into one bag; those being mental afflictions and mental divergence.

Mental divergences are something you are practically born with and it fundamentally changes the way you perceive and interact with the world. For the Apostles it is just another perspective and as long as it does not have a negative impact on one’s life, they leave it to its own course and are mindful that every person might need certain adjustments, such as being reminded to take breaks or have specific orders in which books are ordered because otherwise that detail bugs them too much to work. Others, like chronic melancholy and exhaustion are treated with potions which supplement or suppress inner machinations of the body and brain which affect the mind; honestly I understood that part poorly, and I suspect that Eustaar understood it even less. He did begin each of those discussions with the disclaimer that he doesn’t know almost anything about the alienists and their work, as he’s never aspired to be one.

Mental afflictions are far simpler to describe and notice: they come later in life due to an injury, illness or traumatic event. Their treatment varies from directed talks with one of the alienists (somehow along the lines “Would you like to talk about it?”), potions to prolonged stay at the Asylum Sanctorium, which is the alienists’ hospice.

In the rest of the world, you just have to live with it. If you are one of the lucky few, your mental affliction or divergence doesn’t show and besides you and perhaps your closest family will never know. Otherwise you are often perceived as cursed by the gods or chosen by Sheogorath, which is not a good thing even within Sheogorath’s cults, because it means your fellow cultists are very likely to kill you in a very imaginative way. The rest of the people will simply shun you and ignore you or perhaps throw rocks at you. You might have a “correct” affliction/divergence and know a discreet apothecary who might supply you with medicine to suppress your symptoms for a payment. This medicine is usually sedatives, because sleeping and unconscious people cannot be sick, or outright drugs, because we do love to fight fire with fire.

As far as I know there is no restoration specialization regarding mental health, and not even any spells which would be to actually alleviate the problem. The closest you might get are religious orders, usually priests of Mara or Stendarr, who help those afflicted by war, soldiers and civilians alike. One of their services is helping to overcome the warfare trauma. They success rate in this regard is somewhere around 19 %. Which is to say the highest in Tamriel (excluding the Clockwork City which is one-perhaps-god-knows-where).

[aroworlds]

Those With More, Part One

When Mara Hill's magic results in her brother's impossible, wondrous transition, of course Suki wants to know how she did it! What if Sirenne's magic workers can help others find euphoria? What if this magic can heal Suki's hands—or at least lessen her pain? But Mara, distrustful of priests after their failure in protecting Esher, won't share her power.

A senior priest must bear responsibility, but Suki suspects her problems lie deeper than lack of oversight, and her reluctance to discuss her aromanticism with a woman who needs support only proves it. Would she have preserved Mara's faith and Esher's health if she hadn't first avoided revealing herself to her aromantic kin? If she'd faced their expectations that she shoulder their pain and grief as well as her own?

Suki has lived her life by the Sojourner's second precept, but how does she serve when she doesn't have more to give—and never will?

Contains: A disabled, non-partnering allo-aro woman struggling with the expectations of her young, fledgling aromantic community; an autistic, aromantic priest reconsidering their expectations of their community's leader; and an allo-aro woman in need of support as she struggles with her non-partnering, aro-ace brother's illness. 

Content Advisory: Please expect many references to or depictions of aro antagonism, allo-aro antagonism, amatonormativity, familial abuse, mental illness, suicidal ideation, death, gender dysphoria, chronic pain, ableism and ageism. This piece contains non-detailed, non-specific reference to a character's past suicide attempts. 

Length: 4, 409 words (part one of two). 

Note: This is the last story in my Suki mini-series, but it refers to characters introduced in The Sorcerous Compendium of Postmortem Query and is best read following the stand-alone story What Makes Us Human. You can find links to all on my pinned post or on this Tumblr master post.

Non-romantic love, to Suki, serves a similar role as the Sojourner or any other god: a fine concept in theory, but while she respects others’ need for a guiding framework, she can only nod vaguely at love’s existence.

***

They talk in a west-facing corner of the inner gardens, the sun edging towards the valley’s cradling ridgelines. Suki sits with careful stillness, resting her bony wrists and fingers in her lap. Her companion, Mara Hill, twirls a lock of dark hair around her finger with the ease of a woman unaware of her movements’ toll. Few people reach the ends of their lives untouched by disability, but Suki still aches to watch others take their youthful ability for granted … even if Mara’s restless fidgeting suggests anxiety as much as mind-type.

Suki was an artist once, albeit not the kind of craftswoman draped in the world’s renown. She built wonder from bare ingredients. She made the needed and the practical from scraps of thread and fabric. She took her hands’ ability to knead and shape for granted, revelling in others’ appreciation, until the pain built to a degree even she couldn’t deny. Given the option, she’ll always sit in her garden with her knitting needles or workbasket, making.

She can’t reconcile herself to hours spent halting her fingers and wrists in too-often-futile hope of preserving later use.

“Must I explain, one trans woman to another, why we want this?” Suki works to ease her voice, to sound possessed of patience and released of jealousy. “We … dabble, in spells and medicines, parlour tricks to lessen anguish, but this … it can be freedom. When wrought correctly.”

Now, Suki sees little sense in seeking such a transition: she’s had time to forge an accord with her body and gender. If said accord holds a touch of the defiant, rebellion nonetheless sheltered her through aching moments of feeling her body less hers than a chafing suit she’ll endure for this life. Gender, though, only began the war of Suki’s selfhood separating from her own blood and breath, and it long ago won second place on her list of impossible wishes.

What if Mara’s magic can do more than change a body’s sexual characteristics?

What if it can ease Suki’s hands, heal her knees, return to her the gift of unthinking movement?

Mara shifts her hands to twist the untied lace dangling from her bodice. She’s a handsome woman: tall and long-limbed, her cheekbones sharp enough to slice hard cheese. Full lips, wide skirts and a waist-length sable braid soften the flat planes of her face, shoulders and hips. Suki can’t call Mara beautiful, but she may have used the word “ethereal” if Mara didn’t also bare her haphazard humanity: hair falling out of its pins, scores of grass stains marking her petticoats, a waistcoat absent any matching buttons, a dress ten years out of style knotted up to bare clashing stockings and scuffed boots. Life with Mara, Suki suspects, is no small amount interesting, but one needn’t fear from her airs or pretentiousness.

This conversation, regardless, comes none the easier.

“I know you understand,” Suki says, attempting a beseeching gentleness. “How can’t you?”

“It’s a secret.” Mara stares at Suki with a distressingly direct gaze, as though hoping to emphasise her sincerity through eye contact. “Handed down from witch to witch. I’ve sworn oaths to the living and the dead. I can’t. And I won’t.”

Mara Hill is also a terrible liar.

“You insist this isn’t sorcery. It’s witchcraft—a type of magic that can be taught! Why, then, can’t you teach us? Can’t you imagine what we could do, if we could study and understand it?”

Just as Suki regrets such desperation-fuelled bluntness, flashes of brown, red and grey show through the eucalypts and fern-encrusted rockery dividing the outer garden from an interior courtyard. Only two other people in Sirenne stand tall enough to be seen over said wall of rocks, and neither looks towards her. Moll, their face set in their accustomed expressionlessness and their iron-grey hair scraped back in a braid, walks close by their companion: a man with Mara’s cheekbones, his gaze distant and his face cavernous. While health warms her sienna skin, even when moistened by anxiety and dappled sunshine, his sallow complexion provokes no kind adjectives.

Esher Hill is the gaunt, walking embodiment of the nightmare Sirenne’s priests struggle to dispel when discussing medicines and spells—a man who appears drugged and ensorcelled into a puppet-like lifelessness, a state absent all vitality.

His sister caused, provoked or necessitated most of it.

Most.

Like too many guests, Mara brought her brother to the monastery when absent solutions in her home village’s offerings of lay priests, physicians, magic workers and well-meaning family members—a last, desperate resort. Esher wasn’t happy or healthy, but he had muscle and energy enough that Suki decided his taciturnity somewhat intentional. He stopped to pet Sirenne’s horses; he allowed their cats to settle on his lap. He scowled when faced with chattering acolytes. He reacted.

Mara’s power stripped his bones of flesh and tissue in the quest to craft him an almost-cis body. New organs, somehow, grew; others withered and sloughed away like an unused cocoon. Such impossibility should be a miracle, but can one fairly call a tempest that devoured his body and hammered his mind miraculous?

What if, though, this transition becomes a goal identified and worked towards with desire, preparation and consent? What if a patient understands what lies ahead? Can one then cope with magic’s trauma, a difficult moment endured in travelling a chosen road? Or what if they narrow the scope to one change, one part of the body?

Will she then see a butterfly, bloodied but eager to take flight?

Will she then be able to live her last years still wielding her pastry brushes and knitting needles?

“It’s dangerous!” Mara follows Suki’s gaze towards the rockery, her lips pressed together in pale, thin lines. “Can’t you see that? Shouldn’t you?” Her husky voice sharpens like a blade on a grindstone. “And what makes you think I should trust you with it? Or would?”

Suki bites her lip while counting backwards from ten. Her tongue runs to tart even when voicing second and third thoughts, and she fears she offers little sympathy when she finds something worth speaking: “But less dangerous in better circumstances? If he knew, was prepared, agreed, expected…”

If a witch doesn’t work her magic behind the priests’ backs, but that’s less Mara’s fault than Sirenne’s.

The question remains: if a witch fears dysphoria's ache the cause of her brother’s depression, why didn’t she offer this magical transition weeks or months earlier? Why didn’t she gain Esher’s prior agreement and approval? Why did Mara bother to take him to a monastery? That she wrought this after Sirenne’s failures dashes Suki’s hopes: Mara’s supposed witchcraft is sorcery, unpredictable and unreachable. Nothing more than a panicked, desperate deal made with demons, a grave power Sirenne can’t replicate ... even should a priest be fortunate enough to make the same bargain with the same brace of demons.

If demons routinely offered such vast power, how many trans people wouldn’t sell their soul for a body suiting their nature?

“Prepare? After you made me—” Mara’s voice cracks like thick, shadowed frost under morning’s first footstep. “If there were anywhere else, if I thought … we wouldn’t be here!”

Suki shifts in her chair, her hands and feet aching as though a purple-black bruise engulfs her joints. Is it a wild, ridiculous joke that her body throbs as if beaten while showing no wound to draw sympathy? Why must a black eye or nasty scrape provoke sorrow while injuries or illnesses unable to heal garner, at best, a mute acceptance? Why do people following the Sojourner’s path lack comprehension in the second precept’s broadness? Why must a priest spend her day asking questions lacking comforting answers?

Because Amadi’s ideal became her god: question.

Mara’s desperation, too, deserves an answer.

“We failed,” Suki says, her own throat roughening. “We failed to serve Esher’s needs. A man who has too long had those needs unmet, and believes he has failed in even wishing his needs met, reacted to this lack in despair. There’s nothing irrational in that.” She wants to smile, because she can’t not know the rationality behind such a conclusion, but Mara won’t understand. She doesn’t know about Mama Lewis. “We went over our changes with you, for we can’t allow this to again happen. I ask you sincerely: are we now doing something inadequate? Are you unhappy with Moll or Thanh’s service? Within the limits of our resources and ability, what aren’t we doing that you think we should? How can we better help Esher? Help you?”

Suki didn’t assign Esher’s first priest. She didn’t speak or condone the words that gave him reason to lose the last shred of a trust abraded by too many authoritative people. She didn’t know why he needed consideration in the priest given to guide him; the unasked question wasn’t hers to speak. Ignorance, nonetheless, rings like an intimate, personal failure.

Not a failure Sirenne’s priests share as a collective whole.

A failure, terrible and tragic, in Suki.

Could she have tried harder to serve as an aromantic priest?

Mara purses her lips, her green skirt clenched in tight-knuckled hands. “He’s … always been. A little. But only in the last few years was he so distant, and I don’t think … he wasn’t bad like this until after the Thinning and Benjamin.”

Suki takes Mara’s non-answer as indication that, at least for the moment, she has no objection—and perhaps that’s a victory, but what good is winning when the war shouldn’t be fought? Suki sighs, shaking her head, as Moll and Esher move past the gap in the trees, vanishing behind canopy and granite outcrops. Only her garden, in its art-defying muddle of ferns, trees, mushrooms and bright-coloured orchids, remains—and while, ordinarily, such clashing shades appeal to her, today those greens and reds feel another mockery, a symbol and privilege undeserved.

Even when Moll gave her the opportunity to address her neglect, she took retreat in her brusque manner and authority, confident that a conscientious priest wouldn’t examine the shallowness of her answer. She offered reassurance, solved a problem, revealed herself in the most cursory of ways and fled with fears and feelings still buried within her aching bones.

Question.

If she considers god her ideal and Amadi’s ideal her god, why didn’t she?

“Benjamin is your partner, yes?” Suki shifts her left ankle, thinking even a circumlocutory attempt to build rapport better than another futile attempt at questioning. “May I ask what happened at the Thinning? You needn’t answer.”

Mara’s body softens, although she doesn’t ease her grip on the skirt. “Have you had … family, friends, come visiting? After they … pass?”

For all that belief in the Sojourner’s path embodies the human struggle to conceptualise, negotiate and accept death, hir followers still deal in euphemisms. Family come visiting. Bad like this. Suki, in the outspoken rebelliousness of a would-be priest, spent a year into her novitiate chanting “death, death, death” at her mirror before bed, just to prove that death isn’t a black-cloaked reaper summoned upon saying hir name.

Such boldness failed her, of course, when Mama Polly passed.

“There’s always spirits flickering about, but few speak.” Suki barks a hoarse laugh. “A man who desired me and told me that he’d never have broken his neck if I’d first wed him. Both my mothers. Mama Lewis talks too much.”

Such events aren’t for Suki as unusual an occurrence as they are for the non-necromantic laity, but the conversations between the returning dead and the priest who offered guidance on their paths through the life now history aren’t for outsiders. There’s always a few, often those who died in the last year and haven’t yet had their connections to this world stretch thin, who come back to speak rather than observe. Sometimes those spirits come burdened with regret and recrimination; sometimes they express gratitude or relief. Death, drawing closer with every breath, grants the living a night a year where one must look into hir shadow and fearlessly accept, even celebrate, hir company.

She’s none too fond of Mama Lewis’s bitter postmortem moaning, but a salt circle and poker at least puts paid to that nonsense.

Respecting the sacred covenant of life and death doesn’t mean tolerating abuse.

“Really?” Mara blinks, shaking her head. “She came to me, with other dead relatives and villagers—my Aunt Rosie. I think she knew I needed to talk to her. She told me that I don’t have to romantically love a girl to want or love a girl, and they told me all the ways they didn’t love, which made me feel that … I could talk to the woman I wanted. So I did.” A sweet warmth softens and curves her lips, but the speed with which Mara flattens them suggests she isn’t easy with smiling in current circumstances. “And we’re together, now. But Esh … he doesn’t want anyone, and that should be fine, but maybe … it wasn’t good for him to see me and Ben happy.”

She leans forwards, coughing, before wiping her palm on her skirt.

Suki clenches her hands, fighting to ease her expression before Mara catches her face. It rankles, to say the least, when someone happy in an intimate partnership—however non-romantic!—suggests that those without must be broken in their loneliness. How can she ignore the reflections of Mama Lewis, one shape of expected love or partnership replacing another in the same unyielding structures and assumptions? Mama Lewis cut and hewed the shape of Suki’s illnesses, not another’s possession of something she doesn’t want!

Non-romantic love, to Suki, serves a similar role as the Sojourner or any other god: a fine concept in theory, but while she respects others’ need for a guiding framework, she can only nod vaguely at love’s existence.

Anger, though, doesn’t explain the terror stiffening her body.

“Or after seeing you find a less-conventional form of the coupled happily-ever-after,” she says in a voice perilously close to “glacial”, “your kin and village increased their expectations that he should find the same?”

Mara stares, her lips parted as if in surprise or hurt. “I … Uncle Sascha would say that, I guess. So would the Fisher sisters.” She sighs, frowning. “I don’t know. Just that he got worse after Benjamin … right when I thought he’d get better, because Aunt Rosie said that we’re … real, human. Just a less-known ordinary. Even if we didn’t know the specific word before Moll said it.”

“Only your brother knows why,” Suki says in the mild, self-evident comment a guiding priest says to people having difficulty observing—or permitting themselves to observe—the truth before them. The mild, self-evident comment a priest, who doesn’t fear the direction of this conversation, may say to a guided guest. “So why bother yourself with if I didn’t non-romantically pair up with a girl, maybe he wouldn’t have tried to kill himself drivel? Can you go back in time to not pair up? No! Nor should you halt your life just in case it may be the reason!”

Mara’s half-raised eyebrows suggest that she doesn’t agree.

“Girl, the world tells you in so many ways that you shouldn’t non-romantically partner. After all that repetition, you’re inclined to find excuses to obey that! Keeping my brother from attempting suicide feels more reasonable to you than most puerile objections, but is this reasonable? Are you helping him by thinking this? Or are you obliging everyone who thinks you shouldn’t exist by undermining your partnership with misplaced guilt?”

She refrains from mentioning the insult in anyone’s assuming that depression must be provoked by the existence of someone else’s intimate partnership, as though such relationships are so fundamental one must sicken in witnessing another’s contentment! She refrains, unable to think of anything that doesn’t sound like an observation based in betraying knowledge. Shouldn’t they focus less, anyway, on Mara’s limited understanding of non-partnering people and more on the real issue at hand: her trying to craft another impossible?

Even if it means making herself the cause, Mara seems set on wishing together a world possessed of perfect assurance that her brother won’t again attempt suicide.

Sorcery is by far an easier art, but that’s no comforting truth.

Mara glances at Suki’s belt, as if in need of reassurance that she talks to a senior priest. “Are you, uh … well...”

“Am I what, girl? Don’t cluck!”

Mara swallows, stumbling over the word likely strange to her voice. “Aro … aromantic? Because you sound like…”

Aromantic.

A word in a book, discovered by accident.

A word feared, weighted down by her obligation and pain.

A word unsaid, a man nearly dying of its absence.

“Aromantic and allosexual. I like men for bedding. I don’t like partnerships.” Suki speaks with the casualness that shaped her words when speaking to a distressed priest in a vegetable garden, words said now as if they’ll make up for their silent past. Words said devoid of her terror. “I have enough of one with myself.”

She waits, wondering if Mara will subject her to the young, abled trick of past tense, as though sexuality must be Suki’s history and not her present or future. Something accessible only to the hale and young, presuming her sense of another’s sexual attractiveness withers along with her body? Or will Mara grimace, disgusted by the notion of an elderly, disabled woman whose sexuality hasn’t “decently” become distant memory?

She waits for the accusation: why didn’t you say this before?

“So you understand … why it’s … hard, to live unknowing who you are and what you want, what the words are?” Mara’s brow furrows, her hesitant speech giving way to a spurting rush of feeling: “That’s what Aunt Rosie gave us that night, but it came so late. I lived for so long not knowing, without a word, without knowing it an option! That it had a name! And that hurts, even now I have what I didn’t know I wanted or could want. For so long, I didn’t know! Maybe … that’s it, for Esh, the hurting? Or part of it? How can’t it be…?”

How old is she? Twenty-five? Thirty at most? One needn’t own precision in telling another’s age to know that Mara’s adulthood, outside of accident or illness, stands years distant from death’s shadow. Suki draws a sharp breath, fighting to swallow the tart, quill-bristled question clogging her throat: And when do you think I found the word, girl?

Amadi gifted her the other-shape-of-normal permissiveness, but ey died unknowing of the word describing them both.

Ey died, leaving her alone in a world where she feels outdated and unwanted, where everyone sharing in the known power of the word aromantic can’t comprehend her pain but expects her to, immediately and easily, carry theirs.

Mara needs her pain acknowledged, to have someone confirm that possession of a happy non-romantic partnership can’t and shouldn’t erase ignorance’s lingering hurts. Someone who acknowledges that such bruises are long in the fading but one can still build a life worth living. Someone who reflects understanding and the vital, powerful sense of aromantic siblinghood. Someone who can give what she needs and deserves.

Why must Suki provide it? Why not Moll? Why not anyone else?

“Yes.” She swallows, shifting her throbbing hands, fighting to keep the growl from claiming her voice. Another failure! “We all feel the … betrayal, the years lost to ignorance. Why didn’t I know? You’ll have times of hurting, of struggling, of wondering what could have been if your family knew, your friends, your neighbours. When something isn’t yet recognised or accepted, despite being extant and common … pain, for those of us ahead of that coming, isn’t optional. You aren’t alone in that.”

Suki isn’t gentle. Increased social permissiveness towards the crotchety manner discouraged in children and younger adults stands as one of age’s rare benefits. Mama Polly joked that Suki was set to be a grandmother while still a maiden, but Mama Lewis—curse her long-dead soul—didn’t laugh. Even after half a century gone, Suki can still recite her clipped lectures, delivered in the hope that decreased acidity and increased sweetness will help her daughter find the happiness packaged in a loving, romantic partnership.

Mama Lewis’s shade, returning for her once-yearly lecture, still hopes that her now-elderly daughter will soften enough to allow love into her heart.

It should amuse Suki that such gentleness is now demanded whenever she dares reveal herself as aromantic.

Mara nods, her lips pressed together, her jaw tight, her glistening eyes angled towards her lap.

“It could be part of your brother’s feelings. It could be something else. But this second-guessing of his motivations doesn’t help you or him!” Suki changes the subject for Mara’s sake: for a woman fighting to keep from breaking down before a near-stranger. “Where does this get you but exhaustion? You’re only going to chase your guesses around and around until you’re a dog barking at a rat behind a grate—only to finally spot a different rat gnawing on his brain, realise you’ve been barking at this one for no reason, and there’s actually a score of invisible rats feasting on his poor, bloody brain. Does this help you see those invisible rats? Does this barking help your health, girl?”

She absolutely, assuredly isn’t changing the subject because Suki fears the explosion of her own anger and hurt while discussing aromanticism.

Question. How can she?

Mara’s eyes meet Suki’s face in the bulging stare had by someone imagining rodents chewing on grey matter. “R—rats?”

“Chewing brain rats. You want pretty metaphors for a bloody illness? Don’t talk to a priest, then. Pretty metaphors leave people telling themselves depression isn’t illness, just something that can be shouted, shamed or pressured into abeyance. I don’t hold for that.” Suki sighs and attempts to ease Mara’s shock, hating her bluntness’ sharp, gleaming edges. Is she trying to hurt Mara, wounds delivered in return for those unintentionally given? “I know you want to help your brother. You’ll do more for him by asking what he needs, and listening to what he tells you even if it’s ‘nothing’, instead of chasing every rat in the hope they’re the ones eating him. There’s too many rats, girl! When he’s able to cope with your asking, ask. Leave handling the rats to us—because that’s what we’ll teach him.”

If only they’d thought to ensure Mara realised this before she attempted to bludgeon the rat labelled “dysphoria”, but who imagined a village witch owning such power or ability?

Mara nods: perhaps accepting such advice, perhaps planning to avoid future commentary on what she thinks provoked her brother’s attempt. Her silence is, though, more honest than immediate agreement. Better that than false approval or out-of-hand rejection, especially when she hasn’t agreed to a guiding relationship between priest and guest. Especially when Suki has already stepped further over that line than is wise for a priest struggling with herself! Anyway, hasn’t she gleaned enough to make a solid guess—that Mara sold her soul to purchase Esher’s transition? What more need they discuss?

She isn’t a powerful witch keeping her magic a solemn, oath-bound secret.

She’s a frightened sister doing everything she can to hold her brother into life.

Is that another rat set to gnaw on Esher’s brain? Is that, as much as distrust or fear of priestly reaction to sorcery, reason for her denial? Does she seek to keep this secret from Esher and the priests involved in his care to avoid making yet another rat? Does Moll realise this?

Is Mara all that different from Suki herself?

“I’m sorry that I can’t help you.” Mara stands and bows in the abrupt, jerking movements of a woman looking to leave before the conversation leads them anywhere uncomfortable—and Suki feels unreasonably relieved. “Thank you for your advice—and wisdom.” She hesitates, leaving Suki certain that “wisdom” is nothing more than politeness. “I’m glad, I suppose, there’s more people like us here. Maybe … maybe that will help Esh, if things go better.”

“If you think a priest’s guidance may be useful for your own sake,” she says, falling back on well-worn script in the surety that her own words are far too confronting, “please know that our service extends to all. And I hope, one day, aromantics are so ordinary there’s no need to comment.”

Mild, facile, trite.

Her hands throb, and Suki fights to unclench them.

Mara’s face shutters. “You’ve more than enough work with Esh.”

She bows again and, in a frenetic, long-paced stride best described as “hurrying”, heads down the garden path towards the guest quarters.

Trust.

Can she blame Mara for not trusting her when Suki has none to give?

She sighs and stares at her orchids, at the stone rising behind the tangle of shrub and ivy, at the blue-tinged mushrooms threatening to take over the lawn, at the green grass beneath her chair and the cloudless sky overhead. She stares at the rocks and leaves of her sanctuary, thinking about Mara, thinking about Mamas Lewis and Polly, thinking about the conversation with Moll in the vegetable garden, thinking about words unsaid and feelings concealed … but as the sun ebbs lower, she finds no course of action but the obvious.

Question.

Why has she, for so long, chosen avoidance over service? Why has she refused to face her pain, even while knowing the impact her absence has on others? If she preaches the sacred power in guiding another to a better road, why does she refuse another’s gift of the same? Will she leave this world as Mara is now? Or will she trust her own kin, her own ideals—the only god worth her wholehearted belief?

“Aziz!” Suki waves a hand at the acolyte reading on the lawn just out of non-shouting earshot. “Tell Moll that I’d like them to attend me here at their earliest convenience. Please have the kitchen arrange sweets for both of us and my afternoon tea.” She pauses, considering, as Aziz scrambles upright and straightens hir brown robe. “My shawl. And ask Thanh for an additional dose of my pain medicine. Thank you.”

Question.

If Moll is good enough for Esher Hill, they ought to be good enough for Suki of Sirenne.

[chobit92]

Home: Jacob Seed/OC Chapter 31

Warnings: Violence, Sex 

(Three Days Later: Wednesday: Faith is sitting on the steps up at Joseph’s statue. She is clutching her radio in her hand. Lexi walks over to her.). Lexi: Still haven’t heard anything? Faith: No. She’s dead isn’t she? I know it. Lexi: You don’t know it. You can’t know it. Faith: But she’s been missing for five days! Lexi: Maybe she isn’t even missing. Faith: Then why hasn’t she contacted me? Lexi: Maybe she just needed time alone to think. Faith: You’re just saying that to make me feel better. But it doesn’t. Because I know that’s not what’s happened. Lexi: Just think positive. Faith: I’m trying. 

(---Jacob walks through the trees following Terry who has a Judge on a leash. The Judge is sniffing the ground and looking around. Barry walks over smoking a cigarette.). Barry: How long has she been missing now? Terry: I’m not sure. John said he hasn’t seen her since her atonement. He said she was going back to her trailer to get her stuff then meet up with Faith. Faith went to her trailer five days ago and found it burned down. Barry: Hm. You only want to find her so that you can be her knight in shining armour. (The other guys laugh.). Terry: No. Barry: Yes. Terry: No. Barry: She’d never be interested in you anyway. You could always ask Jacob if he could ‘condition’ her to fall in love with you. (Barry laughs hard. Terry sighs and shakes his head.). Embry: Can you do that? Make someone fall in love with you? Barry: Why? You got your eye on someone an all? (Barry laughs again.). Embry: No. I just wondered. Barry: You wonder about a lot kid. (Embry shrugs. They walk for a few more minutes. Suddenly the Judge goes mad and pulls Terry forward.). Barry: Oh hello what’s he after? (They let the Judge lead them through the trees until they come to an embankment. Terry looks down at the bottom and sees Mara lying face down in the dirt.). Terry: It’s Mara! Barry take him. (Barry takes the Judge’s leash and Terry clambers down the bank. Jacob follows him. They reach Mara and turn her over. Her head is bleeding, blood covers the side of her face. She also has a split lip and a black eye. Terry then sees that her leg is bleeding. The blood soaking her leggings.). Terry: She’s been shot. (Jacob lifts her up and she stirs slightly, her eyes slowly opening. He looks down at her as she blinks up at him.). Mara: Handsome. (Her voice is croaky and weak. Her eyes close again. Jacob carries her up the embankment and the others follow him back to the truck. 

---Mara wakes up. She lets out a groan. Everything hurts. She blinks several times and sees Terry sitting in a chair against the wall. She is thirsty, her mouth is so dry and she is hungry.). Terry: Well look who’s still in the land of the living. How you feeling? Mara: Um. Terry: Yeah that’s about the size of it eh? You hit your head on something. Mara: A rock. I fell. Terry: Fell? Clumsy aren’t yah? (She manages a smile.). Mara: Yeah. Wait...What day is it? Terry: Wednesday. You’ve been missing for a week. What happened? Mara: I need to go meet my sister. I was going to meet her. She must be worried. Is she worried? (She goes to get up but groans and nearly falls to the floor. Terry grabs her and puts her back on the bed.). Terry: Hey. Hey. You need to rest. Faith is on her way here to see you with the Father. Mara: Um. Great. Terry: What happened? (Mara then sees Jacob sitting on the bed opposite her. He is staring at her intently. She then sees writing on the wall and notices there are shackles on the bed. She also sees a sound system on a table against the wall. Sunlight streams through the boards over the windows.). Mara: Where am I? Terry: Grand View Hotel. Mara: Some hotel this is. This blanket is filthy. Is there even room service? (Terry laughs.). Terry: I’d almost forgotten how funny you were. Mara: Um. I went to my trailer after John took me through the atonement. I was going to get my stuff then go meet my sister. (She starts coughing. Terry offers her some water from a canteen. She takes a few sips.). Mara: Thanks. Terry: So you were going to meet Faith? Mara: Yeah. I didn’t really have a plan. I did think about just staying in the trailer but...I dunno. I opened the door and there were several of those whitetail guys there. They said Eli wanted me dead. Hm. He wants me so dead but he has to send others to do it. Pussyhole. He always was a cowardly prick. (Terry laughs.). Terry: He wants revenge for his brother. Mara: How do you know about that? Terry: John taped your confession and broadcasted it to everyone. Then Faith told us the priest was Eli’s brother Kevin. Mara: Oh. Yeah. Terry: How did you get away from the Whitetails? Mara: Sheer dumb luck I think. I told ‘em I didn’t want any trouble. They said it was too late. I didn’t really feel like a fight. I was tired and fed up. So I ran. They started shooting at me. I think I hit one of them. Hid in a cabin for a bit. Fell asleep. Then I started heading towards the Henbane. Ran into more Whitetails, got shot, stumbled. Ran out of ammo. Tried to run. Managed to get away. Then I fell. Which is when I hit my head I think because I can’t remember anything else. Terry: Damn. (Mara moves her leg. It hurts. She suddenly wonders if she can walk.). Mara: How’s my leg? Didn’t need to have it cut off did I? (Terry laughs and shakes his head.). Terry: No. You were lucky. The bullet didn’t actually enter your leg. It just left a nasty gash. Mara: Thank goodness for the Whitetails shitty aim. (Terry laughs again. Suddenly Only You by The Platters can be heard down the hall. Terry sighs.). Terry: What’s he playing at? I told him to wait. Mara: He’s got that loud enough ain’t he? Terry: Ain’t he just? (Terry gets up and leaves.). Terry: Hey Baz! (Mara lies there staring at the ceiling. Jacob gets up and walks over to her. She looks up at him.). Mara: There he is. My hero. (She smiles.). Mara: Oh go on. Give us a smile handsome. (He frowns and shakes his head.). Jacob: You’re lucky you’re not dead. Mara: Depends how you look at it. (He raises his eyebrows.). Jacob: You wanna be dead? Mara: You offering to do me in? Jacob: No. Your sister has been worried. The Father wants you alive. He is glad you have decided to join us. Mara: Bet him and my sister are the only ones. Jacob: Terry is pleased too. Mara: Coz he fancies me? Right. Jacob: He’s an idiot. Mara: Gee thanks. You really know how to shatter a girls confidence. Why is he an idiot if he fancies me? Coz I’m not pretty? Coz I’m not smart? Coz I’m homeless? Or is it coz you fancy me really and are a tiny bit jealous but you’re ashamed to admit it? (He chuckles.). Jacob: I never said I fancied you. I don’t know where you got that from. Mara: Well you didn’t seem to be completely turned off when you were fucking me. (He is silent for a moment.). Jacob: We’ve already had this conversation. It was a drunk fuck that’s it. (Tears sting her eyes.). Mara: Wow. You’re really good at shattering a girls confidence. (He frowns.). Jacob: I notice you left that out of your confession to John. Mara: Oh yeah...I was really gonna tell him that I slept with his brother after he got drunk coz I stupidly thought... Jacob: Thought what? Mara: Nothing. (She closes her eyes. Jacob hears footsteps then Faith and Joseph enter the room. Faith rushes to her sisters side.). Faith: Sis! (Mara opens her eyes again. She smiles.). Mara: Hey you. Faith: I’m so glad your okay. Mara: Depends how you define okay. Joseph: Faith has been very worried. I assured her that you would be found. Mara: God tell you that? Faith: Sis. Mara: What? I was only bleeding asking. I don’t know do I? Faith: Her mouths working so she must be fine. (Terry laughs from the doorway.). Terry: She’s tougher than she looks. Mara: Hm. Don’t know about that. Faith: How are you feeling? What happened? (Mara tells her the same thing she told Terry and Jacob. Faith sits stunned.). Faith: Eli wants you dead. He won’t stop looking. Mara: He ain’t even looking. He’s sending all these idiots out after me. Bloody coward. (Mara closes her eyes again.). Faith: Sis? Mara: Huh? Faith: Are you alright? No of course you’re not you’ve been shot and you’ve hit your head. Mara: I’m fine. Faith: I’m so proud of you. (She leans over and hugs Mara.). Mara: Eh? What you on about? Faith: You did it. You atoned for your sins and now we are together properly. I’m so happy. Mara: Hm. That’s good then. Faith: So other than all of that you are okay? Mara: Yeah. Just tired. Joseph: We will let you rest. But first I would like to welcome you to our family. (Joseph leans over the bed and presses his forehead to Mara’s. She turns her head away.). Mara: Can’t we just shake hands or hug instead? Faith: Sis. Mara: Sorry I just... Joseph: My apologies. I will leave you to rest. Faith will be back tomorrow to see how you are. I hope you can make it to my sermon on Sunday. We are going to John’s for dinner afterwards. Mara: Sounds nice. Faith: I’m going to go and get you something to eat. (Joseph pulls Jacob towards him and Mara watches as the brothers share a tender moment. She sees the way Jacob looks at Joseph. She finds herself wishing he would look at her like that. Then she scolds herself. Stupid. You don’t even know the guy. How can she care so much? Joseph then whispers to Jacob and Jacob nods. Joseph then leaves. Faith gets up and smiles at Jacob before leaving. Mara then hears The Platters again from somewhere down the hall. Mara closes her eyes and finds herself imagining going on a date with Jacob. Having dinner, him holding her hand across the table. Then finding somewhere high up in the mountains where the view is amazing and drinking under the stars. Then kissing and keeping each other warm. Him giving her his army jacket when she gets too cold. Her chest feels tight as she realises that she wants that. She wants to have another drink with him, just the two of them, and get to know him. Really get to know him.). Jacob: You still awake? Mara: Um. Like you could sleep on this thing. What’s with the shackles you into bondage? (He chuckles.). Jacob: Would you like that? Mara: Not really. I don’t get all that. Tied up like a prisoner and tortured with whips. Hardly romantic is it? (She sighs. Then she tries to get up again.). Jacob: Maybe you should just rest. Mara: I need the loo. I guess I could just wet the bed. Judging by the state of this mattress no one would notice. (He chuckles.). Jacob: Do you often complain so much? Mara: I’m not complaining. I’m just saying. (She sways slightly as she slowly puts her feet on the floor. She winces as she tries to get up. Fuck does her leg hurt. She suddenly realises she isn’t wearing any trousers and her leg has a bandage wrapped around it. She moves the grubby blanket.). Mara: Where are my trousers? (Jacob hands them to her. She snatches them.). Mara: Bunch of pervs. (He chuckles.). Jacob: Hardly. Had to patch up your wound somehow. Couldn’t do it through your leggings. (She struggles into the leggings then stands up. She loses her balance though and stumbles forward. Jacob catches her. She looks up at him.). Jacob: Clumsy aren’t yah? (She smiles as she clings to his jacket.). Mara: I just wanted to be in your arms again. You know you could carry me to the bathroom. Like a real gent. (He stares down at her.). Jacob: Or I could just watch you struggle. Mara: Charming. Thanks for all your help. (She buries her head in his barrel of a chest and stays clinging to his jacket. He takes his hands off of her.). Jacob: You gonna let go of me? Mara: No. Jacob: Why? Mara: Don’t want to. Your warm and you smell nice. This is nice. (He steps back. She sighs then limps to the door. Faith comes back with a tray.). Faith: Hey where are you going? Mara: To the toilet. (Mara leaves the room. Faith puts the tray on the bed. Just then they hear a shout. Faith frowns and leaves the room. Jacob follows her.). Terry: Shit! Barry grab him! (A man runs across the landing heading for Mara.). Man: Cull the weak! Faith: Sis watch out! (The man reaches Mara and grabs her.). Mara: What the fuck?! Get off of me you psycho! (Mara punches him then shoves him against the banister. The man lets out a yell as he goes flying over the banister and they hear a crash down below. Mara winces and rubs her neck then leans against the wall. Terry, Barry and Faith reach her. Jacob slowly walks over to them.). Faith: Sis are you alright?! Mara: No I’m not fucking alright! I’m getting fed up of people fucking attacking me! I’ll tell yah what the next cunt that fucking touches me I’m gonna rip his dick off! (Terry laughs. Mara then turns and limps down the hallway.). Terry: Where are you going? Mara: To take a fucking piss! Barry: Whoa. Your sister sure gets angry. Faith: Yes she does. She’s always had a temper. Terry: We best go move that body from the bottom of the stairwell Baz. Barry: Yeah. I can’t believe she just did that. She just threw him the fuck over! (Barry walks off chuckling. Jacob levels Terry with a cold glare.). Jacob: What was the prisoner doing out of restraints? Terry: I’m sorry sir. It won’t happen again. Jacob: It shouldn’t have happened at all. Terry: Of course sir. Sorry. (Terry quickly walks off.). Faith: I’m gonna go see if my sister is alright. (Faith walks off. Jacob sighs then looks over the banister. He can see the Whitetail militia members crumpled body several floors below. He chuckles to himself as he sees Mara in his mind just shoving the man over. He has to admit he has never met anyone like her. He goes back to the bedroom and fiddles with the sound system. Terry told him earlier that it wasn’t working. His thoughts soon drift back to Mara though. The way she calls him handsome all the time. He wonders if she means it. He wonders how she could mean it. He knows what he looks like. He finds himself thinking about that night again. He hasn’t kissed a woman in many many years. He hasn’t been touched in many many years, not by anyone other than his brothers. He tries to tell himself that he didn’t like it. That he isn’t bothered. But he fails...Because he did. He scolds himself for having such thoughts. For being so weak. He goes back to fiddling with the sound system. Faith and Mara come back. Mara is leaning against Faith and Faith helps her to the bed. Mara sits down and sits up against the rusty headboard. Faith puts the pillow behind her. Then she puts the tray of food on her lap. Mara frowns down at it.). Mara: What’s this? Faith: Muesli. Mara: Looks like something that’s been swept out of a pigeon loft. (Mara puts some on the spoon and takes a mouthful. She coughs slightly then pulls a funny face.). Mara: Tastes like something that’s been swept out of a pigeon loft. (Jacob finds himself chuckling. Barry suddenly walks in with a member of the Whitetail militia. The man is unconscious. Barry lies him on the bed opposite Mara and straps his arms and legs to it with the shackles. Mara fights the urge not to say anything. This is the man that she is developing a crush on? A man that keeps people chained to beds and in cages? She wonders what happened to these brothers to make them to turn out so angry and wrong. But then she wonders whether or not they are wrong. Maybe it’s everyone else that is.). Mara: A question that often drives me hazy. Am I or the others crazy? Barry: What? (Jacob frowns.). Mara: Nothing. (Mara supposes she can’t really say anything. She’s never really liked people anyway. The world is crazy these days. It’s all full of shit too. Maybe it is about time it ended.). Jacob: Why are you putting him in here? Barry: The other rooms are full and Embry hasn’t gotten around to cleaning the others up yet. Jacob: Cleaning? What’s the matter with him? Barry: He’s just a confused kid. Not sure why you recruited him sir. Jacob: Hm. Mara: I like Embry. I’ll have him if you don’t want him. Bet he’s a sweetie. Barry: Ah. I’ll tell him he’s got a little admirer. Might perk him up a bit. Mara: I didn’t mean like that you saucy git. (Barry chuckles.). Barry: Terry will be disappointed. (Mara sighs and rolls her eyes.). Mara: Tell Terry not to waste his time. (Barry chuckles.). Barry: Speakers not working? Jacob: No. Short in the wiring. Barry: Hm. Need some help? Jacob: No. (Barry leaves. Faith sits there looking at Mara.). Faith: You need to eat sis. Mara: I’m trying. (Mara grimaces as she eats more of the muesli. Faith giggles watching her.). Faith: You are funny sis. Mara: Am I? (Mara sighs.). Mara: I bet I look like shit eh? Faith: You could never look like shit sis. You always were the sexy one. Mara: Sexy? There’s a word I’ve never heard you use before. Faith: Well you are. Mara: No. I’ve always looked awful. The boys always used to like you. Faith: I think maybe you just gave off this vibe of ‘don’t even think about it’. (Mara laughs then coughs and splutters. Faith gets her some water which she gulps down.). Faith: You should take it easy. Mara: Nothing worth doing is ever easy. Faith: True. Mara: Do you ever think about...How things could have been different for us? Faith: What do you mean? Mara: I mean like if we were born to parents who loved us and cared for us and we went to school and had friends and nice family dinners and...Went to college and dated guys and had sleepovers with mates and gossiped about what a dickhead the guy was. (Faith laughs.). Faith: I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about all that. Mara: No? Hm. Well instead of all that normal shit we get all of this mess don’t we? Faith: What mess? Mara: Well the parents that completely messed us up before we’d even left kindergarten, psychiatric prisons, drugs, people trying to kill us, religious cults and the end of the world. (Faith stares at her sister. Then she starts laughing.). Faith: What are you on about? Have you been drinking? Mara: No. Where would I have gotten a drink from? I could do with one actually. Faith: Oh you are terrible. Anyway this isn’t a religious cult. Mara: What is it then? (Faith opens her mouth then closes it again.). Mara: Ahhh see. Faith: No. I don’t see. It’s not a religious cult. Joseph is just trying to save people. Mara: I understand that but that could still be construed as a cult sis. Not that I mind I don’t give a shit. (Faith laughs again and shakes her head.). Mara: As long as Joseph doesn’t turn out to be like Benjamin Cyrus. (Faith frowns.). Faith: I don’t think I’ve heard of Benjamin Cyrus. Mara: He was a cult leader from an episode of Criminal Minds. Faith: So he isn’t even a real person? Mara: No. (Faith laughs.). Mara: What? Well he was a head case. The things he was doing too. Good grief. I just like the bit at the end where he goes ‘God could have stopped me’ and the FBI agent walks in at that precise moment and puts a bullet in his head then says ‘He just did’. It is funny. (Faith laughs.). Faith: When did you watch that? Mara: Me and Franky used to stay at her friend’s apartment. He liked the show. Had the whole box set. Faith: So this Cyrus was the leader of a cult? What was he doing? Mara: Well he married a fourteen year old girl and said she had to bear him children. For me that is way too young. He also had sex with other fourteen year old girls and then he gave his whole church poison to drink, even the little kids, and said that they will be together or some shit then he planted bombs and blew everything up. (Faith laughs.). Faith: The things you watch. Joseph isn’t like that at all. Mara: No I have to admit he doesn’t strike me as the type of man that would fiddle with young girls. Faith: Definitely not. This is different anyway. It isn’t a cult. A lot of people call it that but- Mara: Well it is technically. I mean the word cult means a system of religious veneration and devotion directed towards a particular figure or object. It also describes something that is popular among a particular group of people. Faith: It’s like you swallowed a dictionary. (Mara laughs.). Mara: You know it makes sense sis. Faith: Well I suppose when you word it like that it does. Mara: Right then. Glad we’ve settled that debate. (Faith laughs.). Faith: I have forgotten how strong minded you are. Mara: Stubborn sis. Like you. Faith: I suppose. So...Are you happy? Mara: Happy? No. Faith: But we’re back together and you have atoned. You have joined us and- Mara: And what? I mean what do I do now? Just forget everything and what? Sit and knit? Faith: Knit? (Faith giggles.). Faith: I suppose you could knit if you wanted to. Mara: I don’t know how to knit. (They both burst out laughing.). Faith: Oh I love you sis. Mara: Love you too. But I really can’t eat anymore of this rubbish. Faith: Fine don’t eat it then. Don’t complain that you’re hungry. Mara: Hey I don’t complain...Much. (Faith laughs. Mara smiles. She has to admit that she is glad she is back with her sister. That they are free to see each other and just talk like this whenever they want. She is glad she is out of that basement and free to do what she wants. But she still isn’t happy. She wants a normal life with a proper home and someone that loves her. God she wants that. But nobody’s going to want her.). Faith: Sis are you okay? Mara: Yeah. Great. (Mara sighs.). Mara: I’m gonna try and get some sleep. Faith: Okay. (Faith picks up the tray and carries it out of the room. Mara closes her eyes. She hears movement then a shuffling sound. Then she hears the sound of something metal falling to the floor. She opens her eyes and sees Jacob bending down to pick something up. She had forgotten he was there. She watches as he lets out a grunt and reaches under the table. His ass is now up in the air and she stares. Damn he has a nice ass. She mentally damns Jacob for even existing, for making her feel these things. Jacob goes to get up and bangs his head on the table. He sighs. She can’t help but laugh. He turns to look at her. She smiles at him.). Mara: Are you okay? Jacob: Yeah. Glad you find it amusing. Mara: Sorry. I thought I was the clumsy one. Though the view was nice. (He frowns.). Jacob: What? (He looks slightly confused.). Mara: You have a great ass. I wouldn’t mind seeing more of it. (He stares at her. He looks like he doesn’t know what to say.). Mara: Need any help? (She slowly gets up and hobbles over to him. She looks at the speaker.). Mara: Why ain’t it working? Jacob: There’s a short in the wiring. (He watches as she fiddles around with the wires.). Jacob: You haven’t got a clue what you’re doing do yah? (Damn even his voice does something to her.). Mara: Not really. Jacob: You should be resting. You need to get your strength back. Mara: Hm. I remember when I said the same to you. I bet you didn’t rest did you? Mr stubborn. Jacob: Don’t have time. Mara: You must get free time. Jacob: Always busy doing shit. Mara: Maybe that’s why you seem so miserable. You need to do something for yourself. There must be something you like doing that doesn’t involve your brothers or this place or that derelict damn veterans center. Jacob: Hm. I like nature. Mara: Nature? Jacob: It’s one of the reasons I chose the mountains. Mara: Yeah I’ve always loved it up here. I used to find like the highest points and just sit there for ages looking down at the valley. I’d sometimes make a fire and sit up there all night. Jacob: Um. You like camping? Mara: Yeah. I mean I don’t really mind TV or technology but sometimes I like to just get away from it all and go back to how it used to be. Just nature and animals and nothing. Jacob: Hm. Our ancestors would be ashamed if they could see us now. Mara: Well they’d probably not believe how much people complain these days. You’d get ‘Oh well in my day there was no central heating’. ‘In my day you didn’t need to worry about what you were going to have for dinner you’d worry about whether there was going to be any dinner’. ‘In my day you had sabre tooth tigers and woolly mammoths and you should have seen the size of them you wouldn’t believe it’. (Jacob is just looking at her with raised eyebrows. She laughs.). Mara: What? (He just lets out a chuckle.). Mara: You know you should laugh more. Jacob: Should I? Mara: Yeah laughter is good for you. And you look even more handsome when you smile. Jacob: Do I? Mara: Yeah. Why do I get the feeling you don’t believe me? Jacob: Because I don’t. Mara: Well you are. Jacob: Um. You’re just saying that. Mara: Why would I do that? Jacob... (She sighs.). Mara: The first time I saw you in John’s kitchen...I thought wow. Your eyes, that hair...I was attracted to you the first moment I saw you. When you...Stayed...And got into bed with me...I couldn’t believe my luck. (She stares into space for a moment.). Mara: I’m gonna lie down. I feel quite dizzy. (She turns and hobbles back to the bed. She lies down and closes her eyes. Jacob stands there staring down at the wires spilling out of the speaker but not really seeing them. His mind is reeling. A woman has never been attracted to him. Ever. All he’s ever really had is pity fucks. Nobody has ever wanted him. Not his parents and not the army, they just threw him away. He sighs. It doesn’t matter anyway. He knows his purpose. He turns and looks at Mara. She is lying with her back to him. He goes back to fiddling with the speaker. 

---Later: Jacob is loading up his large red truck. He puts his Judge on the backseat. The Judge just sits there looking at him. Terry then walks over.). Terry: I’ll bring the rest of the supplies over tomorrow. Jacob: Good. Is Faith still here? Terry: Nah she went back to her bunker I think. Something about the Angels. (Terry shrugs. Jacob grunts. Terry suddenly frowns.). Terry: She should be resting. (Jacob turns and sees Mara limping towards them with her holdall slung over her shoulder. She reaches the truck and opens the passenger door. She puts her holdall on the floor and gets in the passenger seat. Jacob leans into the truck.). Jacob: What are you doing? Mara: Give me a lift handsome. (She smiles at him.). Mara: I’ll make it worth your while. (Terry lets out a small cough. Jacob stares at her then raises his eyebrows.). Jacob: Oh really? Mara: If you like. (There is a low growl from the backseat and Mara turns to see the wolf snarling at her.). Mara: Oh hey Judge. Ah don’t be like that it’s only me. (The wolf continues to snarl at her. Jacob clicks his fingers and the wolf turns to look at him.). Terry: I’ll er...See you later then sir. Jacob: Yeah. (Jacob gets in the truck. He sees the look on Terry’s face and has to chuckle to himself. He looks a bit put out about Mara leaving.). Mara: What’s so funny? Jacob: Nothing. (Jacob starts the engine and pulls out of the hotels car park. Mara looks out of the window as they drive away.). Mara: Best be careful we don’t get ambushed by Whitetails. Every time I’m with you there’s drama. Jacob: No drama with me. Mara: There is. Jacob: No. That’s the Whitetails. Ain’t me. Mara: It is you. Did you fix that speaker? Jacob: Yeah. Mara: You good at fixing things then? Jacob: I’m alright. Ain’t an expert. Mara: Better than me. I used to want to be a mechanic. I could have had my own garage. Angels Autos or something cheesy like that. Jacob: Why? Mara: I don’t know. I just liked the idea of being able to fix cars. Which is kind of daft coz I don’t even know how to drive one. (She lets out a small laugh.). Jacob: You don’t know how to drive? (He sounds surprised.). Mara: No. Lessons cost money. Ain’t never had none of that. Jacob: Hm. Know that feeling. Mara: What feeling being skint all the time and wondering where you’re going to sleep next? Jacob: Yeah. Mara: It’s crap. Jacob: Yeah. (There is silence for a while. Mara finds herself looking at Jacob. He only has one hand on the steering wheel, his other hand is resting in his lap. She sits there imagining herself reaching over and taking hold of his hand. She wonders about just doing it. Then she wonders why she’s still flirting with him at all. It’s obvious to her that she’s wasting her time. He’s made it clear he isn’t interested. She turns and leans against the window as tears sting her eyes. She closes her eyes and tries to make the tears stop. She will not cry in front of him, she will not cry because of him, she will not cry at all.). Jacob: Where am I dropping you off? Mara: I don’t know. Trailers gone so... (She shrugs.). Jacob: I could drop you off at Joseph’s compound, they’ll have somewhere you can stay. Or your sisters bunker? Mara: A load of strangers or a bunker filled with drugs that make you ill. I’d rather sleep in the woods. (He raises his eyebrows.). Jacob: Well...Where do you want me to drop you off then? Mara: I dunno. Wherever I guess. Doesn’t really matter. (There is silence for a moment.). Mara: Can I just come back with you? (He is silent. She thinks she’s gone too far now. He won’t want her staying with him. Then she remembers that he keeps people in cages. Does things to them. Wheaty said that he brainwashes people to kill for him. She wonders if he’ll do that to her. Then she realises that he doesn’t really need to, she’s already killed for him.). Jacob: You want to come back to the veterans center? Mara: Why not? Ah yeah that’s right according to Wheaty I should stay away from big scary Jacob and his mansion of horrors. Jacob: Hm. You should. Mara: Always been a dumb bitch. Look just say so if you don’t want me to come back with you. Don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings or anything. (Shit. She has no idea why she said that. This guy is making her go mad.). Jacob: I wasn’t worried about hurting your feelings. I couldn’t give a shit how you feel. Mara: Why does that not surprise me. You don’t seem to care much about anything. Maybe your depressed. (He doesn’t answer but he does shoot her a cold glare. She glares back.). Mara: Oh is that Jacob’s scary face? Hm. (She giggles.). Mara: Sorry. It just makes you look sexy when you glare like that. (He chuckles and shakes his head.). Mara: Your blushing. Jacob: No I’m not. Mara: Yes you are. (She giggles.). Mara: You should believe me you know? Jacob: About what? Mara: That you’re a very handsome man. (He looks sceptical.). Mara: Seriously. A guy like you could have any woman he wanted. Jacob: Now you’re just being ridiculous and talking absolute shit. Mara: Who was it that stole your confidence? I would have thought a guy like you would be filled with confidence. Did a woman hurt you? (He sighs.). Jacob: Please stop talking. (She leans against the window again and looks out at the passing trees. It doesn’t take them long to reach the veterans center. Mara looks up as they drive past the sign. She then stares as the large building looms into view through the trees. It looks...Well like a derelict building would look. It looks dead and dreary and full of impending doom. Jacob drives through the large open gate and parks his truck. Mara sees dozens of cages and a few of them have people in them. Oh God. She schools her face to remain blank and uncaring as she gets out of the truck. She grabs her holdall and slings it over her shoulder. Jacob gets the Judge out of the truck and walks towards the front steps of the building. Two men look up as he approaches with Mara slowly following behind. Jacob hands the Judge’s leash to one of the men.). Jacob: Take him back to his kennel. Man: Yes sir. (The man walks off with the Judge. Jacob then goes inside. Mara follows him. The inside is worse than the outside. The paint on the walls is peeling and the floor is covered in stains. The ceiling is damp and there is mould growing in some places. Some of the rooms have no doors and in one hallway the radiator isn’t even attached to the wall. She can’t believe he lives here. It’s kinda sad. He starts walking up the stairs and she follows him. He then walks up another flight of stairs and walks down the hallway before opening a set of double doors. She follows him inside and looks around. There are several filing cabinets in front of the doors with TV screens and files all over them. Opposite that is a set of double doors that open onto a balcony. In the corner is another filing cabinet along with a table with another screen on it. On the wall is a target with several throwing knives embedded in it. On another wall is the large black logo of Edens Gate. There is a small bed with a filthy blanket and a rusted frame along with a small table and a metal lamp. Another table has rolled up maps on it along with an ashtray and some empty bottles of whiskey. Three pairs of boots sit under the table along with several large books. For some reason she expected Jacobs living space to be much neater and tidier what with him having been in the army. But the bed isn’t even made. She can’t believe he sleeps here.). Mara: So...You live here? Jacob: Most of the time yeah. Mara: That sucks. (He shrugs.). Jacob: Doesn’t bother me. (She puts her holdall on the floor and sits down in a chair.). Jacob: Why are you here? Mara: I don’t know. Nowhere else to go. Besides you’re the one that brought me here. Jacob: I told you, you could have gone to Joseph’s compound with the others. Mara: I doubt I’ll fit in there. Jacob: Hm. Mara: If you want me to go just say so. Do you want me to go? Jacob: No. (He stands there for a moment then sits down on the bed so that she has to turn to look at him.). Jacob: I was under the impression that you were gonna make it worth my while. (She stares at him for a moment then she lets out a small laugh and shakes her head.). Mara: Ah I see now. That’s the only reason you bought me back here. Of course. It wouldn’t be coz you liked my company or anything no. (She sits there for a moment arguing with herself. She should just leave. She should tell this dickhead to fuck right off. He wants to use her for sex again. If she lets him then she is a fucking idiot. But she wants him. She isn’t sure she is really up to it right now though. She still feels like shit. Then she has an idea. As soon as she has it she hates herself and feels stupid again. But she can’t seem to help it. She wants him. She wants to please him and...She’s never done this before and she is curious. She stands up and smiles at him.). Mara: Come here then handsome. (He looks at her for a moment before frowning and getting up. He walks over to her. She reaches out and runs her fingers over his belt before sliding her hands up over his biceps. She then grabs his jacket and pushes it off of his shoulders. He shrugs out of it and it drops to the floor. She then lifts his shirt up running her fingers up underneath it.). Mara: Off. Jacob: No. Mara: What? (She lifts his t-shirt but he pushes it back down. She frowns.). Mara: What’s the problem? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Is big scary Jacob shy? Jacob: No. Mara: Then what’s the problem? If you’re worried about how you look don’t be. Besides it’s a little late to be shy isn’t it? I saw you half naked when you were injured then I saw...All of you. Which was rather nice by the way. (He raises his eyebrows.). Jacob: Really? Mara: Yes. How many times do I have to tell you? I think you are gorgeous. (He stares at her. Then he chuckles.). Mara: You think that’s funny? It wasn’t a joke. (He notices that her cheeks have turned pink. Damn she looks cute when she’s embarrassed. He takes his shirt off and watches as she stares at his bare chest. But she doesn’t look at him like those other women did...With disgust, shock or pity. She is looking at him with lust and desire. She reaches out and runs her hands over his abdomen then his chest. Then she starts placing kisses on his chest. She then undoes his belt and jeans.). Mara: Sit down. (He sits down and watches her as she sinks to her knees and pulls him out of his boxers. She stares at his cock for a moment then she slowly slides her mouth over him. She sucks and licks at him while squeezing him with her hand. Her other hand slides over his chest, her fingers raking through the hair he has there. He lets out a groan as she slides her hand up and down his cock while sucking and licking at it. He runs his fingers through her hair. A minute later the door opens and a young man enters the room.). Man: Jacob sir- (The man stops dead when he sees what is happening. His mouth drops open. Mara doesn’t stop sucking him off though. Her nails dig into his chest and he groans then glares at the man.). Jacob: You ever heard of fucking knocking? Man: Y-Yes sir. Of course sir. S-sorry sir. (The young man hurriedly leaves the room closing the door behind him. Jacob tilts his head back and closes his eyes as she continues to suck and lick at him. Minutes later she tastes him in her mouth as he comes with a groan. She swallows and licks at him before pulling away from him and wiping her mouth. His chest is heaving and he is breathless.). Mara: Was...That okay? (He stares at her. She sounds so worried.). Jacob: Was it not obvious? (She shrugs. He tucks himself back inside his boxers then does his jeans and belt back up. She steps towards him then straddles him. The chair creaks under their combined weight.). Jacob: What are you doing? Mara: I’ve been wondering what it would be like to sit in your lap. Jacob: You have? Mara: Um. (She kisses him and runs her hands over his chest. He doesn’t kiss her back. He pushes her away and stands up.). Jacob: I have things to do. Mara: Okay. (She leans against the desk. He notices how tired she looks. How weak.). Mara: Well my body is screaming at me to get some rest so...Can I stay here or do you want me to go somewhere else? Jacob: There’s a spare room just down the hall. Mara: Thanks. (She picks up her holdall and limps to the door. He opens it and points to a door slightly further down the hall.). Mara: I’ll see you later then. Jacob: Guess you will. (She doesn’t really know what she was expecting. A kiss? A hug? She knows he isn’t that kind of man. That much is obvious. He seems cold and detached. She smiles at him and turns going into the room he indicated. She looks around. The bed is dirty and the floor is bare and could do with sweeping. The windows are boarded up like all the others. There is writing on the wall. She puts her holdall on the floor and lies down on the bed. She closes her eyes her head is swimming. It’s clear Jacob isn’t interested in her. He just wanted her to get him off. She realises that this is now the second time she has let him use her. She sighs.). Mara: What an idiot. (She liked it though. She liked the sounds he made when she was pleasuring him. She thought she was going to die of embarrassment when that man walked in. She hopes he doesn’t tell anyone what he saw. Oh that would be all she needed. For everyone to know that she dropped her knickers to some crazy ex soldier that likes treating people like animals. She sighs again and lies there thinking about Jacob...His hair...His eyes...His lips...It doesn’t take her long to fall asleep.).

[griffinsandpeacocks]

Get Up And Write: Week 1: “I feel like a million bucks in the toilet.”Good Day, DNCE

It was always odd to end up like this despite how frequent it had gotten. The hero stared up at the ceiling of a cave and sighed. He’d begun to get tired. Everywhere he went he kept finding more and more people that needed help and saw only his titles and former deeds and great quests. At first the blast from the past had been exhilarating. Yet a familiar exhaustion was starting to pull at him once more. He was burning out again. He needed to find... Something. Anything that could keep him going, maybe not long but long enough. He had more to do; he felt it deep in his soul. There were things he needed answers to and things he needed to right before a retirement was at all feasible. 

“This day will be different...”  Eralas sighs as he stands and packs up walking to the cave mouth he pauses seeing Imperials gathered he froze hand going slowly to his blade under his cloak.

“What can I do for you troops?” He asks calmly his sharp golden eyes are narrowed and a man steps forward.

“Our general wishes to speak to you.” He says and the mer sneers.

“I said I would take no side in this squabble you humans have entangled yourselves in when larger threats loom through the mists of time. Be on your way to tell him so. If not I will not go peacefully.” He says and they glare and go to argue but Eralas pulls his blade the tip barely out of the man’s throat but he knows the tip scrapes the throat.

“I said leave, let me clear the other option if you don’t leave me alone is death.” He spits and they stumble back and are quick to leave after. Sheathing the blade the elf paused to appreciate at the least the Stormcloaks would sneer while saying their generals wanted to talk then gladly leave when he told them no. Imperials were such arrogant bastards about it. Coming from an altmer that was something. He travels trying to do as much as he can. It’s wearying no matter what he did he was a pariah, his own people hated him and everyone else only saw the gold skin and decided he was Thalmor. He sighs and continues traveling he has made close ties with those he’s helped even nords. 

He’s staying at Riftin a while. It’s nice there it calms him. Then again he knew enough people here that were both good and bad it was a bittersweet reminder of home. He smiles at his housecarl as she welcomes him he sits his things down and stretches.

“I think I’ll grab some wine and watch the sun set, you can go about town, I’m here so no need for you to be board.” Eralas says smiling and she laughs and stands he tosses her a bag of one hundred gold and he goes to the back area with a bottle of Firebrand and he sits watching the sun set. He can sense someone approaching and as he can’t hear them he knows the options are slim. He smiles and tilts his head.

“Care to join me I can pour you a mug of Firebrand?” He says and the smooth chuckle alerts him it’s Bryn.

“Have no idea how you do that lad, you need to teach me.” He jokes and takes a seat and the altmer sighs and looks out over the lake.

“Depends, how magically adept are you? I do it without thinking, I’ve been in too many situations that have called for it that now... Now it’s just second nature.” Eralas sighs and Brynjolf sighs and shakes his head.

“Not very much I’m afraid I can light a candle.” Brynjolf sighs flopping into his seat and the mer smiles at him as he pours the nord a drink.

“More than most nords then.” He jokes and Brynjolf laughs agreeing they sit quietly and drink in peace until the bottle is almost empty and the elf stares out as the last rays of light dip below the horizon and stars begin to glimmer though there’s a pale violet on the horizon still. His favorite time, twilight. He sighs and Brynjolf hums in curiosity.

“Something wrong, boss?” He asks and Eralas looks over.

“Have you ever... Gods... Do you know what burning out means?” He asks and Brynjolf sits straighter looking at the mer in concern now.

“Aye, most nord do, we’re taught early because it’s something old warriors are prone to.” He says and the elf laughs and looks up to indigo  laced with glittering lights.

“I’m feeling it creeping up again.” He says and Brynjolf gives a odd sound then goes quite.

“You’re a mer, gods how old are you? What do you mean again?” Brynjolf asks and Eralas sighs.

“Oblivion Crisis... I burnt out watching my home burn. Even worse was watching people turn on each other because those Thalmor bastards... I almost died so many times trying to save the Heart of our people... Yet in the end they won out. They chased us from our home. They followed us trying to extinguish any that dared to think anything other than what they want. It’s bad enough our base culture is so focused on purity nine of ten children are slaughtered. I just... Leaving the Isles... It killed me and now I feel it creeping up wanting to extinguish this flicker I’ve carefully fanned. I need to find something... I don’t care how long it keeps me going, I just need to last long enough I kill that black bat and right the wrongs here... Well, certain wrongs. I’m not jumping into another war.” He says sighing and Brynjolf watches him pain in his eyes.

“If you burn out lad, well loose the only one who can keep us running.” Brynjolf says and Eralas laughs.

“You lot could still get along fine... Just means I’d be sitting behind the desk and doing numbers. I won’t die I’ll just stop wanting to care. So I’ll be there just... A bit dead on the inside.” He says gesturing vaguely. Brynjolf shakes his head.

“Lad, I don’t mean the Guild’s money will stop flowing, we lose the person that kept us from turning into rabid dogs snarling and fighting each other when it got bad.” He says and when Eralas looks into those mossy eyes he sees Brynjolf isn’t lying. He sighs and shuts his eyes tears wanting to slip past.

“Bryn, I can’t promise anything. I’ve had so many close calls just life wise and this feeling it’s... It’s familiar and terrifying and I know I can’t keep going if things keep like they have. I feel more and more like a pot of septims that’s been thrown into a sewer drain. I just... I either am seen as a disgusting outcast or a thalmor, Bryn... I can’t keep this up for much longer.” He says looking at the nord with desperate pain in his eyes and Brynjolf leans in and clasps his hands over Eralas’.

“You’re one of my few friends lad. Whatever I can do to help... I’m here.”  He says and the elf smiles. Friends... He had too few true ones nowadays. 

“Thank you. I need friends now more than ever. Besides Bryn, I might lead them, but you’re the real backbone, it’s you that kept us going as long as we have remember that for me.” He says smiling and Brynjolf squeezes his hands and smiles back but his eyes are uncertain and worried. Yet Eralas needed someone to know. He sighs and wonders about going and seeing Erandur and praying with him to Mara. Maybe... Maybe the gods would help him through this. He didn’t want to be in this agony again. He stands and walks inside.

“Tomorrow I’m riding out to go visit a priest friend of mine. Finish the bottle I’m going to bed. I’m old and need a nap.” Eralas jokes before flopping onto his bed and tugging off his boots and traveling gear he then curls up under the blanket. He still feels like he would feel more at home in a sewer... Though he did have Shadowfoot Sanctum... He could go sleep there yet again it was more fancy than he felt he belonged. 

[eeveevie]

"Mamihlapinatapei - The look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move" for your pairing of choice

Mara Finds a Way

I took a different approach to this and set it during their relationship, but still involves the two taking the next big step and being afraid to. 

from this list

Brynjolf x F!Dragonborn (Fiona)

1600 words (under a cut) | Ao3

“Looking for our lovely Guildmaster?”

It wasn’t the first thought that crossed Brynjolf’s mindwhen he entered the Ragged Flaggon that afternoon. He knew Fiona had traveledto Rorikstead on some small matter, but Guild business had kept him in Riften—afew days apart didn’t concern him like it did in the early days of theirrelationship. While he still accompanied her on most journeys, it wasn’t unusualfor him to occasionally stay behind.

His younger self might balk at how domesticated he’dbecome with Fiona in the recent years they’d shared together, transforming theGuild and building a life together in Riften. But he was a changed man and hewouldn’t have it any other way if it meant coming back to a prosperous Guildand home to the lass.

Brynjolf joined Delvin at his usual table with a shake ofhis head. “I know she’s working,” he explained. “I don’t need to know where sheis all the time.”

“Cute,” Delvin replied, pausing to sip at his tankard ofale. “Could’ve sworn I heard word about her arriving back in the city just now.”

Brynjolf raised a brow, wondering what his friend was tryingto imply. “And?”

“Right Vex? She was over at the temple of Mara?”

“The temple—” Brynjolf nearly choked on his ale.

For all the time he knew Fiona, she had never stepped footinside the temple. She had always shown an indifference to Maramal and the priest’ssermons at the Bee and Barb, so what had changed? What in Gods name was shedoing there? Perhaps it was a simple favor? It had to be. His heartraced and gut clenched when he thought that it could be something else.

He shot a glance over to where Vex was leaning at the soundof her snickering, to which she offered a shrug. “I don’t know what to say,Bryn. Looks like the boss is looking to tie you down.”

“Don’t—” Brynjolf swallowed the lump in his throat, unsureas to why he was suddenly so anxious. He was madly in love with Fiona—had beenfor years, perhaps longer than he cared to admit—but marriage? That wasterrifying. Even if he wanted to entertain the idea, the thought of asking hernearly made him faint.

Instead of laughing like Brynjolf expected, Delvin looked athim with a mix of confusion and concern. “You know, we’ve all been figuring youtwo would’ve gotten around to marrying by now,” he said with a smirk. “Evenwith you being you.”

Ignoring his friend’s comment, he ran a hand through hishair before pressing his palm against his forehead in thought. He hadbrought it up to Fiona once, earlier in their relationship, but it was such anoff-handed remark. Fiona had been betrothed once, when she was much younger,but had gotten out of it by simply running away. Brynjolf had asked if shewould ever consider marriage again—hardly a proposal, but after her cageyreaction and flustered response, he decided not to bring it up again. Brynjolfresided to believe that their dynamic was perfect the way it was. No amulet orring or blessing from Mara would change that—right?

“Do you want to marry Fiona?” Delvin asked whenBrynjolf remained silent, stuck in his own thoughts.

“It’s not that easy,” he replied.

“Bah!” Delvin replied, slapping his hand on the table. “Bryn,you two are insufferable. Both of you are Nords, this shit istraditional, right? Just grab one of those fancy amulets and ask her if she’sinterested!”

Brynjolf looked at him flatly. Nothing in hisrelationship with Fiona had been traditional. And while he considered himself aconfident man, he was suddenly overcome with doubts he hadn’t felt since theyhad first become committed to one another, when he first learned she was theDragonborn and was nearly immortal. What if he wasn’t good enough to be herhusband?

As if Delvin could read his thoughts, he grinned.“Don’t doubt Fiona’s love for you. Just go see for yourself.”

Fiona made sure to change before going back to the temple,remembering how displeased Dinya had looked when seeing her Nightingale armor.It didn’t matter that Fiona was helping Maramal and the temple with a favor, orthat she was the Dragonborn, she needed to show Mara respect. And so, whenFiona arrived that afternoon after returning from Rorikstead, she made sure toswap her dark adventuring clothes for a more modest blue dress with a whitebodice.

Dinya was sweeping near the altar, pausing when she noticed herarrival. For once the priestess offered a more generous smile, eyes glancingover Fiona’s attire as she approached.

“Were you able to reunite them?” Dinya asked.

Fiona nodded, thinking of the spirits she witnessed in theopen glen. “Yes. It was a…remarkable experience.”

Before either could continue, the front doors to the templeopened. They both turned, and while Fiona expected to see Maramal, she wassurprised instead to see Brynjolf. He idled in the doorway, glancing every-whichway for several seconds before finally settling his gaze on her. He seemed stoic,pensive, and incredibly uncomfortable—clearly this was the last place hewanted to be. But then why had he come? And who had told him she was here inthe first place? For once she was disappointed in the footpads’ keenobservation of the city’s operations; if she had any idea it would mean theywould be spying on her dealings. Before she could ask him why she wasthere, Maramal made his appearance from a backroom.

“Ah! Visitors! And the Dragonborn no less,” he exclaimed.“Fiona and…” he paused, waiting for Brynjolf to reluctantly step forward towhere they were grouped near the front altar. “Brynjolf. I must say that whileI don’t necessarily agree, your organization surely has helped our cityprosper.”

“Right.”

Fiona offered a supportive smile, but faltered when shenoticed Brynjolf’s furrowed, anxious brow.

“My lovely Dinya tells me that you have completed animportant task,” Maramal continued, fixing his attention towards Fiona instead.“Uniting loved ones and spreading Mara’s blessing across Skyrim.”

Fiona flushed as she felt Brynjolf’s eyes on her—she’d haveto explain in detail exactly what she did for Maramal and Dinya later,as like any priest, his dramatic flair dared to stretch the truth.

“You’ve been so kind to the people here,” Fiona explained. “Itwas the least I could do.”

A warmth came over her as she pulled the amulet from herpocket, revealing it to Dinya. Out of the corner of her eye she swore she sawBrynjolf’s face grow paler. She understood the implications of what carryingaround an amulet of Mara could mean, especially if one was a Nord—doublyso if one was already in a committed relationship.

It wasn’t that marriage hadn’t crossed her mind—Divines,she walked past the temple everyday on her way to the Cistern! Her past wasn’tunknown to Brynjolf, but she had never seriously thought her life would end upon this sort of path. She was the Guildmaster, Dovahkiin, had so manyresponsibilities—and yet she was more afraid of asking about marriage thanshouting down a dragon from the sky. She wanted to be with Brynjolf, perhapsfor the rest of her life, but every once in a while a small voice of doubtquestioned if he wanted the same.

“This belongs to you,” she said meekly, praying the elfwould take it. Instead, the other woman placed both hands over hers, coveringthe amulet. A soft glow emitted from her hands and warmth ran up Fiona’s armfor a few moments.

“No,” Dinya answered, pulling her hands away. “The amulet isyours.”

Fiona was at a loss for words, knowing she had enchanted itspecifically for her use. Instinctually, she looked to Brynjolf, her heart skippinga beat when she found he was already staring back, those dark green eyes of hisjust baring into her soul.

“We are blessed to have your protection, Dragonborn,” Maramalspoke, calling her attention back. “You once told me that you were born underthe sign of the Lover, like my beloved Dinya.”

The priest eyed the two of them with a small, knowing smile.“You are a lucky man, Brynjolf, to have a woman born under the sign of theLover. They are women of grace and passion, but not of much patience.”

Fiona raised an eyebrow, before feeling her cheeks grow hotas he glanced to the amulet then directly at Brynjolf. As embarrassed as shefelt, she could only imagine how he was feeling in the moment. Dideveryone scrutinize them in this way?  

“Perhaps one day, you will be lucky to have her as yourwife,” Dinya finished.

Fiona was about to against that Lover sign and reprimandthem but froze when Brynjolf’s hand reached out to wrap around her own. She stareddown at their grasped hands before looking up at his expression—it was stillshaky, but a little less petrified than before.

“Aye,” he answered. “Perhaps one day.”

Fiona blinked, speechless.

Outside the temple, she inspected the amulet’s glow under thesunset’s glow.

Brynjolf squeezed her hand, stepping closer to her. “Whatare you going to do with it, lass?” he asked.

“Keep it somewhere safe, for now,” she explained—they both stillneeded time. She tightened her grip on his hand, threading their fingerstogether as they walked leisurely back towards the Cistern. “I might need itone day.”

[kagrena]

chapter viii - an excerpt

Bthemetz was bracing herself internally for what kind of probing question she was going to throw her way next, something daring that would most likely twirl off into a discussion of the complex politics of the temple structure that she had been  dreading quite honestly–

“There were priests?”

It was so difficult not to laugh at that.

Rena, even at that tender age, was not known for asking something that could be logically inferred, let alone repeating the same question twice, or even wording something so inelegantly. In fact, within the two weeks – in which they had been speaking without barely a breath of silence between them – Bthemetz had not seen her look so flustered before.

Her eyes were just so wide. So big. And so very… gold. Dark and gold.

The fact that she was even asking what was clearly a stupid question was remarkable and somehow managed to make her and her extremely wide big dark speckled possibly luminescent (question mark? she’d need to ask about that, but tactfully) gold eyes seem more alluring rather than less.

Of course, Bthemetz, being Bthemetz, was not going to let her completely get away with asking a blatantly stupid question, so she watched her look absolutely flabbergasted in a moment of stunned silence, before she simply asked, her tone as neutral as she could manage:

“Do you not know what a priest is?”

“I know what a priest is,” she replied, a little sorely. “I… who did you worship?”

“You, as in me, an individual, or...?”

“The Dwemer.”

“The... what?”

“Us. The Dwemer.”

“Oh. Oh. It’s just... it sounds like the sort of thing the Aldmer would say as an insult, given… you know, it would take too long to explain the injustices inherent in the caste system and various derogatory terms derived from it, so, uh, I won’t right now.”

Rena looked at her expectantly.

Why was she so nervous?

“Well. Anyway. The pantheon was a rag-tag mix of et’ada from different traditions. Some typically Aldmeri – Auri-El, of course, Trinimac, Magnus, Oghma and her husband… I forget his name. There were a lot. Ten? Or was it Twelve, I think? More than eight, which was, uh, controversial, to say the least. Anyway, there were others that were markedly not Aldmeri. There was Mara, of course. But there was also Kyne. Jhunal. Lorkhan.”

“Shor.”

“No. Lorkhan.”

A sceptical look.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive. I served in Her temple.”

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

I adore this whole conversation so I’m putting it here, by itself.

Read the whole chapter here.

[deathlyharlows]

delphinium + lizzie

delphinium: school rivals au + @geminislegacynote: you get a hogwarts au too because apparently, i don’t know how normal school rivalry works. ( also, i’m twitching the ages– students get their letter at 13-14 yolo )warnings: death, war, same ol’. 

                                  “scared, saltzman?”                                                                                                             “you wish.”

albus dumbledore was a wise and benevolent man. always finding value even in the most wretched of people. it was this what sometimes blinded him. it was this, what made him commit not one, or two, but three mistakes. 

he’d gotten a lead to a dingy muggle foster home, ever since three kids arrived there. weird things had been happening. none of the caretakers knew what to make out of them, they had tried anything– as much as calling a priest to try and expel the DEVIL out of the two girls and the boy. it wasn’t every day that three magical children found their destiny to be abandoned or sent away for whatever reasons.  dumbledore decided to ‘adopt’ them. signed the papers and the muggles never knew anything about any of them again. they were more than relieved to get rid of them.

 “elsey, ever.”                       “SLYTHERIN!”“mara, scarlett.”                          “SLYTHERIN!”“valentine, harlow.”                         “SLYTHERIN!”

“fear not, minerva. i have great faith in their talent.” mcgonagall trusted the headmaster, that’s why he was the one in charge, but when the three new students get sorted in the same house not even had the hat touched a single hair on their head. it left a bitter taste on her tongue. ( she feared a repeat of a prior slytherin student. )

dumbledore wasn’t wrong, the three slytherins caught up at an alarming speed to the rest of the students that had been raised surrounded by magic. the slytherin house had never been stronger, but it was one thing what professors saw, and another what students lived. while they were talented, they also quickly made a name for themselves even among upper students– one warning: BE CAREFUL.  

–

it was lizzie saltzman’s first year at hogwarts. something she’d be looking forward to since the moment she could grab her mother’s wand and turn a whistle into a clock that could sing you the time. the blonde twin already had her life planned, she’d go to hogwarts become a ravenclaw like her father, join the quidditch team on her second year to become the captain and seeker like her mother, meet a cute boy, win the house cup all of her years and… okay, maybe not all of her life but at least the next seven years.     

this new year would be the first chapter of a great story in lizzie’s book. ( or so she thought. )

–

“FOUND THEM.” harlow announced as she barged in the common room where v and scarlett played a game of wizard’s chess. ( a game that was spiced up by making bets ) the winner of that match wouldn't be known as harlow threw a small stack of papers on top of the board making some pieces fly, “the newbies.”

it was the second year they took advantage of the first graders, either intimidating, manipulating or striking deals so to have them wrapped around their fingers. if the students in question were smart, they accepted the olive branch extended in their direction. if not– their life became nightmares. to say the three were the definition of bullies was an understatement. 

“i call dibs on the saltzmans,” the blonde called to the other two that had already grabbed the list to look over the names. the family was basically royalty, both in money and blood. not to mention their family background was a bit of a SCANDAL ( for small minds ). their mother getting murdered by their uncle when she was pregnant with them, and magically transferred to a family friend. harlow would consider their family dinners to be quite a ride. because that wasn’t all… 

“isn’t it odd their sister doesn’t share a name with them?” 

the question earned her a blank stare. “you really ask that, harlow. when your girlfriend doesn’t share a name with her brother either?” fair point. not like she’d give in to that. “isn’t it time you go kiss your boyfriend goodnight?” 

“THE boyfriend.” 

“well, someone’s still clearly in denial.” 

“only you two troll heads take up a bet on charming your way into someone’s pants but end up falling in love before that even happens.”

it was during their second year that they challenged each other, whoever held the pretense the longest, was the winner. harlow was the first one to come clean during halloween. claudia didn’t talk to her the rest of the year. ( things were just now starting to pick up. ) scarlett got bored too quickly, smashed the gryffindors heart to pieces so badly the boy had to transfer to durmstrang. whereas v… he’d say he was the real winner, but both girls knew that for him, it wasn’t a game anymore. or else why would he continue to see the hufflepuff when no one was playing anymore? 

–

some people think the rivalry between harlow and lizzie started the very first-day lizzie stepped into hogwarts… 

it was easy to tell apart muggleborns and even some half-bloods from the rest. lizzie wasn’t one to look around with wides eyes at the magical candle or the talking giant toads. she felt at home as she was grouped with the others waiting for her name to be called. however, it wasn’t the voice of mcgonagall the one who did that first. 

“lizzie saltzman.” the girl in question turned to look at the source, a blonde girl with a confident smirk on her face. was she supposed to know who she was? “i’m harlow.” she introduced her name there. “harlow valentine.” nope, didn’t ring a single bell. “you’ve come to know some of us are better than others, saltzman. you don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort.” she continued, almost looking over at the others with contempt before looking back at lizzie and widening her smirk. ( was that supposed to make her look friendly? ) “i can help you there.” harlow extended her hand in the first grader’s direction, expecting for her to shake it in acceptance. what harlow didn’t know however, was that lizzie wasn’t as superficial as she pegged her as. besides, she already had friends on her own. and this girl? lizzie scoffed, was she serious?  “i think i can tell the wrong sort for myself.”

harlow wasn’t expecting that, and what followed? the snickers of the others on the group didn’t help at all. ( she would not allow a bunch of first graders to laugh at her. ) she dropped her hand, and her face lost all fake politeness. her lips parted to say something else, but there was a firm tap on her shoulder. “to your seat, valentine.” harlow took one last look in lizzie’s direction before walking away. 

“can you believe her?” she scoffed looking back at josie who met her with a worried expression and hope who looked like she was ready for this school year to be over. the sorting ceremony started and names started to get called with each house eagerly cheering for their new students. the gryffindors almost roared when hope got sorted, and after a few more names were called– 

“saltzman, elizabeth.” lizzie sat on the chair, almost feeling giddy as the hat started talking out loud, as it listed her qualities she let her eyes wander from josie on the group of students in front of her to the ravenclaw table, expecting for it’s name to be called when– “SLYTHERIN!”

her head moved so fast to the slytherin table it almost gave her whiplash. no, no, no, no. there must be a mistake. slytherin? …at least it wasn’t hufflepuff. she sat on the table and a few minutes later, josie was sitting beside her. okay, it was just a tiny dent in her plan, she could make it work as a slytherin. 

a note reached her hands– SHOULD’VE TAKEN THE OFFER. looking up, and some seats away sat none other than the girl from earlier. 

…huffepuff didn’t sound so bad right now. 

–

it took the initial shock from fading away, that both twins were sorted into slytherin– but lizzie found to fit in just right. some of her classmates talked about and to her on how she had stood up to one of the three slytherin bullies. lizzie found harlow to be CHILDISH ( and creepy ) just throwing glares at her and smirking from the other side of the room. what the hell was she smirking for? 

she’d come to know that the three of them had been taken from the system and terrorized half of the student body just for fun while putting a nice face for the professors. ( all backstories provided by a nervous-looking curly-haired hufflepuff boy who had smitten none other than hope mikaelson. ) “what are you, their fan or something?” 

“lizzie.” 

“i’m just asking.” 

“no, i, uh… nearly avoided getting wedgies at foster care. i don’t think they even know who i am.” 

“what’s your name again, gizmo?”

–

…some others think it was the next year. 

so far, only slytherins knew of how little lizzie saltzman and harlow valentine could stand each other. it had almost cost them the house cup for the first time in three years after they continued to make their house lose points. it mostly consisted of bickering during class and stupid pranks harlow decided to play on lizzie. 

it wasn’t until the quidditch team was accepting new members that it happened. madam hooch had suggested lizzie to try out for seeker which couldn’t thrill her more, she had made a comment on how her house seeker was better suited for beater. she wasn’t wrong… because the slytherin seeker was no other than harlow. 

“what are you doing here?”  the older blonde practically sneered at seeing lizzie arrive at the pitch all geared up. “what does it look like i’m doing? i heard our team’s seeker needs to be replaced with a better one.” harlow wasn’t having it. 

the tryouts happened, both girls were really good, but not even harlow’s confundo spells or the ‘accidental’ bludger sent in lizzie’s direction after having snatched a bat from v’s hand could’ve stopped what made the hatred between girls more obvious– word got around quickly at school. lizzie saltzman was the new seeker. 

– 

“it smells like butterbeer in here,” scarlett wrinkled her nose as she walked into the slytherin common room. it was almost empty, most students left for the holidays but not them. the three teenagers had lived in the castle ( and it’s surroundings ) since they got there six years ago. “has any of you been fucking?” 

“don’t look at me. aster left for christmas, something about his father finally showing his face.” by his tone, v was less than amused by that. a bertie botts bean thrown at harlow to get her attention, making her fake innocent face break out into a smirk. “speaking of,” scarlett started her taunt, “how does it feel knowing you and lizzie are almost sisters now?” 

it seemed like a cherry on top when after all of that, lizzie started dating claudia’s brother. and the boy was eager enough to PROPOSE to her the next year. harlow scoffed and popped the bean into her mouth, the coppery flavor invading her tongue as she bit the candy. BLOOD. “there are bigger plans than lizzie saltzman, right now.” 

–

“i’m telling you, there’s something clearly off with those psychos.” lizzie commented from behind her hot chocolate. “more than usual.” since beginning the new school year, stranger things were starting to happen. students randomly getting injured or missing, only to appear after a couple of days with no recollection of what happened. dark magic invading the school, and maybe dumbledore wasn’t saying anything, but she knew hogwarts wasn’t safe anymore. 

“ i know what i saw, she had this tattoo on her arm and–” an interruption soon following, “maybe you’re in love with her, lizzie.” penelope park teased from her seat next to josie, the slytherin had aways found more interest in the brunette twin than whatever child’s play her housemates had going all these years. “shove it, satan.” 

“what do you mean?” landon finally asked in confusion looking between the girls. josie and hope sighed. “lizzie is under the impression harlow valentine is now a death eater.” 

“this is their last year,” william reassured her, “one more year, and then they’ll be gone forever.”

–

that year, a friendly dueling tournament was held. something about promoting talent and good sportsmanship. the house, gender, or age didn’t matter– everyone was fair game. as the days passed the duels were becoming harder for some, even a few students ended up getting injured ( minor cuts or bruises ) but no one was ready for the final day.

it had been the talk of the week, how the final duel was between harlow valentine and lizzie saltzman. bets were getting raised; who would win? who would get burnt hair? and jokingly… who would die? 

“remember, girls. this is a friendly duel. use your skills and wit. may the best witch win.” the professor reminded them as both slytherins stood face by face. in that moment, all that mattered was winning. lizzie wanted to wipe that look from harlow’s face. harlow wanted to break lizzie’s face. “wands at the ready!”

“scared, saltzman?”

“you wish.”

as they showed their wands and starting walking away from each other in the direction they were supposed to stand. the public started counting– 

“ONE! TWO!”

“EVERTE STATUM.” harlow threw the spell before its time, effectively hitting lizzie and sending her flying through the air to hit the wall. people in the room gasped, and there was one cackle. v had predicted harlow wouldn’t wait the count. 

after getting back the air that had gotten knocked out from lizzie’s breath, she quickly got up to see harlow proudly chuckling. she’ll give her something to laugh about. “RICTUSEMPRA.”

harlow wasn’t fast enough to block out the spell that had the same effect as lizzie’s– except once she hit the ground, she couldn’t help the urge to laugh uncontrollably, so much and so hard it hurt. the laugh became pained and unhinged. just like harlow’s face once she picked herself up, this was just getting started. 

both girls fought as best as they could, they were brilliant after all. though in the end, there wasn’t any winner… “SECTUSEMPRA.” 

( that day, william flynn in all his gryffindor glory confronted harlow for what she did. the slytherin sent him to the hospital wing to accompany his fiancée by breaking a couple of ribs. claudia broke up things for good the next day. ) 

who did harlow blame for this? no other than lizzie saltzman. 

–

harlow had claimed she read about that spell in a book, not having idea that it was a curse or what it did. her pretense was so good, she wasn’t expelled for that. ( to the disgruntlement of a lot of students. ) but she was in detention for the remaining six months because of that and for what she did to will later that day. 

lizzie recovered completely a week later after the attack. 

a month later, harlow disappeared. followed by scarlett, and then v. all within the same week. 

( dumbledore should’ve predicted that. he should’ve kept an eye closer on them. )

the three of them came back before the school year finished. accompanied by a thousand of death eaters that soon invaded hogwarts. there was death and pain in every corner. friends and family lost. after that day, everyone had lost someone– just like how they had found friends in the most unexpected of places, but their lives were changed forever. 

–

“scared, saltzman?”                                                                                                             “you wish.”

                     “AVADA KEDAVRA!”  “EXPELLIARMUS!”

[fireintheforest]

First day back

Once Saufinril’s luggage had been put in Ganra’s guest room and Saufinril had freshened up from the trip, he went downstairs to meet up with his brother, who was waiting for him in the library. One look around the room easily told Saufinril that this could be his favorite room in the house: big window that let in the sunshine of the outside and made way to a balcony, royal blue curtains next to them, lamps that hung above his head (the type to light up with magic when the curtains were drawn), books displayed neatly in the shelves that reached his shoulders and a desk on the other side of the room. This room probably functioned as studio too. His stomach gave him a very light tug. Ganra was standing in front of the window, looking outside with an unusually serious face, distracted by deep thought. Saufinril closed the door behind him, and even that didn’t make Ganra move.

“So, I get the big, tough guy act in public.” Saufinril said, making Ganra turn to him, “But I think you can give me a hug now and greet your brother.”

Ganra gave him a smile, looking again like his usual self, and walked to Saufinril to embrace him. Saufinril hugged him back. The last time they’d seen each other and been in the same room had been the time in the inn that they’d argued at. Saufinril closed his eyes, hugged tighter and rubbed Ganra’s back.

“I missed you.” Ganra admitted, then broke the hug as he said, “Alright, let’s break it before someone walks in and thinks we’re weird. How was the journey?”

“It went well.” Saufinril watched Ganra serve two glasses of wine as he sat at one of the seats, “Uneventful, really, except if you count dodging a storm and arriving at Dusk instead of Alinor as an event.”

“I was worried when I saw those waves.” Ganra gave Saufinril his glass first before sitting down opposite him. Ganra seemed older, naturally. His hair was longer than last time and tied back, while his-

“Not to…instigate an argument but…” Ganra eyed Saufinril’s exposed tattoos and motioned at them, “You might want to cover those while in the Isles, especially in front of older mer.”

“How come?” Saufinril inquired. This was a first. Lillandril himself had tattoos on his arms, “Last time one heard, there were lots of younger mer who had them, no? Because of Valenwood.”

“Well, yes, but it’s mainly…now they’re mainly seen as something belonging to The Beautiful. I mean yes, some do have them, but people here immediately think of them.”

Saufinril arched his eyebrows and nodded, “I see.” He said slowly, “How’s it going with them, by the way?”

“Not good.” Ganra admitted, “What started as peaceful protests from students back when we were young turned into riots by troublemakers nowadays. You probably heard how they tried to destroy the Crystal Tower.”

“Mhm, I have. That and the murder of the Princess of Shimmerene. I thought the Thalmor had eliminated them, though? That’s what’s said in mainland.”

“Naturally they did.” Ganra said, confidently. However, he put his glass down and headed to the windows, “The Thalmor are more than capable of eliminating such an insignificant, messy, disorganized clout of idiots such as-” he closed the windows, then turned to his brother, “No, they didn’t.” Then he headed back to his seat, “They caught some dissidents, true. Supposedly the leaders, and they had their trial, were found guilty of the murder and disruption of peace, executed publicly but… it’s hard to catch them. The Thalmor capture a group, and the next week three more attacks happen in different cities, so people live in fear of when the next attack will be. It’s almost a cycle by now.”

It sounded more like a terror campaign from the Thalmor to keep the public thinking that there were still members of The Beautiful out and about than a genuine movement for peace restoration. Keep the population scared and supporting the Thalmor to deliver them from the terrorists. It also sounded like The Beautiful were a more individual organization, where coups were organized individually or in groups as opposed to a leader assigning people to do something, which would explain why after the supposed “leaders” had been caught, more attacks had been happening instead of them just ending.  

“When was the last attack?” Saufinril asked

“Perhaps some…two weeks ago? In Alinor at least. They set the Temple of Mara on fire, with five priests and other people inside. Seven wounded, three dead.”

Saufinril sighed, passing a hand through the hair that fell from his ponytail, “That’s...”

“Too much? It is.” Ganra drank from his glass, then asked, “But enough about that. How have you been?”

“I’ve been…” Saufinril shrugged and smiled a bit, “I’ve been alright. I terminated a relationship recently, but other than that there hasn’t been any other events going on.”

“Ah, sorry to hear that. Did you and her end in good terms?”

Saufinril took a sip of his drink while he figured out his answer, then replied, “I guess so. I didn’t want it to end but…” he shrugged, “so is life.”

“You’ll find someone else.” Ganra said, “I mean, I met Giraena and it just, felt like we clicked. It felt more than natural. Like it was meant for, you know? Maybe you’ll find a nice girl here and get married, who knows.”

Saufinril smiled at Ganra’s words, thinking about the Altmer girl that was with Ganra when he stepped out of the Thalmor office upon arriving at Alinor, “How long have you both been together?”

“She keeps better count than me, but I think around 82 years.”

“It’s been a while, then.” Saufinril put his glass aside and then lowered his sleeves, “Where’s Giraena, anyways?”

“She told me she could come with me to pick you up but then she had to run and do errands, she’ll be back by dinner.”

“Speaking of errands, I have to renew my papers because I have a temporary pass.”

“Oh really? Let me see.” Saufinril pulled out the paper and handed it to Ganra to check. Ganra read over them and grinned, saying “These papers are more than expired. They let you in with these?”

“After they verified me and basically made a strip search to see if I was sick, yes.”

“Well, you did come from Valenwood. And no offense, but they carry different disease than us.”

“Ganra, they’re mer too. Bosmer, you know.”

“Yes, but-you know what I mean.” Ganra waved his hand as he returned the temporary pass to Saufinril, “Anyhow, you won’t have any issue getting that done. You already have the authorization of the captain and are family of a Thalmor officer. You just go to the Registry, ask for renewal of the pass and you’re ready to go.”

It was basically an art skill, put forth with elegance and natural graces, for Saufinril to nod with interest and a pleasant face when inside he wanted to roll his eyes. It was hard to forget that Graywatch had jumped headfirst to join the Thalmor as soon as their power began to grow, and this was the second time today that he was reminded of this. No need for the reminders! He knew perfectly well what kind of mer he was. He just took a drink of his wine. Ganra looked at Saufinril closely, carefully, taking in as many details as possible. The eye makeup. The tattoos. The impossibly long hair. The plain, practical clothes. The small scars in his hands and forearms. Why was he sabotaging himself like this? Saufinril wasn’t bad looking, he could get the attention of any female Altmer he wanted. And yes, mainland Tamriel was different, but tattoos? What were those scars of? Why was his hair so long? He could remember the talk he’d had with his stepfather, but he didn’t expect Mithras to have predicted this meeting so accurately.

“I don’t know.” Ganra said, looking out the window with unease, “I don’t know what to think or do, it’s been so long. What is he going to look like? He looked different already 100 or so years ago. He refused to come with me, he’s explosive, unstable, bordering on feral…I never wanted any of this to happen to him and it saddens me so to see him do this to himself, I don’t know if this meeting is a good idea…What do you think?” he asked, turning to the seat behind him. Mithras had been listening attentively, his sharp, golden eyes unmoving on his stepson and not saying a word, allowing the younger mer to speak his mind. He motioned to a seat next to him and awaited until Ganra had sat down.

“First and foremost,” Mithras began, “remember that your brother has a severe mental illness, consumed mostly by monomania, ever since he was young. He’s always had the irrational thought that I’m going to hurt him, he’s withdrawn, the…issue with his magic, he was always covering himself in bruises and then saying I did that to him. It’s not his fault, and it’s not your fault either.”

“I am aware. I just thought this would leave with age, that he’d think and realize he should be with us and come back. I even held some hope after that meeting but since then…he’s always repeatedly refused coming until now. What if he’s declined more since then?”

“Then, as his brother, you can show him that he has to stay. That the Isles are the best place for him to be. He’s strayed far too much. He needs us, Ganra. Now more than ever.” Mithras shifted to look directly into Ganra’s emerald eyes, putting a hand on Ganra’s shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze, “He needs to come back to Cloudrest.”

“Do you think he’ll stay?”

“I know that right now, he can trust you the most. And I know you want the best for him, do you not?”

“Absolutely!”

“And mainland Tamriel hasn’t been the best, has it? From what you saw.”

“No…”

“Especially if it’s so easy for him to lose track of his thoughts, hm?”

“He’s very smart-”

“He is! And he has an innate talent for magic, and we as a family always supported him into reaching into his potential, did we not?”

“Well, yes…”

“You saw how little help the continent has brought upon him. How he was working with some…travelling patron or something. Do you think that patron knows a thing about the Divine Spark and what suits Saufinril best, or do you think chances are he was using your brother for his own self-interest?”

Dread settled on Ganra’s chest as his cheeks flushed with anger, “I did see it.”

“You went to meet him, to reunite with your brother, only to see that now he’s explosive, unstable, bordering on feral. He was not that when he was in the Isles.”

“No, he had his issues but he had plenty of potential too.”

“Potential. And it’s going to waste in the continent, best case scenario. Worst case, it’s being abused and Saufinril doesn’t know or doesn’t see that he’s in a precarious situation. He has to understand, to see, that it’s for his best interest, for his own health, for him to come back to his family. To us. To me.” He gave Ganra another gentle squeeze before releasing his shoulder.

Ganra nodded, pensively, then asked, “Was it hard? As a parent, I mean, to watch him be like this? As a brother, it hurts too much.”

Mithras nodded, his face showing sadness as he looked away and his shoulders dropped , “It was. I tried to do my best for him, and I made mistakes while doing what I thought was best for him at the time, with what I knew.” He sighed, “You know I have a fondness for you both, you two are like sons to me and I want to see you thrive. I just…regret that Saufinril has hostile feelings for me, but I’m not angry at him. I understand he doesn’t have a firm grasp of reality.”

His stepfather was right. “I thought it was just that he lied often to get out of trouble. When you told me about his mental afflictions, it just made more sense. At least he agreed to come this time.”

“Mmh. I have only you to thank for convincing him to come.” Mithras gave him a smile.

“Ganra?”

Saufinril’s voice brought Ganra back.

“Huh? Pardon, I was-I was thinking about something else. I have too much in my head. What were you saying?”

“I was saying, do you know any news about Gilan?”

“Of course!” Ganra took a sip of the wine, “He’s next in line to be Head Battlemage, working right next to Mithras. Isn’t that amazing? He’s worked hard for this position, I can’t tell you how many times he’s had to stay here in this library overnight, working for it.”

Saufinril externally gave a warm smile as he internally screamed and yanked his hypothetical hair out, “Wonderful! I always new Gilan would get far.” Why??? Why Gilan? Graywatch was more than expected to throw himself to the arms of the Thalmor, but Gilan? No doubt following Graywatch, he’d always been next to him like a loyal dog or his best friend. He took a sip of wine to numb the pain of his older brother figure being so close to his stepfather.

“He has. You can ask him himself for more details.”

“…huh?”

“I invited him here.”

“…to Alinor?”

“Why, yes. For dinner tonight, and to stay some days for…I hope you don’t mind, but I invited plenty of people. You know, a family reunion.”

Saufinril blinked, his green eyes wide, “You never said anything about a family reunion.” He said slowly

“It’s the first time in 200 years that you’re back in the Isles, Finn. A lot of people want to see you. I know I asked you to come for a truce, to bury the hatchet with Mithras. I figured we could do that with family around too. At the very least, you get to see a lot of people that miss you.”

Saufinril sighed, passing his hand through the long hair in his ponytail, thinking. Then he nodded slowly and offered a small smile. “Alright. It’s only fair. Besides, I’ve missed Gilan too.”

“That’s the spirit! Listen, I’ll go fetch Giraena before Gilan and his fiancée come, do you want to come along and see more of the city?”

“Don’t worry about me, I can stay and snoop around this library. See if you still like those tacky adventure books.”

“They’re not tacky, but suit yourself.” Ganra defended himself with a smile before setting his glass down and standing up, “You might want to get ready before dinner. I can lend you something for tonight.” Ganra looked up and down at Saufinril, taking in his clothes and appearance, “…and for the rest of your stay.”

“Get out of here.”

Ganra gave him a smirk and left. As soon as he heard the door close behind him, Saufinril drank the rest of his wine, then put the glass on the same table Ganra had rested his, closed his eyes and rubbed his temples with his index and middle fingers.

[green-pact]

Gush to me about your tes ocs (specifically Skyrim ones because I barely know anything about the other games.......)

YESSSSSSS I hope you don’t mind me also including reference images and links, since I have a lot more stuff abt some of them on my artblog. I have a LOT to say, but I’ll try not to make it too long bc you’d be here all day hah,,

my skyrim ocs are Gaemir, Gudbrandr, Tedyth, and Jotrjo, and they’re usually the main ones I focus on in my art and stuff. the other main one I focus on is one of my ESO characters, Velethryl, who is actually a Kirby oc. like. Kirby from Nintento, that Kirby. Velethryl’s personality and abilities are mostly the same between verses.

since TES-verse Vel is really close to how he is in Kirby-verse, I’ll just leave some links to the info I have about him; X - X - X. or you can just look through my artblog and see all the stuff I post about him. my friends often compare him to Ancano, Mannimarco, Dagoth Ur, etc. basically any evil elf man is what Vel is like. some other details I can give about him is that he named his guar Patchouli, and it was a gift from his wife. his wife is a little Bosmer lady who is as close to a cowgirl as you can get in TES. she likes riding horses but Vel does NOT, so she got him something else to ride. he has connections to House Telvanni, but because he despises people he often either locks himself in his study or lurks around Morrowind practicing magic alone. he also has an illegitimate child that he has no clue about. later on down the line, he has a descendant, one of my skyrim ocs, Tedyth.

my first lad is Gaemir (pronounced “gamer” lmao..) more or less my first serious TES character. his name was originally Jecra, in my original save before I started over he was a high elf rather than a wood elf, and he was originally intended to be as close to a knight as I could make him.

currently he’s a spellsword, a priest of Mara, and a worshiper of Hermaeus Mora, though Mora is none too pleased that Gaemir is illiterate. his whole shtick is that he wants to help people see the light and do better through guidance. he assumes that people are good at heart and that most people who are “bad” are just misguided. the only people he has no sympathy for are Stormcloaks and Dark Brotherhood assassins. he likes to hang around on Solstheim, has two kids, and is in a poly relationship with Revyn Sadri and Teldryn Sero.

next is Gudbrandr, a mute high elf! he was raised by Nords after his real parents were executed by the Thalmor for speaking out against them. he uses Nord sign language and rather than using his actual voice for The Voice he signs Dovahzul. (basically I was too lazy to do the first few quests of the game so in-game I never fight the first dragon and absorbed its soul. thus mute character!) he’s a Dark Brotherhood assassin, is very very close to Cicero, who he trusts with his life. rumors spread through the Brotherhood that he COULD speak, but only to Cicero. I started a fic about him that you can read here, though I need to update it.

Tedyth is my token mage character, his specialty being fire. surprising. he was adopted young by an Imperial couple, though they treated him poorly for nearly all his childhood which eventually lead him to setting their home on fire and running off to live by himself. doesn’t like people, doesn’t like crowded areas or loud sounds, and doesn’t like being touched, he basically just wants to be alone. though he doesn’t like being around other people, he makes an exception for Kharjo, who he sticks with very very closely. his hair was very long when he was young, but the day he set his childhood home on fire he singed it off to be short, which is why its also a mess.

AND THEN WE HAVE JOJO, his name is Jotrjo but calling him Jojo is a bit easier. he’s an adventurer! he loves adventure! enjoys long walks on the beach and delving deep into ruins. he mainly gets enjoyment out of seeing new sighs and experiencing new things, things the common farmer would never get to see. he collects treasures and trinkets from his travels and likes to proudly display them in his home. he also loves story telling, often captivating an audience of local kids who are so so eager to listen to him talk about the dungeon he just cleared. he has a daughter of his own and a husband, both of which he loves with his whole heart. he’s incredibly kind and cheerful, and would do anything for the people close to him.

[soulstealer1987]

Arc 2, Chapter 5

Ziist Grozein

The mage that studies stars, as it happens, made quite an impression on his colleagues at the College of Winterhold. It doesn't take Gallus and Erandur long to find him, but Gallus is beginning to have second thoughts about being involved with another Daedric Prince... ironically enough. Granted, does it really count as ironic if he doesn't know it is?

Crossposted from AO3. Masterpost is here.

Arc 2: A Dream of Despair

Arc 2, Chapter 4 ~ Arc 2, Chapter 6

“Couldn’t Aranea have been any more clear about what we were supposed to do?” Gallus asks as he trudges through the snow back towards Winterhold. The snowy weather is little more than a minor nuisance at this point, but it’s still a nuisance, and Gallus does not want to be outside when it inevitably picks up.

“It’s… possible she might not know,” Erandur says with a shrug.

“Possible, sure,” Gallus mutters, “but it’s entirely possible she knows exactly what we’re supposed to be doing and just chose to be cryptic about it.” He glances at the sky, and frowns. He really hopes it doesn’t pick up enough to become a blizzard before they’re back to Winterhold. A blizzard, now, when they’re out in the open, would not be good.

“True.”

“Why are people who can see the future always so… so cryptic about it?” Gallus complains, fully prepared to go on a rant in the middle of nowhere with snow falling and an priest of Mara that hopefully has the patience to deal with said rant. “The Jarl of Hjaalmarch said something about an archer in my future, and now Aranea says to… go to Winterhold and find a mage that studies stars? At least she’s a little more specific, but stars? What in Oblivion are we supposed to do with stars?”

“I have no idea,” Erandur says. “If this means we’re going back to the College, though… I can’t say I’m complaining. I’d always wanted to spend some time there, but never had the chance to go, between… well, everything.”

“You could stay there, you know,” Gallus blurts out suddenly. “After all this is over. They could use more Restoration mages, considering that the only one currently is, well, perhaps not the most social of people.”

Erandur laughs.

“Not the most social of people, eh? Like you?”

“Colette makes me look like a social butterfly, trust me on this one,” Gallus shakes his head.

“If you say so...” Erandur snorts, then looks down.. “And… I’ll think about it. I can’t promise anything beyond that.”

“That’s good enough for me, ” Gallus nods. “I do know one thing, though: spending some time at the College would definitely be a lot better for you than going back to Nightcaller Temple. Which you weren’t planning to do, were you?” He looks meaningfully in Erandur’s general direction, despite already having a pretty good idea of the answer.

“I… might have been,” Erandur admits. “But we’ll see. In the meantime, we have a mage who studies stars to find, don’t we?” He nods to the town of Winterhold coming into view just up ahead, and just in time, too. The wind’s beginning to pick up, and Gallus has a bad feeling that a blizzard is well on its way. They'll be stuck in the College for some time, most likely. Plenty of time to ask about the mage, who studies stars, for some reason. At least it's not exactly a common field of study.

“Studies stars?” Tolfdir asks. “Why, there hasn’t been anyone studying anything relating to stars since… oh. Well, it’s a… minor stain on the College’s reputation, one of many, unfortunately. You should go to the Frozen Hearth, speak to Nelacar. It’s his story to tell, and I wouldn’t want to discredit him by talking about it behind his back.”

“Why specifically stars? Wait, you aren’t referring to… no, there’s no way you’d know about that, but,” Faralda frowns. “It was a few years ago. A few of the mages got overconfident and got exiled. They had no talent, anyway, although I hear one of them still hangs around the Frozen Hearth. I guess he has nowhere else to go, poor thing.”

“J’zargo has no idea what you’re talking about,” says J’zargo. “Perhaps it would be better to try someone else? Although, if you find this mage who studies stars and he happens to be skilled in magic, by all means send him here… wait, was he one of the ones who got kicked out? Drat.”

“Oh, that,” Enthir mutters, not bothering to glance up from his book. Even so, he frowns. “Nasty business, that. Few years ago, a group of mages were doing something with soul gems and… I think stars were involved? One of them got killed by another, so Aren cast out the whole lot when no one took the blame. Good riddance, I say… although one of them came slinking back to the Frozen Hearth and has been harping on about his ‘star’ to anyone willing to listen. Might have lost it. His mind, I mean, not the star, although I think the star’s lost too.”

By the time the blizzard clears up, it’s quite clear the evidence points overwhelmingly in the direction of the Frozen Hearth. Gallus and Erandur waste no time - well, maybe a little time, but that's not important - in heading down into town and into the inn to find this mage. As it happens, there are no rooms currently available, so it’s probably a good thing that the two of them stayed in the College.

“We don’t get a lot of non-College related traffic, you see, and most people involved with the College stay up there, save one,” the innkeeper, Dagur, says with a shrug. “Nelacar’s been renting one of my rooms for years and, while I keep the other open for travelers like you, you’re not the only one passing through. Any more traffic, and we might be sleeping down in the cellar. Surprising, I know.”

“Sounds like it,” says Gallus. “Do you mind if we talk to Nelacar?”

“Up to him, not me,” Dagur shrugs. “Best knock first.”

Gallus nods, and heads over to a closed door. Before he can knock, Dagur quickly clears his throat.

“Not that room, and the girl staying there said she’d be turning in early. Best not to disturb her, she paid in advance.”

Gallus really doesn’t follow Dagur’s logic, but he’s not about to wake someone up on accident. He follows Dagur’s gaze to the room across from it, and heads over, wasting no time in knocking on that one.

“It’s open, come in,” someone says from inside, presumably Nelacar. Gallus quickly does so, and while he doesn’t turn to look, he can hear Erandur following him in. Nelacar, as it happens, is an Altmer wearing faded apprentice robes and sipping some sort of drink from a tankard. As Gallus comes in, he sets it down and regards him cautiously. “So…”

“Hello,” Gallus says, offering Nelecar a friendly smile. He doesn’t return it. “My name’s Gallus. This is Erandur. Do you have a few minutes to spare?”

Nelacar looks Gallus up and down skeptically for a time, before shaking his head.

“I don’t deal with any College applicants these days, so don’t bother asking,” Nelacar says.

“College applicants?” Gallus raises an eyebrow. “No, sorry. I mean--I’m a student at the College, but that’s not why we’re here. We’re not here on behalf of the College. We’re here for… other reasons. Yes, that’s it.”

Nelacar looks particularly unimpressed and has crossed his arms across his chest. Despite being tall and thin, as high elves typically are, he doesn’t look particularly intimidating.

“Spit it out, then,” Nelacar raises his tankard to his lips, and sips whatever’s within slowly , “I don’t have all day.”

“We’re looking for an elven mage who studies stars,” Gallus says, paraphrasing Aranea exactly, and Nelacar chokes on his drink.

“Who sent you?” Nelacar asks, glaring at Gallus with a fury in his eyes that’s contrasted by how level he’s keeping his voice. “Was it the College? The Jarl? We agreed there would be no more questions.”

Gallus looks to Erandur, now confused, because this sounded like something big. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it), Erandur took the opportunity to step forward and meet Nelacar’s glare with one of his own.

(Gallus is… a little surprised. After all, Erandur had risked his life defying one Daedric Prince, why would he be so invested in helping out another one? Then again, Brelyna had explained a while back that Azura, along with a couple of others, were what Dunmer considered to be the Three Good Daedra. Erandur is a Dunmer, so… maybe that’s it? Or maybe it’s something else. Gallus sure doesn’t know, but he makes a mental note to ask Erandur himself later on.)

“We didn’t agree to anything,” Erandur says in a low voice. “Talk.”

Nelacar regards him cautiously for a moment, then laughs.

“Do you think muscling me is going to work?” Nelacar asks, sounding almost amused. “I’m a wizard. An old elven wizard. Think about it.”

Erandur wisely takes a step back, and Gallus internally winces, because this is not going well… unless… well, the truth can’t hurt that much, can it?

(It likely can hurt that much, but Gallus hopes this isn’t one of those situations.)

“A priestess of Azura sent us,” Gallus says, and Nelacar chokes on his drink for the second time that day. He recovers quickly, fortunately.

“Azura?” Nelacar asks, eyes wide. “Gods, it’s... it’s all coming back to haunt me.”

He stares into the depths of his tankard for a time, clearly making some sort of decision, and finally, he sighs, his shoulders sag, and he continues, “Fine. What do you know about soul gems?”

“They’re used in enchanting,” says Gallus. Unconsciously, his hand finds his sword. If Nelacar notices, he doesn’t say a word about it. “Both to enchant things initially and to recharge enchanted items when the enchantment begins to fail.”

“They are,” Nelacar agrees. “Except the gem is always consumed. They’re frail, except for one: Azura’s Star. It’s a Daedric artifact that allows any number of souls to pass through it. Some of us wanted to find out how,” he says, then takes a long sip from his tankard, which Gallus is beginning to suspect has some fairly strong alcohol within. “I was working under Malyn Veren, then. If only we knew what he was really planning.”

“What did Malyn do?” Gallus asks, partially because he’s curious and partially because he has a bad feeling this has everything to do with the reason he (and Erandur by extension) was sent here. After all, chances are there’s a connection between the Daedric Prince Azura and a soul gem called Azura’s Star...

“Malyn wanted to alter the Star. He was dying. Disease. He thought he could store his own soul inside. Become immortal.” Nelacar makes a pause, takes a deep breath. “It drove him mad. Students started dying. Eventually, the College exiled him. He took a few loyal disciples to Ilinalta’s Deep and vanished.”

Gallus frowns, dumbfounded (becoming immortal? Students dying? Where’s all this going?),  but Nelacar doesn’t seem to notice and sighs, taking another long sip from his tankard.

“Look, I don’t care who asked you to find the Star, but don’t take it back to Azura. The Daedra are evil. They’re the reason Malyn went insane.”

There is a moment of silence. Gallus shifts his weight from a leg to another uncomfortably, eyes set on the mage.

“Alright,” he says at last. “How does this Azura’s Star work, exactly?”

“I mentioned how the Star is a soul gem, only it never gets depleted? Well. There’s another rule the artifact follows, the one Malyn was trying to break,” Nelacar says. “You can only store white souls in the Star, belonging to the lesser creatures. Azura’s magic won’t allow black souls to enter it. As a mortal, Malyn's soul was black, so part of his work was breaking past Azura's rules. He was close before... well, I already told you.”

“I’m guessing Azura had something to do with his insanity,” Erandur says, speaking for the first time in some time. Nelacar nods.

“Azura is no ordinary Daedra. She’s a Daedric Prince, ruling over an entire realm of Oblivion. The more Malyn worked on the Star, the more Azura was able to damn him. It started slowly at first. Malyn would see things that weren't there. Then, he would yell at students over words they hadn't said. Then, one day, I walked in and Malyn had... killed a student and, in a horrific moment of inspiration, he started using her soul for his work.”

Gallus whistles lowly.

“Sounds like he got what he deserved, at least,” he says after a moment.

Nelacar shrugs.

“The College would agree with you, but do you have any idea how many innocent lives were cut short, just so Azura could have revenge?” (Gallus suspects quite a few.) “We're nothing to the Daedra. Pawns to move around, praise, and punish as they see fit.”

Erandur seemed distinctly uncomfortable with the subject at the time, but he says nothing until the two are well on their way to Ilinalta’s Deep… which, naturally, is on the other side of Skyrim, because of course it is. As the two travelers pass the significantly-less-traveled path up to the Shrine of Azura, Erandur stops, and looks up the mountain.

“We should see if Aranea will come with us,” Erandur says. “Or, at least, let her know what we’ve found. Perhaps she will have some insight on the Star.”

“Good idea,” Gallus says, but he doesn’t move to begin the trek up. After a moment, he looks Erandur in the eyes, and says, “Erandur. Tell me the truth.”

“On… what, exactly?” Erandur asks.

“What’s the difference between Azura and Vaermina?” Gallus asks. “They’re both Daedric Princes. They both rule over realms in Oblivion. They both are incredibly dangerous to piss off…” He trails off as he realizes Erandur is staring at him incredulously.

“You’re serious?” Erandur asks, and apparently realizes as he speaks the words that Gallus is, in fact, quite serious. He sighs, and continues walking. “This is going to take a while, we might as well start heading up.”

Gallus hesitates, but follows him, eventually. Neither speak for a time.

“Let’s see… how to put this…” Erandur muses aloud. “Say you have… two thieves. One of them slips into people’s houses at night, steals all their valuables, and slits the throats of anyone who gets in his way. The other slips into people’s houses at night, but only takes what he knows the inhabitants can live without as well as stealing from the rich and undeserving, and would only knock out people in order to escape at the very most. What would you think?”

“I think that if the two thieves met, things would not end well between them,” Gallus says. “What does this have to do with Azura and Vaermina?”

Erandur shrugs.

“Well, maybe not Azura and Vaermina exactly, but back to the two thieves. Both would be frowned upon by society and, I don’t know about you, but I’d say the second thief would be a good person, in his own way. Am I right?”

Gallus nods slowly.

“I’d be annoyed if he stole from me,” Gallus says, “but I’d much rather have a visit from him than the first thief.”

“You’re getting it,” Erandur says. “While the parallels aren’t perfect, they’re there. Vaermina takes, and takes, and takes, and rewards her followers by leaving them to die. Azura, on the other hand, does demand a certain level of respect, but she does care about her followers, far more than most other Daedric Lords do. I may be a priest of Mara, but that doesn’t mean I can’t acknowledge Azura as one of the more benevolent Daedric Lords, if not the most benevolent. Worship of both is frowned upon by society, but the difference between Vaermina and Azura is perhaps bigger even than the difference between the first thief and the second. All Daedric Lords are different, just like all people are different.”

Erandur stops, turns, and meets Gallus’ gaze with his own.

“A few are benevolent, like Azura,” Erandur continues. “A few are unarguably evil, like Vaermina. Most, as far as I’m aware, are somewhere in the middle.”

The two continue up the mountain, but as they go, Gallus can’t help but wonder…

Where does Mara fit into all this? And what made Erandur choose Mara over, say, Azura?

He wishes he knew.