#Gil refusing to leave his work wife's side

[softquietsteadylove]

Just here asking you for some soft moment for the thenamesh doctor au :D I liked the last ones very much!

Thank you so much for all of these story���s!❤️❤️

Gil does stay the rest of the night. He hovers around, helps out here and there. He never strays too far from Thena's side, and she doesn't go anywhere near their restrained patients without him standing somewhat in front of her.

No one is brave enough to say anything about it, and even anyone who asks is quickly silenced by Ajak claiming that Gil is extra security.

Thena has at least taken a small break to get some food and some coffee in her. She changed into some fresh scrubs and has put a white turtleneck sweater on under them.

"Breathe in," she says gently as she checks on the hallucinatory patients again. "And out."

The one that literally tried to choke her has no memory of it.

"Okay," Thena sighs as she notes down their vitals. "So, would you like to tell me what happened? Or, what you remember happening, at least?"

The two young men share a look between them before giving the doctor a guilty little frown. "We...we don't really remember much. We went to a party."

"Some guy had something he was passing around."

"Did everyone take what you got?" Thena asks with a frown. They might have to put out a warning to other EMTs that this substance might be in a slew of other students.

"We don't know," the first one shakes his head. "I thought it would maybe just, uh, make the buzz better, y'know?"

Gil is scowling at them both openly from over Thena's shoulder.

"Well, what you got was LSD cut with something else," Thena informs them with a frown. The kids look genuinely aghast, and she's guessing that when they say they wouldn't have done anything that serious that they mean it. "Look, guys, we're not the cops, okay? We're not going to call anyone, or rat anyone out. But it's important we know what we're dealing with in here."

"It can get pretty dangerous."

The young men shrink in their beds at the look on the paramedic's face. The one with Thena next to him looks at her, his eyes drifting down to her high collared shirt under her scrubs. "Did...I hope we didn't give you any trouble."

Thena smiles at the kid, "nothing we can't handle. But you boys should get in contact with whomever needs to know that what you took at the party is a lot more serious than a weed gummy."

"Yes, ma'am," he nods, curling up in his bed from the guilt of it all.

Thena stands, leaving the boys to handle the situation as best they can. She tugs at Gil's sleeve on her way, "come on, you."

He follows her out, giving the poor - confused - boys one last glower.

"They have no idea what they did," Thena chides him as she sets their charts on the nurse's station counter. "You glaring at them like that isn't going to make them remember, either."

Gil sighs, choosing to forgo her chastising. "I'll tell Kingo the kids have no memory of it. We might have to expect some calls from worried parents about why their kid is having an episode after the block party."

"At least it doesn't seem to have done any lasting damage on their organs," Thena murmurs as she leaves the charts and sanitises her hands.

Gil's eyes linger on her. "There's a little lasting damage."

Thena shakes her head at him with the fondest of smiles. Her hand moves to his wrist, forcing him to unfold his arms. "They're scared, and embarrassed, and terrified to call their families. Isn't that punishment enough?"

"No."

"Gil," Thena laughs faintly at his unusually petulant response. He smiles for her, at least, and she gives his massive bicep a poke. "Did it really make you feel better to glare at them like that?"

"A little."

"Fine," she fakes a sigh, stretching her arms behind her and leaning against the counter with him. "Just a few more hours to go."

"Still not leaving."

"Gil," Thena scolds him anew, although she's still smiling, so it doesn't have nearly the dissatisfied effect she wants it to. "They're getting discharged, they're both alert and sober. We'll be fine--you should go home and get some rest."

He shakes his head.

"And you call me stubborn?" she rolls her eyes at him.

"Hey."

Thena looks back at him but he's suddenly and deliberately leaning into her space. She blinks, naturally turning her head as he gets in close. One of his hands has secured her in place at the small of her back. The other one is hovering somewhere around her cheek. "G-Gil?"

Her hand perches on his shoulder. She's still wearing his work hoodie, although she's had to roll the sleeves up several times over to get them secure around her elbows. He pulls her even closer.

He's so warm, and he smells kind of nice--nicer than the hospital, at least. Her head goes fuzzy as the feeling of him holding her pushes away every other sensation. She briefly wonders if he can feel her heart pounding.

Gil tugs her turtleneck down. She feels his breath on the skin there. She's half horrified he's going to kiss her neck and even more curious as to why she hasn't stopped him yet.

"Hey, it's a little better."

Thena blinks again, but he's already pulled back (although he's still holding her). "Huh?"

"The swelling is down, although you might have to wear this for a little longer," he gives her a remorseful smile, tugging her turtleneck back up around the bruising on her porcelain skin. "But it's definitely better than it was."

"Oh," Thena stutters, still just staring at him. He looks back at her, as if he hadn't had her in his arms, completely pressed against her in a very pleas--inappropriate way. "Good."

He yawns and ruffles his hair, "you want another coffee?"

Thena just nods, still too flustered over what just happened to really get the words out. She stays rooted to the spot, trying to think her way out of it. She doesn't make it very far in thought, mostly to 'Gil-warm-nice'.

Ajak clears her throat, watching Thena turn a shade of red that most in their profession would find alarming. "I thought he was going to kiss it too, for what it's worth."

Thena just groans in response, running off to find another cold compress for herself.

[sotwk]

apologies if you've answered this question before, but i was wondering about your take on Oropher? his role in Doriath, what his rule of Eryn Galen was like, how he was as a person, or anything you'd like to talk about!

Elvenking Oropher, Founder and Ruler of Eryn Galen 

25 SotWK AU Headcanon Facts

SotWK Fancast: Jason Isaacs as Oropher

Oropher’s grandfather was the brother of Elmo's wife, which makes Oropher and Celeborn second cousins. Oropher is therefore related to Elu Thingol, but not by blood.

Oropher was born in Y.T. 1345 in Doriath, soon after the completion of Menegroth.

Celeborn was born in the same Valian year as Oropher. Although 1 Valian year is ~10 Solar years (with Oropher being slightly older), this technically makes them “birthmates”.

Thus, Oropher and Celeborn grew up together and were very close friends from childhood to young adulthood.

Oropher had a younger sister named Ferinsil who had been in love with Celeborn her whole life. Unfortunately, Celeborn only ever saw her as a sister, despite Oropher’s attempts to encourage their match.

In FA 106, Oropher married Meluiel, the younger sister of Beleg Cúthalion and a trusted lady-in-waiting to Queen Melian.

Even in his youth, Oropher demonstrated the makings of a gifted politician. He was charming, diplomatic, eloquent, and had an easy way of making friends and gaining followers. In FA 25, just shy of 1,500 years old, Oropher was appointed the youngest member in the council of Thingol.

Oropher had a head for sums and trade, eventually leading to him being put in charge of the royal treasury.

Despite his significant rank and achievements, Oropher remained secretly envious of his friend Celeborn, who, in his status as a prince, was often shown special favor by the King and never seemed to have to work for his privileges.

Oropher did not like or trust the Noldor outsider, Galadriel, and his animosity towards her increased when it became evident that Celeborn loved her. Celeborn's love for Galadriel broke Ferinsil's heart and spirit, and Oropher never quite forgave his cousin for this.

Celeborn's decision to leave Doriath with Galadriel in FA 470, marked the end to the cousins’ friendship, as Oropher viewed this as abandonment of their people.

During the Sacking of Doriath by the Sons of Fëanor, Oropher went first to the rescue of his sister (whom he viewed as weaker and more defenseless), before his wife. Because Meluiel was killed without him at her side, this decision haunted Oropher forever and became a source of self-loathing.

Nonetheless, Oropher was one of the few surviving leaders of King Dior’s court who led the surviving refugees out of Doriath, and was remembered as a hero for it.

In the attacks, Oropher sustained a serious injury to his right leg that left him with a permanent limp even after it was healed. Eventually he started to use a staff to minimize the appearance of his limp. (The same staff Thranduil is seen with in movie promo pics.)

Oropher also witnessed and survived the Third Kinslaying at the Havens of Sirion, but had no significant involvement other than refusing to yield Elwing or the Silmaril.

Oropher’s first major falling out with Thranduil was over his son's decision to participate and fight in the War of Wrath, which he could not prevent. For years he lived in agonizing fear over losing his son, but thankfully Thranduil survived, and they were reunited and reconciled afterward.

After some centuries of living in Lindon (ruled by High King Gil-galad), Oropher and some other surviving families from Doriath, decided to seek a new home across the mountains.

Oropher immediately loved the great forests of Greenwood, as well as the native Silvan people. He was moved by their peaceful, simple lifestyle and pushed for assimilation wherein Silvan culture was upheld as dominant over Sindar.

Although there were a few Sindarin lords who put themselves forward as contenders for the role of King, Oropher was chosen by the overwhelming majority. This was due to his own popularity with the Silvans, and partly because of their admiration for his son, Thranduil.

Oropher was a much beloved and successful ruler of Eryn Galen throughout the Second Age, building the kingdom from the ground up with the help of well-chosen advisors. He was a conciliator who balanced the interests of the Sindar and Silvan sides, until the lines between the two groups grew indistinguishable.

War never touched the lands of Eryn Galen, from outside or within, during Oropher's reign. He had no intention of partaking in the War of the Last Alliance until Thranduil convinced him to do so.

Oropher actually respected Gil-galad and considered him a friend, despite carrying a general grudge and dislike for the Noldor. Although not in the inner circle, he held a position in the royal court as a representative of the Sindarin citizens in Lindon.

Oropher’s alleged refusal to take orders from Gil-galad and his generals, as recorded in historical accounts, was much more nuanced than just being a result of stubbornness and pride. (I would need a separate essay to explain this one.)

A lifelong courtier, Oropher was unapologetically fancy, and had high standards for his personal appearance. This did not mean he had to have luxurious clothing, but he believed that “cleanliness is next to godliness”. He was always polished and unwrinkled, and carried himself with refined manners and bearing. His hair was meticulously braided in the traditional style of the Iathrim and the House of Elmo. Thranduil's wilder, more uncouth ways when he was a child and a young prince, was a point of contention between them. But as Thranduil matured and especially when he ascended the throne himself, he emulated his father's grace and regality.

Alcohol (esp. wine) does not have an inebriating effect on Oropher. In fact, the more he drinks, the sharper his mind gets. He could effortlessly drink his own son under the table.

Thank you for the Ask, @toasterdrake! I've fallen shamefully behind in my development of Oropher's character, and your question gave me the nudge I needed to beef up my notes! <3 I appreciate you so much!

For more Thranduil/Silvan Elf/Mirkwood headcanons: SotWK HC Masterlist

Other useful links:

Introduction to SotWK

Fanfiction Masterlist

[c-rose2081]

Mess Not With a Resting Dragon

Love Like Dragons AU

Bevie | Huma | Gildry | Mal & Audrey BROTP

—

Audrey the Aurorian Dragon wasn’t a fan of being cold. Unlike Mal — Evie’s five-year-old Isle Dragon — who loved lurking around corners, under furniture, and inside cupboards; Audrey was quite opposite. She spent her lazy afternoons basking in warm sunlight on clear branches or at window sills. She lounged by the oven door when Evie was baking, played in rolls of fabric left behind while Evie was designing, and slept at night on a well heated perch next to her and Ben’s shared bed. The creature was very much her husbands little Princess, and Audrey was sure Evie knew this as well.

Currently, Ben was out of town. Evie had been watching both dragons closely, as Mal had only just recovered from a Dragon Cold. It had taken only a few days of Ben’s week long getaway for Evie to notice something weird going on with Audrey. Though she would be there in the morning on her perch, as always, she seemed lethargic and snappish. She ate regularly though, and played a bit. So Evie thought perhaps she was simply missing Ben, as he very rarely went away without her.

In the mornings, Evie would let the Dragons out, and leave the door to the porch open while she worked on her designs in the Den. Mal came and went often — nothing weird there — but her pink counterpart often stayed outside all day long. This was unusual, because the weather was getting colder as Summer began its annual shift into Fall. Evie was well aware that Audrey was a priss about her body temperature, and it was odd of her to stay out so long without even coming inside to eat. Halfway through the week, despite a late Summer drizzle rolling in from Atlantica’s direction, Audrey refused to come back inside. Period.

Evie tried to wrestle her out of the garden, but was shocked to retrieve a sharp nip on the hand. It wasn’t a malicious bite; Mal’s play wrestling was often far worse. But it was a bite none the less, and Evie had never been bitten by Audrey before. As she had when Mal caught a cold, Evie began her usual routine of worrying. What if something was wrong? What if Audrey caught something from Mal? What if she died while Ben was away and came home to find his Princess gone?

At once Evie was filled with dread. She wanted to call her husband, to tell him what was going on and how she didn’t have Uma’s number to call her for help. But he trusted her to watch the ‘kids’ (as he referred sometimes), while he was away. And Evie didn’t want to disappoint him. After all, it was only a week. She should’ve been able to handle a week at home by herself.

Instead of calling Ben, Evie dawned her bad weather gear and began watching. The rain didn’t let up for days, and Audrey still refused to come inside. She had taken up residence in one of the rose bushes in the garden; one so dense and prickly that there wasn’t any way for Evie to get her out, or even see inside. Mal, who Evie hadn’t noticed at first, was able to slip into the bush just fine. The pair would make a bit of noise, as though they were conversing, and Mal would leave and fly off.

After a day of watching said bush, freezing her butt off but determined not to let anything past her, Evie still wasn’t sure what was going on. Mal, her dear spiky fiend, would visit the bush at least five times a day. Sometimes she would have things that she found around the house. The first time it was a dishcloth, the second time a spool of thread, the third an old sock belonging to Ben that had been behind the washing machine. And so on and so forth. Evie hadn’t ever seen Mal so keen on playing fetch; not like she was ever keen on playing to being with.

Audrey herself wouldn’t come out of the bush, not once. And only when Mal brought a dead mouse from the shed did Evie understand why the Princess hadn’t come back in. She wasn’t starving; as Evie had first thought. Mal was feeding her wild catch. Thoughtful; but weird as the two so often bullied each other. As darkness fell and the storm grew heavy, Evie was forced into retreat. Of course she was worried about the dragon in the bush, but she didn’t need to get sick either.

Evie didn’t get much sleep that night. She tossed and turned as thunder rolled overhead, and rain assaulted the windows. She was only just beginning to doze off when Mal began to scream. It wasn’t a sound Evie had ever heard come from her best friend. It was a horrible, desperate wail, as though she were in such great pain that she might just die on the spot. Leaping out of bed, Evie stubbed her toe in the dark but ignored it. She shoved on her Ugg boots, tucked into her jacket and bolted down the stairs phone flashlight in hand.

She found Mal at the door to the patio, flapping and scratching at the glass in panic. She banged her body against the panes, forcefully rattling the hinges, desperate to get outside. Evie fell over herself getting the door open, and Mal bolted out at breakneck speed. And as Evie followed her into the storm, she knew something was horribly wrong.

The sounds coming from the garden were like war. Growling and hissing, whimpers, cries and thuds. Skidding to the shed, Evie was already soaking wet as she turned on the floodlights, illuminating the entire backyard. Two rather large bodies circled Audrey’s rose bush, the leaves and branches trampled and broken down. One dog and Audrey were engaged in a fierce battle, the dragon’s back forced down into the muddy grass by a large brown paw as she used teeth and claw to swipe at the stray dogs nose.

The other dog was now engaged with Mal, the purple dragon pissed and tearing into its fur and flesh with her toothy maw. Startled by what she saw, Evie entered the shed and grabbed a shovel from the wall. She was just in time to keep the German Shepard from biting Audrey’s neck, swinging her makeshift weapon hard and striking the animal with its flat face. There was a horrible BANG of metal on skull as the dog was knocked to one side, whimpering in pain and running away into the hedges where it had come. The other, realizing its alpha was retreating, followed suit.

Breathing hard, Evie’s heart was leaping in her chest as she dropped the shovel with a clatter. Audrey had managed to get back to her feet, but walked with a hard limp and many cries of pain. She looked horrible, covered in bites and scratch marks. One of her wings appeared to be torn slightly, and part of her topmost ear was missing. She went straight to the bush, crawling through the debris. Evie’s composure shattered when she heard the most heartbreaking wail.

Hurrying to where Audrey now stood crying, three eggs sat in a nest made of various items from around the house. There used to be four eggs; four little baby dragons which Audrey had no doubt been incubating for the past several days. But one of them had been pulled out of the nest by the dogs. One baby dragon had been lost.

Crumbling to her knees, Evie trembled in the night and the rain as Mal pulled Audrey close with a wing and held her tight with both arms. The new mother continued to wail with grief and pain, the sound echoing like a ghostly song on the wind. That’s where Ben found them all when he returned home later that night, weeping in a ruined garden with Evie unable to speak past blue tinted lips. Ben immediately carried his wife upstairs to warm up and dry off, and then called Uma.

He returned to the back garden not long after, wielding under his arm a large plastic tote lined with several old, fluffy blankets. Gently, he moved Audrey from the broken down nest into the box, followed by her remaining clutch of eggs and what he could salvage of the nest. Mal had already gone upstairs to be with Evie, keeping the woman warm with her own body heat as she slept fitfully and tearfully.

When the bluenette came down the next morning, her eyes bruised and body sore from the night prior, Uma and a man she didn’t recognize stood with Ben in the living room. Gil was also present, one massive wing draped protectively over a basket which held the remaining eggs. Mal went to meet him, crawling to sit on the table above the basket, as to have a better view.

Uma currently had Audrey on the table, stretched out across a red stained towel. The man she was with wore elbow length leather gloves, holding the poor thing down as his partner made expert movements with a needle and thread. Audrey cried all the while, the sound breaking Evie’s still fragile heart.

“Hey, you don’t need to be in here for this,” Ben whispered upon seeing her, tugging his wife along to the kitchen. She began to weep again, but Ben silenced it quickly.

“Shh, it’s ok. It’ll be alright, E,”

“B-but it’s not,” Evie managed, “I knew something was wrong. I knew it. I-I should’ve done more.”

“Love, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Ben pleaded, “you should never mess with a nesting dragon. You did the right thing leaving her be,”

“B-but she’s hurt now because of me. I should’ve stayed, I should’ve called...”

“Why didn’t you call?” Ben asked, squeezing her arm gently, “E, I could’ve been back. I could’ve been here to help,”

“This trip was so important to you, Ben,” Evie insisted, stomping her foot slightly in tired frustration, “I’m a full grown woman. I’ve lived on my own since High School. Yet the minute you go away...” waving towards the living room where Uma was working, Evie sighed heavily, “I wanted to show you I could handle it. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Oh, Evie...no, no,” pulling the woman to his chest, Evie let him run a hand through her hair, closing her eyes at the feelings of comfort it brought, “you could never disappoint me. I love you so much. I’m just glad you’re all safe.”

Nodding weakly against her husbands broad, warm chest, the two glanced up as Uma entered the kitchen from the other room. She was sweating a bit, resting both hands on her hips as she exhaled.

“So what’s the word?” Ben asked wearily, cringing at the possibility of bad news. Uma, thankfully, didn’t seem ready to give it.

“She’ll be fine,” the woman nodded, “must’ve put up one hell of a fight though. You said it was a Shepard that did this?”

Evie nodded in confirmation as Uma scoffed and ran a hand over her braids, “right, well. Keep her off that leg for a while, I’ll prescribe some meds to keep her sedated until she heals up. Keep an eye on that wing too, we don’t need it getting infected,”

“And the other eggs?” Ben asked, “they’re all ok?”

“For the most part, yeah,” Uma answered, “one of them has developed a crack, but it didn’t hurt the integrity of the egg. May just end up being a dragon runt,”

“Dragon runt?” Evie questioned, “what does that mean?”

“Runt of the litter,” Uma explained, folding her arms as to find a better position, “it might come out funny looking, or small. In the wild, dragon runts are left behind by their mothers to fend for themselves or get eaten. But since Audrey lost one, she may just accept it anyway.”

“She’ll grieve, then? I know Aurorian Dragons are supposedly quite emotionally sensitive.”

“For a few weeks I think,” Uma confirmed, “it’ll probably be best for Gil to stay here as emotional support. He is a father after all, and Coastal Dragon males are left to watch the eggs in the wild,”

“How do you know so much about dragons?” Evie wondered curiously, “is there like, a manual for this stuff?”

“I worked at a sanctuary for a bit, before I met Harry,” Uma admitted, nodding to the living room. Speaking of Harry; the man in question entered the kitchen. He placed both hands on Uma’s shoulders, and Evie immediately noticed the two missing fingers on his right hand.

“Well, lil blighters are all resting up, now,” he spoke though an accent, though it was one Evie couldn’t really place in her hazy, sleep deprived brain, “we best be goin’ soon, luv. I got a shift t’nite at the yard,”

“Right,” Uma agreed, “you guys call me when you start seeing movement in those eggs, I want to be here when they hatch.” Uma insisted, taking the hand Ben outstretched for a shake, as he wasn’t ready to let Evie from his arms just yet.

“Thank you, Uma. I can’t thank you enough. If you ever need anything...”

“Call you. Yeah, I know,” Uma laughed, waving for Harry to follow her out. When the front door clicked shut, Evie let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

“See,” Ben said gently, “it’ll be ok.”

Swallowing the rock in her throat, Evie let Ben guide her back out into the living room. Audrey and the eggs had been moved back into the plastic tote, folded up in blankets to keep her warm. Gil — left behind by Uma and Harry till the eggs hatched — sat sentinel by the box, one wing stretched over its top. Mal still lay draped over the side of the table, chin rested on a folded arm, watching the both of them, “come on, Evie. Let them rest; you need your sleep,”

“Mal,” Evie said, causing the purple haired dragon to lift her head slightly, “you watch over them. Ok?”

And Mal, cranky as she was, snorted a plume of smoke and returned to her former position of watchman as Ben and Evie went upstairs for a midday nap of their own.

[incorrectrawhidequotes]

Kangaroo Westerns!

Got a modern made one today. “Australia” (2008)

This one, like “The Overlanders”, takes place in the early 1940s. It’s a much visually glossy movie than others, but it’s directed by Baz Luhrmann and that’s his style. 

In 1941, English aristocrat Lady Sarah Ashley (Nichole Kidman) goes to the Northern Territory, Australia, to find her husband who owns a cattle station. 

When she reaches the station she finds out her husband has been killed and an Aboriginal Elder named King George is being blamed.  The owner of the neighboring station, powerful cattle tycoon King Carney wants to take over Sarah’s land. Sarah fires her foreman, Fletcher, after finding out he’s helping Carney try to take her land.  Sarah is completely out of her depth in outback Australia, but over time becomes adapted to the harder life. To stop Carney, Sarah has to move her 1500 head of cattle to Darwin for sale to the army. She enlists the help of an embittered man known only as The Drover (Hugh Jackman) to put together a motley crew to move the cattle. 

This includes the young grandson of King George, Nullah, who believes that he has the same magical abilities as his grandfather. 

Spoilers under the cut

The drive secretly followed by Fletcher, who tries to stampede the cattle over a cliff, trapping Nullah who manages to stop the stamped through his magic. 

While Sarah and Drover initially disliked each other, on the drive they learn more about each other and begin to fall in love. 

Fletcher has poisoned the waterholes and their only hope is to cross the Never Never, a stretch of deadly desert. King Gorge, who has been following them to watch over his grandson, appears and leads them across the desert. 

The trip nearly kills them but they make it to Darwin just as Carney is about to sell his cattle to the army. The contract will go to the first herd to be loaded into the transport ship, leading to an impressive race against time as Sarah moves the cattle to the loading dock while Drover sabotages Carney’s herd as it leaves the holding yard. 

Sarah, Drover and Nullah settle into a life at the station as a family, but tensions build between them all. Drover ‘s first wife died some years earlier and Drover is afraid of his heart being broken again. Sarah has become attached to Nullah and wants to adopt him but has trouble understanding the needs of his culture. Worst of all is Nullah’s eventual capture by the police due to his mixed race. (Nullah’s father is secretly Fletcher) Note: This is a horrific historical fact that mixed race Aboriginal children were taken away from their families and sent to mission schools with the intent of taking away their culture and heritage and eventually even their skin colour. They’re known as the Stolen Generation. This country has some massively screwed up history)  The final conflict of the film is the 1942 bombing of Darwin when Japanese fighter planes launch an attack on the city. 

Separated at the time of the attack, Sarah is told Nullah was killed when the mission island he was sent to bombed. Drover sees the radio building Sarah was working in has been destroyed and thinks she was killed.  After learning that the children on mission island were left for dead in the raid, Drover and his brother-in-law Magarri head to the island to try and rescue them. They find the priests have been killed but the kids have survived and they narrowly avoid a Japanese patrol  to escape. 

The moment when Drover, Sarah and Nullah were reunited made me cry first time I watched this. They nearly miss each other as Sarah is about to leave with the evacuation but she hears Nullah playing a song she taught him on his harmonica.   Fletcher is revealed to be the one who killed Sarah’s husband. He tries to shoot Nullah but is speared by King George. 

The closes with Drover and Sarah returning to the station and Nullah reuniting with his grandfather to go Walkabout, an adolescent right of passage, after promising that he’ll be back to see her in the future. 

Overall this is a good movie. A bit more glossy and CGI’d than I usually like for a western but it’s very pretty to look at. 

The casting is really good. Not usually a Nicole Kidman fan but she suits this movie well and Hugh Jackman is great as the tough guy with a soft heart. 

I have to point out one scene after they bring the cattle to Darwin. Sarah is invited to a gala and wants Drover to go with her. Initially he refuses but later shows up. This moment when the cowboy shows up at a fancy party wearing a tux seriously reminds me of “Incident of the night on the Town” when Gil show up at the hotel all dressed up. It’s a total eye-candy moment. 

Brandon Walters as Nullah is the stand out though. He’s adorable and courageous. He’s lived under constant threat and had to face death far to young, but there’s still brightness in him that comes largely from his understanding of magic. 

“Australia” shifts between action, humor, romance, heartbreak and terror. It gets some criticism, probably because it’s very “hollywood-ised”, but it’s a solid movie and a good western. 

Side note, there’s some details in here that makes my Rawhide heart happy, like Drover telling Sarah that night guards sing to the cattle to keep them calm. :) 

[pl-panda]

Damienette arranged marriage: part 5

Yet again two chapters in one day... I must stop spoiling you.

Credits: Miraculous Ladybug team for the elements I take from MLB show. DC for their characters, @ozmav for the AU, @maribat-archive for giving me access to so many different stories to have take inspirations from, @thyladyanput for idea for Chat Damian and me for the plot.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Damienette arranged marriage: part 5

NEXT

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“Yes. Our little grown up girl.” Marinette smiled and was about to run, but she heard her mother continue speaking. “But you are still grounded for two weeks.”

“Mom!” She shouted, but smiled and went back to her room.

Next two weeks were disastrous. Lila used Marinette’s absence to spread some nasty rumors and lies about her. Two days. That was more than enough for the whole class to turn against her. The previous incident and Lila’s supposed ‘disability’ was never revealed to the public, so they had no reason to mistrust her. But Marinette was still suddenly ostracized. But the most painful of this was Alya. She suddenly started to despise Marinette. It was like some kind of coping mechanism. Apparently, learning she would never become Rena Rogue again was hard on her too, and then learning that Marinette run away from home (a blatant lie, but Alya did believe) was enough for the aspiring reporter to change. Abandoned by Ladybug, abandoned by best friend, she clinged to what she had left. Alya now followed Lila, who she believed would never just leave her like that. Her and Nino became even more inseparable.

Marinette wanted to give the same explanation, but Lila was faster. ‘ Oh! So even madame Bourgeois doesn’t want you now so you came back with your tail between your legs?’ This sole comment killed any credibility to anything Marinette would say. The rumors that started to spread were awful. Some just outright refused to talk with her, others went as far as to mock the girl or use some inappropriate names toward her. From a popular girl Marinette became a loner. Even her internet boutique was not safe. Dozens of negative reviews spawned out of nowhere. There were more reviews than she ever done commissions. In the end, she had to take the page down to keep at least some of her reputation.

She still had Luka and Kagami, who stayed firmly by her side. But they could not really do anything to help her at school. And then there was Adrien. He was constantly trying to stop Marinette from going against Lila and convince her to just make peace with the girl. She wanted to strangle him. He was nothing like the charming boy who offered her an umbrella on the first day. Something has changed in this forty-eight hours. There was this… weight on his shoulders that was not here before. 

Another matter was Chat Noir. When she first met him during a patrol, he threw a hissy-fit that she disappeared for several days. After she (truthfully) explained that she got married, the cat frowned and ran away. Since then, he was not seen. Ladybug had to manage on her own, with occasional help from Viperion and Ryuko. She had to manage. Red Robin would not help in the field, but he kept a steady eye on the city, working day and night trying to figure out who was Hawkmoth. Marinette was actually worried about Tim after she witnessed him drink coffee straight from an ancient jug. He said something about ‘needing inspiration from his ancestors’ which was quite hilarious since the vase was a cheap knock-off bough in one-euro store the previous day.

After a month of this kind of incredible hardship, Marinette had enough. She wanted this school-year to finally be over, but she still had seven more months to go. It pained her that school instead of offering her some help decided to instead follow up on Lila, making it seem like they forgot about her ‘disease’. Madame Bustier constantly demanded of Marinette to be the bigger person and ignore the taunts and headmaster few times threatened to expel her after Lila or the others reported her for bullying.

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Right now she was sitting in the back of the class when Madame Bustier walked with a boy in tow. Marinette instantly recognized him. Damian. He was wearing a dark-gray turtleneck jumper, dark-blue jeans and had his hair gelled back into spikes, revealing his forehead. Strange thing was that he carried a sword with him in addition to school bag.

“Students. Meet Damian Grayson. He is a member of exchange student from United States. Our school was chosen to participate in special program with Gotham Academy. Damian will be learning with us for this semester, and in exchange we will be able to all spend whole next semester in Gotham Academy to see how education differs between countries.”

Immediately, several hands shot up. Teacher chose Alix first, much to Lila’s anger. “It seems strange that just one student comes to us and in exchange we are all going there. Why are you alone?”

Caline was about to speak, but Damian was faster. He answered in perfect French. “Because only I volunteered to leave for half a year. Others were scared when headmaster announced that participants would at the end of semester have to take qualification exams.” His voice was cold and he made it clear he didn’t want more discussion.

“Don’t worry kids, on our side there is no such requirement, but you will have to still take the final exams to graduate into Lycee. Next question? Adrien.” She pointed to the blond boy.

“Why do you carry a sword with you?” He asked, pointing at the long weapon attached to his backpack. It was sheathed, but it was clear it was some eastern sword.

“Because I practice swordfighting.” Was the sole answer.

Marinette could hear some whispers. ‘ Whoa. He is almost as mean as Marinette’. She noticed he also picked this up and growled.

“What can you tell us about yourself?” Nino asked, not waiting for teacher to choose him.

“I am your age. I will be staying with my brother who works in Paris. I like art. I hate physical contact. If you try to touch me, I will throw you out of the window.” He said in completely emotionless voice, almost like this was casual speech he heard every day. 

“Wow. You are almost as mean as this bully Marinette.” Alya commented. Damian gritted his teeth. He knew that Marinette was anything but a bully. He checked the files Tim pulled and it only strengthened his opinion on the girl. She was dealing with being bullied by a spoiled brat since she was six, yet she chose not to retaliate and instead try to make friends with the gil. She was class representative, took care of all the trips, volunteered at every possible action. She won several amateur fashion contests and most likely had at least a dozen famous people at speed dial. And yet, no one knew that. She worked under pseudonym to avoid attracting attention. And she was Paris greatest superhero. That was no bully material. 

“Alya! Don’t say such things.” Lila scolded her friend. “Just because he is a bit harsh does not mean you should compare him to Marinette.”

There were still several hands in the air and teacher was about to choose next person, but Damian ignored them and walked to the back of the classroom and sat next to Marinette. There were several menacing stares in their direction and Damian held back the urge to scowl. So just because he took the only free place that just happened to be next to this girl, he was now their enemy? His hand kept twitching toward the blade, but he felt Marinette’s hand grab his under the table. She looked him in the eyes like she was trying to tell him that they are not worth it. And to his surprise, it worked. They silently turned back to the teacher who kept explaining the details of the exchange program.

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After the lessons were over, Damian started to pack his bag. His tracer rolled under the desk and he leaned to get it. There were steps rapidly approaching the desk.

“Listen here, Marinette. If you think just because this guy is new you will get him to be your friend, don’t even think about it. Either you stay away of him or I will make both your lives insufferable. I am the queen of this school and you will not oppose me.” The double-faced harlot tried to intimidate his wife. Damian, still under the table grabbed the sword, but from his place he could see Marinette’s face. She was giving him a side-glare telling him that it’s not worth it.

“I don’t control him Lila. Even if I wanted, I think he will do as he please.” Marinette was holding back a smile.

“Face it. I won the war. You have no friends, no name, no business, not even a boyfriend. I took everything from you. And if you continue, I will take your parents’ bakery next. You…” At this moment, Lila saw a silver blur and suddenly she had a blade pressed to her neck. Damian got out from under the table, drew his sword and pinned the girl to the wall in a matter of seconds. 

“I think that’s enough. You will leave Marinette’s parents alone and you will not speak to her like this again. Otherwise, you will learn just how proficient I am with the sword. Did I make myself clear?” While Damian was ready to spill some Italian blood, one look at Marinette told him that she would’ve not forgiven him. 

Lila eagerly nodded. When he let go of her and sheathed his sword, she scowled at the couple. “Ugh! The two of you are worth one another. It is not over. I will get back at you for this!” And with that, she run away as fast as humanly possible wearing stilettos. 

Damian turned to see frowning Marinette. “I had it under control Damian. And what are you even doing here?”

“Sorry I protected you.” He snarled, but then he calmed and his face took more friendly look. At least by his standards, but to most it was still the ‘get the heck away from me if you value your health’ face. Luckily, Marinette wasn’t like the most. “I… I wanted to meet you. As a person I mean.” He said. The french girl looked at him, but said nothing. He decided that it would be best to get this done with. The classroom was a place as good as any. “Look. I know we met in… unusual circumstances. For better or worse, we are now married. But… I wish to try and actually build this relationship.” He spat it out of himself and looked at Marinette.

For a moment, she was confused at what he said, but then it clicked. “Wait. Are you… asking me out?” She said in disbelief

“um… Yes?” Damian said timidly. Why does it have to be so hard?!

“Then okay.” Marinette smiled. This took him by surprise. He half-expected her to reject him, to hate him for this, or to just run screaming like his brothers kept telling him all girls would. 

“Really? Just like that?” It was now his turn to ask in disbelief.

“Yeah. I don’t really see why not.” She said smiling. “But I am paying. I don’t want anyone to think I am using you.” She stated firmly. This newfound confidence was a pleasant surprise for Damian. He noticed that while a bit shy and withdrawn, there was a heart of gold and nerves of steel underneath this. Happily, he took her hand and led her to the streets of Paris. Neither of them noticed a teenager in catsuit following them on the rooftops.

“I already lost my Lady. Nobody will take away my princess!”

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Taglist (sorry if I missed you)@pheonixashtree @sassakitty @unabashedbookworm @vixen-uchiha @maggiecc12 @actualdisasterwoman @tired-butterfly @shizukiryuu @floralfi @imanerddealwith @northernbluetongue @krispydefendorpolice @toodaloo-kangaroo @dast218 @bluesoulblueheart @theatreandcomicfreak @disneyfoxuniverse @mindfulmagics @alwaysnumberonetruth @nyaabinch @jardimazul @lenamau @rosep16 @dramatic-squirrel @sonif50 @daminett4life @lulutheawkwardess @weird-pale-blonde-person @mooshoon @jeminiikrystal @mochegato @moonlightstar64 @dragonflyswing @silverwhiteraven @shamefullove @magic-miraculous @valeks-princess @heaven428 @mlbchaosqueen @winter-gardenflower @spicybelladonna @emo-elaine13 @vetilora @karukofox21 @my-name-is-michell  @sturchling @lokiifriggasonn 

[notgonnarememberthis]

find your way (back to me) - chapter three

Not quite sure how I feel about this chapter but it is just a bit of a turning point for the next 2 chapters coming so I promise y’all that the next 2 will be better than this. Initially I had a scene going into this but I had to split the chapter when it just got too long and my brain was like “nah”. Ended up working for the better and I’m super excited about the next. Hope y’all are staying safe and enjoy this update

The morning comes with a pit of dread in Gil’s stomach. He was awoken by an early call, dragged out of the restless slumber of accidentally fallen asleep on a stack of case files. There was the body of a man discovered in a park this morning by a jogger. He didn’t match the M.O. at all other than the location of disposal. Still as he pulls up he can feel the tension pulling at him.

Something isn’t right.

He can make out Malcolm’s pacing form as he approaches. He lingers close to Edrisa who’s examining the still form on the bench. The corpse was dressed for the snow that accumulated overnight, eyes closed and arms crossed over the chest.

“Cause of death is a single gunshot wound to the back of the head.” Edrisa states, he assumes they proceeded without him when Colette arrived on the scene. That’s good, the less time they waste the better. He can have Malcolm fill him in on the extra details later.

“That doesn’t make sense. None of this matches the M.O. This screams remorse. Our killer isn’t remorseful, he’s cold and calculated. He’s accounted for every possibility. He targeted my mother in the middle of the day and stole an ambulance. He doesn’t do remorseful.” Malcolm rubs his hands over his eyes and Gil wonders for a moment if he even sat down in the past 12 hours. The boy already looks drawn thin, exhaustion battling with the caffeine in his system.

“I don’t think this is our guy.” Agent Swanson speaks up moving from her spot to the victim. “The only thing that matches up is the location. It was convenient to pawn it off onto a serial killer and get away with the crime.”

“What’s convenient about cops patrolling parks all over the city?”

“Bright.” Gil’s tone is a warning. He doubts it’s by Colette’s choice that he’s here rather than stopping him from doing so anyways. The last thing any of them need is to be at each other’s throats, but he is right. With cop cars patrolling all over the likelihood of getting by without being spotted is small.

It’s clear the scolding only makes him more agitated, Malcolm rocking back on his feet with a frustrated huff. He pulls him aside placing a supportive hand on his shoulder. This is hard on all of them but Malcolm, especially. He’s seen first hand what this killer does to his victims, hell he doesn’t blame the kid for feeling irritated by the slow proceedings. It doesn’t help that Dani lingers behind his every step.

He quietly notes to himself to get something nice for JT and Dani both. With watching Ainsley and Malcolm both they’re going to be on the end of more snide comments and snappings than either of them deserve.

“You don’t have to be here. Go back with Ainsley and work the press. This is not going to get easier.”

“I can’t. You know that.” His eyes fall on the body again. “It doesn’t make sense but I know this is our killer.”

“I believe you.” He offers Malcolm a sad smile. “Go back to the precinct, and gather all the connections you can. Swanson is going to be a hard sell. You gotta make this one believable.”

“I need help.” Gil frowns, understanding settling into him. “I have to go see him.” He immediately defends upon seeing his expression.

“Swanson won’t allow it.” He glances over Malcolm’s shoulder and the woman watching them with narrowed eyes. “It was her condition of you staying on this case, that you stay far away from Martin.”

“If I can shake Dani for 20 minutes.”

“It won’t work Bright. She’s got 3 other cops watching you.” Malcolm nods with a humorless smile. He can practically see the boy unraveling in front of his eyes. Hell, he feels it a bit himself. “I’ll go.”

Concern and panic flashes over Malcolm’s face. “You can’t.” He protests. He’s not visited Martin since Malcolm was taken but he feels the same panicked pull. If he can help them find Jessica in some way, any way he’ll do it.

“I’m the only one that can.” Malcolm tips his head back again, shaking it. Hesitation radiates from him, and he understands why. Part of Malcolm wants to protect anyone he’s close to from Martin. The other half knows that he might be crucial to the case.

“I’ll go back with Dani and Edrisa. There might be something we missed in the previous autopsies that can connect this victim to them.” He turns to walk away but stops himself. “Be careful.” 

Gil pulls him in giving a short hug. “We’ll find her, I promise.” He feels Malcolm hold tighter and his heart breaks a little. He remembers carrying him into his home after he’d fallen asleep on his couch. Just before he passed Malcolm to Jess he gripped onto him a little tighter, refusing to leave his side. When he finally untangled himself from the 12 year old’s grip he took to wrapping himself around Jessica instead. The look on her face had him smiling for a week.

He has to find her, for Malcolm.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jessica’s throat feels raw from screaming when she wakes again. Her head cranes, searching for the sound that woke her. She spies someone lurking in the shadows and she almost relaxes.

“Can I have some water?” She gauges carefully. The shadow stops moving but he doesn’t speak. The radio doesn’t turn on either, so she continues. “What’s your name?”

“Shut up.” Just like she suspected, he sounds young. If she had to guess, he was no older than in his early 20s. “He’ll be back soon.”

“Why did you kill him?” She presses. He freezes again, she waits holding her breath for the answer.

“I was following orders.” Jessica takes a breath trying to quell the panic building in her. She tries to remember all of Malcolm’s talks about killers and the psychology that he often rambled about when he found a topic that particularly interested him. Right now it feels like all of it is escaping her, replaced with a voice screaming to run.

“Where did you take him?” She bites her bottom lip when he turns towards her slowly. The mask obscures all but his eyes and even the darkness of the room prevents her from entirely making out those.

“Where he could be found.” He almost sounds sad. She straightens up leaning forwards. Her head still aches but it’s no longer the piercing pain it was before.

“Who are you?” She asks again. “What do you want from me? Anything, ask for anything and I will get it to you. Money, a plane ticket, I could get you out if you help me.”

“He doesn’t want anything from you.” Her eyebrows furrow.

“What do you want?” He stops again. She thinks he might answer when the sliding of metal cuts them off.

“Why the hell didn’t you pick up?” She recognizes the voice from the radio. Anxiety grips her when she hears another, this one muffled. Her worst fear comes to fruition when the man drops another person into the chair across from her.

This one is older, salt and pepper hair falling in front of his eyes. His mouth is duct taped, one of their kidnappers leans over ripping it off harshly once his wrists are secured. “Please, where is Michael? I just want to know he’s ok.” He begs.

“Shut up!” The older one shouts.

“Where is he, please. I’ll give you anything just tell me where he is. I need to know he’s safe.” The sound of the slap resonates off the walls. She winces in sympathy as tears stream down the man’s face.

“Andrew Rankin,” The older man circles around him. “Father, husband, and cheater.” The man, Andrew, bows his head, his shoulders shaking with his cries.

“You don’t understand.” He sounds strained. “Where is Michael, please, tell me where my grandson is.”

“Jessica, I think you can sympathize with his poor wife. Afterall, isn’t that what you thought your husband was doing for months?” A lump forms in her throat. How the hell did he know that? Those videos were never released to the press. Not even Malcolm knew until just last year.

“We fixed things. Our marriage is stronger than it’s ever been, please.” The man begs.

“What’s your choice? His life or yours?” Andrew’s head snaps to her, panic in his eyes. She knows his fear, the fear of dying not knowing where your loved one is. When the junkyard killer took Malcolm she would’ve burnt the world down to find him. She swallows heavily, turning her head towards the older man.

“Tell him where his grandson is.” She demands.

The laugh booms off the walls sending ice down her spine. “You are in no place to be making demands Ms. Whitly. The sound of a gun cocking makes her straighten.

“Tell him where and I’ll make my choice.” Her voice doesn’t waver, it’s more confident than she feels. She can see the cheshire grin even through the mask. The gunshot is less expected, pain blossoming in her side where she was shot. The shout of pain is drowned out by the younger kidnapper’s protests. Her head spins, adrenaline making her heart race.

“I’m going to ask you one more time, his life or yours.” The gun cocks again.

“Kill me.” She relents. If anything, this man should have the chance to see his grandson again. She allows herself a moment of peace to imagine what a life like that would be like.

A little granddaughter with Ainsley’s blond curls and a grandson with Malcolm’s piercing eyes. The sound of small feet warming her home again, filling up the corners with rapturous laughter rather than the hollow silence of 23 killed.

Another shot breaks her fantasy.

A sob leaves her throat as the man in front of her goes limp. Her side aches with the movement. She can’t hear the two men arguing over the blood roaring in her ears. All she can see is the man in front of her, only wishing to know if his grandson was alive. He died without peace. He died without knowing.

She bows her head crying for yet another family she doesn’t even know. Her side screams with every shake but the tears don’t stop coming. She can’t seem to get enough air in her lungs, each breath shorter than the last. Even when the metal door slams shut again and the room is silent apart from her, they don’t stop.

She cries for the man, who died scared and alone. She cries for his children, losing their father in a violent and abrupt way for no good reason other than he was in the wrong place. She cries for the grandchild, she hopes against everything in her screaming otherwise that he was found and taken to the police. Simply lost in a park, not somewhere taken by these men.

The shaking only gets more violent as she thinks of her own family. Of Ainsley, with her normally perfectly groomed hair frayed and messy from late nights. Of Malcolm’s eyes hollow from lack of sleep. Of Gil, hunched over his desk searching for answers that aren’t there.

It’s not until she has no tears left, her eyes puffy and sore. A grim anger settles over her as she makes her decision. She’s going to get out of here and back to her family. No matter what she has to do.

[inkstaineddove]

For the Love of a Father

Ships: PruHun

Characters: Hungary, Prussia, Germany; Austria

Summary: Hungary travels to Berlin to spend the weekend with Prussia and a young Germany. Due to silly misunderstandings and mortal assumptions, Gilbert convinces everyone to pretend that he and Erzsébet are married and Ludwig is their son. But there's only one question: why is he so eager for this charade?

Berlin, 1865.

The house was a warzone when Erzsébet arrived. Toy soldiers had taken over every corner of the living room, lined up in their formations. She lifted her skirts up and gingerly tip-toed around the rearguard. “Gil? Are you here?”

Before she had time to process further what was occurring, she felt a pair of tiny arms wrap around her waist. “Erzsi!” Ludwig stared up at her, a grin stretched wide across his face. “Are you the reinforcements we asked for?”

She hoisted him up into her arms. “That depends. Who are we fighting?”

“We’re invading Bohemia. Traun finally engaged us. The battle should be over in another hour due to our infantry’s superiority.”

As Ludwig spoke, Gilbert had managed to make his way over to them. Erzsébet shot him a look. “You’re still hung up on Bohemia?” She shook her head at his sheepish expression. She studied the battle occurring on the floor. “You’ve got a spot wide open for my hussars to swoop in on your left flank. It would be so easy to ride in and scatter your whole army.” She winked at Gilbert. “Better work on that calvary again.”

“Lud, go clean them up.” Once Ludwig had scampered off, Gilbert crossed his arms. “That was very rude, I’ll have you know. We were on the cusp of victory and losing that battle might dissolve the whole coalition.”

“It’s your fault for deciding today would be the day to fight Austria. Sorry for wanting my side to win. Next time I’ll throw the whole damn thing for you.” She gave him a quick peck on the lips. “Cheer up. It’s not like I took back Silesia.”

“If you had, then we would have a problem on our hands.” He hoisted up her bag, bringing it further into the home. “I meant to mention this to you earlier, but today’s not going to be too exciting. Some kid refuses to stop growing so I have to get him some new clothes.” Gilbert nodded to one of his servants, who took the bag off his hands. “The kid wants to make a whole day out of it, so I really hope you don’t mind too much. Tomorrow can be for us.”

He was beginning to ramble. “Oh dear me, spending the whole day with you and Ludwig. How ever will I cope with such a thing?” Erzsébet rolled her eyes. “You realize that I care about Ludwig, right? I come here to spend time with both of you. It’ll be a lovely day.” She leaned in for a kiss.

“Can we go now?” Ludwig scrunched up his nose. “Do you two always have to be doing that in front of me? Is this why Roderich gets so upset by it? It really is disgusting.” He paused, something formulating in his mind. “Is he going to be mad about this again the next time I see him?”

Gilbert and Erzsébet shared a look. He began hustling Ludwig out the door, not wanting to hear any more of this from the damn child of all people. “You’re asking too many questions again.”

---

As Ludwig’s measurements were being taken by the seamstress, Erzsébet wandered around the store. Some of the dresses they had on display were quite stunning. She found herself drawn to a few of them. She visited often enough, what harm would there be in placing an order and having Gilbert pick it up for her?

“Don’t you think you have enough? I doubt you have the closet space at this point.” Gilbert snuck up on her, sliding his arm around her waist. He appraised the dress she was eyeing out. “You have one that looks like this already.”

“Not in this color!” She nudged him with her elbow. “Wouldn’t it be good for me to build up a wardrobe here? It would be easier on me.”

There was an argument he couldn’t counter. It didn’t hurt that she was smiling up at him, her eyes filled to the brim with affection. She always pulled this trick on him and it never failed to work. “You’ll look gorgeous in it.”

“Gilbert!” A middle-aged woman appeared from behind the counter, waddling over to them. “Back again so soon? Why, you were just here the other week!”

“Frau Scholz, it’s good to see you again.” Gilbert sighed dramatically. “I know, it’s incredible. The boy keeps on growing and he refuses to stop. I’m starting to think he’s doing it just to spite me.”

“I’m surprised he doesn’t take more after you. When we were children, it took you so long to ever get a growth spurt.” Erzsébet snickered. “I thought you would’ve stayed tiny forever.”

Before Gilbert could fire back his own remark, Frau Scholz had jumped in. “Is this your wife? How have I never met her before? And so beautiful too!”

That threw both of them for a loop. A blush bloomed across Erzsébet’s cheeks. She was suddenly very aware of where his arm was. She opened her mouth to correct the seamstress.

“Isn’t she stunning? Not a day passes where I don’t wonder how I ever got to be so lucky. How many years have we been married now? Doesn’t matter, I should’ve brought her over sooner. But she’s so busy! Aren’t you, Liebling?” His eyes met hers. He was silently begging her to go along with the act.

“Doesn’t matter? Not when these past nine have been the best of my life.” She laughed softly, leaning into him. Where was the harm in going all in on the act? “Yes, my father’s fallen ill and there’s no other children to care for him. That explains my absences, I hope you’ll forgive us both.”

Whatever hurt was there completely disappeared. Frau Scholz took Erzsébet’s hand in hers. “Sweetie, there’s no reason to apologize for that. Family comes first, I understand. I have some more work to attend to, but all the best to your father. And, when you have the time, please don’t be a stranger.” She disappeared from back which she came.

Gilbert raised an eyebrow at her in surprise. “Going straight to the dying father? Way to pull the sympathy card.”

Erzsébet scoffed. “I needed to give her an acceptable reason for why your wife hasn’t tagged along before. You were too ready for that. It’s almost suspicious, Gil.” She watched him out the corner of her eye.

He made no effort to hide his happiness. “You really think I could’ve planned for that? You’re giving me too much credit.” He gently bumped her with his hip. “Have some fun with it. We can play married for a day. Now you’ll have a husband you actually love. Besides, you’re the one who’s still wearing her wedding ring. What do you want me to tell people? That I’m your mistress?”

There was a good point there. Did it really matter anyways? She doubted that anyone from Vienna would be here and, if they were, would they really be surprised? How she spent her weekends was hardly secret. The escapism of pretending to live another life would be enjoyable. Still, there was one thing nagging at the back of her mind. “Where does that leave Roderich in this little fantasy?”

Gilbert’s smile was ferocious. “Easy. He officiated for us.” Ludwig meandered about, looking round for them. “You all set, kid? Let’s go get lunch.”

The walk to the restaurant was short as it laid only three stores down. It was fairly casual, with different classes of families seated throughout, and unsurprisingly bustling for a Friday afternoon. They took a spot in the corner of the room, the farthest they could get from the other patrons.  

Ludwig’s legs were swinging furiously beneath the table. He was passionately filling Erzsébet in on the details of his life since he’d seen her a month ago. “Gilbert’s been trying to teach me to play the flute! It’s weird though, I don’t like how you have to hold it.” Spotting a schnauzer outside the window, he perked up considerably. “I really want a dog. Gilbert won’t let me get one. Can you convince him? Please, Erzsi, he always listens to you.”

She shrugged. What did she have to lose? “Gil, will you please get him a dog? Look at how pathetic he is.” She leaned over the table, stage-whispering advice to Ludwig. “Pout a little bit. That always works.” Ludwig faithfully obeyed. He even batted his eyes for good measure.

Despite knowing what was coming, Gilbert felt his heartstrings tug. An internal debate warred within him. “We’re not getting a dog.” It was important for him to keep his resolve. He gave in to too much as it was, he needed to pretend to be assertive towards them every now and then. “I don’t want to be the one responsible for the damn thing.”

“You won’t be! I’ll take care of him! Besides, aren’t you the one who’s always saying I need to learn responsibility? There’s no better way to teach me!” Ludwig had his whole argument prepared. He had been getting ready for this moment the whole week, confident that between his rational arguments and Erzsébet’s strange powers that Gilbert would change his mind.

Right when he was ready to begin it, the waiter appeared. The waiter performed the usual introduction before having his attentions settle on Ludwig. “What an adorable little boy! How old might you be?”

Met with a social interaction he hadn’t prepared for, Ludwig panicked. “Ah-I don’t know, I think I’m close to thirty now.” He looked across the table at the adults, silently begging them for intervention.

Gilbert laughed heartily. “Kid thinks he’s thirty. Drives us both crazy. You know how eight-year olds are.”

“Well, no matter what it is, your son is adorable. Now, are you all ready to order?” After fulfilling his purpose, they were left alone again.

Ludwig turned his sights on Gilbert immediately. “Your son? We’re brothers! Why didn’t you correct him?” His blue eyes were sparkling with intense curiosity.

It was Gilbert’s turn to be caught off-guard. He stumbled with the question in his mind, trying to gather his bearings and create a sufficient enough answer. “People treat us better if they think you’re our kid. Humans have a difficult time comprehending our real ages and relationships. It’s easier to go along with whatever they think.” Proud of his response, he leaned back and smirked. “So, for today, Erzsi and I are married and you’re our son. Start calling us Mutti and Vatti.”

Erzsébet rolled her eyes. “I am not a Mutti. If we’re doing this, call me Anya. Motherhood sounds so much nicer in my language.”

“Whatever you want, Anya.” Ludwig tested it out. Oddly enough, it didn’t feel unnatural to refer to her in such a way. Why did it feel so easy, as if it was what he was meant to do all along? Examining those emotions seemed beyond his realm of experience. He filed them away, where they could be examined at a later time. He appraised Gilbert, who was staring at him with what appeared to be eagerness. Why was that? Never mind that, if he was so eager maybe Ludwig could use that to his advantage. He scrunched up his nose. “What do I get for following along? For you it’s difficult. You’re not exactly fatherly.”

Unbeknownst to Ludwig, Erzsébet comfortingly rubbed Gilbert’s thigh. That remark knocked the wind out of him. He knew exactly what the kid wanted. There was no mystery to what he was angling for, some discreet strategy that needed to be deciphered. “I’ll get you the damn dog.” There were times for being firm and this was not one of those times.

“You’re the best, Vatti!” His wish finally being fulfilled, Ludwig broke into a long debate on the merits of each breed he found most attractive. He’d meticulously researched the habits of each and how they would integrate fully into their household. He’d had this planned and memorized for months, waiting for the day when Gilbert’s will finally broke.

He spoke unceasingly on the topic all through lunch. It continued even when they entered the park, only interrupted by Erzsébet gently cutting in. “Look, kicsim, there’s a whole group of kids over there. Why don’t you go see what they’re up to?” She gently nudged him along before he had any chance to protest.

“Couldn’t handle any more?” Gilbert slipped his hand in hers. They began walking along the path. Other couples, lost in their own worlds, passed them by.

“Absolutely not.” It was a lovely day out. A light breeze was blowing, making it cooler than it would be otherwise. It was no wonder why so many people were out today. Out the corner of her eye, she watched Gilbert. He was humming softly to himself, a content little smile inching up the corners of his mouth. She tried to recall a time when she saw him this at peace. She couldn’t. “You’re too happy.”

“Hm?” He had been lost in his thoughts. It took him a moment to process what she said. When he did, he chuckled. “Why wouldn’t I be? I’m having a wonderful day with my son and my wife, who I love so dearly.” His smile widened. “God, I love saying that. Doesn’t it just sound so natural?”

Now his giddiness made sense. “Calm down, no one can hear us. You don’t have to keep the act up.” If she was being honest with herself, something she was loath to do, it did have a nice ring to it coming from him.

He nudged her with his elbow. “I don’t care if anyone can hear us, let me have my fantasies for today.” Said fantasies were racing through his mind. “The kids young enough, he could get used to this. I think we’d be fine if we settled down, had a few children of our own. They’d give me a plum job in the military or for the king as thanks for my years of service. The higher up you are, the less work you have to do. We’d be able to do whatever we wanted.”

She sighed, listening to him prattle on. This seemed too thought out to only be a whim. If she squinted, she could easily see the life he’d envisioned. It was almost tempting. “What a lovely life you have planned. We would never be satisfied. It’s too quaint for either of us.” She gently rubbed his right forearm. “Though, in another lifetime, I think I would enjoy that one.”

“Why can’t we have it in this one? Don’t be so pessimistic.” The look she shot him caused him to roll his eyes. “We could get away with it if we wanted.”

How to explain to him that ‘want’ wasn’t the issue? Hungary considered her words carefully. “Fine, say we do this. How do you think Roderich will react? I don’t think he’d take too kindly to our little scheme. He would be hard-pressed to convince his ministers to declare war or have legal recourse to continue seeing Ludwig, but that only spares you. What of my people?” She kicked the unfortunate pebble standing before her. “It wouldn’t be out of character for him to seek retribution against them. For the first time, I would be powerless to do anything about it.”

That certainly painted the whole idea in a much bleaker light. What she brought up was the truth; he had nothing to argue against it. Gilbert sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

She kissed his cheek. “Don’t be so glum. Tonight, reality can be damned. I’m yours until midnight, kincsem.” A mischievous glint flashed in her eyes. “Or, if you prefer, we can keep up this act for the rest of the weekend. You make a fine husband.”

Her words appeared to have their desired effect. He was in high spirits once more with a spring in his step. “There’s no harm in us continuing our little fun.” Ludwig meandered over to them, appearing worn out. “You ready to head home, Lud?” The boy weakly nodded his head. “Alright, come on. You’re not walking in that shape.” Gilbert hoisted him up onto his back. It wasn’t long before Ludwig was gently snoring into his shoulder.

The sight caused a warmth to spread from Erzsébet’s chest outwards. “You’re adorable.” For her comment, Gilbert winked at her.

The walk home didn’t take too long. The park was only a block away. Unlocking the door presented an unexpected challenge. He sighed, not wanting to bounce Ludwig around and risk waking him up. “Can you take the key out?” Erzsébet began digging around in his front pocket. Her hand took hold and his face turned a brilliant scarlet. “That’s not my key.”

“I know.” His blush deepened as she threw open the door. That could be dealt with later, his primary focus now was on tucking Ludwig in. He was pleasantly surprised to hear Erzsébet following him to Ludwig’s room.

Once underneath the covers, Ludwig wiggled around to get comfortable. Gilbert’s heart lurched. He was like an adorable little worm. “G’night Vatti, Anya.” The words were murmured through sheets, but they seemed so loud to Gilbert. His heart felt ready to explode.

He floated out of the room, never feeling so much joy in his life. He collapsed onto the sofa, clutching a hand to his chest. A dream he had been fulfilled. Erzsébet took the space besides him and he moved so his head was in her lap. Gazing up, he could see how the corners of her mouth lifted up.

“How long had you been waiting for this?” She twirled strands of his hair around her fingers.

“You know that’s a complicated question.”

“I can handle a complicated answer.” She chuckled softly. “It’s me, remember? I can manage your honesty.”

He sighed, wistful. “I think I’d been waiting for that longer than I realized. You think I could convince him to go along with that from now on? How difficult could it be?” The hope in his voice felt pathetic, but he found it impossible to suppress. His body was thrumming.

“Ah, so he’s not a puppet to you anymore?” Erzsébet closed her eyes, considering her words carefully. Honesty was needed, but it didn’t have to be cruel. “I think you should’ve been upfront with him from the beginning. Then you could have avoided this mess in the first place.”

“You know that wasn’t an option.” Gilbert knew she was being reasonable. He pointedly averted his eyes from her, lasering in on an old painting of an ancient battle on the wall. “For my sake, it couldn’t have been. It’s easier to manipulate a sibling instead of a son.”

She rolled her eyes. “So I’ve gathered from watching you and Roderich at work.” She raised a hand, silencing his objections. “It’s not a criticism. Purely an observation, don’t be so defensive.” She shook her head. “I’m not surprised you don’t see him as a puppet anymore. I didn’t believe you or Roderich when either of you tried explaining that to me. When did that change?”

When had it? A series of images flashed to mind – waking up to find a small body snuggled into his bed; blue eyes staring at him with awe as he regaled him with bygone victories; little feet scampering after him, wanting to keep up. “I don’t know. It just kind of…happened. Ludwig, he’s a good kid.” He paused. “Why aren’t you more surprised?”

“Because I know you, Gil. Maybe you can fool the rest of the world that you’ve evolved beyond a desire for personal connection, but you could never fool me.” Despite teasing him, her tone was incredibly loving. “Ludwig idolizes you, he thinks you’re the savior of the world. How could that cause you to not admit the truth to yourself? For your sake, I wish you’d done so sooner.”

“And why’s that?” He knew her answer, but he hoped he would be wrong.

“You can’t tell him one thing than tell him another. He’s smarter than that, he’ll have too many questions. Questions that I doubt you’re ready to answer.” His silence confirmed her suspicions. She smiled sadly. “Keeping him at a distance was always going to be futile. I tried telling you that, but you didn’t want to listen. Neither of you did.”

“You can’t blame me for not realizing that this is what I wanted.” It sounded so weak and uncompelling, even to his own ears. He exhaled loudly through his nose. “I made the right decision though?” Gilbert’s eyes finally met hers. He needed her to lie to him, just this once.

“I can’t decide that for you.” Erzsébet leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you made the wrong one.”

“But you think there was a better one.”

A genuine smile broke free across her face. “Don’t I always think that about whatever you do?” She laughed, the action feeling much needed. “Don’t be so glum. Seeing you so serious isn’t natural.” He could only muster up the faintest of smiles. “That wasn’t convincing, but I’ll take it.” She rose, stretching.

His eyes settled on her, having no where else to be. “Where are you going?”

“To have a little rest. In my excitement to see you both, I woke up much too early.” She extended her hand to him. “Will my husband be joining me?”

So she was still continuing with their little charade? Gilbert smiled, this time one unfeigned. “Maybe later. You go ahead. I may catch up with you.” Once alone, he rolled to face the ceiling. There were no answers up there, but he wished they would appear. It was too soon in Ludwig’s, in Germany’s, life for Gilbert to be having such regrets. He chided himself for his foolishness.

“I’m doing the right thing.” He whispered it to himself like a prayer. He would convince himself of this, any doubts remaining would have to be eradicated. There was no question that this was what’s right.

At least, it had to be. For his sanity.

[fuwafuwamedb]

To Live as a Mongrel Pt 9 (Hakuno, Siduri)

Previously: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

___

It took time for her wrist to heal, but her anger.

Her anger boiled and bubbled like the fiercest stew created. She could still see that bitter smile on the woman’s face, the hurrying off she did helped in no manner, since she was no doubt brave about wandering the palace by now.

Two months was long enough.

Siduri marched the steps, thinking carefully about her next move.

The king was off to war right now, so the woman was even more open to suffering and carnage. Since the two months had started, the woman would be far more lax in her defense. So that just meant, where did she begin?

Did she pour more of that powder into the woman’s clothes?

Did she leave the windows open to the gardens, making the woman burn from the light from Utu himself?

Perhaps she could make her go down into the depths of the palace and survive a few days with no food or drink at her aid. She wouldn’t die, but she would wish she had. The darkness below the ziggurat was absolute, leaving one’s eyes to scream after a few hours, begging for some kind of light. She would be sensitive for ages.

Oh, it was perfect.

“Siduri!” A few of the servants scurried over, bowing low.

“What is this?”

“We have continued your efforts,” they told her. “We think she is preparing to leave. We’ve heard her moving around in the king’s chambers. She’s locked all the doors to the room and refuses to leave it.”

Wait.

Siduri frowned, looking passed the servants to the advisors.

Their eyes drifted over the servants, their mouths thin lines as the wrinkles of age and fatigue marred their expressions.

“Excuse me,” Siduri murmured to the girls.

“Welcome back, Siduri,” the advisors greeted.

“Thank you. My wrist is healed and the apsu have cleared me to resume my work.”

“There may not be work for a while. At least, not for a while, at this rate.”

Siduri frowned.

“The king’s consort is pregnant,” one of the eldest advisors told her. “She’s hidden away in her room and has become paranoid about the troubles that brought forth sufferings to both herself and you. She refuses food and drink. She refuses the apsu that come to knock to check on the child.”

“Th-that’s impossible.” Siduri laughed. “No one gets pregnant from the king.”

“You can imagine why we are concerned.”

She would get into that room.

Mind set, she nodded.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.”

There was another path into the king’s chamber.

She’d seen it when he was young. He would often use the path behind one of the downstairs lion statues to climb up to his room and down again. The other side would come to the dresser, which he had placed carefully over the opening.

Each step into the secret passage was difficult and awkward, the ceilings sloped for accommodating a mere boy and not an adult.

The moment she reached the opening, Siduri found herself hearing the sound of sobbing.

This attention grabbing was too much.

Everything she’d done was too much, really. Why go to this length? It wasn’t worth it in the end. If she truly knew much about running this kingdom, she would want out. Gilgamesh wanted out sometimes. Or rather, she thought he did.

The figure on the bed was the first thing she saw.

From there, she could see the pots collected around the room, growing plants at various stages.

Tests…

“What are you doing in here?!”

Siduri stared at all the pottery around the room. All of the various pots had barley growing forth. There were too many for this to be a game. The large furniture pieces pressed against the doors and large bags underneath the woman’s eyes said this wasn’t a trick anymore.

“Get out!”

The king’s personal dagger was in her hands, her body wrapped carefully around her growing belly.

Siduri just stared at her.

“Y-you’re actually pregnant.”

The king never let her leave. He’d forbidden it. To go along with this, he’d ensured that only women were permitted near her at all times. Any men caught near her were to be killed. She’d heard the decree from people in the market, snickering over their king’s possessiveness.

That only left one result.

“I’m leaving.”

Siduri stared at her, eyes widening.

“You win. I don’t care. I heard about the war worsening and I saw the broken gold armor. There’ll be no one here to protect the boy when I have him. All of you have been after killing us from the beginning. The king brought a mongrel here.”

Those brown eyes shot daggers with that gaze of hers.

“He did bring a mongrel, but he lived like one for a while and we were happy that way. I’ll just go back. You don’t need to worry. I’m only taking this dagger with me.”

“M-my lady, I-“

“I’ve never been your lady,” she pointed out. “You’ve never even liked me. Don’t pretend now just because there’s something at stake. I won’t change my mind.”

This wasn’t right.

Yes, she didn’t like her, but she’d also thought…

The king and her had shown adoration and devotion to one another! The king had actually finished one of these marriage ceremonies, creating a child. That meant that this woman was the queen consort now, not simply a concubine or wife like she had thought.

She loves him.

Siduri stepped forward, finding the woman readying herself for the initial attack.

“My lady, please! Please, let’s… Let’s calm down and think this through.”

“The last time someone told me to calm down and think something through, I slaughtered the man, his parents who’d captured me, and was chased out by his brother and his family until Gilgamesh killed them with me.”

There was a lot of information right now and she didn’t have time to think about what this woman had been through.

“I’m leaving,” she told her again.

“I’m sorry.”

The woman was scooting off the other side of the bed, carrying the dagger carefully as she fixed her nondescript attire. There were a few loose bits of thread.

She literally just sewed that together, Siduri observed.

The woman was tenacious, wholly goal and strategy oriented when it came to this whole situation. She was, in a word, perfect for the king.

And right now she was heading for that cobweb filled passage she’d come in through.

Siduri backed her way to the passage, blocking it.

“My Queen, I can’t let you leave. Gilgamesh will come back and he will see all of your tests,” Siduri argued. “He will see them and he will hear from the advisors about your condition. There won’t be a single soul left in this ziggurat when he is through.”

“You’ll survive. You’re his first wife, after all.”

“His fir- woman, I am a widow to a former guard!”

Hakuno raised her brow at her.

“I AM- Please! Please just lay down in bed. I will fetch you some fruits and food and we can discuss this. There are better ways to handle this than running off to wherever you came from.”

“I don’t intend to lose my son.”

“And I don’t intend to let you!”

“Please don’t lie.” The woman smirked, in that way that was all too much like her king’s own smirk. “I’ve nearly fallen down the stairs of the ziggurat twice in the past week when I was sneaking out. Someone slipped rats beneath the doors before I shoved fabrics in the thin space beneath it. I’ve had foul food shoved underneath that door before that. The tablets that I helped with were broken by the messengers, leading to turmoil amongst the citizens.”

Dear gods.

“There is no respect for me. Not from you. Not from anyone. You win. I love Gil and I know he will be the great king that he is, but I can tell when I’ve reached my limit. My limit is with the one piece of Gilgamesh that I have left.”

She wasn’t going to listen.

Her grip on the dagger was tightening.

“My queen,” Siduri knelt down, pressing her hands to the floor as she bowed to the woman. “Please… I know we have fought, but I swear… I vow to you, with Ninsun and Utu as my witnesses, I will do no more.”

[norhimorovine]

Saffron for Mistletoe

Norhi was in the yard next to the shop today. She had a hammer, a big tin of nails, and a stack of cut wood on her left. And on her right, was a stack of crates that she’d just put together. In front of her, Dischaus and Lhissa stood with their own small hammers and tins of nails.

Norhi carefully laid out three pieces of the wood side by side and then another piece across them on one end. As she began to nail them into place, she instructed her siblings, “Now, arrange them across the sawhorses like this. And we hammer two nails through each, so that there’s six nails, all the way down the cross piece. Once they’re all the way through, we take one more cross piece and do the other end. Then, we flip it over like this, and clinch the nails. Like so.”

Dis scrunched his nose, watching Norhi hammer the ends of the nails so they bent over flat against the wood. “Why do we bother with that? Why don’t we just leave them? Or buy shorter nails?”

Norhi chuckled. “Shorter nails are usually too thin to hold this wood together solidly. And to get this thickness in the right length, I’d have to custom order them from the blacksmith. Which gets expensive, for the number of crates we go through. And if we left them, someone might scrape their hand reaching in for a bottle. Or one of the nails might scratch and damage the product.”

Lhissa tilted her head. “The blacksmiths don’t make nails for crates normally?”

Norhi shrugged. “Oh, I imagine there’s a blacksmith out there that does. But… they don’t live near the Hawthorne Hut. And I do try to buy from our local blacksmith instead of traveling out of my way just for nails that I only need for crates. Especially since we also use these nails for repairing the cart, or for shelves for the shop, fences for the groves, and so on. Easier to buy bulk from a blacksmith that knows me. And… kinder to the Wood as well.”

Dis and Lhis exchanged confused looks. “How does buying nails from a local blacksmith be kind to the Wood?” “I thought the Forest didn’t like metal.” “And we’re using it to hammer wood from the Forest!”

Norhi laughed and set aside the finished panel, before starting another. “Well… That’s a story.”

“Story!! Tell us!”

Now, in a little village, deep in the farther reaches of the Twelveswood, there was a merchant. He was a well to do man, with a nice shop. People from the village depended on him. And they respected him. After all, he was the one who secured furs and meats from local hunters, and items from traveling traders that could not be made in their own homes.

Life seemed perfect and content. Their village knew peace. The shop was successful. And the only complaints were the local boys getting into mischief.

Now, the summer festival was upon them. The merchant set up his shop, opening the great window and setting out the crates of goods. His wife hung garlands of flowers from the eaves, and a wreath on the shop door. The other businesses around them - the blacksmith, the tavern, the baker - were all doing the same. And traveling traders came in from the roads, setting up their little carts of wares, also decorated for the festivities. The feast was set up, the dance floor was filled, the conjurer was giving out blessings and purification masks. All in all, it was going to be a grand year.

As the day began to draw to a close, the merchant and his wife began to slowly pack back up. But before they could finish, a foreign man in bright silks and gold jewelry, came up to the open window. “My good sir! I would like to trade with you!”

The merchant was rarely one to refuse the idea of business. So he turned back to the window and smiled, “Of course! What can I help you with?”

The foreigner gave the man a cat-like grin and pulled a strange pouch from his voluminous coat. “I have here a spice from the far east, which we call saffron. It is most rare and hard to produce, requiring the careful, skilled hands of artisans with a lifetime of work. These fine yellow threads will add a wonderful fragrance and flavor to any savory dish! They are sought after by the richest gourmands of the great cities!”

The merchant seemed unsure, as he answered, “That sounds like an invaluable item indeed. Why bring it to me? We are humble people here.”

The foreigner’s grin spread a little more. “Oh why? Because, my good sir, what a better way to liven up a humble life, than with a few exotic treasures and treats? No doubt your village headsman’s wife would give great gil to have this delicacy in her kitchen.”

The merchant rubbed at his chin, thinking that it would be nice if the headsman’s wife was a little more generous in her next shopping trip. He then narrowed his eyes at the foreigner. “And how much would this little bag of spice cost me? What good does it bring to reach for exotic treasures we can’t afford?”

The foreigner held aloft a finger, as if revealing a secret. “Ah, but for you, my good sir, it is not so expensive. For you see, these very piles of walnuts you have in this crate, are not so common back east. To us, they are the exotic treasure!”

The merchant shrugged. “But they are not so hard to gather, nor require a lifetime of experience. My own son gathered these from the forest yesterday.”

The foreigner nodded. “True, true. But also, you have these little plants here, this… mistletoe. It is quite useful for alchemists. And this variety does not grow in the east. No doubt this is a little harder to gather.”

The merchant mused on this for a moment. “That is true. So, how much of my mistletoe and my walnuts, do you want for that one bag?”

The foreigner grinned, “For all of your mistletoe and all of your walnuts, I will give you half of my saffron.”

The merchant shook his head. “I have people here who will want some of these still. I will give you two-thirds, for half of your saffron.”

The foreigner seemed unconvinced, almost putting the little pouch away again. “Then, all of your mistletoe, and half of your walnuts. For half of my saffron.”

The merchant snorted. “No no. The conjurer’s wife will come for some of that mistletoe tomorrow morning. She always does. No. Four-fifths of the mistletoe, two-thirds of the walnuts, for two-thirds of your saffron.”

The foreigner seemed to waver before finally smiling. He reached out and shook the merchant’s hand. “A deal we have! I will go bring your saffron.”

The merchant grinned. “And I will bag up your walnuts and mistletoe.”

Soon, the exchange was done. And that night, the foreigner left.

The next morning, the conjurer’s wife came to the shop. The conjurer’s wife was sad to see that there was so little mistletoe left. The merchant apologized and said they would have more soon. The conjurer’s wife nodded and bought what was there, making her way out with a sigh. The merchant felt some guilt at this. He did not like that he had disappointed her.

But this worry soon fled, as the headsman’s wife came in the door. The merchant happily showed her the saffron, telling her of the qualities the foreign man had espoused the night before. Being the vain woman she was, she happily bought a hefty sum of the saffron.

The days following, more villagers came to buy the saffron, after sampling the headsman’s wife’s cooking with it. It soon ran out. And they were sad for its loss. But life went back to normal.

A moon later, the foreign man returned. He gave the merchant a sly grin. “The saffron brought you riches, I see.”

And the merchant, who had profited well enough to afford a new waistcoat, nodded. “I suppose you can say that I did. What other exotic treasures do you have?”

The foreigner grinned his catlike smile and opened his cart.

The next day, the merchant hawked his new fabulous wares. And the villagers loved it. Though, no few of them were disappointed to find that there were no walnuts or mistletoe at all. And that there wasn’t as much of the potting clay or alumen, as usual.

The merchant grew richer off of his new wares. Though, he found that when he went to buy potions from the conjurer’s wife, that they were almost gone. It seemed she did not have enough materials for what she needed. And when he got home, his wife complained that the local potter couldn’t make her a new jug, since he’d just run out of clay. He consoled his wife, saying he’d go to the next village to buy what they needed.

Several moons passed this way. The foreign man would show up and trade his exotic goods for things that the village rather needed. And when the villagers came the next day, there was so little left for them of their usual goods, that they began to complain. And when they weren’t complaining of that, they were arguing over the exotic wares, competing to get to them before they ran out too. What’s more, the merchant had begun to make regular trips to the next village, to buy the things the village was no longer making, for his own household. The trips were becoming costly. And the neighboring village was growing suspicious.

Finally, the foreign man returned again. The merchant shook his head. “I cannot. No longer. My village needs these things you ask for. The exotic treasures you bring, they are wonderful. But they bring strife too. Our potion-maker no longer has potions, because you bought all the plants she needed. Our potter has no jugs, because you bought all the clay. And the village bickers over the things you trade to us. They’re wonderful. But they’re also a curse. I’m sorry, but no longer.”

The foreigner frowned sadly. “Are you certain? Perhaps if I sent you word in advance. Tell you what things I wish to trade for? You can stock up enough for the village and for me?”

At this point, the village headsman and the conjurer, followed by several more of the village, stepped forward. The conjurer bowed low, as he spoke, “Dear sir, you have brought an expensive lesson to our lives. But we cannot do as you ask. We cannot over-harvest in this forest, lest we anger the elementals.”

The headsman nodded in agreement. “We have our ways here. And while we do not mind a little variety now and again, we are too small a village for the expenses you bring us. Please return with the next festival, but no other time.”

The foreign man mused on this for a long moment and then nodded. He reached into his cart and pulled out a bag of tea leaves. “I understand. It brings me grief to know that I have caused such turmoil for your lovely village. As an apology, here are the rarest tea leaves I could bring from the east. Brew them and offer them to your elementals for my wrongs. When I return with the next festival, I will bring treasures that will befit a festival, instead of thinking of my own pockets.”

The conjurer accepted the bag of tea leaves. “Be safe on the road, kind sir.”

The merchant shook hands with the foreign man once more, before turning back to his shop. But as he turned, he spotted a glimmer in the trees, just out of the village’s edge. He thought for a moment that it was some large bird, except that it glowed with radiant magic. The creature vanished in a wink, leaving the merchant staring in shock. He turned back to the conjurer and said, “I will help you offer the tea to the elementals. It was my decision to accept the trade, that started this whole affair.”

The conjurer smiled knowingly and nodded. “Of course. Let us go do that.”

And after that, the merchant never saw the glowing creature again, the foreign man only came at the festival time, and the village once again knew piece.

Norhi picked her hammer back up, as she finished the story. “So… I buy nails from our local blacksmith, because it’s good for people to support their neighbor’s businesses.”

Dis scrunches his nose. “But you travel all over to sell Zuzu’s potions.”

Norhi nodded. “True. But I also buy things in all those places, after selling our wares. So… some of that money is going right back into the markets. And… I tend to stick to big cities. Their markets are built for foreign trade, unlike small villages. And… I imagine that the story probably could’ve ended differently, if someone who understood trade and markets, was there to create a better solution. As it stands, that story teaches us to be thoughtful of our clients and our vendors.”

Lhis grinned. “So, big nails for everything!”

Norhi wilted. “That… I just… Lhis, no.”

[alexisluthor]

“The Job” - Deep Dive *Prodigal Son Spoilers*

First, I'm not at all surprised that Martin leveraged his 'statement' for more time with Malcolm. I found their in-person conversation interesting because Martin says that Vijay has moved on...and he asks Malcolm...why can't he? I found this a little bit out of character. Martin shouldn't want Malcolm to move on because he would lose his manipulative hold if he did. It seems as though he does want his son to make friends and have normal relationships...but why? As a sociopath, Martin would want Malcolm’s fractured attempts at normalcy to remain the same so that he and he alone can dominate Malcolm's sphere of influence and maintain a stronger hold on him.

I also found it interesting that Martin was called a psychopath and admitted as much to Jessica, saying that he could turn on and off his ability to care. In ep. 1, the FBI called Martin a psychopath and Malcolm (rather heatedly) pointed out that he was a “predatory sociopath.” Even after Malcolm thwacks his head and his concrete addled brain conjures up Martin…his ‘hallucination’ echoes Mal’s own concerns that he too is a “killer, murderer, psycho.”

He analyzes the scene, through the lens of his father. In his 'hallucination,' the chair that he's tied to is gone, but he remains on the floor. From a metaphorical standpoint, his position is a subservient one of vulnerability. Martin stands, walks the scene. Malcolm tries to distance himself from what he’s done, saying he didn’t kill anybody and Martin points out his “work of genius” in loading their minds. He admires Malcolm (i.e. Malcolm craves his father’s praise?) and informs him that he doesn’t need friends. Malcolm desperately craves that human interaction and intimacy though, which is why his guard was down when it came to Eve. He’s just afraid that he’s too similar to his father and also too damaged to maintain healthy friendships.

---Sidebar, Martin hates Gil...and twice during the episode, his boy and his wife stopped talking to him, to talk to Gil. Jessica used it as a dig. Malcolm used it as an escape. When Mal was kidnapped and Gil goes to see Martin…Whitly makes a very strong point to grit out that Malcolm is “HIS boy.” I think something is being set up here. The anger Martin has towards Gil is growing. After Jessica says she should call Gil and hangs up, Martin closes his eyes, breaths, and mentions that she just ‘turned the dagger.’ (so he does have feelings!)---

Anyway! Can we blame Malcolm for his doubts about having normal relationships? No! Especially not after nearly stabbing Eve due to his night terrors. The irony that she is – in fact – out for her own agenda is spectacular. We all know that finding out she is…less than above board…will wreak havoc on poor Malcolm. (But viewers like the whump associated with Malcolm) So who is Eve? The daughter of the slain woman or another victim? A relative? She’s too young to be a victim. But clearly, she has some serious neurosis if she was willing to fabricate this false relationship, including sleeping with Malcolm, just to make headway for her own gain.

And poor Malcolm…we see in previews that he confides in Martin about having doubts about Eve. Martin is fast becoming his sounding board, his anchor point. When he brings up his friendship with Vijay, Martin recalls their falling out, which surprises Malcolm. Apparently, Malcolm was pretty open with his father in their visits before he stopped coming.

So, who was Vijay to Malcolm? Clearly there’s an air of superiority there. He almost acts like a bully, the way he jabs at him and wipes his finger on his jacket. He even refuses to call him Bright, brushing past him as he again calls him Whitly. This dynamic gets the viewer thinking about Malcolm’s (undoubtedly sad) childhood. And it again brings up Malcolm’s trust issues. His friend Vijay abandoned him once his father got out and he regained a ‘normal’ status. Malcolm never had that luxury. Did this falling out leave him friendless altogether?

---Sidebar, how Jessica ‘handles’ her son’s loneliness is cringeworthy. Grabbing the phone and forcing Malcolm to talk to Eve? NO. Just moments before, Jessica admitted to being manipulative, and she is. She even disowned her son at the wedding party when the woman next to her asked if she knew “who that man” was. Her actions towards Malcolm, in my eyes, are even more unacceptable than Martin’s manipulation. (At least he’s open about it) Martin’s reason for calling Jess in the first place was to see if she had manipulated Malcolm into not answering his calls. It’s notable that Martin becomes worried about Malcolm, and Jess asks if he just turned his feelings back on. I think though, that Malcolm is the only one who Martin genuinely does worry about, genuinely does have affection for, other than himself. He ‘missed out’ on a lot of years of parenting. The worrying was probably too much while Mal was a kid and in the decade hiatus that Mal took from him, so he likely turned it off. Now, that worry is back with a vengeance. ---

Anywho…Vijay openly lies to Malcolm about making a deal. Still, in a way, it’s like Malcolm feels he has to ‘prove’ himself and his worth to Vijay by saving the day. Only when things go his way are they the “Corner Table Boys” again. Even after Mal and Vijay were successful, their “buddy” moment at the end was still forced and awkward. (One ‘nice’ thing about Mal’s ‘relationship’ with Martin is that he knows he never has to prove his worth to Martin and Martin isn’t going anywhere. So as toxic as it is, it's more 'stable' than whatever he has with Vijay)

Malcolm is interesting because when he’s left alone in his head, his anxiety spirals out of control. Yet, he’s quick to put himself in life threatening situations – seemingly without anxiety. Is it because he feels he has to prove his worth to his team? Is it because it gives him a rush and makes him feel alive? Is it punishment for all his father has done, or a way to make up for his father’s trail of destruction? Or is it a distraction from the darkness he knows lives within him?

Whatever it is, I bet his reckless behavior will intensify post Eve.

(I’m waiting for an ep where Malcolm does actually have to pull the trigger – maybe in self-defense – and how his broken psyche will deal with actually killing someone. He seems ready to fall into the abyss of moral ambiguity, but his team is what keeps him grounded on just this side of right...and Martin seems to be pushing him in the other direction. That's a lot of cognitive dissonance to deal with. (Blackmailing that brain surgeon to get what he wanted was definitely a touch of evil - it seems he knows how much to use his own manipulative streak and when). So...how much pushing would it take to break Malcolm?)

Final thought: can Martin really extort Malcolm and Jessica with his statement? If his recollection clashed with Mal's and Jess's who would the cops believe? Certainly not him. I partly believe Malcolm is going along with the terms b/c he cares about his mother, but it's also an excuse to visit Martin that is 'out of his hands' ... so he doesn't have to feel guilty about seeing Martin.

[jess-rewatches-prodigalson]

Episode 3: Fear Response

You know the drill. Thoughts with time stamps coming your way.

SPOILERS AHEAD

0:55 - Is Martin really that delusional? He killed people and he thinks his wife isn’t going to divorce him?!? 

1:23 - “A woman overlooks things.” No. I’m sorry. But Jessica’s mother sounds kind of awful. No one should have to overlook “things” in a marriage. Communicate people. Don’t settle. Compromise. Love. Forgive. Don’t overlook red flags.

1:47 - Lay down the law Jessica. That’s my girl. This is the moment I fell in love with Jessica. 

3:19 - Malcolm leaves his phone in another room when he sleeps? Good for him. My technology addicted ass could never do that. Plus it’s my alarm clock so you know - there’s that. 

3:30 - Jessica owns the building Malcolm lives in. This raises a lot of questions for me about Malcolm’s finances. He was clearly getting paid by the FBI. I assume the NYPD is also paying him. Does he have access to the family money? Is he paying rent for his loft? Or does he live rent free because it’s the “family building”?!? The finances of people who grew up rich is such a mystery to me. How does it work when your rich parents are still alive? 

3:49 - He flung himself out a window. He was having a nightmare and it caused him to fling himself out a window while he was still asleep. This. Boy. Needs. A. Hug. Also real sleep. And peace. 

4:48 - “I just watched you throw yourself out a window.” Did you see Malcolm’s facial expression after she said that. It was a look that says “I know I’m broken. I don’t like it. I’m sorry. I’m doing my best. I’m ashamed.”

5:10 -  He knows. He knows his mental health is a mess but he lies to his mother anyways. He wants to be brave for her. He doesn’t want her to worry about him. She’s suffered enough. She’s worried enough. He doesn’t want to be a burden. My heart breaks for Malcolm in this scene.

5:35 - Look I have personal issues with shrinks but I’m really happy Malcolm has someone to talk to. Also she’s such a cool therapist. She’s kind and respectful without being demeaning and coddling. 

7:00 - I LOVE that Malcolm is sitting with his legs folded. It’s super cute. Also it reinforces the idea that he’s in a vulnerable state.

7:22 - Does Malcolm have social anxiety? The way he approaches this crime scene it almost looks like he’s rehearsing what he’s going to do/say when he arrives. It’s a very common social anxiety habit. 

7:38 - He took enough lollipops to share. That might be the sweetest thing in the world. Gil looks so happy. Dani and JT look so confused. I wonder if Malcolm is sharing lollipops to subtly tell Gil that he’s seeing his therapist and he’s getting help. 

8:11 - Another awkward Edrisa and Bright interaction. I’m cringing. 

8:50 - Do you ever wonder what Mr.David’s job description is? I do. I mean does he just stand there watching Martin all day. Is he supposed to talk to Martin? Is he supposed to prevent Martin from hurting himself? I mean I love Mr.David but if Martin is alone in his room why does Mr.David need to be there? Martin is chained to the wall. 

10:10 - Oh hell no. That’s nasty. Also Malcolm looks way too excited about the brain removal. 

10:34 - Ok. So I don’t ship Maldrisa. BUT that little smile that Malcolm just gave Edrisa is warming my cold, dead heart. 

11:05 - The victim was scared to death. Malcolm is currently suffering from increased mental distress caused by his father and extreme night terrors. And now the victim has been scared to death. Irony? Foreshadowing?

12:03 - hahaha Gil’s face. He’s like “I can’t explain that boy’s behaviour.”.

12:07 - STOP. Right now. Does Malcolm really have his own desk?!? So he’s like officially employed right? This isn’t some irregular consultation gig that Gil has arranged. Our boy has a desk. Our boy is permanent. I am so happy. 

12:30 - Mr.David doesn’t deserve to have to bend to Martin’s will.  “Could you mute that please”. That man better be getting a pretty penny from this job. 

12:40 - How does Martin get this case info?!? I don’t see the newspapers/newscasts mentioning the incision on the side of the victim’s skull. 

13:30 - Oh and whose fault is that Martin? Ugh. I wish Martin just wouldn’t talk to Malcolm anymore. He really aggravates Malcolm’s anxiety.

14:33 - I am both touched and slightly creeped out that Gil has been staring at Malcolm through a window while he was on the phone. 

15:07 - Fanboy alert. It’s honestly so freaking sweet to see Malcolm this excited....but it’s really not the time. 

16:10 - What exactly does Jessica do all day? Does she just watch the news and keep tabs on her children? That’s kind of sad. For Jessica. I wish she were able to have more of a social life despite what Martin did.

17:12 - Ainsley, sweetheart, I love you. I see where you’re coming from. But your Mother did the right thing for you. You shouldn’t have to remember a monster. 

18:40 - Dang. Dani looks beautiful in that shade of blue. 

19:30 - Do you ever wonder why Malcolm doesn’t carry a gun with the NYPD? He’s qualified to carry a gun since he used to work for the FBI. Do you think he’s not allowed to carry one since he’s technically not a police officer with the NYPD? I prefer to believe that he refuses to carry a gun with the NYPD because he’s terrified of what he might do with a gun. To a suspect. To himself (presuming he stores it at home when he’s not working).

20:12 - Again. Malcolm is not a killer. Look at his concern for Dr. Brown in this scene.

21:21 - JT’s writing the report. Do they all have to make a report for every case or do they take turns writing a single report (like a group project) for every case? I’m very curious. 

21:23 - oooooohhhh Dad is angry. And concerned. 

21:50 - Do you ever wonder what classes Bright took in university? I do. He has a degree in psychology but he seems to know a lot about specific medications, medical conditions, and medicine in general. Is that because of Martin? Maybe? But a lot of his knowledge seems way beyond what a 10 year old could understand and retain. 

24:10 - I love this scene. It suggests that there was a point in time when Gil and Jessica talked frequently. Maybe they were even friends. It suggests that they bonded over how much they love Malcolm. Makes me wonder what kind of a relationship Gil has/had with Ainsley.

27:48 - This. This is how much Jessica loves Malcolm. Yes she oversteps boundaries and she can come across as cold and distant. BUT she is willing to see a man that terrifies her. Who caused her so much pain. A man that she hates. Simply because she wants to keep her son healthy and safe. That right there is a good mother. 

28:28 - This is my favourite running gag of the series. I genuinely want to know what JT stands for. If it’s not something ridiculous like “James Tiberius” or “Justin Timberlake” because JT’s parents were big nerds I will be so disappointed. 

29:00 - This conversation about trust and respect between JT and Malcolm is everything. It really solidifies their friendship. You can tell that from this point onward JT is much warmer toward Malcolm. I love this. So much. 

29:15 - What branch of the military was JT a part of? Marine? Air Force? Army? Navy?

30:08 - Malcolm’s list of diagnoses. Yikes. :( My heart is shattered.  

30:21 - The look in Malcolm’s eyes here. Just. No. Ouch. That hurts. This boy needs a hug. 

32:30 - I kind of don’t feel bad for this woman. She kind of sucks.

32:50 - I like to believe that JT is texting his wife in this scene. I like to believe he’s telling her about how he got stuck babysitting the weirdo who keeps guessing what his name stands for. 

32:52 - I’m sorry. What? What did JT see that caused him to get out of the car. Malcolm hasn’t called him yet and that house looks normal on the outside. 

34:14 - The fact that Malcolm can empathize with killers is beautiful and terrible. It’s a wonderful quality but it’s probably not great for his mental health.

34:55 - That’s a concussion.

36:15 - I get the feeling that half the time when Malcolm’s talking down a killer he’s really talking to himself. That breaks my heart.

36:38 - Malcolm’s manic guesses of JT name is very concerning. I’m worried for this boy. I really hope someone got him checked out for a concussion.

37:12 - Ugh. Don’t look at her like she’s a piece of meat. 

37:33 - The way Jessica and Martin interact really makes me question what their married relationship was like. Did they argue a lot? Did they show a lot of PDA? I have questions.

38:30 - The way Jessica insults Martin is my favourite thing. It’s freaking hilarious.

39:10 - If Martin is a psychopath he legitimately can’t feel pride for his children. Right? So he’s lying here?

40:40 - What was the whole story? What did Jessica do? Was it the alcoholism? Is that what he’s referring to?

42:00 - DUDE. Please don’t drug yourself. You are so desperate for answers that you’ve become self-destructive. I want you to be safe. 

I love this show. Ugh. If you read through any of this - thanks for hanging out. I hope to post my thoughts on the next episode soon. 

[umbralich]

History pt. 1 - Caged

Dark clouds were gathering above Limsa Lominsa, while chilly wind was rising, tossing around leaves and small litter. A perfect weather, thought a lone viera, whose face was covered with hood, and who was marching forward among the decreasing crowd. Usually lominsans weren't startled by a small rain or wind, but everyone who had lived at least a few years at the coast knew, that this was going to become something bigger. The storm will serve us perfectly, Iris thought again to herself while hastening her steps. This would be the day she and Rosaria had been planning for weeks: they would run away together. Of course they would've run away anyway, storm or not. But if the weather was going to be miserable enough, they'd either get more head start, or even better, no pursuers at all. If following them would prove to be too much trouble, Pavel would - at least hopefully - leave them be. Ugh... Pavel... Just thinking about the man almost raised a bit of vomit into Iris' throat. He was one of the captains in Limsa, well-known and liked by both his shipmates and the citizens alike. Most of people saw him exactly like he wanted to be seen: a diligent and fair leader and also a skilled trader, who worked from dawn to dusk for the greater good.

Iris was one of the two people who knew what kind of man he really was. She had met Pavel's wife, Rosaria, a few months back. Until that day Iris hadn't believed in love at first sight, but Rosaria had proved her wrong. All the previous hardships Iris had had the questionable honor to experience, suddenly made sense: the destiny itself had brought her here, into this faraway pirate city, and into the arms of the woman of her life. Despite of clearly liking Iris equally much, Rosaria had been timid and somewhat reluctant at first. The reason for this had quickly become clear: she was married, and the union was everything but a happy one. It was one of the classic stories, where a young couple seems perfect for each other and they marry, but after a while another one of them notices something is wrong. Rosaria had, after years of marriage and countless of nights of futile praying and hoping things would somehow become like they used to be, truly realized the person she thought she married had never existed. As a matter of fact, for Pavel, Rosaria seemed to only be a symbol of status. A wifeless captain, whom no one was waiting home... that would've been a huge crack on his otherwise stainless facade. The only things Pavel wanted from Rosaria was her company in bed, her cooking and housekeeping. If Rosaria sometimes hadn't obeyed him, he hadn't hesitated to pummel his authority into her with his fists. Or belt. Or with whatever else he happened to find nearby. At first after realizing her own situation Rosaria had tried to tell people about her plight, but no one had believed her. Just hysterical ramblings of a lonely wife; apparently her husband was too much away from home, they had said. Eventually she had stopped trying, and later when she had been asked about it, she had brushed the whole matter under a rug with a statement about just having a bad day, and reassuring everything being fine now. Ugh, Iris thought to herself again. Too bad one couldn't just go and kill off people they didn't like. If Pavel didn't exist... It would've solved all of Rosaria's - and now also Iris' - problems. But that would've been impossible. As far as Iris knew, the man didn't have enemies, and if he did, they were afraid of him. And for a good reason, she thought. It started to downpour, and even the last citizens who had persevered outside for one reason or another, finally gave up and retreated indoors. There was a sudden flash of lightning, followed by a loud rumble. A couple of terrified moogles with drooping pom-poms dashed past her and disappeared around the nearest corner. Iris noticed she was alone outside. Rosaria's house was no longer far; only a couple of blocks away. They had agreed she would pick Rosaria up, after Iris had arranged a chocobo cart for them outside the city and bought some rations for a long journey. They had collected gil for their flight for months, but Iris was the one who had to retain their funds. Rosaria had absolutely refused to have any extra gil under her roof, because if it was there, Pavel would've found it and started to ask questions. Iris was nervous, but not in a bad way. It was more of excitement of doing something forbidden. Their plan was fool-proof. Pavel had just left on a long voyage yesterday, and his plan was to return two weeks later. That meant Iris and Rosaria would have two weeks to make themselves disappear completely. Their destination was unknown even for them. They just knew they would have to go far away, perhaps even as far as Doma. The farther away the better. She finally arrived to Rosaria's house, which was a classy, detailed building with two floors around the better part of the city. She was about to knock the door, when she suddenly heard ruckus inside. Iris started to feel sick. It couldn't be... She pressed her ear right next to the door and listened as much as the downpour let her. "- ungrateful little bitch!" undoubtedly Pavel's voice yelled. "I work around the clock and for what?! For how long have you been scheming this? Huh? You've packed like you've been planning to travel to the other side of the world!" Iris heard loud, thumping noises followed by Rosaria's whimpering. For a moment some primal instinct supplanted her terror, filling her with empowering fury. Iris was already about to break the window, jump right in and rip the man apart with her bare hands. Then her sanity caught up. She couldn't just kill the man here like this in his own house after breaking in. He was very influential, and if his underlings ever caught wind about the culprit, Iris would be doomed to glance over her shoulder and sleep another eye open for the rest of her life. Dead street thugs weren't big news in Limsa, but Pavel wasn't a thug. Thus, not only his underlings and partners, but also yellowjackets would become interested in the case. With a heavy heart, clenching her fists, Iris retreated from the house and sneaked away. She had absolutely no idea why Pavel was home when he surely wasn't supposed to be. He hadn't been there yesterday. Iris had seen with her own eyes when the man had sailed towards the horizon. But as far as she knew, Pavel didn't know about Iris' existence. Rosaria had told her Pavel believed her best friends were the local gossipers around the marketplace. This was just a little setback. They'd come up with a new plan. A better one. Rosaria would have to endure his treatment for this one last time, and next time she left the house, Iris would be waiting. They'd leave even without their luggage and rations, if they had to. While running back to her hiding place Iris was tugging her hood even lower, although she was already soaked. This was going to be a long night. She was so worried about Rosaria and so mad at Pavel, that sleeping would've been completely impossible in that state.

---> Part 2

[x-chrysalis]

𝐁𝐢𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐲

Lucrecia Marie Crescent was born in Kalm in [ μ ] – εγλ 1950, the only daughter of banker Aloysius Crescent and his wife Juliana. She enjoyed a rather privileged upbringing and was raised to be a charming young lady, but her parents had very traditional ideas about the lives of women. To wit: they expected her to focus on finding a husband who would provide for her rather than her own career path.

But Lucrecia’s first love was the legend of the Ancients — the Cetra — which she fell into deeply at a young age, and this love nudged her toward planetary studies and science. Her academic interests were fine with her parents for a time, as a well-educated woman was more likely to marry a well-educated and therefore wealthy man, but when she failed to secure a husband by the end of undergrad — indeed, broke off an engagement with a promising young man she had been dating in college — Mr. and Mrs. Crescent refused to continue funding their daughter’s education, deriding it as a fanciful distraction from her true calling of getting married and having children ( not to mention an astronomical waste of gil ).

This only made Lucrecia fight harder for her own goals. Fortunately, she performed well enough in school that she continued on to secure her graduate degree on scholarship and then her doctorate through a special program funded by the ShinRa Electric Company. She graduated valedictorian from both programs.

Some of her classmates described her as friendly and kind. Some described her as ruthless. One is certain he once saw her smuggle a vlakorodos into the laboratory, but that was strictly forbidden.

Upon graduation, Lucrecia’s participation in the ShinRa program secured her a job with the ShinRa Co. directly out of college. She worked under one Dr. Grimoire Valentine, who had been a professor of hers in her doctorate program, and assisted him with his research on the planetary lifeform known as Chaos. Lucrecia admired Dr. Valentine immensely, but he tragically perished in a laboratory accident involving some reckless behavior on Lucrecia’s part. Lucrecia never forgave herself for her role in his death.

But the quality of her work with Dr. Valentine earned her some recognition by ShinRa, and she was offered a position on the second leg of the top secret and cutting edge Jenova Project: Project S, which had the ambitious goal of breeding the Cetra back into existence using the genetic data of a frozen 2000-year old specimen. Stationed in the remote village of Nibelheim for a year along with her two colleagues, Professor Gast and Dr. Hojo, as well as one Turk on security detail, Lucrecia finally had the opportunity to get a serious foothold in her career, make a name for herself, and possibly even bring the Cetra back to life.

There was just one problem.

( Well, there were a lot of problems; Lucrecia would get to meet all of them later. )

The Turk was Vincent Valentine, son of the late Dr. Grimoire Valentine.

Unable to let it go ( and having never met a problem she couldn’t somehow make worse ), Lucrecia befriended Vincent without telling him of her history with his father. She intended to tell him later, of course, eventually, but that eventually was procrastinated further and further, ultimately hypothetically occurring at some point after she ended up having romantic entanglements with the man, but actually never occurring at all because he came upon the information himself before it ever happened.

Ashamed, embarrassed, and certain she should never speak to him again, she apologized profusely and distanced herself from Vincent immediately.

Meanwhile, Project S was falling apart. Professor Gast had fled both Nibelheim and the company, leaving Lucrecia and Hojo with no direction and no funding. Without funding, they couldn’t secure volunteers. Headquarters threatened to terminate the project immediately if they didn’t start producing results. And so Hojo had the idea to act boldly and secure volunteers from within their own staff.

Their staff of two. The only uterus being hers.

And so it was that Project S began in earnest…

—

We all know the overall story here so let’s skip to the important bits: Lucrecia and Hojo had a hasty paperwork marriage as a legal precaution to ensure that they both ( read: Hojo ) had parental rights to the resulting offspring, but they did try to make it work ( read: Lucrecia ). Hojo was neither hideous nor obviously deranged at the time. Lucrecia did intend to raise the child, whether they did so as a family or in a co-parenting situation. Lucrecia became very ill while pregnant and subjected to Jenova Project treatments, and ultimately fell into a coma when labor was imminent. Sephiroth was delivered by C-section, but transported to ShinRa Headquarters in Midgar before Lucrecia recovered.

Sometime during the weeks of her recovery, Vincent confronted Hojo about Lucrecia’s deteriorating health and his lack of regard for mother or child, and Hojo fatally shot him. Lucrecia, finally well enough to be up and about, happened upon them precisely at this time and realized that her husband was, in fact, deranged. She demanded to see her son and also for Hojo to stop killing people, but he declined to grant either request. Hojo experimented on Vincent’s corpse ( the goal: revive him as some sort of monster-shapeshifting zombie ) then discarded him when his experimentation did not produce any satisfactory results ( because he remained dead ). Lucrecia recovered him from the discard pile and introduced Chaos to his body in an attempt to revive him. Vincent’s vitals did resume, but he did not regain consciousness, and Lucrecia admitted defeat.

She also realized Hojo would never let her see her son, that she couldn’t overcome him — physically, professionally, psychologically — and that ShinRa, Inc. was on Hojo’s side because her son was their property and they would never let her have him. ShinRa was done with her and intended to let her rot in obscurity. All the promises of a successful career became a lie; once she had agreed to the project, they only ever saw her as a uterus to be used and discarded.

Lucrecia attempted to take her life ( also of note: postpartum depression, psychological manipulation, grief ) and failed. Twice. Her body healed injuries it should not have. Concluding that the Jenova cells had deprived her of her ability to perish, she instead sealed herself within the crystallized materia fountain deep within the Nibelheim mountains that Dr. Valentine had brought her to all those years ago.

There, she continued to sleep … and dream …

Until, one day, Vincent and some comrades found her there and spoke to her. They spoke briefly of the world as it was at that time, thirty years later. Lucrecia refused to rejoin this world, and returned to her crystal stasis. Vincent returned now and then, and spoke cryptically of how he was faring. He seemed well. Lucrecia decided she wanted to do well, too.

She decided … she wanted to live.

And so she did.

—

Three months later, Dr. Lucrecia Crescent arrived in the new city of Edge. She acquainted herself with the W.R.O. They were familiar with her. And they allowed her to join them in their mission to heal what horrors her son had wrought upon the Planet.

Today, she lives in Edge, in a modest but sunny apartment. Still one of the world’s foremost materia experts, she works to find ways to synthesize materia without drawing on the Planet’s nonrenewable resources. She doesn’t explain her entire fraught history to everyone she meets, but those who know have taught her the value of a second chance. And she is learning to grant herself one as well.

[thecomicsnexus]

AMBUSH BUG #1-4 JUNE - SEPTEMBER 1985 BY KEITH GIFFEN, ROBERT LOREN FLEMING, BOB OKSNER AND ANTHONY TOLLIN

SYNOPSIS (FROM DC DATABASE)

The story begins with a giant alien space ship about to invade Earth, everyone is in a panic! But wait, wait, no, it's all a marketing plot to get people to buy Ambush Bug #1 and it works as the first issue sells out. Meanwhile, at the Ambush Bug Detective Agency, Ambush Bug is surprised when his old psychiatrist Derwood Denton stands up for him on national television. Just then a garbage truck hits a bump and one of it's contents falls out and smashes through Ambush Bug's windows. Investigating, he finds a toy doll with big cheeks, thinking it's a real live boy, Ambush Bug decides to adopt it and make it his ward and sidekick, naming it Cheeks the Toy Wonder. The Bug then dresses himself and Cheeks up in super-hero costumes and go about the city looking for crimes to bust.

While at a warehouse, a group of terrorists who are against Democrats have taken their grandmother hostage (She did vote for Jimmy Carter..) and plan on blowing up the warehouse (which is full of a lethal nerve gas) and the police have the place surrounded. When Ambush Bug spots the scene, he decides to try and save the day. As the Bug secrets himself into the building the police are informed that the terrorists have bungled and got the wrong warehouse.

Inside, Ambush Bug manages to throw off the criminals and confuse them by using Cheeks as a decoy. When the leader of the terrorists realizes that he is afraid of a doll he kicks Cheeks aside making of his button eyes fall off. Furious, Ambush Bug chases the ring-leader to a sporting goods store where he beats him up with a baseball bat. As Ambush Bug defeats the last of the terrorists and saves the grandmother, he leaves Cheeks behind to defuse the bomb. Of course, Cheeks is just a doll and so the bomb goes off "killing" Cheeks.

Just then, the story is interrupted by Peabody, Dicker and Pending who are revealing a new line of Ambush Bug promotional items for the consumer: The Ambush Bug Aerobics Physical Fitness Work Out Book for People, An Ambush Bug data sheet, Late Night: A horror novel by Ambush Bug, and a funny strip called Little Bug (wherein a child Ambush Bug is looking forward to Nuclear fallout, but then has to spend the next day shoveling it out of his mothers driveway.)

Getting back to the story, Ambush Bug turns over the terrorists to the authorities, and then holds a funeral for Cheeks. In mourning, Ambush Bug is then visited by his Guardian Angel who gives him words of advice: dead super-heroes sell comic books. Reinvigorated and excited about he success of his first issue, Ambush Bug decides to celebrate the death of his sidekick by ordering a pizza, and walks back home thinking up various euphemisms to get over the loss of Cheeks.

When he gets home, Ambush Bug is shocked to find Darkseid is waiting for him in his apartment.

Our story begins in the apartment of Jonni DC, keeper of continuity in the DC Comics Universe, she is not impressed when a during radio report about the latest exploits of Mr. Mxyzptlk, they call him Mr. Mxyztplk (his Earth-Two counterpart), it's just another day in the life of the keeper of continuity.

Meanwhile, a desperate janitor seeks the services of Ambush Bug and interrupts the Bug while he is taking a shower. The janitor tells the Bug that he worked in the cuteness wing of the Paddywac science lab. There, scientist Quentin Quantis was trying to isolate the cause of cuteness, using Koala's as a source to extract it from. Isolating the enzyme, he ingested it and slowly became Quantis, a giant Koala who walks like a man! Just as this bit of exposition is done, Quantis' foot smashes through the roof of Ambush Bug's office killing the janitor. Ambush Bug decides to do something about it, bit first an intermission.... The reader is shown the results of the "1985 Gnatty Dresser Awards" showcasing Ambush Bug in different outfits, and then presented with The Ambush Bug Guide to Collecting Comics.

Back to the story... As Quantis rampages through Metropolis, the creature draws the attention of Jonni DC, who changes into keeper of continuity form and tries to stop Quantis because he will mess up continuity. However, she is no match for the creatures cute sneezes and Quantis attempts to play golf with her. However, this development of the plot is far too absurd for DC Comics Editor Julius Schwartz and he has Keith Giffen and Bob Flemming pull it from the story.

With the police ineffective against Quantis, Ambush Bug tries his hand at trying to stop the creature with minimal success and ends up being swallowed by the cute terror. Inside the creatures stomach, Ambush Bug meets Dr. Bagel and his wife who were eaten by Quantis earlier. They tell Ambush Bug of an antidote back at the lab, and the Bug teleports out of there to get it.

Ambush Bug then gets the antidote, but before he can administer it Giffen and Flemming cut back to Quantis trying to play golf again with Jonni DC much to Schwartz's annoyance. When the story gets back on track, Ambush Bug administers the antidote turning Quantis back into his human form, and he is knocked out by Jonni DC (who was finally hit by that damn golf playing Quantis -- Hey, did you expect this story to make sense or what?) With Quantis defeated, Ambush Bug decides to go get some fast food, and is horrified to find that the person serving him is none other than.... Darkseid!

Ambush Bug decides to take this issue to give the reader his own tour of the DC Comics Universe, taking time to point out some of the more forgettable character of Pre-Crisis DC Universe. He reminds us of Egg Fu's appearances in Wonder Woman, and the forgettable Wonder Tot character. He then begins a detective mystery trying to find out where certain characters in the DC Universe had gone, starting with Binky. He interrogates some of his friends and colleagues and learns that he possibly ran off with a girl from Earth-Two. He later reminds us of Super-Turtle and the very annoying Aquaman back-up character Quisp and informs us of their mysterious disappearances.

We're next shown two actors (Hembeck style) pretending to be readers of Ambush Bug hoping to learn Ambush Bug's secret origin in this issue, however Ambush Bug calls them on their true roles and goes back to the his investigation. He writes an ode to the Super-Pets Krypto and Streaky to the tune of popular songs, and then takes a moment to have a laugh about Super-Monkey and Comet's convoluted storyline. After meeting with the Green Team, Ambush Bug then writers a report about Cheeks and Itty, the Green Lantern's embarrassing and thankfully short lived animal side kick. Ambush Bug next meets with Bat-Mite who complains about the sudden changes in Batman's character from the campy caped crusader to the gritty dark knight with a reaaaalllly long cape. Ambush Bug is surprised that Bat-Mite has shacked up with Star-Mite instead of Batgirl-Mite.

The story is interrupted with an intermission where we are given a science lesson about Superman's powers, a feature called "Ambush Bug Around the World" and a "How to Draw Ambush Bug" with a great teriyaki burger recipe, a "What If" about if the deadline couldn't be met how the story would go if another writer took over (such as Jack Kirby, Ernie Colon, Frank Miller, Steve Ditko, and Gil Kane), and a order form from the Ambush Bug Mart.

Continuing his quest to find missing DC character, he wonders about what happened to Cyrll and Doodles Duck, and learns that the House of Mystery has been put up for sale. After his search is interrupted by the Inferior Five calling Ambush Bug on the fact that they ripped off their concept, the Bug laughs about Ace the Bat-Hound, and makes a comment about Julius Schwartz, and when Schwartz wants a fight scene, Ambush Bug is only happy to comply and give people an instruction on how to draw comics in a grid.

Back to the story, we learn that Mopee an obscure Flash character who claimed to be responsible for the Flash getting his powers is also taking credit for having a hand in every popular DC characters origins. After a visit to Bizarro World where Bizarro Ambush Bug is tormented, Ambush Bug muses about the Glob and finally learns the culprit to all these disappearances: Jonni DC, who's job it is to clean up DC community, however she is incinerated by.... Darkseid!

After a brief introduction into the Ambush Bug family where we meet Ambush Bug's family, which apparently consists of real ambush bugs, we cut a local police precinct in Metropolis. Here the villain known as Scabbard comes back from the dead and reclaims his head, which is being used by a police officer as an ashtray. Scabbard then goes off to get revenge against his foe Thriller. Scabbard instead runs into Ambush Bug, who is out for sushi, and frightening all the customers with his disgusting stories.

With everyone afraid to confront Scabbard, and with the villain hopelessly lost, Ambush Bug decides to take him on, but first reads up on Scabbard by reading a back issue of the comic "Thriller". Dawning a crude fencing costume, Ambush Bug battles Scabbard (with artist assists from Keith Giffen's son) eventually Scabbard realizes that he's in the wrong comic book, stops the fight, apologizes and walks away from a confused Ambush Bug.

Realizing that they have more pages to do for this issue, the Ambush Bug creative team panic to come up with ideas on how to keep readers hooked. The best they can come up with is the "Death of Ambush Bug" however, the Bug refuses to participate in such a pathetic attempt to boost sales. Coming up with a new idea, the plot progresses...

While doing laundry, Ambush Bug notices that one of his socks is missing and thus begins a search to find this and other missing socks. He eventually stumbles upon a conspiracy orchestrated by Argh!yle, an animated sock that apparently came from the same space ship that was bitten by a radioactive space spider and contained Ambush Bug's uniform. The sock's pair being destroyed in a crash, and it gaining sentience from the radiation, the sock soon found itself abandoned and lonely. Hitting rock bottom finding solace in bing drinking until it was savagely attacked by a cat. Surviving and creating an iron mask, the sock, now calling itself Argh!yle, had built a giant bureau in space and began to use advanced technology to reanimate odd socks and recruit them in an army to get revenge against Ambush Bug.

Sending his minions after the Bug, they capture him and bring him aboard the bureau, where they use the device the "Balluptatron" to twist Ambush Bug up into a ball and launch him back to Earth. It doesn't kill him, but boy was it embarrassing. After a brief interruption to see the Ambush Bug family tree and a pin-up of Starfire, Ambush Bug throws a wrap party to celebrate the final issue of his first mini-series. He reveals to the reader that it wasn't Darkseid that was used as a cliffhanger each issue, but an inflatable replica.

REVIEW

Ambush Bug is always an unexpected reading. Full with meta-jokes about comic-books and DC comics. But it doesn’t stop there, it also manages to insert some political “absurd” humor.

It helps a lot to read titles where Giffen and Loren Fleming were involved. Most obviously “Thriller” which I couldn’t finish reading because it was to hard to read. Well, they trash that title over and over in each issue. And the Darkseid insert is a joke about the Great Darkness Saga, and how Darkseid was teased and postponed until the last issue.

It also makes fun about dead sidekicks bringing money to the publishers... and this was before the death of Jason Todd! (the cemetery is named Barnes, after Bucky).

It has hilarious moments, like Cheeks not being able to diffuse a bomb. It’s comedy gold.

Even the letterer has some fun with the captions. It seems like this was a full-team contribution.

I give this story a score of 10

[royalcordelia]

If the Sea Should Part (3/5)

Summary: Anne finds herself caught up in whirl of romance and adventure after rescuing Dr. Gilbert Blythe from the sea during a storm. She should let him go, but when she finds out Billy Andrews is plotting to take Gilbert’s life and estate, she realizes there’s nothing that can keep her from protecting him.

• Rated G • 6k words •  Read on ao3 • Read on ff.net •

Anne wasn’t sure if it was her wretched parting from Green Gables or the rumbling train that made her feel sick on the way to the Glen. She leaned her head against the window and let the cold pane cool her forehead. Eventually, the rhythm of the train was enough to lull her to sleep - eyes squeezed shut, hands clutching her bag.

She woke the next morning right at the early dawn, bleary and exhausted as if she hadn’t slept at all. Taking nervous steps onto the railway platform, Anne looked out over the Glen. The last time she’d been in a place so foreign, she’d come to Avonlea for the first time, a sparkling-eyed, hopeful child. Now, there was no promise of Matthew Cuthbert and home. She only had herself on this unfamiliar corner of her island.

The landscape was a picture of green delight. Thin fog rose from the warm ground, lilting like songs around the trees bathing in yellow morning sun. The hills bore billowing patches of crops and wildflowers. A faint breeze carried with it the salty spray, rolling the sunrise laden clouds above her head. Clutching her carpet bag just the right way, Anne set off.

It wasn’t as hard to find the Blythe estate as she thought. It took only asking one polite passerby with just enough panicked desperation and she was pointed in the right direction.

Relief ran through her when she finally arrived. By then, her legs were tired, her eyes were red from exhaustion, and her hand was cramping from holding onto her bag so tightly. The soles of her feet made her want to saw off her entire foot and she was in desperate need of something to drink. She nearly cried in relief when she saw a large brick fence with a plaque across the front that read: J. Blythe Estate.

The main entrance waited for her at the end of a driveway high on a hill covered with trees. A grand front door that was right out of Anne’s best imaginations waited for her, though the entirety of the house was just as lovely - cream colored bricks, dozens of windows and towers, ivy growing up the sides. The rest of the property was blocked off by the fence, tall enough that she couldn’t quite see what was hiding behind it.

Taking a deep breath, Anne moved up the steps, heels echoing off of the high ceiling of the porch. She rose her hand to the door knocker and banged it thrice. The door swung open almost immediately and an aged man in a black suit stood, eyeing Anne warily.

“May I help you?” his baritone voice boomed.

“Good day sir,” Anne greeted as evenly as she could. “I was wondering if I might speak with Dr. Blythe.”

“The doctor is out on his calls. Are you in a medical emergency?”

Anne blinked. Did she appear as though she was in a medical emergency?

“Well no, but it’s quite urgent-”

“Miss,” the man interrupted. “Dr. Blythe is an incredibly busy man. If his medical services are required, then you may place an appointment like everyone else. Otherwise, I’m afraid I cannot help you.”

He moved to shut the door, but Anne caught a flash of someone passing by in the background.

“Bash!” she cried out. Bash poked leaned back at the sound coming from his front door, only to be lit up at the sight of her. He looked much the same as he did the day he visited Green Gables, but something about his demeanor was much more businesslike.

“Queen Anne!” he delighted. He walked up and placed a hand on the butler’s shoulder, who eyed Anne with hearty suspicion. His eyes seemed to say - Queen?  “Mr. Laurent, this woman is an honored guest of Dr. Blythe’s. Please, if you would accept her as such.”

“Of course, sir. Right away, sir.”

Anne was ushered in, bag taken out of her hands before she could say Careful, the seam in the corner is loose and if you don’t hold it just the right way -

“Miss Shirley Cuthbert, to what do we owe this pleasant surprise?” Bash asked. She must’ve appeared as though she were on the verge of collapse, because his face suddenly turned downward. He gently took Anne by the elbow and ushered her into the sitting room just off of the main hall. “Come, let’s sit you down.”

Anne peered around, admiring the lush room with the eyes of a dreamer. The Blythes had lined many of the walls with bookcases and filled them so tightly with texts that Anne wondered how they didn’t collapse. It was everything the storybooks had described about wealth, everything she’d dreamed in the dimmest days of her childhood.

“I know, I thought the same thing when I first came to live here,” Bash said. “It takes some getting used to, but when you come from where I did, it’s a nice change.”

Anne smiled sheepishly into her lap, wringing her hands nervously.

“I’m sorry to drop in unexpected. I promise had it not been urgent, I would’ve written.”

“You know you’re welcome here any time. Are you in trouble?” Bash asked, leaning forward.

“No!” Anne said quickly. It must’ve been how it looked, receiving her unexpectedly in a disheveled state of distress. “No, I’m not in any trouble. But I do need to speak with Gilbert. When does he return from his calls?”

“It’s hard to say. Sometimes he arrives home in the early afternoon, sometimes not until the middle of the night. What’s the matter, Anne?”

Anne wondered if she ought to get it out of the way and just tell Bash what she’d heard, but before she could, a woman burst into the room with a sheepish young boy at her side.

“Bash baby, I’m leaving this boy in your hands so you can deal with him. Keep him out of the kitchen,” she said in a warning tone. “Paul, you’ll listen to Mr. LaCroix or you won’t be allowed in the main house. That clear?”

Anne stared in awe at the woman and the strength of her fiery eyes. She clearly meant business, hip popped and brow cocked as if she was daring someone to go against her. It reminded her of her Avonlea schoolmarm days, but she hadn’t been nearly so compelling as this woman.

“Yes, Mrs. Lacroix,” Paul murmured ashamed. Anne recognized the woman as Mary, Bash’s wife, from Gilbert’s stories. She certainly lived up to his high praise of her.

When Mary was out of earthshot, Paul turned to Bash and all but fell to his knees to prostrate.

“Bash, I promise I just wanted someone quiet to write and the other boys are everywhere! And I can’t get poetry written if they’re looking over my shoulder, but they always do and I just thought that the kitchen has a few little nooks where I could write.”

This boy, Anne appraised, seemed to be kindred as well.

“Paul, we’ve been over this,” Bash said patiently. “If you go in there when the ladies are cooking, you could get burned or stepped on or worse. Dr. Blythe doesn’t want you hiding where you can get hurt.”

“Dr. Blythe doesn’t understand!” Paul argued.

“Mr. Irving.” Bash’s tone had changed at the drop of a hat. “My word is final. You mean to tell me that in this entire property, you cannot find one spot to write in?”

Paul shifted his weight, red faced and frustrated. His eyes glanced over at the lady sitting the chair watching him with amusement, and some of the annoyance dissipated.

“I’ll look again.”

He stomped off, tossing Anne a little glance of sparked interest as he passed her.

“Sometimes I wonder what Gil was about when he wanted to take on the harbor, his medical practice, and these boys,” Bash sighed.

“If I may ask, how does that work?” Anne asked. Bash rose a brow, so she stumbled to clarify. “Well, I just mean, if you’re the business director of the harbor, and Gilbert is the Glen doctor, then who educates the boys?”

“We haven’t found someone to educate them quite yet. Gilbert was waiting to find someone trustworthy out of Queens, but each candidate refuses to either associate with the boys or associate with me.” He paused. “Or both.”

“But if you could find someone, you’d hire them?” Anne said carefully.

“Of course. We’ve been anxious to educate these boys so they’re not completely hopeless when they go off into the real world.”

“I know the feeling,” she murmured, remembering how far behind she’d been when she first began school. “You know, Bash, I’m a schoolteacher. I used to have the Avonlea school. I taught there for quite some time before the board decided to give it to someone who wanted to save money to attend Redmond.”

“Is that why you came? For a job?” Bash asked, but he didn’t seem irritated or offended at the prospect. In fact, he seemed interested.

“No, I really do need to speak with Gilbert,” Anne answered. “But I packed everything I owned in that carpet bag of mine and decided to take some time away from home for a while. If you need someone to educate the boys, I’d be more than happy to. I love teaching.”

“That...that actually sounds like it would work quite nicely. You’re sure you won’t mind working with orphan children? They can be quite a handful.”

“Oh, trust me, I’ve all the experience I need and then some.”

“I’ll have to discuss it with Gilbert, but I don’t think he’ll have any arguments.”

She might’ve said something, but Anne’s heart tugged the way it did when she felt him before she saw him. Gilbert was home.

“I’m always in the mood for a good debate, Bash. What are we arguing?” he said, sweeping into the room and rolling down the sleeves at his elbows. When he met eyes with Anne, his face turned into liquid sunlight, appearing so happy he might burst.

“Anne,” he murmured, dazed with happiness.

“I doubt you’ll want to argue with me on this one, chief. Queen Anne is a very qualified, very accepting, very lovely schoolteacher. Perfect for one house of boys, no?” 

Gilbert laughed, shaking his head to make sense of Bash's implication. 

“So many surprises at once! Hello, Anne. You are a sight for very sore eyes.” He reached for her hand, kissing it gently when she offered it. “I didn’t know you were a schoolteacher. I thought you went to Redmond for English.”

“Yes, after attending Queen’s Academy for teaching,” she explained. “Oh, Gil, all that can wait. There is something I simply must discuss with you.”

Sensing the impending importance of her news, Gilbert glanced around at the busy house and nodded. He squeezed her hand, which he hadn’t let go, and said, “Right then, let’s go talk somewhere private.”

With a thankful acknowledgement to Bash as she was tugged away, Anne followed behind Gilbert. Watchful eyes fell on them as they journeyed through the house of long, resplendently adorned hallways, so Gilbert released her hand and gave her a shy smile. As they walked, Anne couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was from this angle, with his soft, brown hair and splendid chin. Gilbert opened the door to a room that could only be the house library. He stood in the entrance that she might walk in before him and take in the sights. 

“I do believe we should be able to talk in here undisturbed,” he said sheepishly. Anne’s eyes were fixed on a scenic painting on the wall that looked astonishingly like an orchard in Avonlea.

“It’s my fault for dropping in without warning,” she replied, just as meek. She turned to look at him and found him gazing upon her with unmistakably smitten eyes. Experiencing a lapse in self control, Anne returned the expression with a shy smile. Gilbert let out a joyous laugh, soared forward, and collected her into a warm embrace. She received him in tender happiness, and for the first time since she’d left home, she felt she might truly relax.

“I’m so happy to see you!” he said earnestly.

“And I you!” She pulled herself out of the embrace so she could fix her eyes on him. “But I must tell you something. May we sit?”

At the change in her tone, Gilbert’s smile lost its mirth. He nodded and gestured down to the velvety chaise. When they were seated, Anne collected herself, clutching her fists together so tightly that her knuckles had turned pale.

“Do you know Billy Andrews?” she asked slowly. Gilbert grew his clasped fingers under his nose as he thought.

“Billy...You mean William Andrews? Harmon’s son?”

“Yes, the very same! He’s an Avonlea boy. I grew up with him and he’s as horrible as they come.”

“Why come all this way to tell me this, Anne?” Anne blinked long, trying to keep her thoughts steady.

“Did you know your father was good friends with Harmon Andrews?”

“I had a faint idea. He often told stories of the mischief they got into together.”

“His son, Billy, is second in line for the harbor and the estate. Your father wrote him into his will, likely as tribute to his friendship with Harmon.” Gilbert’s brows cinched together at this. It was clearly news to him. The lawyers had explained the will to him in common language, but they’d left out all mention of Billy Andrews’ role in the proceedings.  

“How could you possibly know that? Why, you didn’t even know who I was until after you and I met.”

“I heard Billy talking in town about how he’s interested in taking the estate from you,” Anne explained.

Gilbert scoffed.

“I hardly think a lifestyle as a farm hand gives a man the funds required to buy the harbor and estate. Besides, I’d never leave, especially since the boys are here.”

“That’s just it, Gilbert! Billy doesn’t intend to take it with funds . He says he’s got a rifle, and he spoke as if he was truly intending to use to it.”

Anne’s eyes were wild with fear now, staring back at a jolted Gilbert.

“You say he wants to...to kill me?” he murmured. “He doesn’t even know me."

A tear trickled down her cheek as she took a steadying breath.

“He didn’t know me when he tried to tell the whole town that I was a harlot. He didn’t know my close friend when he pushed him off a ladder, injuring him permanently.” Anger was flaring in Gilbert’s eyes, but not at her. Sensing his rising fury, she took his hand. “Gilbert, I didn’t come all the way across the island to make unfounded claims. I came to tell you what I heard him say, because I couldn’t rest until you knew. Billy Andrews has always been unpredictable and violent. I don’t know if this is something he’s capable of, but if he did something to you and I never told you...”

“I believe you, Anne. You did the right thing by coming here,” he said seriously. “It seems Providence really did make you my guardian angel. You must let me repay you somehow.”

Anne thought this over for a moment, then smiled.

“Well...there is that teaching position that Bash mentioned. You needed someone to educate the boys?” Gilbert smiled and nodded.

“Done.”

* # * # *

Anne could nearly see the sea breeze sweeping into the room on a waltz, gliding around the curtains through the empty space in rhythmic time. Her heeled shoes certainly weren’t clacking into completely silence when she took a few awed steps forward, the sound of them echoing against the walls.

“How do you like it?” Gilbert asked behind her. Not yet turning to face him, Anne allowed herself to smile at the intricacies of the baby blue wallpaper, the grand size of the bay window that looked out over the sea, and the cloud-like softness of the bed. The good doctor had added his own personal touches to the room in a small vase of wildflowers that sat on the bedside table. “Anne?”

She spun around and gaped.

“I’m sure I don’t know what to say,” she stuttered out finally. “It’s all out of a dream. Are you sure you want to give up this blessed space to a lowly school teacher?”

“Anne, you of all people should know how much I esteem school teachers. And you. If you like the room, then it’s yours.” Gilbert sighed, running his fingers along one of the smooth wooden tables along the wall. “This room was my mother’s personal study. I wasn’t alive when she used it, but from what I understand, it was sacred to her. Something about being so close to the beach. There are stairs to the water, you know. I had my staff bring in a bed for you, but if it isn't comfortable, please tell me. My mother always just slept on the chaise.”

Anne gave a small smile, white sunlight reflecting into the room onto her rosy face. Gilbert couldn’t help but feel himself thawing into raw tenderness at the sight of her.

“I’m honored, Gil, truly. I shall read and dream and imagine in this room with as much reverence and sanctity as it deserves. Thank you for preparing it for me, and for the adding the bed. I’ve never been much of a couch sleeper,” she chuckled. Gilbert’s cheeks dimpled, a sight that sent an odd delight through Anne.

“Of course, Anne. If you find you need anything, simply ask.”

“May I trouble you for some ink and a quill, then? I ought to write to Marilla and tell her I’ve made it safely.”

“Already thought of that,” Gilbert boasted, pointing to the desk near the window. “A typewriter for all those lovely musings and thoughts you’d like to write down, and an ink and quill in the drawer for your pen tip to dictate your words.”

“Thank you, Dr. Blythe,” Anne laughed. “I fear you’ve anticipated all my needs and I’ve not realized it!”

“Maybe some,” he admitted with a shy shrug. “Like your need to eat. Dinner is at six, so take your time to get comfortable. I’m just down the hall if you need anything.”

After another humble thank you from Anne, Gilbert left the euphoric redhead to the splendor of the room. Stunned, she tiptoed across the wooden floors as if she were in church and settled on the couch by the window. To think, this breathtaking space was all her own!

When her excitement had been contained, Anne remembered her responsibility. She settled at her new desk with a weighted heart, pulled the materials from the drawer, and began to write.

* # * # *

Blythe Estate North Blythe Harbor Rd. Glen St. Mary, PEI Tuesday, September 26th.

Dearest Marilla,

No doubt you have taken one long look at the return address atop this letter and realized that I have successfully arrived at my destination. I made it here with little difficulty, if not a touch battered and hungry.

I will not trouble you with the grueling details of train-sickness or my unfamiliarity with the Glen. (In truth, the ride was lovely and the Glen is even moreso.) I shall keep my words brief and inform you that Dr. Blythe has been made aware of the situation and intends to begin necessary precautions this evening. There is, however, some news that I fear will send Mrs. Lynde into what Gilbert calls “conniptions.”

I intend to stay here at the estate until further notice. You see, Gilbert has taken on forty-three orphan asylum boys with intentions to care for them, but had no suitable means to educate them. I happened to know a very unemployed, yet very qualified young schoolmarm who has plenty of experience with orphan children. To answer Mrs. Lynde’s inevitable questions - as well to alleviate your assured worries- no, the doctor and I are not involved. Propriety is upheld to the utmost here, as you will recall the Blythes are good Presbyterians, just like you and I.

I am safe here, Marilla. I am happy, well-fed, and employed. I am with people who cherish me as I deserve and excited to spread some of that love to young souls who have had beginnings much like my own. When you have forgiven me for my unpleasant leaving of Green Gables, remind me to tell you of darling Paul Irving, of my seaside bedroom, of the extravagant chandeliers, and of Dr. Blythe - of whom I am increasingly fond and impressed. I would be pleased to receive any response you’re willing to send. I remain

Ever yours,

Anne

(PS - It’s fortunate Gilbert and I did not grow up in the same classroom, for I fear I would have developed a stormy envy towards him. Or maybe it would have been better that way. I wouldn’t feel like such a imposter of elegance and beauty in this home. Oh, Marilla, please do forgive me. I need you desperately. - AS)

* # * # *

Just outside the door of the schoolroom, Anne stood with her eyes closed and her heart only seconds away from bursting out of her chest. She’d never been this nervous with students before, but the circumstances of her students had never felt so dire before. All these young boys, unfamiliar and rough around the edges, weren’t just to be taught their curriculum. They needed to be taught to love and to trust, that their lives were worthwhile and had meaning. Could she do it? Was she strong enough?

Gilbert had all but promised to be by her side on this first day - promises cannot be made when you hold the medical safety of a town in your hands - but had been pulled away with a patient, leaving Anne to weather this storm by herself. She’d be fine, she told herself, she’d weathered worse before.

Pushing open the door, Anne quickly noticed the silence that befell the forty-three boys, their messy heads of hair spinning to the front chalkboard all at once. She caught sneaky sideways glances at her as she walked up the middle aisle. The muscles in her shoulders felt tense, so she took another deep breath, held the edge of her desk with tight fingers, and faced the boys.

They were practically purple, holding their breath as not to be reprimanded.

“Alright lads, let’s all take a keep breath together. I feel we all could use one,” she said finally. Inhaling a stream of air into her lungs, she gestured for the boys to follow. “Deep breath in, fill up those lungs.”

One by one the boys followed.

“Hold it,” she said tersely. “Now let it out, nice and strong.”

All at once, exhales flung out of the boys like slingshots, carrying with them the heaviness of their worries and fears.

“There, doesn’t that feel better?” A few shy smiles greeted her, and Anne felt her heart warming. “I am Miss Shirley. The forty-four of us will be embarking on an academic adventure over the next few months, but trust me when I say that we will be journeying side by side. I won’t leave any of you behind.” Anne brushed a strand of hair away from her face and side. “Easy for me to just throw the word trust around, isn’t it? Let me prove myself to you all.”

Then, surprising all the boys - and perhaps even herself - Anne walked to the front of her desk and sat right upon the top of it, crossing her ankles and folding her hands. The boys gawked; half filled with shock and a delighted thrill.

“Dr. Blythe did not want to trust just anyone with the safety of your futures. I know you boys have seen a dozen faces standing here with the same promises I offer now. You’ve seen stiff-necked, older gentlemen who thrive off of dull memorization. Mustachey, bird-nosed fellows who would rather ridicule than teach. Voluptuous schoolmarms with a proclivity for whooping. Believe me, I have met them all. I met them all when I sat where you sit now, a nervous orphan child with a hunger for knowledge and a desire to gain worth.”

A wave of understanding swelled over the class.

“So every little feeling of inadequacy you’ve got, I’ve felt and overcome it. Every frustration with geometry and latin spelling, I’ve fumed it. I am here to help you with all the challenges you meet this year, because I know you boys are more than capable of achieving great things,” Anne continued. Then, she cocked a brow and threw a warning glance over the crowd. “But I’ll have you know, that means I’ve also heard every shocking word you could utter and thought of every cruel little prank your minds could think of. I will not tolerate such impediments to our goal in this classroom, and if see such happenings, I’ll report it to Dr. Blythe who I’m told was once a schoolteacher himself.”

Anne wasn’t sure if the atmosphere was filled with fear or respect. She was quite ready to show her new students that fear was no place for a classroom. Instead, they could all be comrades in the quest for knowledge and achievement.

“But enough of such introductory nonsense. Grab your slates and a piece of chalk. We’re going outside! Have you fellows ever learned anything about plant cells?”

* # * # * 

The next month passed in a flurry of autumn leaves, beautiful while it was there but flown away before Anne could stop to enjoy it. Through means of fate, she’d ended up a member of this beautiful, sundry family with all forty-seven of its members. Sometimes she wondered if it was all real, the kindred connection with her students or the early mornings spent in the kitchen with Mary helping her prepare breakfast for the boys.

Then there was Gilbert - sweet, compassionate, intelligent Gilbert who had a sense of a humor that sent each of the boys howling. Dr. Blythe was most beloved to the boys, a true gentleman that they strived to impress. He still had moved around on his crutch, but was in the latter stages of his healing. Anne found herself in Gilbert’s library at strange hours of the day, mostly during the late nightfall after he returned from doctoring duties. Together they sat in moonshine and candlelight, telling stories and unfolding each other like a damp letter, carefully and reverently.

One night, Anne had been wrapped in the marshy softness of her blankets and bedding when she heard the door down the hall clip shut. Oftentimes, this sound came welcomed to her, for it meant that Gilbert had returned home safely, but on this particular evening, Anne felt a strange sense that she ought so seek him out. Slipping on her robe, she ignored her bare feet and loose cascades of red hair, and made her way to his bedroom door.

He answered immediately when she knocked. He took one long look down at her with a surprisingly hard and unreadable expression and moved that she might sneak in.

“If Mrs. Lynde knew you were here at this hour, she’d certainly drag you home herself,” he muttered quietly, unable to look her in the eye. Anne tucked her arms protectively across her chest and shrugged.

“That would involve her coming into this room at this hour, and I think we’re quite safe from that.” He couldn’t help but smile at that. Anne tilted her head as she peered curiously at him, candlelight turning her face into a half-lit moon. “What’s the matter, Gil?”

Gilbert released a dejected sigh that he’d been holding onto and plopped back onto one of his heavily upholstered sofas. Anne sat beside him, patiently waiting for the man to open himself for her tender analysis.

“Nothing is wrong,” he said finally.

“ Gilbert, you are positively-”

“Alright, alright!” he admonished, running his hand through the messy curls atop his head. “Aside from the terrible ache in my leg and the fact that my father passed away five years ago today” - Anne sucked in a sharp breath - “I lost a patient today. A patient I was positive I could save. I even made the mistake of telling her husband so, and getting his hopes up. But to tell him I’d been wrong and that she wouldn’t…” Gilbert’s lips clamped shut and he swallowed. “I think I took on too much. I can’t be a doctor and run this harbor. I can’t.”

Anne didn’t hold any answers to his problems. His grief was all his own, insecurities too strong a storm for even her to pull him out of. But while Gilbert knew how to treat matters of physical pain, Anne knew a thing or two about aches of the heart.

At first, she simply stayed with him and allowed him to dwell on his thoughts without judgment. In those moments, she was attuned to his shallow breaths and furrowed brow, as well as the wax dripping from the candle on the table beside them.

“Wait here,” she said after a silence. He nodded, barely aware of the ten minutes she was gone as if they passed by in years of haze and cloudiness. When she slipped back into the room, she was a sight that brought relief to him, rosy skin dewy in the evenlight. In her hands she carried a small tray with a sandwich, a steaming hot chocolate, and some of the buttered vegetables they’d had at dinner without him. On the side of the tray, Anne had dropped some of the small chocolate sweeties that she’d used to make the rich beverage in a neat little smiling face. She set the tray down on the table in front of him.

“It’s much harder to think sad thoughts when your stomach is full,” she said simply. “I know you didn’t eat dinner.”

Gilbert’s small smile was her undoing, soft around the edges and genuine in its appreciation. He began to eat, moaning at the first sip of hot chocolate in a way that made Anne look away lest she burn alive.

“Do you think you could talk about it?” Anne asked when most of the meal was eaten. Gilbert set down his ceramic tankard and let out another sigh.

“Mrs. Graham died today of the same thing that killed my father. The same respiratory disease that made me decide to become a doctor. In many cases, it can be cured if caught early enough, but let unattended, it's nearly impossible to manage. I was so sure that I caught it early enough and that I had finally conquered it. But I miscalculated, observed the symptoms incorrectly.” His voice broke, so he took another sip of hot chocolate. “It all hit too closely to home, I suppose.”

“I understand the feeling,” Anne empathized. “Being around the boys and teaching them is like looking in the mirror and seeing my eleven-year-old self. You and I are putting ourselves close to the things that hurt us in hopes that it helps other people. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?”

“It’s not worth anything if I’m not successful,” Gilbert lamented. "People die when I fail, Anne." 

“No, I think it’s worth everything no matter the outcome. Tell me, did you ease Mrs. Graham’s pain?”

“Well, yes, as much as I could-”

“And you ensured she was in conditions that made her feel safe and comfortable?”

“Yes. Anne, I know where you’re going with this and-”

“Her husband was there? Maybe her children?” Gilbert held his tongue, giving in after a moment.

“All of them,” he answered finally. “They were all there.”

“ You gave them that. That woman’s soul was content and safe when the night swept her away. You can’t control death, Gilbert, but you can do everything you can to make a person feel like they’re worth something. That’s what your speciality is, I think. And for what it’s worth, I truly cannot believe that her death was by a folly of yours. Sometimes the Almighty just makes up his mind about a thing and we can’t do anything but accept it.”

Gilbert’s jaw tightened as Anne watched one tear trickle down his face. Feeling it hit his nose, he gave a sharp inhale, then brushed it aside with a hand and chuckled.

“I’m in awe of you, Anne Shirley, truly,” he murmured gently. Anne felt like steam rising up and away, smooth in its curve toward dissipation. Gilbert brought the tray of food back to the table, then collapsed back against the couch, leaning his head to the side to stretch the muscles of his neck. A hiss escaped his lips when he shifted his injured leg beneath him.

“Where does it hurt? Just your leg?” Anne asked.

“Everywhere,” he admitted, and Anne wondered if he was talking about more than just his body. Though she was ready to go to sleep, she couldn’t leave him when he was like this, not when his eyes were silently asking for her to stay.

“Turn this way,” she instructed, trying her best not to sound too much like a schoolmarm.

“What are you-”

“Gil, for once will you just listen without question?”

The man gave her an exhausted look, finally giving into her request and turning so that his back was facing her. He sucked in a sharp breath when her hands trailed up his back and neck.

“Do you trust me?” she whispered near his ear. His answer came almost immediately, breathy and broken.

“Yes.”

“Then close your eyes and relax. I won’t hurt you.”

Like the tide rising up at the first hints of the moon, Anne’s hands made a slow ascent through his brown curls, nails dragging along his scalp, until her fingers were pressed up against his temples. His head fell back, a small sigh escaped in resignation to the bliss of her touch.  Slowly, her fingers moved in small circles against his head, releasing the tension of five years of mourning and of this new grief. The swirls and tugs of her touch eased the soreness like a hot compress. When the pressure had released, she moved her fingers down the side of his face in a featherlight touch that turned him to fire.

“Where did you learn to do this?” he slurred, drunk on the pleasure of it.

“When I was younger, I often got headaches because I cried so frequently. Matthew did this to ease the pain, to make me feel loved.”

Gilbert shivered. He felt loved, more than loved - encaptured in her tender touch, safe in her ministrations. As her hands carefully massaged the muscles in his neck, Gilbert paid close attention to the electric delight of his nerves wherever her fingers made contact with his skin. He let out another breathy sound when she pressed her thumbs into a tightness in his back, smoothing out the skin until the tension had drained from him like a stormcloud abandoning all its rain unto the ground.

“You’re a good man,” Anne said slow and soft to him as she pressed her palms into his back, her nails trailing behind. “A capable doctor, a kind soul. You are exactly where you need to be. You’ll be okay.”

She could see a salty tear catch the underside of his jaw, then brushed it away. Nudging him so he might turn back to her, she found him looking at her as if his soul had been newly born - vulnerable and tender.

“Close your eyes,” she murmured kindly. He complied immediately this time.

An unexpected thought crossed Anne’s mind. What would happen if she kissed him? Would he recoil away? Take her into his arms and return it sevenfold? The uncertainty frightened her.

Instead, she pressed her thumbs onto his eyelids as gently as she could and rubbed in small circles.

“Do you think you can rest now?” her gentle voice asked when she pulled her hands away.

“I think so,” he replied. Blue eyes slowly slid open to meet hers, more content than they were when she first began. The trouble had left him, leaving behind an exhausted Gilbert Blythe in need of a good night’s rest. Anne reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a little.

“I’ll tell the housemaids not to wake you unless there’s a medical call. Goodnight, Gilbert.”

She had released his hand and closed the door behind her when finally Gilbert had found the strength in his to whisper, “Goodnight Anne.”

[sweetteaanddragons]

So I should be writing time travel AUs right now, but I wasn’t in the mood today. Let’s look at a travel AU of another sort:

The sea is vast, and Earendil’s boat is small upon it. Elwing flies on and on and never sees him. The Silmaril gives her strength to fly on until she collapses, alone, on the beaches of Aman.

Ulmo returns her to her human state. The moment he does, Elwing breaks with sobs for all the lost: her children, her husband, and her brothers, so long ago. So many people have vanished, never to return.

Then she picks herself up and marches toward what she hopes is civilization.

Earendil sails desperately. He knows what fate eventually awaits his family if he fails.

But he cannot sail forever. The warning in his heart and the state of their supplies agree; they must return.

Before they even reach the shore, it is apparent that they have come too late.

The city is burned. Dead. From the looks of things, it has been for months now.

They all search for their families, but the search is in vain. Even the dead have been cleared away.

Only one group of elves remains that would do that, so, with heavy hearts, they return to the boat and head for the Isle of Balar.

Earendil listens to Gil-Galad’s account of what befell the Havens. “And my wife?” he asks, his hands holding with a white knuckle grip to the back of the chair he refused to sit down in. “My sons?”

“Survivors report seeing a woman with a blazing gem fall from your tower,” Gil-Galad says quietly.

She could not have been pushed; the sons of Feanor would have claimed the gem first if that had been the case. Earendil chooses to believe she fell. If she jumped . . . 

His wife is more Elf than Man. It is likely she will fall under the fate of the Elves, and it is said Mandos will not release those slain by their own hand. He has to believe she fell. It so easily could have happened. If the Feanorians had approached her with drawn swords, she would have retreated, and it would have been easy to forget her surroundings and retreat too far.

Yes. That must be what had happened.

“My sons?” he croaks.

“They were not among the fallen, and we looked long. We believe they are still alive,” Gil-Galad assures him.

“But you do not have them.”

Gil-Galad hesitates. “No.”

Then the sons of Feanor hold them. 

They must. They must still hold them. They cannot have taken them only to abandon them in the woods like his wife’s brothers. They cannot have grown weary of fearful, crying children and abandoned them. They cannot have decided there was not enough food to go around in the cold winter months.

Please, he begs the Valar, please, whatever pity remains in their hearts, let it have been enough for this. Let it hold just a little longer.

“Where were the Feanorians last seen?” he asks.

“You cannot mean to go after them,” Gil-Galad says. “Well do I understand the urge, but you have responsibilities here.”

“You do not understand,” Earendil says flatly. “They are not your sons. You are handling the people well enough. I have no confidence that the sons of Feanor are showing the same concern for my sons. Where are they?”

Gil-Galad has little more than rumor. Earendil nods his head and goes to prepare to depart.

His companions each have at least one member of their family that yet lives, so Earendil insists that they remain behind. He goes alone.

The search is long and hard. He has only rumor to follow, and little enough of that. The search drags on four years before he at last catches the trail.

He has no men with him to attack the camp, even if he dared with his sons still inside it. Instead, he continues to trail after them, trusting the forest to hide him.

Fortune favors him. He has been following for only a few days when an opportunity comes.

He has stopped beside a pool that has not yet fallen to Morgoth’s foul poison when the laughter of children suddenly rings through the woods.

Earendil’s head whips toward the sound.

A moment later, two young boys burst from the trees. The pool must have been their goal, but they freeze when they see him.

“Elrond,” he says hoarsely. “Elros.”

It has been so long since he has seen them that he is ashamed to admit to himself that he doesn’t know which is which.

The boys back away from him, fear evident in their eyes.

“It’s alright,” he says, rising slowly. “It’s alright, you’re safe now.” He steps forward.

That’s when an elf in Feanorian red bursts from the trees. Earendil draws his sword without another thought. “Behind me!” he shouts, but the boys don’t listen.

There is a stranger with the twins, and he has drawn a sword. That’s really all Maglor needs to know to draw his own. “Back to the camp, now!” he shouts. This section of woods is safe enough, and far better for them to run through it alone towards safety than to linger here in whatever strange trap the Enemy has left.

The twins vanish, and he feels a moment of relief. At ten, they are starting to insist that they are old enough not just to be trained but to participate in fights, and Maglor has no intention of allowing it.

That’s all he has time to think before the stranger is upon him.

The stranger is an elf, he realizes quickly as they duel, and he does not bear the marks of thralldom on him. 

Not, of course, that an elf would have to be a thrall to hate a son of Feanor.

Still, Maglor tries to reason with him when the battle leaves him enough breath. “Peace! Why should we do the Enemy’s work for him?”

“You stole my sons,” the elf growls, and -

Oh.

Maglor stumbles at this unexpected piece of information, and Earendil takes full advantage of the opportunity to knock him to the ground and swing his sword down towards Maglor’s throat.

“No!” twin voices cry, and Maglor watches in horror as the twins, having lingered after all, launch themselves out of the trees with their daggers in hand.

Earendil flinches, sword automatically moving away from Maglor towards the noise, but he is not half-prepared for this as Maglor is. He will not react in time.

If Maglor lets those blows land, it will be the worst thing he has ever done.

He launches himself between them, and the twins cannot halt themselves in time. One blade lodges in his upper arm. The other grazes his side. They at least managed to turn their blades away.

He ignores the pain. “Peace,” he tells them. “Peace. You have no enemies here.”

“He was about to kill you,” Elros argues, glaring warily at Earendil, blade still in his hand. “Elrond?”

Elrond is already at work, examining the wounds with horrified eyes, putting pressure on the graze and having enough sense not to yet remove the blade in his shoulder. “He’ll be alright,” he says firmly, and considering his own glare at Earendil, that’s as much a threat as it is a promise.

Maglor twists around as best he can. Earendil is staring at them all like he doesn’t understand what just happened, as well he might. Maglor is still reeling from the sudden turn himself.

But it is definitely Earendil. Maglor recognizes a bit of Idril in his face, and he has a strong resemblance to his sons. Even aside from this, he has the distinctive look of a Peredhel.

This is good, Maglor tells himself firmly, and tries to ignore the sudden urge to weep.

He turns his back to Earendil in the hopes that the other man won’t stab him in the back while the children look on and tries to smile for the twins. They should be happy, and he will not ruin this for them. “I told you your father would come for you,” he says, striving for lightness. 

Both of the twins’ eyes go wide.

Elros recovers first. “Yes, and then Maedhros told you that we were too old for comforting lies. He was right. What’s really going on?”

From the corner of his eye, Maglor can see Earendil flinch.

Fortunately, Elrond seems to believe him. “You visited once when we were very small,” he says tentatively. “You brought something.”

“Little toy boats,” Earendil whispers. “I carved them myself.”

Elros’s mouth drops open before he closes it with a snap. His eyes are too bright. “Why did you attack us then?” he demands.

Maglor intercedes quickly. “I am certain his quarrel was with me, not with you.” He pushes himself to his feet, wincing at the pain. Earendil’s eyes flicker between him and the children, plainly unable to look away from either the threat or his family.

“Did mother come too?” Elrond asks in a small voice.

Earendil’s breath catches, and the grief in his eyes turns to fire as he glares at Maglor. “You didn’t tell them?” he demands.

“He didn’t have to tell us,” Elros says. “We were there.” His accusatory voice leaves a clear implication about others who were not. “We saw her turn into a bird - “

“What?” Earendil looks incredulously from his sons to Maglor like he’s expecting some hint that this is a lie Maglor has cooked up to placate them, but Elrond is nodding along.

“A white one,” he adds helpfully. “We thought she would fly back through the window for us, but she flew out to sea instead.” He frowns. “We thought she was going to find you. Is that not what happened?”

“No,” Earendil manages, clearly still not sure what to believe.

Maglor doesn’t blame him.

“So mother’s not coming back,” Elros says. He tries to sound uncaring, but his voice catches. “Are you staying this time?”

“Yes,” Earendil says. “I swear to you - “

“No oaths!” the twins shout in the unison of long practice. 

To his credit, Earendil barely pauses. “I give you my word, I will not leave you willingly again.”

The twins look at each other. After a moment of private communication, they nod.

Maglor tries to tell himself his heart is not sinking. This is for the best. This was always the plan, to give up the children should it ever be safe to do so. That they are almost the sole light left in his life does not matter. That he loves them as if they were his own does not matter. They are not his.

“Everything else can wait until we’re back at camp then,” Elrond decides. 

Earendil looks relieved. Maglor quietly starts to back away.

“We should hurry so that you can get your shoulder looked at,” Elrond adds, looking guiltily at Maglor.

Earendil and Maglor both freeze.

“He’s coming with us?” Earendil asks warily.

“Of course he is,” Elros says in some confusion. “It’s his camp too, and there’s no sense in the four of us heading there separately.”

Maglor and Earendil look at each other. The moment hangs somewhat awkwardly.

“I believe your father meant to take you back to his camp,” Maglor finally manages to say.

Elrond frowns at his father. “I know you may have things to gather, but surely it can wait until Maglor is tended to?”

And with yet another sinking feeling, Maglor surveys the confusion present on both of their faces and realizes that the twins truly do not understand.

It’s Earendil’s job to explain, he decides, swaying a little. Rations have been short, and his have been shorter as he has given up as much as he dares to make sure the twins will have enough, and the blood loss has destroyed this delicate balance.

Elrond notices and is at his side in an instant. 

“It’s this way,” Elros tells his father before darting ahead to lead the way into the trees.

As he passes, Maglor catches a familiar glint in Elros’s eyes, and with sudden suspicion he looks down into Elrond’s too innocent face.

He is beginning to suspect the twins understand after all, but at the moment, neither he nor Earendil is in much position to argue their far more reasonable points.