#High-End Divan Bed

[bedsdivans64]

The Beauty of Quality Furnishing: A Guide to Our High-End Divan Bed

In the realm of opulent home decor, the High-End Divan Bed stands as a pinnacle of elegance and comfort. Crafted with precision and designed for the discerning individual, our divan bed transcends the ordinary, offering an unparalleled sleeping experience that combines style and substance. In this comprehensive guide, we delve into the intricate details of our exquisite divan bed, exploring the features that set it apart and make it a coveted choice for those seeking the epitome of luxury.

Unveiling Unrivaled Comfort

Luxury Meets Support: The Perfect Blend

Our High-End Divan Bed is more than just a piece of furniture; it's a commitment to exceptional comfort. The mattress, meticulously crafted with high-density memory foam, cradles your body in sublime softness while providing the necessary support for a restful night's sleep. The result is a harmonious balance between cloud-like comfort and optimal spinal alignment, ensuring you wake up rejuvenated every morning.

Tailored to Perfection: Customization Options

Understanding that individual preferences vary, our divan bed offers a range of customization options. From selecting the ideal mattress firmness to choosing the perfect upholstery fabric for the base, every detail can be tailored to suit your unique taste and requirements. This bespoke approach ensures that your divan bed is not just a piece of furniture but a reflection of your style and comfort preferences.

Craftsmanship Beyond Compare

Artistry in Every Detail: Handcrafted Excellence

At the heart of our High-End Divan Bed lies a commitment to unparalleled craftsmanship. Each divan bed is meticulously handcrafted by skilled artisans who take pride in their work. The attention to detail is evident in every stitch of the upholstery, every tuft on the mattress, and every inch of the meticulously finished wooden frame. This dedication to perfection ensures that your divan bed is not just a piece of furniture but a work of art that elevates the aesthetics of your living space.

Quality Materials: The Foundation of Excellence

Quality is the cornerstone of our divan bed. From the sustainably sourced hardwood used in the frame to the premium fabric adorning the upholstery, every material is carefully chosen for its durability, aesthetic appeal, and eco-friendly credentials. This commitment to using only the finest materials ensures that your divan bed not only exudes luxury but also stands the test of time.

Aesthetics that Transcend Trends

Timeless Elegance: Design That Endures

In a world of fleeting trends, our High-End Divan Bed stands as a testament to timeless elegance. The design, inspired by classic aesthetics, seamlessly integrates with various interior styles, whether it be a contemporary urban oasis or a traditionally adorned bedroom. The result is a piece of furniture that transcends passing trends, becoming a cherished element of your home for years to come.

Versatility in Style: Adaptable to Your Vision

Beyond its inherent elegance, the divan bed offers versatility in style. The neutral color palette and sophisticated design provide a blank canvas that allows you to experiment with different decor elements. Whether you prefer the minimalist allure of modern design or the intricate details of a classic motif, our divan bed effortlessly adapts to your evolving style preferences.

Elevating Your Sleep Sanctuary

Functional Luxury: Storage Solutions

Our commitment to enhancing your living experience goes beyond aesthetics and comfort. The High-End Divan Bed incorporates integrated storage solutions seamlessly into its design. Beneath the sumptuous mattress lies ample storage space, perfect for stowing away extra linens, pillows, or personal belongings, ensuring a clutter-free and serene sleeping environment.

Easy Maintenance: Designed for Practicality

We understand that a luxurious piece of furniture should also be practical. The divan bed is designed with easy maintenance in mind. Removable, washable covers ensure that your investment stays pristine, and the durable materials used in construction withstand the rigors of daily use.

Conclusion

In the realm of high-end furnishings, our High-End Divan Bed stands as a beacon of luxury and sophistication. From the handcrafted excellence to the unrivaled comfort it offers, every aspect of the divan bed is a testament to our commitment to quality. As you embark on the journey to elevate your sleep sanctuary, consider the timeless elegance and personalized comfort that our divan bed brings to your home.

[rsbfurnitureuk]

RSB Furniture Ltd-Luxury Furniture

RSB Furniture Ltd is a renowned company specialising in high-quality, stylish furniture. With a focus on craftsmanship and innovative design, we offer a wide range of furniture for homes and offices. Our collections include everything from contemporary to classic styles, catering to diverse tastes and preferences. RSB Furniture is committed to using premium materials to create durable and aesthetically pleasing pieces. Our dedication to customer satisfaction and attention to detail has earned us a strong reputation in the industry, making us a trusted choice for those seeking both functionality and elegance in their furniture.

[citronverveine]

“Carry me up to bed?”

— #6 from this prompt list

It was well into the night when Hua Cheng and Xie Lian finally decided to go to bed. They’d spent most of the evening lounging on one of the many divans scattered in diverse rooms of Paradise Manor, discussing news from the three realms and findings they’d come across in their readings.

Evenings spent like this were amongst Xie Lian’s favorites. No matter how much time passed, he found he could never get bored of Hua Cheng’s company, and never felt the need to change anything in their routine.

Growing up, and even in his eight centuries of old life, he had heard many men and women alike talk about how their spouse annoyed them, and generally how they didn’t like spending too much time with them. At the time, he’d thought that maybe he couldn’t understand, since he had never been in such a situation, although he always quietly thought to himself that if the relationship came to such extremes it was perhaps better to end it, or at least find ways to remedy the issues.

However, now that he had Hua Cheng, he thought that he could understand even less such comments. He could never in a million years imagine himself saying the same things about Hua Cheng.

Of course he could understand being annoyed, tired, or even angry. Although Hua Cheng and him rarely disagreed or fought about anything, there were of course times where one would be in a sour mood for this and that reason, and as a result feelings would get mixed up. But these feelings passed and resolved as they talked through them.

This was perhaps why their relationship worked so well. Hua Cheng never shied away from confrontation, and if an issue appeared between them, it was often resolved easily. Although Xie Lian had been more shy in the beginning, and hesitant to bring up whatever concerns he had, seeing how effective a simple talk was taught him to always be honest.

This was perhaps luck. He couldn’t deny that Hua Cheng and him shared a bond deeper than what most people would experience in a lifetime. A bond that ran centuries deep, a tie of fate, devotion, and hard work.

Xie Lian, splayed lazily on the divan, looked at his husband sitting in the candle light. Even now he found him incredibly attractive. Even now he found him incredibly intelligent. Smart. Well-spoken. Good company. Gentle. Kind. Perfect.

Hua Cheng caught his gaze and smiled. “What are you looking at?”

“You,” Xie Lian smiled back, amused.

Hua Cheng shuffled closer, pushing Xie Lian onto his back and looking down at him. “And what are you thinking about, looking at me like that?”

Xie Lian brought up a hand to caress his hair and face softly, taking his time to reply. “How lucky I am to have you.”

Hua Cheng didn’t reply, only holding Xie Lian’s gaze with an intense look in his eye.

Xie Lian was the first to look away, cut off by a yawn. “I’m tired,” he said. “Carry me up to bed?” he asked, raising his arms as Hua Cheng moved.

“His Highness doesn’t need to ask,” Hua Cheng replied as he lifted him up under his back and knees to hold him against his chest. “I already planned to whisk you away.”

Xie Lian laughed, kicking his feet lightly in excitement. “Is that so?”

“En.” Hua Cheng walked out the door of the room they were in and into the complex labyrinth of hallways that made up Paradise Manor. “I am a weak man, and seeing gege look so cute and beautiful in front of me, I can’t help but want to take you away for myself.”

They were already the only ones in that room, but it didn’t matter.

“Mh. I think San Lang is pretty strong,” Xie Lian replied quietly. He pressed a fleeting kiss to the base of Hua Cheng’s neck, making him squirm as he walked. “And handsome. I would whisk you away too.”

Butterflies opened the door to their rooms for them and Hua Cheng strided to the bed where he laid Xie Lian down, quickly joining him. As soon as they parted they were touching again, falling into an eager kiss full of smiles. Clothes were discarded as they slipped under the covers, huddling close and hugging each other tightly, content with the simple touch of skin against skin. They whispered goodnights and sweet words to each other for a while before falling asleep like that, entangled and warm under the covers.

— end

crossposted on twitter

archived on ao3

[johnstonesbedsuk]

Best High-end Beds For Sale

John Stones Beds and Mattresses offers a range of the best high-end beds for sale, catering to customers looking for luxurious sleeping experiences. Our collection includes premium quality materials and innovative designs, ensuring maximum comfort and support. The company is committed to providing top-notch customer service, with a focus on helping individuals find the perfect bed to suit their specific needs and preferences. With a reputation for excellence and a dedication to quality, John Stones Beds and Mattresses stands out as a premier destination for those seeking the best in high-end bedding options.

[linensheduniplda]

The Art of Layering: Creating a Luxurious Bed with Linen

Creating a luxurious bed with linen is about more than just style; it’s an experience that combines comfort, beauty, and the unique properties of linen to transform any bedroom into a tranquil retreat. Here’s how to master the art of layering linen to create a bed that invites relaxation and elegance.

1. Start with a Good Foundation

The foundation of any well-dressed bed is the fitted sheet. Opt for a high-quality linen fitted sheet that hugs your mattress perfectly. Linen’s naturally breathable and moisture-wicking properties ensure that your sleep environment remains comfortable throughout the night.

2. Add a Flat Sheet

Next, lay a flat linen sheet on top. This layer serves multiple purposes: it protects your duvet cover, provides extra warmth, and adds a smooth, comforting layer close to your skin. Tuck the ends under the mattress for a neat look, or let them drape softly for a more relaxed appearance.

3. Choose a Luxurious Duvet Cover

A linen duvet cover is the centrepiece of your bed layering. It not only adds warmth but also introduces colour and texture to your bedroom’s design. Consider seasonal hues or stick to classic neutrals depending on your room’s colour scheme. The tactile appeal of linen adds a sense of understated luxury.

4. Layer Throws and Quilts

For added texture and warmth, layer a linen throw or quilt at the foot of the bed. This not only looks inviting but also comes in handy on colder nights. Choose a contrasting colour to add depth or a complementary shade to maintain a harmonious palette.

5. Pile on the Pillows

No luxurious bed is complete without a generous arrangement of pillows. Mix and match pillow sizes and shapes, using both standard and European sizes for depth. Use linen pillowcases to keep the theme consistent, and consider introducing a subtle pattern or a pop of colour with one or two accent pillows.

6. Consider the Extras

Finally, think about adding a bed skirt or valance if you��re looking to cover a divan base or to simply add another layer of style. Linen bed skirts are perfect for hiding any under-bed storage and for giving your bed a polished finish.

The final touch to any well-layered bed is the sensory experience linen provides. Its natural softness enhances with each wash, ensuring your bed feels as inviting as it looks. By investing in good quality linen and taking the time to layer it thoughtfully, you create a bed that’s a joy to return to night after night.

Incorporating these elements into your bedroom not only sets the stage for a good night’s sleep but also crafts a space that stands out with refined simplicity. Linen, with its rich texture and durability, proves time and again why it’s a preferred choice for those seeking a blend of style and practicality in their bedding.

[dtaylor67]

Luxury Living: Exploring High-End Divan Bed Options ?

Luxury living extends beyond aesthetics, touching every aspect of one’s home, including the bedroom. When it comes to creating a haven of opulence and comfort, high-end divan beds stand out as a quintessential choice. Let’s delve into the world of luxury divan beds, exploring the options that redefine sophistication and indulgence.

**1. Luxury Divan Bed Design: Luxury divan beds are synonymous with exquisite craftsmanship and superior design. These beds often feature intricately detailed headboards, premium upholstery, and a sturdy divan base. The design philosophy revolves around creating a focal point that effortlessly complements the overall aesthetic of the bedroom.

**2. Premium Materials and Fabrics: The hallmark of luxury divan beds lies in the use of premium materials. From high-grade hardwood for the base to sumptuous fabrics for upholstery, each component is carefully selected for its quality and durability. The result is a bed that not only looks luxurious but also exudes a sense of enduring elegance.

**3. Divans Ireland — Epitome of Elegance: Ireland has become a hub for luxury divan beds in Ireland, with manufacturers and designers infusing a distinctive Irish flair into their creations. Divans in Ireland often showcase a perfect blend of traditional charm and contemporary sophistication, making them sought-after pieces for those who appreciate timeless elegance.

**4. Customization for Personalized Luxury: Luxury divan beds are often customizable, allowing individuals to tailor the bed to their specific preferences. From choosing the type of mattress to selecting the fabric for upholstery, customization adds a personalized touch, ensuring that the bed aligns seamlessly with the homeowner’s taste.

**5. Single and King Size Mattress Options: Luxury divan beds cater to various spatial needs, offering both single and king size mattress options. The choice between sizes provides flexibility for individuals seeking a lavish sleeping experience in spaces of different dimensions.

**6. Most Luxurious Mattress Brands : Luxury divan beds are often associated with the most prestigious mattress brands. These brands prioritize innovation, comfort, and longevity, ensuring that the mattress complements the overall luxury experience provided by the divan bed.

**7. Investment in Sleep Quality: Choosing a luxury divan bed is not just about aesthetics; it’s an investment in sleep quality. The use of high-end materials and thoughtful design contributes to a sleep environment that promotes relaxation, rejuvenation, and an overall sense of well-being.

In conclusion, luxury divan beds go beyond being a piece of furniture; they represent a lifestyle choice. As individuals embrace the concept of luxury living, these beds become an integral part of creating a sanctuary where comfort meets sophistication. For those in Ireland seeking the epitome of refined living, exploring the realm of luxury divan beds is an invitation to a world of unparalleled opulence.

[dbzbeds]

Low Divan Beds UK: A Comfortable and Stylish Sleeping Solution

Are you in search of a sleeping solution that combines comfort, style, and practicality? Look no further than low divan beds! Low divan beds have gained popularity in the UK for their sleek design, space-saving features, and superior comfort. In this article, we will explore the benefits of low divan beds, discuss the various types available, and provide useful tips to help you choose the perfect one for your bedroom. So, let's dive in!

Table of Contents

Introduction

What are Low Divan Beds?

Benefits of Low Divan Beds

Types of Low Divan Beds

Factors to Consider When Choosing a Low Divan Bed

Tips for Maintaining Your Low Divan Bed

Decorating Ideas for Low Divan Beds

FAQs

Conclusion

1. Introduction

In today's fast-paced world, a good night's sleep is essential for our overall well-being. Low divan beds offer a fantastic sleep solution, combining comfort, style, and functionality. With their unique design and practical features, these beds have become increasingly popular among homeowners in the UK.

2. What are Low Divan Beds?

A low divan bed is a type of bed frame that sits close to the floor, providing a contemporary and minimalist look to your bedroom. Unlike traditional bed frames, which often have legs, low divan beds feature a solid base that extends to the floor, offering excellent stability and support. They are typically upholstered with high-quality fabric or leather, adding a touch of elegance to any bedroom decor.

3. Benefits of Low Divan Beds

3.1. Space-Saving Solution

Low divan beds are ideal for bedrooms with limited space. By sitting low to the ground, they create an illusion of openness and make your room appear more spacious. Additionally, some low divan beds come with built-in storage options, such as drawers or ottomans, providing extra space to store your belongings and declutter your bedroom.

3.2. Comfort and Support

One of the key advantages of low divan beds is their exceptional comfort and support. The solid base offers a stable foundation, preventing any sagging or creaking noises that can disrupt your sleep. Furthermore, low divan beds often come with a choice of mattress types, allowing you to select the one that suits your comfort preferences, such as memory foam, pocket sprung, or orthopedic mattresses.

3.3. Style and Versatility

Low divan beds are available in a wide range of designs, colors, and finishes, making it easy to find the perfect match for your bedroom decor. Whether you prefer a modern and sleek look or a more traditional and cozy feel, there is a low divan bed that will suit your style preferences. You can also customize the upholstery fabric to complement your existing furniture and create a cohesive design aesthetic.

4. Types of Low Divan Beds

4.1. Ottoman Low Divan Beds

Ottoman low divan beds are a popular choice for those seeking both style and functionality. These beds feature a hydraulic lifting mechanism that allows you to effortlessly lift the mattress, revealing ample storage space underneath. Ottoman divan beds are perfect for storing bedding, blankets, or other items, maximizing the utilization of space in your bedroom.

4.2. Drawer Low Divan Beds

Drawer low divan beds provide a convenient storage solution by incorporating built-in drawers into the base of the bed. These drawers can be easily accessed by pulling them out from the sides or foot end of the bed, offering a practical and organized way to keep your belongings within reach while keeping your bedroom tidy.

4.3. Platform Low Divan Beds

Platform low divan beds offer a simple and minimalist design. With a solid platform base, they provide excellent support for your mattress without the need for additional slats or a box spring. These beds are perfect for those who prefer a clean and uncluttered aesthetic, allowing the focus to be on the mattress and bedding.

5. Factors to Consider When Choosing a Low Divan Bed

When selecting a low divan bed, there are a few key factors to consider:

5.1. Size and Dimensions

Ensure that you measure your bedroom space accurately to determine the appropriate size of the bed. Consider factors such as the length, width, and height of the bed to ensure a comfortable fit in your room.

5.2. Storage Requirements

Assess your storage needs and choose a low divan bed that provides the necessary storage options, such as ottoman or drawer features. This will help you maximize the space in your bedroom and keep it organized.

5.3. Mattress Type and Comfort

Select a mattress that suits your comfort preferences, taking into account factors such as firmness, support, and any specific requirements for a good night's sleep. Consider trying out different mattress types to find the one that offers optimal comfort for you.

5.4. Style and Design

Choose a low divan bed UK that complements your bedroom decor and personal style. Consider the upholstery fabric, color, and overall design of the bed to ensure it blends seamlessly with the existing elements in your room.

6. Tips for Maintaining Your Low Divan Bed

To keep your low divan bed in top condition, follow these maintenance tips:

Regularly vacuum or brush the upholstery to remove dust and debris.

Rotate the mattress periodically to ensure even wear and prolong its lifespan.

Clean spills or stains immediately using a mild detergent or upholstery cleaner, following the manufacturer's instructions.

Avoid placing sharp or heavy objects on the bed to prevent any damage to the upholstery or base.

Check and tighten any loose screws or fittings regularly to maintain stability and safety.

7. Decorating Ideas for Low Divan Beds

Here are a few inspiring ideas to decorate your bedroom with a low divan bed:

Add decorative cushions and throws to enhance the style and coziness of your bed.

Choose a statement headboard to make a bold focal point in your room.

Opt for complementary bedside tables and lighting fixtures to create a harmonious ambiance.

Experiment with different bedding colors and patterns to add visual interest and personality to your space.

Hang artwork or mirrors above the bed to create a visually appealing backdrop.

FAQs (Frequently Asked Questions)

Q1: Are low divan beds suitable for all age groups? Yes, low divan beds are suitable for people of all age groups, including children, adults, and the elderly. They provide comfort, support, and easy accessibility.

Q2: Can I use my existing mattress with a low divan bed? In most cases, you can use your existing mattress with a low divan bed. However, it is essential to ensure that the mattress dimensions match the bed frame to ensure a proper fit.

Q3: Are low divan beds easy to assemble? Yes, low divan beds are relatively easy to assemble. They typically come with clear instructions and all the necessary hardware. If you prefer assistance, you can also opt for professional assembly services.

[wemakebed]

The Ultimate Guide To Choosing the Perfect Bed and Bed Frame | WeMakeBeds

The bed is one of the most important pieces of furniture in the home. It’s where we start and end our days, and it’s where we spend a large majority of our time when we’re sleeping. Because of this, it’s important to choose the perfect bed and bed frame for your needs.

In this blogpost, we will be discussing everything you need to know about choosing the perfect bed and bed frames. We will start by talking about the different types of beds available on the market and their respective benefits. We will then move on to discuss the different factors that you need to consider before making your purchase. By the end of this blogpost, you will have all the information you need to make an informed decision about your purchase. So, without further ado, let’s get started!

What type of bed and bed frame is best for you?

There are a wide variety of beds and bed frames to choose from, and it can be tricky to know which one is best for you. If you’re looking for a bed or bed frame, the WeMakeBeds store has a great selection of high-quality products to choose from.

The WeMakeBeds store offers a wide range of beds, including king size beds, queen size beds, single beds, wooden bed frames, storage bed frames, beds and bed frames, double bed online, double bed with mattress, double bed headboard, and divan bed frames. No matter what your needs are, the WeMakeBeds store has the perfect bed or bed frame for you.

How to measure your bed and frame

It is important to measure your bed and frame before purchasing a new one. This will ensure that you purchase the correct size and that the frame will fit in your room. There are a few different ways to measure a bed and frame.

First, you will need to measure the length and width of the mattress.

Next, you will need to measure the height of the headboard and footboard.

Finally, you will need to measure the distance from the floor to the top of the mattress.

What style of bed and frame suits your needs?

Choosing the right bed and bed frame is essential for a good night’s sleep. But with so many different options available, it can be difficult to know which one is right for you. The most important factor to consider when choosing a bed is the size. Beds come in a variety of sizes, from single wooden bed frames to king size beds. The size of the bed will dictate the amount of space you have to sleep and the number of people who can sleep in the bed.

The type of frame is also important to consider. There are a variety of different types of frames, including wooden bed frames, storage bed frames, and divan bed frames. Each type of frame has its own benefits and drawbacks, so it’s important to choose the right one for your needs.

Finally, the style of the bed is also important. Bed styles include double beds, headboards, and bedsteads. again, each type of bed has its own benefits and drawbacks, so it’s important to choose according to your needs.

How to choose the right material for your bed and frame

Most people who have beds have one of three materials: wood, metal, or plastic. Wood is the traditional material, while metal and plastic are more recent materials. Wood is traditionally considered to be the best material because it’s durable and has a natural feel.

However, it’s also expensive and has a lot of natural moisture that can cause problems over time. Metal is durable and affordable, but it can rust if it’s not treated. Plastic is affordable and can be molded into any shape or form, but it’s not durable and has a chemical smell that can be off-putting.

In choosing the right material for your bed and frame, you’ll need to think about what you want out of your bed. If you want a bed that will last for a long time, wood is the best choice. If you want a bed that is durable and affordable, metal is the best choice. If you want a bed that is affordable and doesn’t have a chemical smell, plastic is the best choice.

Putting it all together — choosing the perfect bed and frame for you

The first step in choosing the perfect bed and frame is to understand the different types of beds available. There are many different types of Bed & Mattress on the market, each with its own unique benefits. Once you know the different types of beds available, you can narrow down your search and find the perfect bed and frame for you!

The second step is to measure your room and make sure you have enough space for the bed and frame you want. You don’t want to end up with a bed that’s too big or too small for your room!

The third and final step is to choose a style that fits your personality and home décor. There are many different styles of beds and frames to choose from, so take your time and find the perfect one for you!

If you follow these three simple steps, you’ll be sure to find the perfect bed and frame for you. Visit our website, https://wemakebeds.co.uk to browse our selection of beds and frames today!

[rahlecxs]

What is an Ottoman Bed?

Today's house has actually restricted room because of scaling down in the last few years. Because of this, storage room might be restricted which leaves home owners and house dwellers alike searching for ingenious means to stash bed linens and various other valuables when there seems to be no closet or cupboard space available. If you are amongst those wanting to raise living area by lowering the amount of mess, you might want ottoman beds just due to the fact that they are created to maximise room used up by the bed.

Ottoman bed frames these days is one of the facets of buying an ottoman today is that we usually refer to them by various names. Frequently the term 'divan' is used when describing an ottoman frame but what can be even more complicated is that both an ottoman and also a divan need not have storage below. Rather, a divan or ottoman actually refers to the kind of framework structure in the furniture concerned. Consequently, prior to discussing the type of storage beneath a divan or an ottoman, it is much better to understand how the frame is built. Here is some details on exactly what ottoman beds are, the kinds of ottoman bed frameworks on the marketplace and some of the benefits you can obtain by replacing your typical bed frames with a charming, yet extremely practical, ottoman bed. Interestingly enough, the term ottoman first ended up being preferred in Europe throughout the last part of the 18th Century when this style of furniture made its entrance from the Ottoman Realm. A few of the very first recommendations to ottoman (Fr.) showed up in the early 1700's. Initially ottoman furniture was made use of throughout Europe, after it made its entrance, to be laid around 3 linking wall surfaces within an area. Ottomans served as the primary seating for the household and was stacked high with pillows. Eventually the ottoman started to be made a lot smaller and was made to fit nicely into the space's corner. Throughout the years the ottoman underwent several evolutions till it began to become preferred in clubs where the seats ended up being hinged to serve as storage below. Today there is a variety of ottoman design furniture varying from foot rests to chairs to ottoman beds. Nevertheless, the something modern ottomans share is the concept of storage area they offer. Ottoman beds have become specifically popular, typically due to minimal area available in smaller sized residences as well as homes being constructed today. Find the perfect mattress and achieve greater sleep with mattressheaven247.co.uk Despite the fact that the location under the bed, couch, chair or stool is most often made use of for storage, this doesn't necessarily need to be the case. In order to comprehend how ottoman furniture is created, allow's take a look at an ottoman bed. The bed is framed in such a way regarding make use of a system whereupon the mattress rests. When the mattress is lifted, the storage area beneath is exposed. As pointed out, however, this room does not constantly require to be made use of as storage. It is the framing structure upon which the mattress exists that makes an ottoman what it is, an ottoman.

Do you need other bedroom furniture for your bedroom? if so, then check out our https://www.furniture-n-home-decor.com/ today.

[rogue-durin-16]

THINGS NEVER GO AS PLANNED (Part I/VII)

"sleepless nights"

Summary: After Fred's death, George and Y/n lean on each other to carry on. This wasn't the most brilliant idea, though; George was pretty much in love with the girl, and Y/n— well, she had been dating Fred prior to the Battle of Hogwarts.

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Genre: angst

Tags:

Suggested by: @crispykittywitch

Things never go as planned: @sarcasticallywitty15 @beautyschoo1dropout @s1ut4georgeweasley @leovaldez37 @missmulti @weasleywh0r3s

Permanent taglist: @elia-the-bibliophile @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog

Warnings: grief, nightmares, implicit PTSD

A/N: this is kind of... Fluffy(?) Somehow lmao. This story is based off this convo and these headcanons. If you wanna be tagged in the next parts tell me, and enjoy <3

Prologue: the aftermath

Part II: candy floss

Part III: shock therapy

Part IV: wrong name

Part V: the perfect excuse

Part VI: the downfall

Part VII: apart

Epilogue: I still love you

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

The first night I thought I was hallucinating; it wouldn't be the first time since the Battle that I had imagined someone was wandering around the flat.

The second night I was dubious.

The third night I was completely sure George was, in fact, staying awake.

So, when, during the fourth night, I heard him pass by my door for the nth time in two hours, I left the comfort of my soft blankets and stepped towards the door.

"What on earth are you doing?" George, who was already walking away in the living room's direction, jumped at my whispering.

He took a hand to his chest, shut his eyes and breathed deeply. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack, woman?" He leaned against the wall, his eyes still closed.

"Alright, sorry." I apologised. We kept whispering as if someone was sleeping in our house. "It's just— are you getting any sleep?"

His brown eyes finally opened, and as he stared into mines, I knew he, despite wanting to do so, couldn't find the strength to lie.

"I can't go near my room." He confessed, one of his hands running through his locks as his eyes welled up. "I— I tried, I just—" another deep breath, this one shaky.

I reached out to him from my door frame. The hallway wasn't that large, anyway; he only needed to slightly extend his arm and he would be able to touch my fingertips.

George looked at my palm hesitant, as if he didn't dare to hold it. "C'mon, I can't have you haunting our home for another night." With a resigned sigh, he finally took my hand, and I swiftly tugged him towards me, leading him into my room and closing the door behind us.

My dorm had a different atmosphere, and George felt it right away. Maybe it was because the room was certainly not the twins' making, or maybe because it was the furthest from Fred's, but in my room the air was less oppressive; it somehow felt comforting and homely.

I sat George down on the edge of my bed and took a proper look at him; his eyes were puffy and his nose red, but he was livid. I let my hand travel to his cheek, and he unconsciously leaned on it.

"I'm gonna go for a glass of water." I informed him, my fingertips wiping a tear that had spilled and was running down his face. "And I'll get your bags on my way."

"You don't have to." He muttered.

"Yeah, I have to, because you're not sleeping on this." I tugged on his overused shirt's collar. "Do me a favor; get a blanket from under the bed and place it on the divan." He nodded and complied, getting up as soon as I left the room.

GEORGE'S P. O. V.

I rubbed my eyes with my index finger and thumb whilst standing up and doing as Y/n had asked me to.

On the process of covering the divan with one of her soft, warm blankets, I realized there was no way on earth I would fit there.

"Why the puzzled look?" Y/n's voice breaking the silence so abruptly made me lost my train of thoughts. "Didn't mean to scare you." She apologised, handing me the promised —and very needed— glass of water, and throwing my bags over her bed. "You're not sleeping there." She clarified, motioning at the divan.

A frown formed on my face. "I'm not taking your bed."

"Yes, you are." Just as I was about to open my mouth and complain, she warned me, "Don't you argue with me, Weasley. We're both too tired for this."

"Alright, you win." I huffed, knowing it would be useless to try and talk some sense into her, and, in all honesty, I craved to lie down on a bed, and Y/n's looked so comfy and welcoming.

"What are you doing?"

"Going to bed?"

She walked to me tugging my hand so I was facing her instead of her mattress. "You're a mess." The girl mumbled under her breath, unbuttoning my shirt before I knew what was happening. "Off, now."

When she stepped away to reach into my bag, I kept doing what she had started until the piece of clothing was open. Y/n placed my pyjamas in front of me and quickly turned her back to my body before I could even remove my shirt.

"I really don't know why you keep doing that" the words were coming out of my mouth somehow more light-hearted, almost amused. "You've ran into me naked several times." I pointed out, completely undressed and reaching for my nightwear.

Y/n snorted. "That doesn't make it any less awkward." The ghost of a grin appeared on my face and I had to refrain myself from teasing her in any way. "Done?" I responded affirmatively un response and she turned around and removed my dirty clothes from her bed.

We both climbed into our respective resting places and threw our blankets over us before turning off the light.

"Y/n?" She gave me a sleepy hum, prompting me to speak. "Thank you." She mumbled something I didn't quite understand; my eyes closed surprisingly fast, and I fell asleep.

Something I was quickly regretting.

As comfortable as Y/n's bed was, and as much at ease as the atmosphere in her room had left me, the nightmares still haunted my dreams.

I jumped up with a yell I didn't know that had escaped my lips, sweating and panting, only to find Y/n close to the same state, somehow a little bit more calmed. We locked eyes, gleaming at the moonlight due to the not yet spilled tears.

I took a deep, ragged breath, and rubbed my face with both hands; I wasn't crying, I was just exhausted.

The weight on the bed shifted before Y/n's arms pulled me into a side hug; I leaned on her, throwing my own arm around her waist to pull her even closer. We fell over the bed like that, and didn't dare to move.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I woke up again. This time, though, no pants or tears were involved; I was calm and rested, something not very usual anymore.

After a moment, I realized the reason why I had woken up was probably the pain on the back of my neck. I blinked a couple of times in an attempt to shake the drowsiness off me before trying to switch my posture to one more comfortable.

I was then startled by a sleepy grunt that left Y/n's lips; I remembered then that we had somehow managed to fall asleep in each other's arms in the most uncomfortable position ever.

I managed to move her with me, without waking her up —and thank Godric for that, because the sight of her snuggled up to my side with our legs tangled and her hand on my chest was angelic.

A sigh escaped my lips when, due to the rays of sunshine that started to sneak into the room, she buried her face in the crook of my neck, hear breath fanning over my skin and sending chills down my spine.

Staring at the room's ceiling, I weighed my options; on the one hand, I could lay with Y/n a bit more and try to go back to sleep, but I risked falling into another nightmare; on the other hand, I could get up and go have a very needed shower, but I would have to leave the comfort of her arms and her room, and venture into our very own cemetery.

I went for the second option; I did crave a shower, and we couldn't let what once was the most cheerful flat in the Diagon Alley be covered by the darkness of grief forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

READER'S P. O. V.

I was shocked —in a good way, of course— when, the next time my eyes fluttered open was not due to a nightmare, but to the bright, warm sunlight inundating the room.

George was nowhere to be seen, and I wondered if last night had been a dream. I dismissed that idea as soon as I propped myself up on my forearms, seeing his bags near the bed and his dirty clothes laying on the carpet.

The door creaked, announcing the ginger's arrival even before he hesitantly entered the room. "Morning." He offered me a small smile.

"Morning." I replied, mimicking his expression. "How long have you been up?"

"For about..." he checked the clock in my room, leaning against the door frame. "Half an hour. Just had a shower and I was gonna make some breakfast."

My smile grew a little wider at his newly refreshed attitude. "In high spirits, are we?"

He clicked his tongue, tilting his head to the side. "Turns out that getting some sleep does wonders."

"Indeed." I agreed, stretching before standing up and walking to him. "C'mon, I'll help you with that breakfast."

"I can do it myself." He assured me, walking right behind me in the kitchen's direction.

"Last time you tried to cook, you set fire to the table."

He groaned, grabbing a knife to slice the bread he had left on the counter. "You won't let me live that down ever, will you?" I shook my head no, turning on the fire before grabbing a pan. "I hate you."

"Liar." I placed my hand above the pan to check the heat before requesting, "Pass me the slices."

"I was gonna make you breakfast," he complied, nonetheless. "Not the other way around."

"Are you complaining?" I quirked an eyebrow at George, making him roll his eyes at me and turn to the cabinets consequently to reach for the mugs. "I was thinking—"

"You? Thinking?" Snort. "The world's ending." He stated dramatically, preparing the coffee.

"Twit." I flipped the nearly ready toasts before resuming my sentence. "I was thinking that we should reopen the shop." George stayed silent, leaning against the counter by my side. "I think it would... Help." I stopped again, carefully picking my words. "Getting the business running... I think— we can't— we need to do something, to stay occupied." I looked at him, awaiting for an answer, or at least a glance, but his eyes were fixed on his slippers. "I don't mean right now," he tilted his chin up to stare at the opposite wall, and then his head spun to me. "but I—"

"Y/n!" His eyes went wide and he swiftly pulled me away from the pan, tossing the burning bread into the sink. "Merlin's beard." I pinched the bridge of my nose, sighing in defeat. "Trying to outmatch my kitchen pyromania?" George would have successfully lightened up the mood if I wasn't on the brink of a mental breakdown.

Fred had always been the one to cook. George wasn't even allowed in the kitchen for obvious reasons, and I myself had the attention span of a fruit fly.

"Oi..." George pulled me to his chest and my arms instantly wrapped around his middle. "What about we get dressed," he began, stroking my hair. "And we go have breakfast at The Leaky Cauldron?" I nodded against him, and he squeezed me tight before slowly pulling away. "We can start restocking when we come back, yeah?" I nodded again, catching a tear with the back of my sleeve before it could run down my cheek. "Then let's go." This time it was him who stretched his arm, offering me his hand, which I instantly took.

As we made our way back to my room, it dawned on me this would be one hell of a ride.

"Wait! The coffee!" I tugged him back to the kitchen.

"Shit!" We both jogged back in, rapidly putting away the coffee pot.

"I think we shouldn't cook." I stated. "At all."

"Agreed." He breathed out.

[bedsdivans64]

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[viking-raider]

The Belle and the Bane - Intro

Summary: How the legend of the Bane began and your simple life.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 2,611

Rating: Fantasy!AU, Mentions of death, Illness, Language, Angst, Curses

Inspiration: The beauty and the beast, among other things.

Author’s Note: Thanks to @wondersofdreaming​ for brainstorming this with me, hammering out the details! Tell me what you think!

Once upon a time, in an ancient land, there was a small village of three hundred dreary and poor inhabitants. In this small village of Mintwillow, there was a legend of dark and sinful proportions; the legend went like this.

Living in a neglected castle, a handful of leagues from the village, placed perilously on the edge of a cliff, with the roaring and roiling waves of an ocean below, crashing against the rock face and eroding it away, was who the village called, the Bane. He had been the fourth of five children, all brothers, who had all lived happily and harmoniously with their loving and pampering parents. The family was the most prosperous family within nearly sixty leagues of the village, which, at the time, was just as prosperous and bustling, riding the wave of their success.

But, then, disaster struck.

A horrible illness washed over the county, striking the inhabitants of Mintwillow the hardest. The Bane's family, despite their wealth and good standing, also became victims of the disease. Every last one of them became sick with it; bedridden and raving, bodies throbbing, as if all of their bones were shattering, and sweating so profusely from their fevers, that their mattresses were soaked through, and took turns in getting sick. Their servants, also sick themselves, did their best to care for their beloved masters, but it was all for not. First, the mistress of the castle died of the illness, followed by the youngest son and the third oldest. The father and oldest went two days later, but the second oldest and second youngest held out for a fortnight. On the night of the fourteenth day, even after a glitter of hope of becoming well again, the second oldest perished, leaving only the second youngest alive.

Who still fought for his life against the illness.

He had languished between getting better for a day or two, before becoming quite worse and being only moments, if not seconds, from death. But, finally, after nearly another fortnight, the second youngest son roused, his fever breaking and his life safe from the dark tentacles of death that had taken all of his family, all that mattered and he held so dearly to his heart.

It had taken time, and a good many lives, before the plague that washed over Mintwillow to pass away, leaving an ugly scar in the lives and minds of the inhabitants. While a mass grave had to be excavated for the townspeople, the bodies of the dead family were given single graves in their ancestral graveyard, just down the hill from the castle. It was the day of their funeral, even though they had already been in their graves for a month or more, that the second youngest son, now the heir and executor of the family empire, realized the amount of power he suddenly wielded; the mass fortunes of gold he had at his disposal, for every want, whim and fancy he could ever dream of, with no one to tell him no, or hold him in check with the spending.

That was when the Bane came to be.

He threw huge balls for the top families in the land, inviting the prettiest women his staff could find and lived in the county. He spent thousands of pounds on furnishings, decorations and things he had no need for; some he didn't even know how to work and use, but bought, simply because he could. But, within two years of his new found power, the money was starting to dwindle. He was spending more than the family business could support.

So, he taxed the small town of Mintwillow.

Raising the taxes on the goods he supplied them, supplies and goods they needed to live and support themselves, since the next option to do so, was over a hundred leagues away. He taxed them for everything he could, and even thought up new things he could tax them on, because he knew without him, they would all likely starve.

After awhile, spending mountains of gold, throwing lavish parties and having an endless line of women, didn't fill the hole that had been left at the loss of his parents and brothers. Nonetheless, he kept spending the gold and dancing at his parties and bedding every woman he could. It had become a habit now, instead of a pleasure. However, in the third year after the illness, and quite suddenly, he no longer threw lavish parties that lasted for days, he no longer spent vast amounts of gold or entertained a woman. Some in the village speculated that he had packed up and moved out of the county, having slighted some young lady's honor and ran before her father could force him into marrying her. Some said, someone he had overtaxed had become so enraged by it, they murdered him and his body was decaying somewhere in the castle.

But, the impossibly high taxes kept being enforced and collected.

What he had done, was reduced the staff to a single butler, closed up all of the rooms, but his own bedroom, a study and the kitchen; leaving the rest to grow thick layers of dust, cobwebs, moth holes and to fall into disrepair and neglect; leaving the ghosts of his former life to inhabit them.

Shutting the world away and darkening the once bright and full of life castle.

Why would he suddenly close out the world like that? The answer isn't as simple as one might think.

During one of the biggest balls he had ever thrown, the girls were flocking him, as usual, when an exceptionally gorgeous woman approached him, she was so radiant in her gown and her self assurance, that he couldn't help be attracted to her, drawn to her glow, like a moth to the naked flame of a candle. Pushing away all other women, he approached her, turning his handsome charm onto her. She was just as drawn to him as he was to her. They danced and floated around each other, none other existed to them, not the nearly two hundred guests or the jealous women; just him and her.

Before long, the pair were in the privacy of one of the castle's many rooms, sitting close together on a divan, smiling faces so near to each other, they shared the same breath. They shared jokes and quips, flirtations and jests. But, suddenly, her behavior changed and her bright eyes dimmed, like a dangerous storm cloud.

“You like all your fancy things, don't you?” She hissed at him. “Having every woman fling herself upon your feet, like a simpering puppy.”

He blinked at her, taken aback by her sudden change in demeanor. “What are you talking about?” He demanded, pulling away from her; shock and brewing rage in his blue eyes and handsome face.

“Taxing the lands and lives of all the poor souls in this land, while you sit fit and happy upon your mountains of gold and privilege.” Her own rage grew, out matching his own. “Yet, you are as miserable, if not more so, than they are. But, you still tax them, sucking them dry, until they are so far in debt to you, they fling themselves from the cliffs, to end their suffering.”

“Suffering you cause for nothing.”

“I won't be spoken to like this.” He said in a low growl, his upper lip twitching with a snarl. “Get out and never show your face here again! Or I'll show you what true misery is!” He raved, jumping to his feet and pointing a stiff finger to the door.

She stood with him, quite gracefully for a soul so consumed with rage and distaste. “No, you will know what misery really is!” She barked, before roughly kissing him, her long nails digging into the soft flesh of his neck, leaving thin trails of blood in their stead.

“That will be the last kindness you will have for some time.” She hissed, then swept out of the room.

The room was dark and stifling hot, you could feel beads of sweat rolling down your back, as you leaned over the mortar you were currently grinding up a combination of white willow bark, yarrow and marshmallow root in. Another painful sounding and wet cough filled the single room hut your patient lived in with her husband and six children, all under the age of nine. Getting the herbs fine enough, you turned to the roaring fireplace that dominated a large section of the north wall of the hut. You had told her husband not to put so many logs on the fire, she was already badly hydrated, and the overwhelming heat of the fire, combined with her high fever, were causing her to sweat profusely, making her even more dehydrated.

But, being a man and feeling he knew better than you, he kept feeding more and more logs into the licking flames.

You suppressed an eye roll as he tossed another sizable log into the fire, sending up a shower of sparks into the chimney flue. Using the skirt of your dress, you grabbed a hold of the handle to the roiling kettle and pulled it off the hook that held it over the flames. Taking it back to the makeshift kitchen table, you dumped the ground herbs into the battered and chipped teapot, then poured in the steaming hot water, leaving it to brew the herbal tea that would reduce her fever and help quiet down her cough.

“Have her drink the whole pot.” You told him, holding the teapot, and still using your dress as a barrier, while you gently swirl the liquid inside, the heat radiating through the porcelain felt pleasant. “Even if she doesn't want to. But, don't make her drink it too fast either. Maybe a cup every half hour.” You explained to him, setting it back down on its stone coaster.

“If she gets any worse, come and get me.” You added, gathering your little bag full of herbs and other odds and ends you used as a healer for Mintwillow.

“Thank you.” The husband said gruffly, standing stiffly by his wife's side.

“Of course.” You nodded to him, then gave the youngest child, only fourteen months old, and sitting on the hearth rug, gumming on a biscuit, a smile; recalling you helping birth the babe into the world, before going out into the cold and salty air.

It was so much nicer out there, the winds pushing in pungent ocean air, salty and fresh, with a tang of fish and kelp. It was cool and refreshing, an excellent cure all to the stuffy and hot atmosphere of the hut you just left. You were nearly home, when a familiar silhouette appeared in the early evening mist, bringing a happy smile to your face.

“Hello, papa.” You greeted him as he fully appeared.

“Hello, child.” He smiled back at you, his tired and wrinkled face brightening at the sight of you. “How is she?” He asked, eyes flickering to the hut several yards behind you.

“She should be just fine.” You assured him, confidently. “Just a strong cold. Nothing I can't fight.” You chuckled, but you could see the undeniable fear and anxiety in his deep set brown eyes.

Your father, honestly, loathed that you were a healer, but he honored your choice, like he had always done your entire life. If you set your mind to something and he knew you couldn't be swayed on the subject, he would respectfully disagree, but would support you, through and through. You were his daughter, his first born, his only born, and he would move heaven and earth for your happiness. But, his fear and anxiety over your chosen profession came with good merit and reason. Nearly five years before, a great illness had swept over the village, taking so many lives. But, there was one person there, doing her utmost best to try, and at least, slow its progression.

Your mother.

She had been Mintwillow's healer longer than you had been born, before she and your father had even married. Nothing would stop her from healing her fellow villagers, not even that horrid plague. She had worked tirelessly to try and stop it, though, more often than not, she would lose to it. Your mother didn't let that stop her though, she kept trying and trying, mixing every type of herb she had and could get her hands on, looking for a cure. Your father would have to bodily drag her away from her herbalist table, just so she would take a moment to eat or drink something, to sleep, even if it was just for a moment's nap.

Then, she was right back at it.

In the end though, four dozen Mintwillow villagers died, your dearest mother, being one of them. She had caught it, after being in contact with so many of the infected, and died almost a week later; leaving only you and your father. You had gotten the illness, there was barely a single handful of people who didn't get it, but had survived, with very little after effects. Your father on the other hand, had survived, only to be severely affected by it, he couldn't work the endless hours he once had as the village's blacksmith, finding wielding the heavy tools of his craft almost too much to manage for more than an hour or two.

Which affected the household income, making so many things you both needed scarce, like food and clothing. So, taking what you had learned from your mother, you stepped into her shoes as the village healer, hoping that the occasional gold piece would help ease the burden on your father. It still wasn't enough though, and that became abundantly clear, when stiff and high taxes were pressed on the village and its workers, your father being one of them, needing the supplies for his blacksmithing, causing him to be heavily in debt.

Of all the bones in your body, there was only one of them that was mean, and it loathed the life crippling taxes that squeezed and bled every person in the village, man, woman, child and even infants. You glanced across the foggy village, to the shadowy smudge, almost hidden by the charcoal clouds, that were like puffs of wool, against stark purple sky; the castle. You hated that filthy structure that loomed over the village, like an awful eye, bringing nothing be hardship and doom. You hated the creature that lived inside of it, reaping all the benefit of your father's hard-work, while you both struggled to put half a loaf of bread on the table for one of the two meals you could afford a day; if you were lucky.

Shaking the malice away from your thoughts, you followed your father back to your home. It was a little more than the rest of the homes in Mintwillow, it was a story and a half, the kitchen and living area was all one room, there was a water closet and a back room, that was your father's room. The half story was a loft, that was your own room. You loved your room, going up the half spiral staircase to it, it was closed off, so you had the utmost level of privacy. Half of your room, hanging above a writing desk, was an array of herbs that you used for your healing.

The one thing about your room that you had a qualm with, was the single peaked window; it pointed towards the bleak structure on the stormy cliffs, forever in your sight, whenever you look out your window. You wished it would just fall off the cliff it was butted up against; the gloomy and cursed castle of the Bane.

[freaoscanlin]

In the Arms of an Aila

Fandom: High Rollers Aerois Campaign

Notes: Rated PG, 4438 words, trigger warnings for minor blood mentions. This is a Uni AU wherein the Storm Chasers are a group of students sharing a house on Stormchaser Avenue after their dormitory burns down. Shout out to @obishenshenobi for being amazing and co-writing this series with me!

Summary: Four times Aila carries the party, and one time they return the favor.

Read it on AO3

“Hey, Aila?” Nova said.

“What?”

“Just...thanks.”

“Very welcome. Just do your part and hold on. Sentry will get mad if I drop you.”

Nova

The blister set in somewhere between mile two and mile four. Since it was supposed to be a five mile hike, and a torrential downpour hit at the end of mile two, soaking them to the bone within minutes, a blister was the last thing Nova needed.

Of course, who really needed a blister? Rubbing an actual sore onto the skin as the first step on the way to a callus was an absolute stupid function of humanity, and human feet should not be designed this way. In fact, all humans were composed of stupid engineering. Her thighs burned, her lower back ached, she was muddy and cross and cold, and the pain rubbing along the back of her heel made her actually want to cry.

“We’ll get to the end soon.” Sentry kept a cheerful look in place. This whole hike had been her idea in the first place, and she’d led the pack all the way out to the waterfall. Which, admittedly, had been very pretty. On a sunny day it might have even been gorgeous. But Nova could feel her teeth chattering, and she must have looked miserable because Sentry had been making remarks like that for the past twenty minutes. “And then we’ll be in a nice warm car. And we’ll get some hot chocolate.”

“Coffee,” Nova managed to say through her chattering teeth.

“Or coffee. Sure. Coffee’s fine.”

Lucius, following behind Sentry without too much trouble, should have looked bedraggled and miserable. But he’d packed a fancy purple camping jacket for the adventure. Quill, trudging behind him, kept flicking a hand through his sopping hair and sending water droplets everywhere.

Aila, after the first time Nova had landed on her ass, had taken the rear. Every so often, she reached out to grab Nova and keep her from careening off the edge of the path.

“Let’s take a hike,” Nova muttered under her breath as she limped along. “It’s beautiful, Nova. You’ll love it, Nova. Just think of the pretty views, Nova. This is great. Just great.”

She stepped down and hissed in pain as her boot moved against the blister. Instantly, the three people ahead of her turned to look. “Are you okay?” Sentry asked, her brow furrowed.

“Fi—I’m fine. It’s just a blister. I’ll be fine.”

It took a great deal of reassurance that she would be fine in order for the others to believe her. They had less than a mile to go, soon they’d be in the car, she could grit her teeth through it. After a day of holding the group back to her pace—it wasn’t her fault she lived with a bunch of jocks who preferred the gym to the library—the idea of stopping just because her foot hurt made her burn with shame. So she waved away their protests and gamely set off.

For a couple hundred meters, at least. At that point she began to whimper.

Something rustled behind her, followed by a sigh. Aila grabbed her arm to stop her. “What? Was I about to fall?” Nova asked, looking down at the steep incline beside the little trail.

“Hop on.” Aila turned to face away from her, bending her knees just a little.

“What?”

“I’ll give you a piggy-back ride.”

“But it’s so far still.”

“You weigh less than a sack of potatoes. I’ll be fine. Hop on.”

The others, having missed all of this, continued on their way up the path. Nova glanced back toward them, wondering if she should just suck it up and run to catch up. The thought alone made her want to cry.

Red-faced and embarrassed, she climbed onto Aila’s back and wrapped her arms around Aila’s neck. The relief of being off her feet came instantly.

“Comfortable?” Aila asked.

“If I get too heavy���”

Aila snorted at that. “Please. This isn’t even a workout. Hey, Sentry, wait up!”

In no time at all, she caught up to the group, trotting along as though she wasn’t even burdened by Nova’s weight. Nova decided she’d feel embarrassed later, when she wasn’t so wrecked. Aila was big and sturdy and warm, and it was the first reprieve from misery she’d had in over an hour. Quill gave her a small smile of commiseration, letting out a “hey” when she tiredly reached out to muss his hair.

“Hey, Aila?” Nova said.

“What?”

“Just...thanks.”

“Very welcome. Just do your part and hold on. Sentry will get mad if I drop you.”

Nova rested her cheek against the back of Aila’s shoulder, watching the landscape go by around them, and obeyed.

Sentry

“And just what do you think you’re doing?”

Sentry, about to reach for the pantry door in the darkness, froze. A split-second after Aila’s voice rang out through the kitchen, the lights flooded on. Sentry didn’t need a highly active imagination to fully see the picture it painted: Aila by the switch in an ancient pair of joggers and one of the hundreds of tacky free T-shirts they handed out during orientation week. A massive gulf of space between the pantry and Sentry’s bedroom. And Sentry herself in her Tom Servo sleep tank and shorts, balanced on one foot to stay off of her bad knee, right by the pantry—with her crutches nowhere nearby.

“Ah, um, ah,” Sentry said, looking about for an excuse. Her shoulders sagged. “I just wanted a snack?”

“And you decided, ‘oh, I’ll just hop to it, then, will I?’”

Sentry spread her hands wide, sheepishly. “Yes?”

Aila’s expression could melt steel. “Even though you’ve got a perfectly good pair of crutches by your bed.”

She hated the crutches, yes, but in that moment Sentry decided she hated disappointing Aila more. Still, she pushed her shoulders back. “I’m allowed to put a little weight on it—”

“In two weeks! You’re supposed to stay off it for now, or you’ll make it worse.”

“I’m only getting a snack. That’s not that strenuous.”

“For somebody who mothers the rest of us when we’ve so much as got the sniffles, you’re a bad patient yourself.” Aila strode across the kitchen and before Sentry quite knew what was happening, scooped her up. Just as quickly—though a little more gently—Sentry was deposited into one of the kitchen chairs. “You could have called one of us to get you a snack if you hate the crutches so much.”

“You were all asleep, and you need your rest.”

“We need our Sentry in one piece more than we need rest.”

Aila stomped into the pantry. A bag of crisps sailed through the air, landing in front of Sentry on the table. Grumbling under her breath the whole time, Aila emerged and stormed about the kitchen, collecting a midnight snack for herself. Sentry angled a chair over to prop her recovering leg up, trusting that Aila would work through this head of steam eventually. At long last, Aila sat down across from her with a glass of water for each of them. She dug viciously into a yogurt.

“Feel better now that you’ve bitched me out?” Sentry asked, digging into the chips.

Aila considered. “A little, actually. Now I see why Nova does it all the time.”

Sentry saluted her with a crisp. “Glad to help. Thanks for getting these for me.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You don’t need to keep me company if all you were coming down for was a glass of water or something, though. I don’t want to keep you up.”

“Sentry,” Aila said in a measured voice. “If I leave you there, you’ll just hop right back to bed. So I’m going to stay here until you’re finished and I’m going to eat my yogurt and then I’ll carry you back to bed, and we’ll not tell the others any of this ever happened because they’ll scold you.”

“That might be the most I’ve ever heard you speak,” Sentry said.

“Yeah, I’m a real chatty Cathy at this hour, apparently.” Aila nudged one of the glasses toward her. “Drink your water. It’s good for recovery.”

“Yes, Mom,” Sentry teased, and Aila rolled her eyes at her.

Lucius

Lucius saw the blood, had a brief eternity to think whoopsy, there I go, and when time returned to its normal course of business, fainted. Well, he went woozy, at any rate. He felt his knees buckle, but from afar like they weren’t his knees anymore, and his vision squeezed into one narrow point of blankness, and he staggered.

He slammed into something very solid, but warm like a person. “Oh, no, you don’t,” said a familiar voice in his ear.

“S-so much blood,” Lucius said, his voice sounding as far away as his knees.

The entire world seemed to tilt and a feeling of warmth suffused him, reminding him of the earliest days with Nanny Nophir. That changed abruptly, though, when he realized that instead of being cradled like a small child, somebody had slung him over a shoulder like a bag of cement. Not just anybody, he realized in a muddled storm of thought. Aila had him over one shoulder, bracing him with an arm behind his knees.

Muzzily, he twisted his head to see Sentry hurrying out of the kitchen and into the shared living room. “What’s happened?” she asked.

“Nova’s got a nosebleed,” Aila said. “His majesty still faints at the sight of blood, apparently.”

“Hey,” Lucius said feebly, as the dig felt a little unfair. He let his body hang limp, too wrung out to really protest beyond that. There had been so much blood...

“I’m so sorry,” Nova said, her voice muffled by either a towel or her hand. “Lucius, I’m so sorry, I forgot you don’t like blood. It’s just so dry—”

“Let’s just get you cleaned up,” Sentry said kindly, resting a hand on Lucius’s back as she passed. “Maybe put him on the couch?”

The last must have been directed at Aila, for she moved over and Lucius found himself being lowered onto the divan. They really should have gotten a proper fainting couch for the living room, even though it clashed with the rest of the furniture he’d hand-selected. Though the ultimate irony remained: if Aila hadn’t caught him, he wouldn’t have made it to said fainting couch anyway.

Lucius, feeling queasy, glanced over. He spotted the bloody towel that Nova had instinctively put over her face to staunch the blood, and his eyes rolled back into his head.

“Hey—hey!” Something snapped loudly in front of his face and Lucius opened his eyes. Aila snapped her fingers a few more times. “None of that now. Turn that way.”

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” Lucius said, automatically obeying. “Good heavens. I could have cracked my head open on the coffee table if you hadn’t caught me.”

“Doubt it.” Aila snorted. “Hard as your head is, you’d have cracked the coffee table in half.”

“Oh really, do you think?” Lucius couldn’t help but be a little pleased at the thought. Having somebody like Aila think any part of him was tough—she’d certainly made enough jokes about lacrosse in their first days together—was quite exhilarating. He studiously kept his gaze focused on the back of the couch, deliberately not looking as Aila took the bloody towel out of the room and returned with bleach wipes. “Oh, I do hope she didn’t stain the carpet.”

“Eh,” Aila said. “I’ve gotten blood out of worse. Though I’ll let Nova clean up her textbook on her own. I’m nice but not that nice. It should be safe for you to look now.”

Lucius swallowed hard and sat up, rubbing his head. He’d come in to inquire of Nova, seated at the coffee table with a textbook and a soap opera on in the background for noise, if she wanted to perhaps grab a quick dinner with him before their evening class. And she’d turned to him in horror, blood leaking and...

Well, he’d prefer not to remember beyond that point. Instead, he resolutely turned his thoughts to more pressing matters (after all, Sentry was taking care of Nova, which meant she would be just fine). He cleared his throat. “Aila, I do have a question for you.”

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Do you think we should get a fainting couch in here? For the aesthetic?”

Aila stared at him for a long time, then turned on a heel and left without saying a word or even making a face at him.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Lucius said, and began to set his mussed clothing to rights.

Quill

No matter how they jeered and teased, there was no getting Sentry into the water. Even the triple dog dare, which would have worked on Quill without fail, held no effect. She merely gazed at them serenely from her lakeside lounger, told them they were all very clever, and closed her eyes once more, returning to sunbathing.

“Boo,” Quill called, cupping his hand around his mouth. He tried to splash water in her direction, but Sentry had wisely set her chair out of range.

“Oh, quit bugging her,” Nova said from deeper in the lake where she was treading water in her cute old-fashioned swim suit. Even in the water, she hadn’t taken off the elbow-length glove she wore to cover the scars from her lab accident. “Let the woman get some sun away from our shenanigans.”

“I refuse to let my best friend be too much of a coward,” and Quill raised his voice over his shoulder as he swam toward Nova, “to swim in the lake!”

“Love you too, Quill,” Sentry called back without opening her eyes.

The sun did feel nice, admittedly. Their first day at the cabin—one of Lucius’s family’s many, many vacation properties—had been gray and cold and unpromising, but today the skies were clear and the air was warm. Donning a pair of swim trunks and cannon-balling off of the private dock was the only logical choice to be made, in Quill’s opinion. And the others had followed not far behind: Nova in her one-piece, Lucius in speedos that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, and Aila in what Quill suspected just to be her underwear, as she hadn’t gone shopping for their vacation, even at Sentry and Nova’s urging. Sentry herself had donned a tankini but was staying far, far away from the water, having made it clear just how much she found the thought of parasites and other lakely dangers distressing.

Swimming wasn’t as easy as it had been before his accident, but Quill made it out to Nova and began to tread water beside her. She closed her eyes and tipped her face to the sun. “This feels so nice. I didn’t realize how much I needed a break. I had more than four hours of sleep last night, Quill. It felt like a miracle.”

“I may never go back,” Quill agreed. “Do you think Lucius would mind if we, like, just moved in permanently? There’s a bidet. Have you ever stayed in a place that had a bidet?”

“Can’t say that I have.” Nova turned. “Aila! Have you ever stayed in a place with a bidet?”

“When would I have done that?” came the reply. Aila didn’t even lift her head up from where she was floating on her back, eyes closed.

Lucius swam up, popped underwater, and emerged so that his hair flowed back in perfect waves. The sunlight caught very faint freckles on his shoulders. “I’ve been meaning to bring that up. It’s rather a travesty that we don’t have one at home. We could have one installed quite easily.”

“Eh,” Aila said, eyes still closed. “Feels bougie.”

“How dare you,” Lucius said.

Aila merely opened one eye a slit and smirked at him. Lucius, after a moment of grumpiness, smiled back.

“Did we bring a football or anything?” Nova twirled herself around in the water like a spinning top. “Or some kind of water game we could play? Not that I don’t love swimming.”

“We could play Chicken,” Quill said. When the other three merely gave him varying glances of confusion or interest (or disinterest on Aila’s part), he tilted his head. “Did none of you ever play Chicken as kids?”

“The thing where you dart out in front of cars and stay there until they almost hit you?” Nova asked.

“No, the bit where one person gets up on somebody’s shoulders and tries to knock another person—on somebody else’s shoulders—over into the water. Here, here, I’ll show you. It’s fun.” Quill glanced between the three of them and did some quick calculus that he would never, ever tell anybody else about. “Here, Aila, let me up on your shoulders.”

Aila kept floating for a few seconds more before she seemed to shrug to herself. “Eh. I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Left to his own devices, Quill was positive that he would have made it awkward to clamber up on Aila’s shoulders. But he’d forgotten just how strong rugby made Aila, and how often she went swimming. As they approached the shallower depths, she disappeared under the water. Quill felt something almost hit him from behind, and then he was launched toward the sky. He yelped and clung on for dear life as Aila straightened to her full height, the water coming up to her shoulders.

“Ooh! Ooh! I want to try. Lucius, let me up.” Nova scrambled over to Lucius and climbed up on his shoulders, kicking her feet excitedly (Lucius winced a little). She held her arms up like an old timey boxer. “You’re going into the water, bird-boy.”

“Hey, now,” Aila said. “Let’s make this fair. One hand behind your back.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, Quill.”

“I don’t need two hands to beat you,” Quill said, though he nearly disproved his entire point by overbalancing and almost falling off of Aila’s shoulders.

She merely locked her hands around his knees. Nova put her scarred hand behind her and waggled the fingers of her remaining hand at Quill.

“Oi!” A voice from the shore made all of them turn to look at Sentry, who’d sat up and set her book aside. “What are you doing? That looks dangerous!”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Lucius called back. “Aila and I have it all in hand.”

Sentry hovered on the edge of the lounger like she wasn’t entirely sure she believed that. “Well, just—just be careful.”

Quill used the distraction to lean over, scoop up a handful of water, and fling it in Nova’s direction.

“Hey!”

And just like that, the battle commenced. Aila charged forward with Quill holding on, Lucius did the same with Nova, and a wrestling match for the ages followed. Nobody would ever come up with a consensus on who actually hit the water first, though. Lucius swore it was Quill, Nova agreed, Quill argued vehemently that it was of course Nova, and Aila remained the neutral party, content to be the base for many, many games of Chicken afterward.

And Sentry remained on the shore, pretending she wasn’t keeping a close eye on them for injury and doing a horrible job at hiding it.

All in all, a pretty perfect summer morning, if you asked Quill.

+ 1 Time They Carried Her

“Sign up for survivalist camp, she says. It’ll be fun, she says. We’ll learn cool new techniques to surviving in the wild. Great bonding time!”

“To be fair,” Nova said from behind Aila’s head, where Aila couldn’t really see her without craning her neck, “we were having a great time bonding until, you know, all of this.”

Because Aila couldn’t see her, and moving to do so would only get her scolded, she had to imagine Nova waving her free hand in aggravation.

“I for one am having a perfectly lovely time,” Lucius said.

Aila could never tell when he was being sarcastic, and she didn’t see that changing any time soon. She suspected in this case he might be genuine, though. The course instructor had complimented him on his very fancy camping vest (“It has so many pockets,” Lucius had said) and nobody had yet found the heart to tell Lucius that had been sarcasm. So all through this hike he’d been in a particularly good mood. That made him the only one, probably.

Things had been going rather well during the whole course, up until this morning: the morning of their final day in the course, when they would be tested “randomly” and, using little but their wits, a compass, and a map, navigate themselves back to the parking lot. Camping with her friends had been fun, even if it meant being squished into a two-person tent with Sentry and Nova (the latter of whom had very bony elbows) at night. Aila liked the outdoors. She liked the feeling of self-sufficiency that this course had brought with it. She imagined herself as something of a pioneer. In the olden times, she would’ve kicked ass at all of this.

Unfortunately, it was nigh on impossible to kick ass with a “broken leg.”

And she wasn’t hiking out of the woods. She was being carried. On a stretcher. This sucked. The instructor had folded his arms over his chest in a rather smug fashion as he gave them their final assignment. His eyes had lingered between Sentry and Aila, easily the tallest members of the group. And he’d narrowed in on her, which was why she was being lifted by her friends on a tarp stretcher that they’d improvised.

“This sucks.”

“Yes,” Quill said, grimacing. “So you’ve said multiple times. We’re not having the best go of it either right now.”

Aila closed her eyes and leaned her head back. She’d already had to fold her arms close into her chest like a sleeping vampire to avoid being bumped and jostled about. The tarp they’d fashioned into a stretcher smelled bad. She felt like she’d been stuffed into a tiny little space, not great when she suspected she was a little claustrophobic anyway. “I’m bored.”

“I’ve got several books you could read,” Nova said, completely earnest.

That would only make this day worse, having to read. Fortunately Sentry, who was planted on the right side above Aila’s head and therefore easy to see, laughed. “I don’t think a book will help.”

“I was up late reading all about the local fauna in case there was a pop quiz,” Nova said. “I could tell you about some of them?”

“I’d rather read the book,” Aila said.

Nova tilted her head, considering. “You know what? Fair.”

“It’s not long to the parking lot,” Lucius said in a cheerful voice, though he was a bit out of breath.

“Feels like miles,” Quill grumbled.

“That’s probably because it is. I was lying,” Lucius said, tittering nervously.

Aila had pointed out that the course instructors couldn’t see them, so she could just get up and walk for a bit until they were nearing the end and all of her friends could be spared, but Nova had looked so abjectly horrified at the thought of cheating on a test that Aila had backpedaled and felt a little actual shame. Just a tiny bit, though. Not enough to fully penetrate the thick barrier of indifference she liked to carry about.

“Fine,” she said now, with a sigh. “Tell me all about these fascinating plants of yours, Nova. Not like I can do much else right now.”

Nova squeaked in excitement, reaching down to grab Aila’s leg.

“Ow,” Aila deadpanned. “That one’s broken.”

“I thought it was the other one?”

“It’s not real,” Quill said. “She’s messing with you.”

“Right. Right! Okay, so to start with, these are deciduous trees—”

Aila tuned her out in record time. Since there wasn’t anything to do but lay stiffly with her arms in a stupid position and the stretcher swaying nauseatingly below her, Aila let the patter of Nova’s excited overexplaining wash over her. She closed her eyes to stave off the nausea of watching the canopy overhead.

Sleep didn’t come right away, though it drifted near enough that she dozed a few times. Finally, she heard Nova whisper, “Did I do it? Is she out?”

“Think so, yeah,” Sentry replied.

“Oh, thank H’esper.”

“Quill!”

“We’re the ones marching miles carrying her and she’s whining?” Quill whispered back. “Have a care for my legs. I can’t feel them anymore.”

“Me either,” Lucius said.

“Meanwhile, all she has to do is lay there and be carried!”

“Which for Aila is torture and you know it,” Nova hissed.

“I do suppose she’d whine less with an actual broken leg,” Lucius said, thoughtfully, and Aila nearly gave up the game by grinning. “She does have that stoicism thing going for her. I rather admire it at times. Daddy always said that I should be stron—ow, splinter!”

“You okay? We can take a break if need be,” Sentry said.

“I’ll endeavor to carry on,” Lucius said, but he sounded tearful.

Aila almost opened her eyes again, but joining this conversation would require more mental energy than she was willing to expend. Maybe if she did actually fall asleep, this nightmare of a hike would be over sooner.

“She does look kind of peaceful,” Nova said. “In a very Angry Aila way. Nobody tell her I said that. Either of those things.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Sentry promised.

There was a long silence. The stretcher continued to sway, though not in a soothing or repeatable pattern that promoted sleep, and her friends were quiet apart from the sound of heavy breathing as they tromped through the woods. Not a bad day for a hike, overall. She really wished she could just get up and walk alongside them, but if she had to be carried, so be it. At least she had them around her.

Aila nearly opened her mouth to tell them so (and ruin the illusion that she’d been napping this entire time) when Quill cleared his throat. “We are agreed, yes, that she’ll be driving the whole way home since she’s been napping this entire time anyway?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Duh.”

“Why, obviously. I’ll be completely knackered by that point.”

Aila’s smile probably betrayed her, but she elected not to care about that. She merely let the group travel on, carrying her to their final destination in their survival course. There were worse ways to spend a Sunday afternoon, even if it meant being the one to drive them home afterward.

[slippinmickeys]

The Earl (12/13)

If you’d like to read on AO3, you may do so here. 

CHAPTER TWELVE

Scully looked about the cottage around her with a critical eye. With what she had on hand, there had to be something she could do or use to escape this place.

The windows were a non-starter; they were too small to fit through. It would have to be the door. It was locked from the outside -- the door itself, ancient and made of oak; she could pound at it for days and never get through. She briefly considered using leverage to perhaps lift it off its hinges, but it was set tightly and even if she could put together some kind of lever and fulcrum, it had nowhere to go. The lock itself was also old, made of iron. Even with the strength of a blacksmith she wouldn’t be able to smash it, either.

A blacksmith, she thought. A smith doesn’t make things with strength only -- he heats the metal to make it malleable enough to work with. Perhaps if she could heat the iron of the lock -- it was an old, simple one, with few pins -- just enough to soften it, a swift, strong kick could break the mechanism…

She had firewood enough for a blaze, but no coal, the fuel of the smith. Wood would not burn hot enough, nor steady or strong enough to do what she needed it to do. On top of that, she had no way of directing the heat.

She wandered into the scullery of the kitchen, assessing its contents.

The lye could be helpful, she thought. Concentrated lye mixed with water would make a fairly corrosive solution, but even if she applied it to the door or lock, it would take far more time than she had to damage or weaken either enough to break through them. The kerosene was a thought, but would burn out quickly and she had no desire to breathe either smoke or fumes -- particularly since she couldn’t open the windows for fresh air.

She paced the cottage, thinking, eventually grabbing an apple from the table and shining it on the grungy front of her frock. She took a bite, chewing contemplatively.

She had the items in the kitchen. She had a few books, the clothes she wore. The bed, two chairs from the main sitting room and a small, sturdy side table that sat between them, upon which she’d deposited the many hair pins that had fallen out of her coiffure when Spender hacked it off. She fingered one in her hand.

Aluminum, she thought. Something was pinging in the back of her mind. Aluminum would react with lye if water were added -- the reaction of which would rapidly create an evolution of hydrogen gas. It would be highly exothermic and the hydrogen itself would ignite and burn at an extremely high temperature. It probably wouldn’t burn long, but if she were able to build up enough pressure and direct the reaction exactly where she wanted it…

She rushed into the scullery and pulled up the large glass vinegar bottle, setting it on the ancient kitchen table. The bottle was sturdy and large, with a long narrow neck and thick cork that fit tightly enough in the opening that she struggled to get it off. It could work, she thought.

Scully dragged the heavy end table from the living space over to the door. It was about one foot too low. She brought over several of the books and stacked them so that they leaned against the door. She brought over the bottle and set it on the table, then leaned it against the books, facing the narrow bottle opening at the lock. It was a bit too high. She took another bite of apple. Only one thing to be done.

She opened the top book and, apologizing -- out loud, to a book -- she tore about ten pages out. Then another ten. She tried lining up the bottle again. A few more centimeters should do it. She ripped out another thirty pages of the book, the thought alone making her sick to her stomach, and again lined up the bottle. Perfect. The neck and mouth of the bottle were positioned directly at the lock’s keyhole. Now she needed to secure it there.

Looking down at the bottom of the dirty, too-long hem of her borrowed frock -- which was filthy and torn in two places, she leaned down and grabbed onto it. And pulled. Once she got a finger through one of the tears, the rest was easy -- she yanked and ripped and was able to tear off the whole of the hem in one long, grimy strip. She put the strip of fabric over the top of the bottle and down under the table. If she pulled and knotted it well, it should secure the bottle in place. If it even worked, the pressure that built up inside the bottle would force its way out of the neck and mouth -- eventually blowing out the cork and acting as a kind of concentrated torch. If it burned for even ten to twenty seconds, it would do so at an incredible heat. The iron of the pins in the lock would soften, at least a little, and -- if she were lucky -- one or two swift and immediate kicks and the lock would fail.

If her knowledge of science was correct.

She remembered a dialogue she’d had with Mulder only a few weeks before when he lamented the lack of common sense and intelligence in their society at large:

“Yes, but you’ve had all the education English society offers it’s young gentlemen ,” she had said.

“Yes, where I was taught to suss out the inflections of our dear language,” he replied, looking at her levelly. “You were denied an education.”

“All young ladies are denied an education,” she crossed her arms over her chest.

“A practice I don’t intend to continue should we be blessed with daughters,” he had mumbled, moving to her and nuzzling her neck to distract her from her anger.  

She’d had to educate herself, and she had done so. Now she needed to see if she was as smart as she hoped.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The house was in utter chaos. Through the night and into the next day, it had been searched high and low for the missing footman to no avail. He was the last person to have seen Duane Barry -- who had been about to tell them where Scully was being held -- alive, and he’d up and disappeared like a sneeze in the wind. No one had seen him coming or going, and the bed where the man had slept was perfectly made, the corners pulled tight. He had left no possessions to speak of -- nothing to direct anyone to where he might have gone.  

Mulder felt flayed. His chest laid bare and cracked open, his heart torn out, and all that was left was an aching chasm of gristle and bone and sinew.

Byers was in his study going over maps of the estate and surrounding areas with the land steward when Mulder wandered in. The two men were leaning over an older drawn map discussing the property lines and ownership of nearby estates -- they were all certain that Scully was being kept somewhere nearby. Mulder flopped onto a divan in the corner of the room doing his best not to give in completely to despair.  

Headly appeared in the study doorway.

“Lord Wexford,” he said, bowing deferentially. “Someone to see you, my lord.” He nodded his head toward the house’s main door.

Mulder excused himself from Byers and the steward and made his way toward the door, the dull sound of talking increasing in volume and urgency as he approached.

“I know this isn’t my house, but I say we don’t let the brigand in until he states his business!” Mr. Frohike all but shouted.

“Sir, all you need know of my business is that it is not yours,” a voice gruffed from the doorway. Mulder recognized the grumble and felt the faintest flame of hope reignite in his chest.

“Did I hear there’s a brigand at the door?” Mulder said loudly, causing the amassed people therein (Mr. Frohike, Mr. Langly, two footmen, and the two figures standing outside) to quiet instantly and turn toward his voice. “Walter,” he said, and the gathered retinue parted for him as the Red Sea did for Moses.

The taller figure in the doorway gave a half smile and reached forward to shake Mulder’s hand. “My lord.” He nodded at Mulder and looked to the other man who stood in the doorway, a long leather greatcoat hanging from wiry, muscular shoulders, his hair cropped close to his head. “My associate and I need to speak with you. Urgently.”

Mulder’s smile faded and, with an apologetic look to Frohike, gestured for the newcomers to follow him through the house and into Byers’ study, where the baronet was standing, looking fairly startled by the appearance of the newcomers. He quickly dismissed his steward.

When Frohike and Langly came into the study after them and stood on either side of their titled business associate with crossed arms and suspicious looks, Captain Walter Skinner, whose acquaintance with Mulder went back some way, looked at him warily.

“Lord Wexford, the information we came to share with you is on a manner of some… delicacy.”

“In reference to the matter I wrote to you of?” Mulder asked, referring to his inquiry of CBG Spender. Captain Skinner nodded. “They know all,” Mulder finished, nodding at Langly to close the door.

Skinner squared his jaw, digesting this, and then nodded toward his companion. “This is John Doggett, he is an associate of mine at Bow Street.”

“My lord,” Doggett said shortly.

“Rumor is sweeping through Town that the Countess of Wexford has been kidnapped for ransom,” Skinner said, looking at Mulder through small wire glasses.

“How I wish the rumors weren’t true,” Mulder said.

Skinner nodded, as though he had suspected as much. “When we heard, we knew we could not delay. We have information on this man, this CGB Spender.”

Heads raised and all eyes in the room sharpened.

“As I explained in my letter, ‘Spender’ is merely an alias.”

“Carl Gerhardt Bush, Jack Colquitt, Raul Bloodworth,” piped up Doggett, “the list is long. But the name we came across most recently drew our attention.”

Doggett looked to Skinner, who took over explanation:

“Does the name Alec Fitzsimmons mean anything to you?”

Mulder shook his head.

“Fitzsimmons runs an import business out of Lewisham. On the books, it’s nothing very interesting as far as what the man trades in-“  

“Off the books, however-“ Doggett cut in. Mulder looked to the former Captain.

“Munitions,” Skinner said, “we have reason to suspect he is running powder and munitions to Bonaparte.” Mulder saw Frohike raise his brows. “But that’s another matter,” he went on, “the import business itself was established some thirty years ago, but has recently taken on a silent partner. A partner by the name of CGB Spender,” Skinner went on. “And when we paid a visit to the offices of the Fitzsimmons Trading Company, a likeness of its founders was hanging on the wall.”

Skinner nodded to Doggett, who pulled a rolled up piece of canvas from inside his coat. He unfurled it and spread it out on Byers’ large desk, which was still covered in the maps and pages from Byers’ conversation with the Ashford Park land steward.

The painting showed several gentlemen, all but one in the picture standing. The seated gentleman was-

“Spender,” Mulder said, pointing his finger at the man’s face.

“Also goes by the name of Alec Fitzsimmons,” Skinner said. “The man is as crooked as they come. Likely trying to hide money from the Crown, using multiple aliases in multiple businesses. But you must again look at the portrait, sir.” He gestured to one of the standing gentlemen on the edge of the canvas. Mulder inhaled in surprise.

“My father,” he said. Though the man was younger than Mulder had ever seen him, it was unmistakably the Eighth Earl of Wexford.

“Did you know they had a connection, my lord?” Doggett asked.

“I do now,” Mulder said, and handed over the old envelope marked with an X.

Skinner and Doggett both read it and exchanged a look.

“So what of this man?” Mulder asked, impatience catching up with him.

“Alec Fitzsimmons owns a house on Wimpole Street,” Skinner said, “a large one, with an equally impressive entourage of household staff.”

“Did you recently hire anyone on at Wexford House in Town?” Doggett asked.

“That would be a question better put to my butler,” Mulder said.

“I did ask it of your butler, sir,” Doggett said, “And he told me one of your footmen fell ill very recently and he was forced to hire on someone new. A servant by the name of Alexander Krycek, who had come with excellent references and who traveled with you here to Ashford Park.”

Dread began to purl through Mulder’s chest.

“Before he was hired on at your London House,” Skinner began, “he had worked for the previous three years as head footman in the household of Alec Fitzsimmons.”

Mulder’s fists clenched so hard his knuckles popped.

“Is he currently below stairs?” Doggett asked, resting his hand upon the wooden handle of a pistol that hung from his belt.

“He is not,” Mulder answered, his voice like iced steel.

“We believe he poisoned your footman Samuel in order to secure the position and assist this Spender in abducting your wife.”

Mulder grabbed onto the edge of Byers’ mahogany desk and actually lifted one side of the leviathan, so fueled by rage that he had the strength of ten men. He slammed it back down.

“That is, ah-” Skinner started, looking at Mulder with trepidation, “not the only coincidence we found when we looked into your staff and the staff of Alec Fitzsimmons.”

Mulder felt his knees go weak under him.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Scully had filled the bottom of the glass bottle with lye and put in every hair pin she could find -- a considerable amount, given the length and thickness of her former tresses. All that needed to be done now was to pour in the water and quickly secure the cork. Once that was done, she would need to hurry behind the stone wall of the bedroom and hope that not only did her plan work, but that it didn’t backfire and blow her to smithereens in the process.  

In theory, the reaction should start as soon as water hit the two substances at the bottom of the bottle. Hydrogen would form quickly and the pressure would build even more so -- and if she resecured the cork tightly in order to trap that pressure, in almost no time at all, a fire of the hottest flame would be forcibly directed at the door’s lock.

She rolled some of the pages she’d torn out of the book into a kind of funnel and placed it in the top of the bottle which was secured tightly to the table below it. She picked up the pail of water with shaking hands. She poured.

She immediately heard the bubbling of the reaction. As soon as the bucket was empty, she dropped it and slammed the cork home, giving it one solid hit with her fist. Then she ran as fast as her legs would carry her into the bedroom and ducked down.

It happened even more swiftly than she thought it would. She heard the pop of the cork and then a low ominous hissing. She peeked around the wall. There were no flames that she could see (invisible flame! she thought, extraordinary! ), but there was a black shadow of charring creeping up the side of the oaken door and already the metal of the lock had an orangish glow.

Her stomach leapt into her throat. It had worked! As soon as the hissing sound ended, she ran at the door and slammed it  for all she was worth. The latch gave a little and she kicked it again. It flew open with a dull, muffled thud, and Scully stepped out into the blazing sunlight.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“I beg your pardon?” Mulder said, lowering himself into the nearest chair.

Skinner and his man Doggett shared a look.

“There is yet another member of your staff that once worked for Fitzsimmons.”

“Who is he?”

“Not he, sir,” Doggett said, “but she. The Countess’s lady’s maid, Prudence.”

“But… but Prudence has worked in our household for several years,” Mulder said, “before I even ascended to the Earldom.”

Skinner exchanged another look with Doggett and raised the envelope with the large, black X -- the accusation against Mulder’s father of an illegitimate child. “And now I believe we may know why,” he said.

Mulder felt the blood drain from his face, and he gestured weakly for Skinner to go on.

“When we spoke with your Housekeeper, we learned that Prudence was hired by the Eighth Earl himself. According to her, the girl had been raised at the country estate of Alec Fitzsimmons, an orphan that the Fitzsimmons estate took on as a charity case. She worked in the household as a child, and when she came of age, it was said she was promised a position at Henwick Priory -- one, should she perform her duties well, she would keep until she reached the age of five and forty, at which point there was set aside a small pension. An odd arrangement, which we could not figure out -- until we saw this.” Mulder looked to the envelope in his hand.

“I know my finances back to front,” Mulder said, “and I know nothing of this arrangement.”

“Mrs. Paxton said that the girl’s wages are paid, as any other maid’s would be, from the household account. The pension, however, is held in a private trust set up by your father.”

“Prudence is my sister,” he said breathlessly.

“I now believe so, yes,” said Skinner, his face set in a grim line. “And we should talk to her. This very minute.”

XxX

Prudence was summoned into Byers’ office and entered, eyes swinging around at the men assembled around her. She swallowed nervously and curtsied, looking to Mulder with apprehension.

“Is there word of the Countess, my lord?” she said hopefully.

“No,” Mulder answered, but did not -- could not -- go on. He was busy looking at her. He’d never noticed that her eyes were the same hazel-green as his own, that her hair was the exact shade. He found himself unable to speak.

“Prudence,” said Skinner from the other side of the room. She looked to him. “My name is Walter Skinner. I’m an investigator on Bow Street and I’ve been hired by Lord Wexford.”

“To find the Countess? I’ll help in any way I can,” she said earnestly.

Skinner merely nodded, not correcting her. “Thank you,” he said. “You have been working for Lord Wexford for several years, is that correct?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, “I was hired as a maid at Henwick Priory when I turned seventeen.”

“Have you been happy working there?”

“Oh, very,” she said, for the first time giving a hesitant smile. “Lord Wexford is a kind and generous employer. I feel I have distinguished myself, such as a woman of my standing can. I was thrilled to be selected by Mrs. Paxton -- that’s Lord Wexford’s housekeeper -- to be the new Countess’s lady’s maid. Several of the other girls were hatefully envious, I can tell you. But I very much enjoy my job.”

“And where were you before you were hired at Henwick Priory?” Doggett asked.

“At an estate not far from here, in fact,” Prudence said, “I was an orphan, you see, and I was taken on as a charity case. When I came of age, I was told that the charity that had arranged my employment as a child had another opportunity lined up at the Priory. With guaranteed employment and a pension! I could not pass it up.”

“Did you know the footman Alexander before he was hired at Wexford House?” Skinner inquired.

A look of distaste crossed her features. “I did not,” she said shortly. “It’s… it’s not my place to say,” she darted eyes quickly to Mulder, “but something about the man has never sat right with me.”

From the corner of his eye, Mulder saw Frohike shift on his feet.

“Is Prudence your given name?” Skinner said.

“It is my middle name,” she explained, “there was an older scullery maid by the name of Samantha already working on the Fitzsimmons estate when I arrived.” Byers inhaled sharply. “I went by Prudence for the sake of simplicity.”

“What-” Mulder finally spoke, “what is the name of the estate where you were raised?”

“It is a small estate called Harwood Hall,” she said.

“And what of the gentleman who employed you there?” Skinner asked her.

“Mr. Fitzsimmons?” she asked. “I do not know him well. We were told to keep out of the way, and he lived mostly in Town.”

“This Harwood Hall,” Mulder said, rising from his seat, “you say it is nearby?”

“Not ten miles from here,” Prudence said, “by the sea.”

[dtaylor67]

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