#the huge full body shrugs and hand waving and peacocking around the room as if on stage

[ssaalexblake]

one of my favourite things about Jodie's performance as the doctor is that she is always Moving. She's always using big, overt stage gestures. Always fiddling or shifting. Movement is such a huge part of her portrayal of the character to the point that it's So constant that you barely notice she's always moving after a while.

Of course, this is brilliant because it throws such Stark contrast on those few moments where she is still. Where she is a statue. Where you can feel the fury radiate off of her, judgemental and terrifying.

The physical acting is just *chef's kiss*

[nadiaportia]

A Countess’s Masquerade

Summary: A surprising visitor makes an otherwise unpleasant party worthwhile for Nadia.

Word count: ~5.3k

Very much inspired and endorsed by @leatherandsaltybitters thanks to her July Prompt! As soon as I read it, the idea came up in my head and thus this little fic was born. It was quite fun to write and I hope it’ll be equally entertaining for everyone to read~.

“Noddy, darling! Where are you~?” Nadia flinched at her husband’s nasal voice carrying over to the private balcony. She wasn’t hiding from him, of course she wasn’t, but rather taking a break from… just everything and everyone. She liked a good party as much as the next person but this revelry? It threatened to overwhelm her, more than any party in Prakra had ever done. She had been in Vesuvia for three years now and this was her third masquerade so she felt that she should be used to this… or at least get used to it. 

Nadia leaned on the ledge, propped on her elbows and rubbed her temples. Everything was getting to her even though it was only an hour past midnight, and she was sure if she were to have another drop of cloudberry liquor, she'd have enough of it for the rest of her entire life. 

A good white wine would suit her well now and perhaps even lift her spirits to get through the night. With people such as Asra, Julian and their friends it was bound to be an entertaining evening, but besides them… the nobles cared more about getting as wasted as their livers allowed them to, some didn't even forget their agenda on a party and at least at her first masquerade she had to guide Lucio away from nobles trying to lure him into lowering their taxes or giving them money if they were to fulfill half-assed requests. But the man was a grown adult so if he fell for an obvious scam, that was none of her business. 

She took in a deep breath of the chilly night air and looked at the starry sky. The heat of the day had subsided and the gardens were full of masquerade guests. From the balcony she got a good view at those dancing, drinking and laughing, be it at the huge fountain in the middle of the garden or even the maze. 

She saw how a reveler dressed as an orange butterfly pulling another one dressed as a black cat along with them out of the maze and into the woods. Luckily if she had the need to hook up with someone, she had one of the various rooms in the Palace at her disposal, although she understood the thrill of doing so outdoors where someone could walk in at every moment.

"Nadi." She looked over her shoulder at hearing her name. "Here you are." Asra, wearing a opalescent white costume and a small mask with texture resembling snakeskin, leaned with his back next to her against the ledge and took a deep breath. Something about him… was decisively out of balance, and she could feel it wasn't just Lucio being himself or people acting up in general.

"Asra. Are you enjoying the night?"

He nodded, perhaps a tad too quickly, and put on an easy smile. "Yes, don't you worry about me." He waved a hand. "It's just… wow, the Masquerade." His eyes widened in exaggeration for emphasis. 

Nadia laughed. "Yes, truly. It's… quite the event. I don't know if I'll ever grow used to this particular flavor of revelry." She eyed her friend curiously as he brushed a white lock of hair behind his ear and unconsciously dabbed at a small collection of sweat beads with his sleeve. 

"Are you alright?" She reached out and gently touched his elbow. He gulped and nodded. 

"Oh, of course, why shouldn't I be? I think the cloudberry liquor is just so strong that it gives hallucinogens a run for their money." He laughed awkwardly, and Nadia decided to drop the matter. 

Asra could be very elusive if he wanted to, and there was never a way to coax anything out of him that he didn't give up voluntarily. In a way, he was the best secretkeeper you could ask for - he'd never tell. 

"Very well." She coughed. "How's the weather?"

Asra snorted. "Sayelle and Julian decided to hold an impromptu duet of a Galbradan folk song, it was quite impressive." 

Nadia smiled to herself. "Of course it was. They know how to work a stage."

"I'm surprised Julian didn't slur through his part."

"Noddy!" Lucio's loud voice rang over through the air, this time closer. The Countess and the magician looked at each other and simultaneously rolled their eyes. 

"Do you know why?"

"There's guests from Zadith and he wants to make a good impression - which on his own is nigh impossible already when he's sober."

"Well, at least it might be interesting to meet some new people." Nadia stood upright and straightened her dress. "It has been a while since I was in Zadith for the last time. Let's see how much things have changed."

They made their way through the groups of party-goers and entered the ballroom. Here the air was artificially kept cool and it really was a necessity considering that the majority of people were in there. 

"Oh, Asra, thank you for finding Noddy for me." A sweaty hand softly caressed her shoulder and soft lips pressed a kiss on her mask.

Asra's eyes were steely but he nodded in acknowledgement. "You're welcome, sir."

Lucio grinned and put an arm around Nadia. She smiled and touched his arm. "I heard something about a delegation from Zadith?"

"Oh, yes! Some alchemists and a bunch of nobles, small fish but we kinda need their backing because of the trade routes and all that other jazz." He made a vague hand movement. Nadia nodded slowly. "Very well… let’s see what we can do then. Nothing like negotiations during a birthday party."

Lucio let out a dramatic sigh. "So rude, I know. But let's get to it. Oh, hey, where are you going?"

Asra had turned and began walking back into the crowd. "Huh?"

"C'mon, the more the merrier."

"For 'negotiations'?"

"Hm, sure." Lucio grinned. "You're already in with the upper echelons, might as well see the inner workings." He let go off Nadia and put an arm around Asra's shoulder.

Asra's gaze met Nadia, who shrugged as a response. It couldn't do any harm, she thought. His eyes briefly wandered around the room as if he was searching for someone and then sighed.

"Alright, why not?"

They walked up the stairs and onto the upper level of the ballroom, where a group of people stood together in extravagant costumes. Lucio introduced them and Nadia was surprised that somehow he managed to come across as decently put together. The Zadithi nobles were eager to chat with her and were impressed by Lucio's military campaigns, falling easily for his charm. Nadia and Asra leaned back and she was about to suggest they'd leave to another party room, when -

"Oh, apologies, I was exploring some of the rooms in the West Wing! Whoever designed them deserves all the praise." A clear melodic voice rang over them and everyone turned their head towards the woman that approached them. Her costume could only be described with one word: pink - to be specific, the bright hot variant. The fabric was light, resembled ruffled silk and comfortably fit around her body, the dress ended halfway along her thighs but another extravagant piece of fabric continued in the back similarly to a peacock's tail without touching the floor. Her high-heeled shoes were of the exact same hue as the dress, just like the gems around her neck and her earrings. The mask she wore depicted a flamingo. On the vast majority of people, this outfit would have been considered a fashion sin and no doubt resulted in their imprisonment but somehow… it worked fantastically on her. Nadia had no idea how but it did.

The woman herself had impeccable posture as she walked towards them, shoulders low, back straightened and her head held confidently high. Her brown skin meshed well with the vibrant pink of the dress and her dark brown hair was fixed in an updo. Through the mask she saw a pair of eyes the color of dark honey and her full lips were painted a dark red, almost black. 

"Gentlepeople of the Zadithi court, I hope I am not interrupting something." She said as she inclined her head towards the delegation who apparently were her companions all along. 

"Oh, Marquesa, no, you're most welcome to enter the conversation actually." One of them, a tall man with golden skin, said and bowed to her. "We’re actually having a lovely conversation with our hosts - whom, if I recall, you haven't met as of yet!"

To Nadia's surprise, she heard Asra cough and turned to see him looking suddenly very out of it. 

"Really?" The woman made a surprised face and looked from Lucio to Nadia to Asra. "Well, we have already met, have we not, young magician?" Her eyes were on Asra for a brief moment and her eyes twinkled until she turned her attention back to the Count and the Countess. Nadia noticed that her gaze lingered on her for maybe a little too longer before she spoke next.

"Your excellencies: Lady Heloisa de Rubalcaba of Calpacia, representative of the Zaan of Cartagenth in foreign affairs." She made a curtsy and her costume rustled. "To your services, Count Lucio and Countess Nadia."

"We are very honored to have you, Lady Heloisa.” Nadia replied and nodded respectfully. The name vaguely rang a bell in her mind but she couldn’t recall precisely in what context. 

“Likewise.” Lucio added and nodded with a hand on his chest. 

Even though they were on Vesuvian soil and the local sovereigns, etiquette still demanded foreigners with a higher title were to be treated as guests of honor. She wondered what room this marquesa was given - although she did not recall invitations being sent out to the empire of Calpacia to the far West of the continent. Lucio seemed to think the same.

“Cartagenth, Calpacia… if I remember correctly, I stopped sending invitations after them being ignored for three years straight.” His tone was amicable but had an edge to it. Lady Heloisa shrugged. 

“That is very much true, Count Lucio. I was on a diplomatic mission in Zadith meeting my dear friends,”, she winked in the general direction of the Zadithi delegation, “when your invitation reached the council - and since they are allowed to bring guests and I was at the moment the guest of honor at court, here I am!”

“Especially because you mentioned never having been here, Marquesa!” A woman with a headscarf and a fennek mask claimed. 

“Yes.” The marquesa sighed. “The diplomatic relations between Cartagenth and Vesuvia are not the best, after the Vesuvians’, err, I guess one could refer to it as a “business”, in Karnassos, ancient allies of ours from back when they were the local military power.”

Nadia’s eyes went to Lucio who was busy inspecting the tips of his gauntlet. She remembered a history lesson many, many years ago in her childhood, about the nations to the west of Prakra where the kingdoms of Bizatena, Calpacia and Karnassos had joined forces to break down a merchant revolt. 

“C’mon, let’s get out of here.” Asra whispered. A single bead of sweat was rolling down his temple and Nadia raised an eyebrow. Was he that unnerved because of the marquesa?

“Give me a few minutes, Asra, then I’m with you.” She whispered back and gently touched his arm. Asra looked already more at peace and touched her hand reassuringly. 

“Mirror room.” With that, he turned and left.

“Either way, hopefully that can be water under the bridge now - who knows, maybe one day we will need to support each other.” 

“Hm, I think that Vesuvia is doing quite fine as of lately, but thank you for the offer, Lady Heloisa.” Lucio’s voice was honey but the slight curl in his lip indicated to Nadia that he was already displeased with her attitude. One corner of the marquesa’s lips turned upwards and she let out a sigh. 

“That might be true but you know - you never know. Unless you can see the future thanks to a crystal ball.” She winked at Lucio as if they were old friends planning a conspiracy together. Lucio’s cold grey eyes fixated on her warm brown ones and even though most of his face was hidden by the large peacock mask he wore, Nadia saw his ears turning beet red. The marquesa snatched a glass of rosé prosecco from the platter of a bypassing waiter.

“Which I quite frankly cannot - I possess no magical talents, unlike you.” She nodded at the members of the delegation. “For you, my friends, and the students of the alchemical academy of Zadith.” She toasted towards the Zadithi and downed the content of the flute in one go. 

“So this is all that brings you to Vesuvia, ‘diplomatic relations’? As for my husband’s military endeavors, that one has been solved after a court hearing - we paid reparations to the town of Karnassos, but of course I understand why its old allies might bear a grudge towards those who harmed the representative of their sister city.” Nadia stated curtly and tried to ignore Lucio’s questioning look that basically said ‘We paid reparations?’.

“Not exactly, it was also my own curiosity. Especially when I heard that the Countess happened to be a former Princess of Prakra.” Lady Heloisa’s eyes twinkled and her smile turned into something more genuine than the sardonic grin she had put on when talking to Lucio. “That certainly got my attention, and I am glad to know I did not come all the way here to be disappointed.” 

Was the marquesa trying to flirt with her, in front of her husband nonetheless? Bold, but… 

“Either way, thank you - I did not know that the matter had been solved, I thank you for clearing it up to me.”

“You’re more than welcome, Lady Heloisa.”

“And I mean it; your reputation precedes you, Countess Nadia; your work as a stateswoman in the service of your home country is known even to the Calpacian court and your sisters Nafizah and Navra have told me much about you when I was in Prakra two years ago. Quite a shame we did not meet earlier - you seem a most interesting character.” The last sentence was to Nadia’s surprised said in accented but very sure spoken Prakran. At the same time she remembered almost out of nowhere why exactly the name rang a bell. 

“Oh, you’re the playwright! The one who wrote The Dying Swan of Doña Astros.” Navra had raved about this play for at least a whole month and even attended a showing of it when the entourage and actors had travelled to Prakra.

Heloisa smiled and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Yes, the first play I ever wrote. I have a soft spot for it but Jocelyn y Templanza is the most dear to me. It’s just so much more personal.” 

“Oh, I haven’t seen either but… now that I recall it, I did read The Ballad of the Brave Knights of Crystalia. A good comedy with great social commentary.” 

“Ah, that one,”, she chuckled, “there are enough people who consider it a tragedy, partly because it’s based on real events. You certainly seem to have enough finesse and sharp wit to figure it out the right way, congratulations.” She winked and Nadia was glad for the mask on her face which hid her blush.

 “The Crystalian Knights were a real mercenary band - not one of them from Crystalia necessarily.” Lucio interjected. Nadia threw him a pointed look. Did he have to forcefully insert himself into the conversation?

“Why, thank you, I am well aware of that, your excellency.” Lady Heloisa’s mouth was a thin line. “My source is - well, was, since their era has ended - quite familiar with them; they were under her service after all.”

Lucio’s eyes widened and his lips pursed but he didn’t press the issue. 

“Reading the play could maybe give you a new insight on the events, darling.” Nadia suggested with a small smile and suppressed a chuckle when Lucio rolled his eyes. 

“Oh, don’t feel pressured to follow your wife’s recommendation, your excellency. Zero readers are better than one self-described expert.” She laughed. Nadia felt the corners of her mouth twitch. As if Lucio would ever finish a book in order to criticize it. Her husband meanwhile only stared at the marquesa who shook her head. “Pardon, I was just joking. A man of your standing, you must be quite educated and your military decorations say more than enough.”

“Oh, no offense taken, Lady Heloisa - or Marquesa? Which one is it? You are dressed like someone more important than you might actually be.” He slightly leaned forward with a grin that bared a little too much teeth.

Before Nadia could open her mouth, the marquesa answered cooly and with a steely look in her brown eyes that by now exuded no warmth whatsoever: “I am a representative of my house and since the actual marquesa is quite the busy woman, the political affairs fall to me, your excellency.” As quickly as her sharp veneer appeared, it was gone again and her tone became amicable again. “Either way… I take it you are quite busy with the delegation; the people who are actually interested in talking to you. Good day, and before I forget it: happy birthday - it is your party I am attending after all.” Lucio opened his mouth to answer, but Lady Heloisa turning on her heel cut him off before a word escaped him.

“Lucio.” Nadia hissed and leveled him with a displeased look. 

“C’mon, Noddy, from whichever backwater that woman is, they haven’t even invented manners over there.” 

Nadia raised an eyebrow which instantly made him shut up. “Have you ever heard of being the bigger person?”

Her husband put on a shameless grin. “Nope. Especially not on my birthday - why though, I’m already the greatest there is!” He looked down on himself and marveled at his peacock costume with a deep cut-out and tight shimmering teal pants.

Nadia sighed. “Like always it’s left to me to fix the messes you leave behind.” 

She didn’t even dignify Lucio with a response and followed the marquesa who with her hot pink costume was not only impossible to miss but also seemed to naturally draw looks to her. Nadia followed her through a crowd and before she reached her, she thought that maybe she was being ridiculous, this woman was a stranger to her but if Lucio just burnt a bridge to her and the Calpacian empire, that couldn’t be good.

“Lady Heloisa.” The marquesa turned at hearing her name. “Countess Nadia.” She said, with no little surprise in her voice. “What can I do for you? If you are here to apologize for your husband’s tactlessness: there is no need to.”

Nadia sighed. “Let me apologize regardless; I reckon you came to Vesuvia to make friends. Like any good host, I will not deny you the possibility to form good, better, bonds between Vesuvia and Calpacia.”

Lady Heloisa looked at her for a moment, then she nodded slowly. “I do not want to drag you from your own party, so feel free to deny me, but I need to breathe some fresh air - if you were to accompany me, I would be most grateful.”

“Well,” Nadia began, “I don’t have anywhere to be, by all means, and I was going to leave either way.” She remembered Asra, who most likely was waiting for her in the mirror room, that he probably left because of the same person who she was now talking to, but shook her head to chase away the thought. On the way to the balconies she saw Deirdra talking to a butterfly and a pigeon and told them as they passed by to tell Asra she wasn’t going to make it, and then the cold nightair hit her in the face. 

“Ah, much better. I thought I was going to suffocate in there.” Lady Heloisa fanned air into her face. “It's too many people in one room - as big as it might be, it is not enough.” She sighed. “Oh well. I don’t mean to be too forward but… how about the gardens? Less people, more fresh air - both sound like a good deal to me.” 

She grinned at Nadia and for a moment her eyes wandered over Nadia’s figure. “If you want to, Countess, that is. We can relax by the arbors too, as long as it’s away from all the spying little eyes. It is so hard to relax when you’re surrounded by just about everyone in existence.”

Nadia considered the offer for a moment and realized that entertaining the thought actually thrilled her. 

“The arbors sound good, you should just know that there's many people in the gardens right now, be it to catch some fresh air or… engage in risky behavior.” 

“Oh ho ho, how naughty! But oh well, it wouldn't be a party without some of that.” Lady Heloisa chuckled but then agreed to them going to the arbors. On the way there, she fell back for a moment but caught up a few seconds later, triumphantly holding a bottle of prosecco in her hand. "Not a party without some of that."

"You took it off a waiter?" Nadia raised an eyebrow but her tone was amused.

"Unless that was the last bottle in the Palace, in which case it'll be spent rather well." She said with a grin. They settled in an arbor far from any big crowds, surrounded by white rose bushes and with a block of marble in its middle. The two women sat on it, with Lady Heloisa wiping the block before doing so. 

"Stains won't show on my costume but yours… a swan should never stain her beautiful plumage." She winked and sat down cross-legged before she stripped the heels of her feet and rubbed her ankles. 

"Where did you even get it from? Considering you didn't even know the Masquerade was going to happen."

"Oh, I have an excellent and diligent tailor. I'm rather proud of what he came up with: it's very 'Me'."

Nadia straightened her long white feathered dress. "Well, it certainly is unique and quite daring, if I might say so."

Lady Heloisa laughed. "Both of us could surely go into the history books of masquerades as 'Best Dressed' of the evening if there was such a thing. No offense to any peacocks that might walk around the grounds at this very moment."

Nadia laughed.

“I apologize for making fun of your husband, I don’t mean to antagonize him.” Nadia highly doubted this, but didn’t say anything as she watched Lady Heloisa wedge the bottle between her knees and began pulling put the cork. “I’m here to mingle after all. Although I’m starting to think that you are much more amicable and approachable than him.” That easy smile was back on her but a loud plop make both of them jump and the marquesa let out a harsh curse as bubbly prosecco spilled out of the bottle.

“Oh, let me please.” Nadia quickly snatched the bottle from her fingers and put the bottle to her mouth, taking a big sip and put it down when most of the foam was gone. Lady Heloisa’s eyes didn’t leave her as she did so and went between the bottle and Nadia when she put it back on the marble block.

“I was about to lament I didn’t bring any glasses with me but… you don’t seem to mind.” She grinned and took the bottle, still stained with some of Nadia’s own lipstick, and took an equally big sip out of it. 

Nadia leaned back on her hands and curiously eyed the marquesa from head to toes. The fingers holding the bottle were long and slender; a silver band adorned her thumb and another her ring finger. Her dress had a thin but deep cut-out and was made to accentuate her long brown legs. There was a slight hint of fruity scent to her, and Nadia imagined her skin to be soft to the touch. 

As the conversation naturally progressed, she noticed that as soon as she was one-on-one and more at ease with someone, the marquesa had a shift in demeanor - her speech was less strained, less formal than when talking next to the Zadithi delegation. 

She told her about why she was in Zadith in the first place (a potential partnership and exchange program between the Guild’s First Magical Institute and the Alchemical Academy of Zadith), her journey (“I feel like a woman of the people now after sleeping on a field bed two days in a row”) and her last trip to the Star Lakes (where she did meet Nahara and Navra as it turned out and if Nadia read the signs correctly, they went on some very heavy nightly carousing) which in turn led to Nadia talking about Prakra and her life in Vesuvia. 

The marquesa hung onto every word that came out of the Countess's mouth and Nadia grew more and more confident the longer she spoke with her. It was so satisfying to talk to someone and have them actually listen to you, showing actual interest in your words and being a good audience. The only other person she had ever felt the same with after leaving Prakra was Asra; his friends were very sweet but she didn't know them that well yet, Doctor Devorak would tell his own tales in response which was fine but not always what one needed, and Lucio… everything was a competition for him and he would come up with an outrageous lie to make her feel small.

“So, how are you liking Vesuvia so far?”

“Hm.” Lady Heloisa pursed her lips. "It reminds me a bit of Bizatena, but... ,", she sighed, "less well organized. I won't lie, Countess, but there are parts of the city that look atrocious. Happy citizens are happy to be subjects, and unhappy citizens… well, I don't think I need to finish that thought. Prakra has a very high standard of life, its citizens enjoy many rights - how does it compare to Vesuvia?" 

Nadia's thoughts went to coliseum fights and the neglect of the aqueduct system. She felt blood rush to her face as she didn't reply right away, in shame of not doing enough for the city and its inhabitants.

"There isn't even a proper legal system." Why was she telling this woman about it? She had done nothing to prove herself trustworthy - in fact, Nadia thought about the look on Asra's face when he saw the marquesa, that surely had to mean something. 

Lady Heloisa shook her head. "For fuck’s sake. That… sounds horrible. My true condolences." She gave Nadia an empathetic look and reached out to touch her arm. "I hope that one day Vesuvia is ruled by the sovereign it deserves - the quicker the better."

Nadia looked at her for a moment as she processed what the marquesa had just said. Was she really implying what she thought?

"You clearly are a smart and cultured woman, Countess, there is no doubt about it. You surely have got to have some influence amongst the count's advisers or the Vesuvian council in some way, if your husband doesn't listen to you - which is a grave mistake on his part - then at least he should do so with his courtiers."

Nadia thought of the courtiers Lucio had brought to Vesuvia, those strange creatures of whom she wasn't even sure if there was a soul in their chest or not… slippery Vlastomil, mysterious Valdemar, boorish Vulgora and excessive Volta. The newest consul, a young Vesuvian named Valerius, son of a noblewoman who had faithfully served the previous Count and Countess, was the only one she felt some sort of kinship towards but even then she felt on thin ice with him. 

"I will try." She conceded with a sign. "You speak like someone who has plenty of experience with this."

The marquesa grinned and shrugged. "I don't kiss and tell, dearest Countess, all I will say is this: the Cartagense court is a lion's pit and its inhabitants are eternally starved and thus always down to rip you to shreds. I hope for your sake that the Vesuvians are nothing like that - even if I can see you surviving in a hostile environment.”

Nadia watched her as she sighed and reached up to her face to take off the flamingo mask. She didn’t know what exactly to expect behind the mask but she was anything but disappointed: the marquesa had a face that was quite easy on the eyes. Coupled with her magnetic personality, her charisma, her way with words… the woman was fascinating to put it in one word. And yet… she reminded her of those flesh-eating orchids from the jungles in Northern Prakra. 

Lady Heloisa turned the mask in her hand and scoffed. 

“I had this costume made last minute when your husband's invitation arrived in Zadith. Something that says 'I'm down for the fun!', no statement piece or whatever.” She brushed a non-existing speck of dirt off the mask. “Yours clearly positions you as the one with her head in the game, Countess: regal, gracious and with a protective, mayhaps even a little ruthless, streak.” She raised an eyebrow, her smirk confident. “Is it that what's underneath your mask? I'd love to know.”

She reached out to caress Nadia's swan mask but just as her fingers brushed it, Nadia took a hold of her wrist. The marquesa's eyes widened but she didn't protest, on the contrary, the corner of her mouth twitched upwards. Nadia's lips curved into a smile as she gently stroked with her thumb over the skin of the marquesa's inner wrist. The smell of fruity perfume intensified. 

“I don't kiss and tell either, Marquesa.”

Lady Heloisa's eyes were fixed on hers for a moment and then seemed to collect herself. “I have never been one to back down from a challenge.” Her cheeks darkened a bit and she lowered her hand a bit - Nadia let her until she stopped just shortly above her thigh covered by the white satin of her costume. 

“You certainly are daring, Lady Heloisa.” Nadia gently let go of her and in the process trailed over her delicate hand, caressing the knuckles of her long fingers. 

“Is that what you prefer?” The marquesa scooted closer to her, their legs almost touching. “Daring women?”

Nadia felt her face heat up but leaned in, tilted Lady Heloisa's chin up with her finger and replied: “Who says I am not a daring woman?”

The marquesa let out an light chuckle at that. “Countess Nadia, you do have some surprises up your sleeve. I don't know what I expected from Vesuvia but it wasn't someone like you.” She reached for the bottle and frowned. 

“Damn… guess we killed that one.” 

Nadia laughed. She stood up and gulped as she swayed slightly on the spot but held her balance. “I suppose that's the sign we should get back to the ballroom.”

“Ah, yes. I suppose you are right.” Lady Heloisa put her heels back on and when she stood there, there was little to no sway at all - impressive, given the fact the marquesa had drunk more and was also smaller. 

“Maybe,”, Nadia hooked her arm in with the marquesa's. The flamingo costume rustled and the marquesa sucked in a breath as Nadia pulled her close, “you can surprise me in return with your dance moves.”

The laugh Lady Heloisa let out was loud and so very uncharacteristic for a cultured noble woman such as her. Nadia gave her a curious look as she tried to regain her composure. Maybe they were both a bit more enthusiastic after sharing that bottle. Lady Heloisa ran her fingers along Nadia's arm; her pink nails scraped a bit on her skin.

“Oh, that I surely will.”

[literallyusuk]

Song of the Sea (USUK) Chapter 1

Summary: An unmarked Clubs Queen with a secret. A Spades King that can't help falling in love. A Clubs King desperate to hold onto what is his. A Spades Prince blinded by jealousy.

Oh, and that secret? Big enough to send the two Kingdoms plunging into war if it were to come out.

Notes: Alternate title: Smells Fishy.

Hello hello! Yet another new story that I don't have fully written out yet, but by golly I love this one so much. The beginning chapters are fleshed out and edited from an rp I did with my friend @aziraho. ^0^ I hope you'll enjoy this one! Please let me know what you think!

Warnings: There’s one curse word in it for now. Will get steamy later tho.

~~~

The Clubs castle had, for a day, become something more vibrant and beautiful than ever before. The cold King of the North had never held celebrations before – no birthdays, no weddings, no holidays or anniversaries – so it was a shock to every royal to receive an invitation, and even more so when they saw the event; the birthday of the Queen of Clubs.

People only knew the Queen’s name, Arthur Kirkland, and that he was a fair man with green eyes. Arthur never travelled outside of Clubs- or even outside of the castle, really. The Queen of Clubs was not even the true Queen, bearing no mark on his body, but since there hadn’t been a Chosen Queen for over a century, no one questioned the arrangement.

It seemed King Ivan had been lucky enough to marry for love…though the other royals couldn’t even remember receiving a wedding announcement.

Clubs Keep glittered in the evening, for once a warm gold instead of the cold blue of ice under the moonlight. The very air seemed warmer as well, though many of the guests still had cloaks and capelets draped over their shoulders. The party was in full swing in the Grand Ballroom, with tables of food and drink lining the walls and a band in the corner and a dance floor taking up the centre of the space. Laughter drifted to the ceiling, perhaps a bit muted for a celebration, but still there.

The Queen of Clubs inclined his head in thanks at yet another murmured congratulations and moved further along the room. He was dressed from head to toe in Clubs green and gold. His trousers and jacket were a deep, hunger green, while his gold-trimmed cloak was a more vibrant hue. Messy blond hair stuck out from underneath a heavy crown, and his gait was as smooth as the rolling waves.

He ignored the false King of Spades’ attempts to get his attention, his eyes rather trained on the similarly dressed figure exiting the room into the hallway. Curiosity piqued, he followed. He made no sound as he left, and couldn’t help rolling his eyes at what he eventually found.

The Spadian had stopped next to a mirror and was, for lack of a better word, peacocking in front of it. Smiling and smirking to himself, running a hand down the side of his long dark blue and silver coat to smooth it down and momentarily allowing the rapier at his hip to be visible.

“The food had better be good,” he muttered, “for why else would I entertain myself with this miserable place? Even the inside seems frozen over.”

Arthur had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “That’s not a very kingly thing to say, is it?” he asked quietly, stepping closer. Of course he knew this man was the true King of Spades, and it wasn’t hard to see exactly what kind of person this King was; pompous, full of himself, a spoilt brat of a royal. “Especially out in the open, where anyone could hear.”

Those blue eyes locked onto Arthur’s figure through the mirror. The King of Spades ran his fingers through his low ponytail nonchalantly and didn’t bother turning around. “Perhaps it isn’t,” he replied, voice playful and recognizing no guilt. “A good King spins pleasant lies, but a great King speaks the truth. At least, that’s what my father always told me.”

“Hmm.” Arthur neither sounded nor looked impressed.

The other man finally turned to face him, offering a polite smile. “He also told me not many royals would agree with that.” The modest grin spread, revealing white teeth that contrasted with his tanned skin. “The Kingdom of Spades wishes you a happy birthday, even though it seems that you’re not enjoying too much of it. It’s a pleasure, Queen Arthur. Ivan has weaved many tales about you, and you are even lovelier than he gave you credit for.” He reached his hand out to the Queen, palm upward, was the custom.

For a moment, it seemed as though Arthur would refuse the King’s gesture and leave the hand hanging there, but eventually he reached out and delicately placed his hand atop the other man’s. This was definitely a child of a ruler, but Arthur knew he had to be at least polite, or he’d get it from Ivan later. That’s the last thing I need, to top this whole farce off, he thought bitterly, but forced a smile onto his face. “Thank you for your wishes,” he replied, coolly if not a little coldly.

The Spadian King’s touch was surprisingly gentle on the Queen’s hand as he brought it up to his lips and pressed a kiss to the gloved back. He spoke a formality in Old Spadian before releasing the hand, pocketing his own deep into his coat. The bow had released a few strands of hair from his ponytail that now fell into his face- which would have made him look aloof if not for the smile.

Holding himself perfectly still, Arthur didn’t even look like he was breathing until he had been released.

The King kept on grinning. “Has dear King Ivan stepped on your feet one too many times to deserve to be left alone on the dance floor? He did have that habit, at least back when we were young.”

“I thank you for your concern, but I merely wished to step outside for a moment for some air. You need not worry yourself with Ivan’s dancing.” Despite himself, Arthur’s smile twisted into a smirk. “Though knowing your kind, I suppose if I’d given you the opportunity, you would have started waxing on about how great of a dancer you are?”

“I learned my dances from the best,” the King replied, leaning his shoulder against the ice. “It seems I’ve been caught before my escape plan could come to fruition, so I could prove my prowess to you on the dance floor if you’d like, my Queen.”

He was talking, of course, about the false King of Spades that was weaving through the crowd back in the ballroom.

Arthur resisted the urge to snort. Yeah, this King was exactly what he’d expected. “Escape plan, hmm? And are you sure it’s wise to be telling me about that?” he asked, one of his eyebrows arching. “I could very well be offended that you find a party in my honour so dull. It would be the simplest thing to tell my…loving King about the slight you’ve given us.” He completely ignored the offer to dance.

“Oh, that old boy would just laugh it off, don’t I know him,” the other man said, shrugging away the notion that anything bad might have come from his unorthodox behaviour. He glanced to Arthur. “If you want, I could take you with me.”

Arthur did let out a laugh at that. “Stealing away the Queen? You are bold, my dear King of Spades. I can almost appreciate that.” He half-turned, smirking at the other royal and staring at him from half-lidded eyes. He definitely didn’t miss how the Spades King appeared dumbstruck for a moment. “Unfortunately, I will have to decline. I actually have duties to attend to, so if you’ll excuse me…” He started walking back towards the ballroom, though paused after just a few steps. “Pity you won’t be sticking around. Perhaps I would have taken you up on that dance later on. Though, this might be for the best. I’m sure you wouldn’t have been able to keep up with me anyway,” he murmured, his smirk widening as he left the bait hanging there in front of the King’s open mouth and continued forward.

Confident that he’d be seeing more of the actual Spades King later on, Arthur weaved easily through the crowd. He ignored both servants and nobility, and took extra care to avoid the King of Diamonds. King Francis was an aggressive flirt with an abrasive personality that reminded Arthur too much of him- the cause of all of Arthur’s troubles. And Arthur really didn’t want to cause a huge scene by punching another royal. Out of the corner of his eye he once again saw the false Spades King trying to get his attention, and was happy to ignore that man too. Though the thought of going up to the imposter did cross his mind briefly, he was just as quick to brush it away. There was no point, really. He’d met the real one already, for all that was worth.

He made a beeline for the refreshment tables instead, and especially the lone platter of salty mackerel and tuna. There were only a few pieces left, to his annoyance, and he was quick to snap them all up. Politeness be damned, saltwater fish were a delicacy. Ivan didn’t often allow them into the castle. Munching away on the last of the tuna, he allowed a neutral, almost content expression to settle over his face.

“Arthur,” a low voice murmured to him a few minutes later.

Arthur turned to meet Ivan’s violet eyes. His back stiffened. “Ivan.”

“Where were you? You vanished.” The Clubs King’s mouth stretched down into a soft pout.

“I didn’t go outside,” Arthur immediately snapped, though he kept his voice low enough that no one else would notice. “The air in here grew stifling.”

“It always gets stifling when you’re pressed into the corners. The dance floor looks like it has more room.” Ivan gave him a small, hopeful smile. “Dance with me, my Queen?”

The request was a simple one. Such a simple one, phrased so innocently, but Arthur knew better, and he couldn’t dare refuse. Instead, he returned a bland smile to the taller man. “Of course, my King. It would be my absolute pleasure.”

Ivan’s smile faded somewhat, though he still took hold of Arthur’s elbow and led him to the dance floor. Some of the murmuring voices hushed as royalty and nobility alike turned to watch the host King and Queen dance. The pair moved well together, if a bit rigidly. Arthur made no excess movements, no effort to dance with grace. He moved mechanically, like an automaton, and a few times it almost seemed like Ivan had to pull and tug him along. The King of Clubs watched him carefully as they spun and twirled.

“Arthur, please,” he whispered when the music shifted to a second song and nothing changed. He leaned in for a kiss.

At the last second, Arthur turned his face so Ivan’s lips pressed against his cheek. “You asked me to dance. I’m dancing.”

His mouth opened, but then Ivan just sighed and pouted again.

Arthur ignored him. His green eyes swept the crowd to where everyone not dancing was looking at them and seemed to be talking amongst themselves. He spotted the two Kings of Spades next to each other, the crown back on the rightful man’s head. Briefly, he wondered what a dance with the other King might look like. Would it be more or less of a farce than this? He waved the thoughts away and focused his gaze on the clasp of Ivan’s cloak as he waited for it to be over.

It seemed as if the man had heard his thoughts, because at the next quick break the musicians used to tune their instruments, there was a touch on his arm. Arthur flinched, then turned to meet the eyes of the King of Spades.

“I believe you owe me a challenge, fair Queen,” the blond man said, ignoring Ivan and the murmuring crowd around them.

Arthur’s expression didn’t betray any emotion. “My, how eager you are to lose,” he murmured. “It hasn’t even been an hour.” Then, seeming to remember himself, he glanced to Ivan. “May I?”

Glancing between the two of them, Ivan eventually nodded. His grip tightened on Arthur’s body. “We will dance more later?”

“…Of course.” Arthur smiled at him and then disentangled himself, stepping closer to the other King. “Very well, King Alfred. Let us see where those dances from the best left you.” He didn’t spare Ivan a glance as the Clubs King retreated to the side of the ballroom.

Alfred accepted Arthur’s hand and confidently led him to the centre of the dance floor. “Say,” he said, before the music started. “I couldn’t help but to notice the tension between you and your King. You are…alright, are you not?”

Arthur couldn’t help the small amount of warmth that coiled in his stomach at Alfred’s question. It was…sweet, even though it was sad that he had to ask it in the first place. “I’m fine,” he replied. “There is nothing you need to concern yourself with. I am unhurt, and this is my home.” He gave Alfred a polite, distant smile.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” Alfred told him.

The music swelled and the Spadian King immediately took a strong lead in their dance. He moulded his steps to the music rather than a rigid pattern, and Arthur was so surprised that for a moment it was all he could do was follow. His body, lax with shock, was whirled and moved by Alfred’s will alone. Alfred wasn’t too forceful, though, and once Arthur had recovered he was able to push back against him. He spun faster and stepped out further, forcing Alfred to chase after him a little bit.

He didn’t stop there, stepping into Alfred’s personal space to force him in the direction that he wanted to go- almost as if he was trying to take the lead occasionally. To his surprise Alfred was game for it, following for a little while before tugging the lead back. A spin, followed by a dip, and Alfred was leaning over Arthur, smiling down at him warmly.

Arthur very pointedly tried to ignore the way his heart leapt, both at the dip and the sight of Alfred’s bright smile above him. His eyes slid to the side, and he allowed Alfred a few beats of control again while he composed himself. Snap out of it, Arthur. Don’t you dare get any foolish ideas. He rebalanced himself and seized the lead, spinning Alfred out even further than before, then reeling him back in until they all but crashed into each other. He barely gave Alfred time to breathe before they were moving again, whirling around the perimeter of the dance floor.

“You’re not doing as badly as I feared you would, I’ll admit,” he said, smirking up at the King. “But this dancing is still nothing special.” The dancing he really loved, really poured his heart and soul into, he hadn’t been able to do in what felt like eons. It was slowly fading from his memory. Arthur roughly dipped the taller man to distract himself, his green eyes gleaming in the light of the chandeliers.

“Oh, well thank you, Your Majesty,” Alfred replied, his voice teasing, before a ‘whoa’ escaped his lips at the dip. He laughed loudly as he came back up, and smiled even louder. They moved away from one another, hands still linked, and when they came back together Alfred used the opportunity to take back the dance, pulling the Queen a little bit closer than when they had started and adjusting his pace to the slower melody that now played. “My offer to steal you away still stands, Queen Arthur. There are many dances out there to be danced, for fun, not for a good show for a bunch of stuck-up nobles who see us as walking bags of gold.”

At this, however, Arthur’s energy diminished somewhat, and the line of his shoulders grew rigid. Alfred was foolish, true, and childish, and bright and warm, but he was also dangerous. Unquestionably dangerous. The Clubs Queen had forgotten himself, his place. Arthur’s relief was palpable as the music faded, and he stopped his dancing when they were off to the side.

“And how do you know,” he asked quietly, removing himself from Alfred’s hold, “that I haven’t been stolen already?” For the first time in his life, he was glad to see Ivan waving him over. “It seems I’m being summoned. Thank you for the dance, now please excuse me.”

Inclining his head to Alfred, he then spun around on his heel and strode to his King’s side. This time when Ivan’s arm snaked around Arthur’s shoulders, his face didn’t betray any expression at all.

“I wish you’d dance like that with me,” Ivan mused.

Arthur didn’t respond, and luckily Ivan didn’t press him to. Instead, they did another round of the room, Ivan chatting with various nobility and Arthur trying not to look too bored. The Jack of Hearts gave him a sympathetic glance when they passed, though Arthur’s returning look was quite chilly. He didn’t need sympathy. He didn’t need pity. Anger and hatred fuelled him, would keep him going until the time was right.

“Alfred!” Ivan called, jolting Arthur out of his thoughts. “Matthew! I haven’t properly introduced my Queen to you- well, at least to one of you.” He glanced curiously to Alfred, and his grip on Arthur was almost possessive.

Turning his attention to Matthew, Arthur gave a stiff bow. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Majesty,” Matthew replied, offering a bow in return.

Alfred stuck his hands into the pockets of his cloak and gave Ivan a questioning look. “King Ivan, I’m perplexed that you didn’t invite us to the wedding! Surely a loving couple like yourselves must have had a grand celebration!”

Sighing softly, Matthew elbowed his brother in the ribs. “What he meant to say,” he said with an apologetic smile, “was that we regret missing such an occasion and wish we could have given our congratulations to the couple at the proper time.”

Ivan shifted on his feet. “Yes, well-”

“There was no wedding,” Arthur said shortly. “We aren’t married.”

“Arthur…” Ivan peered mournfully down at his Queen, and his brows furrowed even more when he was ignored.

“There are also no plans for marriage in the future.” Arthur’s voice was low and firm. “I am Queen in name, and Ivan is my King, but marriage between us is inconceivable.”

The two Spadians glanced between each other for a long while. “Well, I hope your rule is fruitful despite this,” Matthew finally said after a moment.

“Thank you. Ivan isn’t as much of an idiot as his predecessors, so I’m sure that under his rule Clubs will begin to return more to its former glory,” Arthur said sweetly, glancing up at Ivan. “Isn’t that right, love?” His smile was razor sharp.

Ivan looked uncomfortable for a moment, before his eyes hardened. “Where is your coat, Arthur?”

Arthur’s expression darkened. The power play between them was multi-layered and nuanced, but the Queen knew when he he’d stepped out of bounds. “I’m afraid I misplaced it, my King,” he gritted out. “I apologize.” Shifting his attention to Matthew and Alfred, he bowed to them again. His eyes lingered on the Spades King’s features for a touch longer than necessary. “Some of the nobles are looking quite ignored. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go…entertain them.”

He all but wrenched his arm from Ivan’s grip and stalked away, back towards the food tables. There was nothing left that interested him, but if he was at least nibbling on something, most of the nobility would leave him alone. Most.

“Queen Arthur,” someone said.

Arthur’s mood further darkened when he turned around and spotted one of the older Clubs Lords behind him. “Can I help you?”

The man smiled thinly. “I was hoping I would be able to snag a dance with the False Queen before the night was over.”

“Don’t call me that, and you just might,” Arthur replied stiffly.

“Of course, of course, Your Majesty.” The Lord reached out and snatched up Arthur’s hands, dragging him to the dance floor. “You’ll forgive me, I hope, if I’m a bit rusty. It’s been so long since I’ve last danced, and even longer since my last one with you.”

“Not long enough,” Arthur muttered.

“Hmm?”

“I said, it’s been long enough, since Clubs had something to celebrate.”

“Indeed.” The Lord yanked Arthur more tightly against himself. “Don’t you get bored here?”

Arthur eyed the man sharply. “What’s your point?”

“You seem…agitated. Frustrated.”

“I wonder why.” The Queen bit back a growl as he was pulled even closer to the older man’s body.

“The Blizzard Council still isn’t sure what involvement you might have had in King Petr’s death.”

One of Arthur’s eyebrows arched. “Are you accusing your Queen without proof?”

“You bear no mark. You are not Clubs’ true Queen.”

“And yet I’ve been crowned. I suggest you don’t overstep your boundaries, Lord Morozov.”

The Lord gave a cruel smile. “And I suggest you don’t forget what you are, pet.”

Arthur wrenched himself free. “Don’t you dare call me that,” he spat, no longer able to keep his expression neutral.

Nearly everyone in the room turned to look at them. Disgusted but also embarrassed at the scene, he whirled away and stalked towards the doors.

“Arthur!” Ivan called, hurrying to intercept him and leaving a confused Alfred and Matthew in his wake.

Arthur shot him a glare cold enough to stop the King in his tracks before continuing out of the room. Though part of him was curious as to Alfred’s exact expression, he didn’t allow himself to look. He didn’t allow himself to hope.

His hands clenched tightly at his sides when he finally managed to escape the ballroom. ‘This will be a good opportunity,’ the Blizzard Council had promised. Arthur snorted. Good opportunity for what? Parading him around? Pushing him until he snapped and did something to embarrass Clubs? There was little love lost between the Council and the Queen. They’d always disliked the fact Arthur had been crowned, and he’d always hated them by virtue of their humanity. Ivan’s fondness of him protected Arthur from them, but also kept him trapped in Clubs.

He growled and slammed the door to the royal baths shut behind him. One of the pools was soon filled with lukewarm water and Arthur fell back into it, clothes and all. Only beneath the water was he able to relax a little bit, and time slipped away from him as he soaked. The water was freezing by the time he finally rose out of it. He stripped from the damp clothes, leaving them in a sopping pile by the poolside, and put on a thin white nightgown after rubbing a towel through his hair.

It wasn’t long after that he stalked through the gardens, his sandy hair gleaming almost silver under the light of the full moon. His feet were bare as he stole along the snow-dusted path. The weather had been a touch milder than usual so there was only about an inch of snow on the ground, but it was still enough for him to leave a trail of footprints. The thin fabric of the nightgown shivered and bowed against the wind, but Arthur still walked confidently towards the far corner of the castle grounds.

The old Astronomer’s Tower speared the sky near the joining of the northern and eastern walls. It was also known as the Old Tower and the North Tower; lately, ‘Queen’s Tower’ and ‘Monster’s Tower’ had been added to the list of names. No one stopped Arthur along the way, and there was no one inside the tower to meet him. He’d claimed it as his own, and everyone within the castle walls knew it. The Queen climbed the one hundred and fifty steps alone, lit a few candles in the empty room at the top, and then stepped out onto the balcony to commence his nightly vigil.

“You’ll freeze to your death here yet,” a voice murmured sometime later, warm hands draping a heavy cloak over his shoulders.

Stiffening at the touch, Arthur’s eyes jerked from the far horizon to focus on Alfred’s face. When he recognized the Spadian King he relaxed a little bit, though his expression was still wary as he assessed the situation. His arms moved up, fingers trailing through the fur trimmings. Goosebumps rippled across his skin from the shift in temperature.

“Alfred. What are you doing here? This is yours, you should wear it. You’re not as used to the cold as I am.” He started shrugging the cloak off.

“Hey, don’t you worry about me,” Alfred said, the corners of his lips quirking up. “I basically grew up on the seas and docks. These little inland breezes have nothing on a good ol’ storm out on the open sea.” He reached out, only to pull the cloak tighter around Arthur’s shoulders.

Despite himself, Arthur managed a small smirk. “Oh trust me, I know how rough the seas can get.” Even if he hadn’t felt it in ages, and most certainly had a different perspective. He turned his head to the side, eyes seeking out the horizon once more, though he didn’t step away from Alfred’s body.

“I wanted to check on you, too,” Alfred continued. “I uh- Ivan seemed pretty upset, heh, at me too when I told him he should maybe lay off the awkward attempts at husband emulation. I know he can be a bit rash, so I dunno. I guess I got a bit worried when I saw you marching through snow barefoot.”

Arthur’s hands fisted in the fabric of the cloak. “Ivan seemed upset, did he?” he spat, anger simmering within his expression. “Did Ivan send you here as well? Are you his spy now? If so, then kindly fuck off. I neither need nor want your forced concern.”

“I am nobody’s spy, Queen Arthur. I did not have to leave my nice and warm chambers to trudge through snow and walk up stairs to check on you, and I certainly wouldn’t do all of this if Ivan had asked me to. I am half-blind, my feet are soaked from the snow, and my hair has never seen a worse day- yet I’m still here, offering you my concern.” Alfred ran a hand through his tangled hair. “By the Mage, you are difficult. If you don’t want me here, just say so and I’ll go back between my silken sheets and forget I scaled half the castle and most of the courtyard by hearing because – imagine – I was worried about you.”

Arthur couldn’t help it; he burst into laughter. The merriment shook his frame and echoed in the still air. After a moment, he lifted part of the cloak to cover his mouth and try to stifle it. Really, how much more spoilt could someone get? Immediately moaning about silken sheets and damp shoes and a bad hair day. Oh, that had certainly made Arthur’s night. Slowly, his laughs faded away and he took a few deep breaths. His eyes slid over to meet Alfred’s annoyed gaze, then focused on the banister of the balcony.

The Queen released the cloak and placed his hands instead into the inch or so of snow gathered there. “Why were you worried?” he asked softly. “I am not your Queen, so why do you care? This has nothing to do with you.”

“Should I not care for my brother because he is not my Queen? Should I not care for my people because they aren’t royalty? Should I turn a deaf ear to the calls of the occupied Kingdoms because they are not on my land? You are not my Queen, but neither are you Ivan’s, and if not him, then there must be someone else to worry about you. Being forgotten is a fate worse than many other.”

Arthur’s fingertips scraped against the stone of the banister. He ignored the burning pain that shot up his forearms. “I am Ivan’s Queen. For better or worse, I am the current Queen of Clubs, so don’t you dare say otherwise. As to being forgotten, well. I think I would prefer that path to the one I’ve been forced to follow.”

“For worse, considering your King is courting a Prince of Spades,” Alfred said, his voice seeping with bitterness. He reached out a moment later, laying his hand softly on Arthur’s. “What’s going on in this castle? It feels like everyone is miserable here.”

The touch startled Arthur out of his thoughts. He shook away questions like It was a good thing, right? and Would he be replaced if Ivan and Matthew took things further? and Would he lose the only bargaining chip he had? and had to avert his gaze. If he looked into those bright blue eyes for too long he might spill everything, and then it really would be the end.

“Everyone is miserable here,” he managed to say with a somewhat steady voice. “After all, we live in eternal winter.” By that point his feet and hands had gone numb from the cold, and his lips were taking on a blue tint.

“Your people make the best of it. Those who remain, anyway,” Arthur said, before gently taking Arthur’s hand off the cold stone and into his own, warm fingers trying to rub some heat back into the frozen skin. “We should get you inside,” he murmured. “The guests are all gone by now and the King is busy in his study. You should be able to relax in the warmth.”

But Arthur shook his head. “No, I’d like to stay here a bit longer.” He shivered at the contact between them, watching how Alfred’s fingers moved against his skin. “I can never relax in there. This is the only place I feel…” Free. “You don’t have to stay with me. If you wish to go back to your comforts, then go ahead.”

“Very well. I’ll stay too, in that case.” The young King took the Queen’s other hand as well and moved closer to him, offering body heat that seemed to outlast any cold weather that Clubs could throw at him. He remained silent after that, watching the stars as his fingers kneaded Arthur’s delicate skin, trying to keep it from completely freezing.

Arthur lifted his eyes to Alfred’s face then, taking in the planes and shadows of his features under the light of the night sky. “We can at least share the cloak, can we not?” He slipped his hands from Alfred’s and slung the heavy cloth around the taller man’s shoulders as well, then slowly stepped even closer to him until they were nearly flush together. Afterward, he ducked back under the edge of it, and his hands automatically reached for Alfred’s again. “Ah.” He froze before he could touch him, though. “Is this alright?”

Though Alfred had tensed at the closeness, and momentary shock and surprised flitted across his face, he was soon smiling. He positioned Arthur so they could both hide in the cover of the warm fabric. His smile widened and became more encouraging when he saw Arthur’s hesitation, and he closed the distance between their hands himself.

“Quite. Let’s try to keep you warm, hm?” he murmured, thumbs now trailing more meandering patterns into that pale skin, careful and appreciative as if bent on learning all there was to Arthur’s hands.

Warmth coiled in Arthur’s belly the moment his hands were cradled within Alfred’s again. It felt foreign, but not unwelcome. For a while, he watched their joined hands, but before long his gaze was pulled towards the mountains. “If I look long and hard enough,” he confessed, his voice barely audible, “it sometimes feels as though I’m able to see the ocean again from here.”

Alfred followed Arthur’s eyes to the mountains, beyond which the Devil’s Sea lay, frozen over and desolate of life. “Did you live by the sea before?” he asked.

“Yes, you could say I did.”

“It’s gorgeous this time of year, isn’t it?”

“I…think I remember it being so. I haven’t seen it in so long I confess it’s fading from my memory.”

Alfred hummed. “The fish swim so close to the surface that the water looks as if it were made of pure silver, and the spring storms clean away any filth. It smells fresh, like a new beginning. Like home.” He then chuckled, squeezing Arthur’s freezing hands more tightly. “A bit like you.”

Arthur’s fingers twitched, and one of his eyebrows arched high as he tilted his head up to glance at Alfred’s face again. “I smell like home? Well that’s highly unlikely. Are you sure the cold isn’t getting to you?”

Alfred laughed. “You smell like the sea, Art,” he said, grinning. “Y’know, a little fishy.”

“How rude of you,” Arthur said, though his tone was still light. He smiled a bit more as he eased one of his hands free and used it to scoop up some snow. In a flash he had deposited it onto Alfred’s face, practically cupping the Spades King’s cheek as he pressed the snow to his skin. “Also, my name is not ‘Art’.”

Alfred, master of all combat, failed to see the attack coming. He gasped, quickly scraping the freezing snow off his skin and pressing what he could salvage against Arthur instead. He grinned at Arthur’s gasp. “Your nickname is,” he said, chuckling and, a little sheepishly, took to brushing the rest of the snow off Arthur’s cheek. “King Alfred the Rude? Sounds as good as anything.”

Arthur couldn’t help laughing at their antics. What were they, children? The whole situation was foolish, but…he found he didn’t really mind. “It certainly fits you,” he teased, leaning the tiniest bit into Alfred’s fingers while they were still against his skin.

They seemed to curl a little more, caressing him, before Alfred took his hand away. “but really, why not visit it then, if you’re forgetting what the sea is like? Surely you could take a diplomatic trip to the Spades shores? It’s beautiful there, and the people are nice.”

As warm as his insides had gotten from the nickname and the gentle brush of Alfred’s fingers against his cheek, Arthur’s core flared hotter still at the offer. He didn’t quite know what to do with himself; it had been a long, long while since spending time, alone, in such close quarters with a man had left him so relaxed. So…longing for more. He adjusted the edge of the cloak so it rose higher around his shoulders, covering his cheeks reddened from the snow and the warmth he felt inside.

But…

“As tempting as your offer of a visit sounds, it would be impossible. I’m not- I’m unable to leave here.” The Queen bit down on his lip. Well that sounds suspicious- shit. “I made…a promise to Ivan, and I intend to keep it. But thank you.” He offered Alfred a small, slightly sad smile.

Alfred’s own smile dulled as he averted his gaze, as if realizing the intimate atmosphere between them. He cleared his throat. “Well, I don’t have the magic to gift you a likeness of the sea,” he said, slipping back into a more formal manner, “but I will remember to bring you something back from it when I return to Clubs.”

Arthur’s back stiffened. After so long of being so observant of the men around him, he caught the shift within the King instantly. The realization was like a handful of snow shoved against his back, and his own smile fell away. “Don’t trouble yourself,” he told him, stepping out from underneath the cloak. “I tend to stay up here for hours. Really, you should return to your chambers now. You’ll have a long journey home tomorrow.”

Alfred sighed when he found himself alone against the cold once more. “Arthur,” he began, then hesitated, then stepped after the Queen, catching him by the waist and pulling him close. “I wish our circumstances were different, my Queen, but I will come back for you, even if just to lay my eyes on you again,” he vowed, releasing Arthur once he’d finished speaking. He threw his cloak over Arthur’s shoulders and gave him a dashing Spadian smile as he moved towards the stairs. “Just give it back to me next time, kay?”

This time it was Arthur who moved after Alfred, reaching out to catch him by the wrist. His eyes were wider than usual, and his heartbeat hammered in his ears. What was he doing, what was he doing? “My King, I-”

In a moment of selfishness, he adjusted the cloak more snugly around his shoulders instead of giving it back. He wanted Alfred to return for him. He wanted what Alfred was promising, despite the fear humming in his veins. In his heart. As Alfred turned to look at him, Arthur leaned up and pressed the tiniest of kisses to the King’s cheek. His cold lips brushed more against beard than skin, and were gone after not even a second had passed.

“Thank you, for both your concern and your company. It wasn’t awful spending time with you, I suppose,” he said, his lips quirking upward.

“I guess I didn’t have too awful of a time, either,” he replied, resting his hand on Arthur’s for a moment. Then, as if the King had been left behind so easily, he grinned and in a thick accent more suited for the fields than a castle said, “I’ll see ya ‘round, Art.” With a wave over his shoulder he was then gone, trudging back towards the main castle.

Oh heavens above, Alfred would actually be the end of him. Arthur buried his face into the warm cloak and let out a groan. That accent, and that goddamn nickname. It was infuriating and somewhat frightening how quickly Alfred was slipping past all of his carefully erected and maintained barriers. The Queen watched the King’s small figure on the ground until he was gone from sight, and then let out a sigh as he once more turned towards the mountains. The sea was there, just beyond them. Arthur could almost feel it singing to him, but he could neither hear it nor leave his gilded cage to answer.

He only left the tower when the moon started sinking low in the sky and slipped back into the castle with only a few guards for witnesses. The heavy cloak was stowed in the very back of his wardrobe, and when he finally slid into bed, he fell asleep to the burn in his limbs as warmth returned to them.

In the morning he watched from his bedroom balcony as the Spadian procession left. Matthew led the small column, the King’s prize war steed tied to the Prince’s young Arabian. The King himself was draped over the neck of his mount, as if an exotic pelt that snored very, very loudly. Arthur could even hear a few from his balcony before the group left the castle grounds, and he smiled.

If he allowed himself to think that Alfred’s tired state was due to him, well, there was no one there to bear witness or argue.

[junkyardlynx]

You like scary stories? Good. I’ve got one. Submitted for the approval of the midnight society, or whatever. Who fucking knows. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure it wasn’t just one shared fever dream between seven stupid kids. Except the part where the dream was real. Has to be real now that I think about it. Anyway. I’m rambling. About all I can do, right now. Haha. How sad. 

The year was 1998.

Good year.

Goldeneye came out in 1997, so it was really the year 0001 AG to me and my friends. We fucking loved Goldeneye.

I was seventeen and I lived alone in a small town in northwest Indiana. It’s farm country’s farm country. I’d been orphaned and bounced around since I was ten, but being nearly eighteen and relatively well-behaved was reason enough for the state to turn me loose with my inheritance. Quitters. You could stand at one edge of the town and spit to the other end. We had one bar, an elementary school, a post office, a vet, and a corner store. It sucked, but it was cheap and somewhat near the only living family I still had. I lived just above the post office and vet, which was probably the only really neat part of town, so I guess I had something going for me. Add a shitty 1988 Ford Probe bought at cost from a frustrated dealership into the mix and I was up street.  

My uncle Mike lived alone too, a forty minute drive away out by the county line road. He had a pretty nice farm house to himself after my aunt Sherry filed for divorce due to her own extramarital affair. I guess when you’re surrounded by woods on all sides and the only things to keep you company are a host of chickens, a couple turkeys, a goat, a dog, and a...fucking peacock, you kinda get antsy for some excitement. I suppose a two story barn and a grain silo aren’t exciting enough. Anyway. They hadn’t taken me in after my parents died because they had their own problems and I understood. Couldn’t force a kid on someone who wasn’t going to take proper care of it.

Mike was headed into the city for the weekend to shack up with this girl he was into. He did this from time to time, too awkward to ask her to move in with him and too shy to accept her offer, so they just had their trysts. Wasn’t really my business. He called me after I got home on Friday from classes and immediately launched into his request.

“Hey killer, I’m going to see Mary this weekend. Can ya hold down the fort for me? Just feed the animals once a day and don’t let Garfield eat anything dumb.”

“Uh, sure.” 

Garfield was the goat’s name.

I watched him eat the license plate off “Uncle” Van’s...van, once. His name was Van, he was a friend of Mike’s aaaaaand he owned a van. I guess life works like that sometimes, predictable and all. Anyway, Garfield would eat literally fucking anything near his big dumb idiot mouth, like most goats. 

“And uh, I think there’s a bunch of beer in the fridge that’s gonna go bad. Could you do me a favor and get rid of it, bud?”

I could hear the wink through the receiver. I grinned as I pinned the receiver between my shoulder and ear, rummaging around through the cupboards to find my little book of phone numbers.

“Oh yeah, sure thing. Wouldn’t want to have bad beer hanging around in the fridge.”

“That’s what I’m talking about. It better all be gone when I get back. Love ya, kid.”

“Love you too, man. Have a good weekend.”

With an audible click, the other line hung up and I was already dialing people’s numbers. Robert was first, as he was my best and most radically tight brother-man. 

“What’s up, Dingus Kong?” 

Ever since he was twelve, he had the voice of a full-time, carton-a-day smoker. I was honestly a little jealous.

“There’s a beer leak at my uncle’s and we have to plug it up. Call Louis and Alex and make their dumb asses come out. You know the address?”

“Hell yeah, dude. Can I invite Jay?”

“What do I look like, a cop? Of course you can. Saves me the trouble.”

“Cool, later dickless.”

“Peace.”

It wasn’t long until I’d roped Robert, Louis and Jay into things, along with Alex, Laura and June. Alex and Louis had been dating forever and were pretty much attached at the hip, while I had a thing for June. A very quiet, subdued thing, because I operated under the assumption that no one was ever interested and that any thought to the contrary was pointless and asking for trouble. 

We met up at my uncle’s house around 9. They’d pitched in and brought a shit ton of snacks but no one brought any actual food, so our diet that night was going to consist of...Natty Light, snack cakes and chips, pretty much. High school kids eat worse on a daily basis, so no one really cared. I remember being shocked at just how packed the fridge was with shitty Natty Light. Good thing I had good friends.

It was a pretty relaxed atmosphere - Louis and Alex were touchy in the corner of the living room, already a couple beers deep. Robert, Laura and Jay were playing Goldeneye on the Nintendo 64 in the den. They had a penalty game where you had to drink when you died and if you were that fucking prick that picked Oddjob, you both had to take a drink at the start of the round and two when you died. It was fair, believe me. Fuck people who pick Oddjob. 

That pretty much just left June and I. We relaxed in the kitchen, shooting the shit and laughing at each other’s bad jokes. Sometimes we’d look out over the kitchen counter and down into the den / living room - the farm house’s design was always kind of odd to me, but I liked it. The whole house was a one story with a basement. You could come in through the glass sliding door and be right in the living room / den area, then turn right and go up four or five stairs to reach the bedrooms and the turnoff into the kitchen / office area where the front door was. The kitchen had a very open structure, with the sink looking down on the den, and you kinda felt like a commander if sat there and just watched everyone. So I did.

“Hey, Charles?” 

“What’s up?” 

I turned back towards June, taking another sip from that honestly kinda shitty beer in my hand. Ah, the taste of youth - cheap alcohol obtained through immoral or subversive means, like a really cool uncle.

“We should go out to the barn.”

“Why the hell and fuck not?” 

I put on some bravado, but honestly, my uncle’s farm creeped me out. I’d stayed here for the summer once and I swore I could hear things swaying in time with the tall grass as the sun started to die. An animal would go missing every now and then, but my uncle always shrugged it off as coyotes. Never really felt like coyotes, but who was I to disagree when he was the one that lived here all the time?

“Hey, everyone! We’re going outside, time to get up in the hayloft and be stupid.”

I heard a chorus of replies and the click-whrrr of a tube television being powered off, followed by a rowdy collection of feet stomping up carpeted steps. Everyone poured into the kitchen, grabbing things like twinkies and cold hot dogs and new beers. It wasn’t long before we took the party outside, flicking the floodlights on the house on for comfort as much as visibility. We ambled as a drunken mass, slowly making our way towards the faded red barn. 

I have no idea why the barn was so fucking huge, given that less then ten animals lived there. The space was equipped for a sizable amount of large livestock like cows and horses, but all that it held was a collection of idiot birds with too much love and not enough sense. A ladder leading up to the hayloft poked through a square, and we began our inebriated ascent. 

It wasn’t long before we settled into a circle, talking about nothing in particular on the warm wooden floor of the loft. June had taken a seat next to me, so of course, I overthought absolutely everything before determining there was no way she was into me because why would she be? She was way too cool and cute. It was obvious. 

Somehow, we got onto the topic of scary stories. Spooky scary skeleton time. I made up some dumb thing about a cannibal cult in the woods, but it wasn’t very thought out, so everyone gave me shit. Robert just thrust his beer into the air and yelled “WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE, IT’S ALIENS”, which got a laugh out of all of us. It finally came around to June, who began to tell us about La Llarona, a crying ghost lady in Mexican folklore. 

It was actually pretty spooky until you realized June was like, four foot fucking eight with the voice of an adorable church mouse, and then you were unable to take it seriously. 

We swapped a few more before silence descended on us, slow and natural. The workman’s lamps that I’d lit with a long trigger lighter burned, casting shadows along the walls and illuminating our faces. I smiled as I realized June’s head had come to rest on my right shoulder, feeling not unlike someone blessed by the attention of a regal crow.

“Dude. I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry, Illberto.” 

I waved him off with my left hand before looking around. Something was bothering me, but I couldn’t put my hands on it. Honestly speaking, it was kinda like someone had some bodacious body odor going on and tried to cover it up with some sort of perfume. I took as...well, as discreet a sniff as possible, trying to see if it was one of us. 

I don’t think it was, because the more I smelled it, the more I realized it smelled less like body odor and more like that strange stench of death. Sickly sweet, putrefaction rendering the body of something no longer alive into components for bacteria to consume. I kinda wrote it off as dead mice somewhere since I was an idiot at 17. (I still am an idiot, but I was a bigger idiot. Harder head. More impressively stupid. Anyway.) The smell was bothering me though, so I gently pushed June’s head off my shoulder and stood up.

“Since Mr. Crunch and Munch wants some food, I’m gonna run back to the house and grab some chow and booze. Anyone want anything in particular?”

No one really had an idea of what they wanted, so the group just started chanting “FOOD AND BOOZE, FOOD AND BOOZE, FOOD AND BOOZE” at me. I laughed and nodded, giving a sort of half-wave to June who just smiled at me the whole time as I went to climb down the ladder.

Too bad the ladder was gone.

I groaned in annoyance, turning around to address everyone.

“Very cool, who fucked with the ladder?”

“What are you talking about, brother-man?”

Louis piped up, head resting on top of Alex’s. I gestured dramatically at the square hole in the floor, then pantomimed the act of climbing the ladder.

“There was a ladder here. It’s gone now.”

“It probably fell, Charlie.” 

There went Laura, being the voice of reason. I shrugged in assent. Stop making sense, god damn it.

“I’ll just pull a Spidey-boy and jump down. It’s like, ten feet.” 

Something in my head kept telling me that people can die from slipping and falling on ice, but I ignored it. I just had to brace myself, land on my feet and not hit my brain cage. Really simple. 

I walked back over to the hole in the hayloft, sitting down and scooching to the edge. That fucking smell punched me right in the nose once again, pungent and sweet. I almost stop then, but I don’t really wanna look like a goon in front of June. Uh, June and everyone else, that is.

So I stuck my foot down into the oddly deep darkness of the barn below. 

Something wet and hot smacked against it, nearly wrapping around my exposed ankle.

I yelped perhaps the most pathetic sound known to man and physically extricated myself from the hole by leaping up and jumping back. Everyone laughed of course.

“What’s up, penis pump?”

Fuck off, Robert.

“Either the turkeys have really long and slimy necks now, or something down there just grabbed my fucking ankle.”

“Very funny, Charles.” Alex fixed me with a stare, assuming I was taking the piss out of everybody. Holy fuck, I wished I was.

“I’m serious, you assholes.” I’d thrust my right leg out, showing everyone my ankle and foot. A reddish brown goop clung to it, thick and viscous. The smell was emanating from it, and everyone seemed to have taken notice to it. Unless they started retching for a different reason, like my ankle being particularly abhorrent.

“Brother-man, dude, what the fuck is that?”

You’re asking me, Louie Louie?

“Yeah, that’s a negative Ghost Rider, I have no idea. I’m gonna chill up here for a bit, if someone else feels like Rambo, they can go down.” 

I took off my button up and used it to wipe the goo off of my ankle, but the smell seemed to have set in. I noticed a burning sensation on my skin that increased in intensity as I wiped, but it soon faded to a dull throbbing, becoming the least of my worries. In that time, Louis got up to check out the hole.

 He returned to where Alex was, face pale and stiff. 

That’s when we heard it.

“veerrrryfufufufu-”

The sound stopped, then started again. Almost like someone starting a sputtering car engine.

“Verrrrry cocococococo-cokkkkkkkkkhhssssh. Wshooo fufufufufuf. Wshoooo fufufufuckt wishlatter?” 

You ever have someone come up to you and say “hey, we need to talk” and you feel your stomach drop out of your body and onto the floor? 

Yeah, that. That’s the feeling I felt, but way worse. After all, someone wanted to know who fucked with the ladder. Someone who couldn’t string together two words if they wanted to, and they desperately wanted to.

We’d all crammed ourselves into the back of the hayloft, the seven of us together. Oppressive darkness clung to the places not illuminated by the lamps, and the long lighter lay a good ten feet away from us. No one moved to get it. We heard it again and again, some twisted mockery of a voice continually asking who fucked with the ladder. Then it asked again, in my voice.

“Very cool. Who fucked with the ladder?”

Everyone’s eyes were on me, and I shook my head wordlessly as it asked again, perfectly, matching my rhythm and cadence and tone. 

“Hey, if this is a joke because you thought the Goosebumps books were high literature, we’re gonna string you up by your earlobes dude.”

“Fuck off. It’s not. You think I got bored and recorded me fucking around before you all got here? With the tape recorder I don’t fucking own?”

I was hostile.

We were all on edge.

“I don’t know, were you man?”

“Don’t start with me, Robert.”

“Yeah, whatever, you’re a lazy piece of shit. I know you wouldn’t do this.”

“I swear to god.”

The tension was almost lifted until we heard that wet smacking again, like someone slapping a steak on pavement. It was hilarious until you realized it was probably either something dead being slammed around, or some part of the mysterious thing’s anatomy. The smacking persisted as it mercifully ceased it’s questioning, realizing it’s bait wasn’t working. Slowly, the wet squelching of flesh against concrete grew quiet and far away and the stench that pervaded the air began to thin.

I appraised everyone and jerked my head back at the hole in the hayloft.

“Okay. Okay. We’re gonna drop down and run to the house.”

“Is there any better option you have that isn’t ‘jump down and say hi to the crazy stinky murder rapist’ below us?”

“Not really, Alex. Sorry.”

“Alex and I can stay up here,” Louis offered, but she looked at him with her mouth agape.

“Are you dumb, Louis? I’m not staying in that barn alone with this thing. No, really, are you an idiot?”

I looked at Louis with a kind of knowing glance, knowing he was just trying to help out and allay her fears. Couldn’t really blame her, though.

“He’s just looking out for what you want to do. Anyway, we should all go. I’ll go down first and keep a look out while everyone comes down. C’mon.”

I honestly don’t know where I found the balls of steel I was now equipped with, but I was thankful. I think it was just this overwhelming sense of “we have to go now or something bad is going to happen.” Without giving anyone a chance to reply, I broke away from our little heard and took a running start at the hole, leaping down it before my rational mind could catch up.

I let my legs hit and then tucked myself into a roll to rob the fall of it’s momentum, coming up unscathed. I glanced around, greeted by deadly...nothing. Just silence. It wasn’t until I looked at the ground that I noticed it was covered in a thick layer of that reddish-brown goop, and it stunk horribly. I started to gag but I had the sense to bite it down. No point in putting more disgusting fluids on the floor.

“Jump down! C’mon!”

I shouted up and June practically leapt into my arms, so I caught her and set her down, giving her a tender smile. She was all of four foot eight and ninety pounds, so it wasn’t really a feat of athleticism. Of course, Robert came next, and my knees buckled as his six foot frame met mine with that peculiar rapport we had. 

“No smile for me?”

“I swear, dude.”

I swore a lot, apparently.

The rest followed in suit until eight of us stood in the barn, devoid of animals as it was.  I hoped they’d just run off or sought shelter, but another part of me said that wasn’t the case. I exhaled roughly and looked at our group before nodding.

“Okay, we gotta run. I don’t know when that thing’s coming back, but I can already smell that weird stink getting stronger. I think we’ll be safe in the house since we can look the doors and call the cops.”

“Wait, cops? Dude, we’re doing a little thing called underage drinking.”

Thank you for stating the obvious, Louis.

“Oh, yeah! Way better to get murdered and eaten. You’re right.”

“Point taken.” 

We all murmured our assent before taking one last look around. The lamps burned, slowly dimming as their fuel began to run out. I think we left the lighter up there. Not that it mattered, I guess. I reached out and took June’s petite hand, tugging her gently towards the house.

“Let’s go.”

We began to do an awkward sort of power walk, too scared to run and draw it’s attention but not intent on going any slower than we had to. Our group of seven began to cut across the field, towards the shining lights of the farmhouse. 

A horrific wet SMACK from behind us broke that fragile discipline that kept us calm. A plaintive sort of gurgling howl, like a tiger braying it’s dying cry inside of a charnel pit spurred us on, and I roughly pulled on June’s hand. Her fingers slipped from mine for a moment, but her strong and lengthy fingers found mine, slick with what I assumed was sweat. I didn’t bother looking back as the warm porch lights flooded my vision. I let go of the hand I was holding and turned around to regard our group of eight, making sure everyone was there.

Wait.

Eight?

June, Robert, Louis, Alex, Laura, Jay, and myself. Seven. I glanced at my hand, realizing it was slick with that peculiar fluid. I kept the gorge rising in my throat down, somehow.

Swallowing both vomit and my fear, I began to inspect everyone before herding them inside, one by one. There wasn’t a face I didn’t recognize, but there was an extra person here. I got June, Alex, Robert, Laura and Louis into the house before I realized it. 

There were two Jays.

“Hey Jake, come inside.”

Jay kinda gave me a weird look, wondering if I was actually an idiot. The right Jay, anyway. The other one just slowly started to walk forward.

“Hey, I said Jake come inside man. Practice your manners dude.”

My stare was insistent on the real Jay’s, begging him to come in and not make a scene. He shrugged and stepped inside, and only a moment later I was behind him, slamming the sliding glass door so hard I thought I’d shatter. 

The Jay that wasn’t Jay pressed it’s face to the glass and that fetid liquid began to pour from it’s nose as it’s now-malformed hand began to tap lightly on the glass. What looked like clothes began to slough off in thick puddles of what looked to be flesh, pooling on the patio.

“Come inside. Hey. Manners. Come inside. Hey. Come inside.” 

Robert had noticed what was going on and yelled in what I’m sure he’d want me to report was a very manly and commanding shout. Basically, he screamed like a little bitch. Everyone else noticed and booked it up the sort little landing to the second tier of the house, not willing to look at what was happening anymore.

I couldn’t look away. It gently tapped at the glass,  as a second figure approached from the darkness, eventually pressing it’s face to the glass.

My face.

I watched my own face melt away into nothing, forming a featureless expanse of skin with two unseeing and empty eye sockets. The me that wasn’t me tapped politely on the glass like a door-to-door salesman, asking to be let in.

That sure wasn’t fucking happening. In a haze, I waddled backwards, reaching for the phone that sat on the coffee table by the sofa in this 70′s decor mess of a living room.

It wasn’t there. The cord lay neatly on the table, but the entire phone was gone. It looked deliberate, which means that...well, it meant that my uncle took it with him.

Something clicked in my mind, but I buried it as I pedaled backwards slowly, approaching the display cabinet that held my grandmother’s prized compound bow. I heard from my uncle that she’d been an avid hunter into her 90′s and only passed due to the ravages of...well, a car wreck. I was never more thankful to have a badass relative I’d never met than when I pulled that compound bow out of the display cabinet and nocked an arrow.

Never mind the fact that the last time I went bow hunting was when I was like, twelve.

I stared down the two creatures, still begging to be let in in my voice. My hands trembled even as I began to draw back the heavy string. God damn, grandma, how strong were you? What the hell. 

I strafed up the steps, muscles in my arms screaming for release, but I told myself that they couldn’t come in unless they were invited. It was just a glass door, and these things weren’t dumb, apparently. I don’t know what they were. I’d met strange things in the woods around the house, but never anything like this. Obviously. The surreality of it all made it seem absurd to even question what they were. 

It wasn’t until I reached the kitchen with everyone else that I could slowly release the tension and lower the bow, though I kept the arrow nocked and ready. I gave everyone in the kitchen a wary nod as they huddled together, staying deathly quiet. Looking over the kitchen counter and down into the den, I could see one still tapping on the glass. The other was gone.

A soft knock at the door by the office let us know where the other had wandered off to. It repeated a broken string of words in my voice, asking to be let in, saying it was very cool. It’d be humorous if it wasn’t fucking terrifying. 

Wordlessly, I huddled everyone back into the hallway and lead them to my uncle’s room, unlocking it with the key I had. It was the furthest bedroom away from everything else and had a clear line of sight to the hallway, so if they somehow broke their self-imposed rules, I could at least take a steady shot. The door creaked open and the bedroom lay before us as I flipped on the light.

My uncle’s room was surprisingly sparse and barren. No personal effects remained and you could tell where the furniture had been moved in a hurry, like someone was looking for something. It gave the feeling of someone that wasn’t coming back, and the discontent in my heart grew. 

“Yeah, think he’s been moving stuff over to his girlfriend’s place.” 

I said to no one in particular, placating questions before they could come out. A barren mattress lay on a box spring in the corner.

“Let’s stay in here tonight. It’s not gonna be comfortable, but a couple of people can take the bed and the rest of us can take the floor. I’ll keep watch.”

“Charles...”

Robert sounded concerned for once. I laughed. I glanced back and his face soured before he smiled.

“Nevermind, you’re still a penis pump.”

Everyone, still slightly drunk and nervous, began to occupy their own space in the empty room. I sat against the open doorframe, bow laying on my lap, trained down the hallway. Minutes slipped into hours, and everyone began to pass into a light sleep.

Everyone except me.

The sight of the flesh sloughing off their mutable frames was burned into my mind. Not much sleep to be found after that.

Throughout the night, I heard taps all around the house, like a diligent inspector checking for termites in wood. If I strained my sleepless ears, I could hear my own voice rattling through the walls. The deathly sweet stench of the barn had returned, permeating my brain and setting up residence there. 

Once or twice, I thought I heard tapping and murmuring at the single window in my uncle’s bedroom, but surely that wasn’t possible. It was a good eight feet of the ground, as the room sat on the second “tier” of the house. I dozed for a moment and the tapping seemed to grow more and more furious, so I shook myself awake. I began to dig the bowstring into my finger, rubbing it up and down, fraying my own skin until it bled. 

I felt like I was going to go insane. 

A few long hours later and the sun began to rise, banishing the tapping noise with it and the scent after that. I rose, looking around at the sleeping faces of my friends, relieved. I looked around the empty room once more and went to close my eyes before I realized there was reddish goop smeared on the window of my uncle’s bedroom. 

I’d been watched, all night.

All of us had. 

How many had there been?

Enough to replace us?

Did it matter?

Adrenaline flooding my exhausted body, I crept around the house and checked every window, every door. They were all smeared with handprints, fingerprints, imprints of faces traced in that corpse-goo. My stomach roiled heavily, the beer and junk food of the night before threatening to come up.

We were supposed to be a sacrifice, weren’t we?

The copious amounts of beer. The lack of a phone. My uncle’s personal effects all gone from his room. I suppose the rest, even grandma’s bow, was replaceable to him. Including me.

I woke everyone up and told them we should leave. No one fought it, considering we’d survived the night by listening to me. It was a sort of hollow and empty accolade, but I’d take it. 

As Robert and June piled in my Ford Probe outside, I snuck a peek at the barn. Dark red stains and the remnants of feathers, fur and flesh stained the outside of it’s semi-dilapidated structure, as if the animals had been killed by being thrown at the walls in anger. I swallowed dryly, realizing what those wet thuds and smacks had been. 

We spent the rest of the weekend together, all seven of us. One night at Robert’s, the rest of the day at June’s. I tried several times to contact my uncle, but his girlfriend’s landline was disconnected and his emergency cell phone wasn’t picking up. 

Abandoned twice by the family that wouldn’t even take me in, I guess. 

I never found out what those things were. My uncle’s house was marked as abandoned and reclaimed by the bank, eventually being sold at auction for dirt cheap. I didn’t care. I’d stayed away from the forested areas and anywhere approaching natural, and even took to a vegetarian diet for a few months. 

Eventually the memory faded, and years later I had almost forgotten about it. Life went on, and I remained in that cozy little apartment above the vet’s office and the post office. 

Until tonight. 

When I smelled something sticky-sweet, like what the insides of a pitcher plant must be.

Where something tapped at the door to my apartment, begging to be let in. 

Where my own voice begged me to be let in.

[monstersandmaw]

Footsteps in the Snow - Chapter Three

Hope you enjoy Chapter Three - thank you so much for your amazing feedback on this story. I never expected it to gather any support on a blog that’s mostly dedicated to monsters, but I do do fantasy fiction as well, so I guess it has a home here too. Enjoy!

Lein recovers after his brush with death, meets a sassy priestess of Dibella who sees *instantly* what his feelings are for Argis, and an old lover comes calling...

Table of Contents | Previous Chapter

Everything hurt. There wasn't a scrap of skin or muscle that didn't hurt. He ached, and sweat rolled down his temples into his hair. Moaning vaguely, he tried to remove whatever it was that was making him so Nine-damned hot, but his fingers groped too feebly and he cried out in frustration. All the sound that left him, however, was a dull croak and a whimper.

"Shh," a voice murmured from beside him. "Shh, rest."

Lein had the vague impression of a woman in orange robes beside him, and a shock of silver-blonde hair, before he slipped into fevered dreams once more.

When he crawled his way back to consciousness the next time, the aches had gone, but he felt terribly weak still. And cold now. Washed-out from the combined action of fever and potions, he shivered and rolled over, drawing the blankets up around his ears and drifting off again.

After sleeping the sleep of the dead for what might have been hours or days for all he knew, Lein finally surfaced and felt brighter: weak, wobbly, and watery as a new-born elk, but alive. He grunted, rubbing his eyes, and levered himself upright, blinking the vagueness from his vision and brain as he stared at his surroundings.

He was in the master bedroom of his house in Markarth. The door was open, and he could hear the friendly crackling of a fire in the grate next door.

His head swam only a little as he pushed the covers back and stood. The long, loose, linen nightshirt which he had been put into fell to just above his knees, and it flopped open a little at the chest. He tugged at it and saw two new scars, livid pink against the pale of the rest of his skin. One was a ragged star shape, where the arrow had pierced his lung from back to front, and the other was an angry slash across his abdominal muscles. 

"Gods, I was such an idiot," he whispered to himself as recalled his frantic plummet down the mountain-slope away from the dragon burial mound and right into a pair of necromages. His stomach growled and he felt faint for a different reason this time, and he turned to make his way barefoot towards the living room and kitchen in search of something simple to eat.

Sitting beside the fire, apparently lost in thought, was the figure of his housecarl. He had his back to Lein and seemed to be staring off into the flames. Lein smiled at the sight of him looking so still and calm, in stark contrast to his bulky warrior’s appearance and gruff manner. With a hand on the doorframe, he made his way into the room, and Argis jumped almost out of his skin at the sound of the door knocking softly against the wall.

"My thane!" he gasped, leaping to his feet and bolting towards him. "You shouldn't be up. Senna said you had to rest. Please... whatever you need, let me get it for you."

He held up a hand to quieten the enormous man's bellowing, and gave a soft, hoarse chuckle. "It's alright, Argis. I'm alright."

The housecarl's eyebrows knotted and he scowled. "Sir," he began, but again, Lein cut him off.

"Please. I want to sit by the fire. Is there anything to eat? Something simple?"

Reluctantly, Argis nodded. "Let me help you," he said as Lein swayed perilously.

He allowed the giant to steer him into a chair, and sat back with a deep sigh as he watched Argis move away and fetch a clean bowl from the table. As he turned to ladle broth into it, Argis cast him a wary look, which only made Lein chuckle again. "I'm alright, Argis," he insisted. "I'm not going to pass out or combust. I'm just a little weak."

"A little? You should be dead!" he hissed. "When you fell in through the door three nights ago, I thought it was an intruder. I came running down the hallway with my sword drawn, only to find you tangled up in a load of shit by the doorway, half crushed by your own backpack." He strode over and all  but thrust the bowl at Lein, and when he passed him an elegant dwemer spoon, Lein wondered fleetingly if he was going to stab him with it.

Argis watched carefully to see if Lein was too weak to hold the bowl, clearly afraid he'd send scalding hot stew all over his lap, and then went on with his story.

"I rolled you over and discovered there was more blood in your clothes than there was in your veins, and nearly had another heart attack." He drew a deep breath and eyed Lein's face. He added more calmly, "I thought you were pale before, but I've never seen anyone that white.” There was another pause. “I thought you were dead."

"I'm sorry I frightened you," he said, blowing on a spoonful of simple but aromatic broth.

Argis shook his head, still looking angry. "I got you into your room, but the potions weren't working. I had to get someone from the temple to come and treat you. Senna said it was the poison from the wound that was counteracting the healing potions. She said necromancers use that sort of shit. What the hell were you doing pissing off necromancers? I thought you went to get a statue from the Forsworn?"

Lein had to laugh, even if it only came out as a hollow rasping in his throat. "I hadn't intended to, I promise you. I... I sort of fell into it... as it were..."

Argis wasn't amused. "I thought you were going to die. Fuck, I've not been your housecarl much more than a week, and I thought I was going to lose you already."

"It wasn't your fault, Argis," he sighed, beginning to shovel the stew into his mouth in earnest. "You weren't even there. How could it have been your fault?"

"That's just it," he said, falling back into his own chair across from Lein with a huge grunt. "I should have been. I'm sworn to protect you with my life."

"I'm more of a lone wolf usually," he shrugged. Waving his spoon at the broth, he added, "This is excellent, thank you."

His housecarl merely grunted again.

Lein sighed. "Look, I chose to go alone. I don’t know if you've ever served another thane, or what your expectations of me are, but this is going to take some adjusting to. I have titles in other holds, but Markarth is different. My housecarls in Whiterun and Hjaalmarch are... well... they're as much my friends as they are anything else. The thanes there don't behave the way they do here. There's no pomp and ceremony. You just turn up at the jarl's court, you have your meeting or whatever, your housecarl sits next to you, or buggers off to the inn if they don't feel like coming to the meeting, and it's all very relaxed."

Argis listened intently, expression mostly blank, mild incredulity creeping in at the edges.

"So coming here and seeing all the thanes parading around like peacocks, showing off and barking orders at their housecarls like... like hunters with dogs... I'm not used to it. And I don't like it. I'm not going to treat you like that. Ever."

"Is that why you didn't ask me to come with you?" he murmured eventually.

Lein nodded, taking some more of his stew. "I just assumed you'd ask me if you wanted to come along. Valdimar does, but Lydia never even asks. She still just trails along like a new puppy until I actually have to send her back to the house because she's nearly got us both killed." He chortled, blowing on the spoon before swallowing another delicious mouthful. "Gods, she was so green when we first met. Must be about five years ago now. She was barely seventeen, had had about a week in the city guard, and then she gets assigned to me because I killed a dragon and got myself made a thane. I think Balgruuf thought it'd be funny to give her to me and watch me have a go at courting her, since most of the men in Whiterun have tried to get up her skirts, but we actually ended up getting along really well."

"What do you mean?"

He snorted, realising he was just about to confess his tastes ran towards men, but he settled for the other side of the truth and said, "She's more interested in women than men. I think he thought it'd be funny to watch me try and get her to sleep with me, only to be shot down, or slapped, or have my cock cut off or something."

"Was it?" Argis asked, a strange catch in his voice. “Funny, I mean?”

Lein laughed fully this time, the last of his stew slopping around in the bottom of the bowl. "I never bothered," he chuckled. Tiredness washed over him and he sighed, resting the bowl on his thighs a moment. "I mean, she's pretty, sure, but... well... she didn't do much for me, let's just say."

Argis frowned, but didn't ask any more. "Can I take that for you?" he asked instead, gesturing at Lein's empty bowl.

Lein could barely muster the energy to lift the bowl from his lap. "Thank you," he nodded as it was taken from him.

As Argis' heavy feet stumped away, with a belly full of warm food Lein felt his eyes drooping and his head nodding, but he was asleep before he could summon the strength to return to bed.

A vague pressure around his shoulders and under his knees, followed by a lurching sensation, stirred him just above the surface of sleep, and he opened his eyes to find, to his utter mortification, that he was being carried back to bed like a child. The musky warmth of Argis' chest was so deliciously close that he would have been turned on under different circumstances, but as it was, he could barely bring himself to look up at the bigger man. When he did, he found that Argis was smiling softly, and he grinned down at him as he set him tenderly down onto his mattress.

"I'm sorry," Lein hissed, feeling vague with exhaustion. "You could have just left me there..."

Argis gave a whickering chuckle and pulled the covers over Lein's feeble body. "You need some more rest," he said. "And all you’ll get in one of those old chairs is a terrible crick in your neck."

He hummed a vague response, and let sleep claim him again.

It was a full week after that until he was strong enough to convince Argis to stop hovering nervously. "For Nine's sake," he finally grumbled. "I only fainted once, and that was three days ago. You don't need to keep orbiting me like some damned dragonfly..."

Argis laughed softly and mumbled his apologies.

"I'm going up to the temple to settle my bill with Senna," Lein announced as he moved down the stone ramp.

"Please don't decapitate me," Argis rattled quickly from behind him, "But you want me to come with you?"

"Now, do you want to see Senna's pretty face again, or to keep me from falling on my pretty arse?" he quipped.

To his surprise, Argis blushed a very pretty pink himself, and muttered something about better being safe than sorry.

Lein snorted indelicately and waved his hand. "Fine, come on then."

The two made their way silently along the stone walkways of the city, moving towards the stairs which led to the temple. A few people stopped to talk to Lein, the guardswoman who had let him in after the incident with the necromancers for one, and he laughed brightly as Adara bounded up to him shortly afterwards. He encouraged her to keep going with her training, and promised her he’d buy the first piece of jewellery she put up for sale when she’d completed her apprenticeship with her father. All the while, Argis stood there watching, observing from a couple of paces’ distance in silence, his expression inscrutable.

The ascent to the temple of Dibella took a bit more puff out of him than he’d been expecting, and he pressed a pale hand into the rock doorway at the top to recover, but when he caught Argis lingering at his elbow, he rolled his mismatching eyes and grinned. "I’m not on the floor yet, Argis," he smirked.

With nothing but a shake of his head, Argis followed him into the temple.

At the sound of the door opening, a priestess called from the back of the room without looking up. "The sisters are communing with Dibella. They can't be disturbed. You'll have to come back another time."

"It's alright, Senna," he called softly. "I don't need to see the sisters. I just came to offer my thanks, and give what's owed to the temple for your help."

"Lein?" she gasped, setting down the jug of water she'd been using to wash her hands and scurrying over. "Dibella be praised, you look so much better." She surveyed him more closely. “Which is to say you look as terrible as you always do.”

His laugh echoed in the high-ceilinged sanctuary. "Argis tells me that it’s thanks to you that I’m back on my feet."

She eyed the housecarl from under her golden hood and smiled, her strange tattoos stretching. "Not entirely down to me," she smiled. "He cleaned you up first. Gods though, you were a mess. Infected and oozing..." she grimaced. "I've not seen someone that close to crossing over since my training days. Still," she added more brightly, "Here you are, to live and pester me another day."

He held out a heavy coin purse to her and said, "Well, you have my thanks,” and he turned to his housecarl and added, “As does Argis.” He eyed the bag of coins and said to Senna, “See to it that this goes to helping others, will you?"

She smiled. "That's what we do here, Lein." She slid the purse into a pocket of her robes and spoke again. "You look like you could use some sunlight and fresh air now. Take it easy though... no more quests or contracts, you hear me?"

"I hear you."

"And Argis?" she barked at the big man standing slightly behind him, "You make sure he does as he's told, alright? No going off adventuring just yet."

"Yes ma'am," he smiled, bowing his head.

"You see, Lein?" she said, jabbing him in the ribs with a sharp elbow. "At least he listens to me."

"I told you I heard you," Lein smirked, flashing her his most disarming smile.

She shook her head with a wide, fond smile and bundled them both back out into the sunny morning. "There's a great difference between hearing someone and listening to them, Lein. If my charms weren't so entirely wasted on you, I'd have you wrapped around my little finger like every other man in Markarth. As it is, I have to threaten you instead."

"Threatening me with Argis?" he smirked, eyeing Argis’ colossal  bulwark of a body up and down. It was easy to see where he’d got his nickname. "Come on, Senna, look at him… Have a little mercy."

A light glinted in the priestess’ eyes and she hissed, "I know your type, Lein." She giggled, and actually smacked him playfully on the backside as he halted on the temple steps. His skin stung strangely, but it soon passed.

He rolled his eyes and trotted down the three steps onto the landing where Argis stood waiting for him, a baffled and slightly wary expression on his handsome, scarred face.

"Don't ask," Lein chuckled, turning and stepping off the first of the stairs which led back to the city below. But he missed his footing as his head spun unexpectedly and his vision blurred. He cried out in surprise as he tipped backwards.

Argis lunged for him and caught him with his massive hands. "Careful," he growled.

"Thank you," Lein frowned, casting a quick glance up at the temple doorway as his vision cleared again, the weakness passing as swiftly as it had come. Still holding him by the arms, Argis followed his gaze.

Lein called out to Senna, "Did you...?"

Her eyes went wide with over-acted innocence. She brought her finger to her lips and winked before shutting the door with a booming clank.

Lein growled in her direction, and patted Argis on the forearm.

"What was that about?" his housecarl quizzed, letting go, still staring at the door as though she might re-emerge and come at Lein a second time.

Laughing softly once more, Lein resumed his skipping pace down the stairs now that Senna's devious magic had done its work. "Never mind," he called. "The mischief of priestesses is a surprisingly well-kept secret in Skyrim."

Argis didn’t say another word to him all afternoon, and Lein wondered if he'd offended the big man somehow with all his playful irreverence. Perhaps Argis still expected a little more decorum from his thane, though Lein had been careful not to push it from playfulness into flirtation. He still had no idea of the housecarl’s preferences, and he wasn't about to make things a thousand times worse by flirting with him.

Perhaps Argis had cottoned on to what Senna had been playing at though, and perhaps that had freaked him out. Skyrim’s civilians were pretty open minded about people’s relationships, but it was a different story for those in military service. Lein had learned the hard way what guards and soldiers thought of men who liked other men. His ribs ached at the memory of a beating he’d taken at the hands of two Markarth Guards when he’d been just sixteen. He hoped that if his housecarl wasn’t interested, he was at least open minded.

He spared Lisbet the details of his difficulties when he returned her statue to her that afternoon, and he still received a handsome reward for his efforts. He also convinced her to buy a bunch of the crap he’d picked up on the way, as though he was no better than a hoarding magpie. However, Lein’s buoyant mood soured the longer Argis remained quiet in his company. Somehow it felt like a different kind of thoughtful silence from the kind he’d grown used to around the man, so that evening Lein excused himself and retreated to his enchanting room before supper.

The stone fireplace truly roared, the fire egged on to hotter temperatures by the flames he directed at every so often, loving the heat as much as a Khajiit or Argonian would have. The glow of it seemed to make his bones glow too, but it felt wonderful, driving the last aches of his injuries almost into nothingness. He’d cleared the stone shelf at one end of the room of all its junk, and, sitting in the comfy wooden chair beside the fire, he had his feet perched on it, one ankle crossed casually over the other, eyes on the last page of a very bizarre volume with the title ‘Withershins’.

When he heard Argis call that supper was ready and that he’d leave it in the pot for Lein, he replied that he’d be out in a moment. He finished the book and set it back on his shelf, stretching, feeling the restorative powers in his body almost glowing, the new scars creaking on his skin, and headed out to join Argis.

The housecarl was sitting at the stone table in the dining room, tucking into a massive piece of pot-roast venison when Lein emerged. Lein had just gone over to grab a plate when there was a knock at the door. Frowning, Argis set down his knife and fork, but Lein waved him to stay put. “I’ll get it. You keep eating.”

Argis complied, though his expression remained sullen, and Lein snatched up his favourite dagger and slid it down into the leather belt at his side. It wouldn’t have been the first time thugs had been sent to his door, and it never paid to be too careful.

He called out as he ambled down the slope. “Who is it?”

“Lein?” a soft, lilting voice called from the other side. The sound of it made Lein’s gut twist and his world tilt oddly. “Lein, that you?”

“Vipir?” he gasped, flinging the door open. “What the hell are you doing here, so far from Riften?”

The man who stood on the other side of his bronze door was tall and muscular, wearing his own custom version of the tough, supple leather of the Thieves Guild. His bare arms showed under the large, studded leather epaulettes, and a belt of small pockets hung diagonally from left shoulder to right hip. Lein knew they’d be full of lockpicks and other tools, and probably the odd diamond ring, snuck off a wealthy lady’s finger right under her nose. Vipir was damned good at pickpocketing.

Vipir was many things, and among them, he was Lein’s ex lover.

The brunet laughed softly and jutted his square jaw out at Lein. “You gonna let me in, or are you gonna make me freeze my balls off out here?”

“Just as long as you don’t ask me to warm them up, eh?” he snorted quietly, holding the door open for him. He yelled over his shoulder, “Argis, we got company. This is Vipir, and old friend from Riften.”

Vipir leaned in close to Lein’s ear as he entered the house, and hissed, “He your new lover-boy?” The sudden closeness was intoxicatingly delicious and it took Lein a moment to recover.

Lein replied in the same hushed tones, “Housecarl. I’m a respectable thane here now, you know? Don’t go sullying my good name now, will you?”

Ignoring Vipir’s snort of laughter, he walked up the slope back into the house ahead of him, just as Argis got to his feet, wiping his hands on a square of linen from the top of a fresh pile. When they were both in the room, Argis extended a hand in greeting to his thane’s guest with a steady gaze that weighed him up. Lein suspected Argis had worked out Vipir’s slightly weaker left side, and preference for a bow already.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Argis asked politely, his expression just about warm enough not to be called rude.

Viper laughed again, clearly unfazed. “A good mead would go down nicely, thank you,” he said, easing himself into a chair by the fire with a huge sigh. “By the Nine, Lein, it was a long carriage ride here.”

“You didn’t run this time?” he chuckled, easing himself into the chair Argis had recently vacated.

“Oh balls to that,” Vipir retorted. “You and Vex are never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

Lein shook his head and took a swig of the bottle Argis offered him at the same time as he handed one to Vipir. They clinked drinks and downed a good few gulps before Lein asked, “So, what are you doing here?”

“Job for Delvin,” he said evasively, swigging his mead. “Little Vexy told me you were planning on being holed up here for a while.” He squinted his dark brown eyes at Lein and added, “Gotta say though, you look like shit, friend.”

Lein barked a loud laugh and took another long draft of his own drink. “Yeah, well, I had a rather close brush with death about a weak ago. Still recovering.” He flopped down into the chair opposite Vipir and ran his finger thoughtfully around the rim of the bottle.

“Shit,” Vipir cursed, suddenly serious. Concern flooded into his warm eyes and deep, accented voice. “You ok?”

Lein nodded. “Yeah. Think I gave Argis the fright of his life when I stumbled in through the doorway in the middle of the night, bleeding to death, but I think he’s nearly forgiven me now. Is that right?”

The housecarl had returned to his seat at the table to finish his supper. Lein turned to look over his shoulder at Argis, who surveyed the two of them with a calculated stare for a while and then grinned. “I think you’ve got a little way to go before you’re forgiven for that, thane,” he smirked.

Vipir shot Lein a look over the rim of his mead bottle, but kept quiet.

“Where are you staying?” Lein asked. “Silverblood Inn?”

“I know you think I piss everyone off, Lein, but I do have some friends in the city.”

Lein cocked an eyebrow. “Bridges you haven’t burned? Vipir, I’m impressed.”

He rolled his eyes and slouched further into his chair. “I’m meeting my contact tomorrow,” he said, adding, “But yes. Silverblood Inn tonight. So when you haven’t been getting yourself killed, what have you been up to? Feels like ages since you stopped by the Ragged Flagon.”

Lein cast half a glance at Argis, who was nearly done with his meal, and said, “Taking contracts mainly…” he shot him a meaningful glance.

“Our brothers in Falkreath, or jobs for Brynjolf I don’t know about?”

“Both,” he smiled.

“Dancing with death and the law,” he whispered, barely audible above the crackle of the fire. Then he sat back and uttered his next statement just loudly enough for Argis to hear, and in such a tone that made Lein want to kick him. “You always did have a wild side.”

Lein shared his supper with him, and the two friends who had once been lovers chatted for hours by the fireside.

While Argis excused himself fairly early, Lein found it impossible to tear himself away. Vipir was one of those old lovers who had never done anything wrong. Their relationship had never soured, only grown distant as Lein had left Riften to roam Skyrim’s roads. It had never been serious, but it had always been heartfelt. The banter came as easily as it ever had, and Lein enjoyed hearing how the guild was picking itself up again now that Mercer was no longer dragging it down. “Brynjolf and Karliah are the next hottest thing in Riften,” Vipir laughed.

“Oh wow, predictable much?” Lein scoffed, cheeks rosy, a most of the way through his second bottle of Blackbriar Reserve. Vipir’s booming laugh resounded around the chamber yet again, and Lein wondered if they were keeping Argis awake. Feeling a pang of guilt, he yawned and set the bottle down, stretching out his shoulders. “Listen, Vip,” he sighed. “How long are you in Markarth for? Maybe we can catch up over breakfast or something tomorrow? I’m kind of beat…”

“Yeah,” he agreed with a yawn of his own. “Me too. I came straight here from the road. I got here a day earlier than planned, so I should go and find some lodgings at the Silverblood Inn. I’m due to leave again tomorrow. You want to meet at the inn at eight?”

“Nine?” he countered with a hopeful grin.

“No stamina,” Vipir chuckled. “Not like the old days.”

“You forget I almost died last week,” Lein retorted. “I’m not myself.”

“Yeah, well, you were always good at keeping your scars from me,” he sighed, standing and setting his bottle down on the edge of the fireplace.

Lein stood and felt the room spin.

Vipir let out a soft laugh and stepped close to steady him. Too close. “Never could hold your liquor either,” he murmured fondly, pressing his body against him, his strong, archer’s hand still wrapped around Lein’s forearm.

Lein bit his lip and groaned involuntarily. It had been a long time since he’d felt a connection deeper than a formal handshake, and he suddenly found himself aching all over to be touched, kissed, held, fucked…

Vipir read him as easily as he always had, and closed the last of the air between them by sealing a kiss onto Lein’s softly parted lips.

In an instant, passion flared in both of them, and it deepened. Vipir’s short beard scratched against Lein’s white stubble, while Lein’s hands raked through his shoulder-length brown hair, grabbing it, pulling it, shoving him deeper into the kiss. Teeth clacked before tongues began to explore further, and Lein moaned at his old friend’s familiar taste and touch.

Vipir was bigger and stronger than Lein, and he easily backed him up against a blank bit of wall. Lein let out a grunt as his back collided with the cold masonry, and Vipir chased the sound with another kiss. His hips ground against Lein’s and they each felt the other’s hard cock and gasped. “Been a while since you and I…” Vipir breathed. “You want…?”

Lein’s mismatched eyes flitted to the archway which led to Argis’ closed doors. “Keep it quiet,” he hissed.

Vipir didn’t even wait to get him into his bedroom before he’d stripped his shirt off and had undone the ties of his trousers. Lein knew he shouldn’t be doing this here, in his living room, but the sensations overwhelmed him and he suddenly found he had no objections whatsoever to Vipir jerking him off. Lein came loudly, an embarrassingly short time later, head thrown back, hands clutching at Vipir’s shoulders as he shuddered violently, knees buckling beneath him. Vipir actually had to hold him up as he painted his old friend’s hand and part of his own stomach white in the warm air of his own living room. “Thought you said to keep it quiet,” Vipir chuckled.

“Fuck you,” Lein growled vaguely.

“With pleasure,” Vipir answered, passing him a linen cloth to clean himself up. Vipir was still desperately hard, and didn’t wait very long for Lein to get clean before he was back, biting and sucking kisses into Lein’s collarbones.

A few heartbeats later Lein pushed Vipir back off him and stalked away to his own bedroom.

He never thought he’d bless Markarth’s stone beds, but at least they didn’t creak.

Chapter Four

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[anoutlandishfanfic]

Week Five: Mrs Fitz

The premise: What if Claire had conceived on her wedding night with Jamie?

You can find previous weeks/chapters here.

July 6th, 1743; Claire’s Surgery at Castle Leoch.

My dungeon of a surgery had found another use while I was away, but Mrs Fitz seemed eager for me to return to my duties and cheerfully gave me back my space. She and her small regiment of young women had just finished toting the last of the impedimenta away, leaving me in blissful solitude. The bustle of the kitchens could be heard thru the open doorway and I moved to shut it.

This done, I plodded back to my work table and sat down heavily on the stool.

Why was I so tired?

Traveling about the Scottish Highlands had certainly been taxing to an extent, but we’d returned to Leoch four days ago and I’d had ample time to catch up on sleep. Even if I hadn’t, I was used to operating on minimal sleep for days at a time. I thought I might even thrive on it. A few hours here and there were more than enough to carry me thru the day.

Propping my head in my hands, I slid my eyes shut and tried to pinpoint the cause.

Maybe I had misdiagnosed my nervous stomach.

I hadn’t been ill enough for it to have been full-on food poisoning and no one else fell ill. Even if something I ate had caused the stomach upset four days ago, it would be long out of my system by now.

I mentally shook my head; it wasn’t that.

I certainly could have contracted a virus from the many people I came into contact with in the last week. The flu would explain the vomiting, as well as my residual lack of energy, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the overwhelming feeling of fatigue had started before I had gotten sick.

Fatigue. Nausea. Tender breasts.

No. I can’t be.

Bolting out of my seat, I frantically dug thru the drawer where I kept my daily log. I hadn’t written in it very faithfully, especially while I was on the road, but it was the closest thing I had to a calendar.

My heart raced as I flipped back thru the pages.

I had my courses while traveling, hadn’t I?

I found the ones pertaining to rent collecting and my subsequent marriage, but they had no mention of my monthly visitor.

Hadn’t I?

May 29th, 1743 - Monthly begins.

June 2nd, 1743 - Left Castle Leoch at daybreak. 

I frantically flipped to an empty page and hastily sketched out the days, not wanting to entrust this to mental calculation.

Four weeks would be…

Last week.

It should have started the twenty-sixth of June and it was now the sixth of July, making me ten days late.

I’m never late.

The world seemed to spin around me as I slid against the wall to the floor, curling myself into a tight ball. My heart screamed that I couldn’t be pregnant, that I was simply late and stressed, but the incessant stream of logic in my mind told me that pregnancy was the most probable cause.

I’m pregnant. I’m going to have a baby.

It was at this very moment that the door swung open and Mrs Fitz’s cheery voice greeted me from the entryway, shattering the fragile moment into a hundred different pieces of fear and uncertainty.

“I found ye a wee bit o’–” she stopped suddenly as she came around the corner, “Ach, Claire! Whatever’s the matter, lass?”

Should I tell her? It was really Jamie’s news to hear first.

The very thought of telling Jamie I was pregnant with his child sent me scrambling across the floor in search of something to vomit in. I reached the bucket in time to turn away from Mrs Fitz as I retched. Tears fell from my cheeks, mingling with my stomach contents at the bottom of the bucket.

I heard Mrs Fitz softly pad across the room behind me before she lowered herself to the floor and began to rub soothing circles between my shoulder blades, “Ye dinna have to say a word, lass, I ken just wha’ yer feelin’.”

Oh, she does, does she? She KENS what it feels like to be pregnant by a man who you do not love? To be separated from the one you do?

I must have muttered aloud, for she cheerfully replied, “Oh, aye. I was sick as a dog wi’ all o’ my bairns. Dinna fash, it doesna last forever.”

Wiping my mouth on the hem of my apron, I pushed the bucket aside. Mrs Fitz smiled at me as she reassuringly patted my arm. I made no attempt to smile in return, but instead petitioned, “You won’t speak a word of this, will you?”

“‘Tis yer news to tell, lass.” She waved away my concern, then added, “Jamie must be proud as a peacock, aye?”

Unable to meet her gaze, I answered, “He doesn’t know. Not yet, I mean.”

She took my face in her worn, wrinkled hands and waited to speak until I looked up at her.  Her voice was gentle, without a hint of reprimand. “‘Tis a noble an’ holy thing to bear yer husband’s child, lass, no’ a thing to be ashamed of. Ye’ve given Jamie a great blessing.”

“But I don’t love him,” my throat tightened around the words, unable to fully explain myself. “I can’t, I mean, I still…”

Jamie knew it, but I wasn’t sure that I had ever actually said it out loud.

I still loved Frank.

I gave my body freely to Jamie, my time, my energy, but I could not give him my heart, for it belonged to another.

Her smile wobbled as her eyes grew misty, “I was married twice, myself, lass, an’ I didna love my second husband when we wed. ‘Twas a match arranged by the Laird an’ no’ wha’ I wished, but I did grow to love him in my own way. He was a good man, as is yer Jamie.”

Jamie was a good man. He had promised me the protection of his body and name, a vow he had kept when I put to the test. I knew that, heedless of the cost, he would do whatever it took to ensure that I was safe and cared for.

It wasn’t Jamie’s integrity that I was concerned about, it was what would happen next.

“I ken ye fear wha’ the morrow may bring, but let it be as it may. Dinna waste these precious days of carrying yer bairn by worryin’ over what ye canna change,” Mrs Fitz seemed to read my mind.

Her words rang in my ears like a resounding bell, a single phrase reverberating higher than the rest.

Carrying my child.

It took two to create a child, yes, yet this baby would be mine. He or she would bear their father’s name and maybe his looks, but I would be the one to shelter them within me, to carry them beneath my heart, to give them life even if it cost me my own.

It was in this moment, this hush between the wise and the yearning, that I knew without a doubt that I would love them. Daughter or son, it didn’t matter. A baby of my very own to care for, a child to raise, a legacy to leave behind.

…

After assuring Mrs Fitz that I would be fine and triple checking that the door was bolted behind her, I lay in the bed that was tucked into the corner of my surgery, wrestling with my thoughts. My knees were pulled tight to my chest, my cheeks wet with tears.

Why now? The question circled around and around above my head. I had tried to get pregnant for seven long years, why now?

A conversation I had with Frank right before I left flickered thru my mind. We had been speaking of adoption, of caring for a child who had been orphaned in the war since it seemed we could not have one of our own.

His words haunted me, a cold, icy fist squeezing around my heart.

“I couldn’t feel properly towards a child that was not of my blood.”

What would Frank’s reaction to my return be if I was pregnant with another man’s child? Would he divorce me? Leave me and the child alone in the world? Would I be better off here, in the past with the father of my child, than in the future, shunned by the man that I loved? Or would he support us, all the while holding the shame of my infidelity over my head like a guillotine blade?

There were too many questions, too many scenarios of a future I could not predict.

“Jamie must be proud as a peacock.”

He would be. I knew he would be.

I didn’t doubt that his reaction to my news would be anything but joyful, but that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that I wasn’t.

I didn’t know exactly what I was, just at the moment, but joyful wasn’t it.

…

A loud pounding woke me some time later. The shadows stretched long and slender across the floor as I sat up and moved slowly towards the door.

“Sassenach?” A voice called between emphatic knocks.

Jamie.

I stopped dead in my tracks, unsure of what to do.

“Claire?” He was quickly becoming concerned, “Are ye alright?”

“Coming!” I called, but made no move to do so.

Do I tell him now? Today? Or should I wait until I’m absolutely sure?

You are sure, a little voice ridiculed me, you just don’t want to admit it.

“If ye dinna come to the door, Sassenach, I’ll–”

Visions of him knocking the door off it’s hinges propelled me forward, quickly letting him in before he gave the castle folk enough gossip-fodder to last until next year.

“Or you’ll what?” I quipped as I stared at his shirt front, trying desperately to act normal.

Jamie shrugged, mumbling something about regretting putting the bolt there in the first place. He shoved his left hand towards me, palm up, as he gestured vaguely to it with his right.

“I, ah, am in need of yer skills,” he supplied.

After leading him to the windows that lined the southern wall and turning his hand this way and that for several minutes, I looked up at him in confusion. “What am I looking for?”

“A sliver, just there.” A blush began at the base of his neck and slowly crept its way up to his ears, turning them a dull pink.

I had to bring his hand right up to my nose to find the speck he was talking about.

“This tiny thing?” I asked incredulously. How a fleck of wood that small made its way thru his thick calluses was beyond me and told him so. “How did you even notice it was there?”

He shifted from foot to foot, smiling slightly as he looked at the floor. “Oh aye, well…”

“You know, you don’t have to come up with an excuse to visit your wife.” I dropped his hand and crossed my arms as I felt a smile tug at the corner of my mouth, my voice dropping as I teased him. “You can just stop by to say you missed me.”

His head snapped up, a huge grin spreading across his face.

A good man, indeed. …

July 9th, 1743; Castle Leoch

Morning sickness is a lie, I fumed as I heaved into my bucket for the third time today. If only it would bloody stay in the morning. It was almost time for the evening meal and I had no appetite what so ever. In fact, the very thought of enduring another aromatic meal filled with haggis and neeps in the great hall made me gag. The nagging voice came again, You have to tell him. I shoved the thought aside as I rinsed out the bucket and placed it underneath my work table, hidden from view. Out of sight, out of mind...