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hecohansen31 · 4 years ago

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To Kill A King

Ivar+Saxon Princess! Reader

The Scheming Genius:

“Just when I thought I was Running out of time The King stood trembling at my bedside”

“To Kill A King” by Hungry Lucy

(Masterlist) (Previous Chapter)

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

I know it’s been along time since I have last updated one of my series but... I have just been having a lot of problems with the newest chapters of this series, because basically... I do know the events I want to take, but not what I want to write, so I can’t help but feel like what I write is never enough.

So I just wanted to apologize if this is utter shit.

Also this is shorter than usual and I just want to say that this should have been longer but I just... I just felt like I had to post this and then add more, also because I know that all my chapters are just too long.

I do hope that even if it isn’t the best you’ll enjoy it!

As always: this series means so so much to me, so any feedback is more than welcome, everything starting from comments to reblogs, just LET ME NOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Feedback makes our fingers write faster and our heart beat faster!

Have a nice reading!

SUMMARY: The truth is out and the heart that you gave so freely is now broken and yet your strength never falters, conjuring a dangerous plan to be finally free. But is it truly what you want.

WORDS: 10, 9 K

WARNINGS: Arranged Marriage, Mention of Domestical Abuse and Rape, Violence (Strong Themes), Sexual Harassment, Slavery, Historically inaccurate, Blood and Period.

Your breath came harder and harder till it choked and you lost your rhythm.

Your legs failed under you and you were solely able to stop yourself from completely falling head first on the ground, pushing your legs towards the earth.

You did bruise them, but you didn’t care as you brought them in your unfocused stare.

They were dirtied and bloody.

Not solely because you had fallen down.

And the blood on them wasn’t solely yours.

Still you hadn’t much time to think, as you heard male-like steps, hard and heavy on the ground, breaking twigs under their boots.

And fear flooded your system as you reached out for a knife trying to search at your belt and then lower, on your thigh, where you remembered having strapped up a knife.

But now it wasn’t there.

And you realized that it was probably still in the body of the man you had stabbed.

That certainly didn’t ease any of your fear, but your body seemed to have set itself up on either a running away or fighting stance, hence the sense of guilt for having stabbed a man etched itself in the back of your mind as you tried to move away.

Your legs were still too weak and soon you were dragged against the cold soil again.

And there you stayed, your nails pushing themselves in the dirt, as you tried to push yourself flush against the ground, hoping that confusing yourself with the ground would help.

And you prayed with all your last beliefs that you would be spared.

Your lungs constricted and before you knew it you were choking on air.

‘Not again’ you prayed desperately, closing your eyes ‘… I don’t want to die’.

It was now day after the revelation of the previous night.

You had been accompanied by both Caryn and Lia back in your tent, the women trying to coo you in a comforting way, but you didn’t even notice it in your unresponsive state.

It was as if you had closed yourself completely from the world, in a way that left you only overthinking yourself constantly.

You felt stupid.

Which was an awful thing to feel for you, having always considered your intelligence your sole talent.

And to know that it had failed you this much, it only brought you to the realization that your father’s poisonous words were true.

‘You, stupid girl with no purpose’

They echoed, right as you saw the room in front of you deforming into something awful,: your room in the castle as figures appeared in front of you, Kathleen laying on the ground having been struck down, meanwhile Abigail knelt in front of her shaking her awake, as you pushed yourself in front of your father.

One last attempt to protect Kathleen.

But as his eyes met yours, they were daringly blue.

Ivar’s.

That was what brought you back from that horrid vision.

And then there was ruffling with your tent, as you turned to its door, finding thankfully that it was Caryn, her dark curls lightly exiting the tight hairstyle she had chosen for the day.

She looked so beautiful.

And it just reminded you of how truly cunning Ivar could be.

He had outsmarted you, once, and he would do it again.

“You look like you haven’t slept, my lady” commented Caryn, unsure, although her voice was so sweet that it broke you inside and before you knew it, sobbing escaped your chest.

“… I did” because a paralyzing deep slumber had taken you, but it hadn’t brought you neither relief neither comfort, and it was difficult for you to remember the sole dream of that night.

Which meant it wasn’t something that you wanted to remember

“… but my body wishes for a sweet dream, before it faces the reality of things”.

Caryn smiled halfheartedly, something nostalgic in her plump lips and her longing eyes, as if she knew and could understand what you felt deep down, something that only awakened rage in your body.

You had always been babied like you didn’t have a brain and the way she acted with you just brought that back.

You had always believed what others had told you.

What your own father fed you through fear and harsh teachings.

What your books had fed you, fantasies and love stories that had now brought you to believe that the touch of a pure maiden might tame the beast.

But the beast was already corrupted.

And it would have just eaten the maiden, had she come too close.

For a moment yesterday, at the feast, you had thought about a possible life with him.

A life in which you didn’t have to be your father’s spy and you could enjoy the tenderness of the soft feelings you were starting to develop for Ivar.

But you would never have the chance to do such a thing, now.

He had killed his own brother in cold blood.

You had read that on his face when you had asked him if it was the truth.

If Ubbe hadn’t simply said a lie to tear you apart.

And you didn’t know what his brother had done, but it never could be as much as the treason that you’d have to do to him on your father’s beliefs.

Just because he had showed you some love it didn’t mean that this would be how your life would have for ever been.

You had always lost yourself too easily in the fantasy of perfect worlds, fantastic beyond everything and where you could live happily ever after, like the few fables you enjoyed listening when you were smaller.

You had been the biggest fool, truly believing that this would be just another one of them.

You got yourself dressed mechanically, but your mind didn’t shut down in the slightest as it elaborated strategies and thoughts till it got too much and you were suddenly locked inside of your mind in a drunken stupor for everything around you.

Till Hvitserk showed up in your tent.

You didn’t want to see him, but deep down a desperate part of you ached for some kind of confront with the brothers.

To know something that could justify Ivar’s actions.

But deep down you knew it wouldn’t have eased your aching soul.

“… you looked like you haven’t…”.

Why was everyone so concerned with your sleeping?

“… I know” you shot back, with an harsh glare on your face, no need of any pretense with the man you had thought was your brother, although he had betrayed you two times.

“(Y/N)…” he rushed in immediately, probably hearing the annoyance in your tone, the tight rumble of the last word “… this isn’t something that…”.

“… that might concern me?” now your rage, which had been shot down by your tiredness and sleepless night, flared up completely “… he is my husband, Hvitserk! And Sigurd would have been my brother-in-law!”.

“You don’t know nothing about Sigurd!” the comment burned you, but your entire body felt as if it had been set on fire, and for somebody who had never been able to express her own rage, it felt damnably magnificent and tiring “… he and Ivar hated themselves and we all knew it would have come to that end, one or the other”.

“That doesn’t justify Ivar’s actions” your voice was now lowered, but it echoed deeply in the tent, suddenly feeling so closed inside of her, meanwhile Hvitserk took a step back.

Something burning on his tongue, but his brain holding it back.

“… it’s a different culture, princess (Y/N)” your full title now sounded liked disdain “… you wouldn’t understand it…”.

“No, I wouldn’t” the words were now a full offense for you, but again that quiet before the tempest filled your tone and her mouth and you spit everything out as a cascade at the end of a smooth river “… I was thrust in this reality not by my choice and I had to adapt, to learn and to survive. So, I might not understand it, but this doesn’t justify it in any way”.

And before Hvitserk could say anything you pushed out of the tent, the whole place becoming much more intolerable than before, the tightness of your chest being slightly eased out by the air outside.

The sun shone there, although it seemed just like the umpteenth attempt of the whole universe to make fun of you.

But you breathed better and deeper.

But did it soothe you, in any way? No.

You felt your name called out, but you simply kept on running.

It was the only way you could achieve some sense of freedom.

It was your last freedom.

And before you even realized it, your feet took you in front of the place you needed to go to finish all of this.

Heahmund’s tent.

The man looked surprised by your presence there, even more because she was quite aware of the fact that you looked like some kind of savage nymph with your hair unbound and your feet bare.

But he welcomed you inside.

‘… I wasn’t expecting you princess to be here’ he commented, meanwhile he gestured outside, as you entered the tent, noticing the minimal objects and furniture in it, but nonetheless it was Saxon to the core.

Unlike and like you.

‘… I heard that there has been quite the celebration yesterday’ it was obvious that to him all the rituals happening were nothing but heathen dances in the full moonlight and he frowned upon them.

And upon the Christian princess that had joined them.

And for a moment you wondered about what you were truly doing with him.

Was it be a good choice?

“I want a divorce” Heahmund definitely didn’t seem to think it was a good choice, although surprise shone brightly on his face after your affirmation “… something that’ll annul my wedding, although I already know it is illegal for Christians”.

“What?” Heahmund was definitely trying to make sense of the same princess who had told him to mind his own business the previous day, and then today appeared in his tent, just a few days later to pretend a divorce.

You were definitely full of surprises.

Exactly like Ivar.

“… did you know that my husband killed his brother?” you didn’t know why you asked that to Heahmund, but the mindless expression he gave you, confirming that he did know about it, made you feel even more betrayed “… and do you think that isn’t something that might make my husband dangerous to me?”.

“I am here to protect you, princess” it was almost an automatic response, the sole he could give with such short pretense.

“… like you protected me when I was accused of having tried poisoning Ivar?” you had definitely hit a sore spot as the bishop lowered his head and launched himself on the sole chair in the room.

You were happy of standing, able to tower over him, as if to ensure your power over him.

Your father would have been proud of you.

And disgust just flooded on your tongue, at that thought.

“… if he killed his brother, think what he’ll do to me, when he’ll discover what you and my father planned to do with our marriage. All the spying and lying” you knew you must have sounded pathetic, and it made you feel almost like you were chewing onto glass.

But you felt betrayed by everyone.

Because what made you speak and what you had just asked was the rage you had ignored for all your life, the one that had come out of being constantly belittled, scared and taunted, to the point that you felt like you couldn’t react.

You couldn’t show anything that you wanted to feel truly.

And you started being sick of this.

“You knew who he was when you married him, princess” Heahmund’s tone tasted of threat and you weren’t able to stop yourself from grimacing at that, although you gripped tighter your fists, Nanna’s teachings about how to attack definitely coming to your mind.

“… but did I have any choice other than marrying him?” the words echoed in the room in a way that hang on heavy around you, like a humid cloud involving you both and Heahmund wasn’t able to turn his head to the other side, as he had always done “… my father would have thrown me out, if I hadn’t accepted it…”.

“He won’t hurt you, my princess” and strangely you were aware of it.

But… yet… your soul was scared, left betrayed by your own thought of having believed that Ivar could be different from your father, when they were two men who wielded power through violence.

You shouldn’t have been surprised but yet scenes of ordinary sweetness between you and Ivar appeared in your mind and they kept on bothering you, because the revelation made you feel like there were two Ivars, something that you had seen before.

There was the one that would cradle you close to his chest, when you didn’t feel well enough, bringing you to his own private heaven so that you could share a moment, in something that nobody had ever bothered to do for you.

And then there was this disruptive creature, some kind of hungry wolf that trashed anything and anybody that came on his way, something that made you wary, not scared, but your self-respect wanted you to run on your own feet.

And only some basilar sense of honor held you there.

And the knowledge that running away would have solely given you more problems.

“… arrange the divorce” it was an order mixed with a threat, something that you learned from Heahmund’s tone itself, the man quirking an eyebrow at you, although his mouth kept itself in a straight line “… or I’ll handle it myself”.

And as you had come you exited the tent, noticing that life had started going on as usual again.

Everybody had somewhere to go and the sounds of an active army camp filled the air and for a moment you desperately wished to disappear in it, closing your eyes and hoping that, as an enchantment, your own will could bring you away from here.

In a place where you could be safe with your sisters.

Kathleen wouldn’t have felt this powerless, she would have fought, she would have stood her ground, meanwhile Abigail would have charmed everybody in giving her what she asked…

… and then there was you, who felt like everything was lost.

Your feet brought you to place where the boats were being repaired, the entire process having come to some kind of halt, since the workers who had been taking care of the boats to come back home, had been moved to make sure Bjorn’s would be ready for his and Halfdan’s departure.

Something bitter was in your mouth at the thought.

At Ivar’s first betrayal and lie.

You shouldn’t have been this surprised after all.

“I knew I’d found you here” the voice was slightly lighter than Ivar and spoke English graciously with no inflection in his tone and you didn’t have to turn around to know that it was Alexander.

You breathed out a breath of relief.

“… if you are here to tell me you were right, please don’t”.

You were already hard enough on yourself, on your own.

“I won’t” Alexander sat next to you, and although you felt the distance between you two, it brought you pack to a past time, when you were each other’s confessor, although there were things you hadn’t been able to tell even to him.

And now they damned your body to this kind of pain and loss.

“… good” it was so low that you were sure that it dispersed itself in the wind “… because I am already feeling like I lost everything and to know that I have lost also your friendship and respect it would… destroy me”.

What was this show of sincerity?

This sudden opening up to everybody.

It felt like weakness…

… and yet the way Alexander’s arm slung loosely over your shoulder felt heavenly and before you knew it the tears you hadn’t shed but needed to, escaped your control and soon you were crying on his chest desperately.

He simply caressed your back till sobs became sighs and eventually silence enveloped you both.

“… you’ll never lose something that is sacred to my heart” he commented once you had calmed down, gently bringing your hands in his, as you raised softly your head to meet his eyes, and he shook lightly his head “… I shouldn’t have said those things… I spoke of love, but the truth was that I had no right to it…”.

“… I am sorry my feelings can’t be…” but he shushed you softly.

“You can’t oblige your feelings to feel something that you don’t believe in” he spoke softly, measuring his words because they held an equal side of wisdom and pain “… that’s why you are feeling like everything is lost… because your head tells you to feel one thing and your heart… your heart is treacherous”.

“He is a murderer…” your voice was low and yet it could have shaken mountains.

It shook your soul to the core.

“… he… he isn’t the man that I was supposed to love” it felt like a justification.

A flimsy one.

“Love isn’t about deserving or earning” Alexander spoke slowly “… I know it on my own skin, but this doesn’t make it any less easy or more… simple”.

“… I can’t stay here” your legs lightly moved underneath you as if to reinforce the concept “… I shouldn’t have ever come, I should have done what Kathleen wanted me to do, run”.

“And when have you ever followed Kathleen’s advises?” now Alexander’s mouth was quirking up in a smile, a sarcastic one matched on your face, properly “… you are (Y/N), not Kathleen, don’t ever forget”.

“But I do wish I was her!” now your voice was loud enough to make a few of the workers turn around, but Alexander’s eyes shot to them to tell them to return to work, something they did without any questions “… I can’t do this… I can’t… anymore”.

Your hands gripped the earth beneath you, probably dirtying your nails but you needed to anchor yourself down as your lungs slowly started filling themselves slowly, meanwhile you pushed your hands underneath you, stretching your body.

“Then change” it felt natural the way he said it, like it was the only natural solution, but how could you even think about that, when you were stuck as nothing more than a glorified prisoner.

“… how?”.

“We’ll grab a few horses and we’ll make a fun for it” Alexander, always the knight in the shining armor, the one who played Arthur in your games because he was ‘the Just’, certainly wouldn’t have thought about anything more than that.

To him, it would have been a knightly ballad.

And to you a true nightmare.

That was why this would never work out between you two.

He was a dreamer and you had had too much reality in your own blood to believe in those fairytales.

As you had learned in the hard way, they always disappointed you.

“… this isn’t easy, Alexander” your tone was patient and yet tight, as if you couldn’t understand Alexander’s thoughts and point of view “… Heahmund won’t even grant me a divorce”.

“… then the only way is to run”.

This, indeed, sounded like Kathleen.

But (Y/N) was already asking herself where they’d go and hide, what they’d need for it.

And how it would influence the ones she left behind.

Ivar would have probably marched to your father to ask him to find you again to bring you back and your father would have absolutely tried his best to find you, using your sisters against you.

And yet, you couldn’t stay here.

Your hands let go of the earth as if it was poisonous.

But maybe you were what was truly poisonous.

“… I can’t”.

Because Alexander could look forward, like Kathleen.

But you couldn’t.

You hadn’t been able to, since your father had taken away the possibility of a future without him from you.

His actions had never let you think with your own head, with your wishes and your own taste and now you were broken completely.

And stuck in the middle.

Waiting for something.

“Then I’ll stay with you a bit longer…” Alexander’s voice was soothing and comforting and again you leaned your head against his shoulder “… my princess”.

---

When you arrived back in your tent, rigorously escorted by Alexander in a silence that was terrible and your sole solution, you found all your ‘handmaidens’ reunited around your bed, their hands threaded together and their lips muttering a prayer that was too silent to reach your ears.

But you knew that they were praying for your protection, because as soon as you bumped into something with your knee, making enough noise to make your presence known to each of them, their eyes almost madly raised to you.

“Princess!” called out Lia, meanwhile Angelika’s slight smirk became as cold as the rocks outside and Caryn’s sweet smile faltered lightly again seeing your tired and disappointed smile “… we were worried! You didn’t… come for us, this morning”.

You wondered whether they knew.

None of them had followed you outside after you had received the news.

They had been all too busy dancing their hearts out and you couldn’t blame them.

You had always thought and felt like they were your friends and because of that they were happy of being so far away from their home, in a place where they had no real family and friend.

You had always been too naïve.

You wondered how far the word of your fight with Ivar had spread.

Part of you worried for what this might bring onto the scheme that you and Ivar had created.

You knew that Ubbe had told you this secret, because he hoped to bring whatever deal you and Ivar had done down, and he had succeeded in this brilliantly, because had the fight become of public domain, it would have brought down whatever appearance of romance you and Ivar had set up for each other.

Alongside your image of beloved leaders.

But part of you, the one that you had denied for so long, wanted to just push everything out in the open, to be able to mourn your pain publicly and have your own revenge on Ivar’s omitted pieces.

It felt so vile and yet it just felt right.

“… I just had to clear my mind” worry continued on lacing your handmaidens’ eyes, but the part of you that felt the need to doubt everything, now wasn’t able to look at them back.

You weren’t able to look at them without wondering whether it was genuine.

What was true, after all, in this settlement of liars and lies?

Your father would have called you melodramatic and even naïve, because to think that the truth was what you saw was the greatest trick that the Devil had played on humanity.

And who didn’t understand this would have been completely destroyed by others

“Is… your mind… clear, now?” it was obvious that Angelika’s words were a polished version of what she truly wanted to say.

And do, with her way her fists tightened around the pretty fabric of her lovely bluish dress.

She wouldn’t have been as naïve as you, in your place.

“… a bit” words were difficult and you excused Alexander quickly with a few more, not truly wanting him to see what you felt, unable to conceal your ache for what he had proposed, alongside the knowledge that you wouldn’t have ever been able to realize his plan “… I’d like to lay down, alone”.

It was lunch time, but you felt like you would have pushed out anything that you’d have eaten, so you thought that the only way you could tolerate the passing of the day was alone.

With your books.

“… it wouldn’t be wise to leave you…” tried to start Solveig, her voice and her Nordic accent, a small memory of your husband’s one “… we should…”.

“Leave me, alone”.

You must have sounded like a spoiled brat, but you knew that your eyes held the wound of your pride and your imagination.

And soon you heard a fluttering of feet and curt bows, meanwhile dresses grated almost noiseless against the floor, wiping it clean in some kind of ritual that left you to push yourself on the ground, on your knees.

And silently cry.

You dragged your tired body as some kind of wounded beast till the trunk with all your books and searched through it for some old books about laws, most importantly wedding laws, even getting the Bible out.

It was a small one that Father Peter had gifted you when you weren’t anything more than a small crumb, in hopes it’d guide you to sanctity.

How far were you from it…

But the truth was that you could have wielded the book with all the world’s knowledge and yet you wouldn’t have found a solution to your own dilemma, because your father wouldn’t have ever granted you a divorce or annulled the marriage.

You were his little bishop, on his own personal chessboard, willing to the ultimate sacrifice and honored for the protection of the king, something that made you unable to follow a proper trajectory on her own.

Just another piece on the board.

If you asked for a divorce your father would have immediately denied it, because you were a precious spy.

And had you tried to escape, he would have turned himself against your sisters, till he brought you right back where he had always had you.

There was no way to escape his grip.

In the end, you hadn’t had many choices when the marriage had been set up.

And now that it was celebrated and you were the wife of a monster, you had even less.

There was a third way.

That was something stories had always told you.

And as your hands were in search for many more books, almost frantic in their movements, they brushed against the leather sheath of the dagger your father had given you to achieve the most utter level of betrayal towards Ivar.

But could you kill somebody?

The dagger weighted heavily on your hands, but you knew just how to grip it to be sure to stabilize it in your grip, thank to Nanna’s lessons, since you had trained with wooden knives, in your latest lessons.

‘Held it with one hand’ and you followed the instructions in your mind, grabbing the handle with strength, as your fingers pushed up their to wrap against the metal, to grip it steadily ‘… this way you’ll have much more strength from your upper arms’.

And then you’d pierce Ivar’s skin.

And not the bottom of the trunk.

Would it have made so much difference?

Would you have found resistance?

Would you have survived the attack, had you been able to catch Ivar by surprise, finishing the fatal mission her father had given you?

But right when the dagger was through piercing itself in the trunk your hand trembled and soon the trembling pushed itself up to your whole body in a way that made goosebumps appear on your skin, a slight shade of red appearing on you cheeks.

And you felt it because they burned.

Like your arms.

As if you had received some kind of premonition, the knife slipped from your grip, as you felt somebody entering the tent.

And you had gotten yourself used to those dragged out steps.

You had cherished them just a few days ago.

And you knew that Ivar had almost caught you in a dangerous experimentation.

But nothing in you wanted to be careful.

You had been focusing all your energy on hiding the double-play you had brought in your dowry and now you were so tired of everything.

So tired of Ivar’s and your father’s games.

You should have seen how similar they were from the start.

How deceitful and monstrous they both were.

Drenched in violence and unable to love others.

And yet, as Ivar’s eyes met yours, tired and disappointed, all the flashes of your happy moments appeared in front of your eyes, again, and for a moment you felt like throwing your arms around him.

And then the image of blood, tears and smoke filled your eyes.

You had been already too foolish.

And your eyes became of ice.

“… would you like to talk?” Ivar’s voice was as dry as your mouth, but yet it felt like a dam holding back something more and you trained your eyes to the ground, to avoid seeing what he hid in his eyes.

Because they’d have made you think you were talking with a human.

“I sent away my handmaidens away for a reason” you hadn’t ever been this cold and this angry and it felt like every hit you sent his way was one to yourself and you couldn’t help but clutch your fists tight by your side, adjusting your dress just to look busy “… and Hvitserk already tried to say something”.

“He ran out of the tent with his tail between his legs” his attempt at humor was welcomed by a dry glare and this time in your eyes there wasn’t anything to be held back.

They were pure flames.

“… he told me that I don’t understand your ways” suddenly your own dam was broken and before you knew it, you were pushing out all the shit that you had swallowed all these years “… but the truth is that I was pushed in this, without anybody asking me what I wanted and what I preferred”.

“I had to learn on my own how to behave, how to act, how to fucking survive” Ivar backed off lightly, and your body raised in a swift move “… I had to learn how to fight back, how to defend myself from all the ones around me and not to trust anybody…”.

“You are a princess, you should have known these things” now Ivar’s tone was as dark as yours, and as you turned to look at him in the eyes you spotted that he hadn’t been able to conceal that you had hurt him.

And it made you feel good.

It made you take that step forward that separated you.

“… you are right” your voice was the calm before the storm, mirroring completely the static energy that followed lighting, meanwhile your voice became the booming power of a thunder “… I am a fucking believer of stories and you thought that you could control me easily because of that”.

Ivar seemed taken aback by your affirmation, and raised his arms as if to grab your attention but now you were utterly done and if he wanted to make you suffer, you’d drag him with you

“… for all my life I had somebody that controlled me, so it should have been easy for you to do the same for me, it was nice when you could make me act the role of the nice wife, the one that’d have stood by your side, no matter what…” a light of protest appeared in Ivar’s eyes and you chastised it with a look of your own “… don’t fucking deny it, my prince”.

You could have screamed and it would have done less damage than it did now, as Ivar lost suddenly his balance on his own braces and although everything in your body ached to desperately cradle him closer to you, help him up…

… your soul was frozen.

“… but I am done playing these games” and you let Ivar catch a glimpse in your tiredness “… and from now on, I wish you not to be my husband anymore in our tent, I’ll keep up the dutiful wife act outside of here, but I just can’t… I won’t be your bride in anything but my body”.

Ivar reached out for your dress, as you exited the tent, but you were faster.

Running away was your sole weapon.

And it struck deeper than a dagger.

---

Nanna noticed your uneasiness to even look towards a weapon immediately, as you came to here to train, and sent you through a run of the woods, to stretch your muscles before the real training, some kind of hand to hand combat that you had practiced till you knew the moves by heart.

For which you were grateful since your mind was completely gone.

And you couldn’t seriously do much more than crouch down and avoid hit after hit, meanwhile your attacks were lethal, enough that this time you almost hit Lia, the poor girl having to shield herself through a big push onto your chest, which sent you tumbling down.

And you welcomed the fall.

The loss of control was dizzying and maddening and for somebody who was a step close to losing it completely it was refreshing like rain on your face in a hot summer day.

And Nanna caught on all of this immediately.

She approached you as you came back to Bukefalos.

‘… whatever you have in mind, you should know that the brothers never liked each other” you rolled your eyes at her, a bold move that accompanied your own insanity since you wouldn’t have ever dared doing anything like that.

But the truth was that if you had gone through so much shit because of others, it was because you, firstly, had let yourself go through it, eventually creating a patterns of behaviors that you’d assume to avoid angering others.

You thought they’d spare you from pain.

But they had never worked truly.

And now you raged with intensity.

“… Hvitserk already tried this discourse with me” you counterattacked before Nanna could finish whatever she was saying, but unlike with Hvitserk, she held her own ground and waited for your outburst to end “… it doesn’t justify him”.

“It doesn’t, it never will” there was something deeper in Nanna’s eyes “… I am the first to say such a thing, because you see… I was Sigurd’s trainer, I taught him how to fight, although he wasn’t in the slightest talented for it, he was a great musician…”.

The confession seemed to cost Nanna years as her face became suddenly older and you couldn’t help but stop for a moment and think about what she had truly gone through.

You didn’t know Nanna, exactly as you didn’t know perfectly your handmaidens, so to be the witness of such a concealed pain it made your soul suddenly shift onto the most compassionate mood, although rage still burned and asked explanations.

“… I hate him, you know” Nanna’s voice was a soft whisper, her face holding a tight smirk, a sad one that spoke of many nights wasted to overthinking and distrusting anybody “… that’s why I wasn’t kind to you, when you first came, I thought that you were nothing but a meek little mannequin here for his schemes”.

“I am that” your voice tasted like a harsh bite, and Nanna sent you a compassionate look, but no pity in it, as if she knew deep down that that rage simply concealed much more.

“… you were” corrected her Nanna, coming closer to you, and lightly brushed away strand of hair drenched with sweat you hadn’t noticed you had shed “… but the truth is that you weren’t ever meek and stupid, someone easy to manipulate? Maybe at the start, but not anymore. That’s just a front and this strength that you are destroying through your rage… it’s the true you”.

Nobody had ever said something like that to you

You had loved Kathleen to Death and back, and yet, she had always treated her as if you were the meek little girl that your father had wanted you to be, and she couldn’t see past it, in the end becoming one of the many golden cages that wrapped you too tight.

You had always felt helpless.

Even when your strength had been reinforced.

But now somebody had finally acknowledged it…

… it felt like a freedom.

Like a beacon of hope.

That your rage shoved back inside.

“… he is a monster”.

“No” Nanna voice echoed through the empty spot of the forest she had brought you so that you could be more private “… he isn’t a monster, because those exist only in fairytales, little princess, he is a boy who has done and will for ever do monstrous things”.

“… is there any difference?”.

Your voice was slightly broken and even more importantly it seemed almost frail in the way it trembled in your own mouth, as if you wanted to eat it right back, because it was the breaking point.

Your breaking point.

Could you love somebody that would have tainted you?

Somebody who wouldn’t have hesitated to bring you down for his own plans?

No matter the fact that he had promised that he wouldn’t have ever done such a thing.

Could you turn a blind eye to all the monstrous things he did?

What would have made you?

A coward or a hypocrite?

“… there is” Nanna’s voice was instead low as if it was tasting the words, making sure they were the right ones “… being a monster isn’t a choice, doing monstrous thing is, and it only depends on us”.

“This doesn’t make everything better in any way”.

“It isn’t meant to” Nanna’s eyes settled on you unrelenting and piercing “… it is meant to bring knowledge to you. Even you would do something monstrous if you were given the proper stimulus believe me”.

The words seemed so foreign to you.

And yet hadn’t you cheated, lied and hidden?

Could you seriously blame Ivar for his lies?

Still you held your position strongly.

“… this isn’t some kind of silly courtly game, princess” Nanna’s hand shot out to your wrist and before she could grab, your reflexes acted up and you pushed it back “… and look at you, you already know the first step of it: don’t trust anybody”.

“… why don’t you cut Ivar’s throat off in his sleep?” it was treason what you had suggested, your father would have had the people saying it dead, but Nanna simply sent you a soft laugh.

“Because then I wouldn’t be different from him” it felt such an obvious choice and yet it clashed so deeply with the warrior image she had of Nanna “… the difference between me and Ivar it is that I can become a monster to defend what I believe in and he becomes a monster because he has been taught to hate whatever doesn’t agree with him”.

A logic came in front of your eyes.

“… he was born to be king, shaped by an overprotective mother who loved him and a father that hated what he truly was and taught him that love and happiness wouldn’t have been what was in his Destiny” the image of Ivar became much more complex at all these revelations “… this isn’t to justify him, but the first step to stop being afraid of people who do monstrous things is to understand them”.

Nanna’s hand now gently moved onto your shoulder, the grip strangely comforting, since it didn’t coddle you in any way.

But it stood with her.

“… I know you aren’t scared” she commented, as she slowly distanced herself from you “… and know that you are confused, so I hope that knowledge will help you in your choice”.

“As if I had one” you were simply able to mutter.

“… life is a path and you always come at crossroad, little princess”.

---

When you had come back to tent you had soon found out that you were alone, and you couldn’t exactly blame Ivar for not wanting to share the room with you.

But at the same time, you were almost grateful he had left your space.

Nanna’s talk had certainly cleared you a few things, if not about yourself, about Ivar.

But everything inside of you raged and ached for an answer that could calm your fear, ease your worries and finally find a solution to the enigma inside your heart: were you allowed to feel what you had started feeling for Ivar, or had it been all a mistake?

Your feelings were so confused that your feet just wanted to bring you away from there, if not for yourself, for the simple calm of mind that being far away from anybody would have given you.

You wanted just a bit freedom.

But you had taken your first steps in a priced cage.

So, how could you exit when the cage was smaller, and you knew nothing of it…

Your fist punched the light cupboard you had beside the entrance, where you knew that Ivar kept your nuptial gifts and you hit a bit too hard because the cupboard was slightly shaken and before you knew it, something fell right on the floor in front of you.

Floki’s gift, the small box with the moving sides, was now on the ground and as you rushed to grab it, already worried of having broken it, you noticed that out of pure luck you hadn’t broken it, completely.

But the box was now open lightly at the center and you moved yourself to collect it, finding much more than you had bargained for, because the broken box revealed a small piece of paper, which you grabbed, knowing quite well that you Vikings didn’t have written language, although you had received a book with a few runes and the proper pronunciation for words…

… and in fact, the paper didn’t contain any writing.

But it was a map.

A map, that contained all the villages around the settlement, signaling the ones that were already occupied by Vikings troupes and the ones that weren’t, making you discover that you had a convent nearby, a few days of travels.

But, again, you knew that escaping wouldn’t have been useful to anybody.

Unless… unless you managed to maintain the pact with Ivar.

And unless anything happened to you.

Had you died, accidentally, Ivar wouldn’t have been able to break the oath of protection to your father and your father wouldn’t have harmed your sister to try to get you back to him.

But you didn’t have any intention to cut your life so shortly, not only because you were coward and too attached to the life you had just started living, but you knew that suicide might destroy the oath, almost as much as a direct betrayal to either your father or Ivar.

But suddenly more and more ideas set up in your mind, as you remembered Nanna’s discourse.

A terrible and monstrous idea came to you, as you watched at the map, clutching it tighter in your hands till it appeared lightly crisped and marks of your nails etched in it.

You pushed it in your sleeve, and for the second time in that day you went to visit Alexander.

You noticed that a few guards followed you, although not closely and you were even more surprised to discover that Alexander and a few of his men had been asked to stay for a few days more.

‘To ease the princess’ nostalgy’ had mumbled Alexander, recalling the small meeting he had had that morning with Heahmund after you had left, the man looking as desperate as annoyed, and when your best friend discovered what you had asked of the bishop…

… he laughed loudly.

“… I don’t trust Heahmund, in the slightest” you mumbled, under your breath, but were still thankful for having Alexander with you a bit, even more with the plan your mind had conjured.

You showed Alexander the map you had found.

‘They probably wanted to use it to conquer more lands’ commented the blonde-haired knight, as he examined the countries that were left unconquered ‘… they couldn’t know that Ivar would have married an English princess, sealing peace with king Alfred and your father’.

‘… that gives me more credit than I have really’ you mumbled, but more because Ivar being brought in this conversation would have risked ruining all your coherent thoughts and confidence.

“This morning you said we should run away” your voice was low, although the guards outside hadn’t seemed to understand any English, but you tried your best to avoid being discovered “… but for me it isn’t just possible, I do know that if I just run away, my father would bring me back, using my sisters against me”.

“… so, you haven’t changed idea?” Alexander’s tone was slightly pensive and heavy, enough that you were very aware that he stood by your side no matter what.

And you needed that loyalty for your plan.

Something that still made you a bit icky to use, since you were aware that you were partly using Alexander’s fascination for you to get him to collaborate with you.

And it was horrible.

It felt awful.

And it was something that you could feel both Ivar and your father would have done.

Nanna had talked with you about creatures doing monstrous things, but not about the influence they’d have on the people around them,

“… my father wouldn’t search for me if I was dead”.

In Alexander’s eyes a flash of hurt and surprise appeared and immediately he reached out to you, trying to grab your wrist, but you snatched it quickly, as he instead went to gently caress one of your cheeks, as you kept your eyes down.

Unable to see the commotion and devotion in his eyes.

It reminded you of Ivar’s quiet misery of this morning.

Why had you this effect on men?

They were all moved by you and yet they wouldn’t listen on anything you had to say.

“… I won’t help you on your path to self-destruction, (Y/N)” Alexander told you, looking at you attentively “… I can’t… truly… I��ll swear my sword to your protection, but not to your destruction”.

“I wouldn’t need to die, to be thought dead” you added, trying to ease the worry in Alexander’s eyes “… I… if I was thought to be dead through some accident, leaving behind some of my things, I wouldn’t… I would be able to start again a new life, in a convent, where nobody has heard of me”.

The plan was crazy and Alexander did look at you as if you had definitely suggested something blasphemous, and honestly…

… had you had any other chance, you wouldn’t have suggested it.

But Heahmund or your father wouldn’t have ever granted you a chance of divorce.

And running out would have resulted in simply being brought back by force, either using it on you or your sisters.

And you couldn’t stay here.

Not when you had people pushing you through situation you didn’t belong in.

No matter how much you had thought of loving Ivar, your father expected you to do something against him and had Ivar discovered anything about what you had done and what you intended to do, he wouldn’t have hesitated to kill you.

And you had enough of being controlled and used for others’ plans.

You had now your own.

Your life at a convent wouldn’t have been perfect.

But you wouldn’t have risked your life, daily basically.

“This isn’t… this is…” Alexander’s eyes searched yours, hoping to find some gleam of sanity but you simply held yourself strong in your conviction, because had you lost also that…

… you would have completely vanished.

“… crazy”.

“That’s my only chance” you insisted loudly “… I wouldn’t ask you this if it wasn’t. I know that you want the best for me, but I can’t simply hide behind you anymore”.

Something in his eyes became sad and you had to admit what stood on your tongue, ready to be swallowed, because it was the truth.

And you knew that truth never paid off.

“… I know that you are in love with me” you admitted “… and I know that you want to protect me because of that, but I … Alexander I grew out of the fairytale, I don’t think it ever was. I don’t want you to do this because you expect something in return or because it is what virtuous knights do. I want you to do this because… you think it is the right thing”.

Alexander’s hand fell from your face and for a moment you were sure that you had done the wrong thing, you had chosen the wrong road and now you could only hope that Alexander would at least respect the secret of your words.

But for the second time in this day, you found a bit of luck, in this unlucky situation.

“I am not going to help you, as a lover” it hit you deeply, but Alexander’s eyes stared right back in yours, full of support “… I am going to help you, because I should have done all of this before”.

You looked at him curious about what he’d say next, but you couldn’t have ever foreseen what he’d say next.

“… I should have helped you and your sisters with your father”.

And for somebody who had never admitted what your father had made you go through, although solely emotionally, the knowledge that somebody had been witness to it took you like a sword straight up in your chest.

A bleak kind of pain hit you and you almost felt ashamed that he had found out about this.

“… how?” the words got all confused in your mouth “… how did you know?”.

“I didn’t… I just connected the dots” you didn’t know whether you wanted to hide all of this further in your heart, because shame just took you fully, or to finally breath out the truth.

Because finally you had received some respect, and somebody saw all of you.

“… once… when we were children… I accidentally ripped Kathleen’s gown, meanwhile we were fighting, and I found a big… big bruise on it”.

“… I didn’t realize back then that it came from your father, but I saw the way you flinched whenever he was slightly displeased with you, even more when I saw Kathleen flinching of pain if we ever fought, and seeing bruises on here that she justified as old wounds…”.

Alexander’s knowledge made you sick to your stomach.

Had others known about your father’s actions?

Had they known all this time and never done anything?

Although you were the first to admit that your father’s actions would have put the fear of God in everyone, you couldn’t believe that so many had stayed silent, at seeing the constant ruination of you and your beloved sisters.

“… and as a child I believed it, but when we started growing up we became more and more tight knit and I wasn’t able to ignore the way you’d shift away from your father, or the way Abigail would have her eyes trained down on the ground, whenever he was near… or how much Kathleen limped after she had answered her father’s provocations…”.

Painful memories overcame you as you choked on your own words.

“… that’s why I told you we should have run away, when we were still at the castle, before I got recruited in the army, I wanted to keep you safe, but…” a shade of guilt dyed his eyes “… I was just a boy and there wasn’t much I could do, I didn’t have the power and neither the money to convince your father to let you marry me”.

“And then my brother died and the only that kept me going was the fact that I could have finally been enough in your father’s eyes…” and his eyes showed the idealistic beliefs you had always loved about him “… but right when I came back, I found out that your father had sold you off to somebody’s else”.

The way he pronounced the word ‘sold you off’ made you feel so heavy and ashamed.

But it was the truth.

Your father had sold you like a priced cow.

And you wouldn’t have simply ‘mooed’ your annoyance, anymore.

You would have done something with it.

“… so, I’ll help you, my princess” Alexander sealed off his oath, as his hand reached out to you, nothing romantical in the way that he gripped your small hand in his “… for all the times that I couldn’t”.

You simply nodded, not trusting your voice, as you turned to the map

“... but we’ll need a well-thought plan”

“I have one” you commented lowly “… have you ever heard of the novella of the matron of Efeso?”.

---

You and Alexander had been talking about the plans for quite some time, estimating how much time it’d take you both to get ready.

You ran on stolen time, barely a week from when you’d be leaving for Kattegat, and Alexander’s staying had been extended for a few days, a whole week, if the heathens felt generous, something that made you both anxious.

And yet adrenaline filled your brain.

You almost hadn’t wanted to stop yourself from your plotting schemes with Alexander, but you knew that staying in his tent for more than it was proper would have costed you whispers.

Even more when the crisis between you and Ivar was evident.

So, you had tried to hide your schemes, through various visits, moving again to Heahmund, with the excuse to thank him for Alexander’s prolonged staying, appearing the image of the docile sheep, as the bishop complimented your virtues of patience and perseverance.

‘The ones of a true queen’ he had said, a strange gleam in his eyes, but you had chosen to ignore it, sick in the stomach at the sole thought that he had known about your father’s abuse against you and your sister.

And had never done anything.

Alexander’s confession of knowledge had opened your eyes and what you had thought was a closed world of violence and cunningness, had been open to the whole court to see and witness.

And nobody had done something against it.

They had all been cowards.

Like you.

And yet, a new kind of rage followed these new revelations, because you understood that many nobles completely depended upon your father, but yet, so many had even taken part in your father’s plan with no intention to even try to shed a glance your way.

You and your sisters had been left alone, to be adored and wished upon, and yet beaten down till your resistance broke.

But the truth was that it had never broken.

Kathleen was the portrait of that, and Abigail had much more cunningness than her soft preface gave the appearance of.

And as of you, the time in the Viking settlement had revealed to you, skills that you had never thought you owned.

You had always sold yourself short, and now it was time that you took the power away from all the men in your life that had taken it for you, doing not what Kathleen would have done, but what (Y/N) would have done.

Your father had thought that he had raised a stupid daughter, one that would be the perfect shy wife to a prince that wanted her simply to lay in bed, but you were far more than that.

And you wondered whether Ivar had known it from the start.

But these were questions you couldn’t allow yourself to have.

There were questions you’d leave behind as you took the vows and the veil.

‘… you’d have to change your appearance’ had mentioned Alexander meanwhile you talked about what you’d need to do to be accepted in a convent: money would have bought silence, but it wouldn’t have been enough to stop people from talking once it was finished ‘… maybe dye or cut your hair’.

And all these transformations had all seemed to you one more way to leave that life behind.

Your only regret was leaving your sisters.

The thought of never having to see them again, would have been difficult for you, to say the least, but Alexander had assured you that now that he had his brother’s inheritance he’d be able to move in court and he’d be by your sisters’ side.

He had sworn an oath to it, but you already believed him blindly.

You knew that you’d for ever regret the thought of him not being the one you had married and the one your heart loved, but there wasn’t much you could do, except be grateful for the support of such a friend.

After the visit to bishop Heahmund, you had tried your best to appear in public, wandering through the market alongside a few girls, till the night overtook the light of the day and you chose to dine alone in your room.

You hoped Ivar would ignore you like he had done for the whole afternoon (or better, as you had done with him for the whole afternoon).

But apparently, lady Luck had helped you too much this evening.

And your husband met you in your tent for a private dinner.

This was what he said to your handmaidens, as he sent them away, although Angelika had be to dragged away by a rather annoyed Solveig, the older woman, halfway through pushing her by the hair, something that brought a dry giggle to your mouth.

But as you turned to face Ivar, the giggle got stuck in your throat.

You had expected him to be angry, and although you had armed yourself with a good amount of your own anger, ready to spit back and fight…

… he just looked old.

As if tiredness had cursed his handsome image.

His eyes weighted heavily in their sockets and they hanged down, staring at his bracing, still on him and for a moment your hands shot forward almost wanting to do what you had started doing for him, your nimble fingers more able than the ones of any guard.

But you bit back your lips and pushed your hands away.

Many thought that the curse of sin could be transmitted through touch.

And yet, your whole body ached to give him some kind of comfort.

“… I’ll have dinner, in here, hope you don’t mind” your voice was slightly unsure and trembling, and you thought that it hadn’t reached Ivar truly, till he simply gave you a light shoulder nod, a moan of pain exiting his mouth as he moved his body “… are you hurt?”.

“What do you care?” that voice was so cutting that it was aimed to hurt you, without any doubts “… you aren’t my wife, anymore in this tent”.

You bit your lips, because your tantrum against him in that tent hadn’t been fair both to your strategy, but also to him, because as much as you hated the thought of what he had done, the rage you had shot him with was partly towards you.

You just changed the direction of it.

“… I might not be your wife, but…”.

He raised himself so swiftly and all the food that had been laid on the tray on the bed, fell in a cacophony of sounds that brought you to immediately cover your ears with your hands.

“What are you to me princess, truly?!” he was using the same tone you had used with him this morning, cutting and made to hurt your opponent, in a vocal sparring you had just learned.

And he was a champion in it.

“… you think that it is easy for me…” your words sounded frail to you, so it didn’t surprise you that Ivar destroyed them with a bloodied look and another shout.

This time your hands remained paralyzed to your torso.

“This isn’t about what I fucking did to Sigurd!” he shouted back to you “… this what is going to fucking happen in this tent! We had a fucking deal!”.

You were paralyzed and you felt bile coming back in your mouth, and before you knew it you pushed yourself outside of the tent, and emptied all your empty stomach on the ground, although you didn’t vomit anything much more than mead and water.

You stood with your body bent in two, your stomach aching and your mind running around, in a way that made you lightly scrunch your eyebrows in a way to calm your soul.

But nothing eased the confusion in your whole body.

The way it trembled so lowly.

And then rage filled you.

And you pushed yourself back in that tent.

“… you are right!” you didn’t even look at Ivar, as your hands hastily ripped off the slight nightgown you had been wearing, lowering it over your night garments “… we have a deal, then fucking take what I offered you, be the fucking prince you think yourself to be!”.

Your voices sounded so rough and so broken that they didn’t belong to you but to some wounded animal.

And Ivar looked at you surprised, as you made the nightgown pool at your feet, revealing your body barely covered by the rough fabric of your garments, your nipples piercing through the fabric for the coldness of the room.

A fire was blaring in the fireplace, but it wasn’t in any way of some use to you both.

You were looking at each other as two wounded lions, prideful and yet asking the other to quit this pretense and to help each other.

And you pierced your palms with your nails to make that thought vanish.

“… you seriously married me thinking that I wouldn’t someday protest against everything you have taken me away from…” your words echoed in the air and you weren’t able to stop yourself from the step forward you took.

“I always thought that you were smart” his voice was finally the truth.

But they weren’t of any consolation to you.

“You fell in love with a fantasy, Ivar” you spoke, your voice appearing in all the sadness of your condition “… I am not a fantasy, I am a person, and not a pawn, one that will simply stand by your side, without fear or…”.

“I would never hurt you”.

You refused to meet his eyes, because you knew it would have been the truth.

And it would have undone you.

“… those are words, not fact” and you smiled softy and tragically “… not facts”.

“I wouldn’t….” his voice was finally showing his age, a few years older than yours, and yet infinitely younger in a way that made you wonder whether you had been talking with a child

An unloved one.

“… what do I have to do to show you that you wouldn’t ever be hurt?”.

“… nothing, Ivar” your voice was flat, because otherwise it would have begged for more.

“… there must be something!” his voice was now the tantrum of a child, and as you finally raised your eyes again, you found them laced with a rejection he had known all too well.

When you had first met him, you had thought that the sadness you had seen in his eyes was due to the fact that you were both forgotten children, alone in their thoughts and ideas.

And yet, something in his eyes reeked of the same martyrdom you had put yourself through.

Hadn’t Nanna told you that his own father hadn’t ever had any gentle words for him?

But did this seriously make any excuse for him?

You had grown with a father that had abused you emotionally and you hadn’t ever thought about killing one of your sisters.

“Sometimes the only solution we can offer is simply to leave things as they are” your voice didn’t sound convinced, but there wasn’t much comfort you could offer to Ivar, not when you knew yourself what was going on in your head “… I’ll keep up part of my deal outside of here, but I don’t… “.

“… but you’ll never be my lover” now Ivar’s words made a defeated sound in his mouth “… I wonder why I ever thought that you could be that”.

The words hanged in the air heavily, as Ivar lightly turned on the bed away from you, facing the opposite part and although you had been prepared for worse, the way he had chosen all of this… it destroyed you.

But you couldn’t do much more than adjust yourself on the opposite side of him.

You just needed to hold on till Alexander would have the money and the things you needed and then you’d be able to leave all of this behind.

And yet, like some silly child, your hands reached out to the cold middle of your bed.

---

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thomasharpole · 4 years ago

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Jubilance - 7/28

A evening with the Dave Matthews Band in Tampa, FL

I am still trying to piece together and process what I experienced last night in the sweaty mess of a pit, watching some of the most talented, world-class musicians weave unforgettable songs and melodies together with us. The last 2 hours of this show amounted to the most powerful and most spiritual experience I’ve ever had seeing live music. Words, especially in English, fall short of my experience and don’t do it justice. It seems futile to write about it, and yet I want to preserve this night in my writing and internalize the lesson from last night as much as I can.

To stand so close at a show is something I had only done 10 years ago, but I wasn’t ready at the time to understand what I was seeing. As a musician, to watch these men last night, who I have now listened to for the better part of 20 years, genuinely felt like spending time with family or the closest friends of your life.

I could see everything. I could see the smiles, the laughter, the concentration, the emotional highs and lows, and the chemistry of these humans on stage together. I could see Carter’s love and thrill for each band member, his genuine undying smile and extraordinary speed and language he speaks on the drum kit. I could see him feel every single cymbal hit before it even landed. I could see Jeff and Rashawn’s friendship as two brass players, and the way they observe each other through their intricate solos. I could see Fonz get giddy during certain musical moments. I could see Tim’s immense concentration and what feels like his access to another dimension in the way he speaks through his guitar. I could see Buddy fresh and fly demeanor, his constant smile while playing keys, and how he is so deeply appreciated by the other legacy members of the band. I could see Dave’s raw outpouring of himself into every song he sang, his soul eternally begging to be released and shown to the world through the language of music. I could also see the warm twinkle in Dave’s eye from 25 feet away, you could tell that he, who feels like a lifelong friend to all of us, felt right at home and his presence communicated something like “I am so thrilled and happy to be here with you, my loving family, after so damn long.”

The venue disappeared for me because we were so close. I felt like I was in a small room with these guys. I was listening to exactly what I would want to hear and watch if I knew I had one evening left until my life was over.

Below are a few moments from certain songs that I wish to hold onto forever.

Setlist and moments:

**I felt the show really started to take off from JTR onward, so I’m going to start song comments at that point.

Tripping Billies Raven Seek Up So Right When The World Ends Seven You Might Die Trying Satellite The Riff

JTR: the pit crew was absolutely thrilled when JTR started playing. “Rain down on me” resonated deeply with a crowd and musicians who were so brutally covered in the sweat and humidity of the evening, it felt as if everyone in this moment resigned to the extreme physical state we were all in, and the musicians were right there with us. The way the horns built the the jam motif in the end of this tune, teasing and getting snagged on the same melody (between 4 and 6 time sig) until their final release in the last 8 bars. The way Carter carries the group through the end, with Dave high stepping along the way… just fantastic.

The Song that Jane Likes: Sweet song, amazing visuals behind the stage, and first time playing this year on tour.

Typical Situation: Something happened at this point in the show that changed the dynamic of the rest of the night. I watched Carter and Dave come alive during this tune. First, to see Carter playing shaker, mallets, and drumsticks on one song and switch effortlessly between them was awesome. But when this song went into the 7/8 chromatic jam during the middle of the outro it was off the charts. Buddy was hammering the keyboard, Carter was slamming the china cymbals, and Dave was DANCING harder than I’ve seen in 4 shows. The pit sang this one loud.

Do You Remember: Endless 90s nostalgia for me. The visuals of the bicycle evoke extremely colorful feelings of my childhood on Ivy St. The endless summer days, the laughter and sports and quiet evenings outside. My dad sitting on a chair watching us. I could write pages on just this feeling, but this song is a portal into my childhood.

Grey Street: Felt the song coming, and as Carter counted the intro out loud the tempo is so recognizable, it almost has its own identity for this song as the drums roll into the opening chord. The third verse comes back to life and the pit loves it. The girl I’m with says something about me being the crazy man creeping and I make a maniac face and she laughs. The thrill of seeing someone I know witness this song in person, up close, is overwhelmingly wholesome. It feels for a moment, as if the night has conspired to make this all happen. I almost hit the floor during the yeah scream on Grey Street after the 3rd chorus. Belted the note too hard and lost oxygen to my head, felt myself about to pass out immediately and grabbed on for dear life. The sax and trumpet duel during the outro between Jeff and Rashawn is staggering and leads us into the final riff of the song which just punches you in its goodness and power.

If Only: Just a humble little song. I need to listen to this one again (live version) to draw out what I remember from the stage.

Dancing Nancies: Dark, absolutely astounding. Tim Reynolds played the most other-worldly guitar solo with visuals on the back of broken dolls, babies, all kinds of crazy things. Dave began the song asking all the right questions about what he could have been to the audience. The hits on the outro in series of 8 were felt in my chest. Best version of it I’ve seen.

Warehouse: My all-time favorite song from this band. This intro is the most visceral and raw sequence in the show. When the sax, trumpet, guitar, and keys come together all in tremolo in 32nd notes, the frequencies and overtones created along with Carter’s enormous rapid cymbal sound is so intense you can see the physical effect it has on Dave. The closest way I could describe this intro as if the soul is being extricated by force out of the body and almost vacuumed or sucked upwards into a new reality it has to reckon with. “Only hope you’re here to pull me out, when I start going under, as the warehouse slips away” gives me chills. (To get a slight idea of what this is like, watch this clip at 38–40 mins. It’s from a different show, but note especially Dave’s viscerally clear connection with something beyond our understanding around the 39m mark.)

The strobes and lights here only add to the intensity of this intro. The huge yell before the 2nd verse. The drive into the outro. The salsa hits at the end. Rashawn just driving the trumpet to where it sounds like a different instrument. And the final lyrics in the moment of great reckoning:

That’s our blood down there⁣

Seems poured from the hands of angels⁣

Then trickle into the ground⁣

Leaves the Warehouse bare and empty⁣

Then my heart’s numbered beat⁣

Will echo in this empty room⁣

And fear wells in me⁣

Til’ nothing seems big enough to stay long

So I am going away, I am going away

The final Eadd9 chord lands as the warm summation and resolution to the song. I see the faces of all of my friends from the last 10 years that have been moved by this piece of music as well, and every place I have been in my life when listening to this song. It’s a sweet ending.

Everyday: One of Buddy’s licks on the intro to this song was a 32nd note run that blew the entire band away. He played 16 notes in under 2 seconds down the scale. Carter, who is probably the most attentive to rhythm, had his jaw on the floor. Everyone was loving it. The improv vocals. The 3 part harmonies. The crowd singing Hani Hani come and dance with me. The final build. Richness.

PNP > Rapunzel: Endlessly playful song that is perfect way to end a show. Funniest part of the show is when Dave’s string broke about 15 seconds before the outro-dance-explosion that becomes the end of this song. It was very critical that the new guitar get on before the downbeat of the outro because of how much the song picks up and to keep that energy. As Dave is bending his neck to put the new guitar on, after 3 hours of playing and probably in some pain, he changed the last lyrics of Rapunzel to: “Every single thing you do to me, my god I’m FUCKED, but I’ll do, my best, for you, I’ll do yeaaaaaa. LOL! I’m sure he’s used this change before but it was timed so perfectly with him tangled in a new guitar strap, with his head banging against the various items, knowing he had about 3 seconds to pull of this change and it was not going well.

Encore:

Singing From The Windows: I could not hold it together for this song. After a year and a half of what has felt like chaos in the lives of many people and in humanity, the acceptance and hope that pours from this song, and out of Dave, is enough to floor anyone that has an ounce of care for the rest of our species. I looked around and everyone around me in the pit was crying. Dave got choked up on this song the other night and looked like he was barely holding it together. There was a quiet and serenity for a moment without the band, and all of the focus went to the songwriter and the gripping power one man and a guitar can have on an audience of 20,000 people.

Why I Am: Man, it really felt like Leroi still carries a presence in this band and you can tell why the band sings it often.

Stay: By this point, everyone was so insanely hot in the pit that they were belting Stay knowing that it was the last chance we would get to sing together. The way Carter syncopates the china cymbals on the outro of this song has always captured me. To watch Dave dance to this one more time while the horns went off and spread his arms wide on the final 3 seconds of the song was an exclamation point on a wild ass evening.

— —

Anyway, I wish that every human being could experience what I did last night. The world would be an infinitely better place. It’s not often that we have moments in our life that alter the course of the path we’re on, but I think it’s important to recognize them when they happen.

Whatever God is or means, or exists insofar as we allow him/her/it into this world, God was absolutely radiating last night. In the faces of the people, and in the entity that lives and breathes and is created when these musicians get together on stage. There is something above and beyond human form that I am humbled to have been a witness to.

It sounds a bit wild, but we are so unbelievably bigger than our bodies trick us into thinking we are. We are so much bigger than the Warehouse that contains us. And yet, we must live and do God’s work through this physical vessel because it is the only form that we take while we’re here. We must learn from this self and feed it, nourish it, teach it to become more than what it thinks it is.

One other thought: to share this musical experience alone is wonderful. But to have shared this band with someone I love so deeply is all a person could ever ask for. It is the epitome of the human experience, that is, to watch another person receive their own gift, their own joy, their own meaning from something you believe in, and to know they will carry it with them forever. They are changed by your truth. I got to see her become fully and endlessly alive because of this music last night. And that was infinitely enough.

We left the venue on fire with gratitute. It sounds wild, but I remember thinking I could die quite peacefully at that moment! I couldn’t conjure any other thing I needed to go do on this planet. I couldn’t conjure a negative thought. It was impossible. The word “ecstasy” doesn’t do this feeling justice, because the emotions are so much further in range than just intense happiness. Perhaps “awareness” or “power” or “spiritual fullness” resound a bit more to me, but for everyone it is different.

I think what’s most special about this band is that their music permeates into the core of who you are as a human being. It’s spiritual. It’s bursting with truth. It transforms how you see the world. It becomes your attitude and your way of life. This is why these guys sold more live tickets than any other group on earth for 10 years straight. The range of emotion embedded in the music is also the perfect analogy of what we as people honestly grapple with during our journey here. The lessons are clear. The music has given millions of people permission to live better lives: with jubilance, resilience, and an understanding that joy exists even amidst the deepest of pain. Each day we have an opportunity to show someone else this honest attitude, this truth, through whatever medium we choose. It is one of the greatest gifts we can offer another person. There is no question I will carry the richness of this experience with me, from now until the end of my life. I am forever thankful for nights like this, nights that are simply transcendent.

Thomas Harpole

On Instagram

On Spotify

ThomasHarpole.com

#dmb #davematthewsband

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 6 years ago

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The Trail (Part 3)

More stick indians. Let me tell you, it is hard to find info on the Salish tribe. I did my best, y’all.

Azula sees the pink of dawn and is embarrassed to find that she had, at some point, fallen asleep clinging to Zuko. Her music is still pulsing in her ears, she pauses it and plucks out her earbuds. Despite her exhaustion, she scooches away from Zuko, hoping that he and Zhao wouldn’t notice that she’d curled up so close to her brother at all.

Despite the golden rays of dawn and the return of the forest chatter, Azula is reluctant to venture into the world outside of the tent. Despite her hesitation, she unzips the flap and takes in the fresh air.

All in all, it is a nice day; blue skies with a generous helping of blue jay and chikadee. Their chirps are inviting and reassuring. She catches a glimpse of some type of small fish swimming about in the lake.

She also catches sight of the mess. There is a scatter of sticks everywhere and their campfire had been stomped on and the ashes kicked about. Azula frowns to herself, at least those things had left them some new firewood.

Zuko wanders out of the tent and with a yawn stretches his arms. His expression is dull with tiredness but he doesn’t seem angry. She thinks that he just has to wake up more for the irritation to settle in.

She decides to test the water. “Good morning, Zuzu.”

He ignores her.

He shakes his head, “you say something?”

“I said good morning.”

“If you say so.” He mutters. “Can we get a hotel tonight?”

Azula bites the inside of her cheek, knowing that she is about to push something that she has already pushed way too hard. “I was looking at the maps and there’s a reservation nearby. I was hoping to talk to the tribe and some of the non-native locals.”

“Talk to them about what!?” It isn’t quite a shout, but his voice is some shriller with surprise.

“What happened last night.” She replies. “I’d like to know exactly what we dealt with.”

“Or we can just…”

“Runaway? You wanted to shoot the Loch Ness Monster but you want to let these things go free?”

Zuko grumbles something to himself and rubs the back of his head. “Fine, we can go to the reserve, but if they tell us to leave things alone…”

“We’ll leave things alone.” Fleetingly, she thinks of running the plan by Zhao but ultimately decides that giving him no say in their endeavors will be part of the hazing process. Besides, the man was snoring loudly enough to let her know that she couldn’t wake him if she tried.

.oOo.

Watching the Salish boy flirt with his sister is an unexpected unpleasantry. For him anyhow, Azula seems rather pleased with the attention. She doesn’t usually get this brand of it. He is teaching her to fish by hand.

“Eh, laddie, ken ye get the lass back on track?”

“I really wish that I could.”

At his next glance he sees her showing the boy some of the photos she has taken, not that it is uncharacteristic of her to show off her talents.

“Could ye try?”

Zuko hops off of the rock he had perched himself upon and strides up to his sister and the Native boy.

“I didn’t give these to the press.” Zuko hears her say.

“Oh shit, dad would have a heart attack if he saw one of those on his fishing trip.” The boy laughs.

“She’s pretty helpful, actually.” Azula comments casually as though she is speaking of a common household pet.

“I’ll have to get myself a Loch Ness Monster.” He grins.

“Azula!” Zuko calls. “We’re supposed to be investigating the Tsiatko.”

The boy seems to freeze. Zuko feels many eyes upon him, most stare at him with either horror or outrage or a gut-lolling mixture of both. Even Azula seems to go rigid. She cuffs the side of his head and in a low whisper says, “you’re not supposed to say that.”

“What?” He questions above a whisper.

“Stick Indians is a euphemism! You’re not supposed to say their real name.” She hisses. “You might as well have called them here.”

“How do you know?”

“Sokka told me.”

Zuko groans to himself. It is his first and only time in a native reservation and he has already mentioned some sort of taboo.

“It is time to go.” A man speaks up his voice is hard and unwavering. His expression just as so.

“That’s my father.” Sokka mumbles to Azula. “Chief Hakoda.”

“He seems friendly.” Zuko mutteres.

“Ye ken’t tell me what ta do, ya eejit!”

Hakoda’s expression shifts from steely to fiery in a flicker. He turns to Sokka, “see, son, this is why the white men aren’t allowed here.”

“What about Japanese men?” Zuko, much to the shock and annoyance of Azula, digs himself deeper.

“Apparently no better than the white men.” He sends a shifted glance to Zhao.

“He didn’t mean any disrespect.” Azula states smoothly.

“Aye sure did lassie!” Zhao declares, earning himself another aggravated stare

“Then you can go back to the tent, Zhao.” Zuko recognizes the way her voice lowers. He only hopes that Zhao will take the hint. On the other hand, he will take no issue if his sister decides to kick him off of the team. “Zuzu didn’t mean…”

“Whatever he meant, he has cursed us all.” Hakoda’s voice took on a quality to match Azula’s. “It is time for white and yellow folks to leave.”

Zuko’s face flushed with both anger and shame.

“Dad!” Exclaimed another voice. A girl, perhaps Azula’s age.

Zuko swears that he heard Sokka mumble, “here we go again.”

“They’re not all the same, dad.”

“Katara, go back inside.”

But the girl doesn’t retreat. Instead, she stands next to her brother. “Why do you always do this?”

Hakoda addresses her more compassionately. “I know that you don’t always agree with me, Katara. But this time I have a good reason to evict the outsiders.”

She shoots him a challenging look and folds her arms over her chest. Zuko finds himself flushing, he has to admire her spunk.

“That one.” Hakoda points and Zuko and his blush intensifies under Katara’s stare. “Invited an evil into our homes.”

“An evil?”

“Tsiatko.” Sokka whispers to her.

“Sokka!” His father snaps.

“What? He already said it, might as well say it more.”

Hakoda pinches the bridge of his nose. “Now you are a target.”

Zuko catches Katara shudder as Hakoda paces back and forth. He comes to a stop and addresses a new face, “Bato, gather the elders, we have much to discuss.” Something about the way he says it makes Zuko’s stomach lurch.

.oOo.

This ventrue has been nothing but mistake after mistake and she wishes that they would have just gone after the wendigo instead. As things are, they are on their way back at their campsite with two new guests in tow.

“Sorry…” Zuko mutters for the upteenth time.

Sokka shrugs, “dad can be a hardass about old lore.”

“It isn’t just lore…” Azula trails off.

“I think that he thinks you guys invaded our tribe and tried to destroy it or something.” Sokka noted.

“He didn’t have to kick you out.” Zuko replied.

“Sokka drew them in...” Katara mumbled softly.

“So he decided to sacrifice his own son?” Zuko argued.

“He’s just trying to do what’s best for the tribe.” Sokka justified.

At least he is handling it with some poise, dignity, and responsibility. Azula can accept that. “Will he let you come home?”

“I guess, maybe.” Sokka replies.

“If they don’t get us first.” Katara shoved her hands into her pockets.

“You should go back, Kat.”

“Not without you.” She frowns.

The start of their bickering reminds Azula all too much of she and Zuko. She thinks of stirring something up. Something about how he could be so careless when interacting with other cultures and customs. She knows that she will be met with the assertion that it is her fault for suggesting further investigation of the stick indians. So she keeps herself quiet.

They walk in silence for at least a half an hour. The forest is beginning to take on the warm golden and orange haze of sunset. It is almost beautiful, how the rays filter through the canopy and glisten off of last night’s frost. The stuff outlines the edge of leaves like a fine and glittering diamond dust. There is a sprinkle of snow that hardens blades of golden grass that cruches and crackles beneath her feet. But the spectacle does little to ease her mind. She doesn’t even pull her camera out as she would normally. No, Azula finds herself growing much too tense with each inch the sun falls. She looks over her shoulder to see Sokka clutching a talisman. “What’s that?” She asks if for no other reason than to think about something else.

Her attempt doesn’t work. “Dad was nice enough to give Kat and I some wards.”

“Will they work, laddy?” Zhao asks.

Sokka shrugs. “Never had to use one before.”

“What exactly are they?” Azula asks.

“Nasty spirits.” Sokka answered.

“Dad says that they sometimes eat people that they capture.” Katara adds.

Azula regrets her inqary. She looks at the map, hoping that they will reach the campsite soon, before there is no sunlight to read the map with. She curls a strand of her hair around her finger. They still had some time to spare. She lets the thought relax her.

She shouldn’t have.

Had she kept her nerves appropriately on edge she might have been ready.

It starts with a stick.

Just one.

It nails Zuko in the face. His face bunches up as if he’d just smelled something foul. It would have been funny had the warning not been so abundant. They carry on for another mile or so before the laughter begins.

At first Azula thinks that it is human. She wants to believe that it is, but the prickling sensation and the goosebumps that dot her skin say otherwise. “It isn’t even nightfall.” She hears Katara whisper.

“We attracted a lot of attention today.” Sokka points out.

Azula looks to the sky as a whistle carries itself on the breeze. They’re sunlight is disappearing much too quickly for her tastes. She wonders if it really matters at all. A tent isn’t much of a barrier and she doesn’t think that she can call for a ride so late in the evening. Her only sense of comfort is the pistol Zhao has strapped to his belt and the rifle he has in the tent.

.oOo.

Zuko feels no safer in the tent than he does out in the woods. Azula has a fire roaring and is, with commentary from Zhao, telling Sokka and Katara about their adventure with Nessie. He can tell by her tone that it is her favorite hunt so far. It is almost childishly cute how much she seems to like the Loch Ness Monster. Maybe if they make it out this one he will buy her a Nessie plush toy or something.

Part of him wants to join the story telling, but he knows that he is too distracted to listen. He can’t take his ears off of the forest. What’s worse is that he knows that it is all on him. It is almost worse than realizing that he hasn’t heard a laugh nor a whistle from the forest.

He gets the sense that they are playing with him. With all of them.

And yet the forest is still comfortingly abuzz.

He supposes that if he wants to use the bathroom, he should do it before the forest goes unnaturally still. As much as he hates doing so he knows that he should probably let the rest of the group know before he wanders into the forest, even if it is within sight of the tent. Reluctantly he mumbles, “hey, I’m gonna...you know…”

“Need a partner?” Sokka asks. “I’ve been holding it for the past hour because I don’t want to go alone.”

“Really?” Azula mutters.

And just like that, Zuko has not just one unwanted guests but two. They leave Azula and Katara rolling their eyes and chattering amongst themselves.

#Avatar #Azula #Zuko #Sokka #Katara #Zhao #Fanfiction #Cryptid

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njmphadora · 8 years ago

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Dear Natalie

@slytherin-salazar submitted:

Quiet, calm melody was spreading around the dark room like an echo. A half-burned candle standing on the desk was the only source of light there. Its faint beam was lighting up a pale face of black-haired woman who sat behind an oak desk, writing something thoroughly. But she wasn’t the only person in the room. On her left stood a young, well-built man. He had medium-length red hair and a sword was strapped to his belt. He was looking at the woman with a grin. On the other side of the small room was another man. He also had medium-length but his were black. Besides the man, in contrast to his companion, was slim. Nevertheless, he also had a sword. The black-haired man had his hand on blonde-haired young woman who played piano while the other woman was writing a letter. She knew more than well that her friend loved when she played when she had to write something. “Do you think we included everything, Rowena?” asked the blonde. Her companion read the letter quickly. “I think we did, Helga,” the woman answered her. “Or maybe you have some idea what else we can add?” "Hm… let your Gryffindor spirit be with you!” said a red-haired man, still grinning. Hearing this, Helga stopped playing and Rowena looked at him as if she was mortally offended. "She’s a Ravenclaw, you idiot.” "And a Hufflepuff,” added Helga who got up from the piano and went to sit down at the desk. "Yes, and half a Hufflepuff and half a Ravenclaw.” "You can’t be half a Hufflepuff or half a Ravenclaw! You just can’t!” "Are you jealous, Godric?” the second man, Salazar Slytherin, asked with amusement and walked towards his companions. “Are you jealous that someone isn’t in your precious house?” "Shut up, Salazar. Everyone wants to be in Gryffindor.” Slytherin said nothing, just smirked and leaned over Rowena’s shoulder, kissing top of her head.

“Do you mind if I read it?”

“Not at all,” she said and gave him the letter.

Salazar started reading this and once he finished, he put it back and signed it (the rest of them did it before him).

“I think it’s perfect. Just delete the part about a dragon.”

“What part about the… Godric!” Rowena yelled at the red-haired man who smiled innocently at her. “I already told that we won’t send her a dragon. Are you insane?!”

“No?” he said quietly. Then he looked at his friend who had his chin on Helga’s shoulder and was smirking at him. “Fuck you, Slytherin!”

“Naaah. But I may fuck you.”

“How…”

“Enough!” Rowena interrupted him before he had a chance to start his sentence. In the meantime Helga fought hard in order to not laugh. “Go to bed. Now. Both of you.”

“I’m not a child, woman, don’t boss me around,” Godric crossed his arms but when Ravenclaw witch looked at him with a raised eyebrow, he raised them. “I said nothing, don’t look at me like that!”

Salazar chuckled.

“You heard what mummy said, Godric,” Slytherin said and gently bit Helga’s ear before he kissed it gently. “We have to go to bed, so be a good boy and do as mummy said.”

His friend said nothing just smirked when he realised what Salazar meant. Rowena opened her eyes in horror as she understood what she said.

“Go to your own beds! Do you hear me! I’ll check if you’re in your rooms!”

“Of course you will, Rowena, dear,” Salazar said it in a very seductive way and Godric embraced him. “You always does.”

And before the woman had a chance to answer, both friends left the room, chuckling.

“What have I gotten myself into… Shut up, Helga!” she added because her friend decided not to hide her amusement anymore. “It’s not funny.”

“But of course it is, Rowena!” Hufflepuff said with a smirk and looked at Rowena’s pregnant belly. “Especially that the child will be raised with them.”

“You don’t have to remind me… now, can you please send the letter?”

The letter appeared at Natalie’s desk. Dear Natalie, we wanted to tell you that we all are so proud of you! You’re a very talented witch and a great blogger and your tumblr is fantastic (*it was possible to hear as Salazar asked during writing: “Who the hell is blogger? And what the hell is tumblr?”*). We’re so happy that you reached 2 thousands (*“Or maybe I should write 2k? I guess they’re writing it like that now, don’t you think?, Rowena asked during, writing but decided to leave “thousands”.*) and we wish you another thousands of followers. You really deserve them! Love, Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin (*Godric’s writing*) Ps. We’ll send you a dragon! (*Rowena’s*) PPS. No, we won’t. Sending dragons to people is illegal, and what is more important, dangerous. Helga and I are glad that you weren’t sorted into Gryffindor or else who knows what could have happen. Godric, on the other hand, was disappointed. He threatd to burn the Sorting Hat. And Salazar… well, he was happy that Godric was sad. Typical Salazar.

#omg okay so i'm screaming QUITE A LOT ABOUT THIS OMGMG #holyheck this is incredible !!!!!!!!!!!!!!#honestly just... i can't believe ....#this is so kind of you to do this for me i just #.....#omg i wanna give you a big hug to say thank you but i can't so just UNDERSTAND HOW GRATEFUL I AM AAAH #thank you !!!!!!!!!#u are so sweet aaah #submit #slytherin-salazar #things i'm in #submission

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3one3 · 7 years ago

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The Sequel - 897

Methods

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“Which one do you want to jump?”

“Socks. Rio has tomorrow and Friday to get sorted before it counts. Can you fix-“

“Do you want to switch to the other bridle or just use this one?”

That’s a good question, Christina decided while Tom freed her scrim sheet from where it got stuck on one of Socks’ fetlock boots when she threw it way too far over his back. The fine netting was caught on one of the tiny silver CWD buckles. I jump him at home in the loose-ring sometimes but never seriously. The warm-up isn’t really serious either though. It’s open.

“I guess I’ll stick with this one, but can you put his martingale on?” she asked her groom. Socks and Rio each had their hacks in the competition arena during the free training period offered before the warm up. The free part was open for anyone to ride either or both of their horses on the flat, with everyone else. In a few moments, “ticketed” warm-ups would begin, meaning the arena would empty and each rider who entered the class would go back in, one at a time, for 90 seconds, to jump anything they wanted, in any order. They could stop, turn around, do the same combinations multiple times- whatever they wished to do with their time. Each rider could only do the warm-up with one horse though, and most, like Christina, were going to use their mount for the Champions League event, which began on Thursday. There was another class before that which wasn’t a big, difficult, or valuable event, and it could serve as the warm-up for horses jumping in the other feature- the Grand Prix of Doha- later in the week. Christina was to ride 10th in the warm-up order and Socks was already there, dressed, and warm. Having his usual jumping bit- an eggbutt snaffle- wasn’t worth the effort to swap one bridle for the other, though Tom would have been ready to take him back to the barn and swap him for Rio if the rider had said she felt he were more in need of the extra schooling time than the horse she’d just hopped off.

“Yes. Juan has it,” the groom said about the martingale, which was easy to add. “Let’s go over there.” He nodded toward where the Spaniard was standing on the outskirts of the schooling area with Tom’s backpack of tools and supplies, and some extra equipment. The sun was just going down so it was still quite hot, and the first thing Christina wanted from Juan was her water bottle.

“I enjoyed the bucking fit, cariña,” he told her while she gulped water and fanned her neck.

“He always does that in the beginning. Because he’s a punk,” she replied with affection in her voice for the shiny and cute black and white face trying to avoid having his slimy mouth wiped. “An adorable punk.” She handed the bottle back to her friend and held onto Socks’ leather lead so that Tom could put the yoke of the martingale over his head, attach it to the breastplate, and feed each of the reins through its rings. The part that went through his legs had a snap fitting at the end so just clipped onto a metal ring on the girth, and it was easy to unbuckle the reins. The equipment could have been added without Christina even having to get off the horse.

She always appreciated the ease of jumper equipment compared to hunter stuff. Running martingales aren’t permitted in hunter classes. A standing martingale sits on the neck the same way, but it has a long leather loop to pass the girth through, and it’s not wise to completely unbuckle the one thing holding the saddle onto the horse while there is a person in the saddle. A standing martingale also attaches to the chin part of the horse’s noseband rather than the reins, and again, requires unbuckling it to pass the strap through another, smaller leather loop. And again, you don’t really feel great about undoing a major element of the bridle while someone is on the horse. When Christina wondered if part of what used to make showing so much fun was still being able to do those hunter classes- to do competitions judged on form and style rather than determined by time and faults- she neglected to remember all the things she hated about that, like unfair and biased judging, trends in favorability, the robotic-natured horses that had become so popular, and the repetitive outside-diagonal-outside-diagonal courses. She did remember how annoying it was to take a martingale off for the under saddle class though- the flat-only class judged with all of the horses in the ring at once, given collective instructions to show at the walk, trot, canter, and hand gallop. No martingales allowed. Even un-judged hunter warm-up classes required full show attire too. She didn’t need to switch from her dark gray breeches and white and black adidas tee to do her warm-up class in Qatar.

“Do you want a towel?” Juan suggested as she wiped sweat from her neck with the back of her arm. It was way too hot for a show jacket.

“Nah, I’m good. They’re gonna go walk for a few minutes and then it’ll be like 15 minutes before I have the ring. Then we can get out of here.”

“There’s no rush,” he shrugged. They’d been together all day, from the gym and the breakfast buffet to the horse inspection and the draws. Then they left Al Shaqab for a while to get lunch and check out the marina with a mix of commercial boats and pleasure craft. They hung out in the barn too, and played Uno with Tom and Daniel. They all wanted to be in the barn just because they could. It was fully air-conditioned, and that was hilarious to them. Christina hoped for a little down time post horse show, pre dinner w/his friends. They were going to a Latin American restaurant and lounge at some other hotel for Brazilian steak, Peruvian lomo saltado, and Argentinian wine, among other things. “What happened with that guy who fell off his horse?”

“He was fine. The horse just wigged out about an invisible monster,” she shrugged, turning back toward the arena. It was unlike any other in show jumping. It looked more like a state of the art football stadium, with first class hospitality suites, great lighting, and yet more air-conditioning. There were trusses and beams and things everywhere. There was a lot to look at, and it could be even more distracting to the horses than the humans. The indoor arena, attached on one side, was slightly less dramatic an experience, and thus not the chosen venue for the main event. Bigger shows used both simultaneously. The facility had 5000 permanent equine residents, so the rings got plenty of use during the rest of the year. It even had a stable specifically for ponies. Christina put a tour of that part of Al Shaqab on her agenda for Thursday, having missed out on it the last time she was there because she was spending most of her free time sulking by the pool and trying to figure out which football player she was supposed to be with.

“Chriiiiiis,” a German voice behind her called, almost whining.

“Whaaaaaat?” she whined back as she turned around. Daniel was standing there on Cornet, his new, ugly horse. Cornet, called Cotton around the barn and not to be confused with his old, beautiful horse Cornet D’Amour, was white like both horses’ sire, Cornet Obolensky, but had sprawling patches of steel gray fur with a bit of a brown tinge. They almost looked like scarring from burns. He had weird, very pronounced eye sockets as well. Christina thought him the type only a mother could love. He was very talented, and had been in American Lauren Hough’s program for a few years after she selected him for a younger client. They had limited success because, Hough admitted, she made a series of bad choices for him that hurt his confidence. Daniel took the ride over the summer at one event in Belgium, as a trial, and the owner decided to place him with Daniel long term. Cornet D’Amour was making his big comeback too after a long layoff. It was all change for the many progeny of Cornet Obolensky. Steve Guerdat’s Corbinian was back in action after an incredibly long injury-related hiatus, Daniel had also recently taken over the ride on Cortani, another Stephex horse right in his own stable, and the legal dispute between Athena Onassis and Doda de Miranda over Cornetto K was one judge’s ruling closer to settlement. People teased Christina for not having one.

“May I borrow your crop?”

“Where’s yours?”

“At the boxes.”

“Why can’t Sean go get it for you?”

“Because this place is the size of Berlin. It takes 20 minutes to go to the stable and back.” Her teammate tried to look endearing. It didn’t work for him the way it did for André, Juan, and Lukas. His face was, by all conventional standards, incredibly handsome, but Christina couldn’t be swayed whether he used it to woo and persuade or to guilt and get sympathy. She rolled her eyes and pulled her short bat from the back of her belt nevertheless.

“Danke, mein Schatz. Ich kaufe dir später einen Drink.”

“Ich hoffe du stürzt nicht zuerst ab.”

The other rider tried to swat her with her own crop and only managed to spook his horse, which made her laugh for a couple of seconds before she felt bad for the animal and gave him a reassuring pat. They went back to their schooling, and she went back to thinking about the rest of her night.

“If we get back to the hotel by like, a little after 7, do you think there’s enough time to nap before dinner? I would shower, nap, and then get ready. And by nap I mean...short enough that my hair wouldn’t fully dry.”

“Depends how long it takes to get ready,” Juan smiled. He also started to reach for her waist, and stopped himself. He grabbed her wrist instead, as if to check the time on her watch. The current time really had no bearing on what they were talking about.

“Not that long. It’s just dinner, right? We’re not doing a red carpet.”

“Right. I think you’re fine.”

“I think you’re fine too, Juanin.” The rider winked and blew a kiss at her companion, and then immediately announced her intention to go get back on her Dutch horse.

Her time in the schooling ring was mostly just to get Socks ready to go jump around in the real ring, and he too was fine. There were some disagreements about pace and leaning in the real ring, which stemmed largely from that loose-ring snaffle in his mouth. It’s an active bit that moves around, and he was sensitive. What he tolerated while working on the flat, when subtlety and considered were easier and more plentiful, he was less amenable to while jumping- while he was asked to do more things at once, with less delicacy. His eggbutt snaffle was better for turning as well, as it provided a few inches of straight, fixed bar that would put pressure on the side of his mouth when the opposite rein was pulled. They worked on a few things together and used up all of their allotted time. Christina talked with Tom on the way back to their stabling about the Thursday agenda, and got out of her boots and spurs right away so that she could leave. She always felt guilty bailing on her groom when he still had a lot of work to do, but he didn’t mind. Sometimes she just got in the way and slowed the process anyway. The horses got goodnight kisses. The athletes headed for the Four Seasons, where the more recent World Cup winner raced into the shower.

“I feel so much better,” she declared afterward, naked, with her phone and a towel. She stretched out on the king size bed to check her messages, and used the towel as a pillow. Juan had been sitting up by the headboard. He scooted down to lie beside her on his elbow.

“Is it naptime?” he inquired, already in nap appropriate clothing.

“In two seconds it is.” The naked girl was telling her husband to have their son call her in an hour.

“Are you sure?” A warm palm reached for her tummy, and settled just under her belly button.

“Mhm.” Christina didn’t really notice it right away.

“Positive?” Then it slid lower. She turned the phone down, away from her face.

“Watcha doin?”

“You can’t walk in here nude with hard nipples and lay yourself on the bed like a gift and think the activity I’m most interested in with you is a nap.”

“It’s cold,” she argued defensively, a hand instinctively moving to cover one breast. “And I forgot to bring clothes in with me before.” As another hand moved instinctively between her legs, she put her iPhone down on the bed and prepared to be more animated about her dismissal of the Spaniard’s insinuation that she was deliberately trying to tease.

“So sexy, angel,” he mumbled on his way to kissing her cheek. Oh I love that voice, she groaned to herself. The sound was a much bigger influence for her in that moment than the fingertips padding around where she’d literally just shaved and moisturized. Her skin there was softer than Dirk’s velvet nose, and if she were alone, and not desperately interested in napping, she probably would have been naked in bed because she intended to touch there herself. He smells good too. I haven’t been this close to him since this morning, before we got up. Eyeeerghhh, I just got all nice and clean, and I wanted to nap. There was a battle going on between the rider’s senses and her plans. Juan’s perfect fingers were getting ever nearer to being inside her, which tickled but in a good way, his broad lower lip was sort of slowly stroking up her jawbone, which meant his breath also tickled but in a good way, his Gucci Guilty Black was infiltrating her nose, which put her under a special kind of influence, and her ears were impatiently waiting to hear more intimate mumbling. Ugh, fine. I’ll nap when I’m dead, I guess.

“Make it quick,” Christina advised as she turned on her side and curled up to her Chelsea man. She smooched him properly on the mouth and hitched her left leg over his hip.

“There’s plenty of time.” He kissed at her neck, and hugged her close, and squeezed her butt, and nothing he did gave any indication that he was interested in hurrying. They never got past the food blockade and into the back-stretching sex she planned out the night before. They couldn’t get past the nesting phase. Cuddling and making out and talking was too good, and then it was bedtime. If the Spanish player always told the truth, it meant he somehow found a way to not just rip the clothes off his long-distance girlfriend and demolish her in 5 minutes to indulge all of the sexual needs gone ignored in her absence. “There’s time to fuck my sexy girl now, to take her to dinner...feed her dessert...bring her back, and to fuck her again. On her knees. On her back. In my arms. In my lap. There is time to love every beautiful part of her the right way,” Juan told her as he moved his kisses and touches around, and eventually got on top of her and between her thighs.

Her arms were around his neck when he pushed his hips into hers, and she bit the left side of her lower lip- hard- to try to contain the big cheesy, anticipatory grin that wanted to show him how into his plans she was. It was one of the best kinds of feelings- that knowledge that you’re getting something really good later. It was almost like the couple of seconds before an orgasm, when she knew it would happen no matter what else did. The right line was crossed and nothing could ruin it. The Spaniard told her once that the look on her face in that moment was special to him, because it was the only time she ever looked completely sure and at ease. His agenda for the night wasn’t as guaranteed as that, but the feeling was still good, and kind of awakening. Nothing turned Christina on faster than the attraction of someone she loved and wanted to impress.

“Hurry uhhhhp,” she giggled when his beard tickled her cheek while he kissed the top of her right shoulder. He bit it just hard enough to make her squeal and laugh, and then rolled over her leg back to his spot to take his shorts and underwear off. The rider sat up to help, or to offer the services of her mouth once the clothes were out of the way, in hopes that the return service might then be forthcoming, but watching him push his shorts and briefs down gave her a mildly unpleasant flashback.

Note to all wives or girlfriends of footballers who are interested in having a second, simultaneous relationship with an additional footballer: probably you should choose ones sponsored by different shoe companies, she thought. The gray adidas shorts with black stripes around one leg plus Calvin Klein waistband combo visual was one she had at home all the time. Those were André’s favorite shorts. He had the matching sweatpants and hoody too, just like Juan. They got all the same free clothes from adidas, usually on the same day. Lots of players did. I’m gonna miss boyfriend so much by tomorrow night. The one shitty thing about your relationship with your husband being really great for a change, besides that it just automatically makes you feel extra guilty when you’re with your approved boyfriend, is that it’s really hard to be away from him for like a whole week, even when you have a really good replacement to keep you company. Even when he has a really nice dick, she mused as she absently laid back down on her side, the opposite way as Juan, and reached for the really nice dick. He wiggled closer to her, twisted over, pushed her right leg up in the air, and applied his tongue in a manner that ensured she forgot about missing André virtually immediately.

The Spaniard had a method. Christina had secret names for different parts of it. For example, he always began with what she called “The Cross”. With his tongue flat, he licked a straight line up and down a couple of times, and then stopped in between the top and bottom, a little bit closer to the top than the bottom, and shifted the tip of his tongue back and forth to get in between the folds. That spot happened to be close enough to her clit that it felt really, really good after the teasing of the prior licks. Then he “Check[ed] the Weather”. His tongue, inside the growing puffy lips, slid down until it reached an opening, which it stretched into on an exploratory mission, at least in her mind, to see how much wetness was in there, how turned on she was. If there was anything there to kind of scoop with the tip of his tongue and spread around, he went back to moving it up and down the puffy parts. If there wasn’t much there, it was “Spiral Time”, in which the narrowest part of his tongue did laps around her clit and occasionally paused to go back and forth, up and down just one side of it. There was also usually a period during which Juan ventured away from all of that and kissed her inner thigh, higher up on her public bone, and even as far down as her calf. There was always a phase involving two fingers inside her while he licked at her clit, and most recently, a time dedicated to traveling south, into butt-territory. After the first couple of things, he mixed it all up and kept her unsure of what was coming.

Christina had a method too, but like Juan, didn’t get through most of it before he got on top of her again. He didn’t get close enough for her to hug his neck again though. With his hands flat on the bed and his arms straight, he could look down at her body- the toned, lean, hourglass form that so turned him on before that he just had to have it right away. She got that, so she ran her hands all around her stomach and chest, and held onto her breasts, and reached down to rub at herself to further improve the sight for him. She held onto his arms sometimes too, when what he was doing was too overwhelming to care about what he was seeing. In fact, as she got more and more into what his hips could do for her, she wished he’d stop watching and come down closer and kiss her, or kiss her neck when her head was pushed back, or lick at a nipple.

“Draw it out or get it over with?” the blue-eyed Blue asked.

“Wait I want to turn over- Or-“ His girlfriend waffled in indecision about what she wanted, mumbling with one eye open and the other squeezed shut. I guess we could do that later. I need time to get ready. “Get it over with I guess,” she shrugged at him with a little smile. “Don’t get it over with for you in there though.”

“Why not?” He sat up straighter, on his knees, with her thighs on his forearms, and studied her totally unsexy expression. He stopped moving in and out of her, and stilled his hand down by where they were joined instead of rubbing at her clit, the original purpose for its arrival there.

“I don’t want to be all icky when we go out. I’ll feel cleaner if I just wipe it off my tummy.” Christina laughed because she didn’t realize how much skepticism and suspicion was looking back at her. It was right there waiting for her when she finished being amused by herself. She reached for his waist, and pushed his t-shirt up a little so that she could hold onto him there. “Or you can cum in my mouth if you want. Whichever.”

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