#the maidens wander around remnant and help those they come across

[strqyr]

if summer, like the warrior, had her family / town murdered by other people and 'the judge, the jury, and the executioner' has anything to do with her character...

"but then why do you protect others?" / "because i can. because no one else will. and because some people are good, like you. and that gives me hope." <- it's about the benefit of the doubt; some people are good and those people deserve protection BUT

what if it's someone who has killed people? what then? if summer feels strongly about this because of her own personal experience and raven is someone who was taught to kill and did so to survive, would that be something they clashed over? would the circumstances of raven's childhood make a difference, or would the judgment be immediate à la rhodes?

because i can. because no one else will. and because some people are good, like you. vs. i beg your pardon sir, but we did not do these things for you because you were special. we do what we can for everyone, because we are able. <- silver eyed warrior vs the maidens.

something something if this is "let's not repeat the mistakes of the past" with summer & raven / ruby & cinder i will dig a hole for myself to scream in

[xxbyimm]

A tale as old as time - Bard the bowman x OC

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Hello dear people of Tumblr!!! I needed a break from all the work I yet have to write, because every time I look at my existing projects, my mind goes into full panic mode. So I asked myself what I wanted to do instead and just went with it. The world just doesn’t have enough Bard the bowman content, BUT I AM HERE FOR IT! 

I do hope y’all enjoy! xoxo

A tale as old as Time - Bard x OC - Chapter 1: Esgaroth upon the Long Lake.

Summary:  How could he never have noticed her before? Because after just one single glance at this lady and her breathtaking eyes, these bowman’s nights grow long and restless. He considers himself to be too old for infatuations like this, but yet there he is, watching her from a safe distance and craving her touch. Bard is determined to sit this one out, to wait until these unwanted feelings fade away… But we all know what happens when you’re trying to avoid someone in a small town…

Warnings: Not really. Alfrid being creepy as fuck, but that isn’t surprising??

Taglist: @soradragon​ @pistachiozombie​ @legolaslovely​ @tomisbaeholland​ @saviorsong​ @swoopswishsward​ @fizzyxcustard​ @deepestfirefun​ @ruthoakenshield​ @mariannetora​   Furthermore: @marvel-ous-hobbit​ @tigereyesf​ @aryaarathornson​  showed interest so I’m giving you lovelies a tag! If you don’t wish to be tagged anymore, please let me know! Or if you’re not on the list and want to be tagged: check out my lists and I’d like to hear which list you want in on!

When her father had suggested that the family could use a new start, surely he did not mean… this?

Brea’s grey eyes glanced over the market water and she watched the people bustling about, chattering with one another while examining goods. Her platinum blonde hair hung in a loose braid over her shoulders. The embroidered green dress she had chosen this morning was still a bit too thin during this time of the year, but Brea had been determined to wear it. Her mother did not approve of her daughter’s choice, nor did Mîrhel, wife of Brenion, like the fact that her daughter hadn’t planned on wearing her winter coat as well. The loud, shrieky protests still rung in Brea’s ears.

The eldest daughter of Brenion and Mîrhel shivered and drew the woolly, knitted shawl closer to her body. This place was so cold. Perhaps she should have listened to her mother anyway and brought her coat, but here she was… making her own mistakes. If anything, returning home and telling Mîrhel she was right, wasn’t an option. So for a moment, Brea faced the cold in stride and listened to the local fishermen banter about the weather conditions, their wives and other unimportant matters.

She did not mean to come across as a spoiled brat, but from the moment her father had started preaching about the grand Esgaroth upon the Long Lake, she had imagined a collision of elven and human culture, a rich town which still bore the remnants of the dwarves who had occupied the area long ago. A majestic city, built upon the ruins of Dale.

Lake-town and its’ inhabitants however, was nothing like that. It was a poor place, the houses built upon structures of wooden poles and decks. The people solely relied on their trades with the elves of Mirkwood and the dwarves in the Iron hills, that is if you didn’t count the fish the lake had to offer. Everyone seemed to settle for a simple life and not a noble, meaningful one that (at least in Brea’s opinion) would be so much more satisfying. So as she regarded the fishermen and their merry banter, Brea wondered briefly if these people were even able to think beyond the daily struggle of survival, as the living conditions here were a lot more harsh than she was used to. She pursed her lips together. Compared to her former home of Minas Tirith, she couldn’t help but find Lake-town a bit… disappointing.

It was safe to say that the constant odour of dead fish and the earthly undertones of rotting wood weren’t helping Brea’s view of Lake-town. To make matters even worse, Esgaroth was a terribly cold place. Before, father always had claimed that there was nothing a warm hearth couldn’t cure, but it seemed they never had experienced this particular clammy cold that chilled you to the bones, for not even the winters in Minas Tirith were this wet. It didn’t matter how high you stoked the fire or how well dressed you were. Everyone suffered the same cold.

So if their lives had turned so miserable during these past few weeks, why stay? Why would a family leave the relatively safe borders of Gondor and venture this far north? Why would they risk being robbed, or worse: being killed on the dangerous road towards their destiny? Mother had asked herself this question a hundred times and the answer had always been the same. There hadn’t been a choice, nor could they ever go back home. And for that, Brea was to blame.

A gust of wind travelled over the market water and Brea shivered once more. Though spring had finally set in, even on afternoons like this the weather conditions were treacherous. One could still easily catch a cold. Besides, her mother had insisted her eldest daughter should be back for teatime. She was lucky that Mîrhel had asked her to collect shoes from the cobbler anyway. Since her latest mishaps, Brea wasn’t allowed to go out without a chaperone. It didn’t matter how many times she told her parents that this was a different town, she would do things differently now… They still merely shook their heads and shooed her away.

Brea continued her way around the market water again. The cobbler’s shop lied west of the market, near the town’s gatehouse. Her mother’s instructions had been clear: Brea should inspect the shoes before handing the townsman the money that was owed. If the repair wasn’t living up to the expectations, the poor soul should be payed less. Whatever these expectations might be… She heaved a sigh and trotted over the quays towards her destination. Just before the market, she took a left turn into a small street. She only had been in this part of town once, but if she remembered it correctly the cobbler occupied a shop just further along the way. She narrowed her eyes and tried to spot the little sign to make sure she was going the right direction.

‘My lady Brea, daughter of Brenion.’ A nasty voice called just behind her. Brea whirled around and eyed the hateful man to whom this speech belonged to. The chap was of moderate height, had pitch black hair that was rather greasy and eyes that were dark and looming. Though the stubble on his cheeks did indicate that he did maintain his beard (or he wasn’t able to grow one, she wasn’t sure), he somehow had decided that sporting a unibrow was the way to attract the ladies. Surely this guy was unmarried, because if he would have had a wife, she surely would not let him creep around town looking like this. And definitely not in those dark, slimy clothing that should have been laundered weeks ago.

‘Alfrid.’ She replied while suppressing a shiver. ‘How lovely to see you again.’ ‘Oh, the pleasure is all mine.’ He ensured her with a crooked smile, showing off the yellowest teeth in Middle Earth. ‘Your presence is always a delight.’ She inclined her head, silently sending prayers to the Gods to let this man leave her alone. ‘Thank you.’ ‘So you’re out and about?’ Alfrid went on, his dark eyes piercing through hers. ‘On your own, I might add?’ ‘Our maid was busy and my mother needed someone to collect her shoes.’ Brea said. ‘I’m happy to help.’ ‘I’m sure you are. But I happen to know that your father has told the master you can’t go anywhere without a chaperone.’ The master’s deputy declared. Brea shrugged, not feeling the slightest inclination to let this nasty man stick his awful nose in her business. ‘I guess when we first moved here, my parents redeem Lake-town as less safe for young maidens like myself than our hometown of Minas Tirith. You see, you never know on which corner there might be an assailant lurking.’ Alfrid thought on it for a second, but did not seem to include himself in the category described to him. ‘There are no scoundrels in this town, I daresay, miss. Except from the occasional bargeman.’ ‘That’s a relief.’ Brea answered before turning away. ‘I think my parents must feel the same, which explains why I’m allowed to run some errands. With that being said, I must be on my way now, good sir.’ His hand grabbed her sleeve firmly, causing Brea to hiss in pain. ‘Not so hasty, miss.’ He told her. ‘The decks can be quite slippery in this part of town. I will gladly escort you.’

More slippery than the motives of this guy? Unlikely.

‘Oh, that is very kind of you, but you must have more important, pressing tasks that need tending to.’ Brea replied quickly, while gently pulling her arm away from his hold. ‘I’m sure I’ll manage.’

She did not wait for a reply and started walking in the way of the cobbler’s shop again. The heavier footsteps behind hers told her that Alfrid was quite the persevering type. She suppressed a sigh and quickened her pace. ‘I saw your little sister today.’ Alfrid remarked. ‘Oh?’ Brea murmured, finally setting her eyes on the sign, her destination. ‘She was wandering the market with the eldest spawn of Bard.’ The master’s deputy told you. ‘I must warn you about that bargeman and his kin.’ Though Brea wasn’t interested in the slightest, she did feel inclined to ask anyway. For Jen’s sake it was better if she knew something was wrong before their parents did. ‘What about them?’ ‘They are vile people, troublemakers. No respect for the authorities, so to speak. Your parents should not allow your sister to associate with that family.’

Brea paused and turned around to face the ugly man. Her grey eyes bore into his dark ones. She knew her sister had an excellent sense of character: Jen would never associate herself with the wrong people. Unlike her big sister, who only seemed to attract the worst of humanity itself. The prove of that point was standing right before her. ‘I will talk to her.’ She finally replied rather haughtily. ‘But I am fairly sure-’ Alfrid wasn’t looking at her anymore. Brea followed his gaze over the canal.

There was a man standing on the deck on the other side. Though it seemed he was just minding his own business, arms folded and casually leaning against a wall of one of the homes, his glare was directed at the spot they stood. The man had a tall, strong build and dark hair that reached his shoulders. From such a distance she couldn’t tell the colour of his eyes, but they seemed mysteriously dark. A familiar yearning feeling settled in the pit of her stomach and Brea licked her lips.

‘Will you leave this poor woman alone, Alfrid?’ The man finally spoke in a gruff tone. ‘She clearly doesn’t want your affections.’ ‘This is the troublemaker I was telling you about, miss Brea!’ The master’s deputy spat. ‘He gives us nothing but revolts and misery!’ Brea could not hide her grin and she immediately liked this bargeman. Not only was he very easy on the eye, Alfrid seemed to hate him. Perhaps if she became acquainted with this man, that rat would leave her alone. ‘It’s nice to meet you, master Bard.’ She said, while making a curtsey. ‘I am Brea, daughter of Brenion the merchant. We’re new in town.’ ‘The pleasure is mine.’ He replied, a rueful smile adorning his face. ‘I think I have seen you at the market with your mother a few times before, but we never spoke.’ ‘And let’s keep it that way, shall we!’ Alfrid broke in and he glared nastily at Bard before grabbing Brea’s arm and dragging her along with him. Brea shot a helpless glance behind her only to discover that the bargeman was gone. She winced when the master’s deputy squeezed her wrist too hard, but the latter one didn’t seem to notice. He paced over the decks, trotting the eldest daughter of Brenion along all while mumbling to himself. ‘This beautiful young lady doesn’t need her reputation shattered by that smug, lowly piece of filth. I will tell the master what he-’ Brea groaned, this time slowly peeling his cold, clammy fingers from her wrist. Alfrid didn’t seem to notice and went on grumbling about the wrongdoings of this poor Bard fellow. She couldn’t imagine what he had done to set a character like Alfrid off, but it surely would be something ridiculous.

By the time she had freed herself from the master’s deputy’s slimy touch, they were standing before the cobbler’s shop. ‘Here we are, miss Brea.’ Alfrid made a little bow and showed her his huge, yellow teeth again. ‘I will wait outside to escort you home.’ ‘Oh, that’s not necessary.’ Brea said sweetly. ‘I will probably need to stop by the tailor anyway. You see, these shoes only go with special undergarments. My mother is quite specific about these-’ Alfrid held up his hands defensively and smirked. ‘Enough said, my lady. I don’t need to know about underclothing, especially not your mother’s. I’ll leave you here to run your- errm- lady errands.’

Exactly. She had been counting on that. You see, people like Alfrid did get nervous whenever women addressed women’s topics. Brea smiled innocently before making a little curtsey. ‘You are too kind, mister Alfrid.’ She crooned. ‘Now forgive me, for I most hurry. My mother will be worried if I don’t make it back before teatime.’ Alfrid bowed before her. ‘This is where we part ways, miss Brea. I’ll see you tomorrow, at the master’s house.’

Good Gods, she had totally forgotten about that. The master had invited father and his family over for dinner. Up until now, Brea hadn’t even thought of the possibility of Alfrid being there. Of course he would. And after being unnecessary kind to the guy, she probably had to deal with the consequences of that tomorrow. With a deep frown on her face, she watched the master’s deputy creep away over the decks. Jenessa was bound to have the best time once she discovered what her big sister had set in motion, unwillingly attracting the worst suitors of mankind.

There had been one exception to the rule. She glanced at the direction where Bard had been standing. Well… make that two.

‘Goodness girl, what took you so long!’ Her mother cried from the reading room as soon as their servant opened the front door to let Brea in. ‘I almost did send poor Catherine out to tell your dad you were missing!’

‘Don’t fret, mother.’ Brea protested loudly while handing the shoes and her shawl over to the servant. ‘The master’s deputy slowed me down, that’s all.’

There was a short silence. ‘Ah, you mean that chap… what’s his name…’ Mîrhel murmured, barely audible. ‘Alfrid.’ Brea replied as she made her way through the hall and entered the reading room. Her mom was sitting on their chaise longue, the couch in opposite of her surprisingly empty. In the table between stood a porcelain tea set on a silver platter. ‘Come here, my dear.’ She said and she patted on the spot directly next to her. ‘You tell me all about your encounter with that man, while we wait for Jenessa. Haven’t you seen her? And have you been kind to him?’ ‘Who?’ Mîrhel huffed and started to pour her daughter a cup of tea. ‘That deputy of course!’ ‘Yes, though he was a bit persistent and wouldn’t leave me alone.’ Brea said. Her mother rewarded her with a bright smile. ‘Good girl. We have to keep those people on our side, so make sure you always behave impeccably towards them.’

Brea couldn’t promise she’d do that if the guy became too friendly, but she gave her mother an assuring nod anyway. ‘I will, mother. Where’s Jen again?’ ‘Your sister’s name is still Jenessa.’ Mother scolded her eldest daughter, though with a smile. ‘She went looking for you, to make sure you’d be back for tea. Maybe she got lost, or she bumped into that Alfredo, just like you did… Goodness, nothing would have happened to her, would it?’ Brea licked her lips and for a moment she pondered the possibilities where Jen might be. Then she remembered something Alfrid had mentioned. Her heart skipped a beat.

‘Mother, I know where she might be.’ Brea said breathlessly. ‘Where?’ Mîrhel demanded. ‘Tell me at once, then we can send Catherine out and fetch her before the tea is cold. CATHERINE!’ They heard some shuffling and a loud clang in the kitchen, before poor Catherine hastened through the hall towards the Missus. She shyly prodded her head around the corner into the reading room. ‘You called, Missus?’ ‘Yes. Can you fetch Jenessa for me? She’s at-’ Mother paused and glanced at her eldest daughter. ‘Brea?’ ‘Bard the bargeman, though I’m not sure.’ ‘Who is that?’ Mîrhel demanded. ‘Do we know him?’ Brea shrugged and Catherine merely bowed before retreating. ‘I will get her at once, Missus.’ Brea took a sip of her tea and grimaced as she burned her tongue. It would take at least twenty minutes before she could drink the beverage properly. ‘Mother…’ she tried. ‘Since the tea is still boiling hot and Catherine should be preparing our meals, shall I collect Jen for you?’ ‘Are you exploiting your newly found freedom, darling?’ ‘Maybe.’ Brea said truthfully. ‘Or maybe I’m just trying to help. You know father hates it when he has to wait for dinner.’ ‘That seems like a fair remark.’ Mother pondered. ‘And to reward your thoughtfulness, I will allow you to go. But before you do, you have to make me a few promises.’ ‘Yes, mother.’ Brea beamed. ‘Anything.’ ‘You go straight to wherever your little sister is, fetch her and then come directly home.’ ‘Yes, mother.’ ‘No funny business. No snooping around other places.’ ‘Yes, mother.’ ‘And no flirting with young men.’ Mîrhel demanded. ‘Not even Alfredo.’ ‘You mean Alfrid?!’ Brea cried. ‘Mother! Why would I even-’ Her mother shook her head. ‘I have to make sure, Brea. You have proven yourself to be far more cunning than your father and I could ever have imagined. I don’t want you to drag our reputation down the drain once again, not even in this wretched town.’ ‘MOTHER!’ ‘Don’t use such a tone against me, young lady.’ Mîrhel rebuked. ‘Now go, before our servant-’ A strangled groan erupted from her throat when the front door fell shut. ‘There she goes, poor lass. Hurry, Brea…’

Thus Brea set out once again on the same route, but this time she passed the market place instead of venturing left. After inquiring at a tapestry stand, Brea learned that Bard lived in the northern part of the city. The merchant told her that if she turned left before the town’s hall canal and kept walking straight ahead to the outskirt of the city, she’d find the bargeman’s home.

So with those instructions in mind, Brea walked around the market water until the town’s hall and the canal that laid before it came into view. Brea halted and glanced over her surroundings before taking a left turn. The waterway that ran along the right side of this particular quay was much smaller and the various boats that were docked here made it even more narrow. In order to inspect the homes that stood directly on her left, Brea slowed her pace. The people living on the right had built small, wooden bridges allowing them pass the canal to their home safely. Brea enjoyed the various wooden carvings adorning both the homes and bridges. She was told that at some point, the water would broaden into open water and the bargeman’s home lied directly behind this small square. Furthermore, she would have to enter a few steps leading up to a blue front door, that would appear on her left and it was described to have a diamond shaped window in it.

It didn’t take her long to find the house. Brea took the flight of stairs and the door was there, but when her fist reached for the hard wood, she noticed her hand was trembling.

In fact, her whole body was. Her heart hammered in her chest and Brea was sure that the people inside this home could hear it slamming. Her breathing was shallow, like she ran all the way here like a- Oh, stop it! She gritted her teeth, mentally scolding herself for being such a lightheaded, foolish girl. What made her believe that this handsome bargeman she just got acquainted with, lived here? For all she knew, there could live two Bard’s in this town. Furthermore, if Bard turned out to be the one she though he was, he was said to have children so there probably was a wife in his life. In any case, he wouldn’t be interested in a girl like her.

And with that, she knocked firmly on the wooden door.

The first thing she noticed, were his eyes.

Bard the bargeman easily possessed the most gorgeous hazelnut coloured eyes she’d ever seen. Brea’s breath hitched as she took in the man who was standing in the door opening. He had dark, messy hair that was kept out of his face with a string of cloth at the back of his head. His fine cheekbones were distracting and though Brea usually wasn’t that fond of moustaches and soul patches, somehow this man’s carefully trimmed facial hair made him only more desirable. The greying hair at his temples betrayed the fact he must be well in his thirties.

He was wearing sturdy brown boots adorned with fur, black breeches, a light brown woollen tunic and a long, leather coat in a slightly darker shade. The woollen tunic had a low v-neckline, showing some chest hair and the grey undergarment he was wearing underneath. Her thighs clenched and Brea bit her lip. Goodness, she hoped she wasn’t showing her desires too much… How was this possible anyway? Before, there had only been one man who had made her feel like this, but she was still mourning him. How could another stir the same in her to the point she was just staring at him like he was a piece of fine meat?

Though there was no denying that in fact, he was. How rude of her…

‘Oh.’ Bard murmured as he took her in just as she had done. For a second he looked more alarmed and flustered than anything, but that expression faded quickly and was replaced with a smug smile. ‘Miss Brea.’ He greeted her. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure of encountering you on my doorstep?’ ‘Just Brea is fine, master Bard.’ She replied, a little out of breath. ‘I apologize for disturbing you, but I’m looking for my sister. A little worm told me she was forming rather unsavoury relations. When I asked him what he meant, he pointed me in the direction of your home.’ Bard grinned. ‘Unsavoury relations? Why would he think that?’ ‘The real question is what you have done to make him hate you.’ Brea mused. ‘I might need your advice on that matter.’ He stepped aside and motioned for Brea to come in. ‘Ah, yes. He was quite determined this afternoon, wasn’t he?’ ‘That’s an understatement.’ She said. ‘Is he always like that?’ ‘Yes, though women in this town know him too well to let him come close like you did.’ Brea placed her hands on her hips and eyed him defiantly. ‘I’m capable of handling myself, thank you very much.’ The bargeman chuckled. ‘I didn’t say you couldn’t. But you were too polite to him today.’ Brea smiled sweetly and stepped over the threshold. Bard’s home wasn’t as big as theirs, but it was a cosy one. A grand table and two benches dominated the middle of the room. Directly on Brea’s left was a wooden staircase that led a level down. In the far left corner of the room stood a bed that could fit at least three people. At Brea’s right, stood a small kitchen where two girls were busying themselves.

‘Any tips for when I have to keep him at armlength tomorrow during dinner at the master’s home?’ she asked Bard, giving him a teasing glance. He winced. ‘Are you sure you want to enter the dragon’s lair?’ ‘I’ve heard there lives a dragon in that mountain, is that-’

‘Oh! That stupid dinner! I forgot about that!’ her sister’s voice squeaked. Brea turned on her heels and discovered her sister, Jenessa. The raven haired girl with the most beautiful mahogany toned skin erupted from the kitchen, wearing mittens. Her dark eyes were sparkling with joy. She obviously had been preparing something with the other girls before Brea came in. The two girls had to be sisters, as both of them had dark blonde hair, blue eyes and the same facial expressions.

‘Hey Bree!’ Jenessa beamed. Brea heaved a sigh. ‘Jen, how many times do I have to tell you not to call me that? And it’s not a stupid dinner, it’s a necessary evil.’ ‘You don’t make it sound any better, Bree.’ Her sister grinned. Brea groaned and turned to Bard. ‘I’m so sorry. Jenessa can sometimes be oblivious to social conventions and overstay her welcome-’ Bard shook his head and gave her a reassuring smile that did send a pleasant jolt through her abdomen. ‘It’s fine, really. In fact, we’re happy she’s here. My eldest daughter, Sigrid, was planning on making apple pie and she happened to come across your sister at the market.’ ‘She was lost.’ Sigrid filled in with a grin. Jenessa cried indignantly. ‘Was not!’ ‘You were!’ The youngest sister chortled. ‘You were looking rather sad.’ Brea’s little sister heaved a sigh. ‘Fine. I was lost. Happy?’ ‘We won’t tease you too much with it, promised.’ Sigrid giggled. ‘But only after we have found out if your addition to ma’s recipe is a success.’ ‘It surely smells delicious!’ The little sister proclaimed. ‘That’s Tilda.’ Bard informed Brea with a fond smile. ‘She’s my youngest.’ Sigrid gave Tilda a few plates from the rack that stood on the counter. ‘Right Tilly, can you set the table for six?’ The girl nodded and set out to work. ‘I’ll boil some water for the tea.’ Jenessa said happily. Brea watched as the girls bustled around her and Jen, accepting these strangers in their midst easily and entertaining them with their cheerful banter. She turned to Bard, who was eyeing the scene as well, an amused expression adorning his face.

‘I am so sorry my little sister bashed into your home.’ Brea whispered. ‘The trick is not to encourage her, because she will to take over your whole household.’ ‘At least she can’t be worse than Alfrid, can she?’ Bard said casually and Brea suppressed a snort.

‘What is she saying?’ Jen demanded noisily as she put the pie on the table. ‘Is she trying to be the responsible, older sister again?’ ‘That’s my job.’ Brea told her. ‘Especially when you are misbehaving.’ ‘Am I? Shall I inform master Bard about your indiscretions in Minas Tirith, Bree?’ Jen inquired with a wide grin. ‘Please don’t.’ Brea warned. ‘Or I’ll have to beg mother to trade you for another, more grateful adoptive sister.’ ‘She’s adopted?’ Bard asked with a frown. ‘Her parents were friends with mine.’ Brea explained. ‘When they died thirteen years ago, my parents took Jen in.’ ‘And she regrets that decision every day!’ Jen complained as she was guarding the kettle until it would start to boil. Behind her, Sigrid grabbed six mugs from the cupboard and a tin containing dried tea leaves. Brea crossed her arms and watched her sister with narrowed eyes. ‘Jen, please tell this poor family you are joking!’

‘Da!’ Someone ran up the stairs and a few moments later, a teenage boy with dark hair and the same dark eyes as his father came into view. ‘I finished fixing the nets.’ He stopped in his tracks and eyed the newcomer curiously. ‘Who’s this?’ ‘Brea, this is my son Bain.’ Bard said. ‘Bain, this is miss Brea, miss Jenessa’s sister.’ ‘Oh, hello.’ The boy replied, suddenly a bit nervously. He quickly turned on his heels and stumbled down the stairs again. ‘Nice to meet you!’ Brea called after him. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s up with him these days.’ Bard murmured. ‘He’ll come around.’ ‘Don’t worry about it.’

Once everything was all set, the Bardlings took their place around the table and even Jenessa settled rather quickly as if she already belonged there. Brea stood there, a bit unsure what to do, until Bard turned and sent her a smile. ‘Will you join us, miss Brea?’ he inquired gently, gesturing at the place on the other end of the table.

Brea knew that she should have said no. She should have told them that mother was waiting for her and Jen to return, but… Brea’s brain seemed to have forgotten that information. She couldn’t remember a damn thing, only the fact that those gorgeous dark eyes were pleading her to stay, offering her a place at his table. And the best thing about that, was that there was no wife in sight. So her lips had formed the words before she could even stop herself from saying it. ‘Yes, please.’

Thank you so much for reading my humble story. Feedback is always welcome.  Did you like my work? Spread the love and reblog! :) And here’s my Masterlist.

[laserdog10]

Loneliness

”It’s not so bad not being in a league that suits me.”

It was a personal mantra that she told herself every day, even if it did kind of hurt. Citrus was born as both a Rose and an Arc, two powerful family bloodlines that were well renowned on Remnant by now, thanks to the defeat of Salem. However, Citrus’ elder siblings Garnet and Blossom, have been shown to be marginally stronger and almost gifted...or actually gifted. Garnet had inherited a portion of Ruby’s Spring Maiden magic on top of Jaune’s hefty Aura with the addition of a strong Semblance, while Blossom was a Silver Eyed Warrior, the greatest of all destined to slay Grimm and be the heroes of humanity. While Citrus was...just normal.

Yep, no insane powers, no off-the-wall weapon that has multiple transformations, no fancy Semblance (other than the ability to talk to animals), she was a normal girl who wanted to be a Huntress, like everyone her generation. However she felt an odd lonesome feeling inside her, when her brother and sister went off to Signal for the first time, Citrus was alone at home with her aunt Yang, grandpa Qrow, uncle Tai, and aunt Raven. If that wasn’t enough her Semblance let her speak to the family dog Zwei and the five wolves Ruby adopted, Drei, Vier, Funf, Sechs, and Null. And yet...she still had this emptiness in her heart. Well unlucky for her it was about to intensify that feeling tenfold as she was about to head to Signal tomorrow, the day after her siblings and cousin graduate. Right now it was well into the evening, the sun setting on the horizon, rays of light beaming down on the Rose-Arc & Xiao Long-Branwen residence, Citrus leaning against the railing, teetering her weighted collapsible scythe, Soulful Reave, back and forth, her emerald green eyes staring off into space, tangerine curled hair catching the wind.

Jaune: Someone’s a little broody.

Citrus: Hmm?! Oh, hi dad!

Jaune: Is Qrow’s mysterious edginess rubbing off on you or am I just reading too much into this?

Citrus: Pffft, nooo dad, I’m fine, thank you. Just...thinking, deep contemplation about the future.....

Jaune: Excited you’re going to Signal tomorrow?

Citrus: Heheheee, not really...?

Jaune: Why not?

Citrus: *stops teetering her scythe* Dad, do you think I’m...special?

Jaune: The “daddy loves his special girl” kind of special or...

Citrus: The special that’s meant for amazing things, I don’t feel like I am.

Jaune: Woah woah woah, what brought this on?!

Citrus: Nothing, I’m...*sigh* Dad, compared to Garnet and Blossom, I’m so bland! I have nothing truly remarkable about m-* her shoulders are held as she faces her father*

Jaune: Citrus, tell me what’s going on, is everything okay?

Citrus: I don’t think so...have you ever had the feeling of overwhelming loneliness and that you’re far behind people close to you?

Jaune: More than you could fathom, sweetheart. But that was a long time ago, and with a little bit of time, and the love from those people around me, it eventually went away. Why, is it the fact that your brother and sister are way ahead of you getting to you?

Citrus: *tears form in her eyes* Y-yeah, a lot...

Jaune: Oh, sweety. *he brings his small daughter into a huge hug* Believe me when I say that feeling is completely normal, your mother and I had this lonely, by-our-selves spell when we first went to Beacon.

Citrus: I just feel so out of place. I hear about all these kids who were raised by amazing Huntsmen, their amazing transforming weapons, and their powerful Semblances, then there’s me. Swinging around a simple scythe and talking to animals, no Maiden or S.E.W. powers...

Jaune: Citrus, look at me. *his gaze is met by the distraught, teary-eyed face of his daughter* All these feelings, all these issues you’re feeling right now are completely normal for a thirteen year old to experience! Think it like, you’re still going through your “character arc,” which always starts just as you turn thirteen. You’ll get to that important “climax” of your story some day.

Citrus: *sniff* R-really...?

Jaune: I know so. Now let’s go inside, dinner’s almost ready!

Citrus: I’ll head in a second, gotta go put Soulful Reave back in in the shed.

Such an action to her weapon would make her brother, proverbially, lose his mind, but she took good care of her scythe, occasionally but primarily leaving it in the room she shared with her siblings, like they do with their weapons. Tomorrow would be the first step into this “character arc” of hers, and she would tackle it however she could!

-The next day-

Strolling down the halls of Signal wasn’t so bad, she was old enough to be by herself while her parents weren’t too far off. Ruby had gone with the many other parents of new students to a little meeting, confirming their classes and whatnot, meanwhile Citrus wandered around Signal, her orange cloak flowing as she strolled along, seeing big metal lockers to hold plenty of supplies, classrooms, a library, and the cafeteria. What she didn’t expect to come across was a large crowd of kids clamoring around a board with a myriad of papers on it. Among this crowd the youngest Rose-Arc saw the red-patched blonde hair of her sister.

Citrus: Blossom? *she called over the talkative graduates*

Blossom: Hey baby sis! You here on your intro tour? *the blonde side-stepped through the moderate sea of teens, a few of which turned heads to the younger teen*

Citrus: Yep, mom just went with the other parents to that meeting! What are you doing over here with everyone?

Blossom: Seeing who got their academic success title.

Citrus: You’re what?

“An awesome title for how well you did in your classes!” chimed a female student.

Citrus: Oh, cool!

Blossom: Wanna guess what I got?

Citrus: I...don’t know what they are.

Blossom: Oh, well come look.

Taking a closer look at the board, Citrus saw this hefty list of names that made her head spin. So many names, numbers, scores, classes.

Citrus: This makes my brain hurt...

Blossom: Same here, and could you help me find my name, I’ve been helping everyone here find their’s for a while n-

Citrus: You got Salutatorian, Garnet got Valedictorian, and Lea’s below both of you!

Blossom: I’M WHAT?!

The students: THEY’RE WHAT!?

“I’m what now???” came a familiar voice behind the girls and the crowd. They turned to find Garnet himself, in the midst of eating a roll of cookie dough from the cafeteria. Without thinking the students swarmed him, barging questions left and right; “How are you so smart,” or “Please teach me your ways,” and “You’re amazing Garnet!”

Garnet: Woah, slow down guys, I’m not that great honest! I just studied and practiced like anyone else would.

“But you got Valedictorian, dude!!!” exclaimed a male student with very punk-rock hair.

“That’s an achievement in and off itself!” cheered a preppy looking girl.

“You’re a freaking prodigy, bro!!!!” cried a sporty, muscular lad.

Garnet: Alright, listen up everyone, I’m gonna give you some life advice you all need to hear. Trying to be like me is impossible, and I wouldn’t go as far as to say I’m a prodigy. Yes I have powers of a Maiden inherited from my mother, yes I have a massive amount of Aura and strong Semblance to boot, yes I also have multiple weapons and am highly skilled in using all of them. However that doesn’t place me above the rest of you, nor should it make you all downplay yourselves! You all have your strengths and weaknesses, but you shouldn’t strive to become like me, because I’m not perfect. Imitation is the cheapest form of flattery that mediocrity can pay in greatness. Don’t strive to be me, strive be a better you, because their can only be one of us in the world! And if you do find someone like you later in life...*claps hands* Then I got nothing. *awkwardly smiles*

His audience applauded, but mostly laughed at the perplexing finish to his speech. His sisters had their own reactions, Blossom shaking her head and smiling in a way that conveyed a “The fact I’m related to you is astonishing” feel, Citrus on the other hand was captivated. “Strive to be a better you,” this phrase alone struck many chords in her, to the point that the lonely feeling of hers dissipated somewhat...

“Ohhh yawn-a-fuckin’-rama! That was the cheesiest shit I’ve ever heard, One Armed Arc!”

The students instinctively winced at the sound of the boastful and snarky voice. Collectively looking to the source, a tall girl with long burnt-orange hair and indigo eyes, clad in gray armor with a gold trim, a jet black waist cloth on the tool belt around her. Strapped to her back in a sheath was a morning star mace, the signature and feared weapon wielded by Signal Academy’s tyrant.

Blossom: Carly Winchester...

Citrus: ...

Garnet: And why are you here?

Carly: No reason, except I just heard a one-armed loser spouting some bullshit and being humble. Face it, you could be running this school! And yet you choose to be weak, lumping yourselves with these peons who could get their asses reamed by you.

Blossom: Garnet isn’t weak!

Carly: Aww look, little Ms. Self-loathing wants to act all big and tough! Why don’t you can it and go cry on the roof like you always do.

Citrus: *grits teeth and clenches her fists*

Garnet: What I do doesn’t make me weak Carly, I-

Carly: OH FUCKING SPARE ME! Hearing your high and mighty “holier-than-thou” bullshit makes me sick, you have the powers of a damn GOD and look where you are!

Citrus: ...hat’s it to y... *mumbles*

Carly: Hmm what’s that Shorty, got some shit to say? If you don’t then butt the fuck out, the adults are tal-

Citrus: WHAT’S IT TO YOU!? All you ever do is hurt and scare people, that’s not power, that’s being a jerk!

Carly: You-!

Citrus, standing in front of Carly now: My big brother is more of a Hunter and leader than you could ever hope to be! All you are is a bully, a coward, and an absolute BITCH!!!

Everyone present gasped, Garnet and Blossom were shocked into silence. Calling Carly a bitch was something else entirely, but hearing it from Citrus, someone who had never sworn in her life?! Surely they must’ve been dreaming, right??? Obviously they weren’t, for Carly had looked around incredulous, thinking she had heard the orangenette right.

Carly: The fuck did you just say to me you little shit...?!

Citrus: You heard me, you’re nothing but a BI-!

Carly: SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!!!

The warrior girl screamed in tandem with swinging her mace directly down onto the smaller girl. The motion happened at such a speed, all that was seen was a shiny, gray blur kicking up dust and debris when it landed.

Garnet/Blossom: CITRUS!!!

The youngest Rose-Arc braced for the impact beforehand...but it never came. Instead when she opened her eyes, she was in a dust cloud, embraced by her cousin, Lea Xiao Long-Schnee, her giant gauntlets blocking the crushing blow.

Lea: Might I ask why the hell you are attacking my cousin, Carly? *she said in a low tone, pushing the warrior girl back a good few feet*

Carly: Mind telling me why your brat isn’t on her child leash?!

Lea: *eyes turning lilac, blue fire adorning her hair* I think Citrus is going to be the least of your worries right now...

Citrus stepped back, knowing full well what was coming next. Garnet walked past her but not before looking at his baby sister.

Garnet: Might wanna go get mom and the principal, this courtyards about to become a war zone. *he winked*

Carly targeted him first, her mace colliding with the boy’s head and sending him staggering. He regained his footing, readying his own gauntlets as Lea pounced on Carly, throwing her into one of the support columns in the courtyard, Garnet running up and landing jab after jab upon Carly. Blossom held Citrus’ hand as they ran off to find their mother before the situation got worse, as they ran they heard the unmistakable sound of the Maiden powers flaring from their brother and cousin.

Blossom: We’ll leave it to them to kick Carly’s butt.

Citrus: ...

Blossom: You okay?

Citrus: Yeah yeah, just thinking.

Blossom: You narrowly avoiding getting brained by an amazon brute???

Citrus: Well...besides that, but what Garnet said earlier.

Blossom: Oh that.

Citrus: It stuck with me, and...and I think it should solve all my problems.

Blossom: ...if you say so!

Seems her father was right, today was when her character arc would begin, and now she would walk through it with her head held high!

[noodlerooster]

Rwby Au - The Fallen Maiden Au; Beacon’s Fall

Just a phone blurb of a AU for Rwby

[Beacon Tower] 

Pyrrha and cinders fight is the same, but Ruby shows up on time and lands a near fatal blow on Cinder. In shock Cinder tries to recover, Pyrrha uses this opportunity to also land a blow but leaves herself open to an unseen attack from Cinder. An arrow from behind forming from thin air.

Weakened And enraged Cinder only thinks of Pyrrha and killing her for her plan. “SHE MUST DIE, HER,HER,HER. THIS ONE. PYRRHA NIKOS!” Her arrow plunged into her chest , but now it’s slowly inching further in her body. The pain grows stronger and surges through her body, pain never felt before, almost burning pain. Ruby watches on, eyes overflowing with white tears that resemble star light. Cinder not realizing the wave of energy coming towards her screams: “what?!”

A flash overcomes them, Pyrrha and Cinder now engulfed fall to the ground. Beacon tower stops, everything around it stops, the crumbling tower is no longer falling but suspended in the air. Any Grimm in range trapped, no longer living nor dead. In a state of frenzy Ruby takes one step towards the two, eyes set on Cinder, but unaware of the immense power she too falls to the ground passing out.

—

[Back in town]

Students of all years are mixed with the screams of townsfolk and soldiers. Amongst the crowd there’s one body that is still, unmoved, he’s staring at the tower where the light now glows white. “Juane!” A hand grabs him awake, and turns him around. “Come on! We have to help these people! Who knows how many Grimm there are!” She readies her grenade launcher just in case of a preemptive attack. “Team RWBY is MIA, And the other schools are spreading their teams all over town! Get yer’ head in the game!” Ren stands in his vision, and places a hand on his shoulder, a calm washes over Jaune and he takes a deep breath. “Juane. People need us right now, we took an oath as team members and students of Beacon to help those in need, and as our leader we need you more than ever.” Jaune open his eyes and looks at Ren. His most closest friend in the team and one of very few words, and if he talks you know he means every word. He’s was right, what would Ozpin be thinking if he saw him like this, a coward? No. He was a leader, a fighter, a huntsman. Amongst the screams a loud gutting roar is heard, almost deafening. Grimm flood in like a black wave, their air putrid with fear and hate.

The team readies their weapons and step into the running rows of people heading away from the danger.

——

[Mid-Town]

Ironwood’s robots are strewn across the streets, mangled bodies and parts fizzing.

Remnants of Grimm disappear in the air in black strands black as the creatures it comes from.

Cardin kicks something metal, an arm away from his walking path. This side of town is oddly quiet, no surprise though this was a dropping sight for big Grimm and an Ursa flood.

Ugh Ursa.

Memories flooded in from that day like an electric surge. He flinched the gigantic Ursa stood in front of him again, his body towering over him casting a shadow. Cardin reached for his weapon instinctively, but his fingers reached for nothing, fumbling for the hilt he heard a clang of heat pressed metal crash on the ground. Cursing his body he didn’t loose sight of the hell beast as he scrambled for his weapon. Where is it dammit? The beast lunged towards him claws shining in the moonlight. Ready for the impact he dared not close his eyes in fear.

Nothing.

There was no beast, just shadow.

His eyes still not blinking transfixed on the shadow, his body refused to listen. He’s was safe, at least for this moment. A cold slow chill creeped in his body, first from his chest and slowly down his limbs to his finger tips. His heart pounding now a soft beat as he took a shaky breath. He looked at the ground where his weapon lay, only a step behind his foot.

Idiot.

Why? It was like this the first time. But the first time that blonde was there, and he froze weaponless, a damn coward.

Lost in thought Cardin patted for his phone. Did he lose it? No it was right here, cracked but still functioning.

He called out to his team, not remembering last he saw them or if they were even ready to fight. No one did, this was a surprise attack, an ambush.

Ringing....

Ringing......

Ringing.......

Click.

Noise, jumbled frequency and nonsense.

Sky’s out. Possibly dropped the damn thing again.

Next in the team chat: Dove.

Of all of them at least he’d keep his scroll in tact.

One ring and he hears him.

“Cardin?” It’s Dove.

The voice sounds tired and alert, noises behind him almost drowning out the call.

“Dove! Sound off where are you?”

Crackling a skipped reply.

“Can’t ..... nothing.... again.....Boss...”

“Sound off!”

“Dove! Sky! Russel MIA! Sir!”

Crystal clear. Cardin heard every word.

Russel’s missing. Before he can let his mind wander he snapped back.

“Get your asses here now sending a echo finder and a flare.”

Cardin lifted his mace, from it’s red dust crystal a puff of ember and smoke rose in the air.

“Your orders?” Dove switched to a camera view, Sky was visible on the screen both worn and tired. On their belts a green metal hung, it flashed in the nearby flames. Cardin looked away from them and surveyed their surroundings. They were near the housing districts and shopping center. Cardin couldn’t think fast, before he knew it a slender hand grabbed the scroll.

“Your’s is working good.”

Glynda fixed her glasses, a crack in the lenses. Behind her Cardin’s savior of the day: Ironwood. His chest exposed showing off his metal armaments.

“You boys need to meet us here, the Grimm have diluted and are manageable, any civilians and stray students you see. Bring. Them. Here. This is an order. Relay this info to everyone you see. Be safe team, prove yourself worthy of the Beacon name.” Ironwood coughed after his speech. The dust around the area tampered with his breathing.

The two boys stand straight, readying themselves for the mission. The flare floated in the sky, glowing red and shown no signs of stopping.

Glynda chimes in: “maintain communication and-“ cut off. The scroll went dead. “Stay alive” She whispered in the screen now reflecting her image.

{End}

(Idk I worked on this months ago give me criticism and thoughts I’m still tying to find time to draw this comic when I get free time)

[ekebolou]

New Book: Chapter One

The hits just keep on coming.  I should probably warn everybody, as might be expected, there’s a lot of trauma coming, of various flavors, that I will endeavor to tag in some manner.  I think the first chapter is fine, although, of course, it doesn’t go well. 

Prelude

Chapter Two

Chapter One

“If we are so terrible, then why are you here, eh?”

“I am where I am,” Rev said.  Like the lap of water at the edge of the sea, he felt it now: the stroke of his callused palm up Rev’s arm, bringing it to his chest, bundling him in warmth.  Only he remembered it warm and close, and felt it chilled.  “There is no meaning to it.”

He laughed; Rev shivered.  “Why do you keep coming, then?  Why make here where you are?”

‘Here’ he made clear by pulling himself close, tightening legs around legs, pressing torso to back, putting lips to the hollow at the back of Rev’s ear, stretching hands tight over his chest.  Once begun it was difficult to stop, but Anik kept his thoughts.

“If we are all so terrible, stay in the Sivery camp and stop visiting me.”

‘I can’t,’ formed on Rev’s lips now, dry and cold, but that was only what he should have said then. He should have been truthful, or if not truthful, at least poetic, but instead he felt himself settle into the enfolding embrace, burrow into touch to make plain the lies he was telling.  Or if not lies, what he wanted to be true, and was not.  By the Chosen, was it not.

“It doesn’t matter – here or there.  We are all lost.  Sivery, Baath – well, Baath is worse – but at the end they’re all the same.”  Anik was trying to laugh, at least a little, but this was serious, oh, so very serious underneath it all, and Rev was afraid, Rev was afraid, he might not. “It’s like hell.  In Baath, hell has levels,” he stacked his hands, “so, so, so – that’s wrong.  Sivery’s Hell is true.  Sivery’s Hell is flat plain full of nothing but the wandering dead.”

Sivery’s Hell was also cold. He was shivering.  He strove harder for the feeling of it, the warmth, the softness – but it all was turning cold and hard.  He should have felt the soft warmth of Anik’s thigh here, but it was cold stone, he should have felt the jut of a collarbone here, but it was crumbling dirt, he should have seen the faint yellow glow of the lantern they lit just a moment ago, but it was washing out to a gray dawn...

“It sounds very simple,” Anik was saying, brushing lips over Rev’s ear but Rev couldn’t feel it. He didn’t believe – he never believed things were as bad as Rev said they were.

Well, what did he know?

He knew nothing of Rev, who had told him nothing, and Rev knew nothing gof him, because he asked nothing. It was only by being nothing they were anything, but if he said that, Anik would deny it.  Anik would make something of them; and he could, easily. Rev knew enough of him to know that. He could not be stopped, and why, why would Rev ever want to stop him?  Anik could make them something, no matter what was in the way, and Rev wanted that more than anything, but feared it like mad dogs feared water.  No— they would be nothing, nothing, only nothing, as he was nothing…

Rev floated on the edge of Anik’s fingers, the tip of his tongue, the weight of him made meaningless by that barest touch.  Rev floated, his own words sounding distant, pulling away as did the warmth of the dream.

“It isn’t,” he said to himself.  “It isn’t simple.  Life is complicated when it’s short.”

Rev woke.  In his memory, Anik laughed.  Why did everyone always laugh when he said that?  It was true.

He opened his mouth to breathe and fell into a fit of loud, dry coughing.  The sign of his sickness – the sickness that was going to get him killed, if it didn’t kill him.  He pressed a mittened hand over his mouth and tried to calm it, but ended up curled into a ball, everything from his throat down burning with either fatigue, emptiness, or raw exhaustion. 

The fever had broken; he knew because he had slept, and now he was awake, and he hated it. 

He glanced up at the burnished sky until he stopped coughing, reflecting that it seemed like it was the same sky he had seen just before he fell into fevered hallucinations. Pulling to his heels, he seized his short sword (not his, a dead man's – haha, so his, then?) and rocked himself until it felt as if his limbs would work again, reflecting that it was uncommonly quiet for a battle, if that sky was the same sky, but sometimes battle was like that.  Perhaps that battle was yesterday, and now it was clearly today, and that could mean anything. 

He didn’t stand, but began the painful walking crouch that had marked the last week of his life, and reflected that it might really be the last week of his life.

The only way to really tell would be to ask an officer if he was supposed to be charging to his death right now, but if he asked an officer, the officer would go tell him to do something that would get him killed, so there was no reason to go ask an officer. If he could find one.  It was strange, how they tended to disappear when things got bad.  He stopped, leaning on an interestingly-colored brown-and-gray dirt berm, poking his finger into the soil, and tried to make sense of the stillness for a moment.  If he lollygagged, it was sure to bring out an officer – they were like elves that way – but nothing happened. 

Well, holding still was a good way to get shot, so he started moving again, and tried to remember if there was reason it was so still out here.  Some days ago, it had been because they were waiting (to die).  He was the last scrap of a scrap of a unit made from scraps of the regiment that had been left as scraps for the enemy to pick at while the main army regrouped – or, more likely, retreated completely.  He didn’t actually know.  Nobody told him things like that.  They told him to stand here, and not let any Baathians by, and also dig a pit, and stand in that, and see you in the morning maybe (don’t let any Baathians by). 

They had all known they were going to die; anyone who didn’t was either a fool or planning to desert, which just meant they would die a little more towards the coast when the main army caught them.  They were all, in fact, rather looking forward to dying, because the only other option was worse (that’s when you get the best out of your soldiers, the officers would say.  He sort of hoped they were all dead, although it would honestly be nice to have orders right now). 

They were fighting the Baathians, and Baathians didn’t take prisoners, Baathians took slaves.

Without orders, Rev had nothing to do but his routine.  Running in his crouch, Rev went to the checkpoints that would have been watch stations were anyone there to watch them but corpses.  While he did it, he kept a running stream of curses for the officer who thought up trenches.  He’d prepared the curses back when there were fifty of them busting blisters on their palms digging them.  Briefly, he acknowledged the short period of the first day and a half of the assault, before they had begun to run out of ammunition, in which they’d blessed all forms of earthworks while enemy artillery showered dirt on their heads more often than it obliterated them.

All the corpses were making him nervous.  He was noticing there were not so many alive things where he was.  Some of the fever’s urgency seemed to fill his lungs.  He stopped to push down the corpse of a woman he was sure somehow was still moving, sure her vacant-eyed stare was visible across the field, sure somehow the dead soldier was betraying him to the enemy (the enemy knew, pretty reliably, that behind the earthworks, where all the gunshots were coming from, there were enemy soldiers).  A surge of fear almost brought him to the point of stabbing the corpse, but he was as certain this was a remnant of the hallucinations brought on by his fever, in which an elf inhabited the body and taunted him with the notion of calling to the Baathian troops so they’d come kill him horribly while he was sick.  Also, he didn’t have a bayonet. 

He pushed the body down anyway.

Round and round the trench, cursing and twisting through the dead and the destroyed.  He determined there were no alive things.  The burning in his lungs told him he was maybe not an alive thing.  Or not for much longer.  He was back at the elf corpse, which had had rolled and was now staring at him.  He might have passed it more than once; it was hard to think.

This wasn’t good.

He put his back to the berm and it was as if the cold dirt stung him again.  Why had he had that dream?

He had colder memories, worse dreams.  They were more usual before he thought he might die.  This hurt.  Deep in his body, like a stitch in his soul, and he pretended it was the sickness. 

Really, it was because Those Who Choose had tried to show their favor, demonstrate that he was meant for a glorious death in battle.  The War-Women, Maidens of Battle, attempted to console him for their honoring choice, because it was too painful to know, finally and irreversibly, he would die without having seen Anik again.

Well, it was how he always thought it would be.  As usual, knowing didn’t really help.  Was it not a gift, then, the dream?  He should thank Them.  It had to be Them; like all Their gifts, it was paid for with pain.

Maybe he dozed a little; it was hard to tell.  He opened his eyes to the sky again.  The fact that he could see the sky at all was Bad.  During battle, he only saw smoke. 

He threw himself to his feet again, heart pounding.  Everyone here was dead.  Battle was over.  How long had he been out?  Heat once again fled down from his skull through his bones and he started running the checkpoints again.  His feet hitting the mud – the mud, the still hands and tripping legs of corpses – became a cacophonous horror.  That was not the clean earth into which the glorious dead were buried.  If he fell there, the War-Women would not choose him.  He must die in battle, he must die racing at an enemy. Like, apparently, everyone else in his regiment.

He must finally die.

He was running now, upright, running for the pathway between this trench and the next.  He hadn’t left this place in the last week (was it a week? Earlier he’d thought it was yesterday, so, hard to tell).  His ragged breath and squelching, crumbling steps brought noise, but only noise that made him more aware of the quiet.  Maybe… maybe the Baathians were running out of ammunition, too.  In Baath.  Sure. Or maybe it wasn’t worth it to shoot what remained.  A sharp memory, saved from the fever, struck him, and he knew they only held out so long (how long, though?) because the Sivery that were left made them pay for their avarice, laid traps of black powder and shaved spears of beams and spokes and saved final bullets.

That’s why it was Rev, Rev’s people – they were not just soldiers, but grenadiers, and his unit were Psi Dziwonovi, and they didn’t die easy. They had been told to hold off the armies of Baath, so Baath would go no further while they lived. 

The path was exposed, but he had heard no shots.  He leapt up and over as if he had heard thousands.

This berm had a deeper trench behind it (cowards – or smart people – or just not as lazy – either way). He stumbled down the sloped dirt and briefly blessed that maybe the cowards lived.  Shaking knees almost brought him down, and he he pressed a hand to his stomach, aware now that the blood rushing to his head was full of the weakness of hunger.  If he did not keep moving it would make him faint, or sit, or both, and if he did either, he wouldn’t get up.

How fucking long had he been sick?  Panic could only take him so far, and his moments of clear thought were more troubling than helpful.  He needed Those Who Choose to bless him again, and reached for it as if he could seize his own heart in his chest to make it beat.  A wash of cold from the core of his body threatened to drop him to the dirt as he moved, only to be swept aside by a gratifying warmth.

It was warm, deeply warm, in air the color of blood.  Half of him ran through the trench, arms brushing dirt off the walls.  He no longer coughed, but laughed, loud and calling.

The other half lay calm, motionless, trapped in a moment of heat so close he couldn’t breathe, because there was no time on either side in which he might fill his lungs.  A crystalline memory, etched in hot glass.

They screamed through the sky, They Who Choose, and waited to see what he, one lone Sivernisat, would do.  They waited! They would wait all damn day for him! He was hallucinating gloriously and he wished the rest of his sickness had had the decency to be so rewarding.

In real life, he turned the corner of the little square trench, chanting honor to the Battle Maidens, and saw a block of standing bodies – alive things.

In his dream – the real dream, not the hallucination-dream with the real things in it – it was as if he’d never left; there was Anik, all around him, and the still and joyous night, the light of the flame, beyond all reason, completely still. 

Switching his sword from one hand to another, he brought it up, the thump of his heartbeat itself now the prayer for death, the greeting of the gods.  They hadn’t seen him, but in the very moment he thought so, they did. Surprise ruined, he charged.

He felt Anik’s breath against the back of his neck, though nothing moved.  It was still as a painting.  It was not real, but he curled up in it.

They did not get weapons up fast enough.  None of them had pistols in hand – not even cartridge belts.  Rev could take down one, maybe, before the other two got out of the way to get room for a counter-attack.  That was only if the fourth continued to do nothing, as she had the most space to move.  There wasn’t space for Rev to slash, which was what his blade was meant for, but it had a decent stabbing point, and if he threw himself behind, his whole weight was too much to stop.  In the seconds of his approach, he saw the whole of it play out to his death, where, panicked, they would run him through.

This is not the end, eh? Never the end – as long as you live, never the end.  

He promised to live, and then he said, “I’ll find you,” and Rev wasn’t sure that was any better of a lie. 

Well – dreams hot and dreams cold – in the end they were both wrong!  Both failed him, then and now.

Now he was laughing and crying, because he – or half of him – would get to die in this dream.  The other half recognized that he was riotously hallucinating at possibly the worst moment ever. 

The two Baathians didn’t get out of the way, but moved in.  He drove towards the third, the one in the middle, but that man backpedaled furiously, nearly tripping over the fourth in his haste to get clear.  Arms crossed Rev’s chest; the tip of his sword slid fruitlessly to the slide, making a great, bloodless gouge in the leather breastplate of the third. 

The two to either side crushed in, leaving him no space to maneuver his sword, which the third then beat against the wall with his own.  The impact was enough to shake the weapon from Rev’s weak grip.  A hand fisted in the hair at the back of his head, an in the close confines of the trench, they dragged him bodily to the ground. The third pounced on his legs as soon as they had him on his back, while the fourth picked up his sword and started to evaluate its workmanship.  (Ha! It was shit, terrible spoils – fuck her anyway).

The ones to his sides sat on his shoulders, and the one on the right put a hand over his mouth, all the while painfully wedging a knee under Rev’s back, so they could force his arms behind him.  The one on the left pulled a ready-made leather thong, just one of many, from his belt and cinched his cramped wrists together.

The fourth one decided his sword was acceptable to take (fine, she could have the bits it’d fetch, the bastard) and moved back to looting the bodies of others.  Rev stared, thrashing and fighting, as they went about their work with practiced ease.  Though Rev wasn’t shouting – just laughing hysterically – they rustled up a cloth to stuff in his mouth, then exchanged relieved chuckles and some Baathian words. By now, Rev’s dream-half had woken, and could reflect on the oddity of the way his hallucinations of glory and winged horses continued despite all this. 

The two to either side pulled him to his feet, which left him lightheaded, then divested him of anything they thought he might use and anything that they wanted.  Stripped signs of rank (he had none, assholes), pulled off anything, whether clothing or simple adornment, that wasn’t necessary, like thieves would strip jewelry of its gems.  The third and fourth exchanged a glance, then the stepped forward and crammed a hand down his pants, perhaps to see if he was a eunuch (who knew what Baathians expected – anyway, he wasn’t).  Stepping back, the fourth raised her shoulders, nodding, which seemed a little ambivalent to Rev, even in his fevered state, for a complete set of – in his opinion – rather nice man-parts. 

It had all been terribly easy, of course – and fast – and once it was over everything seemed to leave him.  Almost fainting, his knees collapsed him further into the Baathians’ arms cradling his elbows.  He took the moment to try to flee – find that part of him in the dream, stay with it, bring it forward – but this time he couldn’t find it.  It was there, but the part of him that wasn’t wholly consumed by sickness, the soldier part, that he’d worked so hard to train into doing just this sort of thing, kept him focused on what was going on, cataloguing it, marking details, behaviors, keeping him awake to danger.  As if he could anything about it.  That part was an asshole.

But the dream had fled, and now, but for weird auras of red and purple and white, lingering after things moved, he no longer hallucinated. 

Rev’s sickness, lucklessly, had kept him from great harm for the last few days, meaning he was fit. He would remember this later, when they were leaving the trenches, when he saw similarly stripped Sivery soldiers laying against the walls with their throats slit.  An uncommonly peaceful death for war.

It would stay, too, in his memory, the precise order of it: a short exchange of phrases, one seizing him firmly by the jaw with one hand while the other’s fist closed over the bangles in his ears, the sign of Sivery at war.  A couple more curt phrases, an evaluative shrug – he would think, damnation, are they that cheap? And of how much it would hurt to have the holes torn – but he’d forget to think it when the one holding his chin fixed him with that frank, estimating gaze, eye to eye.

They left the earrings in, and only then did one of them stuff a hand into pants.

It all made sense, later, when he was slightly less mad.  It was then he should have known – predicted... well, known, but he was still seeing the shadows of flying horses at that point.

Two stayed, two escorted him through the conquered trenches, out into the open, where the search for injured soldiers and corpses to loot was slowly beginning.  He stumbled along between the two Baathian soldiers, who kept their silence but for stray comments to each other, and thought about throwing himself in a trench, any trench.  His thoughts of the unfitness of that dirt for burial faded as he shivered with fearful exposure, the openness of the flat earth grown unfamiliar in so short a time. 

He didn’t do it.  He didn’t know why he didn’t do it.  Weirdly, he no longer felt as if he were dying. He felt better.  It had been hard to walk – now it wasn’t.  It had been hard to think – well, and it still was, but now he didn’t have to.  Maybe because the officers were back, for all that they were Baathian.  No more dreams prompted, stabbed or soothed him.  No more rhythms spoke from his blood.  He was alone, and alive.  Again, and still.  At least he was no longer among the dead.

He realized that he kept expecting himself to pass out.  Now was the time for dreams; now he could use it.  What did he need to see this for?  Why did he need to watch the fire, heating the brand?  Why did standing make him want to fall but the screaming pain of branding leave him loosely awake.  Why did he get to mark it all, with a fighter’s eye for detail and the body’s talent for remembering the way things felt. 

They should have blindfolded him, to keep it secret.  They should have knocked him out, to stop his weak jerking and flailing.  The dream should have come down and swept him into death, whether a glorious one in battle or the simple giving out his heart. None of that happened. 

He didn’t want to see the pulled ears, the miserable stripped, the huddled angry and ashamed and yet still alive, wondering why the lack of battle made death suddenly strange and frightful.  He didn’t want to be among them (and he wasn’t quite, but he didn’t know that then, and he would wish otherwise later).  He waited and waited for the moment when he would surrender to the dark and simply wake up enslaved, when he would have neither sight nor choice.  He wished for even a waking blankness, like a man deafened by cannon shot and not yet realizing he wasn’t dazed but would never hear again – anything that would make him not walking towards this.  Even his sickness abandoned him (he would be well, in a day or two).  Darkness ought to come, as death should have. 

Both failed him there, too.

Chapter Two

[spitfirerose]

RWBY OC: Gwenna Hearthspring

Member #3 of SUGR. “G” has changed a ton since the start of the team idea.

Gwenna Hearthspring: A seventeen year old female and sole human of the team. Gwenna is quite shy and timid at first, complying to whatever anyone says and tries not to be a burden to others. She’s enrolled at Beacon to be a Huntress, but is poor at combat. It’s hinted that she was accepted because of the Headmaster (like Ruby was), but she doesn’t know why. Gwenna uses twin tonfa that double as guns, utilizing different dust clips located on the back of her belt. Her semblance is dubbed the ‘Maiden’s Eye’, an ability that allows her to hit her target even if it has moved since firing. She can manipulate the bullet’s path with her eyes, but this can backfire if she looks at a teammate whilst using it.

Ironically, she is a Maiden, too.

Gwenna was born in a small village, her mother a Huntress and father a gardener. There were always flowers around. Things were always so nice.

But then the Grimm happened, and that wasn’t very nice. She doesn’t remember much after that, and was taken in at a nearby town’s Orphanage, known as the very shy and quiet girl who was fixated with flowers, as that’s all she really can remember of home. Little Gwenna tended to wander off, wanting to go back home though she didn’t know where it was. Time after time, she’s harshly told that the village is gone, and if she keeps acting like she is, that no one will adopt her.

Hana, the current Spring Maiden, and young Ardilla arrive at the town, here to help however they can before passing through, requesting that for their safety, that no one mention them. Hana reminds Gwenna of home, and of her mother by how kind she is. Like Ardi, the Spring Maiden sees potential in her, and so she asks the pure soul if she wishes to leave this place.

She does. The Orphanage easily forgets her face.

They reach the ruins of Gwenna’s home village next, and while she doesn’t find the remains of her parents, she does come across her mother’s weapons, the twin tonfa. Hana promises that she’ll teach her how to use them when she gets older, if she so wishes. Ardi is trusted to look after their newest member as Hana summons flowers for unmarked graves as a sort of Sending to the lost souls.

Along the way, they all bond with one another, and Hana asks them what they would do with great power. They’d use it to protect each other and be kind, and Hana foreshadows that she wishes she could see it. Because she knows she won’t. They’re being tracked by Salem’s minions, and their time together is running short. They’ve been together for about a year, Ardi a month longer. The girls get along pretty well, with Ardilla being the more adventurous and chatty, and Gwenna shyly hiding behind her. They’re like sisters.

The trio travels throughout Remnant. They reach ‘Mother Goose’s Tales’, a traveling theater of performers that strive to bring light to a dark world. The Maidens’ Tale is their most popular story. Hana, ironically, played the role of Spring, and was the best. Analise, Annie, a dashing rabbit faunus, runs the troupe, and calls Hana ‘Rosie’. They have history. Hana requests that Annie look after the girls, as she has business to attend to, and she won’t be returning. Annie calls her out that she can’t do this, just showing up only to leave again.

Hana leaves in the middle of the night, and Gwenna follows her. She worries because Hana leaves her bag behind. Gwenna takes both hers and Hana’s.

Hana confronts those that have been tracking them all this time. She knew they were close by, and it’s now that she deals with them. The two children, those she has chosen as her successors, are safe with the troupe that will be moving come morning. The Spring Maiden will hold these monsters off and hold nothing back.

Except Gwenna is there, hiding beneath brush and witnessing this go down. Hana is pinned beneath one of them, and it’s then that she sees her. Gwenna’s name is shrieked, a warning for the girl to run.

Hana is slain in that next second.

Gwenna’s gifted her powers, being her last thoughts.

She screams with grief, and everything is consumed by furious mother nature. All that Deus Ex Machina goodness. Stricken with loss and fear, Gwenna is too afraid to go back to the Troupe because she thinks this all her fault. She pulls a Simba, hearing voices in her head telling her to run.

Hana’s body turns into a mass of flowers. Roses.

Since no one knows that Hana was killed, Salem probably just thinks her minions fucked up. Gwenna is safe, for the moment, and continues running away and hiding, afraid of her new power that she suppresses. She survives off of what rations were in the bags, and fumbles to use her mother's weapons. She's saved a lot by passing Hunters and Huntresses, and is reminded of Hana saying to protect others. She knows she's not strong enough, and so she goes to Beacon. Completely inexperienced and totally unqualified, she performs terribly at registration. The lowest of low scores, and makes a fool of herself despite trying her best.

Ozpin knows what she is, because he knows everything, and has her accepted into the school regardless, much to Glynda's disapproval. Gwenna is quite literally launched in. It's not until much, much later does Oz explain why he let her in, and that he knows she’s a Maiden--which she didn’t even really know, because no one bothered to fill her in on where her power came from. Like literally almost two school years? Ozpin, the fuck. It’s like you just threw this plotline in last second. And even then, she’s told that she’s getting transferred to Atlas, as bad guys are afoot in the school and it’s no longer safe for her here. Gwenna begs to stay until the Festival is over, as she doesn’t want to leave her team just yet, can’t bring herself to say goodbye. He allows this, warning that the longer she takes, the harder it will become to leave. She can’t tell them why she has to go, or her secret identity. Then Ardilla shows up, and things get more complicated.

But that’s all future stuff. Back to Team Building.

After recovering from her landing strategy, or rather lack thereof, Gwenna comes across Renari. He is immediately unimpressed, and completely abandons her seconds later, as it’s clear she can’t do jack against a few meager Beowolves. Suddenly alone, she uses a tree to hide behind when Sven comes to the rescue, taking out the Grimm with ease. He knows she’s there with his faunus hearing, and says that it’s safe to come out now. Gwenna comments that he’s strong, and now that they’ve made eye contact, he acknowledges that they’re partners now, yes? Her previous partner of five seconds has abandoned her, so she nods in agreement, feeling more at ease with him than that mean guy. Being the Maiden of Spring, the forest and its flowers whisper to her where the goal is, and so she uses this to guide them. He just thinks she’s really good with directions, and trusts her completely, boosting her poor confidence.

They make for a good pair, and to her worry, is paired back up with Renari and a very bubbly, excitable girl. The fox is incredibly mean to her, whereas Una is superbly nice.

When they train as a team, Renari belittles her, scoffing at her incompetence and that she shouldn’t be here. Her existence generally pisses him off, even though she is kind and tries too much to be helpful. It’s not that he hates her personally, but rather that she is at an Academy to be a Huntress, but can’t even do the basics or knows anything at all. Una defends her, as he’s being really mean to her regardless if she...isn’t as good a fighter. There’s an incident in a training simulation that reminds her of Hana’s last moments, and Gwenna straight up panics and flees the room. Renari has had enough and lets it be known, and Sven informs him that he’s just as bad. He’s not helping at all. Teammates help another, and he’s been nothing but an ass to this girl.

Sven finds her and has her breath to calm down. Her immediate words are that she’s sorry about what happened, as Una had been in peril, to which he replies that she’ll be okay. He’s here for her. She wants to be here, wants to be a Huntress, but never learned how to use her weapons, and she can’t talk much about her past without crying again. So. Sven chooses to focus on that, offering to teach her how to use the tonfa guns.

With the much needed one-on-one time, Gwenna learns. Her semblance kicks in, and she’s actually a pretty good shot. If she can see her target, she can hit it. Also her teammates if she gets distracted and they end up in her vision. It requires concentration and lots of breathing to keep calm and focused. Gwenna also picks up on self-defense, able to defend some attacks with the tonfa. If Sven is unavailable, Renari takes over training. It’s good practice for her, as he can mimic about any weapon, adding to her range of how to deflect attacks. Though he’s not about to give up his grumpiness, he does admit that she’s improved. He’s not as much of an ass.

Misc. Facts: Una uses Gwenna to win prizes at the Festival. Anything involving shooting a moving target. Gwenna does a lot of shopping for supplies on her own, as she doesn’t want to be a bother to the others. She has frequent nightmares about Hana and those minions finding her. Flowers always perk up around her, reading her moods. Ren is lowkey jealous that the plants in her room are livelier than his. Conveniently, her eyes flash green when no one is looking, and she panics whenever someone mentions them, though they’re referring to her semblance. They’re violet! Always have been! During the Festival, she had recorded messages for her team and Ardi on her scroll, as she knew she wouldn’t be able to say goodbye directly. However, Beacon falls and they find her scroll, but no Gwenna. Where has she gone?