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[meeras-modish-attire123]

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[laurellerual]

ASoIaF: Arya’s change of clothes

AGOT 

Arya III: His claws raked at the front of her leather jerkin. (...) Arya whirled, felt leather catch and tear as a huge fang nipped at her jerkin, and then she was running.

Arya V: Some of them stared at her boots or her cloak (heavy woolen cloak) (...) The silver bracelet she'd hoped to sell had been stolen her first night out of the castle, along with her bundle of good clothes (a velvet skirt, a silk tunic, some smallclothes, a dress her mother had embroidered for her,  a satin gown) , snatched while she slept in a burnt-out house off Pig Alley. All they left her was the cloak she had been huddled in, the leathers on her back, her wooden practice sword … and Needle.

ACOK 

Arya VI: "That hair is a fright and a nest for lice as well. We'll have it off, and then you're for the kitchens." (...) Goodwife Harra slapped her so hard that her swollen lip broke open all over again (...) They gave her a shift of grey roughspun wool and a pair of ill-fitting shoes, and sent her off. (...) On the road Arya had felt like a sheep, but Harrenhal turned her into a mouse. She was grey as a mouse in her scratchy wool shift,

Arya X: They required dressing like a page and washing more than she liked. (...) In her cell, she stripped to the skin and dressed herself carefully, in two layers of smallclothes, warm stockings, and her cleanest tunic. It was Lord Bolton's livery. On the breast was sewn his sigil, the flayed man of the Dreadfort. She tied her shoes, threw a wool cloak over her skinny shoulders, and knotted it under her throat. 

ASOS

Arya I: She was still dressed in her page's garb, and on the breast over her heart was sewn Lord Bolton's sigil, the flayed man of the Dreadfort. (...) "Who dressed the poor child in those Bolton rags?" 

Arya IV: They insisted she dress herself in girl's things, brown woolen stockings and a light linen shift, and over that a light green gown with acorns embroidered all over the bodice in brown thread, and more acorns bordering the hem. (...) Lady Smallwood said as the women laced the gown up Arya's back. (...) one sleeve was torn on her stupid acorn dress. 

Arya IV: The dress she put her in this time was sort of lilac-colored, and decorated with little baby pearls. The only good thing about it was that it was so delicate that no one could expect her to ride in it. 

Arya IV: So the next morning as they broke their fast, Lady Smallwood gave her breeches, belt, and tunic to wear, and a brown doeskin jerkin dotted with iron studs. "They were my son's things".

Arya V: Then they stole all the clothes that Lady Smallwood had given her and dressed her up like one of Sansa's dolls in linen and lace. 

AFFC 

Arya III: In the black of night she rose again, donned the clothes she'd worn from Westeros, and buckled on her swordbelt. Needle hung from one hip, her dagger from the other. With her floppy (woolen hat patched with leather) hat on her head, her fingerless gloves tucked into her belt, and her silver fork in one hand, she went stealing up the steps. (...) She emptied her pouch into her palm; five silver stags, nine copper stars, some pennies and halfpennies and groats. She scattered them across the water. Next her boots. They made the loudest splashes. Her dagger followed, the one she'd gotten off the archer who had begged the Hound for mercy. Her swordbelt went into the canal. Her cloak, tunic, breeches, smallclothes, all of it. All but Needle.

ADWD 

The Blind Girl: The blind girl tied a strip of rag around her head to hide her useless eyes (...) The waif had shaved her head for her when they took her eyes; a mummer's cut (...)  she gave her pox scars and a mummer's mole on one cheek with a dark hair growing from it.  (...) The clothes she wore were rags, faded and fraying, but warm clean rags for all that. Under them she hid three knives—one in a boot, one up a sleeve, one sheathed at the small of her back. (...) A cracked wooden begging bowl and belt of hempen rope completed her garb.

The Ugly Little Girl: An ugly girl should dress in ugly clothing, she decided, so she chose a stained brown cloak fraying at the hem, a musty green tunic smelling of fish, and a pair of heavy boots. Last of all she palmed her finger knife.

The Ugly Little Girl: They brought a robe for her as well, the soft thick robe of an acolyte, black upon one side and white upon the other. 

TWOW

Mercy: She shaved, donned her smallclothes, and slipped a shapeless brown wool dress down over her head. One of her stockings needed mending, she saw as she pulled it up. (...) Her boots were lumps of old brown leather mottled with saltstains and cracked from long wear, her belt a length of hempen rope dyed blue. She knotted it about her waist, and hung a knife on her right hip and a coin pouch on her left. Last of all she threw her cloak across her shoulders. It was a real mummer's cloak, purple wool lined in red silk, with a hood to keep the rain off, and three secret pockets too. She'd hid some coins in one of those, an iron key in another, a blade in the last. A real blade, not a fruit knife like the one on her hip, but it did not belong to Mercy, no more than her other treasures did. 

[blutonews]

https://www.blutonews.org/article/5

bluto felt and looked different from usual

FEB 25, 2024

The big lug we know and love had an unusual quirk he noticed while he was briefly making the daily rounds of picking a fight with the other scamps around him and just like him. He felt odd and he didn't know why. Of course this is a result of one thing, the long sleeved shirt was not fitting right, and it was kind of itchy. Today, Bluto took off his shirt in privacy and saw a small bed pug attached to the typically soft wool of what comprises his warm turtleneck. The bed pug blew a raspberry and him, and made a rude gesture towards him.

Photo Courtesy Olive Oyl Girls and Ladies Co.

It may have bitten him like this. Luckily, Bluto stole a can of bug spray from the insect disposal boutique and went to work destroying the bed pug's little life, and stunk up his whole woolen turtleneck to boot. Bluto took one long smell at the insecticide on his shirt, and became dizzy, slowly shutting his eyes as he drifted off into sleep. Bluto has not been seen wearing his prized threads since, and ends the story of this bed pugs little life.

[mrbexwrites]

Writing Whispers

Accepting @sarahlizziewrites open tag for this, as an excuse to dive into the archives and see how far I've come.

Rules: find a few paragraphs of writing from as long ago as you can. Re-write them how you would now.

Gently tagging @words-after-midnight @queen-tashie @deanwax @cee-grice and offering up an open invite to balance out the one I took! ;)

I actually have a good comparison project from my very first attempt at writing (and finishing) a novel!) It's from an old high fantasy project that I never did quite get round to finishing, but did attempt to re-write one NaNo a few years back.

2003

From where she crouched on her vantage point, Ylarae could survey the entire grounds of the townhouse she now perched upon. Hidden in the shadows of the stone gargoyles that stood as silent protectors against evil, she watched the Numen Warriors make their rounds as guests at the party stepped outside and mingled with one another, quickly heading back indoors when the colder weather forced them back.  Gaining entry to the townhouse had been surprising easy, despite the many guards that patrolled the perimeter. She had, with ease, scaled the wall that lead into a voluptuous rose garden, a skeletal twining of branches in the dead of winter. Keeping to the shadows, she had slipped silently past two of the Numen guards who stood shivering in their boots, trying to pull their thick woolen cloaks tighter about them. Once past the guards, she grabbed hold of the iron cast gutters and used them to scale the thick grey stone walls of the house.  Inside the house, she could hear the soft cadence of the music intermingled with laughter as it filtered through the open windows. The lady of the house was holding a party and Ylarae was using the distraction of the multitude of guests as a disguise to hide her presence within the grounds. Her footprints in the snow were lost within the steps of the partygoers as some sought nightly congress with masked strangers. The suspicion of who stole the necklace would fall on one of the guests, rather than looking outside.  Ylarae smiled despite herself; this was easier than she thought. All she had to do was break in, steal the necklace and then leave it in the hollow of the Hanging Tree in Byre’s Wood where she would find her fee. Ylarae disliked being used in such a menial task and had asked why Gristle could not do it himself. Each time, he merely laughed, a sound almost akin to a bear’s, and told her that she was the one to retrieve it. Despite her loathing of being used as a common thief, Ylarae found it impossible to refuse Gristle’s orders. Just thinking of the necklace caused her to shift with impatience, longing to get her hands on it, and have this menial task completed.   Shifting her weight to ease the cramp on her legs, Ylarae’s crossbow dug into her back. This once again ignited her ire at being used as a mere burglar. She was a highly skilled assassin, one of the best. She was trained in the shadow arts and the secrets of covert killing. But her most valuable abilities she had inherited from her mother.

2021

Her fingers tingled as she knelt atop one of the stone gargoyles that protected the perimeter wall. Carved out of granite, the stonemasons had imbued the stone with magic to ward off evil and protect those who lived inside.  It was an old magic, and ironic that these sentinels were being used to guard the very people who had scorched the earth and were trying to wipe magic from it.  Ylarae ran a gloved hand over the glyph-marks that had been etched into the creature’s head, rendering it nothing more than stone; the magic dissipated.  “What a shame,” she whispered to herself. “You would have stopped me, there is no doubt.”  She slid to a crouch beside the stone beast, hidden in its shadow as she watched the guards make another loop of the skeletal rose garden. In the summer, it would be a sight to behold; a manicured lawn with knee-height hedge mazes, flower beds and the roses that climbed to reach one another across the gravel path, forming an arch.  Light spilled out of the manor house, casting long shadows across the garden. Laughter, music and the sounds of glasses clinking filled the night air.  Gristle had told her to expect a heavily fortified home, given who lived here, but the party had been unexpected. Normally, she would have slunk back into the shadows, and returned later, but an urge, a need, pushed her onwards.  She surveyed the garden once more; she could balance her way along the wall and climb up into the house, but risk being seen by one of the guards. Or she could loop round the garden, which appeared to be the safer option, despite losing her vantage point.  A few guests would come out of the manor to mingle, have a quick stroll or to seek a quiet corner for congress in the shadows. But they never stayed out long, the cold pulling them back inside the house. A light dusting of snow covered the garden, but with wandering couples and the patrolling guards, any footsteps she left behind would be quickly lost amongst others.  As the guards passed once more, she tried to still her heart that was racing in her chest. Her hands trembled at the urgency to get going. Normally on a night like this, when she would be hunting, a placid calm fell upon her, but not tonight; tonight she was filled with electricity and need.  She dropped from the wall, landing silently on the lawn, only a few snowflakes drifting down behind her. On cat-like reflexes, she ran in a low crouch along the perimeter wall, staying to the shadows.  The shutters that hung from the wall, along with the iron-cast gutters made a simple ladder she used to scale the building.  Balancing on a third floor window ledge, she drew one of her twin blades that she kept in her sleeves, and popped the latch open. Her fingertips burned as she wriggled them under the window frame and slid it open enough for her to climb inside.  The third floor of the manor  was dark, and most likely off limits to the guests downstairs.  She stepped hastily away from the window, pressing her back against the wall; the last thing she wanted was to be outlined in the moonlight and easily visible. She knelt behind a dresser and waited for her eyes to adjust. She slipped off her gloves, feeling her heart pound. A cold sweat formed on her brow, which she wiped away, frowning at the perspiration.  The burning sensation in her fingers traveled further up towards her hands, and she balled them into fists trying to stop the feeling. 

[phoenixmaiden-gaming]

Next on the new list was to get the boy in the garage. That was easy enough. I just had to honk at him and guide him across the shop area and into the garage, then I pulled the cord and trapped him inside. (Trap the boy in the garage) The next think was in the next area with the neighbors. I took snuck into the woman’s yard and stole the ribbon and put it in the man’s yard, then went back to the woman’s. Then I had to wait for the man to throw it back over and I caught it. (Catch an object as it’s thrown over the fence) I then distracted the woman by moving things out of place and pulled the goose statue away and hid it and took it’s place so the woman put the ribbon on me, then I took off to the pub area and got inside by box. Then I did the performance to the ladies at the table. (Perform at the pub wearing a ribbon) The next one was really hard. I had to score a goal with the soccer ball that was in the shopping area. I had to go all the way to the shopping area and push the ball all the way across and up through the gate to the neighborhood. This is where I got confused. I didn’t know how to get it to the goal. Turned out I had to push it through the fence into the man’s yard, through the other fence to the woman’s yard and around the corners and through the hole in the fence through the bush to where the goal post was. (Score a goal) Next it was back to the pub area. I went to the older man and made him fall by pulling out his chair and then grabbing his hat. (Steal the old man’s woolen hat) I took it over to the neighbor woman’s yard in the previous area and put it in front of the bust while taking everything else out of the yard. Then I went back to the pub and filled the sink to get the toy boat and took it to the back of the pub and to the canal where I dropped it into the water and waited for it to float down stream and under a bridge. (Sail the toy boat under a bridge) On the way back through the pub, I grabbed the harmonica from the barrel and ran away, taking it to the woman’s yard by the bust. I still needed one more item, so I went to the shopping district, stole a pair of glasses from the stand and ran all the way back to put it in by the bust so the woman could add it to the decorations. (Dress up the bust with things from outside the back gardens) The next one I did took a little bit longer since I had to really go around to all the places. There was a basket by the well and I had to bring all the flowers there, there were 5 total. The first one I got was in the pub area, I had to have the ladies give it to me again and I took the Daisy to the basket. Next flower was the rose, I had to have the woman cut it again in the back garden neighborhood, then I took it to the basket. Next on my list was the tulip which was in the garden area, I just had to steal it when the groundskeeper wasn’t looking. The next one had to be in the shopping area and I had to look for it. It ended up being in the trashcan. so I took the lily and put it in the basket. The last one was the chrysanthemum. There was only one place left to look and that was the model village and I found it. I took it to the basket and completed the to-do. (Collect the five flowers)

[savysing]

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[joomlapiner]

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[ykharido]

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[shingoratextiles]

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[wolfish-trickster]

Flower crowns

Loki x female!reader (reader is also Asgardien)

Word count: 3.2K

Summary: It's summer, old Asgardien tradition and your annual depression comes. But something or someone changes it this year.

Warnings: angst, fluff, typos, messy writing

Tag list: @gaitwae @lucywrites02 @hard-to-be-the-bard @birdgirl90 @laramoonworld @forevernthensome @kozkaboi @the-emo-asgardian @theonlydeadpoet

A/N: the tradition in this story is completely made up (by me) so it's not viking accurate.

There is an old tradition for girls and boys of Asgard. Every summer solstice young girls and boys go into the woods, each gender separated. Both groups make flower crowns from plants and flowers they find. At the middle of the day both groups gather on a big meadow. Boys then choose a girl, put their flower crown on their head, girl does the same to the boy and they spend the rest of the day with each other, usually dancing or doing something... let's say more adult.

You used to be so excited for this holiday, staying up all night just wishing for the day to finaly begin. Every year you picked more colourful flowers and wore the most beautiful dress you owned.

The first time no one picked you. Nor second or third. Naively you believed next year it will be different. Someone, ANYONE will choose you. You lost all hope when the last remaining boy rather sat by a tree than pick you.

That was last year. A lot has changed since then. You matured, began to spend more time with your good friend Sif, focused on your hobbies more than your looks...

Just as you picked the right book to spend the summer solstice with, Sif came crashing through your bedroom door. "Y/N! I have to tell you somethi- why are you not dressed yet? The gathering starts in 10 minutes."

You looked down at your comfortable baggy trousers (which you unapologetically stole from your father) and big woolen viking shirt. You looked more like a boy from Midgard than a demigodess from Asgard. You didn't care. It was way more comfortable than long skirted dress that always get in your way when you walk. Besides you didn't plan on going outside today, you didn't have to look like a lady.

"I don't think I'm going," you explained with a sad look in your eyes.

"Why not? You were always so excited to go!"

"Well, people change, dear Sif. I changed. I do not want to waste another day."

"Waste another day? What do you mean?"

You rolled your eyes. "No one ever picks me. No matter how I dress or how colourful my flower crown is. I am always alone," you hugged yourself.

Sif's eyes lit up. "That is what I came here to tell you! You won't be alone this year. I persuaded Warriors Three and Princes to join us! One of them will pick you for sure."

"I don't know Sif," you scratched the back of your head. "Why would any of them pick me?"

"I know of some reasons, first: you're incredibly nice, second: you weave the best flower crowns and third: you are very close friends with Loki. He doesn't like getting physically close with others, so it's more than guarantied he will pick you," she smiled at you as she counted down the reasons.

You sighed sadly. "Yes, I was friends with him, but that was a long time ago. I bet he barely even remembers me anyways..."

Your mind took you on a short trip to your past with young Loki. How you met in woods when he was playing with his brother and how he sneaked from palace countless times to spend time with you. One day he didn't show up. That's the day you found out he started to learn magic. He no longer had time to be your friend. You never saw him after that day.

Sif started looking through your dresses. "Of course he remembers you, he talked about you all the time!"

"He did?"

"Yes. Now suit up!" she threw the best dress she could find on your bed and left your room to give you some privacy.

Few minutes later you were walking with Sif to Asgardien mountains. It wasn't a long trip, it only took about two hours to get into the pine forest where all young demigods and demigoddesses meet before they separate.

Sif really persuaded princes to come. All girls and some boys were lumped together making it impossible to see people they were gathered around. They were making sure princes noticed them. You rolled your eyes at their forlorness.

"Alright everyone, eyes on me," Ava clapped loudly to get everybody's attention. This tradition never had any organizers, yet every year there was someone who naturally took the lead. Last few times it was Ava and she didn't seem to leave the place to someone else.

"As you all probably noticed," she began, "there are new people joining us this year. I don't think they need any introduction. They are none other than prince Thor and prince Loki along with famous Warriors Three!" she announced and batted ger eyelashes.

There were squeels of joy and whistles as introduced boys stepped to the front and waved, showing off their pearly whites in confident smile.

Now you could really look at Loki when you finally had clear view. He wasn't wearing complicated Asgardian outfit like he used to. He only had simple yet elegant green shirt, black leather pants, knee high boots and golden cloak. Raven black hair wasn't messy and wild like you remembered, it was slicked back and under control. He had serious look in his eyes, no sign of smile on his face. He changed since you last saw him. It wasn't the happy boy anymore.

His brother on the other hand didn't change much, confident as ever with wild hair and even wilder look in his eyes, making every girl's knees weak.

The contrast between them was striking. Loki calm and calculating, Thor wild and carefree. 'Ironic, one would think it would be the opposite' you thought to yourself.

Some girls in the front started nudging others out of the way so princes could see them better.

"Calm down ladies, don't fight for them just yet," Ava remarked as she stepped between btoh brothers and placed a possesive hand on their backs.

You leaned into Sif's shoulder. "I don't want to be here anymore," you whispered.

"But we didn't even start yet!"

"I know, but-"

"No buts Y/N. You have no idea what I went through in order to get Loki here for you, you're not running away."

Your eyes widened. "You... got Loki... for me?"

"Yes, who else? I can't see you be alone another year. What kind of a friend would I be?"

The fact Loki was here against his will explained the forced expression. What Sif just said also gave you unwanted thoughts which quickly turned into anxiety, but you swallowed it down. For now.

Ava clapped and announced it's time. As if on cue all boys started walking in the same direction away from girls while they did the same. You walked close to Sif at the back of the flock and kept silent to Sif's disappointment. Once the group reached a small flowery field everyone started picking flowers om their own.

You waited for Sif to get distracted and then you quickly sneaked off between nearby trees.

"This is bad, this is very very bad," you murmured to yourself. It's clear as day Loki doesn't want to be here, and it's even clearer he is angry at anybody who made him come here. And since Sif made Loki be here for you, he will be angry at you too. He won't choose you like Sif probably blackmailed him to. You know him too good to know he will most likely humiliate you infront of everyone. Loki did change, but his mischievious ways will never leave him. You were more than sure.

"What's very bad?" a voice asked from behind you.

You jumped slightly and turned around. It was none other than Loki himself.

You stared at him. He stared at you. It was awkward.

Loki chose to make the first move. "Long time no see Y/N," he smiled.

"Yeah," you said and kept staring at him. From up close he didn't look as annoyed as he did before. What changed?

However you quickly regained rational thinking. "Loki, you can't be here! You have to return to other boys!"

"Who says I have to?" there it was. The playful smirk you were so used to. You never realized how much you missed it.

"Uh, the rules? You have to follow them," you crossed your arms at your chest.

Loki mirrored you and did the same. "I was never the one for rules, and you know that."

You frowned.

Loki sighed and shook his head. "Fine, if it makes you calmer," he waved his glowing hand and suddenly there was Sif standing infront of you. For a moment you thought this was all your daydream and Sif was watching you all along. Until you figured this must be the magic that made him be too busy to meet his friend from time to time.

"That's a neat trick," you admitted.

"Thank you," he smiled, it was strange seeng Sif's face with Loki's smile. "Will you finally answer me now?"

You blinked few times. "Answer you?"

"Yes, I asked you what was very bad. You seemed really stressed."

"Nothing," you shook your head. "Why are you even here?"

"Can't I say hi to my oldest friend?" he changed into himself so he could talk to you face to face without any magic.

"You mean to the one you didn't bother to visit for few decades," you looked at the stones below your feet and hoped he didn't catch the sadness swiming behind your eyes.

Loki sighed and started picking on his palm. "I deeply apologize for that. Understand that I had to study and couldn't distract myself if I wanted to be as powerful as Thor."

"Yes, I understand," you still avoided eye contact.

"You're not happy to see me, are you?" he asked, a hint of sadness in his voice.

You sighed. "Of course I'm happy to see you. Why would you ever think the opposite?"

He started to count down on his fingers. "You're looking everywhere but me, you didn't come to greet me back in the forest and now you're sending me away from you. And don't try to convince me it's for your precious rules. You weren't one for them either."

"I'm really happy to see you again, mischief, believe me," you reasured him and finally looked into his emerald eyes.

"Then why are you so tense? Today is a day for celebration, for happiness and joy. Why aren't you wearing that smile I was so excited to see after all that time?"

His kind words make your face heat up. Not in a million years would you think he would ever tell you he was excited to see your smile. No one has ever said anything like that to you before. But the rest of his words hit you more than his small confession.

"I don't want to be here. I want to go home and be alone," you confessed andd hugged yourself again.

"Why would you-" before he could finish sound of broken branches and crushed leaves under light boots came your way.

Before you could blink Loki shrunk into a green lizard swiftly running to hide under your long skirt. You thanked heavens he still had some respect and kept his head outside.

The owner of the crushing footsteps was none other than Ava herself. "There you are Y/N. And here I thought you got the hint and went home," she said.

"What are you talking about?"

The ever so smiley Ava dropped her mask and made an evil grimace. "Don't be silly, you think I don't know about you and princes? I know you made Sif talk them into coming for the first time just for you! You think I don't see what you're doing?" with every sentence she stepped closer to you. You didn't know for how long will you be able to hold your ground and nor step back before her.

"I'm not doing anything," you shrugged.

"Yes, you are. You are nicely cuddling up to princes just so you could snatch the throne and become queen one day and playing innocent at the same time," she spat venomously whuch broke you and made you step away from her.

"Listen Ava, I don't know what has gotten into you but you need to calm down. I haven't even talked to the princes for decades. And I didn't make Sif do anything, I found out about what she did after she did it. I never wanted her to do it. And I swear I never want to become a queen either," you defended yourself and kept stepping back. Your back collided with a tree trunk.

Ava used it to cage you in place with her hands planted beside your head.

"I don't believe a single word you say. Now listen and listen clearly because I don't like repeating myself. Stay away from Loki. He's mine, do you hear me? He's my ticket to throne, not yours. So be a good girl like everyone else and stay out of my way," she hissed.

"Why Loki? He's second in line, it makes no sense," words flew from your mouth before you could stop them.

Ava chuckled. "Even an idiot could see Thor has eyes only for Sif, I can't compete with her. Loki, on the other hand, is free as he can be," she said in a sing song tone.

"Do not get closer to him," you growled in order to protect him.

"Aaaw, it's so cute how you think he will ever choose an ordinary rock," she pointed at you, "over a shiny gem," she pointed at herself. "Face it darling, you are nothing compared to me. Now, if you don't want to spend another solstice alone I advise you to return to your books."

It finally downed on you. She was making sure no boy ever chose you all those years back. She had too much power here. You lost.

She noticed the change in your expression. "Good girl, I knew you would do the right thing," she detached herself from the tree and walked back where she came from.

You stared after her. You never knew what kind of a venomous viper she really was behind her kind smile. You just hope Loki will be more clever than you. Wait.

"Oh my heavens, Loki," you lifted your skirt but there was no sign of a small green lizard.

How much did he hear before he left? When did he leave? Those were the questions that plagued you as you defeatedly made your way back through forest to the city. You saw no point in staying, as Ava said she will make sure you'll stay alone again.

You frowned. You haven't been in this part of the mountain before. You must've took the wrong turn somewhere.

As you were turning to go back and look for the right path a bright yellow dot in the corner of your eye caught your attention. When you walked closer to it you realized it was golden lilly. Very rare flower here on Asgard, even more rare to grow in the wild. You've ever only seen it in palace gardens. And here wans't just one. Hidden behind bushes was a full field of them. Blooming and glittering under the sun like golden coins. The way their petals curved reminded you of Loki's curved horns on his golden helmet.

You took this as a sign to not give up against Ava. You started picking the flowers and making flower crown. 'Don't worry Ava, I'm going to be a good girl. I'll keep my head high and my middle finger for you even higher' you smirked.

*

Dusk slowly came. Those who got on the Great meadow sooner started making bonfires to set the atmosphere as every year.

The darker it got, the more people arrived. Sif was worried for you, she hasn't seen you ever since you disappeared from her sight. She just hoped you didn't go home into your loneliness again.

Loki on the other side of the meadow was smirking like a cat.

"Why so happy, brother?" Thor asked him.

"Why so caring, brother?" Loki asked back.

Thor shrugged. "I just think the way you're standing here and smiling is strange. Almost frightening. You have planned a mischief, haven't you?"

"Yes, I have. Be calm brother. It's not towards you."

Thor sighed from relief. "Alright. That's all I wanted to know," with those words he returned being the center of attention again.

Loki only rolled his eyes and checked on his own flower crown in his pocket dimension. He closed it as he felt a pair of eyes on him. He looked up and to his dissapointment saw Ava, batting her eyelashes and smiling seductivelly at him.

Loki shivered and scanned the meadow for you. Everyone was here but you. It made him nervous.

Not for long however, since you ran from the forest and took your place next to Sif, just in time. Everyone gasped at your golden flower crown.

Ava threw a hatefilled glance at you, but quickly put on a smile. "I don't think anyone else is coming. So gentlemen, you may now choose your lady," she announced.

You took a deep breath in, out, in, out. You didn't dare open your eyes fearing the worst.

What you didn't know was that if you kept your eyes open you would see how every boys started walking towards you, as if they were enchanted by your golden flowers. Loki however had different plans. With a simple charm he made all of them stop in their track and calmly walked up to you to their dissapointment.

A feeling of a soft ring being put on your head made you open your eyes. You looked up to meet smiling Loki. "Hello, my pretty flower. Care to dance?"

You nodded overjoyed. "Y-yes. Just hang on," you put your golden crown on his dark hair. "A crown for the prince," you whispered more to yourself than him.

He smiled even widely, love filling his eyes. Your hands intertwined.

Pure curiosity made you take the flower crown from your head to look what kind of flowers Loki picked. Golden lillies.

"My future queen deserves her crown, does she not?" he whispered to you.

You chuckled shyly and tucked a stray hair behind your ear.

On your left Ava screamed for dear life as her flower crown turned into stinging nettle.

"Your doing?" you smirked at Loki.

"Don't say she didn't deserve it," he hugged your waist and lead you away from people to have you all to himself.

He got into classic waltz position to dance with you, but you put both of your arms around his neck and layed your head in the crook of his neck. It took him a moment, but he got the hint and started slow dancing with you.

"I missed you so much Loki."

"I missed you too, my flower," he kissed your cheek.

[sherlokiness]

White, white, white, white, white but you know what's not white? Her blue eyes. Her dark honey hair. Her red cheeks.

They look as though they belong together. Val was clad all in white; white woolen breeches tucked into high boots of bleached white leather, white bearskin cloak pinned at the shoulder with a carved weirwood face, white tunic with bone fastenings. Her breath was white as well … but her eyes were blue, her long braid the color of dark honey, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.

This is a Sansa reference. And not foreshadowing for Val turning into a wight. One could argue he forgot the color of Val's eyes but it's undermined by the fact that he put three dots before it. GRRM made Jon elaborate on what's white on Val(There are 5)just so he could contrast it to a color that is finally not white- her eyes cause they are blue. If it's a mistake then GRRM failed epically with this passage. Using an ellipsis for emphasis but not bothering to double check?Even the hair color is wrong!

Beneath her coverlets she tossed and turned, dreaming that Hizdahr was kissing her … but his lips were blue and bruised, and when he thrust himself inside her, his manhood was cold as ice.

As you can see, GRRM later used the same trick with Dany. Person X is mentioned but then is later described with traits not belonging to them. I think we can conclude that both passages are talking about different people.(Sansa or Jon/Euron)

The light of the half-moon turned Val's honey-blond hair a pale silver and left her cheeks as white as snow. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.

Imagine if GRRM added that last line. I would be an Aegony rn. Gotta hand it to GRRM to make the moon do the impossible to have honey be turned into silver.

The last time he saw such a sight was this

Of Sansa, brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself. 

Blue eyed, dark honey hair,belonging with a 'ghost' direwolf? Check.

He's so blown away he had to ask

"Have you been trying to steal my wolf?" he asked her.

Have you been trying to steal me? Jon and Ghost are one. "Ghost is a part of him..."

"You wrong me, ser. I am no thief!"

Ser Roland placed his hand over his heart. "Then how do you explain this hole in my chest, from where you stole my heart?"

Jon/Roland upon seeing Val/Sansa talks about stealing an important part of them.

The language used is "have been trying" meaning this is not the first time this has happened. When did she ever try to steal his wolf? It should be " Are you trying to steal my wolf?" I hope you can see my point.

It calls to mind this exchange

"You could dance with me, you know. It would be only courteous. You danced with me anon."

"Anon?" teased Jon.

"When we were children." She tore off a bit of bread and threw it at him. "As you know well."

Anon means soon or shortly and only used twice. GRRM must have known that it is an unusual use of the word soon since she was referring to a dance in the past.

A snowflake danced upon the air. Then another. Dance with me, Jon Snow, he thought. You'll dance with me anon.

The correct meaning of anon is used here and it also makes us remember Waymar(Jon Snow parallel and who also happened to be Sansa's first love 🤣)

Ser Waymar met him bravely. "Dance with me then."

We all know Jon will "dance" with the WW. But since anon is used, we harken back to Alys's words which Jon changed from the past (you danced) to the future ( you'll dance) with me.

So anon is not used correctly and this Jon response(he's about to betray the Wildlings) was also used incorrectly and it doesn't make sense unless he's foreshadowing a different event

The man kept staring at him, with eyes as big and black as wells. I will fall into those eyes and  drown. 

As I've explained here, there's no way GRRM used drowning in someone's eyes as a metaphor for falling in love multiple times(5 times) just to make the sixth one(Jon's) an exception. Let's look at this earlier Sansa chapter in the same book.

She could only imagine what it would be like to pull up his tunic and caress the smooth skin underneath, to stand on her toes and kiss him, to run her fingers through those thick brown curls and drown in his deep brown eyes. A flush crept up her neck.

Sansa is fantasizing about the Knight of Flowers.

"You have your mother's eyes. Honest eyes, and innocent. Blue as a sunlit sea. When you are a little older, many a man will drown in those eyes."

So "a man will drown in those eyes" while Jon said he "will fall into those eyes and drown." Such coincidental wording and both cases involve water (sea and wells).

It was Lemore who forced the water from your lungs after Griff had pulled you up. You were as cold as ice, and your lips were blue.

This is how Tyrion was described when he nearly drowned. Makes you think.

[aroaessidhe]

find the link to my char desc database in my pinned post. I’ve also included the Hierarchy of Spirits from the back of the book at the bottom.

There are some vague spoilers here, as most of it is in the form of quotes! I’ve left out some spoilers, which are in the database entry (under dropdowns) as well as a few minor characters & descriptions I’ve left out of this.

Artemisia

braided hair, loose strands around her face. white as a corpse, a draggled-looking black braid draped over one shoulder. pale skin and black hair, grey eyes

hands: scarred hands, from fire.  scars worst on left hand, where the shiny red tissue that roped my palm had contracted over time and pulled my fingers into permanent claws / red and oddly wrinkled in the candlelight, the left permanently curled, missing the fingernails on the last two fingers. Those fingers were the most badly burned, left with only shiny knobs of flesh at the shortened tips. (wears gloves over scars)

censer, a thurible on a chain to defend ourselves against the Dead / dagger with a leather sheath, a misericorde - on her belt

My robes stank of sweat, and my unbraided hair hung lank and greasy to the floor.

My robes, on the other hand, I’d had to leave behind in the village. Their distinctive appearance instantly marked me as a Gray Sister. I still had on my chemise, my boots, and my stockings, but I had found a linen tunic and a tattered, mouse-gnawed woolen cloak in one of the houses to replace the robes. Among all the refugees fleeing their homes, I wouldn’t attract attention. Except for the fact that I was riding a Clerisy warhorse

Gray eyes, stark against a filthy face smeared with dirt and dried blood. The skin underneath ghastly in its pallor, surrounded by a tangled curtain of long black hair, snarled like a bird’s nest with burrs and leaves. Overall, not the worst I had ever looked first thing in the morning.

Lady’s tears, the only flowers that bloomed this time of year, sprinkling the barren hillsides with their starry blossoms  - braided into her hair at the festival

Marguerite

plump figure and chestnut hair

She wasn’t as pale as me, but her fair skin could display a spectacular variety of colors—generally shades of pink, but sometimes an impressive purple flush, and occasionally an interesting greenish cast, when something I said to her almost made her throw up.

Now she wasn’t wearing her novice’s robes; she was dressed like a refugee in a drab, patched tunic. The blight on her hands and face had faded to dull splotches of green and yellow, like week-old bruises.

hair in braids at festival, with flowers,

The Priest / Leander

His pale, austere face floated in darkness above the high collar of his severe black robes. He was tall, his posture immaculate, his sharp cheekbones casting his cheeks into shadow.

A ring flashed on his hand, set with a large onyx gemstone. The ring’s stone glinted like a beetle’s shell in the candlelight. The polished black gem dwarfed even Mother Katherine’s large amber cabochon.

pale skin and golden hair

his eyes were a luminous shade of emerald-green, the color of stained glass pierced with light.

The priest had changed since I’d last seen him. His pale, imperious features had frozen to the cold hardness of marble. He rode stiffly, as though he were favoring an injury beneath his robes, and dark shadows bruised the skin beneath his eyes. Saint Eugenia’s relic hung from a chain around his neck, the reliquary’s opals sparking fiercely in the fading light.

Now that he was no longer traveling, he wore his full confessor’s vestments. The elaborate silver stole draped over his robes would have gotten dirty in the countryside, the matching cincture likewise. The robes themselves were identical save for a silver oculus embroidered at his throat just below his collar, bright against the black fabric, framed by the stole on either side—whose pattern, I realized, depicted interlocking chains.

Captain Enguerrand

he pushed up his mud-spattered visor with the back of his gauntlet, revealing a brown, careworn face. There were exhausted-looking pouches beneath his eyes, but his gaze was kind—too kind. 

 It gave me a strange shock to see him dressed in ordinary clothes instead of plate armor, revealing him to be average in build, only about Charles’s height and not much broader at the shoulder. Abrasions encircled his wrists where he had been tied with rope. The sword belted around his waist was his only sign of authority

Charles

curious brown eyes.

Now he had his helmet tucked beneath his arm, revealing a handsome, brown-skinned face and a tousled head of black hair.

The Divine

The parted curtains showed glimpses of a woman within, resplendently robed in silk and brocade. A miter rested atop her head, heavily embroidered with gold. Onlookers touched their foreheads in reverence as she approached. It was the Divine. To my eyes she appeared no older than she had in Naimes four years ago, though her age was difficult to tell for certain. With her hair pinned up beneath her miter and her delicate features caked with white maquillage, she looked more like a painted wooden doll than a person. Her many relics completed the effect—rings on every finger, an amber pendant at her breast, and a jeweled scepter across her lap, encrusted with diamonds

The Divine was standing in the vestry, her many layers of ornamentation being removed by an attendant. The smell of cold winter air and incense clung to her robes. With her miter set aside, I saw that her hair was brown and curly, cut short for tidiness, which made her look even more girlishly young

Trouble

a raven with white feathers

Mother Dolours

The voice belonged to a hugely stout nun who was charging toward us with alarming speed, her face purple with anger and her gray robes billowing behind her.  She had arms as big around as vinegar barrels, the fabric straining to contain their girth. Like Mother Katherine, she didn’t wear any adornments of rank, but the numerous relics glinting on her fingers suggested she was the abbess.

wearing rings (healing relics)

Jean

a huge, muscular frame swathed in bandages. He was the largest man I had ever seen, nearly the size of a rivener. His strangely blank eyes were trained unblinkingly on me and Charles.   Swollen patches of blight, dark against his pale skin, distorted his already ugly features—small eyes, a heavy jaw, a nose flattened by a poorly healed break. He was so tall that as he approached, I had to lean my head back to keep looking at him

Sarathiel the Obscured

taking in its remote, beautiful countenance, the eyes serenely half-closed. A fine crack ran diagonally across its features, dividing them in two, as though its face were a porcelain mask. Mist poured from the tipped chalice held in its skeletal hand, pooling beneath its silver pinions. Three sets of wings framed its body, one pair spread and the others folded. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to me that revenants had wings—I had felt them. But the images almost defied comprehension.

As the ghost-fire roared up around me, obscuring my vision, I felt strangely calm. I tried to make sense of what I had seen. The six wings, some half-furled and others spread, their ghostly immensity stretching from balcony to balcony. The singed edges of the pinions, blackened and curled. And the terrible face, where the diagonal crack in the mask had split and one half had fallen away, leaving it preternaturally beautiful on one side, a bare and grinning skull on the other.

Cimeliarch The Bright

The spirit that confronted me was unlike anything I had seen before. It was a skeletal, six-winged figure radiating a starburst of lines that I took to signify light, like the rays of the sun. A halo shone behind its head. It wore a half-melted crown, the gold dripping in shining rivulets down its skull. At the bottom, letters read CIMELIARCH THE BRIGHT.

Architrave The Dim

I turned the page. The next revenant lurked in a pall of shadow, only the bones of its arm and hand clearly visible, holding a set of scales. This one was labeled ARCHITRAVE THE DIM.

other revenants-

A chill crawled down my spine as I turned more pages, met each time with unearthly skeletal figures, veiled or crowned or holding objects—the scale, a sword, a chalice—and all of them winged, some with a single pair, others more. And beneath them, spelled out in gilt: CAHETHAL THE MAD. OREMUS THE LOST. MALTHAS THE HOLLOW. SARATHIEL THE OBSCURED.

RATHANAEL THE SCORNED,

read the lettering. Above it hung a skeleton twined in a ragged shroud, with two pairs of tattered, crowlike wings. Its fleshless skull grinned out at me, the eye sockets bound behind dark wrappings. It held an iron torch clasped in front of its rib cage, the top spiked like a crown, the flames roaring up, enveloping its body and wings in fire. The silver of its form had a dark, tarnished look like an old mirror, but I couldn’t tell if that was intentional or a result of the gilt flaking with age. Some powerful spirits held objects, like riveners did swords. It represented something important about their nature, but I had no idea what the torch might signify and doubted the revenant did either—only how ironic it was that I’d ended up with the revenant associated with fire.

THE HIERARCHY OF SPIRITS

FIRST ORDER - THE ORDER OF THE INNOCENTS

Shade

Wisp

SECOND ORDER - SOULS LOST TO THE FORCES OF NATURE

Gaunt—Death by famine

Frostfain—Death by exposure

Undine—Death by drowning

Ashgrim—Death by fire

THIRD ORDER - SOULS LOST TO ILLNESS AND DISEASE

Feverling—Death by fever

Witherkin—Death by wasting

Wretchling—Death by flux

Blight wraith—Death by blight

Plague specter—Death by pestilence

FOURTH ORDER SOULS - LOST TO VIOLENCE

Rivener—Death by battle

Fury—Death by murder

Penitent—Death by execution

White vicar—The spirit of a slain cleric

FIFTH ORDER - THE SEVEN REVENANTS

Cimeliarch the Bright

Architrave the Dim

Cahethal the Mad

Oremus the Lost

Sarathiel the Obscured

Malthas the Hollow

Rathanael the Scorned

[muslimah-in-academia]

Every winter, we have a few men from Kashmir come over with a bundle of shawls, salwars and stoles. They are exquisite - the finest pashminas, woolens and linens. After bantering with the ladies of the house, they manage to skillfully press the loveliest pieces from their collection into our hands, and the bargaining begins after that.

They usually charge from a few thousand upwards to lakhs of rupees. It depends on the quality of the cloth and labour of the hands that went behind making it beautiful. The hand-embroidered ones usually are the most expensive. If it's a pashmina with embroidery, be ready to shell out some lakhs.

These last two winters have been especially hard for this business - first because of the Indian government's colonizing of Kashmir in 2019 and then the pandemic in 2020.

This brother who came over today was telling us how he is seriously considering switching over to selling walnuts instead of shawls. It's heartbreaking and I hope he manages to stick it out.

He helped me pick out these lovely pieces today. The pictures are more like a spur-of-the-moment photoshoot, with no proper preparation, but I wanted to share their beauty with you guys regardless.

[hopeisour4letteredword]

personal furnace, ch6

Summary: Winter renovations at the inn in Zaphias leave Yuri in need of a warm bunk for the night. Good thing he can always count on his good buddy Flynn.

Read it below or at the link to AO3 in the notes.

When Yuri clambers through the window for the sixth time in as many days, Flynn glances up from his book, then does a double-take as something suddenly occurs to him. Sure enough, Yuri is still only wearing the thick, woolen tunic he stole from Flynn as his top layer. Flynn still doesn't mind lending it to him, but—

"I could have sworn you said you had better jackets with you when you first arrived."

"I do," Yuri says. He grabs one of Flynn's blankets and dives over to what's rapidly becoming his spot at the hearth. It's incidentally also at the base of Flynn chair. Has Flynn been subconsciously inching his armchair closer to this spot? He feels like it was at a different angle relative to the fireplace at the beginning of this week. "But the really good winter stuff sucks ass to climb in."

"Really?"

"Yeah. At least the coat I got in Dahngrest does. I complained about the range of motion when we were getting it and Raven said it was probably better that I couldn't try to climb sheer ice, anyway."

Well, Raven wasn't wrong.

"Hang on," Flynn says, exasperatedly, as Yuri's point sets in. "You aren't wearing your coat because it would make it too hard to climb to my window? Yuri."

"What?"

"There is frost in your hair."

"The coat wouldn't cover that."

"I really don't know what to do with you sometimes," Flynn sighs. He puts his bookmark in and leans over to tuck Yuri's blanket-cloak in around his neck. Yuri leans into the touch with a grateful hum. "Please just wear your coat and come in through the front. I can talk to the night shift guards in advance if you're worried about it."

"I don't want the Knights to know my plans for the evening," Yuri mutters.

"I am the Knights."

"Oh, gods, spare me." Yuri shifts his weight so that when he leans back, his nape bumps against Flynn's knees, and he can tip his head back into Flynn's lap to give him a withering glare. "It's not that weird to not want strangers to know my business just because you're a big shot now."

"Maybe it isn't," Flynn says, more to avoid having this recurring argument distract from his main point than because he believes it, "But that's not worth freezing to death over."

"I won't freeze to death," Yuri says. "I'm not running around like this the whole day or anything. I wear the coat for most of it. I just take it off at the end of the night to come here. That's only fifteen minutes or so."

"At night, when it's coldest."

"I'm fine, Flynn."

"You did that after Ted's pipe burst, too," Flynn realizes, aloud. He sighs again. He lets his head dip forward, bending at the waist until his forehead gently bumps against Yuri's. "If you won't do it for yourself, will you do it for me? Please?"

"If you're really that worried about it, fine," Yuri says. He reaches up and pats at Flynn's head. "I'll wear the damn coat."

"...You're still going to try to climb in it, aren't you."

"Not to offend any kind of weird pride you have in the security of the castle, but this isn't exactly the kind of high-caliber infiltration where it could cause me injury instead of mild discomfort."

Flynn decides it's far too late in the evening to be weighing his options between tightening castle security for very legitimate safety reasons and leaving them lax enough that Yuri can easily visit the way he's most comfortable with. He knows he'll be more sensible about it in the morning. He sits back upright, shaking his head.

"I'd say something absurd like, 'as long as you're sure it's safe,' but I'm certain it's not. Please just try to be careful."

"I know what I'm doing," Yuri says, indignantly, and Flynn feels confident about that, at least. Even if Yuri won't confess to the exact level of danger aloud, he's aware of whatever it is he's getting himself into. "Also, just to go back to an earlier point, not wearing that coat is the only reason I didn't get frostbite from helping Ted. It shielded me from the worst of the water, but then it was completely soaked for the rest of the night. I'd have hurt myself more insisting on wearing it than I did just booking it back to warmth."

"Where in heaven's name did you dry it?" It would have frozen stiff if he'd just left it in the cold, and then he wouldn't have had it the next day, either.

"Mariam's front room. She's got it warm enough for customers. Felt bad having her hang my sopping coat out front where the guests could see it, though."

Flynn strongly suspects that there's another warm room somewhere in Mariam's inn that Yuri's coat was relocated to for the night. Quite possibly that room is Yuri's.

"It probably wasn't the worst thing that's been in Mariam's front room," Flynn says, instead of any of that.

"Eh, that's probably true." Yuri's head is still in Flynn's lap, so Flynn can see it when he grins. "You should see the stuff Espie keeps dragging in."

"Strays?" Esperanza is a friendly young lady. She seems like the sort that would be hopefully bringing mangy cats and dogs back to Mariam. But perhaps Flynn only thinks so because she reminds him of Yuri, when he was a peppy kid who ran around collecting animals in need and bringing them back to Mariam. Esperanza is much older than Yuri had been when he did that, but... Flynn doesn't mean to be rude, but Esperanza at sixteen seems to be at approximately a ten-year-old Yuri's level of naivety. Perhaps it's merely the learning curve of a recent entry to the Lower Quarter.

"Oh, yeah. Strays. Cool trash. Whatever muck she's gotten on herself messing around in the canals."

"You shouldn't encourage her to mess about in the canals, they're disgusting."

"We don't encourage it. Mariam gives her exactly the same dressing-down she used to give us, and Espie listens exactly as much as we used to."

"And what do you do?"

"Stay out of Mariam's way."

"Smart man," Flynn says. Yuri probably isn't around often enough to be egging Esperanza on too much. Hopefully she'll grow out of it on her own in good time. Then again, did Yuri ever grow out of it, really? "Well, as long as I'm pestering you about staying warm enough, can I persuade you to take another hot bath?"

"Are you saying I stink?" Yuri says, with good humor. "Mariam's communal bathrooms are working, you know. I've been taking showers."

"I'm not saying you stink," Flynn says. He brushes some hair out of Yuri's face. Yuri's eyelids flutter closed. "Just thought you might like to relax and be warm for a while, since you have to spend all day running around in the cold."

"Warm enough now," Yuri says. Flynn will accept that, if somewhat dubiously. He is camped in front of the fire with an extra blanket and whatever body warmth Flynn's legs give off. "I'd rather go to bed, honestly, since you're going to get us up stupid early again."

"I keep telling you you can sleep in."

"Even if I wanted to, I can't anymore. I'm afraid Cece will stab me if she comes up with breakfast and I don't partake."

"I really wonder what's gotten into her," Flynn murmurs, bemusedly. She hasn't asked how long Yuri will be staying in Flynn's quarters or when to stop bringing extra food. She just keeps stubbornly bringing two servings of breakfast. She had looked rather cross again the last time she brought it in and Yuri had been half a step away from leaving too soon to eat.

"Who knows," Yuri says. "Are we going to sleep or what?"

So they do.

Flynn does foist an extra pair of gloves and a scarf off on Yuri after breakfast the next morning, though. Who knows what other nonsense Yuri is getting up to without his coat. Flynn might not be able to keep him warm all day, but he can at least try to convince Yuri to keep himself warm.

Yuri wraps the scarf around his own neck with a look that warns Flynn he's accepting it as an indulgence to some idiocy of Flynn's. The gloves he shoves into his pocket.

But then he does climb out the window next, so Flynn supposes he'd rather Yuri had the grip he wants and expects for his own idiocy.

[nincompoopydoo]

STOLEN GLANCES

PAIRING: Sir Percival x Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT: 1589

SUMMARY: You and a certain knight of Camelot keep catching each other’s eye but one of you ever acted upon the visibly growing tension between the two of you. Small and wistful glances only ever came close. However, all that changed on one night.

A/N: It’s kind of a mess because I wrote SO MUCH. But, I personally love it. The concept of it at least. Percival will forever hold a special place in my heart. Stay safe, lovelies xx

MASTERLIST

“I see you have caught a certain knight’s attention.” You jump at the familiar sound of none other than Merlin approaching from behind you. He shoots you a smug look when you turn towards him with furrowed eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, nodding in a direction that passes you. You follow his candid gaze, turning, you are greeted with a certain pair of blue eyes. Sir Percival’s, particularly. He stood among the other knights, towering over them, with a cup in hand. Your heart promptly begins to stutter under his unwavering gaze as you watch the growing crimson color upon his cheeks once he realizes he has been caught. Instantly tearing his eyes away from yours, he anxiously takes a sip from his cup, directing his attention back to Sir Leon. You merely blink, turning to Merlin with a somewhat bewildered look yet your apparent blush inevitably betrays you. You wave your hand dismissively. “He’s looking at Gwaine.”

The manservant snorts. “If you say so.” and with that, he flees, abandoning you once more as you typically begin to think about what you’ll have to salvage from the leftovers for supper tonight.

When you turned your attention back to the hall, it didn't last for very long as you found yourself naturally drawn towards Percival. He was laughing heartily along with Leon and Elyan and before you knew it, he looked up; those same startling blue eyes were on yours once more. You watch the right corner of his mouth crease up in a half smile, your heart jumped and your pulse raced once more. 

Promptly returning a bashful smile, you forcefully yet reluctantly shift your stare away, preventing anyone else from falsely accusing you for merely making ogle eyes at one of the knights of Camelot. 

You hoped to maintain your job, for now.

Initially, Sir Percival was nothing but a name. But when you had seen Prince Arthur and the knights returning from a quest, riding on horsebacks, Percival stood out the most. The other women had said he was the tallest among them all yet no one ever mentioned him being so incredibly handsome. You had let yourself embarrassingly walk into one of the barrels near the stable, causing all eyes to turn on you. Capturing his eyes briefly, you sheepishly ducked your head lowly, swiftly running back through the door leading to the kitchens. 

As for Percival, he was only able to catch a slight glimpse of you as you ran away in spite of your embarrassment but when his eyes met with yours, even for a brief second, you had managed to knock the wind out of his lungs instantly. His sense of balance grew weak, nearly falling off his horse causing Percival to make a sound as he steadies himself back onto the saddle. The other knights’ attention were all on him, with smug looks as they looked at each other knowingly.

Ever since then, the idea of you and him constantly filled your minds day and night. It was rather distracting at times.

Tonight was no different.

~

Camelot was particularly silent during the wee hours of the night; the mere sound of crickets and men talking from afar, indicating the knights were still making their rounds throughout the area.

Your cloak drowns your figure into the night, it’s dark fabric faintly contrasts under the moonlight. In your arms, loafs of bread and a couple or apples -- leftovers from the feast earlier on -- were wrapped neatly in a beige woolen cloth. The walk from the castle was thankfully near enough for you to make it in time to Alberta, who was awaiting for you every night for supper. She was a mother to you ever since you first arrived at Camelot during your adolescent years. 

You couldn’t wait to see her face when she sees the amount of food you had tonight in comparison to the days. Ever since she began to fall ill, you were the sole source of income which sometimes forced you to sacrifice your meals just for her. She doesn't know about this, of course. There were many times you wanted to call upon Gaius, just to check up on her, but the woman refuses to allow you, not wanting to trouble anyone else.

“You already do so much, dear. There’s no need for Gaius.” She would claim.

You take long strides, cutting between the small stone cottages as a certain knight's half smile begins to fill your head. You can’t help but grin to yourself. As you made a sharp turn into another alleyway, you suddenly heard a low yet hush voice of a man from behind you. “What are you doing out here?” he calls out. 

You desperately hoped whoever stood behind you wasn't a bandit. 

But then, would bandits ask you such a question?

Bringing your feet to a halt, you cautiously turn around and your eyes grow wide. Percival towers over you, torch in hand; his eyebrows shoot up as his face softened at your somewhat petrified look. Your eyes, however, seem to shine even brighter under the firelight. He nearly loses his grip on the fire torch. 

Recomposing himself, his eyes immediately flicker towards what he could make out as bread peering out of the tightly wrapped woolen cloth you held in your arms. “Please do not tell me you stole those.” Percival gestures towards the bread; his deep voice sends a shiver down your spine.

Your brows begin to knit into a frown, gazing down as you realize what he was indicating at. “Oh! No, no, no. No. These were leftovers. I’m heading to Alberta’s for supper.” 

He seems to be taken aback by your response. In truth, Percival was certainly unprepared to hear your voice; it’s sweet, gentle and somehow reminds him of home.

He’s already attached, that’s for sure.

You watch him grow silent, lips pursed; you finally let yourself breathe as he cleared his throat.

“Let me-Let me walk you back. It will be uncivilized of me to let a lady walk alone at this hour.”

The knight attempts to showcase his confidence in such a way it might impress you although he isn’t quite sure why but Percival still manages to stutter under your stare.

You try not to gape at him, becoming even more flustered by the second. 

“That’s very kind of you. Thank you.” You lower your head briefly, an expressive gesture to show one’s appreciation.

The corners of his lips turned up gently, gazing wistfully at you. “I’m just doing my job, ma’am.”

You turned, starting to walk once more as Percival fell into step beside you.

You feel foolish for not introducing yourself to the very man who was currently accompanying you on the trek back home. “Y/N,” you merely say, he turns to you. “You can call me Y/N.”

He nodded thoughtfully, eyes still fully on you. “Percival.”

Oh, you knew that already. Nevertheless, you sincerely appreciate the formal introduction.

Nothing was said beyond that as your footsteps sounded in quiet unison along the cobble-stoned path already nearing the cottage. You see the twinkling candle that glistened through the window; she was still awake.

The two come to a halt at the doorway side by side; you take this chance to glance up at him and notice that due to his height, he was nearly as tall as the doorway. “Thank you again. I will find a way to repay you.” You said, lowering your hood. Percival waves a hand dismissively. “Like I said, I am only doing my job.”

You let out a soft chuckle, the corner of your eyes crinkled. “If this is a knight’s job, I must say the others aren’t doing theirs.” It was true, this was the first time you have been offered to be escorted back home. Percival eagerly beams down at you.

An audible gasp pulls you away from the conversation, and you were immediately met with the sight of Alberta by the door, staring up at Percival in awe. “A knight of Camelot...” she trails off, voice hinted with pure amazement. “Tell me sir, are you courting this young lady? Because it’s about time she-”

Your skin pales, eyes wide. “Alberta!” you exclaimed nervously. Percival merely averts his gaze elsewhere, face reddened. The woman merely laughs at your reaction, heading back inside. 

You turn to him once more, cloak flicking behind you. “I,uh... Goodnight, Percival.”

The way his name rolls off your tongue, it sends a million butterflies to his chest. He bows his head slightly, “Goodnight,”

He begins to walk away when Alberta simply appears by your side at the doorway once more, pushing past you. “And where do you think you’re going, sir?”

Percival comes to a stop, snapping his head towards you and Ma. “Ma’am, I-I was heading back.” The woman scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous! Join us please.” Her gaze shifts between you and him for a moment. “I insist. You can accompany my dearest Y/N when you return to the castle.”

What was she up to?

The knight merely stoorld there for a moment or two. The night was somewhat still young, and he clearly wouldn’t want you returning the castle alone once more.

You wistfully watch him return an imperceptible nod, and Alberta smiles triumphantly. You willingly meet his kind eyes as he flashes that same smile he had given you earlier at the banquet hall.

This was assuredly going to be a long night.