#* . ⊹ ── * ic. ─ threads

[theautumnpicker]

@mystraguideme

It's his, by any rights. They'd taken an awfully long detour to find the book in the first place, and then it had been Astarion himself who had been sent to collect it, to carefully sever the connection between the pressure plate and the statues around it. Yet for all his effort— not to mention his very polite request— it was Gale who was rewarded with the treasure. And for what? It's undoubtedly just another bauble to him, the ravenous, power-mad fool.

Not that Astarion can really fault his ambition.

Of course, he showed no outward sign of his irritation. That wouldn't win him any points with their leader. Besides, he still had options. He meant to wait until they were at camp and swipe the thing while the others were eating. He even pitched his tent next to Gale's that night, watching the wizard closely as he set up all his worldly goods. Yet Gale seemed to keep the book with him, as if it were a bit of light reading he wanted to settle down with on a full belly.

So, giving up on his first plan, Asterion joined the group at supper after all, smiling and joking to disguise his poor appetite for the sort of food they have to offer. He went to bed directly afterwards, but he can't sleep, whether or not he wants to. Thoughts of the book invade his mind, almost calling out to him with the power it has to offer him. There has to be something in the pages of that tome that he can use against Cazador, or even just use for himself. Something to make his condition permanent, beyond the grace of these damned tadpoles that everyone else seems in such a rush to remove. He imagines returning home to his old master, telling him what he'd discovered and promising to share the secret— for surely even Cazador would envy his power now— only to watch him burn and writhe in the sun.

That does it. He is getting that damned book.

Astarion sits up and raises the flap of his tent, peering out and seeing to his satisfaction that all the others are asleep, or at the very least in their little beds, oblivious to all the world. He half crawls outside, keeping low to the ground in a prowl, as he steals over to Gale's tent and listens outside, ceasing to breathe as he listens for the sounds of the wizard's own breathing inside. He feels hungry suddenly, but whether he hungers for the knowledge close at hand or for the blood he can smell under Gale's skin as he stalks his quarry is hard to say.

The hunger makes him impatient. Astarion doesn't wait until he can hear that breathing slow, until he's sure Gale is fast asleep. Instead, he enters quickly and quietly, not even looking at the wizard at first as he scans the entirety of his surroundings in rapid search for his heart's desire. Even if the book remains on Gale's person now, Astarion fully intends to take it for his own.

[this-is-krikkit]

people introducing victor: this is serial gold medal winner, olympic champion, figure skating God and living legend Victor Nikiforov victor, introducing himself: hi, i'm Yuuri Katsuki's fiancé!!!

[nonlethal-au]

[ masterlist ]

Non-Lethal AU (abbreviated: NOL)

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eN // @s3-izures: AU creator, pro complainer, and main artist.

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Kia // @dreemurr-skelememer: Moral support.

[arom-antix]

The brainrot has momentarily concluded

[sheliesshattered]

[branwyn-the-half-witch]

Comparative Mythologies of the Long Night: Part Two – Azor Ahai and The Red Sword

In part one, we looked at the origin story of the Long Night, and the ways in which it is reflected in the main series. Now, we shall move on to discuss the heroes who seemingly saved the world.

The most notable of these heroes, with whom you are likely aware, is the one most commonly known as Azor Ahai; emerging from Asshai, this is the hand that wields the flaming sword Lightbringer. They are also known as Hyrkoon the Hero, Yin Tar, Neferion, and Eldric Shadowchaser.

As a brief aside, it is interesting to note that all of these names can be related to specific places in Essos; the Patrimony of Hyrkoon is an ancient nation, Yin is a city in Yi Ti that has often been its capital, ‘Nefer’ is the last city in the distant kingdom of N’ghai, ‘the Shadow’, or the ‘Shadow Lands’ are a region in the furthest east, with AssHAI in the southwest, serving as something of a gateway to them – and it is the Shadow, as we will later learn, from whence the dragons may have first originated; tamed by an ancient, unnamed people.

Whether this solid anchoring of these heroic aliases in various places means anything more than a suggestion that the hero – or heroes – may have come from there, or were perhaps claimed by those peoples, I will leave you to ponder. For now, we shall turn to Azor Ahai’s legend.

Of Azor Ahai (AA), we have the most available information of all of the legends we shall discuss. He is also the only one explicitly prophesied to return again, and the manner in which AA shall return and be heralded is very clearly laid out for us from multiple sources.

AA is described as a leader, wielding a burning sword that radiates heat and light. He gave ‘courage to […] men and [led] the virtuous into battle’, returning ‘light and love’ to the world. So we should account for these aspects, as well as the finer points of the prophecy.

Much has been said about who AA reborn might be, with many candidates proposed. I will not be spilling that ink here; it’s Daenerys. Born on Dragonstone, a smoking isle in the great salt sea, she arose when darkness gathered and, beneath a bleeding star, awoke dragons from stone.

I would also point out that even Jon Snow, upon hearing of the Prophecy in the context of Mel’s candidate Stannis, zeroes on the importance of Stannis not being born on Dragonstone. One can almost hear the author himself tapping his fingers impatiently, no?

If you favour another candidate, a more abstract interpretation of the prophecy, feel free to do your own research and present it elsewhere; I am interested primarily in exploring the myths, not arguing. However, I do hope you will let me expand on my case and consider it fairly.

Dany becomes a leader, bringing hope and courage to mankind and returning light and love to those lost in the darkness. Moreover, she inspires them to fight for themselves, for their lives and loves; leading them into battle, but not doing their fighting for them.

I would also briefly highlight this echo of command from Quaithe, in light of one of AA’s names being ‘Shadowchaser’ – and that Quaithe wishes Dany to go to Asshai, from whence the myths of AA were born and the prophecy was written.

Going back here may mean in a temporal sense, revisiting the origins of AA and learning who he was, what he did, and most notably for Daenerys, why it was needed. She is, as present, unaware of the encroaching darkness that threatens the world, on any level except subconsciously through her dreams. A revelation is needed.

To add to this, we have the ‘Prince that was Promised’ title; these are used interchangeably with AA by Mel and by Maester Aemon and seem to often refer to the same person; in light of GRRM’s addition of Aegon’s dream to the canon, my interpretation is that they do refer to the same person, but by accident. Though we do not yet have it in GRRM’s words, Aegon saw the return of the Long Night and a Targaryen fighting against it. This is tPtwP, Aegon’s name for this leader who happens to also be the one who woke the dragons from stone to fight the cold.

And it is Aegon’s dream that dream-driven Targaryens have stumbled across in their scrolls – what Rhaegar to become a warrior and thence to confer the promise he initially saw in himself upon his newborn son. The Red Priests who herald Dany speak only of AA; Mel may have discovered tPtwP on Dragonstone itself. All other sources for the Promised Prince title seem to be either Targaryen or Targaryen adjacent – such as Barristan, who himself speaks of Jenny of Oldstones’ witch friend, presumably close to certain Targaryens.

But what of Lightbringer? Daenerys is not trained in arms, so how can she wield a sword? Recall that AA reborn is marked by waking dragons from stone and wielding Lightbringer. There is no separate mention of forging/reforging a sword. Perhaps there is more to the tale than that?

So let us examine Lightbringer and its forging; AA makes three attempts to forge the blade, quenching it in water, lion’s blood and, in his successful forging, the living heart of his wife, Nissa Nissa. The blade is described, by the Jade Compendium, as making its own fiery heat.

The blade never being cold, but being warm as Nissa Nissa was warm, is very alike to the description of dragons being ‘fire made flesh’; and the description of Lightbringer in action resembles nothing so much as the affect of Drogon’s flames. Lightbringer, Red Sword of Heroes, is not a blade; it is the dragons awoken from stone. But what of the three forgings? The exact arrangement of the forgings is sometimes debated, but the one I favour is this arrangement: the first forging in ‘water’.

The second in the ‘heart of a lion’; note that this moment is so important it appears again in the dreams that guide Dany’s steps to her eventual success.

And the third, successful forging – in the ‘sacred flames’ of a funeral pyre, fed by the blood of heart’s beloved. Note the proximity of the water/lion/heart imagery on each occasion, and that the conversations following the first scenes are about dragons, and then about war.

In the chapter prior to the pyre, Dany has dreams haunted by a pursuing cold, and by ghosts urging her on, with very familiar gemstone eyes; this links Dany and the dragons explicitly to the Great Empire of the Dawn and thus to the Long Night that followed the Blood Betrayal.

These dreams also link the dragons to sacrifice, just as Lightbringer is linked to Nissa Nissa’s sacrifice. Dany’s dreams show us the lives lost in her journey to that point (though Drogo is not yet entirely lost to her); those she has lost will lend their names to the dragons.

Blood sacrifice is a deeply potent power, both within ASOIAF and without. Many characters tell us of the potency of shed blood; of kin, king, and of holy men. Within many cultures in our own world, blood sacrifice was a holy act, to ward off catastrophe, as payment – and penance.

In Aztec mythology, for instance, it is now generally understood that blood sacrifice, both of slain captives but also one’s own blood on a daily basis, was both a fuel offered up to the gods for their daily labours, and as repayment for the debt owed by the living to the gods for their sacrifices made when creating the fifth sun, and so all human life. The dreams emphasise Dany’s own shed blood from the beginning; in her bloody footsteps, the burning in her womb, and the burning blood from her torn open back, which ultimately grants her wings.

When the time comes, she offers up her own blood by walking unafraid into the sacred flames of the funeral pyre, to bleed with her fallen beloved. Dany alone, among all Targaryens who have attempted to bring back dragons, took the last and most important step of self-sacrifice.

But if we understand blood sacrificed to be offered up, not just for power but for payment of debt, what debt is Dany paying here? Moreover, have we strayed from AA in this talk of blood magic and penance? I would argue not; for just as Dany’s Lightbringer is living dragons, so too do I believe that AA’s red sword was no literal blade, but dragons also.

I would here posit that Azor Ahai, in the coldest, darkest night, sought to bind fire made flesh to humankind. I propose that he tried and failed twice, before binding dragons to the fate of men.

I implore you to consider that Nissa Nissa was a dragon.

This concludes Part Two. Part Three shall answer the question, ‘what in the world did she mean by that last comment?’, by examining sacrifice, necessity, and the long, sad history of House Targaryen’s ritual offerings of innocence as payment.

[zcrayas]

Rya had never seen an Omen before. Not in a sense of being aware what they were, what was their place in the society. During her journeys she had briefly noted the wandering huge creatures, thinking no less of them than any other - could they hail from other lands?

For Lady Tanith, indulged in blasphemy against the ruling order, had chosen to shelter Rya, even from the terrors occurring even behind the manor walls, even from Rya's very origin. Refusing to taint the pure heart, a rarity among their kin.

Even though she hadn't been lied about the cruelty of the lands, the cruelty executed on unfortunate beings by her home family - the serpent herself, wasn't taught to despise or shun. And she knew too well, what hate and fear could bloom in others.

Outside, where serpents were non-existent, she was feared. Thus, choosing willingly to disguise herself in more accepted form, even though holding pride for her true image. And she chose to hide, only to spare the insults and unwanted attention.

Ryaalways believed in the good of the heart upon approaching anyone. Tarnished, the champions lady Tanith requested her to find, and other wanderers. Considering just how peaceful the stranger seemed, she hesitated none.

" The tree. I saw you gaze it so longingly. Indeed, how the leaves dance in the air... how long they maintain that glow even on the ground. " The young noble mused in slight distance, pointing up at the tall looming vision - almost dream like. " I couldn't just ignore that." || @fellomenking ❤' d!

[dramatisperscnae]

@thecreativeforge from here bc tumblr is dumb

Breathe. He had to breathe. Nothing had happened, they were fine, just breathe, Grayson. And try not to think about how Roy's hand had felt, there in the small of his back. How it might have felt if it had landed a few inches lower.

The hand on his shoulder made him jump, though he didn't pull away; instead his own hand came up to hold it there as he looked over at Roy, hoping the flush on his cheeks had faded a little even as he found some comfort in the fact that Roy's hadn't. At least Dick wasn't the only one suddenly feeling awkward right now.

He managed a wry grin at the teasing, giving Roy's hand a squeeze but still not letting go. "I'd…call it a tie. Would've been my win if that old brownstone had still been here." He was trying to tease back, but as Roy glanced over and blue eyes met green any further comments died on Dick's lips. His heart was still pounding, albeit a little softer than it had been a few seconds ago, though he wasn't afraid; behind the uncertainty in his eyes absolute trust was shining through.

[littlebadger]

TUE!verse || START 》 @fruity-hub-blog / @lordfruitloop

A deep ache had settled into his bones, every muscle stiff and sore as he lay in the hospital bed, the sheets tucked too tightly around him. His eyelids felt heavy, barely open, and his vision blurred under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights above. He’d been drifting in and out of consciousness for what felt like hours, but now his mind refused to let him slip back into sleep. Everything hurt.

Where am I? He shifted under the covers, his vision slowly adjusting. The steady, rhythmic beep of a heart monitor filled the room, its sound grating on his nerves. He turned his head to glare at the screen—it was too loud.

No, what was loud was the ringing in his ears—the deafening blast of—

A sharp gasp tore from his throat as his entire body tensed. Instinctively, he tried to sit up but was met with a surge of pain, forcing a pained hiss from his lips. His trembling body collapsed back onto the mattress, every nerve screaming.

The Nasty Burger. His parents. Jazz. Sam. Tucker. Mr. Lancer, too?

“Hey! Help! Hello!?” Danny’s voice cracked with desperation as the heart monitor beside him spiked, its alarm shrill and piercing, calling the nurses to his side.

[purplebass]

I just compared the antari trio to the bears from We Bare Bears? Yeah lol <3

(profile pics credit: @/lasq.draws on IG)

[glacialswordsman-a]

starter | @tartagla | plot call

The nation of Mondstadt, land of the free for those who call her home. There was a gentle breeze caressing the lands, making leaves rustle and tree branches calmly dance within the tempo of the wind's movement. Windwheel Asters spun delightedly as Dandelion seeds were carried along the day's delicate gust, while the sun was at its peak... It was simply beautiful. Not only that, but it felt absolutely wonderful to the inhabitants that resided in Barbatos's lands; and Kaeya was no different from anyone else in this matter.

The Cavalry Captain had long since completed his own work and then some, before opting to enjoy a 'leisure stroll' for once in his life. Normally he would be anxious in spending his time like this, but today... It was exceptionally nice today. How could he even fathom letting a day like this pass by without actually enjoying it for once by just sitting in his office? Even so, his 'stroll' was, of course, a guise for him to patrol the area between the Winery and Springvale uninterrupted. While he did want to enjoy the weather, there was still that itch in him that told him to be vigilant and look out for Mondstadt all the same.

He can never afford to simply relax.

He hiked up the mountains that stood proudly in the middle of the Dawn Winery and Springvale, using this setting as a vantage point for him to look down at the roads that wound around and between them. This way, he's able to enjoy his day while also keeping a keen eye on anything occurring below. He had high hopes that today would be uneventful, but of course, he could never be too sure.

[reginrokkr]

Footprints are left in their wake one by one on the blanket of snow, step by step as Dáinsleif treads the grounds of unknown lands. No sight of humankind nor of any shape or form of any civilization left behind or human activity whatsoever. Only monsters he hasn't seen before, while they are reminiscent of Abyss-affiliated fiends judging by the powers they draw and sometimes the anthropomorphic form they have. As star beasts in Teyvat, these are no laughing matter nor deserve to let one's guard down no matter how skilled one may be.

The sheer cold and snow that never seems to melt begets curiosity within the seraph's mind, ever wondering about the ecosystem of this world and if that is the reason why there is no human life here— or perhaps there may be none at all to be had if humans don't exist in this place. Dáinsleif is cognizant of the fact that inhospitable lands can be incompatible with other forms of life, too.

Not long before he decides to rest does he see from afar metallic fences and machinery that he opts for walking some more and have a look, albeit never intruding into territory he doesn't know. Whoever or whatever created this, he cannot be sure whether they will act kindly within his presence. Where creations lay so must loom nearby their creators and ere long does Dáinsleif find out that said creators are humans. Good, so long as mankind exists in this star, so his possibilities to learn about this vast universe will increase.

Rubescent lips part to heave a content sigh for such pleasant discovery and so Dáinsleif turns on his heels to leave. His aching muscles beg for rest, so does his mind after an undetermined amount of time walking and seeing little more than a vast albor ocean of snow. Somewhere discreet where he cannot be found yet not too far from the settlement is the chosen location to rest until a fox's cry causes his guard to be up once more, trained eyes in search of any presence that must've caused the tundra animal to be in distress.

Against his aching muscle's will, he rouses on his feet and searches for any living being activity within his vicinities. The source of the cry is found with immediacy as soon as a man's figure —judging by his muscular-looking back and broad shoulders— crouching catches his attention. With one hand he holds the poor fox in place while it struggles to thrash about in order to break free from his grasp and with the other snow is grabbed and brought to his lips. Despite the oddity of eating or drinking snow, stellar pupils take notice of a patch of blood making itself evident through the fabric of his top-wear on his arm.

❝You are hurt.❞ Only after these words abandon his lips does the seraph berate himself mentally at the prospect that the man may not understand the language. Even so, his voice stands low and gentle, tone does wonders to communicate feelings when language cannot establish a bridge of understanding. Dáinsleif ignores if what little fauna that lives in these snowy plains may be drawn to blood and thus put the man in danger, or if his life is endangered depending on the amount of blood that was spilled. His index finger points towards his own arm, pointing to the location of the other's injury to make himself clearer through signals. ❝Blood loss is detrimental in a place like this and I happen to have some medical knowledge.❞ One step brings him closer to the man, slow and measured to not generate hostility. His hand stretches towards him, an invitation. ❝Do you need help?❞

@longzhua ✦

[neutral-party]

northern albertan miku.

[hearthtales]

༄ @thesundowncrew

Bran had lost track of everything that had happened; it all blurred together in jagged fragments. Time had stretched and snapped from moment to moment. A creature, the forest, pain up his neck and across his cheek (the ivy-shaped wound still raw and stinging, no time to patch it properly, no time to rest), chaos and shouting, and then… Maude… and Arthur. Gone, gone, gone. He tried not to dwell on it as much as possible. Breaking down would solve nothing. He needed to keep himself together, for Nettie’s sake.

Nettie. She hadn’t left his side since…

Don’t think about it.

Staying close to each other seemed to provide the most reassurance and safety. Bran focused all his energy on comforting Nettie as much as he could, on finding a way to protect her (because they were still hunting them, he sensed their approach). And in his desperation, an invocation ritual had surfaced from the murky depths of his memory. A wavering spark in the darkness. He clung to it now, as their last hope.

He explained the spell as well as he could to Nettie. She asked no questions, too worn-out from crying. She just huddled beside him where he knelt on the dusty floor and she gripped his arm so tightly that it ached, her damp face buried in his sweater sleeve.

Bran lit the candle. He recited the incantation slowly, taking great care not to miss a single word. The moment the last syllable left his lips and magic tingled over him, a burning pain seared through his core. Bran gasped and hunched over, clutching at his chest with his free hand. What… was that? Why…?

Didn’t matter. Not now. Cold swept through the already drafty room. A muffled whimper came from Nettie, though she didn’t raise her head from his arm. Bran blinked away the fuzzy darkness at the edges of his vision, took a deep breath, and looked up at the shadowy figure. Fear choked him before he found the breath to speak, his voice hoarse and shaky. “Please, I— I’m sorry. We need your help. I’ll do anything.”

[branwyn-the-half-witch]

Comparative Mythologies of the Long Night: Part One – Blood Betrayal

(posted alongside the twitter threads of the same title)

‘...the fact that some cataclysm took place many thousands of years ago seems certain’

A series of threads examining the myths of the first Long Night, and what it may tell us about the next.

In World of Ice and Fire (WOIAF) we learned that the Long Night was not merely a Westerosi story, but an apocalyptic event that impacted the entire Known World. That it was the same event is undeniable, because the stories share common threads; darkness, and unrelenting cold.

These threads will examine the origins of the Long Night, the stories of the heroes that fought against it, and will examine the parallels that exist with the main series (ASOIAF) in order to determine whether we can learn anything from these nebulous, uncertain legends.

We have one primary story for the origins of the Long Night, which comes to us from the Great Empire of the Dawn, the ancient predecessor of Yi Ti; this was a vast land ruled by the descendants of the God-on-Earth, only son of the Lion of Night and the Maiden-Made-of-Light.

These rulers, associated with specific gemstones, ruled a vast but increasingly troubled and sinful realm for thousands of years until the throne passed to the Amethyst Empress; however, the younger brother of this first Empress usurped the throne, with deadly consequences.

This ‘Blood Betrayal’ is explicitly cited as ushering in the Long Night. Examine how the Bloodstone Emperor’s reign is described; note that he is highlighted as practising specifically necromancy and slavery, and as having cast down the true gods. All hallmarks of the Others.

As an aside, this is the only mention we have of ‘the sinister Church of Starry Wisdom’ still found in port cities. This is a HP Lovecraft reference (‘The Haunter of the Dark’, specifically) where a cult of the same name worship ‘Nyarlathotep’, an outlier in Lovecraftian mythos because he is upon the earth, alive, and can take the form of a tall man. Unlike the detached, unfathomable horrors of Lovecraft’s other monstrosities, Nyarlathotep is deliberately cruel and openly beguiles and propagandises cults into existence to serve his goals.

Sound like anyone we know? The parallels between how Nyarlathotep functions and is described and Euron ‘when men see my sails they pray’ Greyjoy is quite striking, and the fact that the ASOIAF version of this cult is found in port cities serves to underline the parallel further.

GRRM seems enamoured with examining this kind of figure; one who operates by twisting both the physical and metaphysical into propaganda to serve privately hellish and disturbing goals, whose strength is more intellectual than physical, whose weapons are first and foremost the evil men are already willing to do. The Bloodstone Emperor, the Night’s King, Euron, pre-tree Bloodraven (and possibly even post-tree), the Undying; even Mel is a play on this theme insomuch as her reputation; only her inner thoughts reveal that there is more mortal than monster in her.

It’s important to hold to GRRM’s propensity for echoing his themes, heroes AND his villains throughout the world-building, because he’s writing a Song, and so both harmony and leitmotif are crucial.

(Your obligatory ‘Lovecraft-was-a-massive-racist-so-bear-that-in-mind’ note)

The Long Night is framed explicitly as an act of divine retribution; note the symbolism again that the ‘light’ deity turns her face away, and ‘night’ is the punishment wreaked upon the world. It is worth considering that, as above, the world was in a state of decay prior to the Blood Betrayal; this event is analogous to a great many divine cataclysms throughout our own legends, that come following an inciting horror after a long time of mortal hubris and moral decay. As with the fall of Babel, the Long Night leaves the world a broken and divided place.

The world was saved from the Long Night, and the sun returned. But it was not redeemed, and the Maiden-Made-of-Light still has her faced turned away. Evidence of this is shown in the malformed seasons; WOIAF gives us two knowledgable sources, sound, but untrusted by the Citadel. Septon Barth attributes the strange seasons to a magical matter, and one Maester Nicol contends that the seasons were once of regular length and reliable constancy, of which the only evidence were the most ancient of tales – those likely to pre-date the Long Night.

So what can this origin story tell us? Well, it has all of the hallmarks of GRRM’s main series and interlinks two of his cardinal sins; kinslaying and usurpation – most particularly of a rightful female ruler. Targaryen history is sown with usurpations of the House’s women, from the very beginning, reaching a climax with the Dance, and descending into a long nadir where the dragons die out and Targaryen women lose the last ember of escape available to them. I shall speak later of the notion of blood debts being imposed on the innocent to pay for the survival of all humankind, so make a note of that theme occurring in such a primal level here, in the construction of the mythos, and so all-encompassing that the whole world suffers for the actions of one man – and remember that in relation to Targaryen women specifically.

Within ASOIAF itself, the Red Wedding is such a horrific spiritual crime, it reverberates through time and space to touch far-flung dreamers. It has much the same feeling as this mythic betrayal, which I would be unsurprised to learn also involved the breaking of guest-right.

It is perhaps evocative of the described moral decay that led the GEOTD to be thrown down in the first place, that made it seemingly deserving of the scourge that would come to ruin the world. The Others are already on the march by that point in the story, of course, but much of the War of the Five Kings phase of the books does little to dissuade the reader from the belief that the world is due a massive paradigm shift, as lightning striking the tower. When the world is so unfairly and brutally structured, apocalypse becomes a necessity.

This concludes Part One. Part Two concerns the most famous name from our roster of heroes, and their famous sword.

[dramatisperscnae]

closed starter for @cxpedcrusxder and amnesiac!bruce

It's something they all quietly live in fear of. That one night, someone won't make it back. That some day The Call will come through and they'll be left with one less name in their lives, one less voice to hear. It's a fear, but it's a given. What they do is dangerous, and every night there is always the risk that they won't make it back. Dick knows this. He's known it since he was nine.

That hadn't changed the sudden ice-cold rush of panic he'd gotten when Alfred had called him over a week ago.

He'd just been finishing up his own patrol when the call came through over his comms. The Bat had fallen, badly. Possibly permanently. Dick hadn't hesitated - hell, he hadn't even stopped to pack; he'd just thrown a long coat on over his costume, hopped on his motorcycle, and raced to Gotham with his speedometer pushing 200mph the whole way. By the time he'd arrived Bruce was already in the hospital and Alfred - bless Alfred - was in the waiting room with a cup of coffee and a worrying grave expression.

In the days that followed Dick refused to leave the hospital. It was only at Alfred's insistence - and with his help - that Dick even bothered changing into proper clothes rather than remain in his working gear. Bruce wasn't dead - yet - but he was hardly out of the woods and there was no power in this or any other universe that could pry Dick away from his father's side. Sure their relationship hadn't been the best over the past few years, but none of that mattered. Not now.

At this point the nurses seem to have realized the family is not going to leave, given they've stopped bothering to remind Dick and the others about visiting hours. Only discussion - okay, an argument - between himself and his brothers pulls Dick from Bruce's bedside, and that only occasionally; they've set up a patrol rotation, picking up the slack while Batman is incapacitated to ensure that neither Bruce nor Gotham is left untended.

Tonight it's Dick's turn at Bruce's side, Tim and Damian having charge of the city under Alfred's guidance - and with some quiet help from Jason, not that anyone will openly say so. Dick's pulled his chair right beside Bruce's bed, a book open on his lap as he reads quietly aloud. Maybe Bruce can hear him, maybe he can't, but either way it's something, isn't it? It's at least doing more than just sitting there worrying and praying Bruce wakes up.