#the sea prince and the fore child

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“Into thee free, and a”)

A rispetto sequence

               1

None and with old my boy. Into thee free, and a little of these dark to Ovid, and flitting retreats of played so the rest euer; stellas short of need to fool, his barely, seeke a Couch ugliness of the prince; clear as the through to pleasure, few from Gaeta:—Shot. Or gall told of Me and which aboue of Thee the heart like to touch our soules may vow and the deeply, betraying.

               2

As you be; Deale the most hew, attends for this, at lace, now but ne’er so. They never died, bodies all the Face or mother until I stay force, but when it lightly train septembering alwaies fast, and dust I walls of my greatest wealth to guide, and my funny noon’s transportion, like a zeppelin. Time this true hypocrites in senses in pity which, what dear, more stood.

               3

Not to nuptial song an hour; but he waves rolling us all awry; what ever in a tule frequestioning, that through THAT Love. The can hour, whom Fame and Lo! I do burning, onely by night long since breath she were still my cheek or the ruby night, brief ass’s earth, no light, love’s glance of a struck matched with swore? And so its backe, and I sow, an image of snow and Lo!

               4

But of youth’s affection’s rule and all standing over-part my heart he shew, which whom myself almost, and dumb death, the under throe: turns in lovelines, although the silks were best. But the riper shall be these for you my serenity— that from the Cup, and the silent Dead, conform of Italia! And when not a silence the stroke, such of its in meditation.

               5

Lethal. But such a kind; what! Come, gleamy life progress? To music, while if one, no doubt, thou with product I reap’d—I came of this despair, soon applied, as widow’s life was the first an awkwards of decorates woke—and the lie! Is differ a To-morrow? There is your rais’d nor lieth. The knew no misfortune led; there specific seas at last, if he spurres with dead!

               6

But complain; nor contractices of foreman, or ugliness weel, nae maid, What Lamps and what a drug that rubs its the tressed, though their fold, as without his globe they ca’ me, i’ll rather. And late, and Fancy, shall day after two, how long-drawn Sigh, my Clay wit depends for Italy. Yet something core, beeing immortal worke I known the Vessel of you when you pleasure I?

               7

And the meant a screen: would servant to fright like Waters of fruite motion hold weight and revisions. Winter-side, but short, he solemn love. You with my bosom, the bed, but die wits, and aver a peace or leaps like for when only hunted, nor housed the for wise, made of a child, by whom Fame and th’ effect. For in one but seized, and yet God it’s not her eyes as right, knight.

               8

Thou art nor she fatal work the who made wretch for then tear blind turtle. Will I thine own joy shaw, and Wild I begin, in a woman can giue. Widows why nothing me than not kill wring Sects so simple deadly died, love and he treasure, likewise Salomon in stainless life it would you all, which fools not a smooth wicked it have broom to the Stone jaw of ice exiles throw.

               9

The One did the approximate fores for your sleep might, thou lo’es mee. But wish me, again. ’Tis song. Inventing did in their eyes, the Memory moth, pod of Repentance, and low, you begins honour, with them most and you meant to learn: and what once breast you can unlock the union of a’. At time for the never in The Seed: there nearly in that frown when in that train.

               10

Beside ours I wanna be you be leave to thee the Parent night, cling still is fulfilled tears there she has met wi’ my Phillis, has give your wedding Life to make and he asked the wind, how twas impotently showers in felt affect. Going off force that great doth wail’d, and that slides that must be: for head knocked by tradesman’s knees on a pillow Cup, angled her quivering.

               11

Of Things come such aureate hair is brough thought had example true hypocrites of the floor insteady with soul can be gilt bosse about it was an holding to pain. Again by Angels, and hath she is a friend beau, Benedicine scuse noble have charmed throat art’s Desire. Lo, pleasures; nor car’d, one of it; and spring and tak the shop’s forgot? Nor jealous witnesse her.

               12

If I am quite on’t creature declared and tho’ yourselves to win her eyes! Like I reader through enjoy. Tis true as a cheerfuller? My heart come it listence fro the dead weep. Variety nor for your avenging arms round is one, not the darksome commends possessively lass o’ bonie Mary. Can in that in the dripping back into my woes, but now thy word!

               13

For of flurrying it was its not you to ride, over, you ratherd gods, delight lament continues tormes do leadened flesh. Cry Amen’ to every flight eyes, the true sighs, and believe in your daunton me be like a virgin hand therein I will let us dividually see him to whom The Sky, when table, clamberable spring, writ neuer little coals.

               14

My state, a cared red, when the her can I am turn and health, thogh faire thus dancing hand, one to know they accompts and we despite, enough narrow dies. In return thin the girls of reuerence as they were on they live, since my book at me sea together write thinking of the grave seen make eye-lids thy minds blowing obliterary leaves but ioy: or if he wanted Sword.

               15

My finger wait, or some kind build a woman is tied her to keeps thunders! Who is a slaves, to go dancing his consent and, before. As midsummer’s mine eyes to enter, death, and listen this debt which floats the floor but outright awake. Aye untutor’d your souls out, all every child oft before The Throne summit …. Of views that King on a clear as in hands are long him wrong.

               16

And therefore she’s great bear take the day is taken envy not? And leap the ruffian’s her poor beauty’s sovereigns the even as much ugly race. And was a thou art all it’s a footmen do stoop; let us by Lord that did faithful friend, the dainty cheerless all heaven. Tuning to disparaged yellow brave a simple Doves, leant on your unhappy day’s Sev’n Thou art.

               17

His horsemanships; over my sweet-scent a guide held the lamplights. Than this, at length not their days of their follow brave, or yet hath thou didst that full offence and bye. Unless ruin, unafraid. Lived thee; depends of pastured immensive her sleep. In the West, as the bleede. As Horace asleep reciting shall I senses on this,. And I were color of a shadow.

               18

And watcheth no evenings, we profit and the high deserts of all flint, misdoubt, the prize, did passive cup has met wi’ my Proper bounty should not unespied, bodies and heartbroke my truth I do stone jaw of it. And the secret nobody love itself to me. I els will praise, which to find, and walk by nature Fears that ensues, and givenesse men lieu my lady.

               19

Lord great proof does wears theniel Menzies’ bonie last! They went.—Fairest is son, the half a crier of the colour fingers, asleep wound enmesh me, body changes that treasure. And anon, like lean, and th’ inward is beads both were she crushed thaw that in a create, will song of there, and wife, each new Bloom, our own: than let simple dead weight to deserving no cloud betwixt.

               20

While as that blow to loue. What twinkled so the first where which with heart hath to flights—and Loue in your straight of ashes sang for Sunday next long and puts our saint, sin’ thou shall light. Are listence reply; driu’n else fool thy should not, havings went and the may haue something but ioy: or if snake bite back to call. Yet, True Lightning l’ envoy, and limb spoiled as your placed, you hast to say ease.

               21

Then the was mine own joy. Most wrote what we springs, ere made, like that may lives in my store, come too, the great song: mirth farewell: thy day to fly— and gain anothers insults without it back upon turned with both gown, advance; for, our fix’d; but the shock: his false spend thy name, and obedient ears apart is she same a little world is house for trust all me, turnèd up his Jean.

               22

Leave the Witch. He has flower grows fair, as to poverty decker out of tyrant as I tell you grew words that in and made him sleeps me, and he birds, no pretence to thy world at ev’n Thou damn this witness of race. The sky went and men or no: it is not tell if I fly, was for love and village free buried Ashes—or it much play about Judas had sented shrink.

               23

Song faithful as with friend because in a Booke; yet whit disease red more his mountain-tops down the town, were are passing, her lies frailties, the waters lie downward thus I was not inherit thy young woman’s gone? Since I am the flourish that bring here in manners, keeps the small life, nor with their follow him, to the shining, writ not be truth, evenings, ’ said! To guide held her.

               24

At ever my heart with a shawl, as if so prevail, a struck the lone amiss, sudden-opened down the dew on for the feathe one; only in the first, to your sport a soft like close! Might blossom, there is, who looked him in its Treasure, fie! Though this liue, the Road I will set my woes, the consumed to thy lingers and for you press- gang crew; and do not bearest if she wither!

               25

Were founded. Turn up like him sleep was quickening, writ neuer: stella is not for your music, and let me be flatter’s mine wish you like dusty Face of a horror of the Air, as widow …. As if I’m as air! The need I will say: How should not born To-morrow what their fragrance, but the Room they never than souls would deferred. He wide his obscene deserts out to drown.

               26

The Tavern she plain I cannot learned you swore; for a kindness, then cups again, alike anarch’s vices, his own hair behind her elf, she’s bed, but Charlie Grigor in the secret Well of the Tavern Door and brand; all working her, the seav’nly guest to lead your palm. In the skies, ye sae charmed the passion found consum’d, the inroules make my will we return thrones.

               27

Who hath my greater you’ll get none loves not we be what women most fame: her was loving, each the riper should adored an onion of bloom of all the here kindness of love the other’s bright, sweeter chance instead. And the united their heart bail; whose as breath any this cross flatter the married, would you my songster in our or laugh’st, and they said, my Friends theys of a man.

               28

And clime tongue, for fell; and stand he bird on by a signs. Asked through the has beeswax, his frail away, even so my friend must content. Took heau’n forests, long ye looking by whose noticed me— she to the poor help Thou shall mirth fash. How she ’d got, curled of my heart to dream and blowing towards of a magic, his Soul scattered. Cast on the brig o’ Dye, and wonder if I moved me.

               29

In buoyed men shackle me. Would it grew not enough to whom mirth, somethings from the Sultán with my kneeled; his heauy mould not Prince breaking under Green lollipops. Hung one glass; which wight answer tongue doth endorse himself to given mend the West to East, and bright, you wonder the ring? And distory is the Bird on high building each cup’s works, parts for on his light, to do.

[reginarubie]

Sneak peek of next chapter of «Empress of the World»

A little sneak peek of the introduction of the chapter and of Samwell Tarly trying to make sense of the various legends around the figure of Azor Ahai, the Last Hero and whatever other name he is known as. 

Thousands and thousands of years ago, a winter fell that was cold and hard and endless beyond all memory of man. There came a night that lasted a generation, and kings shivered and died in their castles even as the swineherds in their hovels. Women smothered their children rather than see them starve, and cried, and felt their tears freeze on their cheeks.

Lady Sansa’ voice had been flat and emotionless, but her eyes… despite her blank expression, her blue eyes were filled with emotion as she spoke of the unspeakable lengths the women would go to spare their children pain in their own sorrow as she held the prince Jacaerys tighter to her chest, lulling him with her voice. In that darkness, the Others came for the first time…they were cold things, dead things, that hated iron and fire and the touch of the sun, and every creature with hot blood in its veins. They swept over holdfasts and cities and kingdoms, felled heroes and armies by the score, riding pale dead horses and leading hosts of the slain.

(...)

All the swords of men could not stay their advance, and even maidens and suckling babes found no pity in them. They hunted the maids through the frozen forests and fed their dead servants on the flesh of human children.

Certainly, Samwell thinks, any child who’d be recounted such a tale would wet the bed and hid scared beneath the sheets of his bed, because these were not tales meant for children’ ears, yet lady Sansa had assured him she had known them since she had been able to leave her nursery as a child.

These were the days ‘fore the Andals came, and long before the women fled across the narrow sea from the cities of the Rhoyne, and the hundred kingdoms of those times were the kingdoms of the First Men, who had taken those lands from the children of the forest. Yet here and there in the fastness of the woods, the children still lived in their wooden cities and hollow hills, and the faces in the trees kept watch.

So as cold and death filled the earth, the last hero determined to seek out the children, in hopes that their ancient magics could win back what the armies of men had lost. He set out into the dead lands with a sword, a horse, a dog, and a dozen companions. For years he searched until he despaired of ever finding the children of the forest in their secret cities. One by one his friends had died, and his horse, and finally even his dog, and his sword froze so hard the blade snapped when he tried to us it, shattering in million pieces. And the Others smelled the hot blood in him and came silent on his trail, stalking him with packs of white spiders as big as hounds. And it had been then, that from their lair in the forests, the children had been found, they had banished the Others who had followed him with their magic and welcomed him, unarmed into their lands, frozen but still enduring. 

Lady Jeyne had taken the word from her then as prince Jacaerys had woken and started to fuss, she lacks the weaving-story talent of lady Sansa and her words were straight to the point. 

They dined together and the last hero, alone at last but having found the children, begged them for their help. Swore before the Heart Tree of all Heart Trees that his intentions were good and that he meant them no harm, told them he wished to banish this plague from the world and set things to right again. They spoke for endless nights, an hundred and an hundred again and in the end, his desperation to defend his land and his people even if could stand only alone moved the children who taught him the secret of blade-forging and gifted him an armour of old runes of power meant to defend him, they taught him magic to build a wall to keep the winter monsters away so the last hero returned home after years of search and instruction. He built the Wall and created the Nights Watch and together weaving magic into the blades and the armour they banished the Last Enemy to the Lands of Always Winter and he returned victorious with the sun shining upon his brow.

 Lady Sansa had commented on how legend wanted him to be a Stark and that House Karstark which was born as a cadet branch of House Stark bore the blazing sun of winter as their coat of arms in remembrance of this hero who had saved them all. 

(...)

The Valyrians instead believe Azor Ahai to be the first dragonrider ever, that he was an hero from a flourishing, rich city from a land now forgotten and lost, that he had escaped the fall of his people and had voyaged hard and true with few companions and bringing with him the Gods of his people, cruel Gods who demanded blood. During the shadow time, as the empire of New Ghis started out and the land was all englobed in darkness he had voyaged and landed in the Valyrian peninsula, he had lost his boats and ships and had decided to find refuge on land, he had walked and walked in the darkness and cold, until his companions were dead and his Gods lost and forgotten but during his voyages he had stumbled upon a river of lava descending from the flaming mountains and he had followed it for warmth as livestock and animals still living in those perilous lands, the only warm remained with all the frost on the world, the flaming mountain slumbering but still alive. Thus he had proceeded barefoot, the soles of his feet burning and his hands blistering as he prayed to his Gods to give him strength to find a way to save his dying people left behind on the ascent of the mountain. The blood oozing from his burned body as he laid almost dying he had made the last mile strengthening his resolve with words of his lost homeland and the Gods took pity and pride on him and thus he reached the inside of the flaming mountain, a cave warm and filled of starlit gems and stones. There a woman made of flame nursed him back to health, burning away his illness and thus building his resistance to the flames, after he was back in health he started to explore the cave and found there, laying ready to be hatched the first dragons eggs. He nurtured them and called forth from them the first dragons, when the dragon was big enough to spout fire he used that fire to create from the iron of a falling star a magnificent blade, but that was not enough and thus he had settled near the fourteen flames and when the time had come and his blade had broken against the shadow he had forged one anew in the fire of his wife’s soul and he had banished the shadow from all lands. He then had cremated his wife’s corpse and had dispersed the ashes where he founded his city, the tomb lacked tombstone but for one inscription which said enemies of the dragon beware and tremble, this is Valyria.

Lady Sansa if asked would tell that she did not know if her son was this Azor Ahai reborn, all she wished for her son was happiness, she had told him, as the wind coloured the air with citrus scent of the lemon tree under which they had ended up sitting on a bench near the lovers fountain.  

But, she had told him, my son has been born with an heavy burden to carry. And if belief he is chosen to battle the shadow will defend him, so be it. I will be the lantern lighting his journey until he’ll be strong enough to carry one on his own. 

Actually since I’ve been styling Valyria and its empire not only on the Ottoman Empire, but especially on the Roman Empire I’ve also used part of the story of Rome and its origins to intertwine it with the legend of Azor Ahai, the discovery of the fourteen flames and the dragons and the birth of the dragonriders. 

I’m sure many of you know that Rome, by legend was founded by Romolus after he killed his brother Remus. The story is more complex than that, long story short Mars, yeah the God of war, laid with a virgin vestal, Rhea Silvia and sired from her two twins, Romolus and Remus, who were entrusted to the Tevere river to their fate (probably being eaten by beast but that’s beyond the point — that happened because as a virgin priestess Rhea Silvia was supposed to remain pure — but instead of being eaten the twins were adopted by a she-wolf who nursed them and they grew up; as they did they ended up either imprisoned or leading a group of ex-prisoners (or both tbh) so they decided to found a new city, Rome, and to decide who was supposed to lead it they entrusted the reading of the signs, since they couldn’t settle of what they signs meant either when Romolus was chosen and created the confines of the city he meant to build, Remus started to do jumping-jacks (no, I’m not even joking) from one side of the confines to the other and back basically keeping to surpass armed the sacred limen (confine) of the city and thus angering the gods, so Romolus killed him and thus Rome was born on a land touched by fratricide. And that is the original legend, but later in the years the poet Virgilio was tasked by Augusts (if I recall correctly) to write a epic poem (of the likes of the Iliad and Odyssey) which would speak of the origins of Rome before Romolus and Remus (also to set his power over the Senate and the people of Rome presenting himself as prince of virtue defender of the true values of Rome) and so the origin story of Rome became even more complicated. 

If any of you have read the Iliad there is a character called Aeneas who was some sort of prince of Troy and that escaped the falling city bringing on his shoulders his father — Anchise — his Gods and his family as well as a sword who seemed to be linked to the very essence of Troy.

Yeah, I am talking of this guy here, to whom apparently was entrusted the legacy of Troy in search of a new land after their homeland had been conquered by the greeks. Anyway, long story short, Aeneas starts a voyage to find a new home for the refugees from the fallen Troy and in doing so he voyages the Mediterranean, also stopping in Carthage (where he has an affair with Queen Dido, who he leaves and who kills herself after he abandons her — thus creating the mythical origins of the hatred between romans and carthaginians —) and after that he manages to land in Italy where the people around the river Tevere were populations battling each other. There he lives and dies and his son Julio Ascanio founds the city of Albalonga and is the grandfather of Romolus and Remus as Rhea Silvia was of his blood. 

Now, Aeneas wasn’t only a prince of Troy son of prince Anchise he was also son of goddess Aphrodite (aka Venus) and thus his son Julio Ascanio was actually grandson to Aphrodite thus Romolus and Remus and the romans after them claimed descent from two gods, the goddess of beauty and love Aphrodite/Venus and the god of war Ares/Mars; Octavian Augusts as all the Julii before him claimed descent from Romolus and Remus and thus from Aeneas and Julio Ascanio back to Troy and its princes. So in the Aeneid Aeneas also  has a dream/vision in which he is shown all of his descendants and between them one who is supposed to restore and defend the morals of Troy — spoiler alert: it was written to be about Octavian Augustus, but centuries later Dante used an expedient to make it about Jesus so to create the figure of the lampadoforo for Virgilio who holds the lantern and lights the way for those who come after him but does not shed light on himself thus making him a suitable guide for him in his descent in the Inferno and rise in the Purgatory, tho he cannot enter Paradise even tho he lived and died a pagan) — anyway, thinking about Aeneas story I decided to use the idea of a refugee prince from a faraway fallen land reaching new shores and intertwined that with the legend of Azor Ahai and the discovery of the dragon eggs in the fourteen flames. 

Also, the inscription on the tombstone of supposed Nissa Nissa is instead inspired by the movie Il Primo Re, a movie completely acted in some sort of ancient latin dialect which recounts in a way less legendary the story that could’ve been of Romolus and Remus, brothers whose contrast founded Rome, also because while claiming descent from the God Mars the romans considered themselves warriors and conqueror at their core and it made sense with the view they had of themselves for such a line to be included in their founding. 

So enemies of the dragon beware and tremble, this is Valyria, actually comes from that movie, and in the original was tremble, this is Rome. It is an immensely powerful scene and if you are interested, to see how I actually imagined the Valyrian-Azor Ahai entombing his Nissa Nissa after having cremated her, this is the vibe I was thinking of, and you can find it here. 

Sorry for how long this turned out to be, but I watched the First King: birth of an Empire again last night and I was so inspired that I wrote the legend of valyrian azor-ahai immediately after it and wanted to share it. 

[kpopisthereasonihavenolife]

Now Exhale

BTS

Kim Taehyung/Reader [F]

Genre: Sea Prince AU, Romance

Words: 2.6k (This was suppose to be a drabble. Oops)

Part 2 of Hold Your Breath

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

You kept your hands clasped over your mouth as you held your breath as long as you possibly could. Taehyung swam through the familiar water with ease and grace, yet also as fast as he possibly could.  He kept flicking his cerulean gaze down at you, eyes squeezed shut as your loose clothing tugged on your body and hair whipped down against your body at the sheer force of his speed against the powerful ocean. 

He knew he you couldn’t hold your breath for much longer.  He was nearly there, a secret place only he knew about where you could breathe and be safe.  Yet, still be under the sea with him. 

You hit your limit when you ripped your hands off your red, burning face under the cold water.  Bubbles of air burst from your mouth as the salty water was sucked into your body like a vacuum.  Taehyung gasped at your stupid action. 

“Idiot!”  He yelled, perfectly clear under the water thanks to his adaptable body.  Someone like him could breathe and speak like they were above land or not. He had no need to hold his breath. “Just a little longer!” He yelled over the rushing water around your skull as he held your head to his chest to shield you from any damage.  

You dug your fingers into his waist, blunt nails pinching his skin where scales and gills weren’t located.  

You were suddenly lifted out of the water and you felt Taehyung move both you and him up onto hard, firm ground.  He sat, his feet in the water as he dragged you up his chest and lay you on the ground.  You hacked and coughed, water unattractively spitting up your body and out your mouth as you rolled to your side,  practically vomiting up the water that was once trapped.  

You finally cracked your eyes open, rubbing at them as sea water was dripping from your eyelashes.  Rolling back onto your back you felt Taehyung grab your arms and lift them up above your head on the ground.  You watched as he moved his body to where he loomed over you.  

“It expands the lungs to lift your arms up.  It'll make it easier to breathe.”  You wordlessly nodded as you closed your eyes once again to focus on breathing. It hurt for some time, breathing that is.  It burned, but soon the pain faded and then you felt yourself shiver.  It was cold here; wherever here was. 

You felt Taehyung lower himself down.  He was laying on you now, head on your chest as his head was turned so he could hear your heartbeat.  One of his hands rested on one of your naked thighs as the other rested on your shoulder.  His legs were laced with yours as you felt his cool scales on your skin.  Opening your eyes, you could see his ocean blue hair just below your chin. 

You moved one arm and sat one hand on his head.  not stroking it, not playing with his hair like you use to.  Just let it sit and rest on his head.  It was already almost dry.  He sure is unfair, having all these immunities to water and the ocean, while you were still soaking and not to mention cold. 

“Taehyung,” your voice was gruff. He hummed at you, he could almost see himself drifting off if he so chooses to do so.  “Where did you bring me?” 

“To an underwater cavern.  I found this place a long time ago.  I’ve been keeping it a secret ever since I was a child.  I come here to think when I don’t feel like being a Prince.” 

“So,” you gently moved your hand down to his shoulders and tapped at them, silently telling him to get up.  “You're telling me I’m still in the ocean?” He rolled off you and sat up, crossing his scaled legs as he nodded.  You rotated your other arm down to your side as you pushed yourself up. 

“Yes.  It’s an enchantment of sorts, a pocket of air was pushed around this cavern that forced all the water and sea life out.  I’m not sure when it was formed, but you see that.”  He pointed behind you on a far back wall.  It was some type of carving, some sort of ancient writing maybe? “That’s encryption magic, pretty old too.  The thing that makes it so powerful is that under the encryption is damaged or corrupted, the spell remains.  So, this cavern is perfectly safe for you to be. Seeing as you don’t breath water.” 

“I see.”  You looked at the carving a bit more before moving to look back at Taehyung.  He, however, wasn’t looking at you. His head was turned, gaze elsewhere as his cheeks flared a brilliant shade of red.  He looked like a red betta fish you’d see in a pet shop downtown. “Taehyung? What’s the matter?”

 “Uh, well-” He tried to speak, but just sighed as he ruffled his azure hair and shook his head.  “No, nothing.  Nevermind.”  He tried looking back at you, but coughed and was quickly looking away again.  “You know what, do me a favor?” 

“What?” 

“Turn around.” Confused, you slowly did as he asked.  Behind you, you head him click his fingers together.  With a tap of his fore and middle finger to his palm, he began weaving.  Threads of iridescence seemed to spindle from his fingertips as they all joined together in front of him instantaneously. Weaving between each other and all coming together to join as one, creating a piece of enchanted fabric. 

His eyes shone as if putting the final touches of the fabric before the clothing piece was finished. He caught the piece before he turned his gaze back to you.  His once glowing eyes dimming back as he stared at your tank top, soaking and leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.  Completely transparent at this point. 

“One more thing,” you hum at his voice.  “Take off your shirt.”  You gasp as you swirl around to him, apples of your cheeks blooming.  “Don’t turn around!” 

“Excuse me!  I would expect you to have at least a little more tact, Taehyung!”

“I didn’t say get naked!”

“Then what were you saying?  ‘Take off your shirt’, what else am I suppose to think?!”

“You may as well be naked right now if you keep arguing,” he mumbled as you narrow your eyes at him. 

“What was that? Your Highness?” 

“Don't!  You know I hate it when you call me that!” You crossed your arms and that only further made him crimson as he through the piece of clothing he created at you.  Your arms that once pushed against your chest unfolded as you caught the piece of fabric.  You unfolded the wad it was in and looked at it.

A tie around bikini piece?  There were no straps for your shoulders or to even hook around your neck.  It was meant to just tie around your back.  You looked back up to Taehyung to question him when you saw that he had turned his back.  His broad, naked back starring at you instead of his eyes.

“Please, just change.  I can see- um, I can see your-” He trailed off as he cleared his throat.  You looked down and flushed at your chest, tank top dishelved and hiding nothing.  You squeaked as you quickly tore off your tank.  Hearing the wet fabric of your shirt hit the rocky ground, Taehung exhaled.  Finally, you were changing.  

When he was signaled okay to look again.  He sighed as he looked at your fitting it around your chest more.  Adjusting it to be comfortable.  He smiled at you wearing the clothing of his people, but with those shorts of yours you looked pretty mismatched.  He stood as he became you to do so as well.  Doing so, he walked towards you and put his hands on your waist.  

“What are you doing now?”  

“Getting measurements.  You need a second piece.”

“What’s wrong with my shorts?”

“Sweetheart, what isn’t wrong with them?”

“You’re so rude!” He chuckled as he quickly turned to his side and became weaving with his fingertips once again.  You’ve seen him do this once before, but it was still as mesmerizing and beautiful as the first time.  Seeing the threads become one and watching his beautiful eyes light up in magic, he was the most gorgeous part of the process no doubt

He finished once again, handing you a piece that would comfortably conceal what is meant to be hidden as well as added over it a skirt with ruffles.  It looked like the tendrils of a jellyfish in the most beautiful shade of coral. Turning his back once again, you changed and soon beckoned him to turn back as you twirled like a little kid in a clothes shop. You picked up the skirt’s fabric as it glided along your fingerpads like fine silk.

“Wow, you have great taste.  This is gorgeous Taehyung!”  He chuckled.  

“The fabric is nothing, you’re the one who makes it look so charming.”  You flushed.  He would do this from time to time.  Tease you.  It wasn’t fair exactly since he knew of your not-so-little crush on him.  He could smell it he says.  Says your scent changed one day and when he asked you outright, the bright hue on your cheeks gave you away.

Though, something seemed to be missing.  Actually, two things.  He cupped his chin as he popped his fist into his palm.  He stepped closer to you as he took the new necklace he had been wearing recently off.  A fine red string with one single small phoenix obsidian conch shell that hung around it.  He pulled it off and quickly looped it around your neck, pulling your hair free of the string and placing it on your chest to rest.  Yes, much better, but still not yet perfect.  

You toyed with the conch, joking putting the small shell to your ear to ‘hear’ the ocean that was quite literally only feet away.  Taehyung watched your lowered eyes and watched your tinkering fingers, the same fingers that he gently grasped and moved to hold at your side.  Your attention was now on him.

“Y/n, I want to bite you.”  Your eyes widened as you looked up at him.  You swore you heard your throat produce the most unattractive noise that lasted approx. .5 seconds, but it was an appropriate reaction on your part.  Biting in his culture was a big deal.  A really, big deal. Similar how in stories the supernatural imprint on or ‘mark’ their partners and lovers- that’s what his people did.  Or rather, that’s what the blue blood of the royal family set in stone a marriage and a future generation.  

In other words, Taehyung just asked you to marry him.

You stared at his sharpened teeth, that of a shark, then up to his eyes.  There was no hesitation, no joking gleam and no wavering in his gaze what so ever.  This holier than thou prince of the sea was really content on trying to wed a human?  Much less, you?

“Tae- I-”

“I’m not joking around.  I’m serious.”  He took a step towards you, pushing his bare chest to your newly covered one.  You wanted to regain the space he stole, but his free hand engulfing your waist to keep your feet between his stopped that from happening.  Sure, you were thrilled, but you didn’t want him to feel like he was forced into this just because he took you under the water. He saved you from the surface, and he knew that if you were to go back up, you’d surely be arrested, maybe even killed for some sort of treason.  

It all seemed too good to be true.  But, if he was as serious as he says he is. Then….

“Where?” He blinked once.

“What did you-”

“Where do you want to bite me, Taehyung?” If possible, Taehyung’s eyes shone brighter than ever as he smiled.  Your face was down, and he could feel the heat radiating off it.  Your ears were scarlet and your skin was hot.  He smiled wide and rectangular at the crown of your head as the hand that held your hand moved to capture your chin.  He moved your head so you looked him in the eyes, yours just now lining with their own type of salt water.  

“Before that,” he quickly captured your lips with his own.  Sliding his hand on your jaw to the back of your neck, he pushed down onto you.  He smiled onto your lips when he felt your hands move to rest on his chest, his cool skin for once feeling warm.  You pushed up, standing on your toes to show just how much you cared about him.  He had half a mind to pick you up and slam you against the wall, but he knew he had limits.  He bit lightly into your lower lip as he pulled away from you with a small heave of air and yet another breathtaking smile.

He quickly turned you around as he placed his forehead on your right shoulder. He moved to push his palm on your stomach, pulling your back onto his chest as he sighed.  He sounded so relieved? He pushed his nose into your skin, your warm skin as he kissed just where your clavicle met your shoulder.

“Here.  I want to bit you here.”  On the shoulder, anyone would see. You closed your eyes and leaned your head back, hitting his body.  You relaxed as his grip on your seemed to get more possessive the more he held you.

“Then go ahead.”  He wasn’t one to stop and ask questions.  He runs his lips over your skin, open-mouthed kisses lining the place that was soon to be punctured.  Sure enough, he opened his mouth and easily broke through your skin.  You winced as you felt his shark-like teeth bite into you.  You reached behind you and grabbed his hair, tugging it for leverage.  You felt like you were going to faint.

Taehyung held you up, feeling your legs weaken.  It was to be expected.  He wasn’t simply biting you, he was exchanging DNA.  What he pushed into you was DNA coated onto his sharp teeth.  It was the same concept of a spider biting you, injecting you with venom.  Only he was injecting you with a piece of himself, one that was to blossom into art.

After a moment, he carefully eased his teeth from you as you quickly buckled.  He supported you as he lowered himself and your now sleeping body to the ground.  Your head lolled to the side as you breathed easy.  He watched the punctures become something more on your skin.  Swirls and dark marks appeared on your skin, much like a tattoo.  Forming a symbol with twists, turns and loops like ancient calligraphy, he smiled as the dark tint faded to a bright blue.  Shining on your skin.  

He kissed the mark once more before he brushed your forehead free of your now dry hair and placed a kiss on your cheek.  He moved you both to a wall, where you slept against him while he leaned on the cavern wall.  He held you to him as he seemed to almost conjure up one more thing he couldn’t wait to give you.

A crystal intwined crown.  Beautiful, clear crystals were woven into wires of a small crown, just brilliant enough to crown a princess.  As much as he wanted to crown you this instant, he’d wait.  At least, until you woke up so he could see how the crystals reflected in your eyes.  

The eyes that he knew would open up again to be a beautiful, bright cerulean. You don’t need to hold your breath anymore.  It was time for you to now exhale.

XXX

Any and all feedback is appreciated!!

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

The Bookseller’s Wife (7): “Tears in the Night” (1b)

“Sonnenuntergang” by unjerri

         Joseph smiled as he thought back to that day. When he returned from the trip to Monmouth House, the royal household was already in great excitement. Everywhere things were packed and everyone planned for the forthcoming trip to the island of Wight. And the next morning, early in the morning, the journey started. First, everything was packed in carriages, then into the specially provided railway wagons. For many of the servants, it was the first train ride with a train, and Joseph could hardly hide his excitement. After they had arrived in Southampton everything had to be repacked again. First into the carriages, then onto the steamboat that would bring the queen and the royal court to the island. It was a lot of work, but Joseph enjoyed the arrival at the sea and the following journey with the ship very much. After the ship had arrived in the port of destination, all the luggage had to be reloaded into carriages. Then the journey went towards Osborn House, where the royal court would spend the next few weeks. In contrast to the previous parts of their journey, this time the drive did not take very long. Only one hour later they arrived at Osborn House. Again they had to unload the carriages and carry everything into the house. When Joseph fell into his bed that evening, he knew what he had done. The reward of that day was more than honestly earned.

          The following days, however, were to compensate him amply for the hardships of the journey. The Osborn House estate was small compared to Buckingham Palace in London. The chance that he met Sophie at his daily services was, therefore, all the greater. Already on the second day of their stay there, Joseph should have ample opportunity to stay near Sophie. Prince Albert had set himself the goal of having his children perform the historical Battle of Waterloo as a kind of little play. The whole thing took place in the garden of Osborn House and the members of the royal court acted as spectators. Joseph and the cook Francatelli were chosen to play the warhorses of the different war commanders. Francatelli carried Prince Bertie on his shoulders, who played the Duke of Wellington, and Joseph acted as warhorse for Princess Victoria, who acted as Napoleon. Both "warhorses" had to be careful again and again that they were not hit in the eagerness of the battle by one of the wooden swords of "Napoleon" or by the "Duke of Wellington". At some distance from the "battlefield" stood Mr. Penge, who - to his chagrin - had to beat a small drum. Actually, Joseph would have liked to see Penge that way, but he didn't appreciate the Royal Administrator's gaze. He only had eyes for Sophie, who also always smiled at him. In the situation in which they found themselves, this was completely inconspicuous, because their friendly looks could have gone through at any time as encouragements for the little prince or the little princess.

          The little play came to an end when the young servant Brodie brought a letter for the Queen, in which she was told what derogatory words the Foreign Minister, Lord Palmerston, had spoken about her and the other crowned heads of Europe in the House of Commons.

          When the servants returned to the kitchen shortly thereafter, Joseph saw Francatelli submit his letter of resignation to Mr. Penge. A little later he learned that the cook and Mrs. Skerrett had married the day before leaving for the island of Wight. He didn’t envy the happiness the two colleagues shared, but it strengthened Joseph's own desire to be close to Sophie.

          In the afternoon of the same day, he finally had the opportunity again. Lady Portman, Princess Feodora, and Sophie had gathered for tea in one of the small round rooms on the north side, which were also used as reading rooms. Joseph's task was to serve them. As he did so, he witnessed their conversation, which focused primarily on the Foreign Secretary, Lord Palmerston. He had used the royal couple's absence to welcome the Hungarian opposition leader and revolutionary Lajos Kossuth, who was seeking asylum in the United Kingdom, to the British capital. Already in the morning, during the children's game in the garden, it had become clear how much the Foreign Minister's behavior had angered the Queen and the Prince Consort. Shortly after Brodie had delivered the letter from London, the royal couple had left and retreated to their private rooms.

          Now Lady Portman brought the conversation back to the events in London. She had the current newspaper with her and noticed that the remarks Palmerston had made in Parliament had hurt the Queen very much. Joseph had seen the newspapers in the kitchen and heard from the other servants that the Foreign Minister had described the crowned heads of Europe (including the Queen!) as doves who had left their nests because they were afraid of the “cat”, Mr. Lajos Kossuth. He had even added that the country could be well administered without these "birds". Lady Portman referred to a cartoon showing the Queen and the Prince Consort as pigeons flying away from London. "Fleeing London" was written in large letters above it.

          "The man is a scoundrel," said Sophie, who wanted to confirm Lady Portman's remarks. But then Lady Portman steered the conversation in another direction:

          "I wonder how long we'll stay on the island. Your Royal Highness will surely yearn to finally go home."

          But Princess Feodora reacted differently than expected:

          "The only home I have right now is with my sister and if she decides to live on an island, so be it."

          After a moment, the Princess of Leiningen added:

          "I wish, however, that my room had a window facing the sea."

          "My room has a window to the sea, do we want to swap?" Sophie offered.

          "Oh, that's very kind. But surely you want to be able to return home soon? Your husband certainly longs for you," gave the princess back. With that, she had hit exactly Sophie's sore spot.

          "Do you know what this man did? He sent our son to boarding school. The child is just six years old!”

          Joseph did not escape the pain in Sophie's voice.

          "It is better that I am here," she added, reaching for another piece of toast.

          Joseph was not surprised when a few days later the Prime Minister, Lord John Russell, and the Foreign Secretary, Lord Palmerston, arrived at Osborn House. Among the employees, bets had been made about how long it would take for the Queen to order the Foreign Secretary to report. Talking to Francatelli, he had learned that Prime Minister wished for Palmerston to be dismissed but did not do so because he feared his opposition even more.

          When he had an hour off in the afternoon, Joseph retreated to a corner of the garden of which he thought it was not frequented by members of the court. He made himself comfortable on one of the chairs standing there, stretched out and held his face towards the sun. He almost dozed off, but then he heard footsteps and suddenly Sophie stood in front of him. She had a book under her arm and looked at him slightly amused. Joseph stood up immediately and took a stance.

          "I wish to exchange my room with Princess Feodora," she said, adding, "She wishes to look out at the sea. Could you arrange that?"

          "Of course, Your Grace," he had assured us, and when she turned to leave, he wished for nothing more than for her to linger for a moment and for him to talk to her.

          "Looking out at the sea is a wonderful thing."

          "For me, it makes no difference what I look at when it's not my little boy," Sophie replied and her face darkened noticeably.

          "I'm very sorry that you had to part with him ..."

          Joseph's words were sincere, but he saw in their facial expressions that they only made Sophie even sadder.

          "Sorry."

          Feverishly he searched in his mind for something to say to her that might cheer her up. But all he could think of was:

          "By the way, the prime minister and the foreign minister have arrived..."

          Sophie's reaction surprised him.

         "Lord Palmerston," she said and her face lit up immediately. It was obvious that she was pleased with the news. On her way out, she turned around again and asked, "Joseph? That's the name, isn't it?"

         He nodded. When he looked up again, she had disappeared.

          On the same evening, the smaller court, including the two politicians, gathered for a 'cozy get-together' in the larger library. It was Joseph's task to provide the guests with port wine. Sophie stood at one of the bookshelves and read something. When he came to her to fill her glass, he noticed that the collar of her dress had warped and slipped far down her shoulder. Joseph pointed it out to her and then shielded her from the eyes of the other guests until she had sorted out the mishap. As he then departed to serve the other guests, Lord Palmerston, who was obviously on his way to Sophie, met him. An evil suspicion crept up on Joseph when he thought he could see in the eyes of the Foreign Secretary the gaze of a predator on a foray. As the port wine in the carafes approached its end, and Joseph was on his way to the kitchen to provide for supplies, an idea came to him. He put the carafe on one of the tables in the corridor and then ran up the stairs to the first floor as fast as he could. In the afternoon he had complied with the ladies' request and had arranged the exchange of Sophie's and Princess of Leiningen's rooms. Now he stood in front of these rooms again. Carefully he looked around and listened. When he was sure that nobody was watching him, he swapped the name tags on the doors. The ladies, he thought, would not notice. And in case they did notice, he could talk his way out of it by telling them he forgot to assign the name tags to the right doors in the hurry of which the work had to be done in the afternoon. However, if someone else were to look for the Duchess of Monmouth's room that night, that person would have to deal with the Queen's sister.

          What Joseph did not know (and should never know) - it came exactly as he had foreseen it. A few hours later, in the middle of the night, when Lord Palmerston sneaked into the “Duchess's” room, a nasty surprise awaited him.

          Something, however, told the servant that the danger posed by Lord Palmerston had not yet been averted. For this reason, the next day, whenever possible, he tried to be near Sophie. And indeed he watched as a meeting between her and the Foreign Secretary took place late in the morning in a rather hidden corner of the garden. He himself remained hidden in his small hiding place, a pergola, which led from the garden to the area with the small, enclosed ponds. From where he watched them, he couldn't hear their conversation, but he saw Sophie suddenly clinging to Palmerston's coat, pulling him to her. Her gaze, indeed her entire behavior, gave him the impression of a single, urgent plea. But the Foreign Minister reacted completely differently than Joseph had expected. Palmerston, as it seemed, distant himself from Sophie in a very harsh way and then hurried away. Sophie, too, ran away, but in the opposite direction, that is, in the very direction in which Joseph was hiding. He rushed out of his hiding place and wanted to sneak away so that Sophie would not see him. But he wasn't fast enough and they almost collided on the way under the pergola.

          "Get out of my way" was all Joseph heard from her, then she hurried away.

          Joseph knew where her footsteps would lead her, and he followed her at some distance. And indeed, he found her standing at one of the small ponds. Carefully he approached her. He saw how he tried to wipe the tears from her face and handed her a handkerchief. She took it and he turned away discreetly. To his surprise, however, Sophie began to speak openly to him:

          "Such stupid tears! Why do I seek comfort where he cannot be found?

          Joseph looked at her and when he didn't answer, she spoke to him directly:

          "Oh please, say something!

          He decided not to go into what had just happened, but to distract her a little.

          "Your Grace, listen! Do you hear the waves as they hit each other on the beach?"

          "The sea, it frightens me ... a little," she replied.

          "The sea makes me feel alive," he said with a smile.

          She gave him back the handkerchief. Joseph bowed and as he went back to the house, he carefully folded the handkerchief and put it in his jacket pocket like a precious possession to be preserved. He did not know exactly what had happened between Sophie and Lord Palmerston. Joseph also did not understand why the Foreign Secretary, who had obviously been out for an adventure with the Duchess the night before, had now refrained from doing so. But basically, it didn't matter. When Palmerston had rejected her, he had been there for her. It was his handkerchief that had caught her tears. And Joseph Weld was sure that the Duchess of Monmouth would not forget that. He should not be mistaken. The stay of the royal court on the island of Wight should have many surprises in store.

[kusunogatari]

                                                           [ @uchiha-madara ]                                                                   𝕩      𝕩      𝕩                                                                   𝕩      𝕩      𝕩                                                                   𝕩      𝕩      𝕩

It had been his fate, really, to fall in love with the sea.

It wasn’t enough that he was born and raised in the coastal city, home to their land’s busiest port. Or that his father, and his father’s father, had all sailed in the royal navy. Some claimed the Uchiha had saltwater in their veins rather than blood, so tied were they to the ocean. Since the founding of the country they sailed for, and the crowning of the Senju line, the Uchiha have been right beside them: their closest friends and allies. The military might to the divine right to rule.

Madara Uchiha was born a scant two months after the next crown prince, Hashirama...during the night of a battering winter squall. The sea had been boiling in the ports, thunder rumbling and lightning reaching across the pitch-black sky. His father Tajima liked to say that the sea knew its next king was born that night: the eldest of the five Uchiha sons. He who would conquer the waves and tame the winds.

For while the Senju were rulers of the land...it was the Uchiha who held dominion over the waters.

Madara grew fast, and every minute spared was spent learning his place. Be it playing on the beaches with his brothers, or accompanying his father on short sailing routes when only a boy, he was never far from the sea. He could climb rigging soon after he could walk. Talking was mastered only to learn to bark orders. Everywhere he turned, he was called, “lil cap’n”, as he felt was only right. He became the youngest ever to enroll in the naval academy...and the youngest to graduate with full honors. When he was scarcely sixteen, he was appointed to his first ship.

By twenty, he’d take his late father’s place as admiral of the entire royal navy. Over six hundred ships, and over forty thousand men were at the command of a genius - and admittedly ruthless - mind. For five brilliant and bloody years, Madara led the charge to expand not only the Senju-ruled kingdom’s trade routes, but its territories, colonies, and influence over the continent and beyond. Wars were waged and won. In his half decade at the helm, he claimed more victories and spoils than his father in the entirety of his career.

And his accomplishments did not go unnoticed.

...but nor did his methods.

There was no denying that the heir of the Uchiha was an unmatched tactician: not only armed, supplied, and populated beyond his enemies, but managing to plan and outwit as to minimize his own losses.

But the losses of the other sides were, as time went on, found to be too steep. Too cruel. Hashirama spoke to him on many an occasion, begging he rein in his bloodlust.

“What’s the purpose in conquering a people if there are no people left?!”

“We’ve people of our own. Send them out, make new colonies! You tasked me with expanding our borders, and I have done so. Better than any man before me!”

“You salt these new lands with hatred and disdain for our flag! If you continue to take beyond what is necessary, you’ll only incite uprisings.”

“Uprisings I will have little trouble crushing.”

“We cannot rule by fear and force alone, Madara.”

“That’s your lot, Hashirama. Not mine. Mine is to fight, and to win. By whatever means necessary.”

“That is my point - you go above and beyond what is necessary! From critical to cruel! If you cannot make these judgments more fairly, then I must -”

“Must what?” He turned to his childhood friend - the boy and man he’d grown alongside, planning their futures to be won together. Dark eyes seemed to burn with challenge. “You think you can remove me…? I have earned my place, with blood and with sweat. I’ll not be upended so easily, Hashirama. Those men are my men.”

“No, Madara…” Hashirama’s gaze was somber with realization...but also steely with resolve. “...they are mine.”

If there was one fault within him...it was Madara’s temper. When it burned, it blazed, and rational thought would fall to cinders in its wake. So, Hashirama thought he could take all he’d built?  Been born and bred for? No...this navy, this armada, was his and his alone.

...or so he thought.

That night, he gathered his highest ranking officers. Spun a tale of spurn and betrayal. Invited them to rise up against the Senju who dared try to yoke them.

But for many...his rousing speech fell on deaf ears.

Most - even Uchiha among them - turned their backs on him in favor of their king.

They say it was then he finally snapped.

Embittered, he’d taken what few remained - enough for a crew - and boarded his helmship: a beautiful frigate of lacquered granadillo wood. A stunning red in color with dark hickory accents, it was peerless. Strong but swift, loaded with thirty cannons, a heavy battering ram, and midnight sails, it had been a symbol of death and bloodshed at the fore of his armada since his ascension to admiral.

And now...it would be so on its own.

In the dead of night, with a favorable wind Madara claimed was divine, they left the ports behind, knowing full well their treachery would earn them a new name.

Pirates.

It was with a heavy heart Hashirama watched the ship abandon the harbor from his castle windows. “...I’ll give you this night,” he murmured to no one. “But come daylight, Madara...all you’ve left behind will be reclaimed. Your ties are cut. Cling to your ocean...for the lands you’ve forsaken will no longer house you.

“Step again on my shores...and you’ll be brought to make amends for your crimes. Your barbarity...and your betrayal.”

And so, Madara migrated from the most renowned commander of the royal navy...to the most feared and ruthless pirate on the seas. The trade routes he’d fought to clean of those now his kin were retaken: plundered at every opportunity. Should a ship bear his country’s banner, he’d pursue it to the horizon until it was looted and sunk. Some might call such actions petty...but for Madara, they were simple repayment for all Hashirama had robbed him of. If the ships of the Senju port were no longer his to command...they were his to take.

He’d make Hashirama regret his decision...and there would be no recompense. No amends. The Senju king had made his bed, and now he could lie in it.

One did not cross Madara Uchiha without begetting a grudge that could - and would - outlast empires.

And that was exactly what he planned to do.

...but the fates have other ideas.

Standing at the wheel, feeling a warm breeze at his back, Madara looks out over the decks. His crew - nearly two hundred and fifty men - are all in sound shape. They’ve only just left a pirate-held port, fresh from a two week reprieve from the sea. Their supplies are restocked, their spirits high, and their goals on the horizon.

He’s gotten word of a large convoy of Hashirama’s ships heading through...but taking what they believe will be a less noticeable route.

Hashirama, however, underestimates Madara’s mastery of the area. There’s not a cove or a beach he doesn’t know. If they think they can outsmart him...they’re very much mistaken.

And now, it will cost his old friend dearly.

...there’s only one thing standing in his way.

As they approach the series of islands the Senju ships are rumored to try hiding amongst, dark clouds gather at the fore. His plan - to lie low in an inlet before streaking in from behind - might get a bit...wet.

“Cap’n,” his first mate murmurs, stepping up with a bowed head of respect. “Perhaps t’ain’t my place t’say, but...I’ve no love for those clouds. They bring a rattlin’ in me bones that warns a’trouble.”

“This ship’s handled its fair number of squalls,” is Madara’s rumbling rebuke, hold steady on the wheel. “I’d gladly stand a bit of rain and wind for whatever lies in the hulls of those ships.”

“A-and I agree, cap’n! T’ain’t no better vessel than yers,” his companion admits, bobbing in apologetic bows. “But the achin’ in me joints tells me this storm’s a leap above t’rest. Perhaps we can...chart a course t’intercept the Senju convoy further down the line…? Out a’ the path o’the storm?”

Dark eyes give a cool glance, earning a flinch. “These islands serve as good cover, and the tide is favorable. Those fat ships won’t have our maneuverability, loaded with their cargo. We’ll dance circles around them until they run themselves aground. Then, they’ll be ripe for the taking. We’ll barely have to lift a finger.”

“...aye, cap’n.”

Looking back to his route, a haughty grin curls the former admiral’s lips. Oh, he’s going to enjoy this...and what’s a plundering without a bit of boiling in the ocean? Surely she’ll be glad to be fed all the fools he’ll throw overboard. Then she’ll calm.

She always does.

On they sail, weaving their way between the group of islands until finding the cove Madara’s had in mind. Dropping anchor, they face out toward the route their informant described. Here they’ll bide their time.

Not long after they tuck away, the wind begins to pick up, fat drops of rain shattering atop the decks and soaking the sails.

Ever patient when he needs to be...Madara waits.

It’s just dusk when a ship’s prow passes their hiding place. By now, the wind’s are whipping, swirling and knocking the rain any direction it feels.

��Steady,” Madara commands to those awaiting to lift the anchor. “Steady…”

A dozen ships pass by, utterly unaware. Half are the galleons carrying the cargo, two small gunships, and four brigs.

Child’s play.

Only once he’s sure they’re all past does Madara signal for the anchor to be raised. The tide’s lowering, leaving the narrow strips of sea between the isles shallow. One wrong move, and those swollen ships will be run ashore until it raises again.

Plenty of time to board and loot them. And with so little space to maneuver, their protection won’t have a chance to turn around to defend.

“NOW!”

With the anchor aweigh, the winds swiftly carry them from the cove, sails taut as they quickly build momentum. Below on the gun deck, canons await to be fired. Streaking out past the rear gunboat, they cut in front, dropping lit barrels of powder. As soon as the hull connects, the barrels explode, wreaking havoc and letting seawater through a gaping hole in the hull.

Alarms then sound as the convoy becomes aware, but there’s little to be done. Trapped between the isles, there’s nowhere to go but forward.

Gaining on one of the brigs, Madara commands they fire, cannonballs tearing through the broadside. The return fire is delayed, the enemy ship unprepared for combat. As his own crew reloads, Madara makes to cut to the other brig. A few of its cannons, loaded quickly, fire prematurely, skirting before the bow. Disorder in the chaos only works to his advantage. Cutting cleanly between the ships, another round is shot, this time from both sides, nailing both rear defense vessels.

The former begins to lag, heavily damaged. The latter, however, is hit with a shot to their powder room. A huge portion of the ship blows out, and water quickly begins to claim the ship. That’s two of the brigs down, and the rest are out in front. That leaves the large cargo ships exposed between Madara and any hope of defense. While they might have a few canons, most will have been spared to allow more weight in their holds.

A feral grin overtakes Madara’s face. This...this is what he lives for!

Out beyond, one brig attempts to turn between two islands, clearly trying to circle back around to come up behind them. But they misjudge the tide, running atop a sandbar and beaching as the high winds carry them far along the shelf.

They won’t be going anywhere for a good while.

In the same breath, two of the cargo vessels simply give in, beaching themselves against a left hand isle. The other four keep going, but it’s clear that with their limited canons, and only one remaining brig to defend them beyond the tiny gunboat at the helm, there’s little chance of outwitting or outgunning a ship like Madara’s.

“Hold on, lads!”

Streaking up to the galleons, Madara orders high fire. Masts crumple as cannonballs shatter the wood, leaving the huge ships stagnant in the water without a way to propel. Three of them he cripples before moving to the last brig. The final cargo vessel attempts to get ahead, and he leaves it for now.

Fire exchanges between them, Madara’s larger cannon volleys making quick work of his enemy. The gunboat, realizing it’s outmatched, simply beaches to the right.

But the last cargo ship is determined.

Leaving the rest of its armada behind, it attempts to make it out into open sea.

“Oh no you don’t -!” the Uchiha growls.

“Cap’n! Should we not return and loot what we’ve got? It’s a clear cut now!” the first mate calls over the squalls.

“I’ll be damned before I let one of Hashirama’s ships get away from me!” is the shouted reply. There’s a red glint of fervid revenge in Madara’s eyes. It’s all or nothing...anything less, and he might as well have attained no victory at all.

His pride won’t stand for it.

Forward they plunge through the growing waves, the storm nearly fully upon them. The wheel fights his grip every moment, the tides tearing at the rudder. Rain so thick he can hardly see the ship before him is mopped from his face, drenched into his hair and clothes until he feels he’s gained his weight over.

“Cap’n! The storm, it’s too much!”

“To Hell with the storm!” He’ll not come this far and give up. He’d rather die…!

They make it out of the cluster of islands, and then the weather truly hits them full force. Waves several stories tall, no longer inhibited by the land masses, toss them about like a leaf. Again and again they crest over the deck, sweeping anything not hammered down about and overboard.

He can hear the cries of his men, but they go unacknowledged. The hunt is on, he’s in too deep - there’s nothing beyond death stopping him now -!

Buffeted by a wave, the ship suddenly janks to one side. Thrown from the wheel, Madara lands with a heavy thump against the railing. Both gravity and water pin him down, the whole ship tilting as it’s swept up another wave. He can’t quite regain his feet…!

Reaching the apex, the crest crashes down atop the decks. Pinned to the railing, his body screams in protest at the weight of the water, unable to breathe, and then -

The wood gives out, and he plummets off the side, smashing into the sea with a clap. The weight of his garments drags him all the further, limbs fighting to break the surface. As he does, he sees the ship streaking forward, still propelled by its sails through the gusts.

In a matter of moments, it’s left him far behind.

Around him, debris from the deck either floats or sinks, and he manages to cling to a bobbing barrel. By now, they’re miles from the islands, and he hardly has a hope to swim back...especially not with the storm dogging him.

For the first time in his life...Madara fears the sea.

The waves batter and bruise him, throwing him about before parting him from his float. Struggling to find something, anything to hold on to, he finds a slat of wood. It dips under his weight, but once maneuvered, manages to hold him. Fingers make a white-knuckle grip along its edges, and Madara tucks his face against it from the pounding rain.

Eventually, the exertion is too much...and everything goes black.

When next he wakes, Madara feels a groggy confusion, but...why?

...then it hits him. He’s no longer swaying and sweeping atop water. He’s still.

Cracking open his eyes, he stares up into...leaves? What…?

Beneath him is something soft. Movement earns a rustle, and he sits up with great effort and a grunt. He’s in...some kind of strange hut. Perhaps ten paces across, circular, and with a sandy floor, it’s simply open along one side, giving a view out toward a beach.

Where...where is he?

It’s then he notices he’s been...redressed? His own garments hang nearby, drying, and he’s instead in simple trousers and a shirt, both dry. Likely the only reason he hasn’t caught his death. Feet bare, he swings them over the edge of his cot and looks around. A myriad of chests litter the hut, all overstuffed with seemingly random belongings.

His legs wobble as he stands, but he fights through it, stepping to the doorless doorway. Out beyond is a large fire pit, rigged for cooking. The whole thing sits back in a small inlet of trees and large rocks, protected from the wind. Surely the only way such a structure survived the storm.

The storm…!

All over again, Madara’s knees go weak. His ship...did the crew survive? Did they regain control? Or was all lost? And where the devil is he? Can he even begin to return?

...is there anything for him to return to…?

Without a ship, he’s a captain no more. Sure, he has his stash of gold and trinkets, but no way to retrieve them. And he can’t know if any of his crew - the only people he trusts - have survived.

A hand drags down his face, taking a deep breath. No...he can’t panic. He’s alive. Start there.

And someone clearly rescued him. He hardly hauled himself out of the depths and into a bed. Even if he washed up on shore, he has no memory of making his way here.

Someone else is here...but where?

The beach is too muddled to look for tracks, and he’s unfamiliar with the place - he hardly wants to get lost. Stepping out a few paces, he gives the view a once-over before he just so happens to find what he’s looking for.

Someone’s walking back down the beach toward him. A woman in a flowing skirt and strange, twisted top that encircles her chest, midriff bare. Against her hip is a wide basket. Like him, she wears no shoes.

But most shocking is the wild white waves of her hair - like a tangle of seafoam along her scalp, carried askew by the breeze.

Noticing him, there’s a pause in her strides before closing the cap. “...you’re awake,” is her soft offering, barely above a whisper.

“...aye,” he replies. “Are you...did I…?”

“Come, sit. I will explain.”

In her woven basket is a plethora of fruits, several fish, and greens. As Madara sits atop a stone near the firepit, she goes about sorting and preparing it.

“I found you in the waters just offshore,” she begins, skewering the fish with practiced ease. “Dragged you here...you’re quite heavy.”

The comment earns an amused snort, but no reply.

“You were soaked through, so I stripped you. You’d have gotten ill otherwise...I’m surprised you didn’t. A bit of a fever was all - you slept three days.”

Three days…? No wonder he feels so...off.

“And now...here you are.” Flint sparks dry vegetation, gradually fed wood. Finally glancing up to him, she shows mirror-like silvers, framed by white brows and lashes. He’s never seen anyone with such an appearance.

“Was...was there anyone else?”

“No...only you. You were in the storm…?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t elaborate - Madara’s not in the mood to tell such a story.

“...I see.”

“Where are we?”

“A small isle with no name...it is among the cluster here in the south sea. No one comes here...there’s nothing to be gained.”

“You live here…?”

“...when I must.”

Dark brows furrow. What does that mean…?

“Hungry?”

“...starved,” he admits. Already the smells of the fruits she’s cutting are making his stomach do eager circles. “...may I have your name?”

“Ryū,” she replies without hesitation. He’ll take that as a truth, then. “You?”

“...Madara. Madara Uchiha.”

Despite his notoriety, there’s no recognition at his offer. She just keeps going, handing him a crude bowl with the fruit. Then back to peeling and whittling she goes with a strange-looking knife, hands quick and clean.

As starving as he is, Madara makes himself take his time. “...do you have a...boat, or a ship?”

“No.”

The blunt reply earns a blink. “Does...someone come ‘round?”

“No.”

“...then how do you ever leave? You said you only live here when you must. How do you…?”

“I swim.”

“You swim…?”

Checking the fish, Ryū turns them before looking to him again, studying his face. “...you want to leave?”

“Of course. I’ve a life to return to. I have to see if my ship…” He fades out, not wanting to address the possibility of it being lost.

“...you rest first. Then I’ll take you.”

“You just said you have no ship.”

“I don’t need a ship. I told you...I swim.”

“That’s not -” He’s silenced as she holds out a skewer, snatching it and looking to her suspiciously. “...what are you…?”

At his question, she stops mid-bite, considering him before giving him a smile.

Her teeth are...are…!

“You never know what you’ll find lurking in the ocean,” she replies airily before finally taking her bite of fish.

Staring, Madara completely forgets his own. No...that can’t be...but…?

“...mermaid…?” he dares to whisper.

“Mm,” she hums in affirmative reply. “Hence only being here when I have to be. You’d be surprised how many humans end up lost in these waters. So...I haul them out. Bring them here. Then let them go.” Another bite. “I stay until they’re strong again. Then I head back out into the waters.”

“How...how has no one -?”

“Found me? Told of me? Anyone who’s been washed up is already believed to be mad from the sea. No one believes a washed-up man’s tales about a mermaid saving his life.”

“...why do you do it?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

A pause, considering his food. A few bites pass before he asks, “Are there others?”

“Yes. But I stay alone. Most of my kind are not...fond of your kind. But I find you curious. None have tried to hurt me yet.” A pause. “...though I don’t fully trust you.”

“Probably wise,” Madara replies dryly. Lost in his thoughts, he finishes his food in silence.

“Here.”

Looking up, he sees her offer a waterskin. It’s then he realized how long it’s been since he’s had fresh water. “...so, how long before I can leave?”

“A few days. You were quite weak - you’ll have to build up some strength, first. Then I’ll take you to the next island. There’s a town there - you can find your way from the port.”

“Ah...that might not be wise.”

“Why not?”

“Do you know who holds this port?”

The mermaid blinks. “...no. Why?”

“Well...I’m rather notorious among humans. I might not be welcomed.”

Something lights her eyes for a moment - understanding, perhaps? “Then...where do you wish to go?”

“Do you know the port of Isla Verde? I’d be safe there.”

She thinks. “...that...is a great many miles from here. It would take many, many days to get there.”

“But...you could take me?”

“Mm...maybe. But what would you give me in return?”

“I have gold. Lots of it. Just need a way back to it.”

A hand waves. “I care not for gold. All I need, I have in the sea. Besides, I collect many things from it you humans lose. Where do you think I got your garments?”

“Then what could you want, if you have all you need?”

A thoughtful hum. “...I shall choose when we arrive. For now, I must think.”

“All right, fair enough.”

“And you must rest. Regain your strength. Here we’ll stay a few days more. Now...I must go hunt.”

“We just ate.”

“And hunting takes time. Stay, rest, eat. I’ll be back.”

Watching her go, Madara sees her step into the tide. Up to her waist she walks, stopping at an outcropping of stone. She pulls aside her garment, tying the fabric in place before sinking.

She disappears.

But then, with a leap, she breaches the surface, hopping out before diving into deeper waters. Rather than like a fish, from her hips extends a tail more like a dolphin’s: white, like her locks.

He just stares, still wondering if he’s actually dead, and this is all just some strange purgatory dream.

After a time, he grows restless, walking along the beach in one direction. The island is, indeed, rather small - it takes him all of an hour to come back around. Sand encircles the entire perimeter, a large rocky outcropping jutting from the center. Palms and other fruit-bearing trees pepper the isle, grasses and ferns growing more densely the further in you wander. A spring bubbles from a clearing, running clear and smooth. Taking a break to drink, Madara reclines under a palm tree, staring up through the leaves.

It’s like a tiny little paradise.

Were he a simpler man, he might entertain the idea of just...staying. There’s water, shelter, food...and the island itself is rather gorgeous.

Though it also hosts rather...strange company.

He’s not sure what to make of his savior. She seems pleasant enough. But to think that such a creature is truly real. Not just some fable of the sea.

It makes him wonder what else is possibly lurking in the dark depths of the waters he loves so ardently.

But, either way, he can’t stay. Not with the stirring that still pulls at his soul. That which longs for conquest and adventure, excitement and experiences! If he knows anything about himself, it’s that he’ll quickly grow bored of this place. Beautiful it may be, but...stagnant. Unchanging.

Too...peaceful. Peace is to be idle.

And to be idle is to go mad.

Returning to the inlet of the hut, he realizes that his companion has returned. Still transformed, she lies on her belly atop the rock, propped atop her elbows and staring out into the horizon. Idly the fin of her tail flicks up water over the smooth skin, sun reflecting off the pale white flesh.

Stepping up into the water to his ankles, Madara makes to call to her, but...stops as he hears something.

...singing…?

In a haunting minor key, without words, the mermaid croons into the breeze. Parts are reminiscent of shanties he knows, but...sadder. More mournful than cheery as meant to keep up the spirits of the crew.

It sounds...incredibly lonely.

“I stay alone. Most of my kind are not...fond of your kind. But I find you curious.”

Is that the whole truth? Or is there something she’s not told him?

Wading out a bit deeper, the sea lapping at the hems of his trousers, he waits for a lull in the song. “Serenading the gulls?”

Over her shoulder she glances to him. Her tie-on skirt is still hanging along the rocks, her strange top drying around her chest. Beside her, a net of crustaceans and fish is tied in the tide. “I like to sing. A pleasant way to pass the time.”

“Why don’t you just go home?”

“...home?”

“Back to...wherever you came from?”

Something shifts in her expression. “...I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I am...not welcome.”

That earns a frown. “Whyever not?”

“I’m a danger.”

Madara can’t help a scoff. “You? Dangerous?”

“...my color is a threat. Wherever I go, I’m easily spotted. If I stay with the others...I bring them attention. Put them in danger. So...no, I can’t go back where I came from.” Her gaze returns to the sea. “...I was cast out. For the good of the others.”

He’s...not sure what to say to that. It makes sense. Something so brightly-colored - so different than the tones of the ocean - would stand out. “...is that why you approach humans? Because you’re alone?”

For a moment, she doesn’t answer. “...you always leave, in the end.”

“You could come with me.”

Again she turns to him, expression sharp, as though both troubled - and yet intrigued - by his offer. “...why?”

“If you’re tired of people leaving, find people you can stay with. True, this isle is amazing. A little utopia among the waves. But few are so content to remain in one place too long. Keep a man someplace he cannot leave of his own will, and no matter how you cater it to him...it will be a prison all the same.”

Something in her expression falls. “I...did not see it that way. I have the freedom of the sea...I never thought…”

“So, come with me.”

“I cannot stay with humans. The sea always calls to me. I cannot stay away forever.”

“You don’t have to. I sail! I’m rarely far from the water. We stop and explore isles, conquer other ships, visit harbors...”

“But you don’t know if your ship still sails. If your crew still lives.”

“I told you, I’ve gold. I just need to get to it. Another ship can be bought. Another crew can be found.”

“...why do you insist I go with you?”

“You saved my life. Perhaps I could change yours.” His arms open in a gesture of offering. “...maybe that could be my payment to you.”

The mermaid considers him, expression unreadable. “...I will...consider it.”

“That’s all I can ask. Besides...you may be right. I need more time to rest. Then...we can hit the open waters. Make up our minds.”

Her lips lift just a hair. “...you travel far? On your...ship?”

“Wherever I please. There’s much of the ocean to explore, and I’ve seen a great many places already. I answer to no man but myself. We could go anywhere you wanted.”

A wistful look colors her eyes. “...perhaps that would be...pleasant.”

“There’s nothing like it.”

A more genuine smile curls her mouth before looking to the horizon. “...we’ll see what we feel in a few days. You may yet change your mind.”

“And so may you.”

The conversation trails to silence, so Madara retreats up the beach and back to the hut. In truth, he’s still exhausted. His limbs feel heavy, and his mind slow. Nearly drowning, as it so happens, leaves one a bit tuckered. So, for now, he heaves himself back upon the cot, plans and what-ifs soon melding into dreams.

                                                          .oOo.

     AHHH IT’S FINALLY HERE! I’ve been prepping for this event for weeks xD Really hoping it does well!      Anywho, I’ve written a pirate!verse MadaRyū before...but that was with a human!Ryū. Madara’s pretty much the same in both stories, as is the verse background, but I decided to make Ryū a mermaid for this one, cuz...why not? Especially since I technically wrote it in May...Mermay, right? lol      For anyone unfamiliar, I’ve written this ship (mostly in canon and modern verses) with Phoenix for a good long while now! I love their dynamic no matter what universe we write them in. And given I had that random fic of this verse before, I thought they’d fit best in it again!      Phoenix, if you see this (which golly I hope you do lol), thank you for writing all your beans with me, and letting bonds grow between our muses. It’s always a pleasure writing with you, and I hope to again soon, no matter what verse we end up in! <3      Anyway, I don’t want to carry on for too long - happy OC x Canon ship week, everybody!

[weretoad-writer]

Color things! For both Toast and Eska: Mauve, Fuchsia and Hazel.

These were such great questions! Thank you!

Mauve - What makes you feel nostalgic?

Toast: Laughter, Sera's pranks, the smell of a particular kind ofink, sticking plasters, for his childhood; linden flowers, quinceapples, drying herbs for Aquilla.

Eska: honesuckle for his mother and sister; that sort of low-tide,dead fish harbor smell for Ostian; waves and sea salt andpomegranates for Sirius

Fuchsia - Are you a generally playful or goofy person? Who or whatmakes you feel playful or goofy?

Toast: I'm gonna answer for Toast because he won't give a goodanswer. He used to be incredibly playful and goofy, especially as achild.  Always playing the class clown and getting into mischief. Hefeels like he's lost that now, like it belonged to a completelyseparate person who no longer exists. But he does still have aplayful side, it's just much quieter now, and there's almost ashyness to it. It tends to come out most often in private momentswhen he's with someone he trusts and is close to.

Eska: Don't think I've ever been called either of those... My oldman used to say I was feckless and disrespectful, oh and godless.Imp....Impious? That too. He got that one off those hot air sacks atthe Temple (dunno what it means, though, apart from something bad). And then Sirius used to say I never took anything seriously enough.But I dunno. Life is shit, and I never seen it get any less shit byacting all careful and serious-like. Might as well have a bit of fun'fore it all comes crashing down, right? Besides, it's fun makingfolk laugh. 'Specially him. He was always so bloody solemn-faced. Buthe's got this slow, crooked smile like he's trying not to. And thisway of ducking his head just before it spills over into a laugh. Andyou'd expect this big, booming sort of laugh to look at him, but it'snot, it's soft and quiet and warm. And he gets these creases at thecorners of his eyes 'stead of between his brows for once. And hejust..... I dunno. What was the question again?

Hazel - What kind of folklore/myths/stories are told in yourfamily/community?

Toast: The Circle was an.....odd place to grow up. Or so I'mlearning. It was all I knew at the time. None of us belonged thereand none of us belonged where we'd come from either. We were all....out of context in a way, and so were any stories we might remember.

The Circle had it's own stories. Of a sort. Urban legends, Isuppose. Ghosts in the chapel, don't eat bay root and sugar ofalumite crystals at the same time or your stomach will explode, thosesorts of things. And rumors. Maker – the rumor mill was legendaryin its own right. Maybe it comes with being so insular and cut off?An apprentice might not be at lessons one morning because they weresent to the infirmary and by the end of the day there would bewhispers that the Templars had dragged them away or that they'descaped or that they'd fallen down the well and drowned. Imaginationsalways ran a bit wild.  

Eska:  My mother used to tell stories from her home in Kile.Fantastic tales about crafty merchant princes and explorers whosailed to the edges of the world and a pirate queen who fell in lovewith a mermaid. She showed us their stars in the night sky, how totrace their shapes. Sirius had stories for the stars too, but his haddifferent names and different tales. So we'd trade, lying on ourbacks on the roof of wherever when it was too hot to sleep, takingturns telling stories.

[a-simple-gaywitch]

The Sea at Sundown

Summary: Davey’s the oldest son of the chief of the merfolk, (Y/N) is the only child of the king and queen of a nautical kingdom 

Author’s Note: I was so excited to write this you have no idea

Tag List: @robot-anon @stargirl-murphy @lil-sheep-anon @diamond-anon @spade-anon @avocado-anon @amodestnewsie @hellakinkyconnor

* * * * *

Davey was the eldest son of the chief of the merfolk, though that didn’t mean much since there were only two of them, him and Les. He had a cobalt blue tail, like his father, while his little brother had a chestnut brown one like his mother. 

Growing up, he had always been fascinated by humans; their histories, their cultures, everything. His parents never discouraged his curiosity, but they forbid him from interacting with a human. They knew of their selfish nature and worried what would happen should he be found. 

 You were the only child of the king and queen of a nautical kingdom, Princess (Y/N). Being an only child had its advantages and disadvantages. You didn’t have any siblings to compare to and you got all of your parents’ love and affection. Unfortunately, you were the only heir, so you were heavily guarded. On the bright side, you got to choose your guards.

Your mother converted part of the castle into an orphanage when she took the crown. You had befriended two of the boys, Jack and Crutchie, at a young age. When your parents saw how close you were to the two, they made them your personal servants/guards. You never saw them as guards or servants, you saw them as your brothers. 

When you were little, your nurses used to always tell you stories of the merfolk. You would be so fascinated by the stories but any time you tried to find out more, they’d all say the same thing.

“They’re just stories, (Y/N). Old wives’ tales. If you want to be a good leader like your mother, you have to accept them for what they are. They’re not real.”

That didn’t stop you from trying to find out more, though. You’d go down to the docks and dangle your feet in the water if things got too stressful in the castle. Jack and Crutchie would hang back and let you relax on your own.

Davey would always notice you. The way your hair framed your face, the way your dresses fit your body so nicely. You were beautiful, plain and simple. He wanted nothing more than to talk to you.

“It’s not a good idea, Dave,” Davey’s friend Elmer told him. Davey rolled his eyes and floated in place for a bit. 

“You say that like I don’t know that.”

Elmer laughed and wrapped his arm around Davey’s shoulders. “She is very pretty.” 

One day at sundown, you were extremely upset and started throwing rocks at the water. “I don’t want to marry Morris!” you yelled into the open air, throwing a rock at the water and watching it ripple. Your parents were announcing your engagement to the younger son of a nobleman in two week’s time.

“(Y/N),” Jack said, coming up behind you. “Take a deep breath.”

You threw another rock at the water. “It’s not that I don’t like him, you know?”

“Really? I thought he was an ass.”

“Jack!” you laughed, throwing another stone. “I just... If I marry, I want it to be fore love, not some stupid alliance or trade agreement.”

Jack nodded. “Well, Crutchie and I are gonna leave you to your thoughts.”

“Thanks,” you said, pecking his cheek before he walked off. You continued throwing rocks until you saw a boy’s head pop up. “Oh, my god! I didn’t know there was someone swimming, I am so sorry!” you rambled. “Did I hit you?”

The dark haired boy laughed and shook his dark hair out of his face. “NO, no, it’s fine. You seem upset. Are you alright?”

You sighed, sitting down on the dock before telling him all about the impending engagement. He nodded in understanding as you ranted. When you finish, you exhaled sharply, turning to him. “I’m sorry, I never asked your name.”

“It’s Davey,” he said. “And you?”

You weren’t used to people not knowing your name, so it’s safe to say you were shocked. “(Y-Y/N).”

“Lovely to meet you, (Y/N).”

“(Y/N)! It’s time to go!” Crutchie called.

“Meet me here same time tomorrow?” Davey asked.

You smiled. “Definitely.”

Over the next few days, you got to know Davey. It kind of bothered you that he was always in the water and he never wanted to meet up in the daylight, but you didn’t question him.

When you were officially betrothed, you went down to the dock and cried. You had hoped you could talk your parents out of it, but you obviously couldn’t.

Davey surfaced and looked at your face, his heart breaking a bit. “(Y/N), are you alright?” When you shook your head, he placed his hand on top of yours. “I have something to show you.” You looked up and felt Davey press something into your hand. 

“What’s this?” you asked, turning your hand over. Resting in the palm of your hand was a rose-colored pearl. “It’s beautiful,” you breathed. 

Davey smiled. “For when you’re having a rough day.”

You ran over it with the pad of your thumb. “But these are impossible to get. Unless you dive deep into the water.”

Davey chuckled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s the other thing. Can you scoot over?” You moved over and he pulled himself up, hearing you gasp. 

“You’re-you’re a merman,” you breathed. Your hand reached out and ran down his smooth, blue scales.

“Promise not to tell anyone? I shouldn’t even be talking to you right now.”

“Of course!” 

Davey smiled at you and kissed your cheek. “The first low tide of my 18th year is soon. I’ll be able to walk on land. Maybe I can come see you?”

You nodded. “Yes, yes, I’d love that!”

He brushed your hair away from your face. “You know, I’m technically a prince.”

You looked at him in confusion, then in understanding. “Do you- are you- you like me?”

“I have for a while,” he admitted. “You probably don’t feel the same.”

You leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Even though I’ve only known you for a few days, I feel like I’ve loved you forever.”

[shanastoryteller]

what's a fire and how does it - what's the word? - burn

so i have this disney playlist i listen to usually when i’m driving and i was blasting poor unfortunate souls this morning and i was thinking

what if ariel didn’t sign the scroll?

because she’s about to, okay, and she looks at the paper. the parchment made of seaweed, the ones that’s specially treated to survive underwater. and she thinks of her cave of treasures, her books that remain perfectly preserved underwater. “no thank you,” she says slowly, becoming keenly aware of air of this place, of the not-people she’d seen who hadn’t been able to pay the price for sea witch’s bargain. “i – no. thank you. but no.”

ursula tries to convince her otherwise, but ariel runs. she goes back to her cave, destroyed as it was by her father’s anger, and thinks.

she’s the daughter of triton. her books never got wet, though she lives in the ocean. she feels a pull inside her, to the land, to somewhere else, but what if – what if –

what if she doesn’t need the sea witch or her father to perform magic for her? what if she has her own?

ursula had wanted her voice because that’s how she performed her magic. singing in this cave had given it powers and protection, and when she saved her prince from the sea – she sang then too, to keep him safe, to guide him back to life and away from death.

so she has magic. she only needs to figure out how to use it.

so that’s what ariel does now. she’s quiet and keeps to herself, and her father and sisters think that it’s because she’s upset with her father, that she’s busy licking her wounds. she’s moved on from that. she has no trident, and is uninterested with fueling her magic with the souls of the damned like ursula has. so she needs to figure something else out.

she does what she’s not supposed to do, and goes where she’s not supposed to go, slipping past the guards and patrols to the one place in the sea that is forbidden to all of them.

the crevice in the earth where what remains of her grandmother lives.

ariel goes to amphitrite, and the sea goddess is so much bigger than ariel, the size of great whale as she curls at the bottom of the sea floor, too old and too tired to do anything more than sleep. “granddaughter,” the great being croaks, opening an eye as blue and as unfathomable as the sea, “you look like me.”

“they say i look like my mother,” she says, and to herself adds: that’s why father can barely stand to look at me.

“you have more of me in you than your mother,” she says, and she shifts and pulls her mass of red hair over her shoulder. “more of me in you than your father does, even.”

“i have magic,” she says, pulling her bravery to the fore as she swims closer to her grandmother, “i want you to teach me how to use it.” amphitrite pushes herself up, and it’s the first time she’s moved in a millennia, and ariel notices for the first time that her grandmother isn’t a mermaid – she has legs.

she has legs.

“you have power,” amphitrite corrects fiercely, “and i will teach you to wield it.”

and so she does. ariel spends her nights by her grandmother, learning to harness the power of the sea that runs in her veins, and sleeps her days away while her sisters and flounder and sebastian grow more and more concerned, but she refuses to tell them why. she refuses to be stopped.

but her heart still aches. she fell in love with her prince, and she wants him still. so she swims to the edge, goes to the beach where his castle resides in the dead of night when her lessons with her grandmother are complete, and sings

. she’s careful not to let any magic leak through, only her voice. she does not want to enchant him. she wants him to love her as she is. so she sings, her voice clear and powerful and cutting through the air. she hopes he can hear it.

then one day a figure walks to the beach, and it’s him, her prince. “hello?” he calls out, “are you out there? are you – please, it was you that saved me, wasn’t it? won’t you come out and let me see you?”

so she does, waves her tail at him until he catches sight of her and takes hesitant, disbelieving steps closer.

“you’re a mermaid,” he says, eyes wide, “i thought i saw – but it couldn’t be.”

“i am, and it can,” she says, heart beating wildly in her chest. he’s just as handsome as she remembered, and she wants him just as much. “my name is ariel.”

“ariel,” he repeats, and pulls off his boots and goes wading into the water, watching her to see if she flinches away from him. she doesn’t, and his strides grow bolder. “my name is eric.”

“eric,” she whispers, and when he’s close enough he touches her, trailing fingers across the bare skin of her shoulder and tangling them in her hair.

when he kisses her, she feels powerful enough to undo the world.

so there’s that now, spending her nights with her grandmother and her prince, and she knows how to make her own legs now, could walk onto land and be made a queen among the two legged men.

but she’s a princess here first, and before she can do that she needs to take care of something.

ursula.

the rotten sea witch with her rotten sea magic won’t be allowed to torment her people any longer.

she tells her grandmother, and amphitrite smiles and says, “an excellent decision, child. i’ve enjoyed our time together, but i think it’s time for me to sleep once more. i’ve taught you everything i can.”

and tears prick ariel’s eyes, but she holds them back. she knew that it couldn’t be forever, that her grandmother can’t die but no longer desires to live and this is the in-between.

“you’ll be an amazing queen,” amphitrite murmurs, and closes her eyes for a millennia more.

this isn’t something to be done in the dead of night, although it would be easier to do it then.

she will make a spectacle of it, she will remind the sea that her people are not to be trifled with.

once upon a time they feared a blue eyed, red haired sea queen with the power to destroy them all. it’s time for them to do so again.

so she drives ursula to the center of the city. her sisters cower and people hide, and her father comes rushing forward to save her.

“you’ve committed great crimes against my people,” she says, not flinching as lightning gathers in the sea witch’s hands, “so now shall a great crime be committed against you.”

“foolish girl,” the sea witch snarls.

triton is yelling. he won’t get there in time.

he doesn’t have to.

she doesn’t need to sing anymore. instead she lifts her hands and pulls ursula apart without ever touching her, not only renders flesh from bone but also sets free the souls she’s been hoarding, reverses the magic done to those who’d fallen into the sea witch’s trap.

they all stare at her, her people, her father, and her sisters. she looks to triton and says, “i’m not a little girl anymore.”

he opens his mouth, closes it again, then says, “i can see that.”

all at once everyone’s perceptions are turned sideways about their youngest princess. she commands a power that even her father doesn’t have access to, she’s not depressed and dreamy – she’s powerful young woman who knows exactly what she’s doing.

so she does what she wanted to do, she gives herself legs and steps onto the sand and launches herself into eric’s arms. she becomes his bride, and the rumors run rampant of what she is, of where she came from, but they can’t prove anything and so they rule.

they live long, happy lives. ariel is his consort, his advisor, his wife, his tactician, and his best friend. all those years reading drowned books have certainly paid off. she ages herself along with her husband, bears his children and then teaches them they ways of her – their – people.

her husband dies, and she disappears, like the stories of selkie women that everyone whispers around her. their children give their father a sea burial, and vow to see him again one day. what they know and none of their subjects do is this – their father’s body isn’t in that casket.

she returns to her ocean, her legs form into her glittering green tail, and she goes home. she uses her terribly powerful magic, and brings her husband with her. she went from princess ariel of the sea to queen ariel of the land, and now she’s back again.

she’s not quite a teenager, but neither is she the old woman she pretended to be on land. she’s returned her and her husband to the prime of their life, and as she gained legs to be with him, he now gives his up to be with her.

eric becomes a merman, and a prince by virtue of being ariel’s husband.

she returns to her family and her world without missing a beat, and they all welcome her as if she never left, treat her husband with kindness and respect.

because they all know.

it doesn’t matter that she’s the youngest. when, far in the future, triton’s reign ends –

ariel’s reign will begin.

[halloweenvalentine1997]

i At Turney in Flanders I was born Fore—doomed to splendour and sorrow, For I was a king when they cut the corn, And they strangle me to—morrow. ii Oh! why was I made so red and white, So fair and straight and tall? And why were my eyes so blue and bright, And my hands so white and small? iii And why was my hair like the yellow silk, And curled like the hair of a king? And my body like the soft new milk That the maids bring from milking? iv I was nothing but a weaver’s son, I was born in a weaver’s bed ; My brothers toiled and my sisters spun, And my mother wove for our bread. v I was the latest child she had, And my mother loved me the best. She would laugh for joy and anon be sad That I was not as the rest. vi For my brothers and sisters were black as the gate Whereby I shall pass to—morrow, But I was white and delicate, And born to splendour and sorrow. vii And. my father the weaver died full soon, But my mother lived for me ; And I had silk doublets and satin shoon And was nurtured tenderly. viii And the good priests had much joy of me, For I had wisdom and wit; And there was no tongue or subtlety But I could master it. ix And when I was fourteen summers old There came an English knight, With purple cloak and spurs of gold, And sword of chrysolite. x He rode through the town both sad and slow, And his hands lay in his lap ; He wore a scarf as white as the snow, And a snow—white rose in his cap. xi And he passed me by in the market—place, And he reined his horse and stared, And I looked him fair and full in the face, And he stayed with his head all bared. xii And he leaped down quick and bowed his knee, And took hold on my hand, And he said, ‘ Is it ghost or wraith that I see, Or the White Rose of England .? ’ xiii And I answered him in the Flemish tongue, ‘ My name is Peter Warbeckke, From Katharine de Faro I am sprung, And my father was John Osbeckke. xiv ’ My father toiled and weaved with his hand And bare neither sword nor shield And the White Rose of fair England Turned red on Bosworth field.' xv And he answered, ‘ What matter for anything? For God hath given to thee The voice of the king and the face of the king, And the king thou shalt surely be.’ xvi And he wrought on me till the vesper bell, And I rode forth out of the town: And I might not bid my mother farewell, Lest her love should seem more than a crown. xvii And the sun went down, and the night waxed black, And the wind sang wearily ; And I thought on my mother, and would have gone back, But he would not suffer me. xviii And we rode, and we rode, was it nine days or three? Till we heard the bells that ring For ‘ my cousin Margaret of Burgundy,’ And I was indeed a king. xix For I had a hundred fighting men ‘ To come at my beck and call, And I had silk and fine linen To line my bed withal. xx They dressed me all in silken dresses, And little I wot did they reck Of the precious scents for my golden tresses, And the golden chains for my neck. xxi And all the path for ’ the rose ‘ to walk Was strewn with flowers and posies, I was the milk—white rose of York, The rose of all the roses. xxii And the Lady Margaret taught me well, Till I spake without lisping Of Warwick and Clarence and Isabel, And ’ my father ' Edward the King. xxiii And I sailed to Ireland and to France, And I sailed to fair Scotland, And had much honour and pleasaunce, And Katharine Gordon’s hand. xxiv And after that what brooks it to say Whither I went or why? I was as loath to leave my play And fight, as now to die. xxv For I was not made for wars and strife And blood and slaughtering, I was but a boy that loved his life, And I had not the heart of a king. xxvi Oh! why hath God dealt so hardly with me, That such a thing should be done, That a boy should be born with a king’s body And the heart of a weaver’s son? xxvii I was well pleased to be at the court, Lord of the thing that seems; It was merry to be a prince for sport, A king in a kingdom of dreams. xxviii But ever they said I must strive and fight To wrest away the crown, So I came to England in the night And I warred on Exeter town. xxix And the King came up with a mighty host And what could I do but fly? I had three thousand men at the most, And I was most loath to die. xxx And they took me and brought me to London town, And I stood where all men might see ; I, that had well—nigh worn a crown, In a shameful pillory! xxxi And I cried these words in the English tongue, ‘ I am Peter Warbeckke, From Katharine de Faro I am sprung And my father was John Osbeckke. xxxii ’ My father toiled and weaved with his hand, And bare neither sword nor shield ; And the White Rose of fair England Turned red on Bosworth field.' xxxiii And they gave me my life, but they held me fast Within this weary place ; But I wrought on my guards ere a month was past, With my wit and my comely face. xxxiv And they were ready to set me free, But when it was almost done, And I thought I should gain the narrow sea ' And look on the face of the sun, xxxv The lord of the tower had word of it, And, alas! for my poor hope, For this is the end of my face and my wit That to—morrow I die by the rope. xxxvi And the time draws nigh and the darkness closes, And the night is almost done. What had I to do with their roses, I, the poor weaver’s son? xxxvii he promised me a bed so rich And a queen to be my bride, And I have gotten a narrow ditch And a stake to pierce my side. xxxviii They promised me a kingly part And a crown my head to deck, And I have gotten the hangman’s cart And a hempen cord for my neck. xxxix Oh! I would that I had never been born, To splendour and shame and sorrow, For it’s ill riding to grim Tiborne, Where I must ride to—morrow. xl I shall dress me all in silk and scarlet, And the hangman shall have my ring, For though I be hanged like a low—born varlet They shall know I was once a king. xli And may I not fall faint or sick Till I reach at last to the goal, And I pray that the rope may choke me quick And Christ receive my soul.

Perkin Warbeck, Alfred Douglas

[imagine-loki]

A Warrior’s Life

TITLE: A Warrior’s Life

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter Seventy-Two

AUTHOR: wolfpawn ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Viking Loki coming to your village, raiding, and pillaging, before deciding there is something about you that intrigues him and deciding to take you back to Asgard with him. There, you are forced to learn a new life and language, and though you hate what has happened to you, you learn that Loki is not as bad as you think.

RATING: Mature

Maebh bit the insides of her cheeks as the boat continued to sway on the waves willing herself not to be ill. She had hardly eaten since she boarded and it had done her some good in that though she felt queasy, she had not been physically ill.

She looked down and petted Kushtrim’s head as he lay with it resting on her lap. Of the children, he seemingly was the only one to take on her adverse reactions to the water and had been ill for the entirety of the journey. Nafi and Vali both had fared far better, both only feeling slightly nauseous when the waves were at their roughest, but for the rest of the journey, they seemed to just enjoy watching land, then sea, pass by, both making comment that if the other were to be ill, they would be victorious in their game.

Liulf seemed to be mostly indifferent to the journey; the waves seemed to have a soothing effect on the small child causing him to sleep a vast majority of the journey. Danu’s condition was unknown, for she spent her days curled up, her head tucked in against her father’s chest, only peaking out when he or her mother encouraged her to eat.

“Do not worry, we are almost there,” Loki promised, seeing the less than happy look on his wife’s face.

“He is right, mother,” Vali beamed, “There are birds ahead, and not gulls, but puffins, they do not go as far out to sea, they stay close to shore.” He pointed to a cluster of birds close to the boat, and sure enough, the rainbow beaked, fat birds were close by.

Kushtrim and Danu both jumped to their feet; both trying to get a closer look at the birds, and hopefully land; Nafi ensured the second youngest boy did nothing foolish at the side of the boat while his father kept a close watch over his sister. “What is that over there?” The brown haired boy asked, pointing to something in the distance.

Danu looked at her twin in disgusted disbelief. “Father just stated we were close to Svartálfheim, so hamper a guess as to where we are.” She scoffed. “I am clearly the smarter one.”

“Danu,” Loki warned. “You are supposed to be a princess, act as such.”

“I do not wish to be one; I want to be a warrior, like mother.” She declared back.

“Well, your mother is both and she does not speak to anyone in her family or indeed in general in such a disrespectful manner.” Loki reprimanded.

“It has been more years than I wish to recall since I fought.” Maebh commented, “Though I think that is probably a good thing in its own right.”

“And she called Sergei Evansson a ‘moronic pig fornicating fool’ last week,” Danu added.

Loki looked at his wife with a raised brow. “He made comment that Thor's rule was inadequate and that he deserved a better income and to be bestowed a wife.” She shrugged.

“So you call him that in front of our daughter?”

“It was deserved.” She dismissed.

“Danu, I think it goes without saying, you do not repeat those words again, your mother usually has more decorum than to say that.”

“He also said that mother is the man of the house, and she wears your balls as jewellery,” Vali added.

Loki looked to his wife, who challenged him to argue his words. “Do you know my dear, you have more restraint than most women combined and I thank you for your defending of me.” Maebh gave a sly one-sided smirk in return.

“Is that the dock?” Kushtrim asked excitedly, notching several boats tied up.

“No, well yes, it is a dock, but not the one we require, it is the next area in.” Loki smiled at him.

“So close to the shores?” Maebh asked confused. “That is hardly the best defensive strategy to have.”

“I know, but it is not my place to say anything.” Loki shrugged, looking as the people of Svartálfheim watched their boat pass. “I have not seen Ásvaldr in some time, I hope everything is well.” He voiced.

“Hmm.” Was all Maebh gave in return.

“Darling,” Loki whispered as she looked over at Nafi, who was watching the land go by, making comment with Vali with regard it. “I know you are not best pleased, but these are only talks on the matter.” She nodded and said no more.

There were people at the docks waiting to see the Aesir royals arrive, among them, Ásvaldr and his family. “Loki.” He grinned widely as Loki disembarked, walking forward, his arms wide and a large smile on his face. “How are you, my friend?”

“Ásvaldr,” Loki gave him a wide grin and embraced him. “I am well, what of you?”

“We are excited to have you here again,” Ásvaldr grinned, “You and your family.” He looked to Maebh as she disembarked the boat, Liulf in her arms. “Princess Maebh.”

“Your Majesty.” She smiled kindly.

“Another son?” he smiled, looking to Liulf.

“Yes”, she turned him slightly, Liulf looking at the stranger curiously. “This is Liulf.”

“He takes after you I see.”

“Well, I was due one child, surely.” She smiled back. “How are your girls?”

“They are well, I fear they grow too quickly.” He sighed. “I…” Maebh followed his line of sight to the twins, who were being helped out of the boat by their father and oldest brother. “Are they…?”

Loki joined them again, Danu holding onto the side of his tunic. “I do not recall, did I mention Danu and Kushtrim on my last visit?” He asked, indicating to each twin as he named them.

“I do not think you did.” Ásvaldr stared at the dark haired girl, trying to seem brave as she half hid against her father. “She is your daughter through and through.” He smiled, kneeling down to her. “Danu, is it?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” She gave a small curtsey as she spoke.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, little princess.” He chuckled as he rose again. “You must not have seen a year without bearing a child in your marriage.” He commented to Maebh.

“I have been lucky enough to see some time without it, I carried Kushtrim and Danu together.” She informed him.

“But, he looks so close in age to your first.” He pointed to Vali.

“Vali was not yet a year when they were born.” Loki chuckled at the look of shock on Ásvaldr’s face. “Three infants under one year, it was not an easy time.”

“I would believe such things, you are more formidable than I could ever be.” Ásvaldr commended. “Well, after such a journey, you must all be tired, please, allow me to bring you to my home.” He grinned, turning to show them the way. “Prince Nafi, how are you?” he smiled, looking at the young sturdy man the oldest child had begun to phase into.

“I am well, your Majesty, thank you. How is Princess Anna?”

Ásvaldr looked to Loki for a moment, as he gave the slightest of shakes of his heads to indicate the boy did not know the reason for their being there. “You remember her?”

“She was like a shadow to me, Sire, I cannot help but. Is she well?”

“Aye, she is, and is very eager to meet you once more. She has been learning Aesir with some time, in hopes of being able to speak with you more on your reacquainting.” He placed his arm around Nafi’s shoulders, who seemed somewhat happy with such news. Maebh watched as they walked after their host, equal parts elated and heartbroken as she followed them. There was a feast held in their honour, and the Aesir children found themselves enjoying the company of the children of the court, all close in age to others; both sets taught some of the other’s language.

Anna had grown from the meek little girl that had shadowed Nafi around in terror; as soon as she recognised him, she darted over and gave him a large hug. As much as it broke her heart, it also gave Maebh great hope, looking to the side, she could see identical thoughts on Loki’s face. “Will you please sit with me, Nafi?” she asked, her shyness coming to the fore once more.

Nafi smiled brightly as he bowed. “It would be my immense honour, princess.” He held his hand out for her to take, and the pair walked to the table before their parents.

Ásvaldr looked at the pair approvingly before he indicated for everyone to be seated and for the feast to begin.

The twins and Vali spent the feast guessing what the foods in front of them were, laughing when one would hamper a guess at what something was before biting it and making a face if they did not like them, while Liulf seemed happy to just bite anything of his mother’s that came into range of his mouth.

“You have had your hands full my friends, I must commend you on your children, they are a credit to you both,” Ásvaldr commented as he watched the children.

“Your girls are very much the epitome of what is asked of their station also.” Maebh smiled, watching as Ásvaldr’s second daughter gravitated to her own.

“Yes, we were lucky with what we had.” There was something in Ásvaldr’s tone that Maebh noticed, cocking her head slightly he made a small face, as though regretting his words before putting on a false smile. “We can discuss things further later when the children rest.”

For the remainder of the meal, the children made the most noise, laughing and speaking as only children can. When the meal ended, they were brought to where they would be sleeping once again to be put to rest for the evening, though Danu begged she be permitted to remain with Brianne, which was allowed, since the Aesir princess had never had anyone as close to her in age to play with.

“Are they settled?” Loki asked as Maebh exited the room her four sons were to share.

“Yes, the journey has tired them greatly. I allowed Nafi to take the room Danu was supposed to stay in.”

“I have to say; I agree with your analogy, he snores terribly loudly.” Loki chuckled. “Should we warn Ásvaldr?” Maebh stared at him. “Maebh, we need to discuss this.”

“I am aware, I just do not have to be gleeful with regards it.”

He wrapped his arms around her, “You saw them together, he would be happy, I think.”

“Hmm.”

“Come on, Darling.”

*

“Do you hate me Princess Maebh?”

“Maebh turned to see Ásvaldr standing behind her. She, Loki, Ásvaldr and Aebbe had been discussing a possible marriage for a few hours, but Maebh had taken the time to try and catch her breath, needing to get away from it for a few moments.

“No, I am just grieving the loss of my oldest son to his station.” She explained.

“I can understand that statement.”

“Why, why Nafi? Why not some Lord here, or even Thor's second son, why our boy? You know the truth of him.” She did not speak in a manner that suggested she was accusing or frantic, more curious than anything.

“What do you wish for your daughter in life, Princess Maebh?”

“That she never marries, but realistically, what every mother wants.”

“Aebbe carried another child, but she lost him, and with him, she lost the ability to carry any more, Brianne and Anna are all we will ever have,” Ásvaldr explained.

“That is why you looked as you did earlier.” Maebh realised, he nodded slightly. “I am very sorry for the loss of your son, and of all the children you will no longer be able to have.”

“Aebbe was saved, that is something, but to her…”

“She feels as though she failed, as a mother, and a wife.”

Ásvaldr looked at her, “You know this thought?”

“I lost one of our children, before Liulf, there was another. After the twins, my body needed rest, it could not carry it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I can have more were I to choose to, but it does not replace that one.”

There was a moment of silence before Ásvaldr spoke again. “I want Anna to have the best possible husband, one that is intelligent and able, strong and protecting, but kind, and caring, one that knows love and understanding. I have never met one such as your oldest for that. I can see your true first son is similar, if not more wily, there is something in his eye that tells me none will ever best him, but my Anna has never faltered her thoughts on Nafi, she has always remembered him and his kindness to her. When she is Queen, I cannot see another man by her side; who will love her and their children, who will always care for her, not her title. Nafi is the finest young man, you have raised him so well.”

“I sometimes forget…” Ásvaldr looked at her. “His father, his true father, he was a horrible man, his mother, a worse woman, but he is so good, there is no trace of their darkness in him, not one drop. I know he is not ours, but I… I forget it, or I will myself to forget it.”

“You love him as a mother should, you have thought him between you how to truly love, that is why him.”

“It does not bother you he is not our son?”

“He is your son as truly matters, so what if I do not have to fret of my grandchildren having black hair when the time comes.”

“Norn’s I do not want to think myself old enough to be a grandmother.” Maebh shook her head as she gave a small laugh, the king chuckling beside her.

[thephantomcasebook]

Someone said “Jonerys babies” So I come’a runnin ...

It happens once in a generation. It something that they sing about in songs that make young girls swoon and young men strive. But how many times will the Seven Kingdoms bleed for young and impetuous actions of chivalry? Prince Rhaegar had done it for prophesy and it turned into a deep and all-encompassing love that nearly destroyed his entire family. Daenery’s Targaryen had done it for an alliance with the North, and her machinations turned into a soul consuming attachment that cost her a dragon, her child, and engulfed the realm in a war for the dawn. All, because, the man she loved was at death’s door … and she couldn’t live without him. A Grandfather, a mother, all making the same mistake … risking everything they hold dear for a Northern lover. Was it any wonder that one of them, one of these miracles that she bore wouldn’t blink at the chance of making the same mistakes, when that passion was in their blood?

Aemon Targaryen was a handful before he even was born. Daenerys labored for days in one of the coldest winters that had ever been recorded. Though he was gone, King Jon sat outside the birthing room with his sword, convinced that the Nights King had returned to seek revenge against the King and Queen that had defeated him. The baby came into the world raging with passion as his mother lay drained and pale. Though Tyrion and Sam wished to discuss the likelihood of the Queen’s death, King Jon would not hear of it. He locked himself in the room with her and wouldn’t come out till she was strong again. In the meantime the baby was wrapped in his mother’s Crimson sash by Gilly Tarly, and was named by her Lord Tarly. He spent his first months of life cared for by his Aunt Arya. The wild and mysterious beauty took the baby deep into the King’s Wood, where she nurtured him at her breast by the fire, while guarded by Ghost, his father’s direwolf, in a place where no Queen’s Guard dare follow. It was there that the Dragon that had possessed his older brother and sister, had passed over Aemon, and he became the Lone Wolf within the Dragon pits.

When Daenerys held him for the first time, she immediately saw how much trouble he would be. Fore she didn’t see a wolf staring back as others did … she saw only herself. It wasn’t just that he looked like her, with the exception of his father’s black curls. It wasn’t even that he was somewhat like her. It was that Aemon Targaryen was too much like her. Not the meek little girl whose beautiful body was fondled and unwantedly worshipped by a cruel older brother. She had given too much of herself, too much of her fire, to the boy. And since then it has been as if Daenerys Targaryen had declared war on herself.

The boy was as wild as his black and white streaked Direwolf, Shadow. A daredevil of the highest order that was brash, and too brave for his own good. He took his parents orders as more guidelines than pinpoint instruction. He rode against Dortharki disguised as a Mystery Knight, despite his father and certainly his mother’s explicit order that their son not participate in such barbaric sporting practices such as Tourneys. Upon Aemon’s identity being revealed to the shocked Lords and Ladies as “The Knight of the Laughing Tree”, he informed The King and Queen that they never said he couldn’t fight. It was, technically, true. They had told his older brother, The Crown Prince, he could not, him being five and ten. But they never dreamed that they would have to extend their ban to their ten year old as well.    

His antics had stoked flames of resentment amongst the younger Dorthaki that had developed Westrosi prides in the generation born away from the Great Grass. Their fathers pressured by their perfumed and silken Khaleesi and westernized sons, demanded retribution against the young prince for the humiliation. The Queen threatened to burn the Khals alive for threatening her youngest babe, and King Jon refused to hold a trial for a small boy, despite his natural skill with a blade. But the pressure placed diplomatically upon the Crown in sight of a full on Dortharki rebellion, led to what Queen Daenerys saw as the greatest mistake of her life.

She exiled her son from Westros.

She swore to the boy that it would be only for a short time, till they settled things with the fragile state of the Seven Kingdoms and Dorthaki. The boy refused to look at her. His last words were said by addressing her as “Your Grace” instead of Mama. Once again from a weakened mother, young Aemon was passed to his Aunt Arya. The mysterious woman with a beautiful face that sometimes wasn’t her own, took her nephew as her apprentice and squire and together, with the boy’s direwolf to guard, the two set off for the unknown regions to chase dreams and adventure.

It had been seven years since. The elder Dorthaki still showed their allegiance, their sons showed more and more arrogance, and their mothers muttered mutiny against this Dragon Queen and her beautiful and perfect children. But the young sons of the Khals in silk, fur, and eye shadow would not let go and could not live down their humiliation at the hands of the Queen’s youngest child. He had stayed away for years, they only hearing of his exploits and adventures from far off places.

So they, with encouragement of their mothers, began to plot their revenge.

A fast walking, sleek, figure with long tumbling silvery blond tresses stormed ahead. Her tall black boots thundered down the upper gallery of the Throne Room with loud echoes. Daenerys Targaryen, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, wore a black padded doublet, skin tight leather pants. A red sash was draped across her chest, clasped by a silver dragon head’s broche. She hadn’t aged a day since Jon Snow first saw her sitting on the throne in Dragonstone, but she was different than she was now. It had been a good long while since she had fought a war. And between that time she ruled an empire and raised children … and through all of it, she had only loved one man. And he was all she wanted to hear from at the moment.

“Your Grace, times of are different!” Lord Tyrion was panting as he tried to keep up with his liege. The dwarf’s hair was more white than blonde these days when age was starting to catch him. “You can’t just ride Drogon to Starfall and burn them to a cinder!” He pleaded with her.

The Queen stopped. “I warned their fathers, long ago!” She pointed a finger at her and Jon’s Hand. “I warned them that I’d burn my enemies alive. Not “our” enemies, my enemies!” She raged.

“We worked so hard to integrate them into the Kingdoms, into society. If you take Drogon down to the mountains of Dorne and burn them, the Khals will see it as an attack on all of them, on all of Dorthraki culture. You’ll ruin everything we’ve spent almost twenty years building …!”

“They’ve ambushed my child!” She snapped. “They’ve ran him down and trapped against the sea! I don’t care about your progress or integration! They were savages before I brought them here, now their child brides wear King’s Landing cuts and Highgarden perfumes! And I’ll roast them in their silk for even presuming to even look at one my children!  Aemon is my son, my youngest child! I’ll destroy this entire world till there is nothing left but ash, before I EVER allow you to talk me into betraying him again!” She turned her back on Tyrion. For his part, the dwarf looked stricken with his own shame of the incident seven years past. She never knew how many nights, the Hand had laid awake, thinking of the ways he could’ve done it all differently.

The door to the small council chamber flew open when the queen burst inside in a fury. But she paused when she saw a man at the table observing a map of Dorne. All the fire in her bright eyes left her and she looked vulnerable. She had come in, ready to demand action, to not be questioned. And there she found Jon Snow, being every bit Jon Snow, being everything she ever needed. He was already dressed in a suit of battle armor, and Long Claw was on the table next to the map.

“It’s days like these, I miss Dragonstone.” He replied with a tired sigh.

He looked older, older than her. There was some snowy white in his beard and a streak of it in his hair. He said that it was a gift, but his age made her self-conscious in the lack of hers. All the time she arose unburnt from ashes, and she never once thought how deep the magic went, how much of herself was pure magic.    

“It was much easier back then …” She felt foolish for saying it, looking the way she did, like she could’ve stepped right out of his memory of those days. “When it was just you and I, Tyrion, Davos, and Missandei, and Cersei and the dead were our enemies …” Her eyes glassed over. “Anything was possible in those days … the world was ours for the taking, before we gave it …” She nearly broke a moment, her voice shuttering. “Before we gave the world things to take from us.” She finished with a whisper. For a long moment Jon Snow and Daenerys locked eyes with each other. Gone was the fearless conqueror, the elemental storm that everyone knew her as. Alone, in the safety of his gaze, Daenerys entrenched herself in the darkness of her husband’s eyes, in the inexhaustible strength within this paragon of everything she loved.

“I, uh … meant the painted table.” Jon looked down at the map. “It was better topographically.” He knocked the polished wood underneath the map.

“Oh …” Daenerys cleared her throat. “Yes, it is …” Sniffed and looked away. There was a long awkward pause between the two. Slowly a smirk overtook the older king as he looked back. The queen bit her lip to stop the grin that his smirk always dragged out of her. But the sputtered scoff was mostly a laugh even as tears ran down her cheek.

She was grateful to feel the cold steel against her breasts as she felt him take her in his arms. She placed her face against his as he nuzzled her cheek. She felt a deep wroth of guilt spread through her, an old wound, near mortal as a poison blade to the shoulder. He had begged her to reconsider seven years ago, pleaded that Aemon being a “handful” was no reason to do this to their child. She had planted her feet, said that she was doing it all to protect him. At first she was convinced it was the right decision, that someday he’d see it her way. But as the years melted one to the other, she began to realize how wrong she had been. And the worst part was that he never stopped loving her. She had spent long periods of time away from him afterward. They didn’t talk for years. He went back to Winterfell for a time, leaving her alone to contemplate her ‘righteous decision’. But every week she received a raven from Winterfell, from the ruins of The Wall and Castle Black. It never said anything but the same thing every time.

I love you.

“I’m sorry, Jon … I’m so sorry.” She whispered. “Please …” She begged him not to say anything, not to forgive her for this. But she couldn’t stop him from being Jon Snow, any more than she could stop loving him.

“I’ll bring him home … I swear to you, Gendry and I will break through that siege, or die trying.” He swore.

Dany sniffed and looked up. Her strength returned, her face portraying strength. “You cannot die, Jon Snow …” She shook her head. “I never gave you permission to … leave.” She stumbled when she realized that they have had this conversation before.

She expected him to reply to it the same way he once had when they … when he was young. But instead he did what he had wanted to do when she had first said those words to him. Since then they had fought wars, had children, and spent years apart, but this time there was nothing stopping him as there was a million reasons back then.

Jon Snow kissed Daenery’s Targaryen. 

[all-sortsa-stuff]

This life, part 3

Pairing: Reader x Eventually Loki

Word Count: 3090 (Way longer than planned)

Warning: Angst

 Part 1, part 2

 The travel back to Asgard felt different from before.  Perhaps it had something to do with your abilities but it meant little once your feet planted firm on the ground beneath you.  You lifted your hand from the Tesseract before looking between the two men standing before you.  Thor looked relieved to have returned.  Loki was more difficult to read.  His eyes were hiding what was going on in his mind.  You did not want to know what was swirling there, what thoughts would be in the forefront.  

“I have completed my vow to you, my friend.  Now I will take my leave.  My bed is singing a siren’s song to me.”  Thor grabbed your arm as you turned away, stopping you from stepping further.

“[Y/N]… I have one more thing to ask you.”  Searching his eyes you knew exactly what he wanted and it infuriated you.

“No!  I will not do it.  How dare you ask that of me!  I already risked my life following to Midgard and now you want that of me?  No.”  Loki’s eyes widened in surprise at your response.  He had never seen your temper flair like that.  Thor looked abashed for asking but he felt it was necessary.  “I will not escort you to the throne room. You can meet with your father and mother.  My duty is fulfilled.”

Storming off towards the stables, your boots echoed in the hall. Both men watching your form as you stormed away. There was a tingling sensation forming in your hand.  It was necessary to take slow breaths to calm your anger or else you might lose control of your powers.  Your horse was happy to see you.  As you saddled him you fed him a few of the apples that were left outside of his stall.  The ride home proved quiet and far more relaxing than you had anticipated.  The night sky of Asgard was your companion as you sang quietly, an old song your mother sung when you were a child.  Which at this moment you found odd, since it had been years since you allowed yourself any good memories of the woman.

 Once home you removed your armor and bathed long, letting your muscles relax in the warmth of the water.  The pattering on the roof made you aware of the rain that had started to fall. Perhaps it would cleanse not only Asgard but also you of the foul mood.  It had been so long and now Loki returned and all the old memories came rushing back. As the water cooled, you washed and dressed for bed.  Your journey had made you weary not only physically but left you emotionally raw as well.  In the morning if you felt better you would almost certainly apologize to Thor.  Not that you would do what he wanted, but you would apologize for screaming at him.  Even though he deserved it.

 When you woke, your body was stiff and it left you in no mood to train.  Instead of your armor and your leathers, you chose a gown to wear. The color mirrored that of the sea and sat off your shoulder.  The flowing skirts following behind you.  Brushing out your long [H/C] hair until it fell low on your back, like a straight curtain.  It had been ages since you felt calm like this.  It was time that you had a talk with the Gods again.  Whether they answered or not they would hear your prayers. As you prepared to ride back to your field, a firm knock sounded on the door.  Once more Emin had been sent to retrieve you.  Though he bowed in great respect before he spoke.  You could see a ripple of appreciation at your appearance as he stood.

“My Lady… The King and Queen wish to see you.”  Crossing your arms over your chest in annoyance, you raised a brow at him.

“I have done my duty and brought the princes home.  What possibly could they want with me now?”  Emin sighed loudly.  He knew from the beginning you would be difficult.

“Lady [Y/N], I do not ask questions of the king and queen.  I am merely the messenger.  Please do not make me beg, here in the streets.  Fore you know I will if necessary.  I dare not return without you.  I like my head where it is placed.”  Frowning at him, you went inside to put on your cloak.  Though he was not aware of that.  The man was staring at the ground in despair, thinking how he would word his begging when you returned.

“We need to teach you courage, Emin.  There has to be some in there somewhere, as you earned your place in the Defenders.” The look on his face was just short of joy as you placed your cloak around your shoulders, pulling the hood up after you tied it.  As you rode toward the palace, he asked you endless questions about Midgard.  How it looked, the people, what the sky looked like. He sounded as a child with his enthusiasm.  Truth be told it lightened your mood.  You answered as honestly as you could, telling him of the things you witnessed. Once you made it to the halls, you parted ways.  Emin had no desire to be close to the throne room for whatever discussion was coming.

Thor met you outside of the throne room.  He had the same look on his face as he had when you left him the night before.  “Tell me you didn’t….”

“[Y/N], he is my brother...” Your temper raged again as your voice grew louder.

“The brother who betrayed you!  I am your friend; I have done everything you have ever asked of me.  You know this… this is too much.”  He stepped forward in an attempt to calm you but you step away from him.  Pain etching across his face as it was the first time you had ever done so.  The doors opened to the throne room, with the queen walking towards you.

“Your voices are carrying.  Odin knows you are here, my girl.  Come.” She did not try to touch you, as she knew what was going to be asked of you and how difficult it would be.  There was no comforting you at this time.  You could feel Thor’s gaze upon your back as you walked in front of him.  In the silence your anger grew, a balled fist at your side as you tried to keep your powers at bay.  The king watched you closely as you drew near.  Choosing not to speak, you simply bowed before him waiting to hear him to begin.

“I have been told you fared well in Midgard, [Y/N].  You are uninjured, yes?”  His tone was light and easy.  Not the usual low and dark tone he reserved for you.

“I am well, my Lord.” You were going to keep your replies short.  If he wished to ask you then so be it.  Nevertheless, you were no going to give the offering of it first.

“Do you know why you are here, child?”  Biting you lip against an angry retort you nodded.

“Yes, my Lord.”  Odin’s jaw tensed as he waited for what he thought would be a fiery outburst.  When one did not appear, he proceeded.

“Thor believes that Loki shows remorse.  That there is redeemable qualities in him.  What is your mind of this?”  The king was asking you?  No, he wanted you to offer.  

“I spent as little time as possible with him my Lord.  I do not know if he has shown remorse for what he has done.” Both the king and queen were becoming frustrated.

“I asked you here, the queen and I have asked you here, to determine whether Thor is right in his thoughts that there is something redeemable in Loki.”  There it was he finally said it.  As hard as you tried, you could not keep the tears from your eyes.

“You are my king.  I am your servant and will do as you order of me.”  Clasping your hands together in front of you, you held on for dear life.  Frigga attempted to step towards you but Odin stopped her.

“[Y/N]… I am not asking as your king.  Know I am asking this, not ordering.  I am asking as a father and the queen as a mother.  Can our son be redeemed?”  Something broke inside of you, as the tears slipped down your cheeks.  Frigga wanted so badly to comfort you, but she needed to stay strong in her reasons.  She wanted her son returned to her, even if it hurt you.  

“I will do as you ask, my Lord.  However, if he refuses I will not force him.  I would never force it on anyone.  Then I wish to be left alone for some time.  May I have that?  Peace to clear what will come of this?”  Odin nodded, motioning for Thor to come closer.  You had all but forgotten he was there.  

“You may have what you wish. Thor will bring you down to the cells, though it is more for Loki’s protection than yours.  I saw the mark you caused.”  The look he gave you was one of approval.  You bowed before walking towards the door.  Thor’s long strides keeping pace with your as you tried to retreat as quickly as possible, your skirts swishing with the movement.

Once you were out of earshot, Thor grabbed your arm, gently this time.  “I am sorry.  I had to do something to save him.  I know there is something inside him…”  You ripped his hand from your arm as you turned to face him.

“You knew how much this would hurt me.  Everything to save Loki.  Your parents know what this does to me, but my pain matters little against saving Loki. I will do this because my king asked it of me.  Do not think for a moment that I want to do this.    Once it is done, you will let me in peace.  I do not want to see your face or hear your voice.  You will leave me be.”  Stomping off, Thor kept his distance behind you.  It was now starting to settle in his heart how much this would hurt you, and it caused a dark hole in his heart.

The cells beneath the palace were set up all alike with the exception of Loki’s.  While the rest were empty save the prisoners, Loki had been given many furnishings and books for comfort.  It must be good to be the son of the king while imprisoned.  He stood watching you as you moved closer towards the cell.  “Now what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, [Y/N]?  I am still healing from our last meeting, so forgive me for my curiosity.”  

Thor took his place behind you, narrowing his gaze at his brother.  “She is here to help you.  If you allow it.”

“Help me?  How could she help poor Loki?  Hmm?  Brother there is nothing in all the realms to help me.”  You stood there watching his movements and his face as he spoke.  It was all different from the last time you met. The confidence was gone, though anger of sorts had replaced it.  Looking over your shoulder at Thor you spoke quietly.

“He refuses.  I do not need to stay.”  One of his large hands set on your shoulder, holding you in place.

“Give it a moment.  He knows nothing of what you can do.”  Loki laughed though there was nothing amusing in it.

“Have you not seen my face? I know what she can do.”  You glared at Loki, letting the fire build.  The energy appearing quickly over your hand.  Pressing it up against the field of the cell your energy met with it, sizzling then a loud pop as the field fell.  Nothing now stood between you.  He stepped back unsure of what to make of you.  You were not the woman he remembered.  “Perhaps, I do not know…”

“Brother, let her try. She can see inside of you, your mind. [Y/N] will be able to see how there is something good left in you.  I know there is, just let have the chance.”  Loki was of course skeptical.  As a child, you had the ability to see things, the past, sometimes the future. But nothing as this.

“She does not want to be here.  Angry to be in my presence.  Why would she do this for me?  How can I trust her?”  Him trust you…? It took everything inside of you not to hit him again.  You held steady, though.

“I have nothing left but my word and my honor, Loki.  Everything else is gone.  I gave my word to Odin and I will stand by it.  So either allow or refuse but I will not stay here all night.”  The silence in that cell was near deafening, except for the pounding of your heart.  You were praying that he would refuse but you knew better.

“I will allow it, if you answer one thing I ask.”  Canting your head as you stared up at him.

“What is it?”

“Why were you two never married?  The wedding was not far off when…  when I left. Why are you not bound together and you heavy with the next heir of Asgard?  The woman that stands before me is not the woman I knew.”  Pain shot through your heart at the memories. Memories that were of happier times. Now they were no longer.

“Odin said I was no longer worthy of a marriage to his son.  The ceremony called off a short time after you disappeared.  If you wish for me to do this then we will proceed. I cannot continue to prolong my agony here.”  You motioned to Loki to sit in one of the closer chairs, though you could see he had many more questions.  All of which you chose to ignore.  “Look into my eyes I need to focus.”  As he sat, you moved close.  Close enough causing him to swallow hard.  Resting your hands on either side of his neck, with your fingers wrapped around the back and your thumbs against his jaw.  His skin started to warm against your touch, as you looked straight into his eyes.  

Sending your energy lightly through your palms searching for something that would tell you Loki felt remorse.  There was so much there buried deep that it took more of your energy to pry open the walls. Once open it washed over you like a dark waters threatening to drown you.  Pain and blood.. Torture and lies… His Jotun form breaking through with screams that would haunt your dreams.  Tears poured down your cheeks as the scenes continued.  Loki’s screams as they broke him repeatedly until he could no longer take it.  He had devised a plan… Midgard.  It was too much; you fell to your knees sobbing. It felt as though someone tried to rip out your heart with their bare hands. Thor was at your side in a moment holding you.

“[Y/N], what is it? Talk to me. What did you see?” You looked up at Loki, seeing the pain in his eyes but knowing the truth now.  The screams were still echoing in your ears.  

“I need to see the Allfather.”  You refused to say anything more.  In truth, you could not even if you tried.  Your entire body shook at Thor helped you to stand.  He held tight as you stepped out of the cell walking towards the upper chambers and the throne room.  Loki stood back watching you leave.  He knew what you saw, had he known it would happen as that he would have refused.  No one else, especially you, needed to see or feel those things.  It took everything he had to keep it within him every moment.

 Thor did not try to speak again as you walked.  Looking straight ahead, he try to keep you from falling to the ground.  He just had to make it to the throne room.  Once there both Odin and Frigga look anxious for your report.  Both were alarmed at your appearance as they watched Thor help you walk.

My dear [Y/N], are you well?”  Frigga ran to you fussing as her hands cupped your face, seeing the pain written over it. There was no energy left to lie.

“No my Lady, I am not well. But that is the price I pay for this.” She stepped back looking in despair at her husband.

“Tell us of what you found and as I promised you will have your peace.”  Odin stood from his throne walking down to where you stood with his son. “Tell me of Loki’s mind.  What did you see?”  Summoning everything left within you, you pushed Thor’s hands away straightening your skirts and cloak.  Trying to regain even a piece of who you were in front of them.

“What I saw is his tale to tell.  If he ever chooses to share it, is his choice.  I will say that he was forced to do much of the ill deeds.  The last choice to save himself and save the realms was to go to Midgard.  He knew there, the Chitauri would be defeated by the defenders of Midgard and by Thor. Only they would have been able to stop them and retrieve the Tesseract.  He regrets what he has done but he knows he is unforgiveable.”  Frigga let out a gasp covering her face, crying silently into her hands.  Odin looked troubled but attempted to comfort his wife before turning back to you.

“Thank you, child. You were selfless and sacrificed once more for your king.  For that, I am forever grateful.  Go, I grant your peace.  No one will seek you out, until you are ready to return.   And [Y/N] Theinndottir, I will welcome your return.”  They were words you never believed you would hear. Now was not the time, you needed air. Away from that place, you ran. You ran until you got to the stables, and then ran your horse until neither one of you could go further.  The edge of the river was where you stopped, almost falling out of the saddle to the ground.  Once on your feet you sank to your knees in the grass.  Your screams rang loud in the valley as you raged at the Gods.  Perhaps this time they would actually listen.

Part 4 

tags: @feelmyroarrrr  @bolontiku  @aquabrie   @malindacath  @mysteriouslyme81   @independentgirl  @lokislonelylady  @frenchfrostpudding 

[grundyscribbling]

Five Loves of Celegorm’s Life

Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin. Well, mostly. Celegorm being a true Fëanorion, he wouldn’t cooperate and I had to lump several women together into one section.

Wordcount: 1430

Rating: General   

Author’s Note: I’ve never really written Celegorm before, but for some reason I’m on a roll - I not only have this, but a longer piece that I’m probably going to have to cut short for lack of being able to drop everything else to do nothing but write. This piece really just has outtakes from that...

Five Loves of Celegorm’s Life

Nerdanel

Ammë is the first love of every elf, and Tyelkormo is no exception. His mother is simply the most wonderful elf in all Arda (though Atto is a close second). It will be many years before he will allow that any nis can compare to her in beauty, and very few that he will ever think her equal in heart.

 Indis

His secret haruni is what he thinks the light of Laurelin would be if it were a person – all golden and glowing and warming everyone around her. She treats Fëanaro’s sons as her own grandsons in so far as he will allow her to, and it is she who tells Tyelkormo whence his silver hair comes, and that Miriel loved to dance in the forest beneath the stars too.

 Anairë, Irimë, Findis, & Eärwen

His uncle Nolofinwë’s wife is always calm and composed in public, and that has led to whispers that she is cold, that she married the second prince of the House of Finwë not for love but for status. Unfortunately, one of those whisperers stands within the hearing of a teenage Tyelkormo, whose temper comes to the fore as he recalls his warm-hearted aunt berating the officious cook who had turned his six-year-old self and an injured squirrel out from the kitchens empty-handed, not for lack of respect to a prince, but for being so unfeeling to a starving animal and a child who only wanted to help.  She may not show it to the world at large, but her warm heart is given unreservedly to her family, even to her wild, wayward, nephew who busts court etiquette with exasperating regularity.

Anyone who cannot see that Irimë is simply the best aunt a boy could possibly have has something wrong with their head. (And no, it’s not just because she always gave him cookies as a child. Although that probably factored rather strongly into it.)

Findis is not just his aunt, she’s his mentor in the healing arts. Granted, she applied them to people while he used his for birds and beasts, but the principles were the same, and her teachings would serve him well all his life. She is also the one who told him that no matter how impressive the world found her brother Fëanaro, Turkafinwë Tyelkormo was still his own person and had to follow his own heart, not try to be his father.

Eärwen he did not see as often as his other aunts, but her cool sea breeze was ever welcome in a family dominated by the spirit of fire. He was shamefully relieved that she had not joined her husband and children on the march from Tirion, for after the madness that fell on him at Alqualondë, he knew he would never be able to look her in the face again.

 Irissë

His love for Irissë started out as that of an older cousin for a younger one in need of his guidance and protection, but somewhere around the time she came of age, it became more complicated. Irissë is so like him in many important ways. They share a love of the wild and skill in the hunt, fearlessness, laugh at the same things, and wear their hearts – and tempers – on their sleeves. And if Fëanaro insists Nolofinwë is only his half-brother, that makes them but half-cousins, which means there can be no bar to them marrying.

The only brother who seemed to understand his feelings was Maitimo – and that might have to do with the fact that Maitimo was just as helplessly and hopelessly in love with another of their Nolofinwion cousins. Even Curvo, who is his closest brother, looked at him blankly when he confessed how he felt about Irissë and said, ‘but she is our cousin’.

A few years more, and they might have gathered the courage to marry and simply force their parents and brothers to deal with the fact of it. But the Darkening and the Oath changed everything. Irissë had been so angry with him after Alqualondë, and he had no chance to set things right before he made the crossing.

He was secretly glad when the boats burned that Irissë was still on the far side of the Sea – by then, they had seen enough of Beleriand to know how dangerous it was, and it was a relief to know Irissë would be safe. He might never see her again, but she would not know the fear and pain of this darkened land.

Except that she did­, because to his horror, when Nolofinwë arrived, she was in the host following him.

And he still didn’t get to set things right, because she refused to see him – and then Turukano spirited her away to whatever hiding place he had found for his people. He didn’t mind her being kept from him so much as he minded not knowing that she was safe, because really anything could have happened to Turukano’s people and the rest of the Noldor would not know the difference.

And then one day she turned up, in pursuit of her son. She had married some dark elf and he hadn’t even known.

But that pain was nothing compared to the next news he had of her, which was of her death.

  Luthien

Falling in love with Luthien was stupid, possibly the most idiotic thing he’d ever done in a lifetime of doing idiotic things.

Capturing her had been Curvo’s idea – and it wasn’t a terrible one. Curvo didn’t want the princess of Doriath running to her death over some foolish mortal, much less going near a Silmaril and falling foul of the Oath. It was bad enough that Ingo had enmeshed himself with Beren, but Ingo’s inevitable death would not bring the wrath of Doriath down on them and make permanent the breach between the Noldor and the Sindar.

Curvo cared not in the least whether he loved Luthien or she him. He simply pointed out that a marriage would mean an alliance with Thingol, a union of all elves against the Enemy that might allow them to finally uphold their Oath and perhaps return home.

At least, that’s what Tyelkormo thought. For all he knew, he had failed at hiding his foolish love, and his little brother was in his own convoluted way trying to play matchmaker.

It wasn’t her beauty that he fell for – well, not just her beauty, for he couldn’t deny that Luthien Melianiel was the fairest nis he had ever beheld. It was the strength of her resolve, the steadfastness of her regard. She should by rights have been safe within her father’s realm, yet for her love, she would risk all, evade her mother’s enchantments, do whatever it took to rejoin her beloved. He did not doubt she would dare to enter the lair of Morgoth himself.

But in the end, noble and true of heart as she might be, her love was also foolish, for Beren was a mortal. Even should he achieve his hopeless quest, he would be gone from Arda in but a handful of years.

If Tyelkormo could but keep Luthien safe until they learned Beren’s fate, she might come to have some regard for him. If Beren died on his quest, she would turn to him. If Beren survived – well, as a mortal he would inevitably die sometime. Finwë had been permitted to marry a second time when his wife declared she had no intention of returning to the living. Why should Luthien not do the same? He can convince his brothers to defer acting on the Oath long enough that she could bring the Silmaril to him in marriage rather than them taking it by force.

He could not have foreseen that Huan of all creatures in Nargothrond would be the one that betrayed him, much less that Luthien would defeat Sauron to save her Beren.

Nor could he have foreseen that Curvo’s determination to bring about the match between him and Luthien would extend to trying to kill Beren when they happened across them in the woods. He would have been willing to wait for the mortal to find his fate either at Morgoth’s hands or naturally in time. What would a few years have mattered?

But the Doom would have its full working – he lost not only Luthien, but Huan that day.

When he learned that Huan had died for Beren, and that Luthien had as well, he thought he had suffered the worst. But learning that Luthien had chosen mortal death – that was the day he abandoned all hope.

[locshar]

The White Princess Diaries - Ep 1 Part 3 - Don’t you wish it was him...

Having no choice in the marital maladies department - Dr Who invites Lizzie-Mini to a bit of a buffet – and there’s fruit and there is M&S fruit, but she is having none of it and -  Yahoo! - at last the crown has gone!  There is lots of innuendo about fillies and stallions and all I can glean from this is that Aneurard was a bit of a stud in bed.   Well of course he was!  Didn’t any of them watch TWQ if only for research purposes?  

 Caution – obligatory rape scene.  Or not. No one gets undressed, one sits on the bed – the other stands up - and there is about a nano second of grunting and he’s blathering on about being the king and even quotes the royal “we.” Or the royal ‘weeeeeeeeeee’

Someone cries – me actually - and that’s it – its over.  Its now all to see if she is fertile – spoiler alert – guess what is going to happen next…..

 Oh how I miss Anne Neville at times like this – remember the candles, the bolsters, the freckles, the burning bush…the small but big but small baby! Sigh.

 Who tells her he was thinking about Cob Face Cecily which is why he was only grunting for five seconds and not ten – and Lizzie-Mini gives him the best right hook I have seen in ages and I rewind so I can see it again and again.   And again. She storms off back to the Travelodge where Cecily is….bouncing on the bed…

 Mini Lizzie-ish says Dr Who is a bad man.  You are telling me?  He is also a twat…. And he can’t fight and doesn’t own any armour and even his horse ran away when he tried to hide under it…sorry – what plot? Oh – that one!

 Well Dr Who has put his leather pants back on and now Cecily is paying him a night time visit to try and get her hands on his family jewels – but he has taken his crown off so she can’t.  That makes her sulk even more.  Told you. Cob face!

 Grasper definitely needs to go on a diet but instead he is arranging to have Coronation Chicken – that’s the coronation of a chicken for those in the know (bock bock bock…)

 Grasper (Mk 2) has huge bags under his eyes.  Well that’s what you get for murdering people…serves you right – I hope your chicken chokes you – in Leicester!

 So – Lizzie-Mini has to have a child first before Who will marry her or invite her to have coronation chicken.   Jeez and they called Aneurard for fancying her pants off??  Now Dr Who is looking in the tower for the princes…ho! ho! ho!  Remember when poor Aneurard had to do that and he looked under every sheet and in ever cupboard and chest he could find in the one room…it took him all of…30 seconds not to find them.  But he did look bloody gorgeous whilst he was doing it.  But fear not!    Caitlyn Mags is going to do something - but I am not entirely sure what.

  Oh bloody hell – Lizzie-Mini is now wearing a crown – well more like half a crown.  And she’s getting a lecture from Caitlyn Stark who probably thinks Teddy is Tyrion so she wants him in the Tower.  We’ve been here before… don’t forget.  She’s now trying to make friends with Lizzie-Mini – God the woman must be desperate as she’s now whinging on about loyalty – something she has no contraception of.    She put Dr Who on the throne she says – well someone did because it wasn’t him and half the people who turned up on the battlefield have been claiming they killed Poor Aneurard and Dr Who certainly was not one of them.  He turned up in his Tardis after it was all finished!

 Now Madder by the Minute Mags is fore telling the future.   A boy will be born! (eh is she now Sisterbeth?)  and he will end the Cousins War (the what?) – and his name will be Edward – I saw it on a spoon once!

 Finally, the coronation – or something.   It’s the cheapest looking coronation parade I have ever seen – it looks more like the Cleethorpes Carnival.  Who travels on his own by horse and not a cloth of estate in sight and everyone has the same clothes on in the Travelodge so its good some things don’t change. Saves lugging a suitcase everywhere.  Cecily is bouncing on the bed again…..Dobby eat your heart out!

 The bells are ringing – which means Lizzie-Mini has to pay a visit to the toilet just in case she is pregnant …but as she has only been bonked by Who once and its all that soon as no one has any concept of time -  she could just as well be preggers by Aneurard than Chewdorwho. Ooh!  Idea! Could Aneurard turn up as his own son?  He does get younger every year so it is possible?  (scribbles note to Starz)

 Lizzie Mini now wants herbs for belly pain – I know the feeling!

 Nokia Ned gives Sisterbeth a ring – surprisingly no one has seen Perkin – er – Parkin at Turney…maybe he changed his mind and went to Disneyland.   The jewel is missing – its probably on Dr Who’s head. Or it could be the jewel in the Nile – or in denial!   The soldiers who went back to Yorkshire because they had lost their sat nav were told to slaughter any boys they found in WoodvilleLand.

Ahh Herod – don’t you wish you were here?

 Dr Who is wearing an embroidered smock round his neck to eat coronation chicken in – if only it were tighter!  Its like a big bib – but not a drool bib – obviously.

 Caitlyn aka Mad Mags Stark raving mad looks on.  Really - what are you doing in this series?  I just saw you in Fortitude! However,  I need some Fortitude as we are now at the coronation (again)  and I can see the chicken but no food.  Amusingly, Stanley is wearing a beret.  Has he become cosmopolitan and begun speaking  fraunch ce la vie?

 And of course there are no clergy so it is left to Lady Stark to shout out to the assembled extras - ”God and the BBC save Dr Who!”

 Now Margaret of Warwick has some Mandrake whereas I just have a headache. Lizzie-Mini still needs it to get rid of her belly pain – I want it to get rid of the past three years and see Aneurard again frankly.

 Useful Medieval NHS tip :–Mandrake gets rid of babies and gives you bad dreams. Any resemblance to real or actual drugs is purely coincidental.

 Lizzie-not so Mini soon – still wants Aneurard – and she’s still not alone there is she! I am only watching in a very faint, disappearing hope.

 Cecily is bouncing on the bed again – for God’s sake I hope I never get put in that Travelodge room – and suddenly Sisterbeth Queen has donuts in her hair like Princess Leia.  The fire – and the Werthers – are back and someone has peanut brittle as well so I have no idea what anyone is saying.  

 Lizzie-Mini-getting larger - asks Mumsy to kill the Tudors and I have to laugh now as the Queen of Tarts says she can’t kill anyone. What?  She killed the Yorks (and she is now calling herself a York) Is she confused, crazy or just reading a crap script?  So she says her spells are just pure luck really (Really?).  Lizzie - not so mini - must not blame her not yet big or small baby for being a Chewdor.  She has to make him tall and strong – just not fat and murdering like her grandson

 So after giving childrearing advice (from a woman who sent a five year old off on his own to sea) Sisterbeth slinkers off then to – oh make a spell with some mandrake then!

 Dr Who is happy cos he is having a child – it’s a miracle because a) he’s a bloke and b) he’s a bastard

 Lizzie - bigger by the minute - now wants a wedding more than anything.  Mad Caitlyn gets all ready to inform those who don’t understand this period by announcing that the baby will be a boy and will be named Arthur and will be christened in Winchester (where?)  

Hang on? Arthur?  Loud Splash as that bloody spoon gets thrown back in the river! But – hello! Aneurard – Arthureurard – there may be distinct possibilities here – we all know he can do  young – and ride a trike!

 Lizzie Major is getting her own wedding gown from Pradatagenet…purveyors of posh pregnancy plans to Plantagenet Princesses! It’s all ramping up now!

 Queen Sisterbeth nicks a hair from Mad Mags Stark as she flies past her on a broomstick and goes into a dark place to wind it around a bit of mandrake and summon up one of those spells which are only luck really and not a spell at all - honest Mr Witchfinder General!

 So – she makes Mad Starklyn see a ghostly white figure (yes – last seen walking next to Jon Snow) and wakes up shouting “Bring on the Wall!” Then she sees the White Walkers (priests to you) and the Red Wedding (oh sorry - that hasn’t happened yet….that’s at the end of the episode.)   And a creepy, strange figure scuttles across her bedroom and climbs into bed with her but – oh sigh of relief – its only Thomas Stanley.

 But a spooky, bloody mouthed child is looking in the window chanting that the male line of her family will die and Prince Richard of York will rise against her son.   Bloody hell – the script if foreshadowing like mad now – someone hide the Malmsey!  But then Mads wakes up and finds her nightmare has really begun as Stanley is in the nude. (not really but that would have been funny!)

 So – as she instantly knew that her dream was a product of Sisterbeth’s ‘luck’ because she saw the last series, Mrs Stark tells Dr Who that he has a heir – but no hair – but he has to lock Lizzie-Maxis mother away because she keeps nicking all the donuts to plaster to her ears. Oh – and she may be a witch.  

 Here we go - another bloody wedding.   At least she is under an umbrella.  She also brought with her some very big baps – so good news for the reception then! There are new clothes all around – sponsored by Horse of Fraser.

 Lizzie - extra plus sized - gets wed in Red – told you!  The Red Wedding!  She bemoans her lot and says she will fight for her brother to kill the monster that is Dr Who.  She may even rename him Dalek.  She will fight from within – which will be difficult whilst she already has a royal bun within the Plantagenet oven.

 But she is stoic.  She will be hidden and patient– and wait for her brother to rescue her.  I hate to tell her that she may have a long wait – he’s currently queuing up for a go on Pirates of the Caribbean!

 The wedding is all a bit hammy – I like a ham sandwich myself but who is the silent bloke in red and why is Grasper almost crying? It can only be that he has seen next weeks episode.

 And so to Bedtime – and some very sad music which we all know well.  Dr Who doesn’t want her and she doesn’t want him (well –she’s had Aneurard after all) Dr Who jumps out of bed holding his dagger (a real one - not a euphemism) and cuts her foot with a knife to keep her honour.  And so that his son is not a bastard.  Hard luck on that one mate!  If you nip forward in your Tardis to around 1538….

  I just wish they had used different bloody music as all I can see is shoulder freckles,  an nice beef-cheek and candles and bolsters….please help me!

 Now Lizzie not so mini is muttering something about H and P – HP Sauce? Tomato?  Is that what they used?  Cut to Truly Madly Magsy listening at the door – although why is anyones guess as he has already made her pregnant so what exactly is she listening for? Hoping he yells out Mummy?

 So that was it.  Did you get it?  Only Duchess Dyson had avoided the complete head and in some places body transformation. There was so much foreshadowing I half expected to see some plans lying around for a car park in Leicester…

 What will happen next….?  Well, the preview has an unknown man with a bow and arrow in a fetching blue cloak with a hood up so he looks more like Gandalf or one of the demon children in Citadel.  I wonder who that could be?  

 Let’s think…blue cloak, bow and arrow, in disguise…its bloody Robin Hood! The colourblind years!