#Come to the Forefather's Eve! We got:

[ahopefulbromantic]

I just realized the most tragic thing - that I cannot gush about 31st October being Dziady / Forefathers' Eve because it's a Polish thing and none of my mutuals know what it is and no really good translation of the dramatic works exists to have them read it :(((

It's like a traditional Polish Halloween and nowadays it's mainly known from Adam Mickiewicz's (he's to Poland what Shakespeare is to England) 4-part drama centered around it. It follows a tortured poet (my blorbo, I love him) during the time Poland was partitioned and erased from the maps, its people oppressed but always fighting back. It is one of the most important and culturally significant Polish works ever created. And it's got, like so many themes, so many themes you guys. It's one of my favorite works ever one of my all-time dreams is to play Konrad, a protag from part 3.

So if anyone does know it or is interested in finding out more please please please message me or drop an ask I'd love to infodump!!!

[blurrypetals]

We Used to Live Here by Marcus Kliewer - blurrypetals review

originally posted oct. 22, 2024 - ★★★★☆

This went from terrifying to mind-bending in a similar fashion to House of Leaves by Mark. Z. Danielewski, but while this book is undeniably dense and well-written, I just don't think this will stay with me the same way as its forefather.

I really loved the first third or so of this book. I couldn't even read it for a bit this weekend because it wasn't broad daylight and my husband was asleep. The family visiting is so goddamn unsettling, Jenny's behavior with her notebook and hiding were so creepy, and don't get me started with the figures on the stairs or the knocking! Properly horrific, and quickly.

But then, the longer the family stays, the more it feels like a horror in the vein of Darren Aronofsky's film Mother! as the discomfort stems less from creatures and more from things being disorienting and socially uncomfortable. It turns away from the horror and terror of it all and becomes much more of a thriller where we try to sort out what the hell is going on and how Eve is going to save herself and her family.

This book really lost me with its final act, though. I wasn't scared anymore and I definitely felt my interest dwelling a bit. There were definitely still things I was interested in, but it was a significant drop-off from where we'd started. I left this book feeling pretty unsatisfied with how it ended, too, though the work’s quality shone through at every turn regardless..

I did a little reading on Reddit to make sure I hadn't missed anything and found there's a whole separate ARG active at the moment which may grant further clarity and depth to this work, but, while I appreciate the thought and detail that must have gone into this, I have a hard time with books (or any other media) that need another work in order to be truly understood. I love that House of Leaves has something similar going on, but that everything you might need from it is all in the text, not on some auxiliary Instagram account you got a message about from an email address you found on a Reddit. That's too much work, too exhausting for me. I'll just be waiting for the 2-hour YouTube video NightMind will inevitably make about it someday.

This book is blurbed as Parasite meets Get Out. While I don't find these comparisons unfit, I do think this is an unholy child of the aforementioned House of Leaves and Mother! with a dash of Stephen Chbosky's Imaginary Friend, raised on religious and socially anxious theming. I can't decide if I'd actually recommend it to anyone, but it does have undeniably good craft behind it, so what I will say is I'll definitely be keeping my eye out for Kliewer's next work and any information that comes from the ARG. Until then, I'm glad to have more time to keep stewing on it.

[nijjhar]

Matt 21v33-43:- Vineyard is Temple Complex. The destroyed Holiest of Hol... Matt 21v33-43:- Vineyard is the Temple Complex. The destroyed Holiest of Holy is Golden Temple, India. https://youtu.be/Z7GxbcUBFdc Full description on my website:- http://www.gnosticgospel.co.uk/Temple.htm I need technical help with this. Holy Gospel of our Supernatural Father Elohim, Allah, Parbrahm, etc., delivered by the First Anointed Christ, which in Punjabi we call Satguru Jesus of the highest living God Elohim that dwells within His Temple of God created by the demiurge Potter, the Lord of the Nature Yahweh, Brahma, Khudah, etc., the Greatest Artist of all and it is called Harmandir or “Emmanuel” according to Saint Matthew 21,33-43.45-46. Jesus said to the chief priests and the elders of the people, the Principal/Vice Chancellor and the Professors: "Hear another parable. There was a landowner who planted a vineyard, the Jerusalem Temple Complex to coin the moral laws or write the written Torah, which is corruptible put a hedge around it, ecclesiastical world, dug a wine press, established a school of theology to create the moral laws in it, and built a tower, as a Symbol of the School of Theology. Then he leased it to tenants, the Temple Priests and went on a journey. Remember that the Promised Land is the Garden of Eden, Abram = Adam, Sarah = Eve and they lived in the company of Yahweh, Brahma, Khuda, etc., the demiurge Potter or the creator of nature. When vintage time drew near, he sent his servants, Prophets who are witness to the Light but not the Light as John, the Baptist was, to the tenants, the Temple Priests, to obtain his produce in works that leads to the next birth reincarnation. But the tenants seized the servants, the Prophets as they did to Zachariah in the Temple and one they beat, another they killed - Zachariah, and a third they stoned, Angel Stephen; one of the 70 outer circle Labourers that Jesus trained for John, the Baptist, an Angel Prophet Elijah. Again he sent other servants, the Samaritans faithful to Abraham and Yahweh more numerous than the first ones, Moses, Elisha, Daniel, etc. but they treated them in the same way. They hated them even though their forefather Joseph, faithful to Abraham and Yahweh had treated them very well and got them the best land to settle down. Finally, when their greed had no limits, he sent his Son Christ Jesus to them, thinking, 'They will honour/respect my son.' But when the tenants saw the son and recognised Him as they were clever twice-born of the evil spirit, they said to one another, 'This is the heir as son represents father and not the daughter whose surname changes upon marriage and for the same reason, a woman cannot be a moral Teacher but only the men of certain tribe/tribes. Come, let us kill him, the Christ Jesus and acquire his inheritance.' Remember that Ishmael is not the real son of Abraham, on the birth of Isaac, he was thrown out of the “Promised Land” for the inheritance is to the real son only. Also, Abraham gave the tribal mark of circumcision to Isaac and got it done to him as well. Thus, only the sons of Isaac could have the circumcision tribal mark but the Temple Priests were circumcising the Gentile for fleecing them. The Chosen People are the “Elite People” of Nobel Abraham,. They, the “Saltless Jews outwardly” seized him, threw him out of the vineyard, the Temple that belonged to his Father and killed or crucified him. What will the owner Elohim, Allah, Parbrahm, etc. of the vineyard do to those tenants when he comes? They, the common people of Salt that the Temple Priests called Sinners for not attending their Synagogues on Sabbath, answered him, "He will put those wretched men to a wretched death as it happened on 70 A.D. when the Temple was destroyed forever and lease his Royal Vineyard to other tenants who will give him the produce at the proper times. This Holiest of Holy was given to the people of the Khatri tribe in India and it is called Golden Temple but what gold has to do with God? It is the most corrupt Temple in the world. It beats the greedy fleecers of Banares. Amritsariyae thugs beat the old Brahmin thugs of Banares". Jesus said to them, "Did you never read in the scriptures: 'The stone, the building blocks, the Temple Priests that the builders, sons of Yahweh faithful to Abraham rejected, sons of Satan Al-Djmar Al-Aksa, the religious fanatics has become the cornerstone; by the Lord of creation Yahweh has this been done furnished with gold, and it is wonderful in our eyes'? The greedy crook Priests get it decorated with gold as today you see the golden temple in Amritsar that pleases the eyes of people and they visit to “see” its beauty. Therefore, I say to you, the Royal Kingdom of God, the Holiest of Holy Temple of Elohim will be taken away from you and given to the people of Punjab that will produce its fruit but today, it is very corrupt. When the twice-born evil-spirited crook chief priests and the Pharisees heard his parables, they knew that he was speaking...............

[multimetaverse]

HSMTMTS 2x01 Review

New Year’s Eve was a great way to return to HSMTMTS especially after such a long gap. Let’s dig in!

Vladimir Lenin once said that, ‘’ there are decades where nothing happens; and there are weeks where decades happen". It’s been almost a year and half since S1 ended but this past week has seen revelation after revelation as the fandom has resurrected itself and promotion for S2 kicked into high gear: Joshua Bassett came out, Frankie and Joe confirmed that they are a real life couple, Larry seemingly confirmed that S2 will only have 11 eps rather than the 12 initially ordered, and perhaps most importantly Olivia revealed that she and the main cast are under contract for 4 seasons and made clear that she’s leaving the show as soon as her contract is up.

I really enjoyed this premiere, it felt like picking up right back where we left off. I’m guessing that S2 was originally supposed to premiere around Christmas or New Year’s but the holiday decorations and real Utah snow add a charming aesthetic to the ep. Tim Federle deserves credit for giving HSMTMTS more of an ensemble feel which is no easy feat with a cast as large as this show has. It likely won’t last due to covid restrictions  but at least for tonight we got to see all the characters hanging out together acting like a real group of friends.

The dialogue tonight really reminded me of Glee and I think I mean that as a compliment. Miss Jenn in particular seems to be doing her best April Rhodes impression minus the alcoholism. 

The rini scenes tonight were lovely. Perfect gift was a great song and I loved the rini duet during the music in me as the world faded around them leaving just the two of them. The Harry Styles reference is funny in light of Josh’s coming out interview. Of course, it’s hard now to separate Nini and Ricky and Olivia and Josh. Their chemistry shines through as 2x01, 2x02, and possibly parts of 2x03 were filmed pre Jolivia breakup which seems to have happened around summer 2020. Whether they can keep that same chemistry later on in S2, not to mention future seasons, remains to be seen.

A major theme tonight was communication and clearly Rini need to work on theirs. Poor Ricky had to learn that Nini’s moving to Denver the night before she leaves town which has to remind of him of his mom effectively abandoning him. Ricky saying that he’s never gonna breakup with Nini ever again sure sounds like foreshadowing for a disaster though the odds that this time Nini initiates the breakup are pretty good. 

I’m glad that the show is continuing to delve in the Bowen’s divorce story with their house being sold and Ricky and his dad having to move into an apartment. Divorce is expensive and the division of assets typically leave people less well off. Mike Bowen needs to work on his communication skills but he’s rocking that beard; it takes him from depressed divorced dad to depressed divorced daddy.

Seblos was cute and in a nice change of pace Disney doesn’t seem to be cynically teasing them then cutting their scenes. It was refreshing to see them just being a couple and to hear Carlos casually refer to himself as gay. In that regard tonight’s ep didn’t seem like it was a Disney show at all and it’s major progress that there are now two main gay characters on HSMTMTS. We learn that Carlos is rich which seems likely to be a source of conflict with Seb who comes from a large farming family.

Bet on It was really fun and I liked that Ricky apparently couldn’t stop singing it. The medley of HSM 2 songs was fun but I’ll be real with you wildcats, I never thought HSM 2 or 3 were nearly as good as the first movie so I’m not sad that they’re doing something else this year.

Wild that Big Red’s mom also calls him Big Red. Salt Lake Slices seems poised to be a big part of S2 both as hangout spot and work location for some of the characters. Redlyn are sweet together but sometimes Big Red comes off as a closeted gay guy which isn’t ideal for a het pairing that is supposedly a big part of S2.

Nice to see Gina so excited to have sleepovers with Ashlyn. We know from 2x03 that Gina contends with being single on Valentine’s day and from her glances at Ricky tonight she’s clearly not over him. Tim’s playing with fire and I can only hope he knows what he’s doing. I liked the little detail of Kourtney having AOC on her vision board, it feels true to the character (hopefully AOC gets elected president one day if the USA doesn’t collapse into a fascist dictatorship or civil war before then). EJ’s beard has got to go but I like that he seems committed to being a better version of himself; very doubtful his plan to go straight to Duke like his forefathers doesn’t change by the end of the season. 

Derek Hough did a good job of playing Zach as a subtly condescending man who managed to swiftly undermine Miss Jenn’s confidence, we’ll see what he and North High bring to the table.

Looking Ahead:

Next week are auditions for Beauty and the Beast, we know Ashlyn gets the role of Belle and EJ has conveniently removed himself from the running for Beast which presumably clears the path for Ricky to take the lead. There’s been some controversy over the casting choices and I’ll save my comments about it for the 2x02 review.

We get to see Lily who looks like a meaner version of season 1 Gina, we’ll see how much depth she actually ends up getting. Howie is introduced in 2x03 and Antoine likely shows up later on. Jack likely shows up towards the end of the season.

Howie seems to have a connection with Kourtney though the character synopsis does say he gets close to a wildcat or two which certainly leaves room to slide him into Gina’s plot. We know Antoine is into Ashlyn so that’s another love triangle to look forward to. Jack was described as having wanderlust and most of the cast seems not to have filmed with him so I think it’s likely that he plays a role in convincing EJ to take a gap year rather than head straight to Duke. 

A translation leak on TikTok reveals that in 2x03 Gina is sad that she’s only gotten a Valentine’s Day gift from her mom. A brief clip from the promo shows up her on her porch at night holding a heart shaped box of chocolates. If that’s supposed to be from a secret or semi-secret admirer than it has to be from either EJ, Ricky, or Howie. If it’s a platonic gift then it could be from anyone, we’ll see what Tim has up his sleeves.

Nini moving back to SLC is a question of when not if. It’s going to be very difficult to bring her back in a way that’s justified and also doesn’t leave the time she spends in Denver looking like a total waste. Frankly, I’d rather the show just bite the bullet and bring her back with as little fuss as possible.

We’re possibly around a quarter way through HSMTMTS given that the mains have 4 season contracts and presuming that the show is not cancelled earlier. At the very least the show will be radically different after S4 if they try to continue it as Olivia has made very clear that she’s going to leave asap to pursue her burgeoning music career full time (notably she’s only done the bare minimum of promo for S2). 

Looming over the remaining seasons of HSMTMTS is what the professional relationship between Olivia and Josh looks like especially since in many ways the show is built around Ricky and Nini. Off screen relationships have often caused on screen problems and dating a co-worker is rarely a good idea since even clean breakups leave lingering resentments. Obviously the Jolivia breakup was not clean, Driver’s License, Deja Vu, and Good 4 U (which is a certified bop) were clearly written from a place of hurt and in some ways were written to hurt. It’s no surprise that Joshua has dropped his duet with Sabrina Carpenter from his EP; someone on his team at least is trying to stop the damage to his reputation. There’s a decent chance that Olivia’s songs becoming such hits has irreparably damaged Joshua Bassett’s reputation among the same pool of largely young women that he’s targeting his music towards thereby cutting off his music career at the knees. If nothing else this behind the scenes drama should keep things entertaining for a while.

Until next week Wildcats 

[papirouge]

I don't want to have a dog or a cat.

If you honestly think about it, it's one of the utmost selfish thing in the world.

Where do these domesticated cats or dogs come from?

Over the years humanity have cross breeded many to get what is present now in very inhumane manner.

People like to talk about racism of the past but they should also tell about the fact that evil selfish people wanted to satisfy a selfish craving and domesticated cats and dogs.

The dog or a cat is too dumb to protest or know that their forefathers and themselves were breeded to crave the desires of humans.

I'm not sure to understand the leap between cross breeding and acknowledging "racism of the past", anon..💀

Aren't dogs domesticated wolves or stuff like that? I think it's actually pretty rad that humankind managed to befriend such ferocious creatures and decided "me, you, friend?:)"

I disagree that animals got breeded to "crave human desire" some breed of horse never let themselves to be ridden by humans and some dogs or cat owners have stated their animal hated men (while having no issue to be pet by women) lol

Beside I'm Christian and I know Genesis enough to know that in the beginning, Adam and Eve had the responsability to take care of all the animals of the creation and they were all living in peace & harmony, so animals are wired to handle human existence, and humans were made to protect animals & nature.

Bruh, God plan for humankind was to be the zookeeper of the whole Creation, living in a wonderful garden, titties out and eating fruit all day, but satan had to ruin everything. We now have to commute to work and suffer. I hate it in there.

[daraanna]

Dziady

Disclaimer: I don’t own Naruto nor Boruto, Masashi Kishimoto does. Also I don’t own Dziady part II written by Adam Mickiewicz. Fic is strongly inspired by this drama, it includes some quotes from it clumsily translated into English, written in this fic in Italic type.

Rate: T I guess... but it get a little bit gore.

.....................

Ciemno wszędzie, głucho wszędzie, co to będzie? co to będzie?

...................

She knew she shouldn't have agreed to do it. When Boruto suggested they spend the Halloween as a team together a week ago, she declined. She did not like this holiday. She didn’t like sweets as well as the spooky atmosphere. Unfortunately he was so annoying that in the end he convinced her, also he promised that they would spend the whole evening in Mitsuki's apartment. She had no other plans for the day, Cho-cho was on a mission, Mom was on shift in hospital all night, and Dad wasn't in the village either.

She agreed, now she regretted it. Forced to bargain with an old woman selling food from all over the world, because to apparently Mistuki she can't imagine a party without some dumplings from the Land of Fields.

....................... Darkness everywhere, silent everywhere, what will happen? What will it happen?

........................

Boruto couldn't contain his excitement. He had been planning this evening for a long time.

Mitsuki showed him a scroll a month ago, he found it while visiting his parent in Oto. This scroll allows its owner to summon the souls of dead. The text was in a strange language, but his blue-haired teammate claimed he could decode it. The young Uzumaki immediately got the idea to use it at the Halloween party, they planned with Inojin and Shikadai. Unfortunately Team 10 received a long mission just before the end of October. Therefore, from the boys party, they decided to turn it into an evening of deepening the ties in their team. The problem was that Sarada hated horrors. He was really surprised when she finally agreed to come.

He and Mitsuki prepared the room. All furniture was pushed against the wall, making as much space as possible on the floor. They placed a large stone in the centre of the room. (The blonde had no idea where his friend got it from, but he preferred not to ask.) Sitting down next to him, he took the items needed for the ritual out of his pocket. Linen yarn, a wreath that Himawari helped him to make from herbs and flowers from their garden, and food that Hinata prepared for them. 

"Um ... You got ..." He began to ask a question when the golden-eyed boy put a bottle of vodka next to him. Boruto almost jumped in nervousness, if his mother found out he would kill them. “How did you get it?”

“Hn? It was not difficult ...”replied the snake boy with creepy smile.

They heard a knock on the door. The blond was the first to open. Sarada stood in the corridor irritated with the box in her hand. The boy smiled letting her inside.

"I knew you would get them," he sighed, scratching his head

“I hope it would be worth it” she replied, setting the box with food on the counter in the small kitchen. She was dressed in civilian clothes, a red dress that slightly resembled her disguise during their mission in Hozuki's castle. He couldn't help but think she looked cute. Uchiha went to the living room to greet the host. Her gaze scanned the room.

“Don't say you're planning a horror marathon?” She asked, trying to hide her anxiety.

"We have much better ideas," replied Mitsuki, pulling out the scroll. However, at that moment the eyes of the black-haired girl stopped at the bottle of alcohol.

“You must be kidding !? There's no way we're having a libation here! Where did you get it from !?”she shouted, moving towards the exit.

“It's not like that!”blue-eyed grabbed her wrist. “We will not drink it is for something else ...”

“ Sure, for what? Are we going to wash the oven?”

“No, we will summon ghosts “ blue-haired joined the discussion. Sarada looked at him in shock.

"It's part of the ritual that Mitsuki found while his visit in Oto, we want to try it out," said the blond. She looked at them in shock as if they were crazy. Finally, she took her hand away from her friend's grip as she walked towards the door.

“I'm coming home. You two do whatever you want!” her hand touched the door handle when she heard Uzumaki’s voice.

“I told you that she will get scared” he said to their friend, but loud enough for her to hear it. She froze, because although it was true that she was afraid, she could not give him that satisfaction and admit it.

“I'm not afraid”a few steps she was again by his side “I will stay”

"Are you sure?" Orochimaru's son asked in a serious tone.”Once the ritual begin, it cannot be interrupted, nor can anyone leave the room.”

She swallowed involuntarily.

"I'm sure," she replied, trying to sound confident.

.................... Darkness everywhere, silent everywhere, what will happen? What will happen? .................. As they sat down around the stone, Mitsuki unfolded the scroll and began to read.

"Close the door to the room, turn off the lights and cover the windows, don’t let the moonlight get here," he said in a sublime tone.

“You could have said that before we sat down ...” Boruto sighed heading towards the door.

"It's part of the ritual," the boy replied.

“ What to do with the cat?“ asked Uchiha, who, while covering the curtains, found him sleeping on the radiator.

“I think it will be safer to move him to the kitchen” she did as he said. Cat struggled a bit, but at the sight of his food, he forgot about his warm lair.

When the room was completely dark and catless, playing the role of a sorcerer, Mitsuki spoke again.

“Darkness everywhere, silent everywhere, what will happen? What will  happen?” “You told us to cover everything ...”

"That's part of the ritual you have to repeat after me ..." he sighed, but the other two obediently repeated.

In the darkness, Sarada could hardly refrain from activating her sharingan, convinced that her friend was about to do something to scare her. She clenched her hands into fists to stop them from trembling, at this point Uzumaki moved closer to her and leaning slightly towards her, he whispered with a mocking smile “Do not worry I will save you from ghosts.”

She answered him with a "Tch". Still she feeling a bit more confident in having him closer. Of course, she couldn't admit it.

“The soul on the other side, with unfinished matters, wanting to contact the living, we conjure you, invite you to the Forefathers' Eve! - shouted Mitsuki - Put the yarn on a stone and set it on fire” he instructed his friends.

They did so, the flame swept over the yarn quickly and went out. It was dark again in the room. They were sitting in silence when suddenly two beams of light appeared at the ceiling. Sarada let out a small sigh, but as the lights landed on the stones, they turned into two children. The scream rip through the room. Before she had time to realize what was going on, she was in the grip of the scared blonde.

“They are real ghosts!” He stumbled, looking away from them.

"Well, that's what we do, we summon the spirits ..." she replied, trying not to laugh. Despite the fact that she was scared herself, she felt a growing curiosity in her.

“I wasn't expecting this to work!”

“I do not believe that my grandson is such a coward” said red-haired girl.

“Oh Kushina, we surprised them. You also did not expect that we would visit today the world of the living ... - replied the blue-eyed boy who looked very similar to Boruto. “It is a really interesting justu, we can’t get physical contact with anything except food , and it also took us here in a compact version ...

“I can’t be eleven, who saw it, be younger than your own grandson” Uzumaki sighed.

“It will pass with the first cock crowing, in order to return to the afterlife you must eat mustard seed- said Mitsuki.

“Don't talk to them so calmly, who are you anyway?” Asked the son of the Hokage, still clutching to Sarada, who tried to soothe him by gently stroking his head.

“Isn't it obvious? Though you probably won't guess, just like my Naruto. I am your grandmother Kushina Uzumaki, and this is your grandfather Minato Namikaze ...” explained the ghost girl.

The boy looked at them in shock.

“ Fourth? “ asked the surprised brunette.

The former Hokage ghost smiled at her.

“Who are you? Are my grandson's girlfriend?”he asked.

“No way!” both of them shouted in response, quickly pushing themselves away from each other.

“Heh? Last time I didn’t guessed right too” gost sighed.

“No no. This time there is something in it ...” the red-haired girl joined in.

“So what were you planning on getting into our world?” Mitsuki interrupted them.

“Actually, the only thing I wanted is to see is my grandchildren and daughter-in-law, maybe we can visit the village too?” Kushina exchanged look with her husband.

“I think we will have enough time for it ...“ he replied “We only have to leave immediately” he added, looking at his grandson “I believe that our son raised you well, but if I could give you some advice, it will be that it is worth fighting for love.”

“It's also worth not to be too stubborn, you don't need kidnapping to notice that you love someone!” his grandmother added before they both turned into beams of light and disappeared from the room.

"Hn ... I didn't even have to talk them out," the blue-haired man was surprised.

“Uh ... What was this advice supposed to be?” Uzumaki asked strongly flushed.

However, no one answered him. Mitsuki was busy with another spell, and black-haired was too blushed to even looked in his direction.

“Souls of purgation, who for their sins end up chained to this world, if we can shorten the torture a bit to of any of you! “ said the boy pouring alcohol into the bowl which he put on the stone, then threw a match into it. Goblet was immediately caught in the fire which quickly spread. A hand emerged from inside, looking like a zombie from a horror films. Moments later, a grown man appeared from the flame. His body was in a state of partial decomposition, his clothes was torn. Both Boruto and Sarada moved as far away from him as possible, even Mitsuki backed away a few steps.

“Who are you?” Asked the summoner.

“You don't know me !? I was once the second most important person in this village, I was to be appointed the sixth Hokage! My name is Danzô Shimura” at the sound of his name, Uchicha felt a chill. She was terrified, and yet she felt a disgust towards the man and a strong rage that she could not explain. Suddenly, crows, owls, and eagles and other birds emerged from the flame. The animals pounced on the spirit, tearing his clothes and rip his flesh with their claws.

“What do you need to get to the afterlife? We have food, drink, herbs! ”Orochimaru's son shouted, trying to continue the ritual.

The man just laughed, a dry laugh.

“The only thing that can save me is the mercy shown me by someone against whom I have sinned. You can't do anything for me ...” his eyes fell on Uchiha, who  unintentionally activated hers sharingan.

“ YOU! Give me something to eat!” He shouted pointing his finger at her. Another wave of emotions rolled through her body. Fear, despair, hatred all so intense as if it did not come from her, but from thousands of people. She felt breathless.

Danzo took a step towards her, but then Boruto stood between them with a kunai in his hand.

"Mitsuki, we have to break it somehow!", He shouted at his friend who was nervously searching through the text on the scroll.

"The only thing we can do to send back is to fulfil his demands," the boy replied reluctantly.

" Why is it supposed to be Sarada??" The blonde snarled, covering his friend with his body.

"I must be forgiven ..." the impatient spectre replied, and then birds surrounding him began to attack it even more intensely.

“F-for what? What have you done?” Black-haired girl asked, still trying to calm down.

“If you don't know that, then you shouldn't ask ... Do you really think I deserves such a fate? Eternal hunger and flesh tearing !?”

The girl stiffened, no one seemed to deserve such a fate after all and how could she judge a man she didn't know. She stood up carefully, taking the bowl of rice. Slowly she stretched her hand toward the wraith, trying to stop her from trembling. But as soon as she got close to the man, one of the crows, turned into a boy who gripped her wrist tightly enough to stop her but not that hard that it would hurt her. He was not much older than them, he had curly black hair with black feathers tangled between them, and his fingernails resembled the claws of a bird of prey. His eye sockets were empty, but even so, she felt as if he was looking into her soul. Surprisingly, she was not afraid of him.

"He doesn't deserve your mercy" he said in a calm voice. All she could do was nod. She her knees feel weak. The crow-man carefully helped her sid in her place next to Boruto, before turning to the former ANBU leader. His aura immediately became sinister.

“You don't like starving? But do you remember how hungry for power and honors of the Hokage title, by deception you took my sight away to condemn my relatives and me to death? How did you took away the only chance to resolve the conflict without bloodshed? How did you use the child of our clan and sentence him for the fate of a murderer and traitor? You knew no mercy! ”He moved closer to Danzo with every word he spoke. Then a scream came out of the birds' throats in sync with the boy's voice.

“Hey owls, eagles and crows, we also have no mercy! Let us tear the food into pieces, and if the food won’ be enough, let's tear the body into pieces. Let the naked bones shine!”

Another bird turned into a human. A boy with gray hair wearing an owl ANBU mask. He grabbed the former Hokage candidate’s arm with his claws, tearing his skin and muscles apart.

“You don't like starving? And do you remember how you trained the Konoha orphans for your own use? How did you condemn them to fratricidal duels in the name of creating obedient and emotionless soldiers? You knew no mercy!

“Hey owls, eagles and crows, we also have no mercy! Let us tear the food into pieces, and if the food won’ be enough, let's tear the body into pieces. Let the naked bones shine!”

Echoed the rest of the herd, throwing herself at the ghost. They pecked and scratched his body. His screams of pain spread across the room. Team Seven stared in shock at the cruel scene that lasted until it was only a skeleton than left from his body. Then all the ghosts disappeared in the fire they came from. It was completely dark again in the room. The blond looked shocked at the empty cup. A soft sob fill the silence. His gaze shifted to his friend, he instinctively embraced her and pulled her into his arms.

"Mitsuki, what the hell was that?" He turned to the blue-haired boy.

“I did not foresee this ...” he explained, preparing the wreath for the next ritual.

“What are you doing!? Do you want to continue after something like this?“ Uzumaki growled.

“If we don't finish now, we can hit the afterlife too ...”

“WHAAAT?!”

“ I said when we start, there will be no turning back ...”

"No way! You see what it led to?" He asked, hugging the black-haired girl tighter.

"It's alright," Sarada sighed, wiping her tears and sitting down in her seat. "Let's continue ...”

Boruto pouted slightly as the girl moved away from him, but he was glad that he was feeling better now. Still, he still didn't release her right hand, just in case she was scared again ... not that he liked her or something ...

Mitsuki lit the wreath and, stretching his hand over it, began to recite: “ Oh holy weed...”

Uchiha rebuked the blonde with her eyes. The boy scratched the back of his head silently swearing that they had not brought any illegal substances with them.

“With your power I invoke a soul that is stuck between two worlds, that have raised too high for the world of men, but sill too low for the world of gods!”

The flame above the flowers turn blue, which spread around the room as moonlike aura. A beautiful woman with long white hair and horns resembling rabbit ears appeared on the stone.

“Is that ... “- blue-eyed began, but the spirit interrupted him.

"My name is Kaguya ... The princess of this planet. You should know me," she said as she surveyed the three genins with her Byakugan.

“Well, this time, I actually exaggerated, the last time she was summoned, the world almost ended ...”

"Mitsuki?!" His teammates spoke simultaneously

“Do not be afraid, in this form I cannot hurt you ...“ the goddess replied, staring at the right hand of Uzumaki “Bloody Momoshiki ... I guess, this is not the last time we meet... Who knows, maybe my children will call me back from with all my strength ...”

“Why would we do this? You wanted to destroy our planet! ”Sarada replied.

The rabbit princess looked at the still folded hands of Uchiha and Uzumaki.

"I loved this planet and its inhabitants ... Unfortunately, they betrayed me and I had to punish them, but nevertheless I hate my clan even more than you humans ... My scrolls are still on the moon. The children of Ashura and Idrra should be able to handle it ... " she said and disappeared the same way she appeared, leaving Team 7 in consternation.

The ritual leader looked at the scroll again.

"Basically it's the end ... we just have to put the rest of the food out the door for the lesser spirits," said Orochimaru's son and throwed the contents of the bento prepared for them by Hinata through the window.

"Mitsuki!" moaned pitifully blonde, and a lonely tear ran down his cheek. If only his mom found out about it, she would kill him! “That’s the end of Forefathers' Eve” The boy replied opening the curtains. The first rays of sun broke into the room. The other two genins get busy cleaning up the rest of the food when the figure of a young man with long black hair gathered in a ponytail appeared on the stone altar.

Noticing him, the Boruto let out a scream.

“Strange this should not happen ... Certainly not during the day ...” blue-haired boy sighed, grabbing his chin ”What do you need spirit?”

However, the ghost said nothing, just stood looking straight at Sarada. Despite the strangeness of the scene, she felt no fear. On the contrary, the presence of this soul filled her with peace and warmth combined with longing.

“You said it was over!“ the blue-eyed snarled to his friend.

“It should be ... What do you need? Food? Drink? Answer, or get be lost!”

However, the spirit absolutely ignored them, taking a step towards the young Uchiha.

“Mitsuki!”

In desperation, Orochimaru's son grabbed one of the dumplings and threw it at the ghost. Food bounced off his cloak, but juts look irritated at them and continued his walk.

“Impossible ... He resisted the pieróg ... This soul is too powerful!”

“What? What is that supposed to mean? We have to do something! Sarada, why aren't you running away from him?“ young Uzumaki started to panic.

"I think ... I think I know him ..." she replied, and the ghost smiled slightly at her. His eyes reminds her of her father's, although the ghost was perhaps a meter away, she did not move away from him. She didn't flinch as he reached out and gently tapped her forehead and disappeared. Moments after that, she felt someone grab her tightly by the arms.

“Sarada? Hey can you hear me? What did he done to you ?!” Boruto's face get too close to her as he pulled her into his arms, but she could see how worried he was.

“Everything is okay” she replied embracing his face so that he looked at her and stopped panicking.”I'm fine ...” she added yawning.

"It's 5 in the morning what you say for a little nap, before you get back home I have a lot of space on the couch, the carpet is also quite comfortable," suggested Mitsuki.

“It's a good idea ... after all, it was supposed to be a sleepover...” Uchiha replied, because the blonde was still too busy being nervous to answer.

The host left the room to get the blankets from the wardrobe in the hall. However, pulling them out turned be more difficult than he expected. While the shelves with the scrolls from his parent, was kept a spotless order, the closet was in a complete mess. When he finally managed to pull them out, Mikazuki's rubbed against his legs, and started to scratch the door of the apartment. The boy sighed and putting down what he had in his hands opened them for him. The cat looked at him and then at the door, again at him without moving a bit. The blue-haired rolled his eyes and wanted to close the door when the kitten decided to get out. When he finally returned to the room, he found his friends on the couch. Boruto was leaning against the back of the furniture with one hand wrapped around Uchiha’s waist. Sarada was leaning against his shoulder, hugging his torso. They both slept soundly. Mitsuki covered them with a blanket and took a photo with the camera his parent had given him for the second anniversary of the living outside the incubator. He looked at the photo smiling wide.

“Maybe they are not canon yet, but they are definitely my OTP...”

....................................................................................................

So... I missed Halloween, but writing this turned to be much harder that I thought it, will be.

Also writing this  I based the description of rite on drama, and didn’t do a lot of research about the actual ceremony... I’m sorry If I write something wrong way. Naprawdę nie chciałam obrażać  rodzimowierców słowiańskich, przepraszam jeśli to zrobiłam.

Also I want to apologie to high school lecture teacher, I know she won’t read it, but I know she would kill me, if she did XD

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 58

Chapter Summary - After returning from their walk, Danielle and Tom end up minding his niece for a while and after that, they go to have dinner again in Diana's, where it is revealed that due to the summer, Tom has not spoken to his father since then, something Danielle thinks to rectify.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​ @jessibelle-nerdy-mum​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @damalseer​ @hiddlesbitch1​ @winterisakiller​ @fairlightswiftly​ @salempoe​ @lys-syl @youcantcatchafallingstar

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

After the walk in the woods, and a small towel dry for Mac, Danielle and Tom contemplated sitting down for a quiet read, but their idea was quickly shattered when Sarah arrived with her daughter. “Half an hour, I beg you.” she pleaded. Tom looked at his sister in concern. “My head is spinning, I have literally watched four movies in a row, I need half an hour.”

“Give us one and a half, she’ll be fed and all.” Danielle smiled. Sarah did not even bother asking if she was sure, she turned and fled. “I guess that answers what our afternoon includes.” She commented to Tom.

“Prepares us for the weekend we have you I suppose.” Tom grinned at his niece. “Have you had lunch?”

“Nope.”

“Well then, how about some of Ellie’s homemade soup and brown bread?” Tom ushered her into the kitchen. Danielle smiled as she walked in after them, Tom getting some of the soup Danielle had made them after their walk and the bread she had baked before getting injured on Christmas Eve. Tom saw her looking at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” She smiled. “Just nice seeing you make yourself at home here.”

“Well, just remember to do the same in London.”

“I might just.” She winked, going over to the kettle to make herself some tea. “Do you want one?”

“Please.” Tom was about to put his arms around her when she moved slightly to avoid it and indicated to the six-year-old who was currently eating at the table. “Sorry.”

“Have to remember to behave in front of children.” She chastised. “So, what movie will we watch when you are finished your lunch?” She asked said child as she placed a glass of apple juice next to her.

“Cinderella.”

“The film or the cartoon one?” Danielle offered.

“Film.”

“There’s a film of it now?” Tom asked.

“Yeah, Kenneth Branagh is the director, it’s brilliant, so colourful,” Danielle informed him.

“Ken loves using colour.” Tom nodded. “Sounds good.”

When Sarah returned almost two hours later, she was shocked to see Tom and Danielle playing hide and seek with her daughter. “You two are worse than her.” She chuckled to her brother.

Tom came over to her and put his arm around her, “Feel better?”

“Too much wine yesterday, tired and over my fill of movies, thank you both so much.”

“We are happy to have her.”

“She loves you both, she has not stopped going on about wanting you to marry Elle.”

“I know, I was informed yesterday on our walk that she is to be the flower girl, no arguments.”

“No pressure.” Sarah laughed.

“No, none. So what time is dinner?”

Sarah groaned. “No one is in the mood for turkey, not even mum.”

“I know, the idea of it is not too appealing.” Tom agreed. “Though…” He walked out to the end of the stairs. “Truce,” he shouted up. A moment later, two smiling faces poked around the top of the stairs at him. “Why is your hair tossed?” He asked almost worriedly.

“We…”

“Shh,” Danielle put her hand over the girl’s mouth for a moment. “We can’t let him know where I hid you.” She giggled. “What do you want? Surrender?”

“Not a chance.”

“Then why call us?” She asked.

“You cooked a lasagne on Christmas Eve, right?”

“I did.”

“Is there enough for everyone?”

Danielle took a moment to think. “There are fourteen portions, so I think it’s safe to say yes.”

“Why did you cook that much food?” Tom frowned.

“It’s easier to cook a lot and freeze, so I did.” Danielle shrugged.

“Can we use it for dinner, no one is really in the mood for Turkey?”

“Actually, that sounds really good.” Danielle came down the stairs, Tom’s niece in tow, she turned to look at her. “What do you think?”

“I want Garlic bread with it.”

Tom grinned, “That sounds like a great idea. But I am not sure there is any.”

“I have store-bought in the freezer too.” Danielle smiled.

“I love you.” Tom declared.

“You two are nauseating.” Sarah laughed.

“All men declare their undying love to the one that feeds them, why do you think they all love their mammies!” Danielle laughed, going to the kitchen to get the food. “How are you now?” She asked as she opened the freezer.

“Better, thank you, I had a cup of tea and a power nap. I think everyone was a little drained.”

“Well, you know where I am.” Danielle offered.

“Aunty Ellie?” Danielle turned around. “Why do you say mammy and not mummy or mommy?”

“Because I come from Ireland, and in Ireland, we say mammy.”

“Uncle Jack is from Ireland too and he doesn’t sound anything like you.”

“Uncle Jack comes from up at the tippy top of Ireland, so his accent is different, like your granddad comes from Scotland, so he has a different accent to your nan.”She explained.

“Okay.” With her curiosity sated, she walked off again.

“You didn’t correct her.” Sarah grinned.

“What?”

“When she called you ‘Aunty Ellie’ you never corrected her.”

“I didn’t even notice.” Danielle shrugged.

“Well, it suits you.” Sarah grinned. Danielle stared at her worriedly. “What do you need me to bring over?” Rolling her eyes, Danielle pointed to the food they would need.

*

“Okay, that was more delicious than I thought.” Jack conceded as he finished another portion of lasagne. “How are you not the size of a house?”

“Self-control.” Danielle laughed. “How are you not sick?” Jack shrugged.

“And it was not beef?” Jakov looked at the food in front of him.

Danielle shook her head. “Lamb, less chewy.”

“That is actually delicious,” Sarah declared. “I am stealing some.”

“Or I could just give you some.” Danielle laughed.

“That too,” Sarah conceded.

Diana smiled as she looked around the table, “Are any of you going to see your father soon?”

“Jack and I are going after New Years, on our way back from Jack’s parents,” Emma stated.

“We went a couple weeks ago, I will see when I can get up again,” Sarah informed her.

Everyone turned to Tom. “I...I haven’t spoken to him in a while…” There were a few moments of silence.

“Since the summer?” Danielle ventured, seeing no one else was going to ask, though everyone seemed to be thinking it. Tom nodded. “Have you spoken since?” He shook his head. “Well, do something about it.”

“How?”

“You get off your ass and you go to Scotland, obviously.”

“He…”

“Will give you a clip across the ear and then you apologise for embarrassing yourself, your family, your forefathers, your descendants, your pets, neighbours and even your preschool teacher and you get on with life.” Tom gave her a disbelieving look while the others laughed.

“What wiring is wrong in your head to say you say the stuff you do?” Jack shook his head.

“You’re just jealous you are a boring Tyrone shite that only wishes he was as brutally honest as me.” she retorted.

“Language.” Diana admonished.

“He started it.”

“You are the biggest child to ever exist, are you sure you don’t have any siblings?” Emma laughed.

“Nope just learnt all this from your crazy butts.” Danielle looked to Diana, who nodded her approval of Danielle toning down her language. “Why don’t we see if he is free over New Years, I know you wanted to go to see a few of your friends, but I think it would mean more to him if you made the effort to go up and show him you are not as mental as everyone thinks you are.” Tom gave her an unsure look, which Danielle chose to ignore.

“Can I just absorb some of your ability to just say what I am thinking?” Emma asked.

“I can be honest or I can not hurt your feelings, not both, most of the time.” She grinned. “So, get off your ass and ring him.”

“He…”

Danielle shook her head, “Emma, give me your phone,” Emma gave it to her and Danielle typed in the code and the screen unlocked. “Dad or James?”

“Dad.”

“Got it.”

“Elle,” Tom warned.

Danielle ignored him and continued. “Got you,” She pressed the dial button and put the phone to her ear. When a Scottish accent answered she smiled. “Hello, Dr Hiddleston, this is Danielle, I was a bridesmaid at Emma’s wedding.”

“I recall, what can I do for you?”

“I am ringing because Tom is under the impression you are not willing to speak to him, I wish to know if this is true or is he just being dramatic?”

“Is that little tart gone?”

“You mean the American singer?”

“That one.”

“Yep.”

“Is he there?”

“Right next to me, Dr Hiddleston.”

“Put him on, and for Christ’s sake girl, I told you enough times that day, it is James.”

“Sure thing Dr Hiddleston. I hope you had a lovely Christmas, take care and here is your idiot son.” She held the phone out to Tom, who was glaring at her.

Anxiously, Tom took the phone and rose to his feet. “Hello, dad.” He walked from the room talking.

“There, done.”

“Carpe Diam?” Diana smiled.

“More like ‘Carpe Scrotum’.” Danielle laughed as she took a drink of her water to the sounds of laughter around her.

*

“Thank you, I think.” Danielle turned to see Tom behind her.

Danielle faced him properly. “For the record, I would never have forced you to talk to your dad if you didn’t look like it was the one thing you wanted more than anything else in the world, that would not have been fair.” She stated. “I completely understand if you are annoyed with me and want to stay over here tonight. I just don’t want to see you not talk to your dad about something that is over, he is not exactly young. My dad always said to me, that no matter how bad we argue, never leave it longer than a day to say sorry, time doesn’t wait for you to.”

Tom looked at her for a moment. “I was pissed off you did it, but I am glad you did. We spoke for a few minutes, he just didn’t want me ruining everything I have worked so hard for. He mentioned you too.”

“Well, I was the one that called him.”

“He asked why I couldn’t ever see you as a suitable woman, you are, and I quote ‘copped on, intelligent and well able to give me a clip cross the ear’ he impersonated his father’s Scottish accent as he did so.”

“He forgot funny, charismatic and generally awesome,” Danielle laughed. “What did you say to that?”

“I told him I did, and that I convinced you to come to London to me for a few months.”

“Well, there’s his idea that I am copped on and intelligent gone out the window.” She stated solemnly before giggling.

Tom pulled her to him and kissed her as he chuckled too. “He said about fucking time, and that should I find my way to Scotland anytime soon, I am to bring you.”

“Woohoo, very nice. Got both parents on side, I am rocking at this girlfriend thing.” She smiled.

“I think you may have it down indeed Ms Hughes.” He agreed. “By the way,” She looked up at him. “He said to stop calling him Dr Hiddleston.”

“I can’t, it annoys him too much.”

[girlobsessed21]

The 100 6x03 review and predictions

Another magnificent episode. So far, season six has yet to disappoint. It gets more interesting and thought-provoking as we dig. It might just turn out to be my favorite so far.

“We’re from earth, we come in peace.” Clarke takes the lead as her natural proclivity kicks in, while Bellamy barks orders to everyone else on how to behave. This power duo, tried and tested, works. Bellamy and Clarke are like two elements with perfect binding properties that create a vigorous chemical.

We see a black toxin slurring through Murphy’s veins before Russel declares him dead. Bellamy’s face falls; he realizes he’s responsible. And because cockroaches can’t die, there’s a cure for being exposed to seaweed during the red sun. Now, we learn of a new danger that will surely come back into play.

A hideous snake has to be some sort of symbolism. I love all the Biblical references in this show. In season 5, Eden was destroyed forcing our heroes to leave earth. Genesis tells the story of the snake (Satan) causing Adam and Eve’s shun from the garden. Here, that “same snake” gives life. Oh hell no, is our beloved Murphy crossing the veil back to the dark side? My fear for this is strengthened by, “I’m pretty sure I’m going to hell.”

The allusion deepens with the episode’s name and Russel’s mention of the demon Gabriel believing he could walk on water. Gabriel was the angel that delivered the news of Jesus to mother Mary. Demon Gabriel - an oxymoron, so is cold sweat and only choice. Mmmm, I think our sanctum leader is the only evil spirit here. He is shady as hell (no pun intended).

The Blakes

So far, Echo has had no purpose but to end the war between the siblings. Bellamy’s furious and as much as I love Octavia, he has a good reason to be. In the previous episodes, we’ve seen the logic behind her decisions. I understand where she’s coming from, but her wicked side has to be tamed before she can be trusted completely.

There’s an aching need for Bellamy’s approval that comes to show, yet she cannot discard of Bloodreina. This becomes clear when Octavia ignores her brother’s pleas not to engage when they encounter the “outsiders”. I felt for both of them when Bellamy scorned her, but he did that for her own good as well as his people. Here we see “the heart and the head” clearly. No way the heart would have closed that door on his sister. When he tells her, “My sister died a long time ago.” I believe that was him begging her to return to him.

After the incident, Echo offers him some awkward comfort while he sheds a tear. Please, give this character something else to do besides being Bellamy’s lapdog. She used to be a spy, now she’s reverted to a loyal girlfriend with little identity.

Jordan and Delilah

I’m not usually interested in relationships that are sprung onto me within two seconds, but this one is unique. Jordan has never been off the ship and seeing a beautiful girl, whom he has heard no stories of, has his heart bouncing in all directions, obviously. There are chemistry and adoring looks and I’m all for it. That is until I realize Delilah is another name taken from the Old Testament.

Jordan is, in Gollum’s voice, my precious. I want to protect him at all cost. The innocence and purity he radiates is inspiring. At the age of twenty-six, he deserves some good old lovin’. But of course, the girl uses this to trick him into revealing secrets about his people.

Not too sure whether there’s a real connection between them or this was pure betrayal. She still wanted to be with him after the info was retrieved, guess we’ll find out. But that face, when she undresses and crawls on top of him, deserves to be framed.

The primes

I’ve had the suspicion of Clarke becoming a host for Josephine for some time now and this reveal enhanced that idea. So, the founders of the settlement were four families, considered royalty. Russel Lightbourne is still their leader - referring to the previous episode: “Sanctum is mine!” He will do whatever it takes to remain in power. 

A lot of people speculated that Josephine survived since she wrote the book, but I doubt it. Russel, in my opinion, developed some presence manifestation device, such as the flame, to transport their beings from one person to the next. Only those with nightblood of course, which led me to believe this is what the naming ceremony entails. The “chosen ones” are blessed with the spirits of their forefathers.

Russel’s daughter died six years ago, thus no host available for Josephine, making Clarke the perfect candidate. The way he looks at Clarke when he discovers she’s a nightblood revelas a novel’s worth of plans. She’ll co-operate to pledge her loyalty to her new home and protect Madi.

I’m all for this idea and cannot wait to explore the possibilities. Josephine captured my heart in one small flashback, I think she’s gonna be good for Clarke, maybe even help her with the Bellamy situation.

“Princess Clarke, perfect.” Yes, Murphy that is perfect. Here’s to hoping Bellamy calls her that again.

Or she’ll discover the evils of Sanctum through Josephine’s eyes. We’ve seen the love she had for Gabriel, perhaps the girl will show her that they are indeed the good guys.

“There are worse things in this world than eclipse induced psychosis, most of them are outside the shield.” I highly doubt that, I believe their inside. Madi refers to Clarke needing her help, meaning she’s currently in danger, in Sanctum.

Bellarke

When asked if Clarke’s the leader and Bellamy chimes in with, “She is. She can speak for us.” That needed loud applause. The parallel to 5x03, the trust in his co-leader, everything was perfect. And Russel, being no idiot, recognizes their bond immediately. 

Bellamy promises to bring Madi back and Clarke agrees. Their past differences have been pushed aside; she trusts him to take care of her child. The affinity with which they look at each other from afar proves their deep connection. 

The rest of the episode

Raven and Murphy's insults are getting old, can we please move on from this. Clarke, on the other hand, is amazing. Her adversity towards Murphy, reminding him he did bad things too, deserves a pat on the back. The refusal to bow before Russel earns her instant respect. She’s strong, fierce and vibrant and you’ve just got to love her. As well as Sanctum’s breathtaking landscapes, except for the clear atrocity it hides.

Our female lead’s first encounter with a dog was the cutest thing ever and then she descends the steps in a red dress. Clarke (or Eliza Taylor) is gorgeous and I’m willing to bet the blue one will ensure even more dropping jaws, hopefully Bellamy’s as well.

She handles the dinner with Russel with easy diplomacy, which she lacked when confronting Indra about the worms. Until she’s ambushed with her morally grey past. What does one say to this? Ultimately they decide the earthlings are dangerous based on stories they haven’t witnessed firsthand. I guess that’s reasonable.

Just a side note, I haven’t liked Abby for a long time, but her nurturing and pep talks are starting to change my mind. We’ll see how it goes.

On the dropship, we learn about the dark commander, whom we’ve already encountered in the trailer. I can’t place him in a box just yet, need some more information. Madi’s sarcasm towards Diyoza is delightful, seeing as Diyoza is the queen of quip. 

The Colonel’s skills and observations never cease to amaze. That knife throwing accuracy - wow! She is one of my favorite characters and I’ve bought a front-row seat to the Octavia/Diyoza partnership now that they’re both outcasts.

Gabriel’s children seem harmless, albeit weird. They want the old man to return and yell, “Get the prime, get the prime!” Now, I’m assuming they require a nightblood to bring Gabriel back; the reason why they abduct Delilah and Rose, but I can’t figure out the second moon’s function.

Luckily, Clarke takes action and saves Delilah but the outsiders run off with Rose. I wish I could say the rescue mission is the reason Russel is letting them stay, but I believe it’s her blood. He has his eye on her and if that requires salvation for her people, he’d gladly bestow them.

Term and conditions apply. No more of them, which includes Indra who is still in cryo. When will she make her appearance? I miss her. And what will happen to Diyoza’s baby?

To wrap up, I’ve seen a lot of people’s comments on Bellamy’s reluctance towards Echo’s hug at the end. I see him smiling at her? I’d love to hear your thoughts and theories.

[eirianerisdar]

Waiting in the Quiet, Part 6

General Summary: Gren and Amaya, from their first meeting until the end of the first season of The Dragon Prince. Will continue to follow canon events, but as a gremaya AU.

This chapter: Determination, a confession, chains against the dungeon wall, and a letter finally seen in full. Picks up where we left off: Episode 5, An Empty Throne. The mutual pining is strong with this one.

I reference some earlier chapters in this one, so reread those if you’d like a deeper understanding! Also, line breaks aren’t working on tumblr mobile so I put a > for every new section.

Read from chapter 1

Chapter Index

Chapter 6: The Confession

Daybreak found Amaya waiting in the throne room by one of its arched windows.

The rising sun drenched stone floors in gold and limned the scarlet of the processional carpet with gilt thread. The warmth of those rays was a living thing that soothed her exhausted heart, even though she knew it would dissipate as the sun sailed higher above the horizon.

She had found no rest that past night; no counsel except her own, taken by light of guttering candle, while Gren slept soundly in the next chamber.

There were three problems in her hands. 

First, and by far the most important – her nephews, and the Moonshadow elf that had captured them. Corvus could track as silently and swiftly as a lynx; with luck, he would catch up to the boys by mid-morning.

Second, Viren. His haste in arranging Harrow’s funeral spoke volumes of his true intentions; patriot he might be, there was something in his actions that edged a little too close to treason for Amaya’s liking. It would not do to leave him unwatched.

Third, the Breach. Amaya did not doubt her soldiers’ ability to hold the fortress against the forces of Xadia; but should Xadia take the empty throne of Katolis as an opportunity to launch a combined attack, her absence there would be keenly felt. Morale was a fickle thing. It depended on the presence of a leader that every soldier could trust.

Three problems, and she could only be in one place at once.

Amaya sighed. Rested her head against the warm stone of the throne room wall for a moment. The sun was halfway visible over the horizon, now.

She had come to a decision last night, with her head bowed over the flickering light of the candle before her.

Whether the decision would come to anything would greatly depend upon Viren’s actions in the coming few hours; but should he still persist in his veiled, ulterior motives–

–Amaya would have no choice except to leave Gren here, as her eyes and ears.

And therein lay Amaya’s final and most unexpected problem; one she had not anticipated, or perhaps did not wish to admit to herself.

She did not want to leave her commander behind.

Viren remained as wily as a viper, despite their long acquaintance. Amaya had no doubt Gren was as aware of this as she, but all logic aside, should he remain, and Viren strike…

Amaya fought back the shudder that rose up from her gut; an aching, senseless thing of denial.

Gren, her commander and closest friend, and–

And what? The words flickered before her, mockingly. And what more?

Two days ago, she had found him on the battlements of the fortress at the Breach; he had skipped breakfast to write a letter; tucked it away under his bracer with haste when he spotted her.

They had stood and watched each other, as they seemed to do more often in recent months, since she had almost lost Gren on the eve of last Winter’s Turn. For a moment there, she had wondered if the words he meant to say on the battlefield were not I thank you, but rather–

Footsteps vibrated up her armoured boots from the stone floor; a tread she could not hear, but as familiar to her as her own.

The sun was well and truly risen, now; the light crept up her cheeks without warning and dazzled her vision, and she turned, blinking the spots out of her gaze, to find Gren in the shadow of a pillar, blue eyes calm and waiting. His gaze flickered over the sunlight on her cheek, and deepened with an unreadable emotion.

Seeing him there made the ache of their all-too-likely parting well up afresh.

Amaya knew Gren had a lighter tread – he could have stepped right up to her without her notice, but as always he chose to put more force into his steps than usual when he approached from behind; so that she would know he was coming.

He had never said anything.

Neither had Amaya.

But perhaps…perhaps when this was over, they should.

Talk. Of all the things they had never said.

Gren pushed himself off the pillar with a nudge of his shoulder, to free both arms to speak. “Good morning.”

And there was that smile again – a flash of gentle humour despite the earth-shattering events of the past few days.

That smile used to bring warmth like hearthfire; now it made her stomach flip in an inexplicable surge of ice and flame.

“Good morning,” Amaya echoed. Her hand – the same hand that had nearly betrayed her by reaching out for Gren’s sleeping features, beside a campfire only two nights ago – hesitated briefly as she lowered it. It clenched at her side as she fought against the urge to ask what they had no time for.

Gren’s sharp eyes caught the motion. He straightened and raised his hands to speak. There was hope in his gaze, hidden behind the thinnest veil of control.

Oh, Amaya thought numbly, as she watched his fingers slide into the bar of sunlight to form the first word. Perhaps we both wish to ask the same question.

“Amaya,” Gren began, “Do you–”

He broke off as his chin snapped towards the double doors of the throne room.

Amaya swallowed past the painful lump in her throat; quelled the urge to pull him into the shadow of an alcove and say the things they wished to say, where neither of them could miss the truth of the words they held.

Gren gestured to the opposite side of the chamber, and they hastened across the expanse of scarlet cloth, leaving the warmth of the Eastern window for a shadowed pillar. Gren’s head was still cocked to one side as he listened for what Amaya could not hear, but after a moment he nodded once, sharply, and signed, “Viren.”

Amaya watched him, still, and as he met her eyes his shoulders dropped a little out of their automatic tension, eyes softening at the corners.

There were many things that Amaya wished; but sometimes, wishing was all she had.

The heavy double doors opened and closed again, a palpable tremble from the flagstones up to Amaya’s ankles, and she straightened, shoulders back and head held high – the perfect image of a General.

Gren’s head inclined just so. Acceptance. He took a step back and turned towards the centre of the chamber: once more her interpreter.

They fell into their separate roles with familiar ease. The fact that neither of them truly wished it meant little at this moment. There were more important things to handle.

Amaya took a breath, stepped forward, and began to sign.

“Thought I might run into you here.”

Viren turned languidly in place to face them. He looked…good. As though he had the most refreshing night of sleep – as though the kingdom was not in shambles and its princes in the clutches of an Elven assassin.

Amaya clenched her teeth and stared him down, fingers flashing. Gren’s lips moved in the periphery of her vision.

“We need to talk.”

If anything, Viren’s haughtiness seemed to grow further. With one hand he indicated that he was listening, though his expression said anything but. A fox-faced smile – the smile of a man who would let her say her piece and then throw it into the dirt-pile.

It reminded Amaya of the yawning emptiness to her right – her brother-in-law’s throne, bereft of its king and rightful heir. Harrow’s body now lay with his forefathers in the Valley of Graves, a scant day after his passing.

It filled her with incandescent rage.

“How could you let it come to this?”

“You speak as if I invited these assassins,” Viren said, dropping one arm out from behind his back as though in readiness to strike.

Oh, she would like to see him try. “I had to leave our stronghold at the Breach,” she continued. “Do you have any idea,” – she emphasised the word by the set of her shoulders – “the dangerous forces gathered at our border?”

“I did everything in my power to protect King Harrow. I was willing to give my own life!” Viren countered. There was a thinned quality to the shapes of his lips that suggested his control had slipped enough to raise his voice.

“Then what went wrong?” Amaya challenged.

“He did.” Viren threw out an arm towards the empty throne, with such vehemence that Amaya could almost see the shadow of a silver dagger that would have pierced the uneven towers of the tapestry behind it.

Viren was not done. His lips were curling in what must be a true shout, now. “His own stubborn ways stopped me from helping him. You know him as well as I do. His pride was more important to him than his life!”

Your pride is your life, Amaya wanted to say. But she reined back the words.

“You wanted this outcome,” she accused instead. Gren’s presence was solid behind her shoulder; she felt him lean forward to convey her exact meaning.

Instantly, she could see she had pushed too far. Or perhaps just right, like the keen blade of a sword-thrust right past Viren’s veiled armour and directly into his heart of hearts.

Viren’s eyes flashed. “How dare you suggest–”

Something twisted in Amaya’s stomach, vicious. Got you.

Oh, she was not done, not in the slightest. She pushed on with calculated severity. “His death creates opportunity for you.”

“His death breaks my heart,” Viren said, lips bared. Anger. Offense.

To one who only knew him in passing, that anger might be taken as sheer incredulity that anyone would accuse him of exploiting his old friend’s assassination; to any who knew him well, his anger was just what it was. Rage. Pride. Hurt, but perhaps not the kind that stemmed from being wronged.

Amaya laid her trap, then; a test of candor, a trial that might determine if Viren truly was the snake she suspected.

“Then honour him. Find his children.”

His chest expanded as he sucked in a breath to fuel his next words. “They’re gone, Amaya. Captured by a Moonshadow elf.”

He looked, in that moment, almost like a grieving uncle.

Almost.

Amaya was once again reminded that it was a good thing she withheld Corvus’s mission from him.

Viren was not done. “If they’re not already dead, they will be soon.” His sceptre slammed into the floor in a jolt that ran up Amaya’s greaves. “This is a time of crisis,” he continued, turning to move up towards the dias and the throne upon it.

Amaya’s eyes narrowed. If Viren were to show even an ounce of intent to sit upon that seat…

But her thoughts were left unfounded. Viren brushed the fingers of one hand over one worn armrest, and said, “An empty throne is beacon of weakness. An invitation to destroy us.”

So are many other things, Amaya privately thought. Missing princes. A fortress without its general. The cruel ambition of a kingdom’s chief advisor and sorcerer.

“We must defend Katolis and all the human kingdoms against what’s coming.” Viren gestured at the throne. “I can help us from there.”

Amaya shook her head once.

Astoundingly, Viren was not done. 

“You think I’m being an opportunist, but I couldn’t be more selfless in my motivation. I am a servant of Katolis. A servant!” He brought down his sceptre on that last word, a jarring, metallic jolt through Amaya’s ankles – like a judge with a gavel, or a king’s announcer.

Viren was neither.

But here there was something strange, in Viren’s choice of words; a twisting of his expression as he spoke those latter words, old pain and dissatisfaction and bitterness, which morphed the shape of his words into snarls.

A moment, where Amaya watched Viren breathe, as she calmly moved her hands, fluid and unyielding.

“Those are awfully nice clothes for a humble servant, Viren.” Amaya could sense Gren’s cocky grin as he finished the sentence. It comforted her, here where Katolis hung in the balance between her and Viren’s wills.

Something flashed in Viren’s gaze, still and dark and unreadable. Then he did something unexpected – he stood aside and inclined his head.

“Then you take it. Go ahead, sit down. I’ll support you as queen regent.”

For a moment there, Amaya wondered. There was no possibility of her taking the throne, of course, but to offer it like so was beyond what she had expected of Viren. Was he, misguided in his efforts as he was, truly thinking of Katolis and her people?

Viren’s next words took that possibility and threw it out the window as neatly as one of her famous front kicks.

“I’ll gather the High Council, and we’ll send word to the other crowns of the Pentarchy immediately.”

He expected her to say yes.

Because that was what Viren would have done.

Amaya sank further into her stance. Narrowed her eyes into slits. She would not take her brother-in-law’s throne, and her nephew’s by inheritance.

Sarai would have had just the thing to say; assisted Amaya, even, in heaving Viren bodily out of a window.

Oh, she missed her sister so, so much.

Anger steadied her hands as she replied, “The throne stays empty until we find the boys.”

The darkness in Viren’s eyes became less unreadable, at that. He opened his mouth in a soundless snarl and stalked down from the dias, taking care to slam the sharp edge of his sceptre head into Gren’s unarmoured chest as he shoved between them.

Amaya spared Gren a glance, and watched as Viren threw open the doors and faded down the corridor.

And then it was simply the throne room Amaya knew so well, without Viren’s polluting presence in it.

Two breaths, slow and even; Amaya closed her eyes briefly, and then reached out to splay a gentle hand on Gren’s front, where a dent in leather marked the spot where sharp silver dug into his sternum.

The steady movement of Gren’s breathing hitched as her fingers brushed his chest.

Amaya was instantly alert; if such a soft touch was enough to cause pain, then Viren must have struck him with much more force than she thought–

But Gren only reached up to grasp her hand where it was pressed into his sternum. The steady rhythm of his heart thudded against her fingers, even through reinforced leather and thick riding gloves.

“I’m fine,” he said with his lips, the shapes familiar. “It doesn’t hurt.”

There was truth in his eyes.

But standing there with her fingers against the flow of his heart, she could only remember the sheer desperation that slammed through hers when she felt nothing but still and cold leather under her touch, on the battlefield last Winter’s Turn.

She had seen him fall – the lightning strike that cleaved through him from shoulder to foot. Her mad scramble to him then and the desperate pressure of her hands against his chest to beat his heart back to life was no more than a memory; but now, even with evidence of his life pressed against her palm she remembered what it was like to feel no pulse, no warmth, and no Gren there.

And now she might have no choice but to send him to do what she could not.

Amaya fought the shudder when it came.

Gren was looking at her with that expression that he sometimes wore, that in recent times made her wonder at the depth of emotion in his quiet blue eyes.

She slipped her hand out from between his fingers and his tunic. He let her go without complaint.

Amaya looked past Gren to the window, where the morning light had settled to a pale, wintry shine; the light filtered over her hands, weightless.

“I need to speak to my sister.”

>They rode together down to the Valley of Graves, side-by-side, wordless.

Their horses were familiar enough with them to likely have continued onwards if they chose to slacken their reins, but neither did; there was a comfort and ease in their companionship that went beyond the need to speak.

Gren’s spirits lifted slightly despite the earlier clash with Viren; riding with Amaya like this reminded him of the earlier years of their friendship, riding out together through the wildlands at the border, before Queen Sarai’s passing.

And there, digging into his wrist between his bracer and long-sleeved tunic, was a letter.

The letter he had finished writing two days ago on the battlements on the fortress at the Breach; the letter that he had tucked under his bracer when Amaya sought him there, and which he had carried with him all the way here when the urgent summons from King Harrow came.

The letter that was addressed Amaya – in the event of my death.

Not that he thought there were any after his blood – but after waking on the frozen battlefield of last Winter’s Turn with Amaya’s hitching sobs at his side and his ribs aching from the press of her hands that had restarted his heart, he had thought it would do to be better prepared.

The wind picked up. Gren breathed in the fresh air and shook his head; the letter might be under his bracer, but there was no cause to give it to Amaya yet.

Their horses’ hooves trotted at a steady pace through the forest and canyon, to the edge of the small lake guarded on all sides by statues of past kings and queens. The thunder of the distant waterfall was a soothing, steady drumbeat where Katolis itself was in turmoil.

There, the final guard to the stone platform for funeral rites and the graves of kings by the shore, stood Queen Sarai’s monument. Her smiling likeness was captured forever in stone, on horseback and in full armour, one hand grasping her spear and the other extended in gentle grace. 

Gren always thought it was as though she extended her love and sympathy to each mourner who chose to visit the valley – offering to take their hand and lead them through the canyon and forest to the welcoming lights of home.

Amaya’s horse snorted as she dismounted. Gren followed suit, but stood back as he did on the morning after the queen’s funeral, when they had ridden here with raw hearts and fresh grief.

Then, Amaya had spoken to her sister, and then extended a hand to Gren much like her sister above; the two of them had rested together in Sarai’s presence until grief became hope.

Now, Gren settled a few paces away as Amaya looked up into her sister’s gentle features and signed, “Hello, sister.”

Amaya’s armour shifted audibly as she knelt. Even now, at mid-morning, there were candles flickering at the foot of Sarai’s grave; the people of Katolis loved their queen as they did their king.

Gren watched as Amaya lit a fresh candle with another, bowed her head, and began to sign. His heart wrenched as she spoke; the shapes of her words had always been lovely to him, but there was a tenderness and grace to them as she spoke to her sister that turned the dance of her hands heart-achingly beautiful.

“You were my hero,” Amaya said, and Gren knew from the angle of her head and the drop in her shoulders that her grief was still there, welling up afresh. “Perfect, strong, and unbreakable. Kind and loyal. I’m sorry, older sister. I failed you. Your children were safe and I let them slip away.”

Gren closed his eyes as he raised his face to the queen. The princes’ capture was in part his fault, as well, and there was no denying it; he breathed a silent promise to Queen Sarai that he would do his part in returning her children. His heart ached for them all; the late Queen, gone so young, the King taken for his country, the princes who even now were held in the deadly grasp of Moonshadow elves.

His general, whom he loved so much, who could lose the last family she had left.

Behind him, a horse’s neigh echoed down the canyon. Gren half-turned, eyes sharp, to find a familiar figure approaching.

Lord Viren had none of the fiery discontent he had in his gaze an hour previous; he moved past Gren without meeting his eyes, focused instead on Amaya’s still-kneeling form.

Gren let him pass, the spot on his sternum where Viren’s sceptre had dug into his skin tingling. His hands loosened at his sides, though for what he did not wonder; there was no possibility of winning any fight against Viren, but that did not mean Gren could not prepare for it.

He followed Viren’s every move with wary caution. If the man showed even a subtle indication he meant ill, Gren would know.

But Viren did nothing but step forward until the impact of his sceptre against the ground reached Amaya’s knees; she raised her head and looked up at him.

His voice was soft. Remorseful. “May I light a candle?”

Gren could see the moment Amaya decided to put aside their differences. Her lips curved as her eyes softened, and she looked so much like her sister in that moment that Gren almost looked away.

Viren knelt beside her and reached for a candle, and Gren loosed a breath. His hands returned to the small of his back.

This was a moment of quiet truce, and he would not interrupt it.

When a span of time passed, Amaya got to her feet and stepped back. Viren rose after her, smiled up at the late queen with fond memory.

“Your sister made him better,” he said, and for a moment he looked as he must have as a young man, best friends with the crown prince of Katolis; for all intents and purposes almost a spare, sworn to the service of the crown. “Harrow told me he was never as strong or brave as Queen Sarai believed him to be, but he tried every day to be stronger and braver so he could live up to what she saw in him.”

A small smile tugged at Gren’s lips, despite himself. Viren’s words struck deeper than Gren expected; the praise of a loved one had a way of bringing out one’s determination to grow, to rise to that regard.

He knew because Amaya so valued his friendship. And he valued her beyond that, even.

A beautiful thing, to love.

Amaya’s hands moved in the corner of his vision, and his eyes slid to her hands like centering of his self.

“She was compassionate and patient.” Fond memory rose as he read her next words. “Unless, of course, you took the last jelly tart.”

Viren chuckled. “I only made that mistake once.”

Gren remembered the consequences of his own mistake well enough; Sarai had chased him through the halls and nearly to the castle bridge the one time he had taken the last jelly tart at breakfast, his first time visiting the royal family in his early days as Amaya’s interpreter.

They had called a truce and broken the jelly tart in half, and Amaya’s laughter, when they returned, had been reward enough for the sheer fear Gren had experienced at Sarai’s hands.

Amaya’s laughter now was a light, soft thing that eased a knot of worry in Gren’s chest.

“A sweet tooth and an iron fist.”

Viren inclined his head, contrite. “General Amaya, I am sorry for what happened in the throne room. You helped me see the truth.”

Amaya’s head tilted.

“And why was that so hard?”

Viren moved forward. “I was blinded by my abiding love for our kingdom and humanity itself.”

And well, if that wasn’t evidence for Viren’s propensity for hyperbole.

Gren raised an eyebrow, but Amaya’s fingers were already flicking with sharp wit.

“Guard, fetch a stable boy, quickly,” he interpreted, leaning eagerly into her implied tone and staring Viren down. “I’ve encountered a giant pile of bull–” Gren’s eyes widened slightly at Amaya’s last word, even as he failed to suppress a grin. “–droppings,” he amended, eyes sliding from Amaya to Viren and away again to avoid the consequences of smirking perhaps a little too obviously.

But Amaya was smirking as well, so perhaps it wasn’t too bad.

Oh, Gren loved her so much.

Viren breathed a laugh. “The princes come first,” he admitted. “Finding them is absolutely the top priority of the kingdom of Katolis.”

“Good, you see it my way,” Amaya said, and Gren noticed as he spoke for her that she seemed almost relieved. “I’ll be departing at sundown with a rescue party.”

Even as Gren finished the sentence, he became aware that the relief was not entirely for the princes. It was more obvious in the way she gestured at him to follow with a subtle flick of her fingers at her side as she turned.

But he had no time to wonder at it, for a voice sounded over his shoulder, and his hands moved automatically to translate.

“Of course,” Viren said, all ease. “But allow me to ask: What happens to the Breach?”

Amaya stopped mid-stride, eyes fixed on Gren’s hands. As she turned in place her eyes met his in a look of shared understanding.

It had been too good to be true.

Viren barely waited until Amaya faced him before continuing, the words coming fast and ruthlessly logical. “You said yourself how precarious the situation is. Without you there commanding the fortress, do you believe, in your heart, that the border will hold?”

Gren’s scrutiny slid from Viren to Amaya, and found her holding her chin high, tight-lipped.

Oh.

So she had already given the matter thought. And in this, she could not disagree.

“Make your point.”

Viren’s eyes glittered. “If the Breach falls, the enemy will surge into Katolis, and I can hardly imagine the death and destruction that will follow.”

Amaya’s face remained closed.

“Then what are you suggesting?”

Gren knew Viren’s answer even before he finished speaking.

“You return to the border, hold it fast. It’s where you’re needed most,” Viren said – and the worst thing about it was that he was right, to some extent. “A party of our best will be dispatched immediately to find the princes.”

Amaya’s jaw tightened under the sweep of her fringe past her left cheekbone.

Gren shifted into readiness as Viren approached.

“And in case you still doubt my intentions, I will task my own children, Soren and Claudia, with leading the rescue expedition,” Viren concluded.

It was an impressive offer.

Gren didn’t think it amounted to much. Amaya apparently didn’t think so either, because she stepped into Viren’s circle of space and nudged him hard in the chest with a pointed finger.

“I do doubt your intentions. I will return to the breach, but your children won’t lead the rescue.”

Gren narrowed his eyes as he spoke; Amaya’s choice of words means that she had decided on another course of action.

Amaya’s hands moved on, sure, steady.

“The mission will be assigned to…” Gren stopped, as meaning caught up with the shape of Amaya’s fingers. “Commander Gren,” he stumbled, after a pause, eyes widening in question as Amaya looked at him with an expression that said yes, you didn’t read that wrong.

What.

In his surprise, he did what he had not done in years; continued to stammer where he had learnt to shut up and finish off. “That’s– that’s me,” he spluttered. “I– I am Commander Gren.”

He probably looked a lot younger and a lot less bright than he meant to, saying that. He fought back the blush that threatened to rise in his cheeks and ears, too – it had been years since had flushed in public, for Katolis’s sake!

Viren looked askance at him as though gauging his worth and finding him lacking, but agreed to it nonetheless and headed towards the waiting horses.

In the perfect silence after his departure, Gren looked at Amaya and waited.

Surprisingly, Amaya wasn’t smiling; she was looking at him with something so much like dread that it Gren felt his stomach drop.

“Amaya?” he said, using his hands so Viren would not hear.

>It had been a long time since Amaya had felt such trepidation. Seeing her nephews in the clutches of that Moonshadow elf had been different. There had been things she could have done then.

There was nothing she could do now; she had to leave Gren here, as she had known was a possibility. It was a consequence of their vows of service to Katolis, Viren’s ulterior motives, and the fact that of all the people who remained alive in the world, there were none whom Amaya trusted more than Gren.

And none she could not bear to part with as much as he.

She tilted her head in the direction of the kings’ graves, partly to pay Harrow the respects he was due, and partly to delay the conversation and think on her words. 

The King’s grave was of white marble, freshly hewn; Amaya and Gren bowed their heads as one.

When they rose, the sun had ascended to its zenith. The two of them hardly threw any shadows, now; drenched in sunlight, there was nothing Amaya could do to hide.

Halfway back to the horses, Amaya paused. Raised her head to meet Gren’s gaze.

“Be careful,” she began. “Watch him. We can’t be sure what he intends.” There. She has phrased it in such a way that it is – that is to say, it is not about–

Gren’s eyes soften at the corners. “You knew this might happen,” he said. There was nothing accusing in the angle of his chin or in the earnestness of his expression.

Amaya almost wished there was. The fact that he stood before her utterly accepting of the double task she had laid on his shoulders somehow made it worse.

“You are…” Amaya tried. Stopped.

Gren waited.

“I can’t withdraw you from this mission simply because I–” Amaya’s hands stuttered over the next word, re-formed another. “Simply because you’re you.”

Gren’s chest rose and fell. He was looking at her with an expression that held both understanding and hope.

Amaya reached out and took his hand, and he stared down at it and back up again, the hope in his eyes visibly coalescing into something like disbelief.

“Gren,” she said, releasing him momentarily to speak, “After you find the boys, and return to the Breach, I think we should talk.” She paused, weighed her next words. “I think I can guess the words you want to say. And I have something to say in return.”

She threaded her fingers through Gren’s again, her fingers incredibly sensitive even through her gloves; Amaya forced herself to look away from their clasped hands and into Gren’s face instead.

Gren was still staring down at her. Sometimes she forgot, because he stood to the side behind her so much when he interpreted, that he was taller than her.

His free hand moved.

“I’d like that,” he replied. Raw emotion hovered behind his lips; he looked very close to exuberant joy.

Amaya nodded once, and forced herself to take the first step towards the horses, pulling Gren beside her with their still-woven fingers; she knew if she stepped towards him she would never be able to stick to her decision to make him stay and be her eyes and ears.

Their hands remained clasped tight the entire ride back to the citadel; the first and the last of a familiar hold, sword-callouses against ink-stains.

In the courtyard they parted, fingers slipping over each other and reaching out again for that lost warmth even as they edged their horses further apart and dismounted.

>Dusk drew ochre veils across the citadel.

The reddish light of the setting sun on the battlements mimicked the fiery glow of the Breach; Gren spared the sky a small smile as he crossed the courtyard.

He surveyed the soldiers arrayed in the courtyard. Most were already mounted and ready for the ride back to the Breach, but two remained on foot, spears in their hands – they would ride out under Gren’s command after the others departed.

The two foot-soldiers saluted him, hands to their chests, and Gren acknowledged them with a nod.

Amaya’s distinctive armoured footsteps approached from his left, accompanied by the clip-clop of her war horse, and Gren stood back and dipped his head in greeting. They shared a single, steady look, one that edged their smiles with further warmth, before facing Gren’s soldiers to issue last orders.

Gren fell easily back into interpreting as Amaya began.

“I’ve sent word to Corvus that King Harrow has passed.”

One of the soldiers nodded and stepped forward. “Is Lord Viren aware that Corvus has been tracking the princes?”

Amaya shook her head.

“No,” she signed, and stepped closer to Gren to look at him in equal part as he spoke her words. “Do not trust Viren. It may be a month from now, it may be a year, but he will stab you in the back.”

The words were supposed to be advice to their soldiers, but there was a ferocity in the way Amaya stared into Gren’s face as she finished the sentence that belied the true target.

Amaya turned that heated gaze to the two again, and Gren knew she was giving them one more order without having Gren speak: Protect Commander Gren.

A sharp nod from both helmeted heads. They were both veterans of the Standing Battalion, these two; they understood well enough.

But there was still a tension in Amaya’s shoulders that only those who knew her best could see. So Gren leant into her peripheral vision to make only promise he could give.

“I’ll be careful,” he said. 

And he would have said more, if she did not turn to him with the fluid grace of a trained warrior and press a single gloved finger to his lips.

The words stuck in Gren’s chest, somewhere around his hammering heart. He stared at the way Amaya’s lips softened into a smile, as if acknowledging his move.

He raised his eyes to meet hers, and her smile softened further.

She drew back her hand to speak. He felt the absence like an echo of warmth.

Amaya held his gaze captive as she spoke, hands close to her chest and high enough that he found himself drinking in both her face and her hands. “Gren, I trust you,” she said. “You have been my voice, and now I need you to be my will and find the boys.”

He looked at her and thought, belatedly, how miraculous it was there was still a word that could describe her now, with the setting sun edging the shapes of her words in amber and dusting her dark eyes with gold.

Amaya.

Gren pressed a hand to his chest and bowed. He could not say what he wanted to, but he hoped that this would convey even a little of it: an offering of his heart, his fealty, and even his life, should it come to that.

As he straightened she was already reaching up for his shoulders to pull him into an embrace, and he knew as he felt her bury her face in his shoulder that she understood, if only in part.

He hugged her back with as much restrained ferocity as he dared, here before so many eyes; his hands slipped behind her shield to cross against her back. There was always an element of surprise at the ease with which she fitted in his embrace – a general with unparalleled strength who was willing to acknowledge that she had to stretch to wrap both arms around him while his breaths ruffled her hair.

Gren closed his eyes against the sunset, the citadel and the fading light, and stretched out this moment as long as he could.

But all too soon her hold loosened, and he straightened the same time she did, hands loose upon his shoulders and her side.

She smiled at him – an expression of trust, and fondness, and hope – and strode away.

The ephemeral weight of her hands on his shoulders remained, and gave Gren fortitude enough to return her smile, tilting his head a little as if to say, Good luck.

She paused by her horse, eyes brushing over his face and his freckles as though committing him to memory, and swung herself into the saddle.

Two silhouettes appeared to Gren’s right. Viren and his son Soren approached, casting long shadows in the waning light.

Amaya’s face set into cool command. Her fingers rose, blade-like in precision, and Gren straightened to speak.

“I expect to be notified when the princes are found. And safe.”

Gren closed his eyes and inclined his head as Amaya nudged her horse in a turn around the three of them, to face the archway to the bridge.

“I’ll send word to the Breach immediately,” Viren was saying, but Gren, as he raised his head, only looked up at his general.

And Amaya’s gaze, though she nodded in acknowledgement, rested on her commander.

A horse’s clear cry as Amaya kneed her battle-charger into a rearing gallop, and the thunder of hooves on flagstones echoed through the archway and curved around the corner, and Amaya and her soldiers were gone.

Gren looked after them for a long moment, willing himself to center. He forced his hands to remain loose where they were clasped at his back.

“Oh, Gren?”

Soren’s voice was clear enough; Gren’s eyes slid to his right to look at the younger man – boy, really – and mused, in the split second before Soren continued, that Soren had not changed much at all in the years since Gren had first met him. A boy who worshiped his father, even if perhaps his father did not value it. Gren almost felt sorry for him in that regard.

“Bad news,” Soren said, voice dipping into a drawl. “There’s been a change of plans.”

The words crashed down onto Gren’s shoulders like battle adrenaline, diplomat as he was. He felt the sheathed dagger in his boot dig into the side of his calf as he spun to look at Viren and his son.

Viren was smirking.

“What are you talking about?” Gren said, sharply. He turned to Viren. “What is he talking about?”

Viren was the one to answer. “Oh, I’ve decided you’re off the mission,” he said, voice like silk-smoothed wine. “Soren will lead the rescue expedition.”

Gren stared at Viren’s crocodile smile and Soren’s my-father-gave-me-an-important-mission nod, and Gren’s jaw slackened.

“What? General Amaya was very specific that I was to lead this!” Somewhere in the middle of that sentence his shock had been overtaken by sheer incredulity – he felt his eyes tighten at he corners as he leant into his protest.

Viren had the expression of a mountain lynx that had caught a particularly fat prey. “Oh, perhaps there was a misunderstanding?” he said, voice liltingly, placatingly calm, like a father explaining something obvious to a small and very stupid child. “Soren, set up a meeting for Commander Gren and I to…discuss his concerns.”

Soren nodded and grinned, and Gren wondered detachedly whether the young man had any idea how his father was using him.

Viren paused halfway into the tower entrance. “Somewhere quiet,” he added. “Say, around nine?”

Only years as a diplomat kept Gren’s eyes from widening and his hands from forming fists.

That was a coded order if he ever heard one.

He let his shoulders drop. “Yes, very good,” he said, even as the fingers of his left hand curled into signals at his side. “Nine…suits my schedule.”

Every part of his head was screaming at him to turn and check whether the two members of the Standing Battalion stood a little ways away had seen his signal, but he forced himself to keep his head down, dejected, harmless.

He heard one soldier excuse herself, the sound of her armoured boots clicking casually against the flagstones. She was headed for the stables, no doubt to race after Amaya and her platoon.

Gren’s relief at that was short-lived.

Soren’s eyes flashed once – a fool for his father, people might whisper behind his back, but an idiot he was not – and his hands lanced out viper-swift for Gren’s wrist and neck.

Gren twisted away, shouting, and heard over the drumbeat of blood in his ears the clatter of a falling spear as members of Soren’s guard tackled Gren’s two soldiers to the ground. The cry of the soldier who had gone for the stables accompanied the crack of her helmet against stone. 

Gren’s fingers had found the dagger in his boot, though he rebelled at the thought of using it – not against Soren, barely eighteen, and a family friend of the royal house of Katolis since his birth.

Soren looked at Gren’s dagger, smirked in an incredibly accurate imitation of his father, and drew his sword.

And Gren, for all the self-defense lessons Amaya had given him, never had a chance.

He fought like a cornered animal anyway.

The dagger was ripped from his hand. Gren took advantage of the fact that Soren meant to capture and not kill by sinking his teeth into the underside of Soren’s arm, where the bracer did not protect him. Soren howled and dropped his sword, and Gren grabbed Soren’s head of perfectly-shaped blonde hair and yanked as hard as he could.

Soren’s screech was immensely satisfying, but the blow to Gren’s solar plexus was not.

All the air in his lungs left him at once.

Soren’s hand grasped Gren’s shoulder and slammed him bodily into the ground.

Gren choked in a breath.

“Amaya,” he croaked. The sound was lost in Soren’s very vocal whoop of victory.

“Amaya,” Gren tried again. “Amaya!” he shouted, a full-throated yell that sent the birds that had returned to their roosts rising off the battlements in a cacophony of shrieking protest.

There was no way she could hear him. Not even those with her, surely out of the citadel and well across the bridge now.

Gren shouted anyway.

A hand clasped over his mouth, and no matter how Gren scratched and bit and writhed, more arms and legs pressed him down until rough hands pulled his arms behind him and fastened cold iron against his wrists.

He stopped struggling, then. To continue would risk injuring his hands.

They hauled him away – his two soldiers to the common dungeons, but Gren blindfolded, through familiar echoes and then unfamiliar, through passageways and down circle after circle of stone steps until the chains at his wrists were exchanged for different ones, heavier, thicker.

Gren winced as Soren ripped off his blindfold, revealing a windowless chamber bathed in murky blue light.

“Hey, Gren, it’s not personal,” Soren said jovially, as he tossed the blindfold over his shoulder. “No hard feelings?”

Gren stared at him.

Soren shrugged. “Eh. Your choice.” His armour clanked obnoxiously as he disappeared up the spiral stars.

Gren swallowed.

The chamber was still.

Bookshelves. Strange artifacts, fire-pokers and blacksmith’s tools lined up against the wall; luminescent blue crystals, the light of which overwhelmed what scant pools of yellow light given by thin candles. Strange objects covered with cloth, chains dangling from the ceiling, and all manner of preserved animals frozen with snarls on their faces.

The silence of the chamber was almost oppressive; not a breath of wind, a mustiness to the air that spoke of somewhere either deep underground or very much hidden.

And worse…

Gren craned his neck back to look at his hands. They swayed above him, held with manacles clasped around his wrists, where his bracers met his skin. A chain stretched up above each shackle to the wall, where the chains ran into hidden recesses.

Gren jangled the chains experimentally. They barely moved, heavy and solid.

Sound seemed to thin to his left, which suggested a doorway; Gren heaved against the chains as much as he could to twist his neck and look over his shoulder.

Darkness loomed beyond the archway, so still and silent that Gren swallowed and settle back to stand against the wall.

The chains.

The chains were going to be a problem.

For the moment, it was manageable; Gren could shift his wrists a little in the iron bonds, alternate the spread of weight on the heels of his hands. The wall was solid enough to lean upon.

The true danger would come should his feet grow tired, or if he needed to sleep. Then, the whole weight of his armour and body would strain on the join between his wrist and his hands, bruising in places and leaving others bereft of blood.

Gren’s heart kicked into a racing rhythm as he considered the very real possibility that he might lose his hands.

Amaya.

Already, his shoulders had begun to ache, and his fingers tingled from the struggle of pumping blood up to his fingertips; His wrists were icy and hot at once against the rough rust of their bindings.

Gren took a breath.

He straightened his shoulders deliberately; planted his feet even and sure on the stone floor, leant as much of his weight as he dared on the wall behind him.

And he waited.

It didn’t matter how long. He was good at it.

>Viren’s face, when he appeared, was all affability.

“Ah,” he breathed. “Five past nine. I apologise for my tardiness.”

Head lowered, one foot propped up against the wall – if he had to put up a show, he would – Gren considered his options, and decided a little sarcasm wouldn’t go amiss.

“It was only five minutes,” he stated, perfectly evenly.

Viren nodded as he approached, a pleased smile on his features. “What are your concerns?”

And there was that tone again – the one used for an insufferable lesser being one had to listen to.

“Well.” Gren cleared his throat, tamped down on the urge to growl. “You took me off the mission,” he said, conversationally.

“Hmm. Noted. Go on.”

“And,” Gren continued, with slight aggravation, “You threw me in this dungeon.”

“Ah, I see,” Viren said, looking quite contrite. “Anything else?”

Your filthy hands and your traitorous heart, Gren wanted to say.

But that would get him no information.

“Uh, no,” he said instead. “But…no. I guess those are the main two.” 

Viren had the gall to press a hand to his chest and incline his head formally. “Thank you. Your feedback is a gift.”

Gren’s eyes sharpened, and he might have loosened his tongue to say more, should Viren’s daughter not have leant into the room at the far archway.

“Father, it’s about our other prisoner.”

Viren looked at Claudia a moment, and strode after her without a word.

Gren rearranged his posture to take the strain off his wrists. Mused on this new bit of information.

Other prisoner.

Intriguing.

But as the hours lengthened, Gren’s mind turned increasingly more to the pain in his shoulders and the ache in his wrists, back and legs.

His letter to Amaya was a hard wedge of parchment across the back of his forearm, under his bracer. He focused on that to the exclusion of all else.

Don’t fall asleep, Gren told himself.

Don’t fall asleep.

Don’t fall asleep…

>The stamping of boots against stone jolted Gren to full awareness. He had not been truly asleep – his hands and wrists would have been in agony if he was – but he had been resting more weight on his bindings than he liked.

He straightened, shaking himself awake, and forced his fists to open and shut ten times in quick succession, wincing at the burn of returning blood.

Surprisingly, it was not Soren who descended the stone steps, but a young-faced guard with amber eyes and a sweep of messy hair, dressed in the plain armour of the palace guard.

Gren scrutinized the guard’s features a moment longer before recognition settled in. 

One of the Home Guard’s newest recruits, graduated in the Spring. What was his name again – Marcos.

“Good morning, Marcos,” Gren said genially, and the young man jolted so badly he nearly upset the tray of gruel and water in his hands.

Marcos’s eyes snapped to Gren’s. “I’m not supposed to talk to you, sir,” he whispered, almost mouthing the words in his effort to be quiet.

Sir. That was a good sign. Gren tilted his head. “So I gather it is morning?”

Marcos did not reply, but placed the tray to the side and stepped out of Gren’s line of vision; a moment later, Gren’s chains lengthened enough that his arms, though still bound, dropped completely to his sides.

Gren half-collapsed to the floor, knees, feet, and everything from shoulder to fingertips aching.

Armoured boots slid into his field of vision again and placed a wide chamberpot in front of him.

Gren looked at it and groaned. At least Marcos looked away as he did what he needed to.

The chamberpot was pulled away, and the tray placed in front of Gren. Marcos’s hand indicated the bowl and pitcher.

Gren rubbed his wrists once more, and set to eating. The gruel was thin and watery and the water had a metallic aftertaste, but it was food and he was not about to waste it. As he ate, he stole surreptitious glances at the guard.

Marcos had moved a few paces away towards the spiral stair, as if by standing as close to it as possible he could prove to any who chose to enter that he was not speaking to the prisoner at all, oh no.

“Thanks for the food,” Gren began, conversationally. “Has any work been done to find the princes?”

Marcos startled, and his eyes slid to meet Gren’s momentarily before snapping back to the opposite wall. “Not supposed to talk to you, sir,” he repeated.

Gren paused. “Well, I’m sure a smart person like you can find a way around it.”

It took a moment, but Marcos shook his head, carefully.

“So Soren hasn’t ridden out yet.”

Marcos shook his head again, no more than a single sideways jerk of his chin.

Gren finished up his breakfast. As Marcos stepped over to him to pick up the tray, Gren’s hand darted out and clasped around the younger man’s wrist.

Gren sighed inwardly as he took in the shock and raw fear on Marcos’s face. “Calm down,” he said, quietly. “I need you see a message sent to the Breach for me.”

Marcos shook his head so vehemently that his armour plates clanked together.

Gren wondered for a moment at the young guard’s thoughts. Gren’s other hand was unoccupied, and the chain running from it was long enough to pool over the floor by their feet – and so long enough to wrap around Marcos’s neck, if he wished.

Of course, it wasn’t as if Gren would do such a thing, but the fact that Marcos hadn’t thought about it probably meant that Viren thought his life expendable.

What had Viren expected? Had he sent this young and green guard down to Gren as if saying, You can take the sword at his side if you wish to. Just kill him?

“Marcos, this is for Katolis,” Gren sighed.

Marcos’s cheeks darkened with colour, and he had the grace to look ashamed. But it seemed that shame was enough to push him to speak, at least. “I don’t have the key,” he murmured.

“I don’t need you to release me,” Gren whispered, urgently. “I need word sent to General Amaya.”

“Even if I wished–” Marcos’s eyes slid away. “Lord Viren has a chokehold on all letters in and out of the citadel,” he said. “I won’t get away, or any other rider.”

Gren released Marcos’s wrist, and the younger man stumbled back, rubbing at his left bracer.

“I’m sure you can think of something,” Gren said, as Marcos gathered the tray.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Marcos mumbled, stepping around him to tighten the chains, this time feeding them through a wooden board over his head so they were even tighter than before; Gren grimaced as the strain on his shoulders and wrists flared anew.

“Please,” Gren said, and Marcos’s eyes flashed to his and away again.

“I’m sorry, sir, orders,” Marcos repeated. “I’m sorry. I can’t talk to you.”

And then he was gone, and nothing remained except the burning in Gren’s wrists, the numbness of his fingers and the fog of exhaustion that threatened to claim him.

>Viren came and went.

Gren found it harder and harder to stand. There were short reprieves every morning and evening – or so he assumed those were the times Marcos came with food – but the guard refused to speak to him, everything in the set of his shoulders showing fear of retribution. But he let Gren nap for ten-minute stretches every meal, at least.

The only thing that took Gren’s mind off the struggle to preserve his hands was the fact that he soon figured out the other prisoner down the corridor ahead was a Moonshadow elf – and not just any one.

King Harrow had died by this elf’s hand.

But from the echoes of speech that Gren could hear whenever Viren visited the elf, Viren was less concerned that this was the murderer of his best friend and more occupied with prying for magical information – something about a mirror.

Gren frowned.

Viren’s complete apathy made sense. The rest did not.

But then the tenor of Viren’s voice changed as it filtered to him across the length of the dungeon, and Gren froze, listening.

“What a beautiful challenge you’ve given me.” Viren said, all intrigued delight and intellectual satisfaction. “I must come up with something you will fear…more than death.” 

Gren closed his eyes briefly. The fact that Viren was willing so say something so chilling – even to an enemy of Katolis – spoke volumes of his true character.

The sharp, metallic sound of sceptre meeting stone grew louder, and Gren raised his head just in time to catch Viren appearing in the opposite archway. The man passed him with nary a glance, but Gren called out after him – some nonsense about the Xadian fruit in Viren’s hands, and although Viren treated him as though he were nothing more than a yapping dog, it was worth it to keep up pretense that he had no ruminations of escape.

In the silence after, Gren took a breath. Weighed his words. And when he spoke, it helped clear some of the fog of exhaustion over his eyes.

“I’m not going to ask what your name is,” he called, letting his voice ring down the stone towards the cell on the far end of the corridor. “I know well enough that you do not wish to reveal it. But I’m a prisoner like you are, and I thought you might like to talk.”

Nothing.

Well, it was only expected. Gren took another breath, shifted his aching shoulders. “Why did you kill the king?”

Silence.

Gren closed his eyes. “Ah,” he said, softly. “Because we killed yours.”

It made sense. It was even cruelly logical, in warfare: a proportionate response.

There was no answer, but Gren thought he heard the clinking of chains far ahead, as though the elf had shifted.

“I was there,” Gren said. “I was there, last Winter’s Turn.”

The chains groaned against stone, and Gren knew he had an audience.

And then, so softly that Gren almost missed it: “Did you have a hand in it?”

“The killing of Thunder?” Gren paused. “No. I am no warrior.”

A single, barking laugh, ragged from a throat completely dry. “You lie. I’ve heard them call you Commander.”

“Well, that is my rank,” Gren sighed. “But I don’t do much fighting. I’m a sign language interpreter.”

A pause, and then, in a growl so low and filled with hatred that Gren felt his hackles rise: “You’re the general’s companion. The one who bears no weapon.”

It was…strange, to hear that this was the way the Xadian forces thought of him. But it was also comforting. He would have expected them to call him her servant, her lieutenant – but to be her companion was a hidden blessing.

That tone, though, needed exploration.

“You sound as though you don’t like me very much,” Gren said, mildly.

The sound of spit against stone. “Your general killed hundreds of our people!”

“So have you, I take it,” Gren countered. “Elven assassin, aren’t you?”

“You serve a murderer,” the growl came.

“Don’t we all,” Gren sighed. He couldn’t feel his fingertips anymore, and no matter how he tried to move his hands they were sluggish to respond. His chains rang against the wall and his manacles in a maddening, useless cacophony.

Gren sighed. Stilled. Then: “What’s up with your hand?” Viren had said something about it, earlier.

The silence grew a little colder.

“I should think that as an assassin, your hands would matter,” Gren murmured. “…As mine do.”

But the elf did not respond, and Gren was left to the endless repetition of moving his hands as much as they could, systematically, pushing away the fear in his heart that with each moment he remained shackled to the wall, the damage to his hands increased.

>When Viren came again, he entered by another archway, pushing a tall, cloth-covered shape ahead of him.

Gren had taken to whistling to keep himself awake – anything to counter the sagging of his weight against his shackles – and he raised his aching head to watch as Viren disappeared into the far corridor.

There was a cryptic exchange between Viren and the elf regarding a mirror of some kind, and the clatter of metal against stone floors; and then, a chanting of a many-layered voice, louder and louder until the walls seemed to shake with it, and rising into a crescendo underneath: wild, agonised screams.

Gren strained against his bonds, leant as far forward as he could to peer into the darkened corridor. 

A sickening purple glow bled out of the half-open door at the end of it; a colour Gren had seen only once before, on the battlefield of last Winter’s Turn, when a lance of fire that exact shade had struck down the King of Dragons.

The screams cut off abruptly.

Stillness.

And then a tall, lean-shouldered silhouette slipped into view. Gren’s eyes caught the familiar long coat and high collar, but his breath caught as a purple glow filled the hallway again; from a pair of glowing eyes, no less.

By Katolis, Viren. Gren stared. What have you done.

The figure approached, and the full horror of what had just been done crashed down upon the chamber as it emerged into the light.

It was a twisting of nature. There was no other word for it; where Viren’s eyes had been were now black, fathomless pits, with irises a purple so dark they were almost sable; grey-blue skin scored with darker scars covered what once was human. The colour of his hair had been leached away, leaving a metallic white that seemed more metal than hair.

Viren flicked out a coin from behind his back and examined it. “I always seem to capture the same expression,” he mused, dispassionately. “Defiance…”

Gren breathed shallowly, stiffening as Viren turned to him.

“…Giving away to absolute fear,” Viren relished.

It took a moment for Gren to realise what Viren held between his thumb and forefinger.

When he did, he could not stop the horror on his features.

Viren barked a laugh and ascended the stairs, flicking the coin into the air and catching it languidly, as though there was not an elven soul captured in it.

Gren thought he was going to be sick.

He closed his eyes, and breathed. The musty smell of the dungeon assaulted him anew. This development brought new information, yes. It also boded ill. There was now no possibility that Viren intended to let him go alive, not after what he had seen.

So.

There, a little further down his bracer than the band of numb flesh where the manacles pressed into his skin, his letter remained.

Amaya, in the event of my death.

Gren took a breath, and decided.

When Marcos came down the steps with food that night, he looked spooked. His hands were shaking ever-so-slightly where he clutched the tray.

“Marcos,” Gren said.

Marcos shook his head, tight-lipped, and placed the tray on the floor.

“Marcos,” Gren repeated, with a note of command.

The young guard looked away.

“I take it you’ve seen what he’s become,” Gren said.

Marcos looked like he almost jumped out of his skin. He went wordlessly to lengthen Gren’s chains. Gren took that as answer enough.

“I have a question for you,” he said, ignoring the food. His hands felt like they were on fire, and her rubbed them against each other as best he could. Already, his fingers were refusing to form a fist.

“I can’t,” Marcos murmured, so quietly and shamefully that Gren almost missed it.

“Yes, you can,” Gren said, and there was nothing but steel in his voice. “I saw how he turned into…that. Do you really think he’s going to let me live?”

Marcos studied his armoured boots.

“Here,” Gren said. His clumsy fingers worked under his bracer, and pulled out a folded sheet of parchment: his letter. “Send word to General Amaya. Don’t leave out a single detail of what’s happened. But keep this letter with you until you have cause to believe I’m dead.”

Marcos’s eyes met his, wavering and hazel. “How…how would I know?”

Gren’s lips twitched in dark humour. “You’ll have no more orders to bring me meals.”

The younger man still stared at the letter in Gren’s hands, but did not reach for it.

Gren sighed. “For Katolis,” he said.

Marcos’s hands were shaking, but he reached for the letter and pocketed it.

Gren found himself wishing, illogically, for it back – for the comfort of knowing it was with him.

“Send word to General Amaya, and only send this letter if you are likely to have…died,” Marcos repeated.

“Yes,” Gren confirmed. He smiled. Marcos was a soldier of Katolis after all, it seemed; brave in the face of despair.

Marcos tapped the spot in his tunic where he had tucked the letter away, and nodded. “I’ll try, sir,” he said, seemingly drawing confidence from Gren’s approval. “But I can’t promise anything.”

They spent the rest of Gren’s meal in silence as Gren struggled with the utensils in his sluggish fingers, and Marcos looked at him apologetically as he tightened his bonds.

When the thud of closing door sounded high above, Gren leant his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Exhaustion filled every inch of him, now; he could feel the siren call of true sleep tugging at his soul.

His wrists grew so quickly numb in their chains now that the temptation to give in, to crumble and let his hands take his weight, was overwhelming.

But his part in his mission was complete.

And he had sent his letter on, though he had no idea if it would ever reach Amaya. If Marcos sends it on, it would mean that Gren would have died.

A strange thing – Gren had never had delusions of having a long life, not when he had chosen to serve at the Breach. He had thought he would die by his General’s side, willingly, but it was only now when he knew that returning to the fortress at the Breach would bring the culmination of all his hopes that he wished desperately to live, for no other reason than to see Amaya again.

He wished…

He wished he had not lied, last Winter’s Turn. He wished that when he had whispered “I love you,” into Amaya’s embrace he had repeated his true words in sign instead of signing I thank you.

He could have told her properly, so many times.

Gren’s legs trembled; he knew they would give way soon, and there would be nothing further he could do to save his hands. His voice, when it came to Amaya; so he could speak to her as she could to him.

Viren was a cruel, cruel man. He had told the elf that it was a beautiful challenge to find something that one would fear worse than death.

For Gren, it was to lose his hands; the ability to sign, and interpret. His very purpose of living.

“Amaya,” he whispered, and the name echoed into the empty dungeon without an answer, ghostly touches of her hands on his shoulders and her fingers in his, and he tried to fold his fingers around that phantom touch without success.

His letter was somewhere far above, tucked into the tunic of a young guard. Gren could recite the entire text verbatim; he had spent a sleepless night writing it not so long ago, when he had thought he could keep the letter with him for long years yet.

The words brought him comfort.

Amaya, in the event of my death:

Dearest Amaya,

I pen this letter a few months after Winter’s Turn, when the King of Dragons fell. I confess that I do not know in what circumstances this letter might come to you – I hope that I will have had the opportunity to say what I put in this letter to you in person. You deserve truth, and heartfelt conversation face-to-face. But the events of last midwinter have led me to realise that life, after all, is fragile; I would have died on that frozen ground were it not for you, and I know that knowledge has weighed heavily on your mind in the months since, as it has mine.

So, I hope that this letter may serve in my absence. To speak where I cannot.

Amaya, I love you.

It feels almost strange to write it down like so when I have been thinking it in your presence every hour and every day since it first occurred to me, years ago when you took the blow to your head that left you with the scar on your right cheek. I was younger then, and I knew that it would be best to wait. And wait I have, in quiet and in battle, in joy and in sorrow.

I suppose I should explain how I came to love you, but I do not think I could; how do I explain how beautiful your words are when you capture them in your hands, or how I stumbled over myself like a fool just to hear you laugh? I’m not sure if I ever told you, but your laugh is one of the most beautiful things I have heard.

You were my general first. In my earlier months by your side I often stood astounded at your compassion and steel-fired will; it had not occurred to me before meeting you that one could be both at once. Gentleness and ferocity, kindness and command. And it was in discovering the depth of my regard for you that I realised I wished to remain by your side for as long as I could – to aid you and to serve, and to be your trusted confidant, as long as you wished.

I suppose that if you are reading this, I am gone. I do not know what took me – battle, sickness, or cruelty – but I know that you must be grieving. I hope that you will find the same peace we did before your sister’s grave, before mine. Do not grieve too long, Amaya. Memory is precious in that with time, it grows fonder, just as each moment I spend with you now only adds to the regard I have for you. The fact I am gone does not diminish that love. And love is meant to be shared; with your nephews, with friends you may find in the future.

I will always love you, Amaya. I always have.

Ever yours,

Gren

As he recalled the final words of his letter, Gren felt his ankles give way at last. He hissed in pain as his legs collapsed under him; bereft of support, his shoulders and wrists jarred with his full weight, and he cried out despite himself.

He stared up at his slowly-whitening hands, and felt tears well up the corners of his eyes, blurring the images of his fingers until it appeared that he had no hands at all, only blurred shapes that grew number and colder by the moment.

And, like so, hanging as a puppet, he fell at last into an exhausted sleep.

Next chapter: Interludes! I’ll be writing a couple of interludes set anywhere between chapters 1 and 6. Requests are welcome, though I already have a few ideas!

Also, this will continue into season 2. It’ll probably be a very solid gremaya au by then, but I’ll try to follow canon as closely as possible. Thanks for reading this, guys! I never thought I’d write tdp fanfic but this has blossomed into quite the lengthy fic. It’s over 36,000 words total!

>Chapter 7

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[shotfromguns]

Good, long thread by @TheMittani on Twitter on “neoconfederacy” in the South:

if you ever wonder why i got politically 'radicalized' it's because i grew up in alabama as an atheist child of two biochemistry professors; at 17 i graduated and moved away forever. reminder: Alabama came within 1.7% of sending a known pedo to the senate~

any '13th dimensional chess' tweets about how the AL leg composed this abortion ban to provoke a court fight has never met an actual neoconfederate this is what they want 100%, it's a white supremacist aristo fertility cult and all the moves make sense when understood that way

source: i have been to an unironic country club debutante ball in dear old mountain brook and folks have no idea how much intergenerational wealth transfer has carried over from the days of slavery in that society's upper class

for context, when i was in high school there were three country clubs, maybe 20k citizens, and zero black students; every street is named after a civil war battle, and 'houses' there would be called mansions anywhere else

best public schools in the state though~

folks have no clue how rich and well-educated the ruling class in alabama is, going to mountain brook means if you don't get into one of the better ivys you're probably a bitter slacker like me legislation like this isn't from stupid hicks, it's the goal

southern aristos can be incredibly intelligent and well-traveled and are all the more dangerous politically because they are happy to play dumb in public with the aw-shucks jesus loving hick routine in order to quietly run an antebellum society and pit poor whites against blacks

it's almost comically effective, I do this stuff all the time in Eve - say laughably wrong things, act like a fool, and then it's much easier to outmaneuver people. The most dangerous enemy is one who is comfortable with being publicly underestimated.

I mean to say, 'ha ha eat my ass look at me I'm so great at spaceship games', please interpret my above tweet as evidence of hubris and ignorance rather than giving up an actual tactic I've employed so often it's been nicknamed the 'tee hee, flounce flounce' by my chief of staff

'I'm the fucking Mittani, I know everything in this game,' another good one wearing red shirts? stupid gimmick, keep doing it because it's a stupid gimmick, it's far better for our competitors/enemies to see me as a joke luv2club? tee hee, flounce flounce, same shit

anyhoo yeah it's the same dance, play god-fearing jesus lover to keep the poor whites on your side, maintain that patriarchy with the complicity of ruling class women who enjoy the economic benefits of neoconfederacy, and live over the mountain so no one spots all the lexuses

it's interesting to see the term neoconfederate finally get some use but it implies that there isn't already an actual working confederate states of america right in front of everyone's eyes that's been there since reconstruction, none of that shit is an accident

if you put 'hail hydra' on statues in every town in the region you don't have to bother saying 'hail hydra' or announce in print that you're down with hydra, everyone who lives there gets it

the issue is not being part of a traitorous conspiracy against the united states government (i mean hydra, not the neoconfederacy, ha ha!) the problem comes when you state it where those not in on it can hear you. Viz: ”Alabama newspaper editor calls for Klan return to ‘clean out D.C.’”

i kind of like the hydra analogy for the neoconfederacy, because all this shit - 'states rights', 'pro-life', 'voter fraud', these disparate causes are actually all the same cause: the ~lost~ cause

southern politics makes a lot more sense when viewed through the lens of pro/anti-confederacy politics; confederate society is based upon a ruling gentry descended from the cavaliers see generally https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Albion%27s_Seed actual /aristos/ not merely rich people

so basically you have an entrenched aristocracy that traces their lineage back 10+ generations running a plantation society and fighting like fucking hell to maintain that privilege, privilege most people in the usa cannot even begin to imagine

generic usa high ~net worth individuals~ have nothing on the cunning and unity maintained by ancient proud cavalier aristocratic families in the south with shitloads of money who will do anything to protect the universe they and their forefathers have created (via slavery)

the whole 'the south will rise again' thing is a huge joke because the structure of the society immediately returned to functional slavery as soon as it could get away with it, the south already 'rose' after reconstruction, it's right in fucking the open

if they get away with the abortion thing, they'll gun for brown v board next; these people remember life before MLK and they have not forgotten or forgiven the civil rights movement those behind this aren't hicks, they very smart confederates acting like hicks to fool you.

many old privileged families come with a legacy and a purpose imposed on you from birth it's not a stretch of the imagination that the quest of a lot of these old aristo families is to restore the society to antebellum life and get their privileges (slavery) back

the civil war was only a few generations ago, these families have not forgotten and they have not let their children forget the monuments, the street named for war battles, that's why it matters still to them

southern aristos are pro-life because the whole point of the society is the poor whites fight the poor blacks, and restricting abortion = more labor and poverty to exploit by the gentry the goal of their flavor of white supremacy is about getting rich off slaves, not death camps

not that they have a problem with a death camp or three, it's difficult to communicate how utterly disposable the lives of people outside of their class are, this is a society whose rulers believe that god has anointed them to rule over their lessers

its not rocket science, you take a slaveholding landed gentry and take away their slaves and land (good!) that gentry is going to spend its time fanatically scheming to get its land and slaves back (bad, what we see in southern politics)

anyhoo what i'm saying is that this isn't about random kooks trying to put women 'in their place' (there's a bunch of them too, useful idiots) but part of a broad campaign across generations by a dispossessed cavalier nobility to get all their lost privileges (slavery) back

conveniently the rest of america doesn't have much of an entrenched aristo/gentry culture anymore so the maneuvers of the 'neo' confederates just look like random right wing lashing out rather than a deliberate series of moves to benefit the southern aristocracy

the reality of the modern confederacy reminds me a lot of 'The City and the City' in that it's clearly visible to those raised within it, yet its contour is completely alien to outsiders who don't know how to 'see' it the 'right' way.

shit like Roy Moore being a pedo but coming within 1.7% of winning a senate seat makes a buttload more sense than 'alabama voters will send anything not a democrat', Moore is a proud and loud confederate and Doug Jones is anti-confederate it's the confederacy - always.

Pro-life? Confederacy. State's Rights? Confederacy. Gun rights? Confederacy. Religious Freedom/Gay Cake Stuff? Confederacy. Anti-union? Confederacy. If you're a Cavalier or one of their foremen, it all fits~ 

Robert Caro basically spelled out in intricate detail how the confederacy works in his LBJ bios but particularly Master of the Senate, read these if you want a primer on actual power and its uses: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Years_of_Lyndon_Johnson

when LBJ shifted to supporting voting rights, the confederacy simply switched its support from the democrats to the republicans. it's a real thing and its moves make perfect sense once you grok the core motivations of the southern gentry and their henchmen~

you see this repeatedly through history where one side stops fighting after a victory and the other side loses but keeps trying to find ways to win, the Union torched the south and moved on, but the confederacy has /never stopped fighting/ using whatever means they have available

tl;dr "it's the confederacy, stupid" also explains those crazy 'obama is the antichrist' memes; if you're a confederate, a black president existing is against everything your flavor of pro-slavery jesus stands for

None of this thread really applies to Texas. I was born in Houston, moved to AL at 10; completely different culture in Texas. Going to rodeos, oil/cattle, science, ranching. When I say the 'South' I'm talking about the plantation society of the Cavaliers.

As a quick example of using the Lost Cause to understand Cavalier political behavior, Lindsey Graham's 'hypocrisy' makes perfect sense. He doesn't give a shit about spewing nonsense or lying to Yankees, all he cares about is Dixie. He's not dumb at all; the Union is his enemy.

Expanded May 17, 2019:

oh yeah and Mitch McConnell was born and raised in Alabama and then Georgia from 8yrs on, so heyoooo

look up how long jeff sessions family has been naming their kids after jefferson davis on his bio dixie is real; it's the confederacy, the political moves the cavaliers and their overseers are making on behalf of the lost cause as plain as day if you know what to look for

just gonna spend Friday night reading Albion’s seed to learn more fun ~cavalierfacts~ like how their royalist gentry is literally all one big interrelated family and coordinates retribution and uses debt to control the poor

“It is difficult to think of any ruling elite that has been more closely interrelated since the Ptolemies” holy lawl (it is a history insult as he’s basically calling the cavaliers a nest of outright incest, the Ptolemaic dynasty was Targaryen-style sibling marriage)

Hey guess what turns out the control of women is deeply ingrained in cavalier society because uh... kidnapping / human trafficking / sexual slavery and a massively skewed male to female ratio lovely people, these confederates

“These patterns did not develop by chance. Virginia’s great migration was the product of policy and social planning. Its royalist elite succeeded in shaping the social history of an American region partly by regulating the process of migration” (p 232) fucking hell it’s all here

May 22, 2019:

by req: another ‘understanding the confederacy’ thing, all the protest tweets saying “the cruelty is the point” are wrong, the point is opportunities for race-based policing (a la weed), disenfranchisement, reinforcing patriarchy, and more labor/babies to exploit + compliance

sure there’s a bunch of cruelty in there too but the whole thing is a means to the ends of rolling back the civil rights movement and restoring the structure of Dixie as the gentry/cavaliers prefer; the confederates may be slavers at heart but they’re not cartoon villains

(they're way worse)

In case I get hit by a bus, I currently think the concept of hegemonic liberty is the most misunderstood aspect of the cavalier mindset, so here’s three key pages from Albion’s Seed~

And the cavalier conception of condescension and deference as two sides of God’s hierarchy and order is a fracture point, that’s why incivility towards one’s ‘betters’ is so provocative - milkshakes would probably work over here, too

Also by hiding and lying about the existence of Dixie, they fragment their opposition into issue-based groups - pro-choice, gun control, voters rights, anti-racism - instead of each opposition group recognizing that they are fighting the same confederate foe

Not like they really hid that much, they had confederate flags flying over their capitols ever since the Civil War until recently, but the Union won the war and moved on, so folks think they’re fighting random bigots and not the CSA

May 23, 2019:

the lack of a concerted effort by the democratic party to win and develop victories in the south has allowed the bulwark of the RNC power to be unchallenged, if you erode the Dixie Wall in the Senate the republicans pretty much lose all their functional power

as the DNC is incompetent one doesn't need to rely upon them, state by state in Dixie voting rights and organization must be pushed to undermine the structure of confederate power, that's the fracture point, that and forcing their true nature as confederates into the open

I'll develop all this crap into more useful tactics on the upcoming blog thing but this is all just-in-case 'yo guys, if I get hit by a bus, take Albion's Seed, drive through Mountain Brook for proof of everything I'm saying (crestline doesn't count lawl) go fight hydra'

as someone will inevitably discover not EVERY street in Mountain Brook is named for civil war battles (there's a lot), the really old money lives on streets named for old british estates/towns + they're episcopalians (anglican 2.0) not baptists, of course

[ahopefulbromantic]

Please please please tell me more about Dziady

Okay this took me waaay to long and it will be several far-too-verbose posts (i'm really sorry but that's what you get for asking about my special interest lol). So anyway fasten your seatbelts, my man, cause you're in for a ride, you'll love this one!

1. Cultural/Historical/Political Context

Dziady, or Forefather's Eve, is an ancient (?) Slavic ritual held on October 31st. It was originally Pagan and had to do with summoning with the dead. Since Poland is a Christian country (I'll die on this hill), the very beginning of its existence being its baptism, after Poles became Christians, the Pagan rituals naturally got ✨Christified✨. Dziady, then, as All Hallow's Eve, became about helping souls in purgatory reach Heaven. Seems all fine and good, right? The only problem was, it still was spiritual seances and magic basically, and it wasn't held by a Christian priest but instead by a Guślarz (for some reason translated as "Wizard" in English versions??? lol), who was kinda like a Slavic shaman.

Now for the history, in XVIII and XIX century Poland was partitioned by Russia, Prussia (Germany) and Austria. It meant that formally it didn't exist as a country, it was erased from the maps - but as a nation it continued to live in the hearts of its people for over a hundred years before we regained our independence after WWI. The four part Dziady play was written in XIX century, Polish Romanticism, a time of bards, prophets, dreamers, and revolutionists, and in itself it was an act of defiance to the occupants.

2. Summary (yes the order is weird, no one knows why)

Dziady II

People of the town hold a Dziady ritual. A few spirits come and state their needs - two children who never experienced anything difficult in life get a bitter mustard seed, an evil lord who made poor people die of hunger and now is torn apart by them in the form of wild birds doesn't get anything as he's beyond help for now, and a girl who selfishly rejected every boy who loved her and never made any meaningful human connection (i'm giving the author the benefit of doubt here) gets a reassurance that after two years she will reach Heaven. With Dziady nearly finished, suddenly there comes a weird, spooky spirit who doesn't act like he's supposed to, doesn't obey commands, and follows one of the girls...

Dziady IV

In this one we find out the spirit's name is Gustaw, he's a young poet from the town in unrequited love with the girl he followed, Maryna. Due to being so dead inside and to a suicide attempt (it's a little unclear how it ended?) he's in between being dead and alive and thus can attend Dziady as a spirit. He visits a priest who used to teach him when he was a child to wallow in his woes and whine that all women are evil (he's cringe in this one but we still love him) and to ask the priest not to fight the Dziady tradition. The Church condemned it as a Pagan ritual but Gustaw insists it's one of the things that keep Polish nation together during the occupation.

Dziady I

Another Dziady ritual is held but this time it's Gustaw's turn to be visited and followed by a spirit of a mysterious, spooky girl. Unfortunately, this work was never finished so we don't know who the girl is, what happens next, or even when it all falls in Dziady timeline :(

Dziady III. Poema

Okay this is the longest one and the only one i've seen translated to English so i'll try to be brief and also focus on Gustaw's arc. We have a timeskip, Gustaw is in prison because Russians hate Polish people and want them all dead, gone, and unable to make an(other) uprising. It's in here that Gustaw transforms into Konrad - a new name, a new identity, a whole new self. He talks with his cellmates, they're buddies, they tell each other stories, news from the town, they sing songs. Konrad is hit with ✨bardic inspiration✨, he sings about becoming a vampire and taking revenge, then goes into the (Little) Improvisation about becoming an eagle and battling a black raven - he's in a prophetic trance but faints before he can finish his vision. He's left alone. When he comes around, oh hohoho, he goes into the Great Improvisation!!! It's Hamlet's Soliloquy for Poles, maybe even more than that. In it he achieves the heights of his poetic power, feeling, and love, so he metaphysically flies before the throne of God to plead for his people. He wants to rule over souls like God does to make the world a better place. Not receiving an answer, he starts blaspheming out of desperation. He faints just before speaking the worst offence and is then possessed by the devil and exorcized by the prison priest, Fr. Piotr, a bernardine monk. The demon tells the priest about another prisoner who is heavily tempted and needs his help, Jan Rollison. It's also revealed that it was Mother Mary who saved Konrad from offending God because he'd defended Her in an earlier scene ❤️ Then we have three other visions: a little patriot girl gets a sweet and cutesy one about flowers (it's got a beautiful line about St. John), Fr. Piotr gets a prophetic one in which he sees Poland crucified as the Christ of Nations that will resurrect eventually and by its suffering bless all other nations, along with a hero through which it will come - the mysterious Fourty-and-Four, and lastly the Russian Senator gets a haunting nightmare from demons about his falling out of grace with the Tsar. Then there's the Warsaw Salon and the Ball at Senator's, scenes filled with conversations about politics and revolutions, more stories, and a lot of Russians' hypocrisy. We find out Janek Rollison is tortured and was nearly killed by his tormentors who claimed his defenestration was a suicide attempt. His mother comes with Fr. Piotr to plead for him, but the Senator is cruel and unyielding, even the priest's warnings of divine punishment don't sway him. During the ball one of Senator's evil subordinates/"friends" dies, struck by lightning attracted by silver Russian coins (a Judas reference). Senator is prophecised to die, too. Just then Konrad is lead by two soldiers to be banished, his worst fear becoming reality. Though he doesn't remember Fr. Piotr, his heart recognizes him and so he bids him farewell and gives him a ring to sell and give money for the poor. In exchange he receives a prophecy. The last scene is another Dziady ritual, in which we see spirits of Senator and his subordinate, punished by God. Maryna tries to find Gustaw's spirit again but cannot summon him by his old name. At last she sees him in a wagon, his chest riddled with deep, piercing wounds, with a tiny wound on his forehead.

Epilogue to Part III

Now i don't know this one as well as the others, it's also more of a narrative poem than of a play, but from what i remember it follows a mysterious Pilgrim character on his adventures in foreign lands. To my (and my Polish teacher's hehe) interpretation the pilgrim is Konrad who lost his name and identity after his banishment and now roams the world as a mere no-name pilgrim, unable to create poetry in his language no one understands 💔

3. An English version for you to enjoy!

It's only part III and it's not perfect but i really encourage all of you reading this to give it a go!

[dramoor]

“Something happened to make the world what it is today: this bizarre combination of good and evil, beautiful and ugly. Each of us human beings is now both very good and very evil, very beautiful and very ugly. Genesis says that though we are made in the image (or icon – it’s the same word) of God, we icons have become defaced, tarnished. Genesis says what uglified us came from outside: from the serpent, later identified as Satan, God’s adversary, who is out to ruin God’s good beautiful creation. This means that the mess we are in is not entirely our fault, but neither is it true to say ‘the devil made me do it’. We also choose evil, do we not? The serpent offered the forbidden fruit, but Eve and Adam took it, did they not?

So we lost our innocent happiness, our natural union with God – that is, the Garden. Now we’re outside the garden of natural innocence, and we can’t get back in. God has ‘stationed cherubim to the east of the Garden of Eden, with a whirling sword of flame to guard the way to the tree of life.’ Genesis 3:24  No matter how hard we try, ‘we can’t go home again’.

Remember: Sin in New Testament Greek means ‘missing the mark’. The mark was God and his love. When we got separated from God we began to die. Please do not get confused about this. One brand of Christianity has taught that this was God’s legal condemnation, his curse on us – as if God the Judge had said, ‘You have broken my law? Then Die! Go to hell! I condemn you to everlasting torment!’ Did the author of Genesis see it that way?

If so, no matter, for Jesus Christ, the ultimate revelation of God, came to show us that God our Father is not like that. No: ‘This is the message we have heard from him and declare to you: God is light; in him there is no darkness at all.’ 1 John 1:5 As the priest says at the end of almost every Orthodox service, our God ‘is good and loves mankind’. Good loving fathers do not condemn disobedient children to eternal torment. We die not as punishment, but because God is life, the Source of life, and if we are not united with him we go dead. That is our problem.

And so began history as we know it, this strange  condition where we are forever aware that the world is not what it ought to be, that we are not what we ought to be. We know something is desperately wrong, but we don’t know quite what it is or how to fix it, and no matter how hard we try we can’t seem to get it right. (We can’t get back into Eden.) And in the end we die – and we all know that death is just wrong. Each person, every living creature struggles to keep living. That is because God created us to live, not to die. Something has gone terribly wrong with the whole creation. 

Why did God allow this to happen? We are not told, and there’s not much use speculating. If we needed to know, Christ would have told us. The Lord Jesus said only ‘An enemy has done this.’ Why doesn’t God just wipe out evil? Jesus said it’s because wheat and weeds are now intermingled. There is evil within us; to destroy it would destroy us too, and God won’t do that. So good and evil must grow together till the harvest. Matthew 13:24-30  Aren’t the thistles in the field pretty? But they’re prickly, and let them go and they’ll take over. That’s why my grandfather, a farmer of long ago, would go and carefully pull the weeds out one by one, before it was too late. Can we learn something from him?

Why doesn’t God just force us to be good again? Because that would destroy our free will, our freedom to choose. That would ruin everything, because God’s plan is to make us into beings like himself who freely choose goodness and love and who therefore know joy like his. Robots don’t know joy; they just function. So God now must rescue us one by one, and join us to the Church – his people who are on the road again, moving ahead toward his Kingdom. 

The Jews were an expectant people, as time went on expecting above all the coming of One sent from God who would set the world right again and lead us into the Kingdom. In Hebrew he is ‘the Messiah’, in Greek ‘o Christos’ –  ο Χρήστος, in English the Christ, the Anointed One. Kings and priests were anointed. He would be true King who would rule in justice, true Priest who would unite God and mankind, heaven and earth again.

The ancient forefathers had prepared his way, had foreseen his Virgin Birth, his ministry, his rejection, his suffering, death and resurrection, the coming of the Holy Spirit and his eternal Kingdom.

Looking back the whole Old Testament now looked like a preparation for Jesus Christ, and that is how we Orthodox use the Old Testament liturgically to this day, as a commentary on Jesus Christ, the coming of God into the world.

And so he came.”

~Glory to God with thanksgiving for our salvation~

~From The History of Everything from before the Beginning till after the End – Part One

(Image via Wisdom of the Fathers)

[glapplebloom]

It’s the BEST... GIFT... EVER!!! (Best... Gift... Ever...)

Its the day before Hearth’s Warming Eve and everyone is doing some last minute things.

The Student Six are indeed going home for the Holidays. Considering Gallus has no one to celebrate it, I have a headcanon that says he is going to rotate spending the holidays with one of them. Starting off with Silverstream since her holiday has the least preparation needed to participate. Also, shipping.

And if you’re wondering why Starlight Glimmer isn’t here, she’s gonna spend it with her friend Trixie. Will they go to the Crystal Empire to hang with Sunburst? Or Sire’s Hollow to be with Starlight’s father. Who knows? But as soon as those two pass by, we get our song.

Now comes the opening song, which I found quite enjoyable. They’re singing that its one last day before they could get everything ready for Hearth’s Warming, but its worded so you can actually use this for Christmas. So here’s some highlights...

The Pies and Apples are back together, and they brought along a Pear. It is nice to see them. But there is one more guest missing from this equation...

Sugar Belle is gonna join in the festivities. She is pretty close to an Apple after all. Say, I wonder how Marble feels about her?

Oh... By now you noticed that there isn’t a “Review/Rewrite” on this like my previous MLP reviews. I think the next story will focus on this special.

Is this a Home Alone Reference?

If you’re making a Christmas Special, it would be nice to reference your forefathers of Christmas Specials.

While I have not seen either movie, I do hope this is a reference to a Christmas Vacation and not Elf.

And Twilight is going, as this special coined the phrase, Twilynanas. She still has to decorate the castle because Shining’s Family is coming over and get everyone’s gifts. But Applejack calms her down and decided to make things easier for her...

With everyone’s approval (though Pinkie was reluctant), they decided to do a Secret Santa (Hearth's Warming Helper) so they only have to get one gift for the pony they pick. Twilight got Pinkie Pie, Pinkie got Twilight, Rarity got Applejack, Spike got Rainbow Dash, Applejack got Spike, Rainbow Dash got Fluttershy and Flutrershy Got Rarity.

I’m gonna split up the story telling by Gift-Giver for now. Starting with Spike, who wishes to get Rarity’s. He asks if its okay to trade, which AJ said it is if he can figure out who got who. Before he could fully ask, she didn’t get Rarity. He tries Twilight and Pinkie, but eventually Fluttershy sort of agrees to trade. He spends the rest of the episode until the climax trying to make a gift for Rarity.

Pinkie doesn’t know what to get Twilight. She had gifts for everyone that matched each other, but one gift alone can’t be matched up. So after a talk with her sisters, she decides to go to the ones who would be BEST GIFT GIVERS: the Yaks. This one is fun so I’ll get back to this.

Fluttershy has the Batman dilemma: what do you get for the person who doesn’t seem to want anything? So while Batman decides cash (because who wouldn’t want money?), Rainbow Dash gets a Candle. Discord arrives to ensure that she gets something truly great for Fluttershy: a Winterchilla. I’ll point out a reference from these two later, but that boils down their story.

Fluttershy and AJ goes to Rainbow Falls to get their gifts. But Flim and Flam are there and tricked Fluttershy into buying a cheap doll that they say is the must have gift of the season. The two eventually save others from buying more of it but they are stuck with those gifts. Though AJ seems to enjoy stomping on Flim and Flam’s schemes.

Back with Pinkie Pie, the Prince reveals a secret to her: the Yaks are best at everything except one thing: Gift Giving. But Prince Rutherford gives her a map to the best gift givers known. We’ll get back to her later.

Rarity ordered a gift for Applejack. But due to a mailing mishap, it is sent to a completely different Farm. Not wanting to deal with the Postal Service (and I don’t blame her), Rarity decides to go to the farm herself. Muffins, meanwhile, you know works at the Post Office because despite all the windows there’s only one worker and they’re taking a break JUST WHEN YOU NEED THEM!!! This is why everyone does things online now. We’ll get back to Rarity soon.

And Twilight, thanks to Spike, is going Twilynanas to try to figure out the best possible gift for Pinkie Pie. Then it comes to her...

PUDDING! Specially Chancellor Puddinghead’s Pudding. It was made after the founding of Equestria and was considered Legendary. But its not in his book, but a spell book she found after 4 hours of researching.

Thing is she lost track of time and Shining and her family arrived. Daww, Flurry Heart looks so cute! But as you expected, the decorations aren’t up yet.

They pretty much know she’s obsessing over something, and once she is done they do talk that they could have helped with her Hearth’s Warming Helper gift instead of her going Twilynanas. But as her pudding is cooking, Flurry puts some more ingredients when it has to be specific.

Pinkie’s Quest to find the Gift Givers is complete. They introduce themselves and reveal to us and reveal that they’re similar to the Ghosts of Christmas Carols. One knows your past, one knows your future and one make sure the present is retained. So they got the perfect gift needed for Twilight. And they also give her a riddle.

G.I. JOE!!!

Back with Rarity, she finds the farm but they mistook it for themselves. This inspired their son to really go after fashion. After lunch, he was willing to give it back knowing it wasn’t for him, but she lets him keep it and also promises to make him her guest at Fashion Week.

And when everyone reunites: the pudding becomes the Blob and the Winterchilla becomes a WinterZilla when the sun sets. Long story short, because you got to see it, Fluttershy tames the Snowzilla and Pinkie’s Gift for Twilight is what fixes the Pudding.

In the wrap up, Rarity told AJ about her gift going to someone else, when AJ says that her father told her sometimes the hat chooses its wearer. So while she may have a dozen or more, they are still special to her.

Discord’s gift to everyone is destroying those dolls. And no one was upset about it.

He also reveals to Dash that he set up the whole WinterZilla thing so Fluttershy can be the hero. Dash was about to complain, but seeing Fluttershy happy made her not go on about it.

And Spike’s gift is an incomplete song. Not a fan of it, not because of Spike’s singing (I do like him singing) but because the lyrics are meh to me. Even when everyone else jumps in. But we do see a montage of other families celebrating.

So it seems Starlight and Trixie are just celebrating in her Wagon.

Daww, they’re still doing the Pie Family Traditions. 

This is nice.

Our Future Fashionista got a gift that, while not fashionable, shows his parents respect his choices.

Happy Snilldar Fest!

And Flim and Flam are going home with a bunch of unsold dolls.

Carols, carols, carols, carols, carols!

Overall, a fun holiday special. Lots of fun stuff to see and each one had a story going for them. And Shining Armor shines. He actually does stuff in terms of a character and as a soldier. Even if it isn’t Christmas, check it out when you can.

[tipsycad147]

St Basil’s Day

By shirleytwofeathers

St. Basil’s Day, January 1st, commemorates the day in which (it’s believed) Basil of Caesarea died. The Festival of Saint Basil is the Greek New Year.

In Greek tradition, Basil brings gifts to children every January 1. Children leave their shoes by the fireplace in hopes that St. Basil will fill them with gifts. A large feast is prepared, the larger the luckier the year will be. Pork is usually the main dish.  It is customary on his feast day to visit the homes of friends and relatives, to sing New Year’s carols, and to set an extra place at the table for Saint Basil.

Traditionally Vasilopita or Vaselopita, a special bread or cake, is baked on St. Basil’s Day Eve, and served at midnight. The cake is handed out in a particular order. The first piece is for the remembrance of St. Basil and the second is for the household. Those pieces are taken to the church to be blessed, then given to the poor. The rest of the slices are distributed from the eldest member of the household to the youngest.

A coin or trinket is hidden inside the cake, and the person who gets the piece with the hidden treasure will have luck in the coming year.

Vasilopita | St. Basil’s Bread

Make sure everyone knows a quarter is hidden in the cake so they search for it and do not choke on it.

1 cup butter, unsalted

2 cups granulated sugar

3 cups all-purpose flour

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon nutmeg

6 eggs

2 teaspoons baking powder

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1 cup warm milk

1 tablespoon lemon juice

zest of 1 orange

zest of 1 lemon

1/4 cup blanched slivered almonds

2 tablespoons granulated sugar

a clean quarter

Preheat oven to 350F. Generously grease a 10-inch round cake pan. Cream the butter and sugar together until light and fluffy. Stir in the flour, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Mix until mealy. Add the eggs one at a time, mixing well after each addition.

In a separate bowl, combine baking powder, baking soda, milk, lemon juice, and zests. Mix into the batter, then pour into prepared pan. Sprinkle with nuts and sugar. Bake 40-45 minutes. Gently push a quarter into the cake. Cool 10 minutes. Invert cake onto platter. Serve warm.

A Feast Day Prayer to Saint Basil

Saint Basil, O great follower of God, help all as well as me. Defender of orthodoxy, defend us too. Great follower of God, pray to him for all your people, as well as for unworthy me. Strong knight and leader of Ostrog, save us from the seen and unseen. Raised by Serbian soil to be the light in front of God, be our light and light up our road, and make the darkness disappear.

With prayer and tears you have warmed the cold cliffs of Ostrog, please warm our hearts with God’s spirit, so we can be saved. From all corners of the world to your grave come the weak and the ill, and you helped them, got rid of their demons as well as the devil, and healed their souls and bodies.

Please continue to help, the baptized and the nonbaptized, everybody and me as well. You brought peace to fighting brothers, please continue to bring peace, help the divided, make the sad happy, calm the stubborn, heal the sick. Saint Basil, O miracle worker, father of our spirit, listen and hear your children’s spirits in the name of Jesus Christ.

Amen.

About Saint Basil

Basil, being born into a wealthy family, gave away all his possessions to the poor, the underprivileged, those in need, and children. For Greeks and others in the Orthodox tradition, Basil is the saint associated with Santa Claus as opposed to the western tradition of St Nicholas

St. Basil, also called Saint Basil the Great, is one of the most distinguished Doctors of the Church and a forefather of the Greek Orthodox Church. St. Basil was born in the year 329 or 330 and died in the year 379.  He is the Patron of Russia, Cappadocia, hospital administrators, reformers, monks, education, exorcism, and liturgists.

Basil’s life changed radically after he encountered Eustathius of Sebaste, a charismatic bishop and ascetic. Abandoning his legal and teaching career, Basil devoted his life to God. In a letter he described his spiritual awakening:

I had wasted much time on follies and spent nearly all of my youth in vain labors, and devotion to the teachings of a wisdom that God had made foolish. Suddenly, I awoke as out of a deep sleep. I beheld the wonderful light of the Gospel truth, and I recognized the nothingness of the wisdom of the princes of this world.

Hot-blooded and somewhat imperious, Basil was also generous and sympathetic. He personally organized a soup kitchen and distributed food to the poor during a famine following a drought. He gave away his personal family inheritance to benefit the poor of his diocese.

His letters show that he actively worked to reform thieves and prostitutes. They also show him encouraging his clergy not to be tempted by wealth or the comparatively easy life of a priest, and that he personally took care in selecting worthy candidates for holy orders. He also had the courage to criticize public officials who failed in their duty of administering justice. At the same time, he preached every morning and evening in his own church to large congregations.

In addition to all the above, he built a large complex just outside Caesarea, called the Basiliad,  which included a poorhouse, hospice, and hospital, and was compared by Gregory of Nazianzus to the wonders of the world.

His three hundred letters reveal a rich and observant nature, which, despite the troubles of ill-health and ecclesiastical unrest, remained optimistic, tender and even playful. His principal efforts as a reformer were directed towards the improvement of the liturgy, and the reformation of the monastic institutions of the East.

There are numerous relics of Basil throughout the world. One of the most important is his head, which is preserved to this day at the monastery of the Great Lavra on Mount Athos in Greece. The mythical sword Durandal is said to contain some of Basil’s blood.

Alternative St Basil Feast Days

According to some sources, Basil died on January 1, and the Eastern Orthodox Church celebrates his feast day together with that of the Feast of the Circumcision on that day. This was also the day on which the General Roman Calendar celebrated it at first; but in the 13th-century it was moved to June 14, a date believed to be that of his ordination as bishop, and it remained on that date until the 1969 revision of the calendar, which moved it to January 2 (rather than January 1) because the latter date is occupied by the Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God.

On January 2 Saint Basil is celebrated together with Saint Gregory Nazianzen. Some traditionalist Catholics continue to observe pre-1970 calendars.

The Lutheran Church–Missouri Synod commemorates Basil, along with Gregory of Nazianzus and Gregory of Nyssa on January 10.

The Church of England celebrates Saint Basil’s feast on January 2, but the Episcopal Church and the Anglican Church of Canada celebrate it on June 14.

In the Byzantine Rite, January 30 is the Synaxis of the Three Holy Hierarchs, in honor of Saint Basil, Saint Gregory the Theologian and Saint John Chrysostom.

The Coptic Orthodox Church of Alexandria celebrates the feast day of Saint Basil on the 6th of Tobi (6th of Terr on the Ethiopian calendar of the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church). At present, this corresponds to January 14, January 15 during leap year.

Sources:

Web Holidays

Wikipedia

My Pope

Some Great St Basil Quotes

I really love some of these quotes. They are surprisingly applicable to modern life. Enjoy!

https://shirleytwofeathers.com/The_Blog/pagancalendar/category/january-holidays/

[the-jade-cross]

The Lion, the Witch, and the Elph - Chapter 14

Peter sighed as he stared out the window of his room. Festivities would continue till dawn but Peter had grown tired of the dancing and singing especially when Rhea departed from the party to speak privately with Aslan.

He had discarded his doublet so he wore only his pants, shirt and boots. For some strange reason, Peter felt the urge to step out into the hall. Closing the door behind him, Peter calmly strode down the hall enjoying the silence.

He was just about to round a corner which led to the stairs which connected the hall with the garden when he heard voices. Freezing in his tracks, Peter put his back to the wall and peered around the corner to see Aslan and Rhea approaching, speaking in low, serious tones.

“I know that was the last thing you wanted to hear,” Aslan was saying, “Considering that you and Peter just sorted out your issues of late.” Rhea shook her head, “Even though I knew it would happen, when the time comes, I am not sure I will be ready to say goodbye…”

“It is always that way isn’t it?” Aslan whispered. “We think it will be easy if we know what will happen but we always break even when we know exactly what will happen.” “This will be the last time huh?” Rhea asked. “The last time he comes to Narnia?”

Aslan hummed in agreement, “Him and Susan. Their time here is over and they will not return until the end of their days.” Peter felt his heart drop at this. He and Susan would not return to Narnia after this… Now that he thought about it, not visiting Narnia for a year sounded much more friendly.

“Do you think you will be alright?” Aslan asked as the two reached the top of the stairs.

Rhea nodded after a moment of thought, “I will have to be.” Aslan stopped before turning to face the elph, “Remember, the gates are always open to you. My country is your true home after all.” Rhea nodded with a soft smile before bowing her head to Aslan, touching her chest with her left fist. After their exchange, Aslan walked off as Rhea began to head to her room. Peter remained where he was in the shadows, watching her. he saw her pause at her door before walking to his door which was across the hallway.

She lifted her hand to knock when Peter finally stepped out of the shadows.

“he was speaking about tomorrow,” he asked, looking at the startled girl seriously. “When he is going to send us back.” Rhea slowly nodded, getting over her shock. Peter approached the girl before reaching down to take her hands.

“What he said about the gates being open…. Would you actually take up his offer and journey to Aslan’s country?” Rhea smiled, lifting Peter’s hands to her face and kissing his knuckles.

“My goal in life was to protect the Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve. When I met you, I had a new goal: to raise and protect your children and to carry on the hope that you and the others left behind. That goal has been accomplished. Rehtir is happy under the mentorship of Aslan. Pheira has Caspian… now I have one goal in life and that is to love you for as long as it takes till you return to Narnia, even if it is eternity.” Peter felt his heart clench. Why was she the one who had to suffer for millions of years without him while in his case, it was much shorter time?

Grasping both sides of Rhea’s head in his hands, Peter crashed his lips passionately to hers. Rhea melted into the kiss, wrapping her arms around Peter’s neck and thanks to her heels, Peter didn’t have to bend down as far.

When they pulled apart, Peter kept their faces close, nuzzling his nose against Rhea’s, his hands resting on the small of her back. Bringing one hand up to tenderly stroke her hair, Peter sighed.

“In that case, we shall have to love each other in person as much as we can before tomorrow to make up for the years we shall have to love from afar.” Rhea smiled and grabbing the front of Peter’s shirt, pulled him back to her level before giving him the chastest kiss the two had ever had together.

*********

“Narnia belongs to the Narnians just as it does to man. For those of you who wish to stay here are welcome to. Anyone who wishes to leave, Aslan will return to the home of our forefathers,” Caspian stated confidently.

Peter was nudged by Susan none too gently in the ribs and the boy realized that he had zoned out. He had been looking over at where Rhea, Pheira and Rehtir stood. He had been thinking back on that morning….

FLASHBACK

Peter was awoken by a soft but determined knock on his bedroom door. Opening his eyes, Peter found himself lying stark naked beneath the white covers, lying on his side with his arms wrapped protectively around an equally naked but sleeping Rhea.

“Pete!” the familiar voice of Edmund whisper yelled through the door. “Open up!” Peter climbed out of bed and threw on a pair of pants before answering the door. There stood Caspian, Edmund and Rehtir, all three beaming at him.

“Do you realize that it is far too early to be knocking at a guy’s door with sunlight smiles and no coffee to offer.” Peter sighed, running a hand through his bed head.

Edmund held out a large cup of steaming coffee, “Susan already got us prepared. But dropping that, we should leave the ladies to their thing.” Peter peered around Caspian to see Susan, Lucy and Pheira standing there with large bundles in their arms…. They looked like they were on a mission.

“Come on!” Rehtir cried, grabbing his father’s hand, “We need to get rid of that bed head!” Peter glanced around at the others to see that all of them had horrid bed head except for Rehtir. Pheira seemed to catch onto Peter’s perplexed look.

“I still haven’t figured out if Rehtir wakes up an hour early to fix his hair or if it is perpetually perfect… and I have known him the whole of my 1022 years.”

Caspian chuckled before giving peter a push toward Edmund’s bedroom door. “Better not ask and to escape while we can. One thing Rehtir taught me is never get in the way of girls on a mission. They are more frightening than an army!” About twenty minutes later, the boys emerged from Edmund’s room, brushed, washed with the fresh clothes they would end up wearing later to the announcement with Aslan and the Telmarines.

They led Peter out into the garden where Peter found Aslan and most of the Narnians waiting.

“Aslan suggested we hold you and Rhea’s wedding sooner rather than later,” Caspian whispered.

“And you are telling me this now!?” Peter whisper yelled as he stood with the lion.

Before the boys could defend themselves, everyone had gone silent and Peter looked across the garden, only to feel his heart freeze. Across the garden stood Rhea, garbed in a simple, slender but beautiful white dress with Lucy, Susan and Pheira flanking her, dressed in pale blue matching dresses. When Rhea came to stand before Peter, they both realized that the other was blushing and staring wide eyed. Neither was prepared for this…. But at the same time, they had waited 1052 years for this (at least Rhea had), so who cares!

FLASHBACK ENDS

“My lord,” Reepacheep’s voice cut through and Peter snapped out of his daydreaming, “With your permission, I will take 11 mice through with no delay.”

Peter felt a pair of eyes on him and turned to see Aslan staring at him…. Oh no…. not now…. not yet!

He felt a nudge against his arm and turned to see Susan who had a crestfallen but determined look on her face. She knew it too. The boy’s eyes snapped over at Rhea who was whispering something to Rehtir.

“We’ll go,” he finally managed to choke out.

His younger siblings minus Susan stared at him in shock, “We will?”

“Come on,” Peter said weakly. “Our time’s up. After all. We’re not really needed here anymore.”

With that, the boy walked over and held out his sword to Caspian who hesitated before gripping it. “I’ll look after it until you return.” “That’s just it,” Susan intervened, “We’re not coming back.” “We’re not?” Lucy’s distressed voice cut in.

Peter smiled softly at his sister, “You two are,” he said, nodding at her and Edmund. “At least, I think he means you two.”

“But why!?” Lucy asked Aslan, “Have they done something wrong?”

“Quite the opposite dear one,” the lion replied. “Your brother and sister have learnt all they can from this world. It is time that they learn from their own.”

Peter walked over to Lucy and took her hands, “It’s alright Lu.” “But…. Rhea…. Rehtir…. Pheira…” the girl stuttered.

Peter’s eyes slowly lifted to where his newly married wife and children stood. He saw Caspian standing close to Pheira, a protective aura radiating off the young king. Smiling, the blond approached Caspian.

“There is something you can look after for me,” he said to Caspian. “My daughter.” Peter turned his eyes to Pheira before gently stroking the girl’s blond hair that matched his own, “She’s stubborn, full of energy and sarcastic. Please take care of her.” Caspian nodded, a soft smile appearing on his face. When Peter looked back at his daughter, Pheira’s eyes had pooled with tears before she rushed forward and threw her arms around Peter’s neck, hugging him.

“I love you daddy,” she sniffed into his shoulder.

Peter chuckled softly at her emotional state and the innocent, child-like tone of her voice before hugging her back and kissing her hair. When he pulled back, he gently wiped her tears away before kissing her forehead.

Pheira gently took a step back, wiping more tears away before Caspian wrapped an arm around her shoulders to comfort her, allowing the blond to lean into his body warmth. Peter then approached Rehtir who immediately smiled sadly at him.

Peter extended one hand and Rehtir took it firmly. Peter’s eyes fell on the boy’s strong long fingers…. He had missed them as children…. And now they were adults…. He wasn’t going to leave it like that. Pulling Rehtir forward, Peter wrapped the boy in a tight embrace which Rehtir immediately returned, clinging to his father whilst letting his unshed tears wet Peter’s shoulder.

Peter gently clutched Rehtir’s white head to his chest before pressing a kiss to his hair and pulled back. Rehtir did not wipe his tears away like Pheira did but let them stain his pale face with red lines.

Peter grasped the boy’s face in both hands, wiping away the tears before pressing his forehead to Rehtir’s… the sign of affection between a parent and a child.

Finally, Peter stood before Rhea. For what seemed like forever they just stood there…. staring at each other with love in their eyes, pain written on their brows and desperation upon their lips…. Silent.

The first one to move was Rhea who parted her lips, about to say something and that was all Peter needed to break. Reaching forward swiftly with both hands, he caught her face in his hands and brought her flush against him in a single motion before crashing his lips to hers, none too gently even though hundreds of people were present.

When they finally pulled apart, their faces were flushed and their breathing ragged, but they didn’t care. Peter took one look at the tears springing to Rhea’s lime green eyes before he drew her close to him, her nose nestled in the crook of his neck before holding her close…. So close like he was refusing to let her go.

“I don’t want to let go,” Peter whispered into her hair, feeling her hands clutch at the back of his shirt.

“I know,” Rhea whispered against his neck. “But we aren’t letting go of each other…. we are just putting a distance between us…. Till we can pull the other back again.” Peter slowly pulled away to see that Rhea had gently wiped the tears from her eyes, but fresh ones sprang forth immediately. She smiled sweetly up at him and Peter felt his heart throb. Leaning down, he pressed the softest kiss he could to Rhea’s lips before placing another one on her brow. Pulling away, he took a deep breath and released her hand. He knew that if he didn’t separate from her, he would never leave.

He turned to see that his siblings had finished their farewells and were standing at the tree gate all together. Peter slowly walked over to them before he was stopped by Aslan.

“They will be safe,” the lion promised the boy. “And they shall be here for when you return.” The boy smiled weakly before slowly following his siblings. Just as he was about to step through after Susan, he turned to look over his shoulder. There stood Pheira in Caspian’s arms, defiantly wiping the tears from her eyes. Rehtir stood at her side, patting his sister’s shoulder and his other arm firmly around Rhea’s shoulders, offering comfort. Rhea stood between her children, one hand grasping Pheira’s and leaning into Rehtir’s comforting warmth…. They would be waiting…. For when he returned…. And with that, he stepped through.

**************

Needless to say, no one was the same after that one particular visit to Narnia.

Susan began to slowly forget about Narnia and drifted away from those fond memories. She talked less and less about it until she began to forget all together and whenever one of the other kids brought it up, she would say it was just fond memories of their childhood games they would play.

However, she was the only one who forgot. Lucy and Edmund would soon return to Narnia with their cousin Eustace about a year later. There they joined Caspian aboard the Dawn Treader to journey to the end of the world in search of the seven Lord of Telmar. Pheira was sailing with Caspian and the two had revealed that they were planning on marrying when they returned to Narnia after the voyage.

Having not been able to ask Peter before he left Narnia for Pheira’s hand in marriage, Caspian asked Edmund in his stead and asked if Edmund would relay the message even though Caspian said that he would marry Pheira even if Peter didn’t agree.

At Romandu’s island, Edmund, Lucy, Caspian and Pheira were reunited with Rehtir who had been in training there under Aslan and had befriended the inhabitants: Romandu and his lovely daughter: Liliandil. Needless to say, it was quite obvious that Rehtir and Liliandil were more than friends or were planning to be more in the future.

When Lucy and Edmund returned back to London with their cousin Eustace, Caspian and Pheira returned to Narnia where they were wed and Rehtir gave Pheira away. Years later they gave birth to their son Rilian. When Rilian was an adult, Pheira died from a poisonous bite from the evil serpent: Jadis. Her death broke Rehtir who then journeyed to Aslan’s country with his wife Liliandil and his family.

Meanwhile, Lucy and Edmund returned to London having had their last visit to Narnia. After the war ended, Edmund and Lucy were reunited with Susan and Peter, only to discover that Susan had forgotten completely about Narnia. However, the same could not be said about Peter who still wore the ring that Edmund had helped him weld from one of the rings from his sword…. That was identical to the one that Rhea wore.

When Peter heard that Rehtir and Pheira were happy and well, he was overjoyed and couldn’t help but laugh at Caspian’s statement on his permission to marry Pheira. When he asked after Rhea, Lucy and Edmund said that according to Caspian and the twins, the had journeyed to Aslan’s country, two years after the four of them had left… one year before Lucy and Edmund returned with Eustace. And that my friends is where our story ends…. or is it?

****************

“Psst, Ed!” Peter whispered through the dark. “Do you know what happened?”

Edmund shook his head, only to realize that it was too dark for Peter to see so he spoke, “I only remember the train jolting and it felt like someone hit me over the head with a carrot.” “Will you two stop yappering?” Lucy’s voice cut in. “I see a light!” “Wait….. Lu, you’re here?” Edmund asked from the darkness.

“Us too!” Said a familiar voice nearby.

True to Lucy’s word, a dim light had begun to appear from an unknown source, giving the boys a full view of Lucy who stood with two other people.

“professor! Polly!” Peter breathed. “Where are we?” “Outside somewhere,” Diggory replied. “But no where that I know…” The group looked around to find themselves in what looked like an orchard with beautiful trees giving off plentiful fruit.

“Maybe we should ask this fine young gentleman,” Polly said all of a sudden.

The group spun around to find that sitting in the branches of one of the trees was a young man. He looked to be about eighteen or so but something in his eyes held years of wisdom. His features were sharp and well defined. His eyes were a stormy cloud grey and his fair blond hair flopped over his forehead. He wore a simple pair of black pants, black leather boots that came to his knees and a white cotton shirt. Over the shirt was a simple black jacket…. And no weapon on him.

Grasping the branch above him, the boy leapt down to the ground, his feet making no noise on the grass.

“You are in a place of illusion,” the boy explained in a gentle but defined voice. “For those who do not believe, this is a place of misery and despair. For those who believe, like yourselves, this is a place of wonder and beauty.” Peter couldn’t help but think that the boy looked familiar.

“Who are you?” Lucy asked gently.

The young man smiled, “My name is Linar, Queen Lucy.”

The girl’s eyes widened and Edmund spoke, “You know us?” “Of course!” Said another young, unfamiliar voice. “We have spent years waiting to meet you.” The group spun around to stare in wonder at the child behind them. The boy couldn’t have been more than ten years old with beautiful blond hair like Linar but his seemed paler and his eyes were a beautiful sky blue. His face was like that of an angel, still youthful but as wise as the moon itself. The boy smiled at the grownups, his hands clasped behind his back.

“Lord Diggory, Lady Polly, Queen Lucy the Valiant, King Edmund the Just…. And High King Peter the Magnificent.”

The boy nodded to each of them in turn as he spoke their names and when his eyes settled on Peter, he smiled.

“I am Bendan,” the boy said, beaming at the group.

Just when Peter was about to speak, the sound of a door opening caught their attention. Spinning around, they saw a young girl with blond hair standing before them, quite flustered and exhausted.

“Jill!” Lucy cried in relief. “but… I thought you and Eustace went to Narnia…” “We are in Narnia!” Jill exclaimed, “How are you here….” The girl was cut off by the appearance of Eustace who came hurtling through the shadows as well. That was when the group spied a large wooden door standing in the center of the orchard, hidden in the shadows.

“Well,” the boy sighed as Jill helped him up. “You lot are a sight for sore eyes.” “What is going on here?” another voice asked.

“Tirian!” Jill and Eustace cried, rushing over to the young man who had appeared through the door. He was not bad looking with rustic blond hair and boyish features.

The young man smiled at Jill and Eustace till his eyes fell on the people before him. Falling to his knees, he bowed to the Pevensies, Diggory and Polly.

Peter rushed forth to pull the young man to his feet. “it is a pleasure to meet you King Tirian.”

The young man stared at the group in awe till his eyes fell on Linar.

“Cousin!?” The pale blond boy smiled before embracing Tirian, “Good to see you Tirian.” “Wait…” Jill remarked, “You two are related!?”

Linar nodded, “Tirian’s great-grandfather was Rillian, son of Caspian and…” “Pheira,” Peter breathed, finishing for him.

Linar smirked, “Correct.” “So that means,” Edmund joined in, “That your great…..” “My great-grandmother was Luna, eldest daughter of Liliandil and Rehtir Lionheart, Queen Pheira’s twin brother, apprentice to Aslan and son of Rheanna Portedorfer and High King Peter.” The young man turned to look at Peter who was looking from Linar to Tirian. They were hid descendants!

“And,” Peter whispered hoarsely, “Rehtir…. Pheira…”

“After Pheira was bitten by the serpent, Rehtir and Liliandil joined her in Aslan’s country,” Bendan said, speaking up.

“And you are?” Tirian asked the boy.

“Bendan,” the boy said cheerfully, “A friend of Linar’s.” Peter zoned out. His children…. Had their own children and grandchildren…. He hadn’t just missed one lifetime… but many.

******

It felt like they were climbing that hill forever! Aslan made it seem so easy when he had run up the hill, no sweat long before them.

Couldn’t he have waited for them or better yet, given them a lift!? Peter looked to his left to see Tirian and Linar chatting with Edmund and Eustace. To his right were Lucy and Jill who were a little ahead thanks to Bendan who was giving them a pull up whenever the trek got steep.

Peter found himself enchanted by the little boy who reminded him of a fairy, so light on his feet and agile, the boy wasn’t even panting from helping the girls up the hill.

In a way, Peter had almost been disappointed when Tirian did not know Bendan for a part of him had imagined Bendan as one of Pheira or Rehtir’s descendants. With the fair hair and pale eyes, he definitely would pass as one!

“Look!” Eustace cried.

Everuone looked up the hill to find a giant pure black horse charging toward them… but the thing was… he had wings!

“Fledge!” Polly and DIggroy cried, rushing forward to embrace their old friend.

After greetings, kisses and hugs were given the large horse approached Bendan, “About time you returned young master.” Bendan chuckled and patted the horse’s nose, “Would you mind dearly giving the ladies a lift?”

“Not at all,” the horse said before allowing Jill, Lucy and Polly to mount up.

Just as Fledge began to trop up the hill, the group saw that atop the hill stood a large stone wall and staring down at them, pure golden gates. Slowly the gates opened and just before they could see what was inside, a figure came hurling through the gates.

Peter jumoed when the figure slammed into Bendan, the two rolling back toward Peter.

“Brother!” the figure squealed, revealing to be a little girl, “You’re back!” Bendan rolled hi eyes but smiled warmly at the girl who was showering him with hugs and kisses atop his head.

“Good to see you too Ashe,” Bendan muttered. “But could you not break my ribs?”

The girl leapt to her feet, smirking happily. Peter felt a jolt as he looked at the girl. Looking about the same age as Bendan, the girl’s blond hair was cut short to her chin but her eyes weren’t blue like Bendan’s but lime green. Other than that, they were the splitting image of each other.

When she turned to look at Peter, her face lit up and she beamed. That was when Peter noticed the small fox ears protruding from her hair.

“Mummy will be so happy to see you!” Ashe cried, grabbing her brother’s hand and dragging him through the gates.

As the group stepped in, they found themselves in a beautiful garden. They had barely entered when two figures appeared, one of which made Peter freeze.

“Caspian!” Edmund and Lucy cried, rushing over to greet their friend.

Peter’s eyes were glued upon the blond girl at Caspian’s side and standing on the other side of the girl, a tall blond young man…. From the description that Jill and Eustace had given him… that must be Rillian.

“Father,” the girl breathed, rushing over to embrace Peter.

The boy finally broke from his trance and hugged the girl to him, “Pheira,” he breathed.

When they pulled apart, Pheira motioned to Rillian who stepped forward, staring at Peter in wonder.

“Grandfather!” the boy gasped.

Peter felt his heart clench at the sound of that word. When he was last in Narnia, he learnt tha the was a father…. This time he wasn’t only a grandfather but a great-great-great grandfather!

“Father!” a joyous voice cried.

Peter snapped his head around and felt his face break into another smile at the sight before him.

There stood Rehtir, not aged a day since he last saw him with a beautiful girl at his side, a baby in the woman’s arms, a toddler girl at their feet and a young teenage girl holding Rehtir’s hand.

The young part-elph pulled away from his family and charged over to bring Peter into a bone crushing hug. He pulled back, both laughing happily.

“And who is this?” Peter asked.

Rehtir hurried over and gently drew his family toward Peter.

“Father, this is my wife: Liliandil and our kids: Luna, Rosa and Reher,” Rehtir said, introducing each of them.

The teenage girl, Luna peeked around Rehtir shyly before smiling at Peter. However, little Rosa waddled over to Peter and grabbed his leg. Reaching down, Peter scooped her up and placed her on his hip.

“I am so proud of you,” Peter said feeling tears spring to his eyes as he looked at his two children.

Rehtir and Pheira beamed when suddenly Rehtir’s face lit up with an idea and grinning, he took Rosa from his father’s arms and handing her to Luna, grabbed his father’s arm and pulled him through the garden.

When they finally pulled to a stop, Rehtir beamed as he stepped to the side. Peter found himself looking at a group of people, few of which he recognized. There was an incredibly tall slender man with jet black hair and pure blue eyes…. He was incredibly handsome with sharp features. The woman standing with him was apparently his wife with pure white hair, pretty plump features and gorgeous green eyes.

There was a petite woman standing with them but her back was to Peter…. But there was no mistaking her. That long pure white hair, the petite figure, slender frame but steady arms and legs….

“Rhea….” He breathed, almost as a question.

The petite girl spun around, having not heard him approach and the girl’s eyes widened….. she hadn’t changed… she didn’t look a day older!

Before Peter could even comprehend that he wasn’t dreaming, the girl had sprinted over to him and thrown her arms around his neck. Peter didn’t care that he stumbled back a few steps before he wrapped his arms around her, burying his nose in her neck, breathing in her scent.

“I missed you so much,” Rhea cried into his shoulder, sniffling.

Peter just squeezed her harder and would have done it longer if a thought hadn’t come to him. Pulling away, he caught the back of her head in one hand and brought her lips up to his, crushing her lips with his. He wouldn’t have made it a lot more passionate if he hadn’t remembered that there were children present and the two adults who had been talking with Rhea were without a doubt her parents and he wanted to make a good first impression.

When he pulled away, both were breathing slightly but kept it hidden. Peter nudged her nose with his before pressing a warm kiss to her forehead.

“Gosh I love you so much,” he muttered against her head.

Rhea chuckled before pulling away, smiling up at him with tears in her eyes, “I love you more.” Before Peter could start to cry again, Rhea had grabbed his hand and was pulling him over to her parents.

“Mother, father, this is Peter. Peter, these are my parents: Rian and Rulara” The woman smiled brightly before rushing over and crushing Peter in a hug, “Thank you so much for making our Rheanna so happy!” Peter found himself smiling as the woman pulled away, now he knew where Rhea got her loving affection from. Next, her father stepped forward and extended his hand. When Peter took it, he was expecting a shake but the man drew him forward and embraced him.

“You took care of my daughter. Thank you.”

The boy smiled, relieved that Rhea’s parents were almost exactly like her in personality.

When Peter pulled away from Rian, he heard a screech and turned around to see Bendan charging through the garden with Ashe dragging him along. He was wondering where they were going when suddenly Bendan let go of his sister’s hand and came running to Rhea’s open arms!

“Mummy!” the boy cried, wrapping his arms around her neck and allowing the elph to pepper him with kisses.

“Bendan!” Rhea cried. “You’ve been so long! How was your assignment with Aslan?” Bendan beamed, “Awesome! We got to see the end of the world!” Rhea’s eyes widened before she chuckled and pecked the boy’s cheek. Her eyes finally flitted up to Peter’s which were wide in surprise and confusion.

A knowing look crossed the girl’s face before she got to her feet, keeping Bendan’s hand in her own.

“Peter,” She said gently pulling Bendan forward so that he was standing before Peter, “This is Bendan and Ashe.” Ashe scurried over at the sound of her name and hugged Rhea’s free arm.

Peter’s eyes landed on the two kids…. Their identical faces… identical hair….

His eyes then traveled back up to Rhea who confirmed his suspicions with a smile. Getting down on his knees before the two, he gently touched each of them on the cheek before a smile appeared on his face, tears springing to his eyes again.

Ashe’s face lit up at Peter’s smile and she threw her arms around his neck, “Welcome home father!” Peter wrapped his arms around the twins’ bodies, allowing them to bury their faces in his shoulders as he hugged them. His eyes drifted up to Rhea who stood smiling lovingly at him, Rehtir and Pheira at her sides…. He was home.

Well you lot! That’s it! I hoped you liked the ending! With the Last Battle only being a book and not a movie, it was kinda a hit and miss ending;) I hope you enjoyed!

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A SIMCHAT TORAH STORY

A SIMCHAT TORAH STORY

The massive synagogue is richly illuminated. Every electrical gentle brings out the presence of an empty seat.

That is Simchat Torah Eve. Our forefathers for tons of of years have rejoiced at being privileged to hold with them the Torah handed to Moses on Mt. Sinai.

Our individuals within the diaspora at all times have a good time Simchat Torah, after the prayers on Rosh Hashanah to be inscribed within the ebook of life and the day of Yom Kippur after we ask forgiveness for our transgressions.

This night the seats should not occupied as within the days “when even a fish trembles within the waters” and never at the same time as within the days of Succot.

Simon Wolff, who has made his residing all these years as a buyer peddler, sitting now dealing with east, on the proper of the Ark, is chanting the prayer, “And let our eyes behold Thy return in mercy to Zion.” Abraham Bin, grocer of the neighborhood, sits on the left of the east wall. He’s chanting the prayer, “Lead us with exultation into Zion, Thy metropolis, and unto Jerusalem, the place of Thy sanctuary, with eternal pleasure.”

Outdoors of Rabbi Merkin, non secular chief of the congregation, Bin and Wolff and one other half dozen are the one worshippers this night—the one ones who’ve come to rejoice with the Torah.

Excessive holidays

The shamash, Berrel Mink, standing on the bimah, drained from days of toil and labor by way of the excessive holidays, observes the small congregation with a melancholy eye. He thinks to himself, if solely those that tried to get in with out tickets throughout the excessive holidays would have come tonight!

Very shortly the Torah will probably be taken from the Ark and there should not sufficient males within the synagogue to name to the altar to divide the honors.

He remembers when the synagogue was crammed to its capability on Simchat Torah; when fathers with their kids danced as our fathers have completed for hundreds of years earlier than.

Only a few fathers are right here this night, and nonetheless fewer kids. Most of them have grown up and moved to others elements of town. A few of them have joined temples and a few conservative synagogues. The extra thoughtful little children made pilgrimages to those previous mother and father on the excessive holidays. They got here right here to please Pa and Ma.