#'OF COURSE I HAVE KNIVES! WE LIVE IN A MARSH!'

[attractthecrows]

god i wish i had the knack for comics. i'd be doing oc comics all goddamn day. id be unstoppable

[kissedbyghosts]

Black Wings

I transformed myself into a murder of ebon birds, their tenebrous wings battering the air as we ascended in a burst of dark feathers.

Up we leaped past heaps of bones to soar over rivers of blood whose garnet depths coursed in jagged veins to a distant sea. We followed their branching paths to this sanguine expanse where we saw, amid the haunted waves, great skeletal beasts sloshing and wailing in the wine-colored swells. Raven-swift, we darted across the raw expanse until basalt cliffs jutted into view.

Beneath this chorus of giant knives, the Vermilion Sea was churned to an agonized pinkish foam, the coast’s tidal orifices flecked like rabid mouths.

Further inland we flew, crossing carnal fields of gnawing flowers whose narcotizing fragrance pulled at our desires and begged us to dream.

There, the tired wind’s laborious breath carried us slowly over the fleshy blooms to a forest of pale trees. Their ruby leaves glistened in the wan light like drops of crimson misery as the smooth flesh of their twisted limbs winked with eyes that bore witness to our passing. Beyond them, we crossed wastes that wept with milky marshes. Pumping our wings in a storm of black pinions we rose higher above their troubling miasma and rode updrafts that bore us toward the crooked shadow of distant mountains. These cut through the haze like a great carnivore’s teeth and gave the impression of being swallowed. Onward we flapped, coming at last to circle about a titanic edifice of impossible antiquity. It gleamed gun-metal-black in the cool, distant light of an indiscernible sun. Dark and ominous the tower loomed, its massive length driven like a spear through the world. We entered the structure in a whispering rush through an organically shaped window. Within was a spiraling labyrinth of iniquitous geometries. Insane corridors of pulsating flesh whose membranous doorways opened onto rooms red and glistening as fresh wounds.

The great tower’s lofty vertex was shrouded in the tattered gauze of lamentable clouds, yet at its peak, which rose just above them, was an open court surrounded by monolithic pillars. Near its center was an august and ominous seat of angular stone.

Upon it sat a niveous vision, her dusky eyes glittering in the anemic light, her full, wet lips the color of blood.

She reclined luxuriously there upon her monolithic throne, bare as a sword save for torrents of jet hair that issued from her exquisite head to coil about her pallid face like dark serpents.

A shadow of my shape surged out of the vortex of black birds who swirled madly, a cacophonous maelstrom whose mass then coalesced before her. Having robed myself in human form, I stepped forward and knelt humbly before her.

“Rise”, she said. I did as she commanded and rose to my feet. “Speak,” she said, “tell me your heart.” Trembling with fear and lust, I spoke, “I have crossed worlds of pain and desire to seek you. I have known you in the night as my lover and my mother. I have known your body in the hollowness of my form and tasted your mouth in the spaces between lives. I would know you if I knew no other. You are the chrysalis of doom, the womb of eternity. I will only to will your will, my Queen.” She smiled and beckoned me forward, “Come here and kiss me”. A storm of joy and terror assailed my heart. Nervously, I stepped forward, suddenly viscerally aware of her presence and the beauty and power that she commanded. Just as light falls into black holes, I went to her. Our lips approached, and, meeting, formed a singularity. Then, she gave me the gift of her True Name, but I found I could not utter it. I wanted to sing it, so glorious it was, but I immediately choked as I tried to speak it aloud. Gasping violently, I grasped my throat and fretted with my tongue, but I was struck mute and cursed to die.

Despairing, I fell at her feet and struggled dismayed. Then, suddenly, the universe seemed to tumble in on itself, as if suddenly unmade, until there was nothing. Not anything. Just absolute, unnamable, unfathomable formlessness.

I was no more. No thought was self, no such concept was there, nor need of it in that perfect aphotic eternity.

And then, suddenly, violently, I was torn from her womb and born into a flowering, effulgent chaos.

In horror and awe, I worshipped her, and she loved me, and by us worlds became.

From us sprang gods, civilizations, and countless empires rose and fell, until at last, all that remained was the glittering abyss and its endless cold silence. I saw myself reflected in her eyes then and knew us to be the same: a luminous self-reflecting void, a dreaming abyss of eternally self-annihilating beauty and terror. As I opened my eyes, space and time expanded, and the darkness laughed as I was filled again with light. © JM Tiffany 2024

[ailendolin]

Live Reaction to TRoP 2x03

Spoilers for 2x03 under the cut

noooo not a flashback to Elendil and Berek. My heart breaks every time at the broken, "Please," because Berek is all Elendil has left of his son

Berek being a good horse and kicking that orc straight into a tree

Black Forest? Welcome to Germany, Berek. Seriously, though, that means spiders, right?

Fuck of course it does

But it also means Isildur so that's good. Berek proving to be the ultimate horse once more (sorry, Asfaloth and Shadowfax, I love you too)

come on, Isildur, time to get the hell out of there. I've seen Alien and I know how this ends

eating lunch while watching this was not one of my better ideas

ugh this is honestly making my skin crawl

this cave is my own personal nightmare and I hate it

kudos to the sound design, though, for making it even scarier than it already it

thank god they're getting out of there

I hope Isildur tells Elendil one day that him setting Berek free is what saved him from certain death by spider

aaaand we're back in Numenor. I've always been an elf girl but Numenor is beautiful and I love Elendil with my whole heart (also met Lloyd last year as well and he's such a lovely person)

Miriel! I love that Elendil is her eyes now. Those two are so great together

someone woke up and chose violence today. Literally

Miriel meeting anger and grief with kindness. My heart

I do not like Pharazon and I do not trust him

nooooo Earien did not take the Palantir, did she? Girl, why would you?

aw, Glüg going, "We are safe here. We have a home." That is so sweet. I like this guy. They all just want to lay down their weapons and live

omfg is that an Uruk family? Does Glüg have a partner and child? My heart! I can't. This is everything. I love this show so much

Damrod's in the house and the music slaps

yessss Disa went with Durin to Eregion. Now where is Elrond? I need my Elf-Dwarf Found Family back together again

i also want to punch Annatar in his pretty face just for existing

just saying but that one lock of hair falling into Celebrimbor's face is very distracting

Durin doesn't trust Annatar one bit and I'm loving it. He trusts one elf and that is Elrond

"Funny. He's never mentioned you." I'm cackling

Haha Durin knows very well that Elrond would never call him wise. This is so funny. Annatar is laying it on way too thick and Durin is looking right through him

noooo they cannot leave Eregion yet, not until Elrond gets there and they reunite

Celebrimbor, why are not all your alarm bells ringing when Annatar tells you Gil-galad forbid the making of more rings and doesn't know Annatar is with you? Again, where is Elrond? We need someone to talk some sense into all these stubborn elves

nooooo not Celebrimbor straight up lying to Gil-galad

ah okay, it is not lying. He is just granting him and Annatar the space to complete their work. That's okay, then

Brimby, I love you, but you are a rubbish judge of character and need new friends. Take Berek for example. He would take one look at Annatar and kick him across the room

ooooh that drinking seen gives me flashbacks to the Dead Marshes. Do not follow the little lights, Isildur

it's just a flesh wound lol

even I know not to pull out knives. Who is this girl?

okay, she's called Estrid

Pelargir is beautiful

Isildur's having a not good, very bad day, isn't he? Poor guy was just trying to be kind

I was just wondering when we'd see Arondir again and there he is! Finally!

but what about Berek?

oh no, not Bronwyn. I'm going to miss her. Where is Theo, though?

spoke too soon, he's there as well and not doing too well it seems - does he blame Arondir for Bronwyn's death?

Durin standing before his father is such a sombre scene. And he's actually apologising and telling him about his concerns - progress!

Arondir blames himself for Bronwyn's death - of course he does

I love that he stays with Theo even though Theo clearly does not want him there

doggo spotted in the background. Doggo spotted!

oh gods, Theo and Isildur teaming up the rescue Berek? That won't end well, will it?

I am sorry but I do not care about Estrid. I want Bronwyn back

fuck, I wrote that before the mark was revealed but good to know I'm a better judge of character than most people in this show (not you, Elrond and Durin)

okay she's burning it away but does she do it because he never wanted it or does she do it to better infiltrate? I'm sorry but I do not like her and I do not trust her

ah we're back to rescuing Berek. Let's see how disastrous that will go

yes, Theo, what the fuck are you doing out there in the dark?

"Lose your mum?" Ouch

the Ents are here, right? That tree chopping was focused on for a reason and we all know the Ents don't like that

btw someone is going to save the other horses, right? Right?

oh Miriel is looking gorgeous. The way her clothes look like a mosaic is so beautiful

Earien, what are you doing, girl?

okay, the way Elendil's, "Silence!" echoed? *shivers*

what the fuck does Earien think the Palantir is? A bowling ball?

Miriel, you're not doing yourself any favours here, sweetie

and neither are you, Elendil, by touching the magic bowling ball

the way Elendil is trying to reach Miriel - I can't

fuck yeah Eagle to the rescue

can he please eat Pharazon and his merry band of idiots? I swear that would be so funny

okay, that did not go as I wanted. Shit

the boyfriends are back at making rings and Durin is not happy

no no no do not let Annatar add the mithril. Celebrimbor, I swear to the Valar ...

fuck this is bad. On the chance of repeating myself: where is Elrond? None of these people should be allowed to do anything without him being there to talk sense into them

okay that little smile between Celebrimbor and Annator was cute. They're still in the honeymoon phase so I get it

and that's it for the first three episodes. I honestly need more Elrond in the next one. So many bad things wouldn't happen if someone would just listen to him

[sixteenthshen]

i need help

I read a post on Zhihu last night - “How to evaluate the finale of Word of Honor?” The top commenter’s writing just killed me.

Heavy spoilers for episode 33/34. There’re no spoilers for the episodes after that, but I can’t guarantee this if there are replies.

The rest hidden behind a cut. 

I don’t need help explaining the finale or the happy ending, bad ending whatever it is, I’ve found my own way to come to terms with it. But I can’t accept what happened in 33/34 and the lack of follow up on the core of the issue, and that’s blocking me from enjoying the “HE”. To be fair, I think I may be a bit hormonal? Because this is really making me feel like crap. 

-----

This is a comment made by a Chinese user on Zhihu: 

I only want to say; the show might as well have ended when A-Xu jumped down the cliff after WKX. Even though it's a bit lame, at least the soulmate feelings were still there.

The grand finale basically destroyed the soulmate bond built up over 20+ episodes. The essence of it is gone; all of the "candy" and "knives" feel like they've been stripped away.

I've written so much about WKX & ZZS and how they were both falling for each other, saving each other. And now it all looks like a big joke.

It turns out ZZS's soulmate is ZZH, not WKX. The mountains and rivers in the world can't compare to meeting my soulmate. Since my soulmate is gone, I might as well die. (Play on the quote from the drama, instead of why should I live, it becomes I should just die)

(The poster starts talking to ZZS directly - referring to him as you) You're really a mistreated (tortured?) concubine, aren't you? Once you decide to give your whole heart, whole person away, you somehow always end up meeting some fake evil bastard (reference to Farewell my Concubine, basically that ZZS always ends up being suckered)

When you first fell into Prince Jin's trap, it's because you were young and not yet wise to the ways of the world, and believed in the grand words of your cousin and got conned into the world of politics. Sinking into the dirtiest, muddiest of marshes.

You plotted tirelessly for 18 months, suffered through 18 months of pain from the 7 nails, and finally exchanged it for 3 years of freedom. But when you met WKX, you fell right back in again.

Heraclitus said, "You cannot step into the same river twice" <<(I think this person mixed up the meaning of this quote, cause it doesn't fit, but basically intends to say people shouldn't make the same mistake twice)

The first time you stepped into the river, you got away with only half your life. The next time you stepped into the river, you nearly lost your life 4x (under YBY's sword, when you jumped off the cliff to your death for love, pulling out your nails, exploding the mountain to cause an avalanche + suicide), in the end you became a living dead person on Changming mountain.

I don't know if I should call you a living dead man, anyway, in my heart, once you pulled out the nails from your body, cutting off any other alternative you had just to help WKX take revenge… while WKX came back from the dead, and worked with everyone present at the scene to give the performance of a lifetime, you were already dead.

What a mockery, a farce.

You gave up everything but in the end, you were nothing more than a spectator.

He wanted you to give him face, to let him go home to explain things. You quietly stepped aside and gave him the stage. He wanted your baiyi sword to demonstrate his family's sword technique, to prove his identity. You gave it to him without a second word. He cut Zhao Jing's arms and legs tendons, crippled his martial arts, finally took revenge. You were happy for him despite everything.

When Mo Huaiyang accused him of being the Ghost Valley Master, he openly admitted to it and said the entire first part was just an act. You stood in front of him, to protect him. Said he is your shidi, and stood with him without any reservations.

But he had secretly already reached an agreement with Ye Baiyi. He knew YBY wouldn't hurt him, but you didn't know and yet you still shielded him. So terribly afraid that YBY would hurt him because of his identity. 

Everyone knew this was part of the scheme he laid out, everyone participated in his scheme. Only you didn't know. Only you foolishly believed that he wouldn't be alright without you, that he needed you to help him take revenge. That he had his difficulties so he couldn't confess the truth to you, as long as he did, then you would be the first to know everything. That he was your soulmate. This word "soulmate", if said enough times, it would even be real. In this life, right up until the end, we can't even fully understand ourselves, how do we talk about others?

----- 

the source is the top voted answer here. I like this poster a lot, she shared some great things throughout the course of the drama, 3 of which were the base of poems-related posts I’ve made here. I was doing fine before, but in the course of translating this answer for a friend, I made myself feel worse.

She later forced herself to look at it from WKX’s perspective and wrote a piece on it as well, but it... was very forced and I’m not too sure she even believed it herself. She ended that part with - “this made her feel very keenly that no matter how similar two souls may be, in the end, they are still two souls. He isn’t you and he will never be you. You can work endlessly and tirelessly to be closer, but your souls can never meet.”

I... I’m too sad to translate the WKX part in order to be fair to WKX in this post (if I feel better about it, i will later? but it didn’t make me feel better at all tbh) 

Can someone who can articulate well and believe that what WKX did was right, please help to make me understand episodes 32-34 from his perspective?

My main issues are:

We never got a proper 1-to-1 discussion between WKX and ZZS over the issue. At first, they were celebrating as a group, I can accept it. There wasn’t a time or place.

But when ZZS went back to his room early and sober, when everyone else was still drinking and having fun, I felt so bad for him.

When WKX came into his room, looking for ZZS when drunk, I know it isn’t supposed to be like this - but I can’t help but feel he didn’t dare to talk to A-Xu 1-to-1. Instead he went when he was drunk to spill his heart. It can be thought of as sweet, because the first person he thinks of when he’s drunk is A-Xu... but I can’t help but find it very selfish, because it leaves A-Xu with no way to talk about things. If you’ve ever talked to a drunk while sober, you would understand what I mean, it’s a one-way conversation, you can’t get anything through.

But that conversation left A-Xu with enough guilt that he can’t come clean to WKX about what he did. How can he tell WKX that he pulled out his nails, and is about to die. To take away WKX’s happiness, when Lao Wen just told him about how happy he was to have him in his life?

Lao Wen had 0 intention to be cruel, but it ended up being more cruel. And this lack of a proper discussion between the two of them, makes me call into question the whole thing about soulmates. I believe Lao Wen loves A-Xu the best he can (with his somewhat emotionally stunted self), but he’s not putting himself in the other person’s shoes to care for them. 

Love =/= care. And by not caring enough in this matter, I feel it’s thrown him into OOC. Where is the WKX who cared so much for ZZS at the start? Where is the tenderness? 

The drama never properly addressed why WKX faked his death and not tell A-Xu. The only reason they gave was that A-Xu was heavily injured (through Wu Xi). WKX just admitted he was wrong (and should drink). That’s all.

Thankssss. 

Please don’t preach to me about the happy ending or talk about the finale. I personally can’t resolve 32-34, I have found a way to accept the ending as long as I can accept these 3 episodes.

I may not be able to immediately accept your POV but I will force myself to try to find something that fits. I want to keep shipping wenzhou :( 

[hazzabeeforlou]

On the eve of HS2, I felt I needed to reflect and write a diary entry of sorts, an ode to where I was and where I am now, a musing on how HS1 ushered in a whole new world for me. This is long and more personal than anything I’ve previously shared, but in honor of vulnerability and maybe helping someone else who’s struggling... here it is. 

The most exposure 2015 me had to pop music was occasionally listening to ‘hits’ radio. My old art teacher in high school had blasted the classics of the 60s and 70s daily, so I knew those, albeit not the names, but the music, the style, the melodic tropes and such. 2015 me didn’t have much time for pop music. I was getting a fancy degree in classical music from one of the best conservatories in the world, and I’d made it there after four years with a highly abusive teacher in undergrad who gave me horrible anxiety; by the end, whenever she would walk into a room, I would get chills and start shaking. She delighted in lying to me, in calling me out in front of my peers. Worse, I was arguably her highest-achieving student. The day I got into Juilliard she took me for “tea” to celebrate, where she proceeded to spend the whole time telling me how she had made this happen, how her connections got me to NY, how I should be grateful. 

Entering the world of NYC and Juilliard I was an awestruck, anxious mess. Everything moved too fast, the school was overwhelming, my studio mates were famous already, some of them having won world-famous competitions and been on the cover of magazines. I was in the elite place, a place my working class roots had never prepared me for. My dad was a millwright. He went to work every day in steel-toed boots and overalls and often returned so filthy mom wouldn’t let him wash his clothes in the household washing machine. But I was nothing if not adaptable, and grateful, and charming, and I did my best. I worked hard. But my health kept deteriorating. 

All through undergrad I’d been feeling progressively worse. I had horrible acne that I presumed was caused by stress, as I’d never suffered with it in high school. I was already an introvert, but body insecurity led me to hardly ever socialize. I would spent hours getting ready for things, never willing to show my bare face. But that wasn’t the worst; I’d developed what I now understand was an eating disorder, because no matter how much I exercised or dieted, I kept gaining weight, or rather, I lost all my baby fat but remained the same scale number. I kept telling my mother I was fat. I didn’t tell her that I hated the wind, that I hated running, because it made my stomach protrude and the whole world could see the extra pounds I carried. I never made an appointment with an OBGYN because I didn’t date much less have sex, and my mother had told me, well you don’t ever need to be seen until you do. I came to NYC well versed in wearing baggy sweaters and scarfs that hid my form. And for two years, as my breathing got worse and worse, as my energy levels dropped, as my skin hurt and itched, I pushed forwards. I remember practicing one day and my eyes going black. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t breathe. 

It was getting into an international competition that saved me. I got the news in early May of 2016; I jumped around my room and I started coughing, and the next day a hernia appeared above my belly button. I was only slightly worried, but I went to see the Juilliard doctor. She asked if I’d gained weight, she said even a couple pounds could do it. I was, as always, ashamed, red faced, embarrassed as she prodded around on my torso. 

She said I’d need surgery. So I scheduled it in NYC for two days after my graduation. I played my recital, but with a binder around my abdomen. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t remember my memorized music. I nearly passed out. I stumbled on the sidewalk afterwards. 

When I woke from the surgery I was in blinding pain, teeth chattering uncontrollably, in shock. I couldn't open my eyes, and every breath felt like knives slicing into my chest. I heard the nurses say, “We’ve given you three IVs of Percocet, do you want us to give you a forth?” I said no, thinking, ‘what if I die from an overdose?’ After two hours my mother came in search of me. It was supposed to be a day surgery. She demanded morphine. They sent me home on it, but two days later I’d thrown up twice and was back in the ER. A CT showed I had an ovarian cyst. The doctor said to me, “It’s 28 inches. It’s the size of a dinner plate.” I didn’t understand. They rushed me back for another surgery, and asked me to sign a paper saying I wouldn’t hold them responsible if I ended up paralyzed. I signed it. I joked with the nurses before they put me under. I was shaking with pain. I thought, if this is the end, I’ve had a good life. I’ll be with my doggy, my baby puppy. I’ve graduated from my dream school. I’ve gotten into an elite international competition. I’ll go out at the top of my game. It’s okay. 

But then I woke up. Over the next year, I would wish countless times that I hadn’t. I could barely walk. I couldn’t lift things like a fork, or my computer. I couldn’t shower or cough or even shit. I couldn’t practice or sit upright for more than fifteen minutes. Pain became a constant. I started to wake up with night sweats, my forehead creased in subconscious pain. I would jump at every loud noise, my heart lurching like a ruined engine, and I couldn’t remember names of flowers. I fell into a massive depression over the next few months, made worse by the 2016 election; because of my infirmity I had moved back home with my Trump-voting parents. The bravest thing I did that fall was ‘come out’ as a liberal on Facebook. My parents pretended not to notice when I stayed up late that cold November night, huddled with a blanket on the couch, crying my eyes out.

The Christmas 2016 season is a blur. I know I half lived in memories, half in grief, but all in self-pitying misery. I remember reading a passing article about Jay, not knowing who it was, and I remember adding a lost mother to the list of things I cried about. How could the world be so cruel, so unfair? My days were filled with PT and sleep, immobility and exhaustion, and questions, questions like if I can’t do what I love, what I’ve spent years training for, what’s the point? What does it mean to be an artist when you can’t do your art? What is left of me that matters? Is the future only more pain? It would have been better to have died. It would have been better to have died. 

Up until this point I had been unlucky in love. I could never find men attractive, though many friends pressured me to try, which of course had led to not good things. I’d been confronted a couple times about maybe being gay, but I’d shot this down immediately, my face bright red, my heart pounding. No, that’s not it, I’m just picky. Two girls in grad school had flirted with me; I’d accidentally gone on a date with one. I’d felt deeply, gut-wrenchingly uncomfortable about her. But how could I ever unpack all of that when just coming out as a liberal had given me anxiety for days...  

The new year came and I had nothing to look forward to. I could see no happy future. I wasn’t really in my right mind. I would escape as best I could, perhaps in masochistic ways; I’d watch SNL for humorous liberal comfort, and Colbert to feel some spark of angry solidarity. And that’s how I stumbled on Harry. He got me with his puns, because I love those. For the first time in months, I was giggling about something, this charming boy with curls and dimples who had replaced the scream-speech of James Cordon. For once I didn’t turn the tv off after Colbert. 

I began listening to Harry’s songs. As I had no reference for contemporary pop music, his old school rock album was familiar to me in a comforting way. I knew these sounds, these tropes, and yet they didn’t feel stale to me, they spoke to something I was feeling in the present. Because the album, in essence, was about pain, wasn’t it? Pain and escaping it. The lies we tell to survive, the dreams we cling to for hope, the drugs we use to forget. I’d never bought a pop album before, Harry was my first, and I listened to it for hours every day. 

HS1 seeped into my blood, but I’d been on a hopeless, aimless track for so long that the railway tie hadn’t yet switched. One warm, sunny spring day I wrote a note, filled a bag with rocks, and walked to the old bike trail, out past the freeway, into the marshes and pools of abandoned swampy wasteland. FTDT played in my head on a loop as I walked, as my brain hummed with the equation of worth. Was it worth it to stay alive?

Yes. I threw the rocks. I threw them as far as my fragile arms would allow, and they splashed into the murky water. And I turned around and called my mom to come get me. Harry had made something that was beautiful, that was touching, that was real. And if he could... then maybe I could too. Maybe I didn’t have to be just what I’d been before. Maybe I could try creating other things; maybe I could make art that, like Harry’s music, made other people feel less alone. 

There was something magical about that album. Not freedom, per se, but the promise of it, a glimpse of truth that kept me hanging on. 

I began writing poems again, songs. I got into an orchestra program, I healed month by month, I started carrying crystals, I found this crazy fandom and, little by little, grew to understand that my yearning upon looking at baby larry videos was really a cry of sameness that I had never before understood. After the Pulse shooting, during my horrible homebound year, I’d watched Lin-Manuel Miranda give his love is love is love speech, and I’d burst into tears. And I’d not known why. Now I began to realize. I remember the first tentative anon I sent to Phoenix @alienfuckeronmain asking if maybe I was... bi? I remember anxiously awaiting her answer, as if I needed an invitation to join the community, to be valid, to have this not just be a crazy swelling of hope in my chest. She replied while I was wandering through a corn maze in the frigidness of October. The next day I walked into rehearsal and I felt free, free of the way boys looked at me, free of being FOR them, and I’d never felt so... alive. Coincidentally I met my ex girlfriend that day too. 

Through Harry I found this fandom, and Louis. Louis, who has spoken to me on levels I cannot even express, whose class and political and emotional intelligence have challenged me to stand up for things I never thought I could. For me these last few years have felt like a journey WITH Harry. As he started waving them, I started wearing rainbows, just subtly. A knit scarf, a postcard, a bag. I started writing fic, the most healing thing I’ve ever done. I learned to create art away from the singular thing I’d been trained to dump my all into, and I learned that I have so much more to offer, even if chronic pain will follow me in some way or another for the rest of my life. 

I’m so thankful to Harry for taking me on this adventure with him; I don’t know if I’d have ever taken that first step by myself. It was like he held my hand through it all, like this fandom held my hand through it all. Like by being himself, Harry helped me be brave enough to evolve too. 

Through the catalyst of Harry’s art I’ve experienced more happiness than I’d have ever imagined. I cannot wait to go on this next journey, a second album, and reflect on just how far we’ve both come. 

[writingkeepsmewhole]

Go Down Swinging.

This is the forth part of The Cowboy and The Girl. Sorry for my messed up posting here lately I’m trying to do better. I hope yall like this at least. 

They make it to the capitol but not completely unscathed.

Joel Miller x OC Trish

Warnings: Language, death. 

I would love tag you: @amandamaesweetheart @jodiereedus22 @el-dibidibidorado1

Part 1  Part 3

I walk up the ramp of in the garage some soft of workbench right next to the door.

“Whatcha got?” Joel says standing next to me.

“Thought I would take the  moment to check over everything I got.”

“You mind if I join you?”

I shake my head and smile at him. I pull everything out of my backpack and make a mental note that I need more water.

“Give me that.” Joel says pointing at the pair of pliers next to my hand.

Picking them up I hand them to him curious as why he would need them. Pulling the revolver from his waistband I watch him take it apart and put it back together. I get lost in watching his hands fix the handle.

“Are we gonna go?” Tess asks popping the bubble I was in.

Looking over my shoulder I see her and Ellie standing, waiting on us.

“I’m ready.” I say slinging my backpack over my shoulder.

“We don’t have all day ya know?” She says opening the door next to us and going threw it.

“Well forgive me for wanting to know exactly what I had.”

“You can do that when the job is done.”

I roll my eyes and follow Joel up a fallen floor us going a floor higher. It doesn't take long realize we are in some kind of museum.

“Ooo look dead guys that no one cares about anymore.” I say looking at a large painting of the revolutionary war.

“Who are those guys?” Ellie asks.

“Like she says people no one cares about. Let’s go.” Joel says walking into the next room.

I smile and roll my eyes following the group.

“Aw shit.” Joel says when the wall is caved in.

“No way around?” I ask looking up at him.

“Give me a minute.” He says walking around the corner.

“Over here.”

“Yeah because that’s safe.” I say looking at he hole he is about to crawl in.

“Shut up and just go.” Tess says.

“Yes ma’am.” I say getting on my hands and knees to crawl thru the debris.

“Now what cowboy?” I ask when we reach a large beam blocking the door.

“Watch your heads.”

Huffing he grabs the wooden beam and with a grunt starts to lift it. Pushing down my shock I quickly go under it, it opening up into the other room.

“Hurry, go, go, go!” He says groans Tess and Ellie following me.

“Shit, sonof-.” Joel yells as the clutter over him starts to cave in.

“Joel!” I scream spinning around trying to see him.

“I’m alive.” He calls back coughing.

“I’ll make my way around you.”

“Look they're here!” Tess yells clicking noises coming from the hallway.

“Trish?” I hear Joel yell but I don’t have time to answer having to run from the infected chasing us.

I follow Ellie and Tess hoping Joel makes it out okay.

“Up here.” Tess says running up the steps.

“Go ahead I’ll catch up.” I tell her grabbing the bottle from my backpack.

“What are you doing?” She asks me glaring.

“Covering your ass now go.” I say hearing the infected climb the steps.

Lighting the rag I look over my shoulder at them standing at the top of the stairs.

“Go!” I yell throwing the bottle in front of me just as I see the first clicker.

I don’t look back as I hear them run away from me. I walk up the steps backwards shooting what infected get threw the flames alive when my gun clicks I have to resit the urge to throw it.

Spinning around I start running down the hall having no idea where anyone is but I couldn’t think about that. I had to get somewhere safe.

Hearing banging and pops of gun shots I follow the noise it leading to Joel and Tess fighting infected. When I hear Ellie scream I go into the next room a runner trying to bite her.

Knowing I was out of ammo I tackle it to the floor and stab it in the head.

“Holy shit Trish.” Ellie says as I stand up.

“You okay?” I ask her.

I gasp when Joel grabs my arm around roughly spins me to face him. “The hell was that?” He asks angry in his eyes and voice.

“I’m outta bullets.” I say jerking my arm out of his grip.

“You could have gotten infected.”

“I didn’t I’m fine.”

“Your gonna get your damn self killed one day.” He barks angry building up inside me.

“Well then you’ll be free of me won’t you be happy.” I snap back quickly spinning and walking away from him.

I climb out of the window onto the fire escape and head up to the roof it too far to drop down.

“You okay?” Joel asks behind me.

I don’t respond knowing he ain’t talking to me.

“Divine okay.” Ellie says.

“Are you still breathing?”

“Do small panic breaths count?” She asks walking onto the roof with me.

“Yeah they count.” I say looking at her.

“Alright. Well I’m okay.”

“There she is. That’s our building.” Tess says pointing at the capitol building.

“We’re closer.” I say looking at it the low in the sky.

It would be dark soon that wasn’t a good thing anywhere.

“We need a way over to that building.”

“Stand back.” Joel says walking up behind us.

I move out of the way him putting a long plank from one roof to the other.

“Because that’s safe…” I say looking over the edge.

I hold my hands up when Joel shoots me a glare a smile on my face. Ellie walks past me up to the side of the building.

“Watch your step as you’re going up because it’s gonna be a little-.”

“Pssh.” Ellie says cutting him off and walking across the plank.

I giggle following after her the bored creaking under my feet but I try not to think about it.

“Well is that everything you hoped for?” Joel asks walking up behind us.

I look up at him then out at the sun setting over the city buildings. The blue sky fading to purple and pink making the capital’s building roof more noticeable.

“Jury's still out.” Ellie says.

“But man… You can’t deny that view.”

“You got that right.” I say smiling at her.

“Come on this way.” Tess says walking towards the ladder.

“Don’t wanna stop and enjoy the moment Tess?” I ask not moving from standing next to Joel.

“No. We need to move.”

“Fine be that way.”

“You could get the stick out your ass and enjoy yourself for once.” I say throwing my leg over the side of the roof and starting to climb down.

My heart picking up at the feeling of thinking I was going to fall. The empty air behind me very real in my mind. The wobbling ladder not helping my nerves.

Once at the bottom I take a breath.

“You okay?” Ellie asks me.

“Oh I’m good. Just going down ladders or walking backwards makes me on edge for some reason.” I say as Tess and Joel join us on the ground.

“Right around this corner. C’mon.” Tess says gestering to the steps.

“After you.” I say waving her on.

“Are you guys always like this?” Ellie asks as we walk down the steps.

“I guess. It’s the way it’s always been. I was the last to the party we call our friendship. I guess I take some getting used to.”

“You said you knew them for five years.”

“Joel for five. Tess for three they got separated-.”

“Look at this.” Joel calls cutting me off.

I spin around to see him standing in the corner of the alley way we are standing in at the bottom of the stairs. A dead body at his feet.

“There's a firefly logo on his arm.” Ellie says.

“Man this people are dropping like flies.” I say grinning.

“What?” I ask when everyone turns to look at me but no one laughs.

“Was the joke that bad?”

“Trish as a point though. What if when we get there and they're all dead?”

“They won’t be.” Tess says as Joel finishes searching the body.

He stands up and hands me three throwing knives.

“Ooo toys thank you.” I say smiling up at him. My stomach flipping when his fingers brush mine.

He nods and walks away.

“How do you know that?”

“I just do.” Tess snaps earning a raised eyebrow from me.

She takes a breath and  turns towards the wall.

“It’s gonna be fine.” She says making me feel like she was saying it more to herself then Ellie.

“What are you doing?” I ask walking away from them watching Joel drag a dumpster.

He doesn't answer him pulling it to a locked gated I didn’t even know was there.

“Up and over.” He says climbing on top of it.

“First a tightrope now we get tetanus.” I say climbing up next to him.

He snorts and vaults over the gate.

“We risk our lives trying to get around stuff more than we do fighting the infected.”

“Well something's gotta keep you on your toes.”

“Yeah but-.” I vault over the gate Joel surprising me when he catches me on the other side.

One good thing about him being twice the size as me. My stomach flutters his fingers brushing over it as he balances me.

“But what?” He asks when he lets go.

“Nothing was just gonna say something about people should have cleaned up their crap.” I say waving him off as Tess drops down next to us followed by Ellie.

“Home stretch Tess.” Joel says as we start walking towards the capitol building it completely visible now.

“Yeah.” She says jogging to it.

“I don’t believe in cardio.” I say jogging behind Joel us coming to the marsh in front of the building.

The water deep enough to almost over a car.

“Um.. just so it’s out there I can’t swim.”

“It looks like it’s shallow on the right side follow me.” Tess says walking into the water.

“This is gonna be so nasty.” I say wadding into the swampy water.

“I was right.” I say holding my hands up it slimy and wet.

“Are you okay?” Joel asks looking at me us walking next to each other.

“The water is green. We are walking in Shrek’s backyard. Of course i’m not okay.”

“Who is Shrek?” Ellie asks.

“It was a movie about an ogre.”

“A what?”

“An ogre-.”

“You can tell her later.” Tess says as we reach the steps leading to the capitol building doors.

“I’m glad Marlene hired you guys.” Ellie says before I can reply.

“What do you mean?” Tess says.

“I know you guys are getting paid for this but- I’m trying to say thanks.”

“Aww you are so welcome.” I say smiling at her.

“Yeah sure thing.” Tess says us reaching the door no longer in water put still wet.

“Ah shit.” Joel says as he opens the door.

“No.” Tess says pushing past him to the dead men on the floor.

“What happens now?” Ellie asks Joel closing the door behind her.

“Take you back to Marlene I guess.” I say shrugging.

“What are you doing, Tess?�� Joel asks walking up to her searching the bodies.

“Maybe they uh, maybe they had a map or something to tell us where they were going.” She says frantically patting them down.

“How far are we gonna take this?”

“As far as it needs to go.” She says looking up at him then at Ellie.

“Where was this lab of theirs?”

“She never said.” Ellie says shrugging.

“She only said it was some place out west.”

“Well that’s vague.”

“What are we doing here?” Joel asks.

“This is not us.”

“Oh, what do you know about us?” Tess snaps her standing up.

“About me? We, you haven't been the same since she showed up.” Tess says jerking her chin in my direction.

I hold my hands up and take a step back not wanting to fight.

“I know that you are smarter than this.” Joel says stepping to stand in front of her.

“Really? Guess what, were shitty people Joel it’s been that way for a long time.”

“No, we are survivors!”

“This is our chance.”

“It is over, Tess!” Joel yells making me jump and Tess shut up.

“We tried. Now let’s just go home.” He says sighing.

“I’m not… I’m not going anywhere.” Tess says.

“This is my last stop.” Her voice cracking.

“What?” I ask her turning away from us all.

“Out luck had to run out sooner or later.”

“What are you going on about?” Joel asks grabbing her arm her jerking away from him.

“No, don’t-. Don’t touch me.” She says taking a step away from him.

“Oh no…” I whisper the light bulb going off in my head.

“Holy shit.” Ellie says making Joel look over at us.

“She’s infected.”

I watch the blood leave Joel’s face him taking a step away from her.

“Joel…” Tess says softly.

“Let me see.” He says.

“I didn’t mean-.”

“Show it to me.” He demands.

I clench my fist my heart pounding. It stopping when she pulls the color of her shirt over a large angry red and pus bite on her collarbone.

“Oh, Christ.” Joel chokes out shock on his face.

“Oops right?” She asks as he takes another step back her hand falling to her side.

“Give me your arm.” She asks marching over to Ellie.

“This was three weeks.” She says after jerking Ellie’s sleeve up and pointing at the bite on her arm.

“I was bitten an hour ago and it’s already worse.” She says dragging Ellie with her to Joel.

“This is fucking real.”

“You've got to get this girl to Tommy’s.” She says talking about Joel’s brother.

“He used to run with this crew, he’ll know where to go.”

“No, no, no, that was your crusade.” Joel says pointing at her as he backs up.

“I am not doing that.”

“Yes you are. Look there is enough here that you have to feel some obligation to me. Despite everything that has happened. So you get her to Tommy’s.”

We all jump at the sound of a truck. I spin around to look at the doors.

“Shit!” Joel says as Tess runs to the door.

“They’re here.” She says pulling her gun out.

“Damnit.”

“I can buy you some time but you have  to run.” She says walking back over to us.

“What?” Ellie asks surprised.

“You want us to just leave you here?”

“Yes, she dose.” I say Tess looking up at me.

“I would want the same thing.”

“There is no way-.” Joel says answering me.

“I will not turn into one of those things.” She says cutting him off.

“Come on. Make this easy for me.” She begs.

“I can fight-”

“No.” I say it my turn to cut him off.

“We go she stays.” I say walking up to him and grabbing his forearm.

“We don’t have time to argue and I’m not about to lose two friends today.” I say meeting his eyes

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for this.” Ellie says.

“Ellie get a move on.” Joel says backing away from me and turning for the door.

Turning back to look at Tess I call her name.

“Go down swinging.” I say winking at her.

She takes a breath nodding she smiles turning away from me.

I do the same following Joel into the next room my gut full of bricks knowing nothing will ever be the same.

[ellaofoakhill]

Havel of Deeprock

Ella heard a rap on the shop door. “It’s open!” She called. She heard a click, and the tramp of work-boots.

Havel was an earth fairy with a neck nearly as broad as Ella’s waist. It was a rare fairy that approached four inches; Havel topped five.

“Good morning, Master,” he called as he set down his tools. He’d recently made a backpack to carry them, in addition to the bags he had in each hand. He would soon have more tools than Ella could easily lift.

“So, find anything for us tonight?”

“Well, there are some bits of brass the people left in the shed,” Havel said. He started twiddling his thumbs, a sure sign of nerves. “…along with some steel filings.”

“Hmm…” Ella scratched her chin. “Did you find anything in the mines?” Havel had been on a roll recently, with an entire set of copper pots and cooking utensils finished just last week. The scribing he’d done on the knives was impressive; they could hold an edge almost as well as

Ella’s. He’d earned a break from reconnaissance. And most earth fairies liked spending time underground, anyway.

Havel immediately brightened, and pulled out a beeswax tablet he’d written his notes on. “Well, there’s a garnet down North Fire shaft—”

“Spessartine?”

“Grossular, actually.” Ella gave him a thumbs-up. “And we have three large lumps of gabbro, one down East Wood shaft, and two down West Earth.”

“Ooh!” Ella resisted the urge to rub her hands together. “What’s their content?”

“Mid-grade I think,” Havel said. “I’m fairly certain I did the naming right, but you’ll want to check.”

“Of course,” Ella said, “I’m your teacher.” Havel inclined his head. Ella smiled and gave his arm a gentle slap. “Who’s hardest to extract?”

“Hmm…” Havel tapped his stylus against his broad nose. “Probably the lower gabbro in West Earth. It’s partly encased in bedrock, and wedged between a piece of granite, and a piece of limestone.”

“Still not too bad, then.” Ella started gathering her tools.

“Not like the Azurite Incident,” Havel said. Ella groaned.

The trek to the western mine took them far enough around the great panels that Havel wouldn’t feel their iron.

“How has Meline been, Master?” he asked as they reached the pines along the west edge of the yard.

“Quite well,” Ella said. She’d visited Wild Rose the previous night. Meline had shown her the western pasture up to the border of the wood, and they’d gotten into a lengthy—friendly—debate over how to properly harvest and store moonbeams, deep-black, and tree whispers. Meline favoured the crystal resonance technique, where Ella was more inclined toward the silver jar. It had been a fun exchange of ideas.

“How does she like the knife?” Ella smiled. Havel had quickly taken to Meline, and the two got along famously. Meline described him as the most adorable giant she’d ever seen, and he couldn’t get enough of her rosehip preserves. The knife in question had taken Havel a month to make, with a bronze back and a slot into which Meline could fit any of sixteen blades, depending on what she needed it for. There was even a blade with a corundum edge, with red flecks in the glittering material that made it look like it was braided. Meline had given him a kiss on both cheeks, and Havel had turned redder than a tomato.

“Last she told me, she was making good use of it,” Ella said. In addition to their visits back and forth, they were exchanging letters. Mostly they spoke of current doings, but Meline did reveal bits of her past, too. Like how her father had taught her all he knew about brewing when she was young. How her mother and she had served in the War all those millennia ago. And how the pasture had changed a great deal and hardly at all since she moved there eight hundred years past. Ella felt a warm crinkling in her chest when a letter from Meline arrived.

They passed the last of the panels.  Just beyond them, the opening to West Earth shaft was covered by a thick layer of moss overlaying a limestone lid.

They checked safety equipment—helmets, vests, boots, gloves—before entering the mine. One of the higher side-tunnels had clues that a substantial creature had been living there—Ella suspected Thamnophis, though the evidence was old.

At the top of the shaft was the elevator, a cage made of reinforced bronze. Once they were inside, Ella pulled a lever, and the elevator began to drop as, some thirteen feet down, the counterweight rose.

“So where exactly is our gabbro?” Ella said. She tapped her copper helmet and spoke a word of power. It began to glow. They’d arranged crystals along the walls, which caught and reflected the light up and down the shaft.

Havel pulled out his tablet. “Sub-shaft Vy, spoke shaft Honey Yellow.”

“Bit of a haul, then,” Ella said. They’d have to take tunnel Marsh Green, then down Vy, and almost to the end of Honey Yellow.

“A bit,” Havel said.

Ella pulled the lever back when they reached Marsh Green, and got off the elevator. They’d bypassed hardpan and were into parent material. As they’d excavated, they’d shaped the shaft into an arch and lined it with stone, and Havel had used words of power to fuse the stones together. They repeated the process as they dug, every time they removed stone that wouldn’t serve another purpose. Split into blocks, carry blocks, fit blocks into place, fuse, go find new stone, repeat. Now, Havel was learning how to turn sediment into stone. He’d started with hardpan—which was practically stone already—and as his skill had grown, he’d learned how to fuse progressively coarser and finer pieces.

Sub-shaft Vy was unlined, being relatively new. The earth was stable, though, so the odds of the tunnel collapsing before they lined it were small. They descended, until the walls of the shaft changed to bedrock.

Spoke shaft Honey Yellow was named for the colour of its siltstone walls. Veins of granite, dolomite, gneiss, and other stone ran through it as well. They mined that, too, especially the granite, which had quartz crystals excellent for knives and abrasives. And, apparently, there was even the occasional hunk of gabbro.

Havel led the way along the spoke. He took a left, and then a right, and there it was. Ella unspoke the word on her helmet, and its light faded.

“Hmm,” she stepped close. It was indeed wedged between granite and limestone. She set a hand upon it, and spoke a word.

Ella’s normal vision shifted. The yellow limestone went black, and the granite turned a dull, patchy red-orange. Bits of iron in that, then.

Her attention was mostly on the gabbro. It had many clear spots of bright pink-orange, and white, and a few yellow patches, with clouds and rivulets running off in every direction. Typical gabbro. What surprised Ella was not what she saw, but where. The lights extended far back into the stone, and down, and across, almost as far as Ella could see. This wasn’t a chunk of gabbro. It was an entire layer, extending who knew how far.

She blinked, and unspoke the word. She turned to Havel. He was clearly resisting the urge to twiddle his thumbs.

“We could mine just this,” Ella said, “for six thousand years, and never come close to running out.”

 It didn’t take long to mine enough stone to fill their packs. They checked each piece for quality. Havel would carry the substrate, and Ella would carry the useable ore.

They returned the way they’d come. When they came to the place in Marsh Green sub-shaft where the fused stone ended, they stopped, and unloaded Havel’s backpack. As Ella passed him stones, he spoke words of power, fusing each piece to the stone already laid down. When they finished, they split the ore in Ella’s backpack between them, and continued on their way.

“So what’re we gonna do with the metal once we smelt it?” Havel asked as the elevator took them up West Earth shaft. Planning out a new project always got him excited.

“Well, I don’t have it earmarked for anything,” Ella said. She looked sidelong at him. “Did you have any ideas?”

He flushed, rubbing his neck. “Well, uh, I’ve been meaning to try a scale belt. Or maybe a cloak clasp?”

“Oh?” Ella used her most inquiring tone. Havel flushed deeper. She shook her head as they came to the top of the shaft. “Is it for Meline?”

“Um…”

“Havel,” Ella said, struggling to find the gentlest, clearest way to say what needed to be said, “I cannot fault your taste. But… I don’t think Meline feels the same way.”

The elevator stopped. So did Havel. Ella waited. He mumbled something.

“I’m sorry?”

“I know.” his shoulders were sagging. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

Ella laid a hand on his elbow. Saying he was far too young for Meline would only twist the knife harder. “Loving feelings for another can hurt, when they are not returned. And hurting is a sign you are alive, Havel. If you need to fight or run a circuit about the estate, or mayb—” Her feet suddenly not touching the ground, Ella found herself crushed in arms bigger around than her thighs, as Havel’s sobs echoed off the shaft walls in a melancholy din. Wriggling so she could free up an arm, she shh’ed him, patting his shoulder as he cried into hers.

Eventually, the tide ebbed, Havel let Ella down—soggier than she had been—and he succumbed to a fit of hiccoughs. She rubbed his back in sympathy.

“Shall we eat cookies and play Jack of Spears tonight?”

“Mhmm.” Havel sniffled, took out his handkerchief and sounded a blast like a foghorn. “Maybe it’s just (hic) as well I didn’t tell her,” Havel said as he put his handkerchief away. “That would’ve made (hic) things more awkward for all of us.”

“Perhaps,” Ella said, hiding a smile; by any measure, Havel was a mature young man. “I could feign a mild ague, if you’d like some time to compose yourself.”

Havel half-smiled. “(hic) No, thank you, Master. I know how (hic) much Miss Meline likes to come here.”

“That she does.” Ella stepped out of the elevator. It was hardly a walk at all up to the hatch. “Across the pasture and the fence, into the people’s yard. Most fey wouldn’t.”

Havel grunted an affirmative. “She loves you a lot, Master.”

Ella felt like Havel had shattered a pane of glass over her head. The past several months flashed before her eyes. Every laugh, every smile, every knowing look sailing so low over Ella’s head it must’ve brushed her hair, every kiss on her cheek or her hand. All clearer than spring water.

Ella had missed all of them.

“Master?” Havel touched her dry shoulder.

Ella jumped, and wiped her eyes. “I love her too,” she almost whispered.

Havel gave a wet chuckle. “You better.” Ella chuckled, too.

They lifted the lid of the shaft and climbed out. “I think you will be ready to meet the Sage soon,” Ella said as they started back.

There was a sound like a warhorn as Havel blew his nose. “Really, Master?” He sounded happier.

“You have shown yourself to be a fairy of uncommon kindness, and you are a superior student,” Ella said. “I think he would be pleased to meet you.”

Havel didn’t skip back to Oakhill, but he wasn’t sagging either. As they drew close to the tree, he pointed. “Master, there’s a bat fluttering by the stable door.”

Ella quirked an eyebrow. There was indeed a large bat flapping about the base of Oakhill. “I wonder what she wants.” Ella called out, and the bat flew in their direction. It was a red bat, bigger than Ella, though not so big as Havel.

She had a letter in her mouth, which she transferred to one claw when she landed. “Lord Ella of Oakhill, yes?”

“I am.” Ella recognized Meline’s writing on the envelope. There was no wax seal. Odd…

“Lady fairy flagged me down as I was waking up this evening. Offered me four cutworms if I’d fly this to you. Mighty generous, if you ask me!”

Ella took the offered letter, pulled it out of the envelope, and read.

“Master?” Havel said. His tone strongly suggested he found this odd, too.

Ella froze as she read the last line. “Havel.”

“Yes?”

“I need to get to Wild Rose with all speed.” She thanked the bat, hardly noticing her anymore. “We need axes. Bring the armour as well, and the log splitter.”

“The armour?”

“There’s plastic involved.” Havel almost tripped over his feet. “I’m taking Coarser, the lance, and the spikes ahead. Come when you have everything, including provisions.” She took the fairy key from around her neck. “Lock up the hall behind you.”

On another night, Havel might’ve goggled at such responsibility. He shook himself, and snapped a crisp bow. He lumbered for the hall.

Ella put two fingers to her mouth and whistled, piercing and clear. She saw the bat was still there. “I’m to return to the young lady with your message.”

“‘I’m coming,’. Give her that message, and I’ll feed you and yours a cutworm every night for the rest of the summer.”

The bat was already in the air. “Maia Squeak at your service, ma’am!” Ella was already running for the hall. She heard a familiar whinny off to the south, and redoubled her pace.

Meline needed her.

[tastesoftamriel]

Into Oblivion, part 1 (a long tale by Talviel)

[Welcome to my magnum opus! This is a massive project that took me a hell of a long time to write, so for those of you who enjoy reading my work or like long stories, there is plenty for you to devour! Thanks for reading, and as always I appreciate your feedback!]

Sundas, 2nd of Last Seed, 4E 208. I was back in Whiterun after years away, catching up with old friends as I made my way back east to Riften. However, one afternoon as I was shopping for ingredients in the Plains District, a courier bounded up to me, handing me a crumpled roll of parchment. I tipped him and went back to The Bannered Mare to read it, curious as to what it contained. Unrolling it, the parchment bore no content except the sigil of the Nightingales, with the word “Raven Rock” scrawled messily underneath. The mark of Nocturnal. I looked at my shortsword, the Nightingale blade, lying in its scabbard on the table next to me. My gut wrenched with the thought of any harm coming to Brynjolf or Karliah, my fellow Nightingales, and what could be happening on Solstheim that demanded such a cryptic message. I had sworn that my Guild days were over, and yet I had taken the oath to Nocturnal. This was something I could not ignore. Deciding that if I had to go all the way to Raven Rock with no explanation, I would make it worth my while and finally convinced Geldis Sadri to teach me how to make his famous sujamma after many persuasive letters. Upon my triumph, I reluctantly left Skyrim and set off on the long journey back east.

Since my first visit to Solstheim in the year 202, Raven Rock had really transformed from being a sleepy village to a booming ebony mining town, with miners from all over Tamriel coming over hoping to strike it rich. When I stepped off the boat, the first thing I did was to stop by Glover Mallory’s forge to say hello and sharpen my sword and kitchen knives. Glover was surprised to see me, but as usual complained about how his brother Delvin in Riften never bothered to come over instead. “This has nothing to do with the Guild, Glover, you know I haven’t been with them in years! Besides, you know Delvin always complains he doesn’t have the stomach for the ship ride over.” I said as he got to work on my knives, trying not to think about the Guild business I was definitely involved in for the love of the Nightingales.

The next stop was my slightly neglected house, Severin Manor, that I had acquired through a long and complicated series of events involving House Severin that I won’t mention here. I had hired a live-in housekeeper to look after the place and give a local a roof over their head, but I visited only when I happened to be in the area, which is rarely. Still, the manor was well kept and tidy, and the fireplaces were lit for my arrival. My housekeeper, Felayn, greeted me warmly, asking if he could assist with my luggage or anything else. I declined, having never gotten used to anyone doing anything for me, despite my growing fame through Tamriel.

After settling in, I decided it was time to peruse the marketplace before heading over to see Geldis. The mining boom had brought in a colourful array of folk, including Redguards selling exotic spices, fabrics, and weapons, to Argonians with medicinal herbs from Black Marsh and Khajiits with their usual hodge-podge of items found during their travels. It was a far cry from the single alchemy shop, general store, and ash yam stall from when I had first set foot in Raven Rock. Sellers called out, advertising their wares. I bought an abundance of ash yams and spices, and treated myself to a new scarf. Happy with my purchases, I turned to head towards the Retching Netch, only to feel a hand on my shoulder. I whipped around quickly, reaching for my knife.

“Easy, lass. Was hoping for a warmer welcome but that’s my fault for startling you.” Said a familiar red-headed man dressed in Thieves Guild armour. I couldn’t believe my eyes. “Brynjolf? What on earth are you doing here?” I exclaimed. “You never leave Riften!” It was only then I noticed his eyes were darting around nervously. “Got a quieter place we can talk, lass? Here probably isn’t the best.” “Of course,” I said, and we headed back to Severin Manor in silence.

“Are you hungry? I can make us some ash yam casserole.” I offered. Brynjolf set down his weapons and satchel, settling wearily into a chair. “Aye, that sounds good, lass. It was a bumpy journey from Windhelm to here so I could do with a bit of rest before getting down to business.” “You had me intrigued at ‘business’. What’s this all about, Brynjolf?” I asked, putting on my apron and setting out my ingredients and kitchen equipment.

“Well, first of all, you’re no longer with the Guild, so I shouldn’t be telling you any of this, but I trust you lass, and could probably do with some help.” He began. “The first thing was to convince Glover to come back to the Guild and help establish a new branch over here in Solstheim, since the mine is open again and there’s gold for the taking. He may be hard to sway, but Delvin gave me a letter to pass to him that just might change his mind. No idea what it says, and I don’t really care as long as it brings Glover back into the fold.”

“And what else aren’t you telling me?” I asked, dicing up the ash yams. “Ah lass, we’ve got a big job on our hands. Real big. You’ll never believe it, but the High King sent us an emissary for the job. As soon as he opened his mouth, nobody wanted anything to do with it. Even our little Vex said no, that’s how dangerous it is. The pay is so big we can’t afford to say no though, and nobody says no to the High King in the first place.” He rubbed his face, looking worried. “So that left just me. And now you, I guess.”

I stopped chopping. “What makes you think I’m going to help with Guild business? And did you know I’d be here?” Now I was suspicious.

“No lass, I didn’t. I was just as surprised to see you in the market as you were to see me. Talk about good fortune, I guess. I know you’d rather not have anything to do with Guild business, but you did help out the last time in Riften so-”

“Brynjolf,” I interrupted him, “that was picking a few pockets for the thrill of it. Whatever you’re about to say sounds dangerous, and for fuck’s sake, I’m a chef. I’m no longer a Nightingale, or the Dragonborn, or whatever else I was back then. I just want to live a quiet life with as little drama as possible.” I mentioned nothing of the message I had received in Whiterun, knowing now that it was sent by Karliah and suspicious of what her intentions were.

Brynjolf looked despondent. “Please lass, I’m begging you.” He said quietly. “If this were anything else I’d go alone, but even with a whole army I wouldn’t be able to guarantee we’d get out alive. You’re probably the best fighter I know. Just hear me out, please.”

“I’m listening.” I said, leaning against the kitchen bench with my arms folded. “The High King got word that a gate of Oblivion has opened for the first time in over 200 years, here on Soltsheim. And he wants me to go in and retrieve the great sigil stone from within. But I can’t do it alone.” He explained, growing paler by the second.

“That’s not possible. Neither a gate of Oblivion or a sigil stone have been seen since the time of Martin Septim. Are we talking the Deadlands? Mehrunes Dagon? The bloody Amulet of Kings or a bloody Septim Emperor that we don’t have? This is insane. This is a death trap, Brynjolf, why on earth did you agree to this? This is a job for the Fighter’s Guild, or the Dark Brotherhood, or…someone else. Why the Thieves Guild? Why us?”

“The High King thought it best to ask us since he wants us to filch every bit of treasure we can find beyond that gate. It’s the job for a thief, and no one else. And in return he’s promised us three million septims and a guarantee that the Guild will be protected and immune to any criminal repercussions within Skyrim, no questions asked, for a minimum of eight generations. I couldn’t turn it down, lass, you’ve got to understand. Please, help me. You can help yourself to whatever we plunder and I can promise you at least a quarter of the gold the High King promised us.”

“Brynjolf, did I ever tell you that you’re completely insane? First the Eye of the Falmer and now this?” I spluttered. But my mind was ticking. Almost a million gold and valuable objects we may never see again in our lifetime stirred the thief within me. I would never have to work again, could build a mansion outside of Riften for my parents and I to live in, and settle down happily ever after.

“I know, lass. But you’ve got some of that insanity in you too. Don’t forget, you’re a Nightingale and always will be, whether you like it or not. You took the oath. So as a fellow Nightingale, I’m asking you in the name of Nocturnal, please, just this once, help me. Please.” He walked over to the counter next to me and opened a bottle of Alto wine, taking a large swig.

“Brynjolf, if I didn’t love you, I’d tell you to get out of my house right this instant. But as a fellow Nightingale, I accept this quest. I will follow you into Oblivion.” I said after a minute’s silence. Brynjolf paused with the bottle halfway to his lips, looking stunned.

“You…you will?” He stuttered, looking more relieved than I’d ever seen him in the many years I’d known him. “Lass…I don’t know what to say, but I promise you it’ll be worth your while. It’ll be an adventure, just like the old days, eh?”

“Yeah, except in the old days we wouldn’t be faced with dremora and clannfears and Talos knows what else is in the Deadlands, if these rumours are true.” I muttered. “Pass me that goddamn wine. We have dinner, then we rest, and we plan our attack tomorrow.”

“Agreed. I can’t say it enough, but thank you, lass. I know I’m asking too much, but thank you.” He moved closer, wrapped his arms around me, and kissed me on the forehead.

“Don’t play me like that, Brynjolf.” I muttered, swiping away the tears that had suddenly welled up in my eyes. “Now you can do me a favour and chop the blasted onions. Thinly sliced, if you please.”

End of part 1

[zrtranscripts]

Season 6, Mission 5: Your Woman

An uphill struggle

JODY MARSH: Okay, guys. The situation is, we can't access the transmitter at Worthington-on-Sea anymore because Raoul tried to sell you out the Sigrid. So I have a plan. 

We need to build our own transmitter so we can keep in touch with the Laundry and coordinate to find those babies. I've got some plans from Janine's emergency rebuild of civilization notes. Just think how proud Janine will be when she comes back and sees we got a transmitter while she was away!

TOM DE LUCA: She'll be proud of you whatever you do, darling.

JODY MARSH: Maybe. But remember, you can't call me darling. I'm Janine today because the only people near us who deal in the power converters we need and aren't loyal to Sigrid are the Eight of Hearts. They're an underground paramilitary faction.

TOM DE LUCA: Security-conscious.

JODY MARSH: So security-conscious, they will only deal with Janine. But they've never met her in person. It's all been via comms. And so... [imitates JANINE DE LUCA] Mr. De Luca, Runner Five, let's see if I can't give them Janine.

TOM DE LUCA: Wow! That's spot on!

JODY MARSH: It needs to be! If they discover I'm not Janine... I mean, they've got a reputation for blinding their enemies and sending them wandering through zom territory, which I don't think I'd enjoy. So I suggest we pick up the pace. Tardiness would be a dead giveaway. Run!

SAM YAO: Jodes, how is life living La Vie De Luca?

JODY MARSH: Mr. Yao, interim mission report: status acceptable.

SAM YAO: [laughs] That's massively weird. But it's kind of nice to hear her voice. Also - [imitates fanfare] to help you out, I've taken the small liberty of compiling a Janine Encyclopedia. A Janine-opedia, if you will. 

Ask me anything. Uh, Janine's favorite color? [hums, turns page] Gray. Uh, Janine's childhood nickname? Haha! Trick question. It was Janine. Uh, Janine's favorite brand of underwear? Close your ears, Tom. [turns page] Oh! It's M&S full briefs. I was hoping for a tantalizing surprise.

TOM DE LUCA: But didn't you compile this yourself?

SAM YAO: I'm trying to add thrilling tension.

JODY MARSH: [laughs] Sam, thank you for this, but no one's going to ask me Janine's favorite type of underwear, especially someone who already knows what it is.

SAM YAO: Well, something else then.

TOM DE LUCA: Okay... what type of hairpin does Janine favor?

JODY MARSH: There's a type? I pinned my hair up like hers. I used ASDA basics.

TOM DE LUCA: She's very brand loyal. And that brand is - [?] - 

SAM YAO: [?] Essentials, extra long. Thought you would have got that one right, Tom, old boy.

TOM DE LUCA: [laughs] Mate, you didn't fall for that? She's given you misinformation on purpose.

SAM YAO: She'd give misinformation about hair grips?

JODY MARSH: She totally would. And mine are wrong, either way. Oh God! Oh, we're off schedule again! Come on, everyone, faster! Janine would never stand for this!

JODY MARSH: Ah, there's the Eight of Hearts crew waiting for us. Look at those uniforms. Very paramilitary.

TOM DE LUCA: Bloody sloppy! That one has their hair loose, and the one on the left has dog tags on the outside! Also, is their base, um -

JODY MARSH: Yeah. An old leisure center. They've even got one of those water chutes that goes all around the building.

SAM YAO: Ooh, I love those! Maybe we can come back later and have a go.

TOM DE LUCA: You'd have to be careful. There's a massive hole halfway up it.

JODY MARSH: [clears throat] Hello. Eight of Hearts, I'm, uh... Janine. De Luca. Colonel.

EIGHT OF HEARTS: An honor.

JODY MARSH: This is Runner Five, and my brother, Tom De Luca.

EIGHT OF HEARTS: Delighted. When did we last speak?

JODY MARSH: 12th, September. I gave you advice about placement for solar panels.

EIGHT OF HEARTS: Yes. And remind me again, the time before that?

JODY MARSH: [clears throat] Uh...

SAM YAO: No, I've got this. [turns page] 9th of Jan, code-breaking.

JODY MARSH: 9th, January. Code-breaking.

EIGHT OF HEARTS: Indeed.

SAM YAO: See? And thanks, Janine, for your exhaustive – [laughs] one might even say anal – record keeping.

EIGHT OF HEARTS: Now, a quick tour of the facility. Military pace. Come along. We have another trade deal arranged with Scorpion Fang, and you know what she's like about waiting around, so we do need to get on.

EIGHT OF HEARTS: This is the swimming pool. You see the water chute here? It contains a simple identity test. An obstacle course. We do need to be absolutely certain it's really you, Colonel De Luca.

You and your companions will climb up the chute, vanquish the trials, and we will meet you at the top with the parts you’ve required. There is nothing in there that would prove a problem for Colonel De Luca.

JODY MARSH: Right!

EIGHT OF HEARTS: Colonel...

JODY MARSH: Yeah. Fine. Five, Mr. De Luca, follow me. Single file. It's a scramble. Easier if you keep the pace up. Let's get this done. Move.

JODY MARSH: Hold the rear, Five. Oh no, what's this? Grab onto me, Five! What's going on?

TOM DE LUCA: They put soap on the floor.

JODY MARSH: All right. Everyone keep your eyes down. It's just in patches. Keep going.

JODY MARSH: This water slide must go around the building three times. Wait. Look out, incoming!

[debris clatters]

TOM DE LUCA: Eight of Hearts are throwing chunks of concrete and other debris down the chute.

JODY MARSH: Behind me. Hug the wall. I see what they're doing. This one's easy. Five, catch that board coming down. Nice job! Now use it to divert the rocks through that hole in the chute so they don't block the route back. 

[debris clatters] Yes! That worked great. Let's move. We're almost at the top. [zombie groans] Ah! A zom coming down the chute, right on top of us!

TOM DE LUCA: It's on me! It's got me!

JODY MARSH: Hold me steady, Five. I'm going to take out this hostile at close quarters.

TOM DE LUCA: You don't have a weapon! Leave me!

JODY MARSH: Oh, I do! I think I've worked out why Janine always wears hairpins. [zombie growls] That pin in the eye got its attention. Now, if I apply my boot – dodge now, Five! [zombie falls] Sweetie, are you okay?

TOM DE LUCA: Yeah, I'm – that was - ! Are you sure Janine's not possessed you?

JODY MARSH: I don't even know anymore, Tom. Look, though. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. Come on. We need to keep climbing.

EIGHT OF HEARTS: Welcome back, Colonel De Luca, and well done. It can only be you. I confess it's a surprise. I never thought you'd walk right in here, De Luca, with that rich price on your head.

JODY MARSH: Price? On my head?

EIGHT OF HEARTS: Oh, yes. The Minister's offering quite the purse for the capture of Janine De Luca.

JODY MARSH: Uh... well, you won't be getting it, will you? Because in fact, I'm not Janine De Luca. I'm Jody Marsh.

EIGHT OF HEARTS: That ridiculous accent won't fool us now, Colonel. You've proved your identity very well.

JODY MARSH: I'm not her! I'm really not! I'm dating Janine's brother. Look! [grabs TOM DE LUCA]

TOM DE LUCA: Whoa!

JODY MARSH: [kisses TOM DE LUCA] See? Janine would hardly make out with her own brother.

JANINE DE LUCA: I do not believe there's any limit to what you would do, Colonel.

JODY MARSH: But I'm really not her! I wish I – I've tried to lead like her. Everyone wants me to be her. And I can't – I can't! I – [imitates JANINE DE LUCA] However, Mr. De Luca, Runner Five, I have a plan. Prepare yourselves.

[smoke grenade clatters, pours smoke, EIGHT OF HEARTS coughs]

TOM DE LUCA: Wow. That was a fast plan.

PETER LYNNE: Janine! I'm here to rescue you!

SAM YAO: Who's that? I can't see through the smoke from that grenade.

JODY MARSH: Who cares? I didn't have a plan anyway. I was bluffing for time. Come on, Five, Tom. We've walked up that slide. We can go down it now and escape. Run!

JODY MARSH: Mr. Yao, we're at the perimeter of the car park. Report!

SAM YAO: Oh my God, that was intense. Um, uh, right. Eight of Hearts seem not to be following you. Maybe your formidable reputation has scared them off. You did a very convincing Janine.

JODY MARSH: Yeah, but Janine would have completed the mission. We didn't even get the power converter.

TOM DE LUCA: Actually, we did. I took the liberty of snagging one when they were showing us around.

JODY MARSH: [laughs] Did you know they were going to double-cross us?

TOM DE LUCA: Never trust a soldier with their dog tags on the outside.

SAM YAO: All right, the coast is clear. Yeah, no, wait. There's a man approaching from your three o'clock. Watch out. Could be Eight of Hearts.

PETER LYNNE: Stop! Janine, stop! It's me, Peter.

JODY MARSH: Oh God.

PETER LYNNE: Jody? Where's Janine? I heard Eight of Hearts on the radio to Sigrid's people saying they'd captured her. I got here as fast as I could.

JODY MARSH: Peter, it was me. I was just pretending, to trade for some power converters.

TOM DE LUCA: She's not here, mate. Really.

JODY MARSH: Yeah. I'm sorry, Peter. It was just me. [imitates JANINE DE LUCA] But I'm grateful your help, Mr. Lynne.

PETER LYNNE: Oh God, that's creepy. [sighs] If I'd thought about it, I'd have known it was mad. Why would Janine allow herself to be captured? Why by Eight of Hearts? What was I thinking? I'm such an idiot.

JODY MARSH: You miss her. We all do.

SAM YAO: Where do you think she is? Like, in your wildest dreams, what's your Janine headcanon?

JODY MARSH: I reckon she's left the country. I think she's in like, Paraguay, fighting zombies in the jungle with knives made of really sharp leaves and learning ancient fighting skills from amazing warriors!

TOM DE LUCA: That's a good one. I think maybe she's working on some tech operation. She always was a dab hand with a soldering iron. I think she's literally underground, rigging up a weapon against Sigrid.

SAM YAO: [laughs] Yeah, I think she's, uh... no, wait, yours are better than the ones I've come up with. No, no, okay, just a sec. I think she's gone Ghost Protocol. She's like, still around, but in a bunch of different disguises, helping us, and giving us secret advice. 

[sighs] I sort of feel she's kind of that already. Because with all the manuals she's left, and all the systems, nothing's fallen apart. Everything runs like clockwork, it's just that... she's not here. And I miss her.

PETER LYNNE: Yes. I don't have a headcanon. Well, just one. It's the one where she's waiting for us when we get back. I think about that one every day.

[morgane-cassidy-blog]

Portfolio: poem & short story - Lady in the Water

It belongs to a series of short (and not so short) stories.

LADY IN THE WATER

Where the grey wisps kiss over the lake

And the weighty clouds dance with the moor

As twilight burns

As night falls

As dawn breaks

At the river’s bend

At the heart of the marsh

In the deep fen, under the boughs

Where the waves don’t crest

Where the tide don’t rise

A black horse by the stream

By the brook

By the creek

Mane of waterweed, pebbles for eyes

Coat from the abyss, hooves as knives

Enchanting, alluring, captivating

The lovely, deadly Lorelei

The child she let go

A morning years ago

Now floats down the river flow

Carried by melting snow

Life’s afterglow

The river’s bends, her beloved domains

The heart of the marsh, where she reigns

Monarch of the fens, sovereign under the boughs

Against the waves

Against the tide

Twilight burning

Night falling

Dawn breaking

A pale rider on his dark mount

Water for blood, revengeful heart

Limbs of stone, anger sharp

The Drowned Prince and the Lady of the Still Waters

At first, the watchers didn’t recognize either the horse or the one riding it; in the grey light heralding dawn, through the thick fog that always covered the hills in the morning, they could have looked like any rider and any horse enjoying a morning stroll.

Still, half the watchers armed and raised their crossbows without needing to be told as soon as the spotter gave the alert; the others gripped their spear or their sword, made sure that the fires were still burning strong. Horse and rider coming out of the lake, rather than walking around it…

Beside, this part of the world wasn’t keen on morning strolls; people tended not to get out of the city walls before the sun had completely chased the fog away.

“Steady,” the Captain of the Watch said in his calm voice, soothing his soldiers’ hackles. “Hold your iron until I tell you otherwise; let’s see what kind of spirits has come to greet us.”

“It’s war, sir,” one of the newest recruits protested. “We can’t afford to let an enemy come this close to the walls!”

Trusting his spotter to keep an eye on the approaching rider, the captain turned his head slowly to look at the young soldier. The boy didn’t budge, keeping his chin straight, grip tight on his spear. Despite himself, the captain was a bit impressed by the boy’s guts; if he could break the young fool of his most troublesome notions, he would make a good watcher out of him.

“It’s war, recruit,” he echoed him, keeping his voice calm despite his annoyance. “We can’t afford to turn an ally away.”

The boy frowned. “Creatures of the night can’t be our allies, sir!”

The captain barely restrained the urge to roll his eyes, but his lieutenant did not, snorting disdainfully and turning away. “City dweller”, someone else muttered, disgust clear in their voice, and the boy reddened, grinding his teeth.

The captain sighed, rubbing the root of his nose to soothe an oncoming headache. “What an interesting opinion, recruit. You’re right, of course. How remiss of us, not to have realized that sooner. We must tell the king immediately!”

The boy blanched under his angry blush; not a flattering combination. Someone snickered again.

“I’m sure he’ll be happy to send the Prince of Wolf and his pack back to their mountains, Lady Fay back to her cave and the trolls back to their forest,” the captain added, injecting his voice with a heavy dose of irony. “And let’s not forget the Black Mask and the Wild Hunt―let’s send them back to the Land-In-Between, too! After all, they only constitute a quarter of our eastern cavalry; why would we need them?”

He let the uncomfortable silence hang for a moment. “I’m sure the King will be very interested in your opinion, recruit. Very interested indeed.”

The boy didn’t have a chance to splutter an answer before the spotter gasped and the captain turned around. “What?” He barked, looking at the still-distant rider, but he didn’t have his spotter’s keen eyes.

“Sir, I think it’s the little prince!”

The captain felt his heart jump in his chest, incredulous and elated, trying not to let himself believe such an impossible pronouncement. “Are you sure, watcher?”

The youngest brother of the king was supposed to be dead, drowned and shattered in the whitewaters of the Black River during a hunting accident. The official announcement, which had finally reached them two days ago, hadn’t left any place for doubts.

The rumours who’d preceded and followed it, the captain reminded himself, hadn’t been quite this categoric; no body had been found despite a thorough research of the riverbanks.

The spotter almost toppled over the wall in his eagerness to confirm what he’d seen, while his fellow watchers burst into excited mutterings. He squinted, before rubbing his eyes and looking again. “Well, it certainly looks like him, Sir! Unless it’s a shade that’s taken his appearance, but it looks pretty solid to me!”

The captain breathed in, trying to reign in hope. It could be a shade, or a ghost, or a walking corpse. Normal horses didn’t wade through the lake, after all. “Hold your iron, boys,” he reminded them. “Keep the fire strong.”

Iron and flame were their only weapons against what lurked in the mist at dawn, in the shadows at twilight, in the darkness at night; their only defenses against nightmares made all too solid.

Then the rider drew near enough for the captain to identify him with his own eyes, and he let out a shuddering breath. It was the young prince―solid, corporeal, but grey as a corpse. Like the creature he was riding, he looked drenched down to his bone, his dark hair plastered against his pale face and neck, his clothes hanging limply from his slight frame.

“He’s riding a brook horse, sir,” the spotter hissed, much less enthusiastic that he’d been at first. “A black brook horse,” he added uselessly.

“We knew that,” one of the others said contemptuously, “They’re swimming in the lake.”

“Normal horses can swim, too,” the captain reminded him, but he agreed with them both nonetheless; this was not a normal horse. This was not even a normal brook horse―most of those were varying shades of grey.

It was tall, its belly now barely brushing the still surface of the water. Black as night, with waterweeds tangled in its mane, in its tails, both trailing in the water. It should have been ugly, but it wasn’t; it was eerie, and beautiful, and heartbreaking. Even more so because it soon became obvious that the young boy on its back wasn’t breathing.

The captain gripped the handle of his sword, swallowing the instinctive order to fire. He wouldn’t make himself an hypocrite after what he’d told the recruit. He wouldn’t. He breathed in and out several times before finally speaking, pitching his voice so it carried down the wall and over the water, “Friend or foe?”

The prince―or the corpse that had once been the prince―finally straightened its head, looking straight at him. Its face was mottled with discolorations, its eyes sunken too deep into bruised skin. It opened its mouth on a bloated tongue, then closed it, several times over before it finally wheezed and took a rattling breath.

“Captain,” it finally rasped, the sound barely carrying to the top of the wall. “Captain of the Guard. We walked those walls together. You came for me in the swamps.”

It inhaled loudly again. “Greetings.”

Its voice was toneless, without any inflection, but… it recognized him.

“Greetings,” the captain replied, shaken. “Please answer the question: friend or foe?”

The corpse tilted its head slightly to the left like a curious dog and the captain barely resisted the urge to scream. The familiar manierism was like a punch to the guts.

“I do not know,” the corpse admitted after a while. Its speech was slow and halting, like it needed to think about each word separately before enunciating them. “Do you stand with my brother… or with my cousin?”

The captain shivered, dread walking down his spine. That was the last question an humble Captain of the Watch wanted to be asked.

“The Lady of Stillwasser is my lord and liege,” he decided to answer with. As far as he was concerned, that was the sum of it: he was sworn to the Lady, who in turn was sworn to the Earl, who was himself sworn to the King. The captain himself didn’t have much to do with either the king or the earl.

The corpse bobbed its head shallowly, a grotesque, liveless nod.

“Very well. Then I must speak to your lady. Presently,” it added with a slight frown. It was the first expression to mar the utter blankness of its face since it had come up to the wall.

The captain didn’t hesitate for long; he knew his lady well enough to know she wouldn’t appreciate him keeping her out of this. “Very well.”

He turned slightly to the left, addressing his lieutenant. “Go to the lady and explain the situation. Tell her His Royal Highness, Prince Aymar, is requesting her presence at the watergate. Take the youngsters with you.”

He wanted the newest recruits out of the way; the one who’d argued with him earlier was looking at their prince’s talking corpse like he was an instant away from spearing it. That wouldn’t do.

~*~

The Lady of Stillwasser had known the royal princes all their lives, each and every one of them, but the oldest and the youngest had always been her favorites. They were the most alike to their mother; not so much in looks, though they had both inherited her dark hair. Rather, they had her spirit, her stubbornness, her heart.

Under his mother’s care, the eldest had grew up to be more Kantal than Farey, an unpopular irony for the heir to the Fareylian throne. After the Queen’s death in childbirth, he’d looked over his youngest brother and raised him in turn. Aymar had followed in his footsteps without hesitation, kind and sweet and brave. For the Lady of Stillwasser, who still mourned her dear friend, seeing the Queen in the Princes was a blessing like no other.

The news of Aymar’s death had been a terrible blow. Yet, somehow, looking upon his animated corpse was worst. His face was blank and pale, his voice flat, his eyes too deep and empty of emotion.

He remembered her, and her name, and her brave Captain.

He’d come to Stillwasser knowing he would be met with fire and iron.

Above all, he was still the Queen’s child.

And so despite her captain’s fretting, the Lady of Stillwasser had the watergate’s portcullis raised and went out to meet the drowned and its mount in her swanboat. The brook horse turned to meet her eyes with its own, dark and liquid under its long forelock. Like all water spirits, it was eerily beautiful despite―maybe because of―its deadliness.

But it wasn’t just any kind of brook horse, of course.

The Lady of Stillwasser swallowed down her instinctive, visceral fear and looked the Lady Lorelei right in the eyes.

“Have no fear,” her drowned prince suddenly declared, a whisper only for her ears. “Lorelei has no bone to pick with you. She far prefers you to your predecessors.”

Then he smiled, a horrible expression on his pale, bloated face. “And I do not, either, as long as you are loyal to your legitimate king.”

The Lady of Stillwasser looked at the prince, at the horse, then at the mountains in the distance. She was sworn to her Earl, but… She took a sharp breath. “Why did the Grey Lady let you go from her grasp? Did you bargain your soul in exchange for revenge?”

Again, he tilted his head like a curious dog, and the Lady of Stillwasser swallowed down her grief. Aymar had learned the gesture from the werewolf who’d practically raised him from eight years old onward.

“I didn’t… bargain… with the Grey Lady. Lorelei did, I think.” He let go of the brook horse’s mane to place a hand on its neck.

“Why?”

He smiled again, a bit less creepily this time, caressing the long black neck. “We are old friends, her and I. Aren’t we, my lady?”

The horse snorted in answer, and by all the Gods, she sounded fond.

“She let you go.” The Lady of Stillwasser blinked, the realization having struck her like a slap in the face. “That time when you were seven and got lost in her swamp. You didn’t escape her; she let you go.”

The corpse frowned, and she could practically feel irritation radiating from him. “That’s what I told you all. I clearly remember telling you that.”

“We didn’t believe you,” the lady confessed uselessly. He’d probably catched that.

He snorted, a crackling, contemptuous sound. “Of course you didn’t.”

The lady felt this was a bit unfair, but refrained from saying so. “Did you come back to life to seek revenge against the Earl?” She asked again, because he hadn’t answered that part of her question―which was arguably the most important.

“I am not alive,” he rasped, once again answering beside the point. He continued before the lady had the time to tell him so, “I have come to warn my brother against the deceitful, treacherous craven he trusts to guard his back.”

As low and breathless as it was, his voice still carried an impressive amount of roaring anger and the lady was reminded once again of his parentage. His father’s fiery temper and his mother’s cold fury, thunder and fire and stormy waters; he was the last scion of two royal houses who could trace their respective bloodlines back to divinity, and it now showed in him like it never had before. Lorelei wouldn’t have bargained for any weaker soul, the lady pondered abstractedly as she made her decision.

Truly, it was the only decision she could make in her heart and conscience. “What do you require of your vassal, Your Highness?”

His expression didn’t change, but his shoulders slumped and she knew he was relieved by her answer. “Loyal souls and brave hearts,” were the breathless phrase that came to his mouth. “Fire and thunder.”

Words from the past, carved into his bones by his royal blood. The Lady Lorelei snorted softly, wet and sweet and loving.

The Lady of Stillwasser only nodded, already preparing herself for the war to come. “Fire and thunder.”

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