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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 2 months

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Part 5

Pairing: Thranduil x Fem. Reader (Elf/Noldor |Third Person POV)

Themes: Soft

Warnings: Secondary character has mild panic attack | Brief mentions of bruising

Wordcount: 1.6K words

Summary: Y/n and Nitiel talk while preparing dinner for themselves and the other servants.

Minors DNI

A/n: This is more of a filler chapter, but I hope you all enjoy it.

A/n 2: the previous chapters can be found here Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Y/n POV

The crown prince did not seek her out, but he kept to his promise the few times they did come upon each other. Thranduil was more courteous and respectful, even going so far as to instruct Feren to discreetly see to her welfare.

Feren called on her whenever time permitted, always asking brief questions about how she found life in the palace and how she was being treated by the others. Y/n answered as honestly as she could, and then the crown prince’s steward would take his leave of her before others saw and tongues wagged. One day, he even asked to see the bruise along her wrist. His lips curled in distaste upon seeing it, but he said not a word. Y/n considered it strange but kept her own counsel.

He called on her again tonight, and he departed only after pressing a glass phial containing a thick, pale ointment into her hands. Nitiel had seen them, and the phial that had been placed on the little table that was used for the cutting of vegetables and herbs and fruits. She swore to guard her tongue.

“Arnica.” She removed the cork and breathed in the scent after Feren took his leave of them. “Comfrey.” She smelled it a second time, and a third. “Yarrow. For bruises.” The cook put the cork back in the phial and regarded y/n with barely disguised curiosity. “You are full elf. Your parents were born in the Blessed Realm, no less. Why would you need such a thing?”

I suppose my secret would not remain a secret for long, y/n told herself. She lifted the sleeve covering her left arm and revealed the still-healing bruise along her wrist. It was now a strange shade of yellow, but y/n considered it an improvement on the black and blue and purple from before.

“This is why,” she replied, sitting down on a chair.

Nitiel took her hand into hers and hissed softly. “How did you get this?”

“I… I would rather not say.” Y/n thought it would not be wise to reveal what took place between her and the crown prince that day in the gardens. Nitiel had proven herself to be a kindly woman, but y/n believed the revelation could still go badly against her if she said anything. Thranduil was well loved by his father’s people.

“You would rather not say,” Nitiel repeated. She studied y/n keenly, determined to learn more. Then she sighed and let go of her hand, as if she had changed her mind. “Well, this ointment is not going to apply itself. Give that clean cloth to me; we need to get this done before anyone else sees it.”

It did not take them long to apply the ointment and cover it with a thin strip of dressing. They talked while Nitiel went about her task, and they talked while y/n helped her make supper for the servants. The others were away, clearing the dishes in the great feasting hall above them, leaving them alone. The cook had so many questions about life before the War of Wrath, about life in Nargothrond and Himring, and about the sons of Fëanor themselves.

“They say your father had hopes of you marrying one of Lord Fëanor’s unwed sons.” Nitiel dusted flour onto a thin slab of wood and rolled out the dough she had prepared for a wild-berry pie. In the hearth nearby, a stew bubbled away in its copper pot. The pie would be brought to the table much later, but the stew would be served as soon as it was done, along with thin, flat disks of bread and muled wine. Even in the kitchens, everyone ate and drank well. “They say you even met some of them. Pray what were they like?”

Y/n reached for a sharp knife and began to peel new potatoes for the stew. “Lord Maedhros was everything the songs made him out to be,” she began. Peelings fell without a pause onto a kitchen cloth she had laid out on the table. “But he looked so worn, as if the burdens of the oath were beginning to weigh heavily on his shoulders. Lord Maglor looked no different, but his eyes were softer, and kinder. Of the twins, we saw little. They were always abroad, hunting, and had little time for politics or council meetings.”

“Lord Caranthir?” Nitiel asked, crossing to the other side of the kitchen. She reached into a cupboard that had been mounted onto the wall for a pie pan.

Y/n stopped peeling. “He kept to himself mostly, and he always looked so angry with the world. Lord Curufin, on the other hand, did not keep to himself.” She returned to her task—wild carrots this time. Thin orange flakes fell over thin brown ones, and she found the sound of it all rather soothing. “And his tongue was as deadly as a scorpion’s tail. Many took care to avoid its sting.”

Nitiel shivered. “And Lord Celegorm?”

Y/n stopped again. Out of all the brothers, Celegorm stood out the most in her eyes. Almost as tall as Maedhros and just as fair, he was a maiden’s dream-made flesh. More than one lord’s as well, if the rumors of his many appetites were true.

“Captivating,” she said. “Others would gather around him at many a feast like moths drawn to a flame. He knew how to drink. How to eat. How to laugh. No matter the hardship, Lord Celegorm always knew how to laugh. He was an elf who was as wild and free as the Vala he once served. And he was dangerous. Yes.” She carried the vegetables to a clean bowl of water to wash. “He was dangerous. More dangerous than all of his brothers put together.”

“You make it sound like he was comfortable being drenched in blood and gore.”

“That is the thing. He was.”

“And it is best if the two of you are not heard discussing them.” Angon stood by the open door, his arms crossed, his countenance full of worry. The women were startled. They did not know he was there. Y/n bowed her head out of respect. “Not even here. Not even amongst yourselves,” he continued. “These walls have ears. Do you understand?”

The king, thought y/n, he must have spies everywhere.

And y/n believed the need for hidden eyes and ears may have been due to her. Still, she decided not to dwell on it, for it would only distress her if she did. She smiled and lifted the lid of a glazed jar instead, saying, “Came for more tarts, my lord?”

Angon threw his head back and laughed. “You know me so well.” He joined them and made himself as comfortable as possible in the chair Nitiel pulled out for him. Angon was every inch a warrior, all tall and proud and fierce, and the chair only helped emphasize his great height and size. Today he was garbed in the deep forest green robes he often favored. Nitiel once said the color brought out the green in his eyes. “Yes. I am not ashamed to admit that I have indeed come in search of more sweets. Though I must confess, my fair lady’s kisses are far sweeter.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, my love,” Nitiel countered, blushing. “But I suppose it would serve just this once. Now stay here and make yourself content with what I place in front of you.”

They talked again, this time of Angon and Nitiel’s plans for the future and of Nitiel’s new role, now that she was the wife of a high-born elven lord. There was no queen for her to serve as a lady-in-waiting; Thranduil’s mother, along with many others, departed for the Blessed Realm after the Elder King’s herald, Lord Eönwë, invited them to do so. There was no princess, either. Thranduil had no sisters, or brothers, for that matter. Oropher, Angon said, had decided that Nitiel would aid his own steward until Thranduil took a wife. Then she would serve her as a lady-in-waiting.

“Father and mother have also come around,” he announced, his eyes filled with a great sense of relief. Marriage without the blessings of either side of the family was always received ungraciously, and this was a good sign. “They agreed to welcome you properly into the family. Three nights from tomorrow, my love. Many of our kin are gathering for a small feast. The king agreed to attend as well, along with the crown prince.”

The pie pan and all that it held shook in Nitiel’s hands. She barely held on to it, saving it from falling and spilling its contents all over the polished stone floor.

“Oh,” she began, flustered. “Oh dear. Your parents… your kin… all those nobles, the king… his son… Y/n, you must help me. Please. My clothes, my hair… so much… so much…”

Angon was the first to reach her, leaving his seat without so much as a sound. “Sit here, my love,” he said, guiding her to the nearest chair and taking the pan out of her hands. “And breathe.”

“Should I fetch her some wine?” Y/n asked, equally as concerned as he was. Nitiel was pale and was clutching desperately onto his hand while she tried to compose herself.

“Wine is the last thing she needs right now,” Angon returned. He left the pan on the side and began to rub Nitiel’s shoulders. “Fetch her some water, my lady. Or that chamomile tea, if there is any of it left. Nitiel needs a little time to rest. That is all.”

“I will help you,” y/n promised. She prepared a fresh pot of chamomile tea while Angon fussed over his wife. “With your hair, your clothes, everything. Now drink this,” she urged after she came back to them, and pressed a warm cup into Nitiel’s hand. “You will feel much better after.”

tags: @deadlymistletoe@lemonivall@coopsgirl@tigereyesf@thranduilseyebrows @cupids-got-me @jane0error@asianbutnotjapanese

#a better future #chapter 5 #thranduil x reader #thranduil imagine #feren imagine #ocs #x reader #reader insert #fanfiction #thranduil #feren

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emyn-arnens · 6 months

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trick or treat!🎃

Happy Halloween! You've got me in my Finduilas feelings now thanks to your fic, so here's a little Finduilas and Faramir ficlet for you. ❤︎

The door to Finduilas’ room creaked open, and Faramir’s dark head peered around it. He closed the door carefully, so that Denethor, a little way down the hall in his study, would not hear and worry that her rest was being disturbed.

“I brought you something,” Faramir said. In his hands was a small bouquet of moss roses plucked from the little plant that grew in Finduilas’ garden. He placed the flowers in her lap. They were slightly wilted from the long walk from the garden to her chambers, but Finduilas cared not.

“It was very kind of you to bring me these,” she said, smiling at him. She brushed the bright petals with her fingertips, and longing swelled within her for her home by the sea.

Moss roses had grown wild and tumbling along the cliffs and shores of Dol Amroth and in her family’s gardens. They had been her favorite flowers since she was a girl, running freely upon the shimmering shorelines and dancing upon the windswept cliffs. Ivriniel had cultivated new colors and kinds, just for her sister, and they had grown in a wild tumult amongst the hydrangeas, geraniums, lilies, yarrow, and lavender that filled their family’s gardens.

Denethor had sent for Ivriniel’s seeds at Finduilas’ request, for she had longed to have some small piece of her home. But the seeds had been planted in too much shade (everything was in the shade when one lived in a city of towering stone), and the plant had struggled to break through the stony soil of the Citadel. And when it had, it had been a sparse, spare thing, drawing what little life it could from the cold stones of the city. She had thought it would not live past a year, but it had, clinging to life as she did in this city of deepening shadow.

“Do you feel any better?” Faramir asked, as he always did. His eyes were large and serious, too serious for a boy of but four years.

She cupped his cheek, warm from the sun and the life that thrummed through his veins. Her hand was cold against his skin. “If you bring me some of these flowers each day, you will make me feel much better.” She pressed a kiss to his brow and closed her eyes. How many more times would she be able to kiss his brow or touch his face? How soon would it be until the flowers he brought her were to be laid upon her tomb instead of her lap?

“I will,” he promised with a voice too solemn for a child his age.

Finduilas smiled and touched his cheek. “I shall look forward to it.”

When he left, the heavy silence of stone filled the room, and Finduilas bowed her head and wept.

— — —

Faramir walked down the marble flagstones of Rath Dínen between the pale domes and echoing halls that lined the street. In his hand he held a small bouquet of moss roses, taken from the little plant that grew on his windowsill.

His mother’s moss rose had outlived her, and when the plant had at last withered nigh unto death and had only one branch that yet lived, Faramir had taken a cutting and consulted the city gardeners and herb-masters. They had told him to plant the cutting in a place of ample sunlight, and so Faramir had placed it in a pot in his window that faced to the West, where it would spend many hours in the golden light of the afternoon sun. The plant flourished as it never had in the shadows of his mother’s garden.

He entered a wide, vaulted chamber where lay the wives and daughters of the Stewards. Many marble tables filled it, and on them lay the sleeping forms of the women of the House of Húrin, carved into stone.

His mother’s tomb stood near the center of the room, marked from the rest by the flowers that lay upon her breast. Her marble likeness was veiled, and her eyes were closed as if she were lost in dreamless sleep.

Faramir removed the dead flowers and brushed his fingertips over her stone hands. They were as cold as her hands had been in her last days, when she had brushed his hair from his face and bid him to have courage. He little remembered now the color of her eyes or the sound of her voice, but he remembered the feeling of her hands, cool and gentle upon his skin.

He placed the new flowers upon her breast, over her folded hands. “I have brought you something of your home, Mother,” he said. And he bent to kiss her brow.

[ask box trick-or-treat]

#so. this was meant to be a double drabble. as you can see it got away from me #lotr #finduilas #faramir #my fic #asks #hobbit wrangler

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pierrotwrites-hc · 3 months

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cliffhanger-tastic chapter 46 preview

The bandit with the crossbow emerged from the shadow of the trees. The light caught on the buttons of his prison uniform and traveled up to flash on teeth bared in a grin. As he took in Luca, the grin widened.

Hodge had made the bad mistake of crawling out of his tent. Seeing the bandit, he tried to retreat, but the crossbow swung around to point at him.

“Out you come,” said the man. “Hands over your head, now. There’s a good fellow.”

Toby stumbled out of the wood, held at crossbow-point by another bandit. Two more men emerged behind him. One was a Northman, his hair almost as pale as Luca’s. He was armed with a sword—Saunders’s sword, Luca realized belatedly. He was wearing Saunders’s boots, too.

The fourth bandit was wearing the Steward’s coat. His hands were shoved in the pockets; he swaggered out from the trees, whistling a high, bright tune. When he saw Doran, he lit up as if he’d seen an old friend.

“Doran! It’s me, Harry Riggs. We met a few weeks back. Did you miss me?”

“No,” said Doran hoarsely.

Riggs looked genuinely crestfallen. It was an act, and a mocking one, but he had the sort of elastic face that could pull itself into a convincing facsimile of any expression.

“No, he says! And after we went through all this effort to track him down. That’s no way to treat a pal.”

“Want me to shoot him?” offered the bandit whose crossbow was still pointed at Toby.

“Not yet, Murdock. Let’s hear what he has to say for himself.” Riggs turned an elastic smile on Doran. “You can start by explaining why you lied about the other slaves in your company.”

“Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Lying again? You’re only digging the hole deeper, you know. Well, let me remind you. You told us you were traveling with two other slaves, a cook and a scribe. I assume the fellow with the ladle is the cook.”

He nodded at Connell, who’d thrown his hands up when he saw the bandits; he was still holding the ladle he’d been using to stir the pot of soup which bubbled away over the campfire.

It’s going to burn, thought Luca absently.

Stupid of him. As if the soup mattered now.

“Plausible enough,” said Riggs after a moment. “But if he’s the cook, that little barbarian is the scribe. And this is where I start to doubt your story, Doran. That boy is no scribe.”

Hodge spoke up, words tripping together in his eagerness.

“He was General Balkas’s bed-boy. The King’s before that. Check his brand.”

Connell threw the ladle at him. But it was too late. A hand came down on Luca’s shoulder. The Northman’s; it was almost as big as Ged’s. He threw Luca down as if he weighed nothing at all.

Luca landed on his hands and knees. He had only a moment to register that this was a bad position to be in before the Northman was on him, yanking his tunic up. The wind was cold on his back, but the heat of the hand tracing the brand between his shoulders offered no comfort.

“He’s got the False King’s mark,” said the Northman, breathless with excitement. He pinched the scarred skin hard enough to make tears spring to Luca’s eyes. “The stinking lily of Solas. Shame to mar a thing so fine with such an ugly mark.”

Luca bit back a gasp as the Northman shoved a knee between his legs, forcing them open. The man’s beard scraped his neck.

“Pretty little barbarian bitch,” he murmured. “This is a good position for you. Did the False King fuck you like this?”

Rough hands slid over his chest to pluck and twist at his nipples. Another knee joined the first, spreading Luca wider and forcing him to arch his back in some awful parody of invitation.

Distantly, he heard Doran shouting.

“Stop it! For gods’ sakes, stop! You can’t do this, you said you’d free us, you swore—”

“Should’ve gotten it in writing,” said Riggs with a shrug. “Besides, you lied. If we had a contract, it’s void now.”

The Northman thrust his hips forward, rubbing his crotch against Luca. Luca could feel the shape of him. He could imagine the taste, the weight of it in his throat. Already he felt it choking him.

“How’s his ass feel, Jacken?” called the bandit holding the crossbow on Toby.

“Expensive.” A thumb teased the seam of Luca’s breeches. “Wonder what it feels like from the inside.”

Doran started towards them. Riggs made a small movement; a switchblade glinted in his hand.

“Ah, ah. None of that, Doran. Stay where you are; we haven’t finished talking. And you can take that pigsticker from your belt and drop it. I don’t trust you not to try something you’ll regret.”

Doran laid his dagger down. His empty hands flexed at his sides.

“We made a deal, damn it.”

“With conditions, Doran. With conditions.”

“I did what you told me to! Saunders, the Steward—”

He broke off, realizing what he’d said.

In a low voice, Connell said, “For gods’ sakes, Dor, what did you do?”

“Go on, Doran,” said Riggs. “Tell your friend what you did.”

“I killed them,” said Doran, tearing the words out of himself. “I had to. He said—you, Riggs, you said it was a test, you said—if I wanted to be free and fight for Kenever, I had to prove it, I had to—and I did—”

“Yes, but there was a second part of the test, wasn’t there? You were supposed to bring us the two free men left in your party.”

“I couldn’t! Not when you wouldn’t tell me what you were going to do to Toby—”

“What’s so special about this Toby, then?” asked Riggs. “Is he your lover?”

“I’m his brother,” said Toby, ignoring Doran’s muffled noise of surprise. “He might not like me very much, but he still likes me too much to kill me.”

“Brothers, eh? That explains a thing or two.” The knife flickered over Riggs’s knuckles in a lazy figure-eight. “Too bad you’re not my brother, Toby. I certainly don’t like you too much to kill you.”

The bandit holding the crossbow on Toby drew back the arrow. The click was so loud it jolted Luca’s heart, as if the arrow had lodged there.

“Wait, for gods’ sakes!” Doran shouted. “He’s important, I swear to you. His father—our father was Duke of Chesten.”

This was enough to distract Jacken from rubbing off against Luca’s ass.

“That means his mother’s Princess Amelia. Riggs, that’s Kenever’s half-sister!”

“I know,” said Riggs shortly. His mouth was turned down at the corners. He narrowed his eyes at Toby. “So I’m to believe you’re Kenever’s nephew.”

“I am,” said Toby—and oh, he was so brave; his voice only trembled a little. “Kenever came to our house once. Mother was terribly rude to him. I thought he was nice, though, even if his mother was from Guye.”

“That tracks,” said Jacken. “Amelia’s a bitch, by all accounts, and she hates the True King.”

“Then again,” said Riggs, “he could be lying.”

“He’s not lying, I swear to you,” said Doran. “On my life, I swear it.”

Riggs’s mouth lengthened into something like a smile.

“On your life, eh?”

“He gave me a coin,” said Toby quickly. “Kenever, I mean. A very old coin from Guye. It’s in my pack, in the pocket with the geometry proofs and the mouse skeleton.”

One of the bandits rifled through Toby’s pack. He produced the coin, along with the proofs, the skeleton, and some very odd mushrooms. The mushrooms he discarded with a grimace. The coin he flipped to Riggs, who studied it before shrugging.

“He could’ve gotten this anywhere,” he said, tucking the coin into his pocket. “It doesn’t prove anything.”

Toby’s cry of “Then give it back, you thief!” was drowned out by Doran bellowing, “What more do you want, you murdering bastard? Scald the land, he’s a prince, I tell you!”

Riggs made a sign. The bandit who’d pointed his crossbow at Luca swung it round to point at Doran. There was a click as the arrow notched into place.

The clearing went still.

“Ah, what a shame you keep making trouble for yourself, Doran,” said Riggs, clucking his tongue. “Now it’s time to choose.”

“Choose what?”

“You or Toby. One of you leaves here alive. Your choice.”

Doran didn’t hesitate.

“Me,” he said. “Kill me.”

#cliffhangers are my love language #the golden bird #pierrot writes #tgb #whump #wip

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ltwilliammowett · 1 year

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Division of space on a mid 17th century East Indiaman

A. Hold:

A1. Small locker at stern post (helletje achterin): storeroom for ship's ammunition (cannon balls and musket shot).

A2. Powder room and bread rooms: the powder room provided storage for the gunpowder, packed in small barrels. It was located in a safe place between the bread rooms, below the waterline. Bread was not stored with other provisions in the hold, but in a special dry room. This space was lined with tin-plates. The bread rooms on either side of the powder room offered extra protection.

A3. Main hold: the primary place for storage of cargo and equipment. Special planking and enclosures were constructed for vulnerable items or goods with a strong smell which could affect other products. Dunnage was used to secure chests and barrels in the hold. In the bow and stern, areas were allocated for special storage and workshops. Ballast was placed on the bottom of the hold, and separated from the cargo and provisions by planking. In a 17th century East Indiaman, water barrels were placed amidships.

A4. Cable locker & sail room: anchor-cable comes through a hatch in the orlop deck, and is coiled on a cable tier in the cable locker. Storerooms for spare sails with wide sliding-doors are located to either side of the cable locker. Spare sails and stocks of sail-cloth were stored here. This space could also be used for housing soldiers.

A5. Locker in the bow at stem post (the hell): the confined space in the bow of the ship was called the hell. It was uncomfortable, due to extreme movements in this part of the ship and the noise of breaking water on the bow. The boatswain and his mate used this space as a maintenance workshop. Spare parts and spare rope for the rigging were stored here.

B. Orlop deck: main work platform and accommodation for most of the crew. Most of the gun ports were on this deck. Ventilation and light also came through grates to the deck above.

B1. constable's room: the constable took care of the guns, weapons and related equipment, and tools. This room was quarters and workshop for the constable and his assistant, and also a weapons store.

B2. orlop behind the main mast: quarters and workplace for the petty officers.

B3. surgeon/barber's cabin.

B4. sick-bay (sick-berth).

B5. steward's room: on the starboard side, where the steward managed the meals. Food was given to the cook and beverage distributed to the mess boys, according to strict rules.

B6. galley: a brick fire place with an installation to hold cooking pots and to grill food.

B7. orlop in front of the main mast: accommodation for sailors and soldiers.

B8. carpenter's cabin.

B9. boatswain's room.

C. Upper deck: the upper deck had an open section in the middle - the waist.

C1. cabin: a spacious room for people of high rank, divided into meeting/eating and sleeping space. Comfort was similar to that of a house ashore, and the decoration and ornaments were impressive.

C2. steering place: for the helmsman at the whipstaff.

C3. room under half deck: various functions - eg workshops, or temporary cabins for passengers.

C4. waist: recreation place for the crew, and storage space when at sea; the smith and cooper also worked in this area.

C5. room under the forecastle: shelter and recreation area for crew.

C6. beak head: work platform and crew latrines.

D. Superstructure: officers' cabins were on this deck. From the open deck, 'behind the mast', they could supervise the crew.

D1. upper cabins.

D2. quarter deck.

D3. forecastle deck: work platform and recreation area for the crew (smoking allowed here)

E. Poop deck:

E1. small upper cabin or hen coop: for the trumpeter and drummer or used for chickens.

E2. poop deck.

#naval history #east indianman #17th century #deck plan #cabins and other rooms #ships interior #age of sail

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alj4890 · 1 year

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Escaping for a Moment

(Ernest Sinclaire x MC*Catherine Mills) in a Choices Desire and Decorum drabble

Thirty Kisses in Thirty Days Challenge with the prompt: forbidden lovers sharing a kiss in the shadows

Not quite sure who to tag for this one since it has been so long since I last wrote a drabble for this pair. Plus in cleaning out my drafts folder I lost my permatag list 🤦🏻‍♀️Tagging some who won't be too angry at me for doing so, LOL! @hopelessromantic1352 @twinkleallnight @tessa-liam @choicesficwriterscreations @krsnlove

Masterlist

"Enjoying yourself, my dear?"

Lady Catherine Mills stiffened at the sound of her fiancé's voice.

There was nothing that made her skin crawl quite like Tristan Richard's oily tone.

A scathing insult sat on the tip of her tongue to give the odious man the set down he so rightly deserved. One glance at her grandmother's stern demeanor instead had her forcing a smile.

"I am. Thank you, your grace."

The Duke of Karlington leered at her. He purposely moved closer and placed her hand within the bend of his arm. He enjoyed watching her suffer being trapped with him.

The Dowager Countess beamed at the pair. She was pleased beyond measure that her natural granddaughter had managed to capture such a prized suitor. There wasn't a young lady here who had done so well in such little time.

Nor with such a questionable background.

"You should dance and show her off, your grace." She prodded.

"What a marvelous notion." Tristan remarked.

He placed his hand over Catherine's, smiling all the more with her trying to avoid his touch.

"Shall we show them how it's done, my lady?"

Catherine knew she must say yes. It galled her to have to spend a single moment in this man's presence much less dance with him. The thought of his hands upon her body made her wish to find a chamber pot to wretch in.

If only she was allowed to marry the one man whom she so deeply loved. Mr. Ernest Sinclair was so many things to Catherine. He'd been her savior, her friend, and finally the one who stirred her soul like no other.

Why had they tarried so long that night before sharing the joyful news of their engagement? If they'd only found her grandmother sooner, Catherine would be eagerly taking a turn on the dance floor with her fiancé, Mr. Sinclair, instead of the fiend pretending to be a gentleman at her side.

Life seemed determined to be unfair for the young lady. Not only was she denied her true love, she also was denied even a glimpse of him. For reasons she assumed were because she was promised to another, Mr. Sinclair had yet to make an appearance this evening.

If it were not for Ms. Parsons and Prince Hamid being there to bolster her spirits, Catherine would most likely have dissolved into tears. Her heart ached for Ernest. She was near the point of throwing decorum out the window and running off to Gretna Green with him.

She no longer cared if her beloved father had intended to leave Edgewater to her instead of her stepbrother. Mr. Marlcaster wasn't a bad sort. Catherine could see that he truly had a kind heart when not under the thumb of his mother.

If her dear Briar believed he was all that was good in this world, then Catherine couldn't doubt it. Her friend had a way of seeing one's true nature. Mr. Marlcaster might fumble the finances and such, but he would be a good steward to the people of Edgewater.

She knew if she was to run away with Ernest, scandal would be forever associated with her name. Did it matter though? Her questionable birth already tainted her reputation, though she had no control over those circumstances. At least the new gossip would be something she could happily live with.

"Lady Catherine?" Tristan hissed. "Are you not paying attention?"

Catherine jerked her head away from the feeling of his breath on her ear.

The Dowager laughed at the notion.

"She is most likely lost in thought over the notion of marrying you, your grace."

Tristan's smile was one most ladies deemed charming.

Catherine found little to like in it.

"Is that true, my dear? Are you thinking about our wedding?" His voice lowered for her ears alone. "Or is your baseborn nature concentrating on our wedding night?"

Catherine jerked her hand from his. Trembling with suppressed rage, she pleaded for them to excuse her.

Blinded by angry tears, she wound her way through the crush of guests in search of an escape. Since the retiring room was filled with giggling ladies, she next hoped to find a quiet corner outside to try and calm down.

She shook her head when Prince Hamid asked if she needed him. After tripping her way to a side door, Catherine slipped outside and rushed deep into the shadows.

Her exit was halted by a pair of strong arms wrapping around her.

"Catherine?" Mr. Sinclair said softly to try and shush her cries.

"Ernest!" She twirled in his arms, her hands cupping his face as her lips immediately sought his.

Ernest deepened the kiss, holding her even closer within his embrace.

Catherine broke away to catch her breath. "I thought you were not coming."

"I could not stay away." He caressed her cheek. "I do not care what anyone thinks. I refuse to stand by and see you married to such a man as Duke Richards."

Though she couldn't see him well, his voice made her heart sing with his next words.

"You were created for me, Catherine. You are to be no one's wife but mine."

She sighed into the heat of his next kiss. Her hands moved along his broad shoulders, glorying in the fact that he was truly here and still wanted her for his own.

"My love," she breathed as his lips brushed kisses down her neck, "I want nothing more than to be Mrs. Sinclair."

"And so you shall." He fervently promised. "We will find a way out of your betrothal. The Duke of Karlington will not lay another finger on you."

The mention of her fiancé's name forced Catherine to reluctantly pull away.

"I should return before my grandmother sends the duke for me."

"I'll escort you back." Ernest pressed a kiss to the back of her hand before releasing her.

She took his arm, leaning closer than appropriate. She needed a few more moments near him if she was to endure the rest of the ball.

Once inside, notes were played to signal that the Allemande was about to begin.

"Would you do me the honor, my lady?" Mr. Sinclair asked in that proud proper tone of his.

Catherine looked up at him. Her eyes traced his handsome features in the nearby candlelight. Her first genuine smile of the night appeared upon her slightly kiss swollen lips. She could continue to play the part of a respectable noble as long as he was near.

"Thank you, Mr. Sinclair." She said with a polite tilt of her head. "I would love to."

As he took her in his arms to dance, Catherine felt both her hope and courage return.

She would find a way to freedom and celebrate it with the man at her side.

#thirty kisses in thirty days #choices desire and decorum #ernest sinclaire #ernest x mc #choices fic writers creations #choices dnd

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linksthoughtbrambles · 7 months

Text

The First Step in All Cases

A little totk fic for Linktober 2023 Day 8 Prompt: Constructs. 1200 words.

AaaaaAAAAND face-plant. Of course.

Somewhere along the line, he really thought he’d gotten better at this. All that Calamity-smiting might’ve gone to his head.

(Definitely, it definitely had, because he let Zelda he let Zelda fall)-

“No,” he said with a sputter of grass, grit, and adorable little purple petals (What were those? They didn’t taste half-bad) from his mouth, the sting of a long scratch the full length of his face an annoying reminder of his utter lack of elixirs and determination to find out where the frick they went whenever he got home.

He ignored the downed wing behind him and jogged toward the nearest ruined foundation. The conditions here had preserved materials so well. Maybe he’d find something to patch himself up-

-like a cookpot! Link smiled, huffing at the similarity between those strewn about Hyrule and this ancient example, sitting near the center of a home from far longer ago than the previous Calamity.

“Okay, except I don’t have any monster parts. Could make myself some dinner, though-“

“BrbrEEEEEbr.”

Link’s feet returned to the stone, his first coherent thought being gratitude at not face-planting for the second time in two minutes.

“Allow me to offer unsolicited advice,” the sneaky steward construct said. It meandered toward Link, though it didn’t enter the ancient footprint of the house.

“…Uh,” Link said.

“Are you going this direction?”

Link glanced at the hands it held loosely, the fingers dangling and not at all pointing any particular way. “…Uhh-“

“This mountain path is especially rugged.”

Link looked around. “What mountain pa-“

“You must take your environment into account when traveling.”

“…Right. Hey, I don’t know how much Rauru clued you in, here, but I kept my memory this time. Totally got this.“

“I have developed guidelines for traveling this mountain path.”

“Guidelines, really? That’s great- I think I’m all set, though-”

“Shall I tell you them?”

“Uh. I think I got it. Stay warm, right? Yep. All set.”

The construct cocked its head at him.

Its strangely adorable head.

“…Don’t give me those dangly robot earrings.”

“Allow me to offer unsolicited advice.”

‘Please?’ its sideways face said in a way only mysteriously non-metallic rigid features can.

Link loosed a sharp sigh, nodding to himself. He could spend a few minutes listening to a robot who’d been lonely for tens of thousands of years, couldn’t he? Zelda was safe and here, right? Of course, she was. He saw the glow lift her up. She’s up here in the temple, and he just has to get in.

“Let’s hear it!” Link said.

Something vaguely stern seemed to enter the construct’s inanimate stance. “Very well.”

Link swallowed, hands on his hips to ride this out.

“Fire is a crucial tool when traveling the mountain path.”

Oh dear Hylia. “Damn right!”

“A fire can be used either to cook or to warm yourself.”

“Yep.”

“I recommend using flint as a Fire starter.”

“Fantastic recommendation.”

“Place flint next to a bundle of wood. Then strike it with a metallic or stony weapon.”

Dear Goddess, it really does think I have no idea.

“This is my recipe for fire.”

Link blinked. “That’s- amazing. It’s mine, too!”

“There are several other methods. But it is best to internalize the basics first.”

“Makes sense. You know, you can also use red chu chu jelly-“

“Would you like to hear about cooking?”

That sounded more interesting. Ancient cooking? “Yes, please! Teach me about cooking!”

“You can cook anytime and anywhere.”

Wow. Optimistic robot.

“All you need is a pot with a lit fire.”

“Oh. I- know about pots-“

“One method of cooking-“

“-I use them all the time.”

“-is simply to throw random ingredients into the pot.”

“I’m a pretty good cooOOH RANDOM?”

“Others are more careful.”

“I’m sorry, did you just start a newbie’s cooking lesson with ‘put RANDOM things in a pot?’”

“This is the best way to make meals that can warm you up.”

“Wait wait wait, careful how? You have to be specific! A newbie needs clear instructions!”

“Other effects are also possible.”

“Yeah, true, but let’s start with the basics-”

“Insects and monster parts are not edible.”

“No no no no, you don’t start with stuff you don’t put in the pot-“

“Do not cook horns or guts with food.”

“I don’t tell people ‘by the way, don’t put a bunch of soap in a cookpot’ and then send them off to cook their first meal!”

“Save these parts as materials for elixirs.”

“Elixirs?! You haven’t talked about cooking normal food yet!”

“Elixirs are also helpful in the mountains.”

“So are pants! That doesn’t make them part of a good first cooking lesson!”

“They are an alternate way to warm your body or recover stamina.”

“Noted, but-“

“The first step in all cases is to start a fire.”

Oh- okay, maybe this is where the cooking lesson starts.

“This is all I can tell you. Take care.”

Link’s palm struck his forehead with a loud smack. “You’re- kidding me!”

“Do not worry if you forget any of this.”

“I wish I could, but I think my forgetting days are over-“

“I am not going anywhere.”

Link stared at the construct.

10,000-plus years… for this? This poor thing knew literally nothing about cooking, yet was doomed to wander the sky island for all eternity to expel its meager wisdom to random passersby?

“No. No, this is not cool,” Link said.

“BrbrEEEEEBrrr,” cooed the construct. It turned as if to attend its other duties.

“Eh- Allow me to offer unsolicited advice!” Link said.

“BrbrEEEErrEebr?” Its head cocked at Link.

“I happen to actually be a good cook,” Link said.

It stared at him.

“I- gh- hmm.” Link grimaced. “I… have developed guidelines for cooking simple, nourishing meals!” he said with a smile. “Shall I tell you them?”

The construct’s head shifted back, the earring-like structures jangling in a way reminiscent of a Hylian retriever’s ears. “I will listen.”

Link approached the construct with a grin and took its hand. “Follow me to the cookpot, please.”

“Brr-brr-eEEe.” It didn’t budge.

“What is it?”

“I have not been invited into my masters’ home.”

A small, half-smile touched Link’s face. “I… live here, now. I’m inviting you in.”

“BrbrEEee.”

The construct crossed the threshold without resistance.

“Okay,” Link said with a clap of his hands and a delve into his Korok pouch. “There are three ways to cook in a cookpot. You can cook in water, cook in fat, or you can dry-roast. Um.” Link pulled out a raw pigeon carcass he’d already cleaned—he’d had half a mind to cook it before the construct spoke to him anyway. “Perfect. This is raw bird—pigeon!—it has some of its own fat, so we’ll just go ahead and roast it.” Link smirked and eyed his artificial friend. “…What do you think the first step is?”

“The first step in all cases is to start a fire.”

Link nodded. “You got it.”

-----

Epilogue:

“And if you collect enough of these and grind them down really fine, you make flour, and if you cook that in fat you make a roux, and there are all sorts of things you can do with that!”

“Brbrrreeee!” the construct chimed.

#linktober #linktober 2023 #linktober day 8 #constructs #comedy #mostly #but i love the constructs #in a serious narrative way too #totk #tears of the kingdom #on the great sky island

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agentrouka-blog · 2 years

Note

"Meereen has no need of saffron, cloves, or zorse hides."- Dany(ASOS VI). "Saffron was worth more than gold."- Davos(ADWD I). "I took her to the captain my own self,' this steward swore to me, 'but he wasn't having none of that. There's more profit in cloves and saffron, he tells me, and spices won't set fire to your sails."-Davos(ADWD II). So Dany think Meereen had no need for saffron which is considered worth more than gold. There is also mention of Saffron by Harry whose father consider gold.

You left out the significant part in this sequence.

"In Astapor the city took a tenth part of the price, each time a slave changed hands," Missandei told her. "We'll do the same," Dany decided. Wars were won with gold as much as swords. "A tenth part. In gold or silver coin, or ivory. Meereen has no need of saffron, cloves, or zorse hides." (ASOS, Daenerys VI)

This money isn't actually being collected for Meereen. It’s collected for war. Dany’s upcoming wars of conquest in Westeros. This is before Dany’s decision to actually stay in Meereen. Dany’s not interested in creating wealth through trade, at that point, she wants some quick cash.

But it is interesting how this plays into how trade and wealth and peace is juxtaposed with the nobility and war.

Spice trade especially is associated with wealth.

"Saffron?" Alayne tried not to laugh. "Truly?"

Ser Harrold had the grace to blush. "Her father says she is more precious to him than gold. He's rich, the richest man in Gulltown. A fortune in spices." (TWOW, Alayne)

Given TWO fertile Gulltown girls now, it’s associated with fertility, as well as prosperity. Fertility, wealth and peace.

The second Lady Corbray was sixteen, the daughter of a wealthy Gulltown merchant, but she had come with an immense dowry, and men said she was a tall, strapping, healthy girl, with big breasts and good, wide hips. And fertile too, it seems. (TWOW Alayne)

But marriages such as these are frowned upon by the old guard in power. Trade is looked down on in spite of its associated wealth. Spice trade is ever so subtly placed in an antagonistic position to those in power, especially through the link to Cersei’s “Maggy the Frog”, and through Sybell who managed to play and betray Robb Stark and deprive him of an heir. (Let’s remember he attacked her castle.)

Lady Sybell's grandfather was a trader in saffron and pepper, almost as lowborn as that smuggler Stannis keeps. And the grandmother was some woman he'd brought back from the east. A frightening old crone, supposed to be a priestess. Maegi, they called her. (...) Having once married a whore, Tyrion could not entirely share his uncle's horror at the thought of wedding a girl whose great grandfather sold cloves. (ASOS, Tyrion III)

The Spicers are present again at the negotiation at Riverrun, and Sybell tries to make good on her “deal” with Tywin - which Jaime promptly disappoints.

"Your lord father promised me worthy marriages for Jeyne and her younger sister. Lords or heirs, he swore to me, not younger sons nor household knights."

Lords or heirs. To be sure. The Westerlings were an old House, and proud, but Lady Sybell herself had been born a Spicer, from a line of upjumped merchants. Her grandmother had been some sort of half-mad witch woman from the east, he seemed to recall. And the Westerlings were impoverished. Younger sons would have been the best that Sybell Spicer's daughters could have hoped for in the ordinary course of events, but a nice fat pot of Lannister gold would make even a dead rebel's widow look attractive to some lord. (...)

"His natural daughter?" Lady Sybell looked as if she had swallowed a lemon. "You want a Westerling to wed a bastard?"

"No more than I want Joy to marry the son of some scheming turncloak bitch. She deserves better." (AFFC, Jaime VII)

Narratively, it’s her dishonorable behavior toward her own daughter and her own classism that make her unsympathetic. But her deal with the nobility, considering Tywin would have destroyed her whole House the same way they did the Reynes, in retaliation?

She tried to be a merchant, and Lannister gold will buy the daughters some lords. The Westerlings weren’t worthy of that as descendents of an “upjumped merchant”, and now they aren’t worthy once more. When Sybell made a deal with Tywin Lannister, "old House” Westerling became unworthy of even a lowborn bastard girl. Even to Jaime Lannister, kingslayer and enemy to House Stark.

While Lancel Lannister wed a Frey to get at her Darry inheritance. The classist hypocrisy.

Given those constellations, Dany’s “rejection” of saffron no longer seems surprising. Dany chose to stay in Meereen, chose to make the things she had not needed before a priority. Food, trade and peace become primary concerns for Dany. She marries into a group she loathes.

She makes deals. She compromises. She hates it.

In spite of her hard won successes, imperfect though they may be, she is dissatisfied:

Wine flowed—not the thin pale stuff of Slaver's Bay but rich sweet vintages from the Arbor and dreamwine from Qarth, flavored with strange spices. The Yunkai'i had come at King Hizdahr's invitation, to sign the peace and witness the rebirth of Meereen's far-famed fighting pits. Her noble husband had opened the Great Pyramid to fete them.

(...) The air was redolent with the scents of saffron, cinnamon, cloves, pepper, and other costly spices.

Dany scarce touched a bite. This is peace, she told herself. This is what I wanted, what I worked for, this is why I married Hizdahr. So why does it taste so much like defeat? (ADWD, Danerys VIII)

Dany doesn’t like how her achievements don’t allign with her desires, she resents the fact that she had to give as well as receive.

Dany would prefer to go without the riches of saffron, if it could free her from the unpleasant reality of bargaining.

For a quick contrast, Jon can’t even dream of spices, but trade and food concern him, as well as peace.

"And this food will be paid for … how, if I may ask?"

With gold, from the Iron Bank of Braavos, Jon might have replied. Instead he said, "I have agreed that the free folk may keep their furs and pelts. They will need those for warmth when winter comes. All other wealth they must surrender. Gold and silver, amber, gemstones, carvings, anything of value. We will ship it all across the narrow sea to be sold in the Free Cities."

"All the wealth o' the wildlings," said The Norrey. "That should buy you a bushel o' barleycorn. Two bushels, might be." (ADWD, Jon XI)

That gold from the iron bank reveals Jon’s own merchant side:

What was it Stannis had said to him? You haggle like a crone with a codfish, Lord Snow. Did Lord Eddard father you on a fishwife? Perhaps he had at that.

It took the better part of an hour before the impossible became possible, and another hour before they could agree on terms. The flagon of mulled wine that Satin delivered helped them settle the more nettlesome points. By the time Jon Snow signed the parchment the Braavosi drew up, both of them were half-drunk and quite unhappy. Jon thought that a good sign. (ADWD, Jon IX)

And he repeats this interesting phrase:

"A fair bargain leaves both sides unhappy, I've heard it said. Three days?" (ADWD, Jon XI)

This time it’s about the peace deal that allows the wildlings to cross the Wall and live. And eat the food Jon borrows that money to buy.

Something tells me, Jon likes the taste of saffron.

#anti daenerys targaryen #trade #slavery #saffron #peace #war #negotiations #classism #house westerling #sybell spicer #jon snow

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organizeworkers · 11 months

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‘We Took Care of Each Other’: A Maritime Union’s Hidden History of Gay-Straight and Interracial Solidarity

Decades before the modern LGBTQ+ movement, a small but militant union of maritime workers on the West Coast with openly gay members and leaders coined a slogan linking discrimination against gay men, racial discrimination, and red-baiting. For the better part of two decades, the Marine Cooks and Stewards Union fought discrimination on the ships where its members worked and in society, until it was crushed by the same corporate and government forces that tried to destroy the United Electrical Workers (UE) during the Cold War.

The Marine Cooks and Stewards Union (MCS) was formed in 1901 by the workers who waited on passengers, carried bags, cleaned rooms, cooked meals, and served drinks on the passenger and cruise ships that provided both travel and leisure for the middle and upper classes. They fed crews and washed the dishes and pots and pans on ships of all types. They faced grueling conditions, often being forced to work 16 hours a day, seven days a week, with no overtime pay, and sleeping in substandard quarters they called “floating tenements.”

Many of the cooks and stewards were Black and Asian, but MCS, like too many unions at the time, restricted membership to white workers. And although a high percentage of the cooks and stewards were “queens,” as gay men preferred to call themselves at the time, the union rarely if ever stood up for them when they were taunted—or “queen-baited”—by straight workers.

Read their story:

#workers #unions #organizing #labor #lgbtq+#pride #solidarity #antiracism #pride month

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nathaniacolver · 1 year

Text

need to live tweet my playing of totk but don't wanna be annoying on my irl so i'll just do it here. this is the first bit:

BEWARE: TOTK SPOILERS BELOW

"i know i'll be ok with you link" okay they are IN LOVE

WHERE IS LINK IN THE CUTSCENE. THEY HAVE TO SHOW HIM IN THE NEXT 10 SECONDS OR I WILL FRET

ZONAI????!!?!!?!??!?!?! (Listen i forgot the gameplay trailer)

me walking at a respectable pace as to not leave zelda's side

BABE THERE'S TOO MUCH MALICE HERE WHY ARE WE STILL GOING

just talked to zelda and she was like "i'm so excited!!!!" GIRL DO YOU NOT HAVE AN OUNCE OF SELF-PRESERVATION

swinging the sword swinging the sword

WAIT WHY DO I HAVE 30 HEARTS WHYYYYYYY DO I HAVE 30 HEARTS

THEY JUST ADDED AN INSTRUMENT OR TWO OH FRICK AND IT'S GETTING LOUDER oh i already love the sound engineering

GLOWY SPIRAL????

DON'T PICK UP THE TEAR BABY oh frick oh frick

OH THAT'S WHY I HAD 30. FOR THE DRAMA

CAN'T LOOK AT MY TYPING I'M WATCHING THE CHTSCENE

OH FRICK IT JUST SHATTERED OH FRICK

gamer lean on x games mode rn

mans said screw it i'm out. fly you fools

BRO I WAS TYPING THE ABOVE WHEN HE LUNGED AND I GOT SO NERVOUS THAT I'D HAVE TO FIGHT FJSKDKJSJDAHHDLADG THE JOYCONS ARE FLOPPING AROUNS ON MY ARMS

THAT TEAR BETTER PROTECT HER I HOPE THAT'S WHAT THAT GLOWY YELLOW WAS

BRO WHAT. THE BLUE GLOWING IS GOOD. this is so anakin skywalker of him btw

baby don't you worry i'm gonna make link level up so fast so he can come and get you

oop naked link again AND HIS SHORTS ARE SHORTER????

nice mani link

A MAN'S VOICE???????? WHO IS IT WHY DOES EVERYONE KNOW THEIR NAMES

okay so The Voice just gives him an arm. okay

the malice or whatever stopping just at the triforce is Symbolic, i think

is it really a master sword or is it a master Dagger

i rly be taking screenshots of everything like i'm a tourist

okay green hand thing go off!!! oop give it a high five and it turns blue and goes behind you as a save point

*taking notes* okay cogs are cogging.......gears are gearing..........

now why the frick did it have me dive like that. what was The Reason

i Forgor that link can tread water indefinitely. swimming king

not me searching every nook and cranny like there's gonna be secrets in this Cave

PANTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ARCHAIC PANTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

wait i put them on and now he looks like a gladiator.......cardboard skirt & Jesus sandals........ok shirtless king

oop just noticed his hair animations & the layers are CRAZY but it lookin good

wait so they was underground......and now in the sky...................i have Theories

they said aerial view shot once again but i mean AERIAL

ope no climbing, you're already too high in the sky

the lighting looks SO GOOD!

it's so silent up here i love it.

the MUSIC AHHHH

WAIT EVERYTHING'S AN ISLAND???? OH WE WAY THE FRICK UP IN THE SKY LINK. HOW CAN YOU BREATHE THAT THIN AIR

this game is making me fall In Love. with Silence

TREE BRANCH YES THE WORLD IS HEALING

apples. i could Cry

is that a broom?????

wait so the soldiers are bad and the stewards are good. it's just like real life!

why do i have the feeling that this is a /different/ princess zelda that left this to him.......oh nvm it's just the purah pad. what happened to the sheikah slate???

is link gonna look at pics on it and get emo

wait so. garden of time (ok Christianity reference). so zelda has lived through some trash already and is like poor link in the past. let's give him this

aw it's lonely :(

YES WE'RE GETTING ZELDA RIGHT AWAY I COULD CRY

ooh the purah pad looks slick (i'm so sorry but why does that sound like a tampon brand LIKEEEEE)

high five!!! oh wait high fives have OTHER FUNCTIONS???!?!

now why did the bridge have to do all that fancy stuff. (ik it's for stability or whatever don't @ me engineers)l

just smashed some pots. link's Primeval Urge

ok so linear path for Diving. got it.

that's a hot-footed frog.......................i could cry. i AM crying

picked up a rock. now i just have to see some Chickens

there are Grates in the ground and you can peek below. idk why i like that so much.

i am hunting these ostriches like i might die

THAT GUY SNUCK UP ON ME SO SILENTLY. I DECIDED I HATE FLOATING MACHINE ENEMIES (don't worry i was fine)

why did i try to light a frog on fire

#totk spoilers #okay that's it i have to go to work now but enjoy.#i do this bc i don't have a reaction yt channel but IF I DID #also i had to edit this ob my computer bc i accidentally added a poll and idk how to get rid of it #totk #tears of the kingdom #loz #playthrough

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jedimaesteryoda · 1 year

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“Daeron Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne,” Jon said. The Young Dragon was one of his heroes.

As a boy Jon looked up to Daeron I the Young Dragon. Yet, as Benjen points out, Daeron’s biggest achievement didn’t last and his conquest of Dorne ultimately collapsed with tens of thousands of his men dying in the effort including himself. Objectively, Daeron proved to be an unsuccessful king.

Another attempt to bring Dorne into the realm was made under Daeron II. It’s not a coincidence that he shares the same name as the young dragon and as kings couldn’t be more different. Daeron I was a handsome, charismatic youth and the image of a warrior-king who was eager for war and glory. Daeron II by contrast at the point he wore the crown was a man grown and according to Martin “Not a warrior by any means; round-shouldered, with thin legs and a small pot belly. His face has a certain quiet strength, though, and his eyes are clear and full of resolve.” He shared no interest in war but was a scholar.

Daeron II would end up succeeding where Daeron I failed by using diplomacy rather than war to bring Dorne under the Iron Throne.

By ADwD, Jon resembles Daeron II, marking the maturation and growth of his character. The boy who once balked at being made a steward instead of a ranger buries himself in books and takes counsel from the bookish Sam and Aemon. Daeron II was influenced by his Dornish princess wife Myriah while Jon was by his wilding lover Ygritte and later “wildling princess” Val. The king brought former enemies the Dornish into the realm by diplomacy and negotiation just as Jon does with Tormund and the wildlings. Both those acts also result in backlash among their subordinates culminating in rebellion with the Blackfyre Rebellion for Daeron II and Ides of Marsh for Jon. The aforementioned former enemies end up becoming their biggest allies, and help crush those rebellions.

They also both end up having to deal with bastard pretenders with pretender Lord of the North Ramsay Bolton coming to the Wall as royal pretender Daemon I Blackfyre moved towards King’s Landing to depose Daeron II.

The two Daerons essentially serve as markers of Jon’s growth from the warrior-obsessed fourteen year-old boy to the older, wiser seventeen year-old who knows that some things can’t be solved with swords.

#asoiaf #daeron ii targaryen #daeron i targaryen #house targaryen #dorne #jon snow

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druidx · 7 months

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ROY G BIV

Thanks for the tag, @spacetimewraithwrites-archive. Another game I can use as motivation to edit Alexis Dalliance vs the Evil of Titan!

Tagging back: @aalinaaaaaa @thewriteflame @wildswrites @aquadestinyswriting @artdecosupernova-writing @autumnalwalker @blind-the-winds @eli-writes-sometimes @hannahcbrown @oh-no-another-idea @rhikasa @swordsoulwrites @winglesswriter @andromeda-grace @writingmaidenwarrior @wispstalk @late-to-the-fandom @athenswrites

Rules: Search your WIP for the colours of the rainbow and post the excerpt

Red

As Captain Hengar poured himself a drink, Alexis eyed the others who’d been pull into this… Whatever this was. Lounging against a shelf filled with parchments, ink pots and other errata was a tall, broad human. He wore rough-treated hides, his flame-red hair and beard woven through with beads and bones. A barbarian then.

Orange

(Didn't need editing; no synonyms found)

Yellow

The journey back took many weeks. Slowly the dusty yellow of the Desert of Skulls gave way to the khaki and dun greens of the Flatlands, which melded into the lush waving grasses of the Pagan Plains. The humping grey stone of Toreguard’s walls were a welcome sight as they grew larger on the horizon.

Green

Alexis turned her attention to the blond elf who leant next to the door, his arms crossed. At his hip was a quiver of arrows, his bow propped within easy reach. From the mottled green of his armour he could only be one thing: A forest ranger.

Blue

At the entrance to the great hall their envoy stopped, halted by the castle steward. The Lieutenant rapped out a series of commands. His men scattered in an orderly fashion to disparate points of the room as he and the steward spoke. To keep her heart from racing, Alexis glanced over the room. It was tall and narrow, a long carpet of rich blue and gilt edges forming an aisle over the parquet flooring. High along the walls rose a series of etched windows. One single, giant window of stained glass rose behind the throne on it's little dais, framing the figure who sat there.

Indigo

(Didn't need editing; no synonyms found)

Violet

(Didn't need editing; no synonyms found)

#writing #oc alexis dalliance #artemon hengar #Ithanor Togeral #Nathadrin #roy g biv #tag game #fighting fantasy #titan fighting fantasy #wandering words #this has been in my drafts so long #series ADvEoT #wip 'Young Dagger False Dream'

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flipping-the-coin · 8 months

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[Inquisitorial Report: Subject - Megatron of Kaon]

[Authorization Level: Alpha (Elite Guard Selective)]

[Listed Authorizations: Head Elite Guardsman Smokescreen]

[Assigned Inquisitor: Hush]

[15 Vorns after Cybertron's Restoration - Six Stellar-cycles into assignment]

═════════════════

This is Hush reporting in... again. I guess I don't' need to be as formal anymore since its just you seeing my report Sir. I suppose I should start with what I have seen so far since I last reported in. I apologize again for my unsettling behavior unfitting of my station. I was rattled by the Steward's condition, but I am back in action and ready to serve!

Now regarding my report for this stellar cycle. Thus far absolutely nothing of interest has happened, at least by the standards of the parameters for potential corruption I was trained with. Megatron got a virus, a very minor one according to what his scans said, and Orion Pax promptly took a few days off work to care for him. Let it be said that Megatron is rather clingy when ill. He worked every cycle of his condition for what it was worth, gaining as much affection as possible from his Conjunx. His condition wasn't contagious or even enough to warrant a cycle off work, but Pax was insistent on tending to him. My Caretaker never took a cycle off for me when I was infected with virus's, nor did the guard care much. We have a duty... still it was nice to see Pax and Megatron being domestic without all the sap, well at least the normal amount.

Pax made Megatron some purified energon slices with unsaturated drizzle on top to help him fight off the virus, and by Primus, it looked delightful. Megatron had to be shooed out of the kitchen numerous times so that Pax could finish the meal, and quite honestly I do not blame Megatron for attempting to sneak a taste. Megatron did manage to sneak a small dip into the drizzle pot and snag a taste, even though it earned him a light prod from Pax in response. The face Megatron made had me even more curious and interested in the dish. I am not saying that merely as flattery, no it looked delectable from my cameras. When I snuck down to the kitchen after Pax and Megatron retired to their berth, I took a little taste from the pot he used and I was right. It was delicious.

The dish tasted nothing like the nutrient cubes given to us during training or the energon my Caretaker gave me during my development. It wasn't exactly like the fine dining the council members engage in, but it was... forgive the cliche, Megatron is wearing off on me... It was filled with love? I suppose that is the only way to describe it. The dish felt like it was made with the intent to soothe wounds. I took was little I could scrape out of the pot and shared it with Carnage. My feline seemed to like it as much as I did. Carnage has been a relief I must say. Without Carnage I would be far more bored in my hiding place. My feline is very patient and will sit on my lap for groons at a time, and I have even seen Carnage catching the micro-mice messing with the garden outside. I plan to try and begin tending to that garden now that the inside is reasonable.

But that is off topic. Don't worry, I cleaned the dishes. I saw no point in being too subtle. Somehow for all his observational capability, Pax has yet to notice my presence and assumes everything is Megatron. The former warlord doesn't seem at all guilty about taking MY work and claiming it as his own. However I am LIVING in his walls and messing with his things, so I can't really be upset. Besides, Pax always seems very happy when he notices the cleaning that I do. After what happend with the Steward... I don't mind him thinking it was Megatron who did the work. He needs happiness after all that. Yeah... after the Steward's next visit I think I will work on the garden for Pax, to try and give him somewhere nice to visit. I heard he likes crystal gardens.

I also looked up the recipe he used to make the energon and I am near certain it is Kaoni in origin. I couldn't find it in the Iaconian database and since the other city state databases are incomplete, I did a little digging and I can only conclude its Kaoni considering Pax's attachment to the culture. I believe I will try to learn the recipe when I have time, it was too good to NOT learn it. When I find a Conjunx of my own I fully intend to make them that dish. If Megatron liked it, that means it is worthy of being shared.

Right, back on track. Orion Pax took a few cycles off work as I said, and I believe I stated that Megatron was very clingy. Well he wasn't clingy in the normal sense really. He wasn't the whiny cling seen amongst sparklings, no it was more mature but just as ridiculous for one unused to Megatron and Orion's antics. Due to the virus, Megatron was extra lethargic so he cuddled with Pax for most of the cycle, using him as some sort of living stuffed turbo fox. It was arguably rather sweet, if a huge waste of time that could have been used for productive things. At some point Pax did slip away though to do some pick up and he DID IN FACT leave Megatron a stuffed turbo fox to cuddle instead. I didn't even know Orion HAD one. I thought I knew everything in this hab, but it seems he either just bought it or has been hiding it in his berthroom somewhere, since that is the only place I refuse to explore too deeply.

It was really quite... adorable? Maybe that's the wrong word, fascinating seems more apt. It was fascinating to watch Megatron hold the stuffed mech-animal for a while before grumbling and going to retrieve Pax to cuddle him again. I almost swiped the stuffed creature, but I did not. Pax would have noticed. However seeing it gave me inspiration so I've been collecting scraps recently to try and attempt some sewing of my own. I liked the little thing when Megatron held it, so I have been trying my best to replicate the stuffed toy. Carnage has helped in that regard. I have a few of my first attempts in here with me, they make good helm cushioning so now I don't need to recharge on totally hard vent floor paneling. I don't believe my first attempts have been very good... especially since one accidently got caught in my plating when I left the vents and fell by Megatron's berth. I forgot it was there so when he woke up he startled quite badly before slowly grumbling and putting my botched creation back in the vent for me.

He really does know I am here. Its not really a problem though so long as Pax remains unaware. I don't think he would take kindly to me, no matter how badly I want to tell him his datapad organization is an absolute plasma pool. Anyway, as I was saying before I got off track, Megatron was highly clingy. The only other notable thing about his illness was that he seemed to develop a momentary obsession with one particular channel on the holoscreen. It was some sort of documented case that went down not long ago. Apparently mecha have been trying to explore the tunnels and have all vanished for the most part. It was ridiculous, especially since the show depicted all the 'haunted' locations on Cybertron as if it weren't merely war time ruins. It was all a bunch of scrap and it seemed Megatron agreed with me. He spent some time laughing at and correcting the show even as 'experts' explained the spiritual significance and ghostly presences in areas.

It was interesting, but thankfully Megatron got better within a few cycles and Orion was back off the work. It was more dull without the entertainment, but there was much to clean after the whole incident. Megatron certainly didn't clean scrap while ill and Orion was rather occupied playing the role of living doll. My organization efforts were also upheaved with Orion doing the energon preparation. I have spent at least three deca-cycles just reorganizing the storage room and the living room. For whatever Primes forsaken reason, Megatron moved the rug while he was sick so now the wonderful artwork is CLASHING with the furniture. I think he wanted something soft beneath his pedes, but he RUINED the organization of the whole space! Once my sewing skills are less... debatable, I intend to sew up a proper rug and decorative set of pillows for the couch to make the room work again.

Apologies for the ramble Sir. Not much has really been going on. But, thank you for listening to me, and for... helping me deal with what I saw last report. I will get back to work and keep you updated. It would be nice if I could have some funds though to use for my own purposes. Its getting hard to sneak out all the time for supplies, especially since Carnage needs energon too.

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[Report Received: Visibility Status - Seen]

[Note from Head Elite Guardsman Smokescreen:

Your report has brightened my cycle significantly, Hush. Keep up the good work and watch dutifully. Still be careful to not have Megatron spot you directly if you can. Its simply best he does not know too much about you even if he is aware you are there.

I will always be here to listen Hush. If you struggle with what you are are seeing, reach out to me and I will give you a replacement for a bit while you come back to yourself. No need to suffer without reason, and since you have done so well, I will grant your request for some funds. Take care of your feline and please be sure to not startle Orion Pax if you can. He is rather sensitive to guardsmen.]

#maccadam #transformers #transformers prime #transformers prime au #two sides to a coin au #two sides supplemental writing #megaop #megatron #orion pax #cybertronian culture #worldbuilding #two sides supplemental Inquisitorial Report #orion x megatronus

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dracolichbitch · 1 year

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The Fallacy of the Damned: Chapter 01

The reason death is so petrifying is because no one is ever prepared for it, and when the reaper comes knocking at the door, everyone fights it with all their strength. Vinari knew this because she had seen it happen, over and over again. After all, as the heir apparent to the legendary clan of assassins, the Vidrus, often was she the knife in the dark, the poison in the cup, the ghost of dashed hopes and the honey sweet taste of vengeance. Even if she abandoned her family and the dreams they thrust upon her shoulders, killing was all she knew how to do. It was the only thing she was good at. Thus it was how she made her coin.

Today was different though. Today’s mark wasn’t bestowed upon her by a slighted woman, a grieving father, or an ambitious steward. Today was personal.

The bloody body slumped against the tree at her feet meant nothing to Vinari. The woman’s soulless eyes gazing up at her, the face she wore in death twisted into a tearful plea for mercy struck no chord within her soul. She wasn’t the original target. Vinari just needed her armor.

As soon as the polished ivory enamel plate was strapped securely to her body, her cloak stuffed inside as extra padding between her delicate flesh and the radiant aura seeking to rip her to pieces even at this distance from its caster, Vinari made her way to the castle’s front gates, leaving the body for the crows.

The gate guards gave her a respectful bow as she approached.

“Hail Juno! Welcome back! How was your trip?”

Vinari hoped that by donning the armor, she would be able to walk right in no questions asked, but while all of the Fyros guards armor looked the same to her, it seemed there were distinguishing features she had not noticed.

Well of course it’s distinct from other guards. You did target the prince’s fiance solely out of spite. Nocturne, her better half, spoke directly into mhery mind, a feat that would require significant effort on his part were it not for the fact they’d joined their souls together. Try to avoid killing everyone to get inside. This will require stealth, and I don’t mean the massacre kind.

No one can find the bodies if every soul dwelling within this castle is dead on the floor. Vinari pointed out even as she waved a greeting to the guards before feigning a cough into her shoulder.

“It went well though I fear I may have caught something while out and about.” She made her voice sound as hoarse and raspy as possible, while doing her best to mimic the voice she heard while that woman pleaded for her life.

The other guard offered her a sympathetic smile. “You should have some tea with honey in it. It should help your throat a little. Nicholas and his family should already be at the dining hall. I’m sure they’ll be delighted you’re home.”

Vinari nodded to the man, rolling her eyes as she did so. “I will be sure to join them, thank you.”

You hear that, Nocturne. He recommends tea with honey. Do you think that will resurrect her corpse?

Perhaps if it was of your creation. Nocturne’s chuckle reverberated through her mind. Although tis more likely it would merely kill her a second time.

It is most likely that you are correct.

Vinari noticed the radiant aura of magical light as soon as she walked in the front doors of the palace. It filled it to the brim, like water in a pot about to boil over the rim. It was just waiting to burst.

As a child of the Void, Vinari was sensitive to all light, and while this light wouldn’t be noticeable to any regular human, she was far from ordinary.

Vinari, show caution here. If the situation takes a turn for the worse, I will not be able to penetrate this aura to assist you. Nocturne’s warning flowed through her mind, the tension, and concern, in his voice so thick it could almost be cut with a knife. It was unlike him to sound so soft.

The dragon, much like herself, was a natural denizen of the Void and like her, boasted a certain amount of resistance to the light of Noxus. Most creatures of the Void couldn’t handle even the slightest scraps of starlight in the middle of midnight here in Noxus, but just because they could survive the incessant natural light of this realm did not mean it was in any way pleasant.

I know. I will refrain from foolishness. It was an easy thing to assure him of this, but making reality reflect the words was far more difficult. I will make do, do I not always?

Perhaps thus far, however, I dislike your propensity towards, how do the mortals refer to it? Close calls. In the back of her mind, she could visualize him circling the glowing dome of light surrounding the castle. Forget not that as you live and die, so do I.

I have yet to forget. Vinari assured him as she passed by a statue of a praying saint, pausing mid-step before taking steps backwards. Fear not, for I value your life above all else. The snap of teeth and the growl echoing through her mind was a clear indication he didn’t appreciate the sentiment.

A clear indication you do not value your own as you should! He snarled before severing the connection between their minds. In the presence of his absence, her mind felt empty and hollow, like a freshly dug grave waiting to be filled.

To distract herself, Vinari focused on the statue. It was of a kneeling saint, hands folded in prayer with a crown of chains adorning his brow, to trail down his body and loop around both wrists as well.

A symbol of the burden of leadership, is it? What does that man know of burdens? She bit back a snarl as she pulled the blade out from hersleeve.

She could feel the magic pouring off the statue, clearly an amplifier extending the reach of the aura, and upon pinpointing the source in the statue, Vinari stabbed into its golden eyes.

Once. Twice. Thrice. The light flickered before blowing out.

Good. Nocturne hummed his approval. You should destroy as many of those as possible, but do not forget your purpose in the pleasure of destruction.

Vinari could only imagine what a nightmare it must be for the servants to keep the polished white marble floor clean, but she rather enjoyed dirtying it as she trekked deeper into the castle, trailing a mixture of blood and mud with every footstep. She didn’t so much as glance at the trail she left behind though, not when her destination laid beyond the doors in front of her.

Vinari could tell.

The source of the aura was behind these doors.

The doors swung open silently on well oiled hinges, and from the doorway, she could see only five people in the hall meant for many.

The two men, one of which the source of this Void accursed aura, paid her no mind as they continued to chat at the end of the table. The two guards flanking the man she assumed to be the king, however, did look her way when she stepped inside.

Time stopped as they stared at her. She fought to keep her fingers from twitching as they said nothing.

Have they already realized? No, that shouldn’t be possible.

Desperately, Vinari wished she could summon her blades, but in the face of this wretched aura, there was no darkness around her to answer her call. The only weapons she had at her disposal were the blade she’d hidden in her bracer and the agonizing, light infused blade she’d taken off that woman’s corpse.

Well, and her tongue. Words were always her greatest weapon.

Even still, she knew it was better to flee than to fight, though the thought of leaving without a single head to call her own made her blood boil, but she was considering it when one of the guards beckoned for her to come inside.

Well, that was concerning.

Nocturne silently agreed.

She took a moment to observe where everyone was sitting before going to stand behind the woman’s chair. It was only once she was by the table that the prince looked up at her and smiled warmly, his whole face lightening up as he looked at her. Or rather, who he thought she was.

Vinari gave him a mere nod in acknowledgment but focused on the set up before her, silently bemoaning how unfortunate it was as she popped her knuckles on both hands, one by one.

The princess sitting quietly at the table, barely picking at her plate, gave her a polite but curious smile as she tilted her head at the sound.

Wordlessly, Vinari shook her head.

How sweet of her to be so concerned for this dead woman. It is almost a shame I will be killing her and the rest of her cursed blood.

The girl’s furrowed brow softened and she nodded at her slowly before returning to the overfilled platter of food before her.

Vinari could barely contain her ever growing disgust. What a fool. She hissed to no one but herself, though the huff of air passing through her lips may have been heard by the woman before me. You are no younger than me, yet you trust so easily. With no hesitation, and with reckless abandon. How have you never had to worry for a single moment in your life? Has the safety you have basked in throughout your life been at the expense of mine? Her blood boiled in her veins. Pitiful. Pathetic. Princess.

That word alone was more vulgar, more insulting, than any of the curses she’d ever uttered in any of the three languages she knew.

Vinari quickly distracted herself with the unfortunate setup in how the royals were sitting. On one side of the dining table, sitting at the middle of the table by herself, was the princess, Inara, if she recalled correctly. On the other side, by the end, sat her brother, though she couldn’t recall his name, though the woman she killed for this armor cried for him, begging for him to help her, before she died. And beside the prince, the king of Kanith sat at the end of the dining table, radiating light too bright for her to look at him or his son straight, on what had to be the most gaudy and hideous throne she’d ever seen.

Your target is right in front of you and your focus is on his throne?

The Fyros line has gone back centuries! They should have a higher standard for their family throne! Vinari retorted, stifling the laugh in her throat as she accepted the reality of the situation, shifting her weight from her bad leg as the numb nerves began to burn with pain from the exertion of merely standing up straight.

Without her magic, there wasn’t any way for her to take all three of them out.

Vinari glared at the king from the corner of her eye as he casually laughed at a joke his son told. Rage blossomed like the most beautiful rose in her chest. She hated it. She hated him. She hated that smile. She hated that laugh. But most of all, She hated the love in his eyes as he gazed at his children.

No, the king shall not die. Not today. I want him to hurt. I want him to suffer… But more than anything, I want him to watch, powerless, while I strip away everything he ever loved until he has nothing left save for the damning knowledge he brought this upon himself.

With that decided, there was only one move to make. With a flick of her wrist, Vinari whipped out the blade hidden in her bracer, and held it to the girl’s neck. As tempting as it was to do so, she didn’t make that decisive cut. Not yet. First, she wanted to see the look on that bastard’s face. Vinari wanted him to beg for mercy.

The girl gasped, the slight motion of her throat pressing the delicate porcelain skin deeper into the blade, drawing a line of blood across the edge. A whimper left her throat, and she sank deeper into the back of her chair.

Both the king and prince leapt to their feet when they saw the knife, and the guards readjusted their grips on their weapons, but none of them made a move towards her. Instead, they exchanged uncertain gazes with each other, clearly silently debating what to do.

“J-Juno?” The girl was the one who spoke up, her voice quiet and timid like a mouse startled into scurrying out of its hiding hole by the baying of dogs. “Why… Why are you… Doing this?”

“It behooves me to inform you of this, but your dearly beloved Juno no longer dwells among the living.” Despite the words, she could barely contain her glee as she wrenched that ugly fucking helmet from her head before tossing it at the prince with her free hand. It only flew halfway across the table before landing, though it did manage to roll the rest of the way over to him, clattering unpleasantly as it did so. “Clearly you did not care for her as much as she thought you did, seeming as you did not realize I was not she.”

The prince’s hands trembled as he slowly picked the helm up, disbelief etching sorrow across his face even as a choked sob slipping past his lips as he clutched it, hugging it to his chest. He shook his head slowly.

“No… It can’t be… She can’t be gone…”

“On the contrary, I am certain the wolves are most appreciative for the easy meal.” How could she help her wicked smile at his despair? How could she not rub more salt into the wound? “But I would most like to see you dispel the reality of her demise by declaring such a thing to her corpse.”

“Why you…” He snarled as he tore his eyes from the helm he clutched as if it were his last tie to this world. “Who are you?!”

Vinari twisted her lips into a mirthless smile that would’ve been almost dazzling if it weren’t for the pearly white, pointed canines. Clearly the kind of teeth meant for ripping out throats. “Ask your father. He ought to know what I am.”

The blood drained from the king’s face as realization visibly dawned on him.

“No… You can’t be…”

“No? Funny thing that. Turns out reality does not seem to care what any mortal believes should be.” Vinari smiled brighter. “As is the fact that most people opt to overlook the fangs if one shows no other visible signs of being Voidborne. I am quite fortunate in that regard. With common dark hair and eyes, I can pass for human.”

The king stared at her with wide eyes, gritted teeth, and a tremble in his hands.

“Who are you?”

“Your majesty, it does not seem as though you have noticed this, but you are not in the position to demand anything from me. Certainly not answers.” There was a calmness she didn’t feel as she pressed the knife harder against the girl’s throat. “Now sit. Behave like good dogs.”

The blinding aura surrounding the king sputtered and gasped in unsteady waves, like a candle buffeting in the wind, but it’s radius crumbled in on the king, dying down to a faint glow outlining his body.

Vinari could see him…!

A vein throbbed in the king’s temple, and though his body shook and a soundless snarl crossed his lips, he slowly lowered himself down into his seat, his son following suit.

Now that she could see straight, Vinari couldn’t possibly help the sadistic smile at the royalty bowing to her whims. Despite that though, it would take much more than simple obedience to satisfy her rage. Nothing could after all, because there was nothing she could take from this man that could equal what he took from her.

“I must say you make a most impressive dog, Your Majesty.” Vinari never was the type to resist rubbing salt into the wound, and fake praise was always a good way to do it. “Truly, it warms the heart to see you considering the consequences of your actions for once. Even if I find it surprising, considering you have always done whatever thought had the ill fortune to pop into your head at any time.”

Surprisingly, it was the girl who spoke up next.

“Why are you doing this…? What did I… Did I ever do… to you?”

As the girl’s amber eyes stared up at her, a wave of emotion Vinari couldn’t quite identify struck her. She mulled it over for a mere moment before discarding it as useless. Whatever that feeling was, it was irrelevant.

Vinari’s hatred had long since become her master and with every beat of her cold, dead heart, it gave her the same order. Take from him what he took from me while it is still mine for the taking.

Still Vinari didn’t make that decisive cut. Not yet.

No one should die ignorant after all.

Besides, was it not for the best that she knew where to direct her hatred in her dying moments?

“Nothing. You have committed no slight, neither real nor imagined against me.”

Vinari had no doubt she was as ignorant as she seemed to be. No mortal would tear their chest open and expose the deep, rotten sins within to the world if they had no reason to, and despite his actions, Kallen Fyros was indeed no monster, just a terrible, mortal man. And as such, Vinari had no doubt he’d sooner tear the sky asunder before confessing to his children what he’d done.

Such is the way of mortals.

“You have done nothing.” Vinari repeated as she gazed down at those eyes that brought back memories best left buried. Then again, wasn’t it always best for the past to stay as memories? For the dead to stay dead? Despite that, like a grave, here she was, digging it up for she could not bear to allow the past to remain unanswered for. For the bodies to stay still and lifeless.

“No, you are as pure and innocent as fresh fallen snow.” Vinari’s voice grew bitter as poison, even as she smiled, grim and hateful. “In fact, this has nothing to do with you at all. If you must hate me for my actions, I do not blame you. However, be sure to hate your father as well, because it is his actions that I am the consequence for.”

“This is about Duskhollow, isn’t it?”

Her eyes snapped over to the king when he spoke, and a bark of laughter slipped out. “Well, I am utterly astonished you even knew the name of the innocent village you reduced to ashes.”

“Innocent? Scions of the Void and the ilk who create them are never innocent. You and the foul magic that created you exist for only one reason: to destroy the innocent.” The king smiled bitterly, shaking his head. “But of course, you don’t realize that. Your ignorance betrays you. However, that said, I always think my actions through. Just because an inhuman creature of the Void like yourself isn’t capable of comprehending my reasons does not make that false.” His jaw clenched like he was restraining himself from leaping across the table and mauling her like a rabid dog. “I don’t make foolish decisions.”

Vinari laughed. The sound was cold, like the flow of a river during winter, deep beneath the ice.

“On the contrary, you have made plenty. Otherwise I would not be standing before you now.” She raised a brow at him. “I would offer some advice, yours to heed or ignore as you so choose.”

“And what would that be?”

“The next time you choose to burn a city to the ground, I would recommend insuring there are no survivors.”

The king stared at her hard, for a long moment that seemed to last eternity, before uttering words Vinari did not expect.

“What do you want?”

“Elaborate?”

After all, wasn’t it fairly obvious what she wanted?

His life. His death. Everything he ever loved or cherished, so broken and bloody that not even the greatest necromancer could ever return it to a facsimile of life.

“Anything. Anything you ask for.” The king declared, though he grimaced as the words left his lips, and he shifted in his chair as if the chair maker had a sense of humor and lined the bottom with spikes rather than a cushion, and the face he made was probably the same kind of expression he’d make if he walked into an unsavory scene, or if he stepped into something disgusting like dog shit barefoot. “Money. Fame. Status. Anything. I’ll give you anything you ask if you spare her.”

“Do you truly think so little of me to bargain for your child’s life, offering trinkets as worthless and inconsequential as status as recompense?” Vinari snarled, her grip on the blade tightening until her knuckles turned white. “Do you think mere coin is enough to repay what you have taken from me? What do you think I would do with gold?”

Absurd.

“You may be Voidborne, but as far as I’m aware, you are still mortal.” The admission almost seemed to pain the king as he spat out the words. “You still need to eat, do you not?”

While it was no lie she was a prisoner to the chains that mortality wrapped tightly around all humans like a noose, she wasn’t about to admit that to him.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do, nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice, nothing I wouldn’t give to protect my children.” The king continued, his voice falling into the depths of hollow desperation as he rose to his feet, his palms planted flat against the table top. “If you let her go, I will give you anything you ask for.”

Don’t you dare. Nocturne’s voice was angry now, a guttural growl reverberating through her mind, and Vinari could feel her own heart start pounding as his fury at the offer flooded into her soul. Don’t you even consider it.

The girl relaxed under her grip as it loosened on her shoulder, and despite Nocturne’s black rage pulsing through her veins like necrofire, Vinari smiled at the king. It wasn’t a malevolent smile either. It was warm, kind, and gentle. All things she had not been for a very long time.

“You want to know what I want, Your Majesty?”

“Tell me.”

“I want my people back, you bastard.”

Vinari slit Inara’s throat.

#The Fallacy of the Damned #writblr #writeblr #writing #lgbt writers

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