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fanfics4all · 4 years ago

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Should Have Been Me

Request: Yes / No (I'm sorry to bother again but I just love your fics so much) could I request another but harry has a twin sister who is a hufflepuff but no one really knows about her she's practically Harry's shadow she was selected in the goblet of fire along with her boyfriend (Cedric) to some attention but doesn't work so when they to the cemetery before Peter kills Cedric she takes the hit know others will miss him more than her and he brings back her body Harry gets devastated for losing his sister @kiss-cult

Don’t be shy, request things! <3 Have a nice day/night

Cedric Diggory x Fem!Potter!Reader

Word count: 2643

Warnings: death and that should be it

Y/N: Your Name

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK!

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Masterlist

(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

When I first got sorted I was a little upset that I wasn’t in the same house as my brother. Harry was placed in Gryffindor and I was placed in Hufflepuff. Being new to the wizarding world I was kind of scared and nervous. Luckily an older student named Cedric helped me a lot. We became close and Cedric ended up asking me out. I of course said yes and Harry wasn’t happy about it at first. He’s always been the over protective brother, but once he saw how incredibly happy I was he accepted it.

It was the beginning of fourth year and I was sitting in the Great Hall next to Cedric. We may have seen each other over the summer recently, but it wasn’t enough.

“Now we’re all settled in and sorted, I’d like to make an announcement. This castle will not only be your home this year, but home to some very special guests as well. You see Hogwarts had been chosen-” Dumbledore cut himself off as Filch ran up to him. He whispered something to him and ran off again.

“So Hogwarts has been chosen to host a legendary event. The Tri-Wizard Tournament.” He said and people started whispering. I furrowed my brow confused about what was going on.

“Now for those of you who do not know, the Tri-Wizard Tournament brings together three schools for a series of magical contests. From each school a single contestant is selected to compete. Now let me be clear, if chosen you stand alone. And trust me when I say these contests are not for the faint hearted, but more on that later. For now please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies of the Beauxbatons Academy of magic and their headmistress Madam Maxime.” Dumbledore said. The doors opened and a group of very pretty girls dressed in blue danced their ways up the aisle. Butterflies flew into the air and just about every boy was staring at them. They bowed and everyone applauded.

“And now our friends from the north, please greet the proud sons of Durmstrand and the high master Igor Karkaroff.” Dumbledore said. The doors opened again and some older looking boys walked up the aisles holding bo staffs. They were twirling them around and something slamming into the ground, making sparks fly. The girls were staring in awe, well I wasn't, I didn’t much care for them honestly. Once everyone was settled the feast started.

Once it was finished Dumbledore gained everyone’s attention again for another announcement.

“Your attention please! I would like to say a few words. Eternal glory, that is what awaits the student who wins the Tri-Wizard Tournament. But to do this that student must survive three tasks. Three extremely dangerous tasks. For this reason the Ministry has seen fit to impose a new rule. To explain all this we have the head of the Department of International Magic Cooperation, Mister Bartimus Crouch.” He said. Thunder roared above us and it started to rain. Students screamed as they started getting wet. Someone casted a spell at the ceiling and everyone was back to normal.

“Who is that?” I asked Cedric.

“Mad-Eye Moody. He used to be an Aura.” He explained and I nodded.

“Why is he called Mad-Eye?” I asked.

“Well, he lost his eye and leg during the war and he honestly his job just made him lose it.” He said and I frowned.

“How sad.” I said.

“After much deliberation the Ministry has concluded that for their own safety no student under the age of seventeen shall be allowed to put forth their name for the Tri-Wizard Tournament. This decision is final.” Mr. Crouch said and a bunch of students started booing.

“Silence!” Dumbledore shouted and everyone quieted down. Dumbledore casted a spell over a box and it revealed a goblet containing a blue flame.

“The goblet of fire. Anyone wishing to submit themselves for the tournament merely write their name upon a piece of parchment and throw it into the flame before this house on Thursday night. Do not do so lightly, if chosen there’s no turning back. As from this moment the Tri-Wizard Tournament has begun!” Dumbledore explained.

The whole week Cedric was talking about wanting to put his name in. I was worried about him doing so, but I couldn’t stop him if he really wanted to. Luckily he came to me before he made his final decision.

“Well, what do you think?” He asked and I sighed.

“Honestly? I think it’s too dangerous, maybe it’s because this is still kind of new to me but still, it’s really up to you.” I said.

“Do you not want me to?” He asked and I bit my lip.

“I just don’t want to see you die.” I said and he smiled.

“Don’t worry love, I promise I’ll come back to you.” He said and kissed me.

“You better.” I giggled. He quickly wrote his name down and grabbed my hand. He led me through the halls and to the goblet. He ran up and placed his name into the fire. That was it, there was no going back.

The rest of the week I was so anxious. I wasn’t going to be better until they picked names. I could only hope that Cedric wasn’t picked. Thursday came soon enough and we were all gathered in the goblet room.

“Sit down please! And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for, the champions selection!” Dumbledore said as everyone was taking their seats. Dumbledore approached the blue flame and it started glowing red. A name flew out and I felt my heart rate picked up.

“The Durmstrang champion is, Viktor Krum!” Dumbledore shouted. People cheered as another name came out.

“The champion from Beauxbatons, Fleur Delacour!” He shouted. Peopled cheered as the last name came out.

“The Hogwarts champion, Cedric Diggory!” He announced and my heart clenched. Cedric smiled as he ran up to the front. He grabbed his name and ran into the room with the others.

“Excellent! We now have our three champions! But in the end only one will go down in history. Only one will hoist this chalice on champions, this vessel of victory the Tri-Wizard cup!” He said. Everyone cheered, but the goblet started glowing red again. Another name flew out and Dumbledore silently reads it.

“Y/N Potter. Y/N Potter?” He called and my eyes widened. I looked over at Harry, who looked just as shocked.

“Y/N Potter!” He shouted again and I slowly got up. I walked up to him and took my name from his hands.

“She’s a cheat! She’s not even seventeen yet!” a few people shouted.

“She got Cedric to put her name in!” Someone else said, but I ignored them and walked into the room with the others. Everyone looked at me with a mix of shock and confusion.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” Cedric asked.

“I-I don’t know. My-” I was cut off by the teachers bursting into the room. Dumbledore grabbed me and my eyes widened.

“Y/N! Did you put your name in the goblet of fire?” He asked.

“No sir!” I answered.

“Did you ask one of the older students to do it for you?” He asked.

“No sir!” I said.

“You’re absolutely sure?” He asked.

“Yes sir.” I answered.

“Well of course she is lying!” Madame Maxime said.

“The hell she is. The goblet of fire is an exceptionally powerful magical object, only an exceptionally powerful conjurer could have hoodwinked it. Magic way beyond the talents of a fourth year.” Mad-Eye said.

“You seem to have given this a fair bit of thought Mad-Eye.” Igor said.

“It was once my job to think as dark wizards do Karkaroff, perhaps you remember?” He said.

“That doesn’t help Alastor. Leave this to you Barty.” Dumbledore said.

“The rules are absolute, the goblet of fire constitutes a binding magical contract. Mrs. Potter has no choice, she is as of tonight… a Tri-Wizard champion.” He said and my eyes widened. Cedric and I went back to the common room and everyone was giving me a nasty glare.

“Ignore them.” Cedric whispered and took me to my room.

“Did you actually put your name in?” He asked.

“No! I’ve been so terrified for you, I would never even think about putting my name in!” I said and he nodded.

“Alright, I believe you. I just had to ask.” He said.

“I don’t want to do this Ced.” I said.

“I know, but you have to, love.” He said and kissed my head.

The first two trials weren’t the easiest. Cedric had helped me prepare, but I was alone in this. I had managed to survive until the last challenge. Everyone was gathered outside at an arena and music was playing like nothing bad was about to happen. The champions walked out, along with myself. My nerves were at an all time high.

“Earlier today Professor Moody placed the Tir-Wizard cup deep within the maze. Only he knows its exact position. Now as Mr. Diggory-” Dumbledore was cut off by people cheering.

“And Mrs. Potter tied for first position they will be the first to enter the maze. Followed by Mr. Krum and Mrs. Delacour. The first person to touch the cup will be the winner. I’ve instructed the staff to patrol the perimeter, if at any point should a contestant wish to withdraw from the task he or she need only send up red sparks with their wands. Contestants, gather round.” He said and we all walked over to him.

“In the maze you’ll find not dragons or creatures of the deep. Instead you’ll face something more challenging. You see, people change in the maze. Oh find the cup if you can, but be very weary you could just lose yours;ves along the way.” He said and I became more nervous.

“Champions! Prepare yourselves!” Mad-Eye said. Cedric hugged his Father and I hugged Harry.

“Be safe.” He said and I nodded while I bit my lip.

“I’m scared Harry.” I whispered.

“Hey, you can do this.” He said with a reassuring smile.

“Harry’s right, you’re strong.” Cedric said coming over to us.

“I’m so scared.” I said.

“Hey, you got this, love. You can win this.” He said and I smiled slightly.

“Don’t go easy on me, Ced.” I said and he smiled.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He said and pecked my lips. Harry went up went up to the stands while Cedric and I went to out starting spots.

“On the count of three… One-” Dumbledore was cut off by the cannon going off. Cedric and I entered the maze and I watched the walls close behind me.

As I was walking through everything was making me anxious. There was a heavy mist and there were noises all around me. While I was walking I noticed Fleur was on the ground unconscious. She was slowly being swallowed by the walls and I started panicking slightly. I shot up the red sparks and hoped that someone would save her. I kept walked through the maze and noticed something shining in the distance. I started towards it and someone tried to hit me with a spell.

“Get down!” Cedric shouted and I ducked. Cedric hit him with a spell and ran up to him, kicking the wand from his hands. He pointed his wand at Viktor’s body and my eyes widened.

“No stop! He’s bewitched Ced!” I said. Cedric wasn’t himself. The two of us started to struggle.

“Get off me!” He growled.

“He’s bewitched!” I said again. He pushed me off him and the two of us started running towards the cup. The undergrowth grabbed Cedric and he fell to the ground. I looked at Cedric and I froze in fear.

“Y/N!” He called. I quickly gained the courage and sent a spell to the plant that held him. I helped Cedric up and he looked at me.

“You know, for a moment there I thought you were gonna let it get me.” He said.

“Never, I was just scared.” I said.

“Some game huh?” He asked.

“Yeah…” I said with a sigh. The wind started to blow and Cedric pushed me towards the cup.

“Go! Take it, you saved me!” He said and I shook my head.

“Together, on three. One, two, three!” I said. We both ran towards the cup and grabbed it at the same time. The cup ported us somewhere and we landed on the ground.

“You okay?” He asked.

“I think so, are you?” I asked and he nodded.

“Where are we?” He asked. I looked around and noticed we were in a graveyard, it looked just like the one Harry and I have been dreaming of…

“I’ve been here before…” I whispered.

“It’s a portkey. Y/N, the cup is a portkey!” Cedric said.

“I’ve been here before in a dream. Cedric, we need to get back to the cup, now!” I said.

“What are you talking about?” He asked, grabbing me by the shoulders. I felt a sudden pain in my head and I groaned in pain as I held my scar.

“What is it?” Cedric asked, his voice filled with concern.

“Get back to the cup, please!” I begged. Wormtail walked out holding what I could only assume is what’s left of Voldemort.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Cedric asked, getting ready to protect me.

“Kill the spare.” I heard Voldemort’s voice said.

“No!” I shouted before he could cast the spell. I jumped in front of Cedric and the spell hit me.

Cedric’s POV

Y/N was dead. She took the curse that was meant for me. She sacrificed herself for me.

“You idiot!” The creepy voice hissed. The man who was holding something walked closer and he trapped me with a tombstone.

“Do it quickly.” The voice said and the man dropped something into a cauldron.

“Bones of a Father, unwillingly given.” He said. A bone hovered over to the cauldron and was dropped in.

“Flesh of the servant willingly sacrificed.” He said and cut his own arm off over the cauldron.

“Blood of the enemy forcibly taken.” He said and walked over to Y/N.

“Leave her alone!” I growled at him, but he ignored me. He took the knife and sliced down her arm. He quickly took the knife back over to the cauldron and let the drops fall in.

“The Dark Lord shall rise again!” He said. The cauldron burst into flames and Voldemort emerged.

“My wand Wormtail.” He said. My eyes widened. He was back. He looked back at me with a smirk and then over at Y/N.

“Such a shame.” He said looking at her.

“The only reason you are still alive is so you can return her to Harry Potter. Tell him I have returned and I will win.” He said and I was freed. I ran over to Y/N and grabbed the cup. We were transported back to the arena and everyone was cheering.

“Y/N?” I heard Harry asked, and I just cried. Harry ran over and kneeled next to his sister.

“What happened?” He asked with tears falling down his face.

“He’s back! Voldemort is back. It was meant for me, I was meant to die. She jumped in front of me and took it.” I tried.

“This is your fault! You killed her!” Harry cried and clung to his sister.

“I-I…” I couldn’t say anything. I felt like it was my fault. I should have been the one protecting her, not the other way around.

“I’m sorry Harry.” I cried.

“Sorry won’t bring back my sister!” He shouted. He was right. Y/N was gone and it’s all my fault…

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs @schisbro87 @lover-of-books-and-teas @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches2 @genius2050 @drw0301bieber @lady-of-lies @ravenmoore14 @ravenempress101 @cillianchamp @rowanthomasknapp @in-slytherin-we-trust @accio-rogers @sambucky8

#harry potter imagine #harry potter and the goblet of fire #cedric diggory #cedric x fem!reader #cedric diggory x fem!reader #harry potter x sister!reader #cedric x potter!reader #cedric diggory x potter!reader #fanfic #request #hufflepuff #hufflepuff!reader #cedric x hufflepuff!reader #harry potter x hufflepuff!reader

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nomand-berserka · 4 years ago

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A little openly honest abridged intro in to me and dealing with my head and my black dog.

I am the newly appointed Team Leader for West Yorkshire with the guys at Veterans Hike. @veteranshike

Ive found a love for hiking over the past few months, since this crazy lockdown here in the UK.

I have struggled a lot over the years since leaving the Army, still dont feel like I fit into the bracket called Civvie. I know that may sound a little cliche. But it is exactly what it is.

I joined the forces straight from school. There was nothing for me where I lived, and with a long proud military history in my family, I felt it's what I'd always wanted and knew in my early to mid teens, that I'd join up.

I felt I did pretty well, considering pretty much everyone I knew, thought that I wouldnt even make it past selection. Well I pissed on their parade let me tell ya.

I'm not going to go into the ins and out of my career. But the tours I did, were SFOR (peacekeeping) Bosnia 98 and Op Agricola Kosovo 99.

Now with that, I've seen some pretty fkd up stuff at the ages of 18 and 19.. But you crack on and get the job the done. Get back home and continue as normal.

Now upon leaving the Army, I felt very lost. Ended up going from job to job, due to not being able to fit in with or liking the people I worked with. Often getting pushed out because of having a different mindset... This turned into a serious dislike for people in general. There was no bond, no brotherhood, everyone out for themselves and didnt care who they fkd over to get what they wanted.

This became the time I started with the heavy drinking and the stupid violence, infact the drink and the violence became the reason I lost my family and almost ended up 6 feet under.

The violence continued, as I just hated everyone... for lots of different reasons. This then led to me serving time on a couple of occasions. But it still continued after being locked up... I didnt see it as a problem, as I just thought "I wont take peoples shit", and I'll show anyone who tries to give me shit. That it will lead to getting hurt. Jump forward to being left for dead with 2 stab wounds... Yes it got that bad. Maybe I was asking for my way out?

Jump forward a year or so of living a dark time.

Its then i got into martial arts (Muay Thai under the tutilage of master Ronnie Green 5 time world champion), a friend of mine didnt want to see me locked up again. Or with more perforations than a "Tetley Tea bag". This became my drive again, I'd found something I could focus on and put myself, my whole self into again.

First session in, I was hooked. Had my first full contact fight at just over 6 months and had plenty thereafter, still have the copy of my official invite to the 2013 world championships. This was my crowing glory moment... This is where I'd found the focus to not be that drunked violent ass hat. My fitness went through the roof and I felt good again for the first time in years

Injury got me though, put me right back to not being able to train. Even ended my career, I tried to train again, but way too soon. Causing myself more problems. Taking even longer to get back to 100%

My anger started to creep back, the bad food the drinking... and yes the violence. then jump again forward to going back to prison for a very violent episode in 2015. Where 2 people got badly hurt. I pleaded guilty. I tried to reach out for help before the day in court. But it was too little too late...

However, in prison this time in 2016 I asked for help. Where can i get it, and who can help me the most.. There was a small eager group called Care after Combat, they concentrate on helping Veterans, who are sent to prison. During and after release. (I'll go into them at a later date).

I've kept my nose clean since then, was officially Dignosed with PTSD in 2017, so done a few local therapy courses Anger Management, CBT but still no actual PTSD help as of yet. Combat Stress, I think may have forgotten about me hahaha.

But the thought of prison!!!! id rather not go back ever again. Plus I'm getting on now, and not a 25 year old dick head. Eith a chip on his shoulder about civvies anymore.

Jump forward again, to present Covid 19 times.

I'm a joiner now put myself through College 12 years ago. The outdoors have always agreed with me. But after a work accident last year in August I had 14 weeks sat at home gaining weight. Bordem drinking and eating shit and the head started to go again. But thankfully got back to work early December.

In March 2020 and we get Furloughed. For however long it may take.

So I gave myself THE talking to. Stay off the booze (well not completely hehe). Keep yourself busy. Find a focus in something, anything. Just dont he that dickhead again.

So here I am, I spend at least 3 days a week walking the Pennines and the moors between my beloved Yorkshire and the dark soggy lands of Lancahire. Its literally 20 minutes from my door to where I park the motor. My head still goes south, but more into the low mood and hating myself for allowing what I'd done in the past. I've had depression for years, but it was always over shadowed by my stupidity. So when it does that, i hit my local park and do 10 laps (8 miles) of that. Or just get my pack ready and hit the trails. Often doing around 15-20 miles.

Now I've started with a small Daystack and have started adding weight, carring 15kg. plus 3 litre camelback, food stuff and inclement weather gear. Its north of England the weather does what it wants. "If tha dunt lyk weather, jus bloody wait 20 minutes It'l change". hahaha.

Doing this has given me more drive in my fitness and massively boosted my mental state. Plus the escape from the rat race bollox that we all have to live through. More and more people have started to notice my weight loss. Down from 20 stone to just over 17 stone. Now I'm as round as I am tall, but for a fat lad I've been told I'm pretty fit... Guess all those years in the Army, years of Muay Thai and Kempo Jiu Jitsu. It must have left some form of conditioning and muscle memory. So this again boosts me. I'm now picking up the weights at home and even got a bike... so this new found fitness is a fantastic feeling again... it's not just about keeping busy anymore, it's about showing people. Who I'd alienated during all these years, that I'm not the same guy, and they are wanting to come on hikes with me now

(Its also pushed me to train for the 3 peaks... but that's another story for another time)

It's also the biggest Therapy I can give myself, sometimes I go it alone and sometimes I have company. The outdoors is literally where I feel at my easiest and most peaceful... The benefits are there for everyone who knows me, to see. Its physically demanding, but it's so peaceful. If I bump into other people, there is always a nod a smile and a "morning/afternoon" exchanged. Not all people are nob heads haha!

I cant stress enough how good it feels to keep occupied physically and mentally, buy doing something I never thought I'd do...

It's become my passion... I'm looking into longer routes all the time, and now looking at some proper outdoors gear. Better rucksack even a tent. If being up the hills for a few hours or just a day, makes me feel things are better. Then surely a couple of days and nights will be even better...Right?

I want to thank anyone who takes the time to reads this, however you see it. Be it on insta, Tumbler or FB. So cheers guys and gals.

We all have hardships, we all need that help at some point. Go out and find what makes it all better, please guys. We all deserve to smile for what ever reason.

Who knows, we may even cross trails someday. You'll always get a smile and a nod from me.

Steve

The Nomad Beserka

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magicianapprenticelyra · 5 years ago

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Onward, Upward & Downward (The Roots)

Summary: A young magician's trek toward Vesuvia for a better life is unexpectedly waylaid by entering the magical realms in her sleep.

The following TWs apply: past references to abuse, blood, references to having been/lived in the middle of a war-zone, falling from immense heights at various speeds, falling through a void/space, temporary loss of one's voice, the unpredictability of magical realms, and nausea caused by aforementioned unpredictability.

O*O*O

It’s getting late. The sun is sinking into the horizon.

Keep heading northeast, I tell myself. Northeast, northeast, northeast. Northeast, northeast north-

I pause a moment to catch my breath. My knapsack digs into my back, full of my necessary supplies.

I look down at my bandaged hands. Some of the strips are cut from my old clothes, long since worn out. The cloth strips are wrapped here and there over my fingertips, palms, and the backs of my hands. Some cloths can be easily replaced; other scraps of them I need to either throw away, or wash...

If I even can wash them at this point. One of the strips is an ugly, slightly damp brown over dried blood. The brown’s from the dirt and sand all around here. The injuries beneath, the dried red, were from laboring under my cousins’... ‘charitable’ mercy upon me. Mercy from them to take me on a long journey to my destination.

The ‘simple favors’ I had to do for them in turn were menial and backbreaking.

In the end, my cousins had taken me about ninety percent the way to Vesuvia. Since then, it’s just been me taking my sorry soul the rest of the way ever since. ‘Just follow the compass and go Northeast’ they said. ‘Northeast, phù thủy’.

I’m relieved I don’t need to rely on them anymore. I’m sick of being helpless, and being called names just because I know some magic...

I look to the left and right of me: golden fields. I look to the back of me: golden fields. I look to the front, and finally there is some differentiation: golden fields, but I think I see the faint outline of Vesuvia in the distance.

It has to be. I want it to be...

I’ve seen nothing but fields of gold for the past two days. It’s not exactly a desert, but are mirages from golden fields a thing? I don’t know! If there is, I really hope with all my might that the outline of the city ahead of me is not a fucking mirage!

Mind made up, I wobble over about ten to fifteen steps off the road and into the tall fields around me. My legs finally give out, and I fall flat on my face.

“Ack...”

I push through the pain, through my aching everything, and unburden myself of my knapsack. Much to my chagrin, most of the contents of my knapsack drop and roll out into the dirt. I painfully crawl around, pulling my supplies back to myself as the sunlight fades.

When the stars finally shine and moon glows, I need to squint. My eyes are not the best in terms of seeing clearly. Trying to see at night is tedious, even with the moon above me.

I shift the formerly wayward items into the moonlight, checking to see if I have everything.

There’s my compass, a raggedy old map to Vesuvia from my last pit-stop, a tin of salve, a messy pile of bandage strips made from my old clothes, a canteen of alcohol, two canteens of water, one slightly damp washcloth, and a heavy tome, covered in strange symbols.

I smile at the tome, gently patting the top cover in greeting.

In response, the arcane text flutters its pages. A soft, raspy voice from between the sheets within ask:

"̸̲̍͌D̵͓͒̏o̵̝͋̍ ̵̫̑y̷̱̣͊͋o̷͕̘u̵̦̰̿͘ ̶͉̀r̶̞̮̈ḙ̸̗͋̆q̷̗̤ư̸͌͜ͅî̵̮r̵͚͘e̸̺͍͝ ̶̳͂̍à̶̭͐ş̴̌s̴̞̯̀̃î̴̳s̴͓̑t̵̩̠̋̚a̷̤̯͐ň̸̺͍c̵̛̪̘̈́ȅ̴̪͕̾?̶̰̓̆"̸̮͛

“No Umbrae,” I say to the tome. “I got it. Rest up in the moonlight; we’ll be in Vesuvia by tomorrow.”

"̶̞̩͝V̸̱̯́ĕ̵̱͠r̸̡̺͒̏y̴̲̐ ̷̫͒̐w̶̤̆́è̵̗l̵͎͈̔͛l̶̥̄.̶̱̇ ̵̤̌̄S̸͓̐͗l̶͕̒̃e̴͍̅͑e̷͎̼͗p̵͖͓̈́͝ ̸̡̥͐͂w̴̳̞̉e̷̬̅l̵͉̀l̵̹͛͒,̴͖̎͆ ̷̝̓y̴̞͕̾o̸̳̣̐͠u̷̮̚n̴̺̔ḡ̷͇ ̸̝̀͜ó̴̞n̵̩̖̈́e̴̞͊.̸̘͐̉"̶͓̋̕

With that my magic teacher’s form settles down, looking like an ordinary book yet again.

I swallow, looking at my hands. There are open cuts and sores that are split open beneath uncomfortable strips of cloth. Eyes narrowed, I gather the items I need in order to change my bandages.

With an exhale, I settle back, grit my teeth, and begin pulling them off.

****

Well, to say it didn’t hurt like hell would be lying. I used the rest of the alcohol and the salve in my knapsack to clean my wounds. My hands sting something fierce, but the cool, minty smell is soothing.

It’s a struggle to even toe off my shoes, but I’m settled on the dirt now, eyes to the sky. My peripherals are surrounded by tall stalks of grain.

It’s strange, really. The stalks are so different, and yet not. I know they bear grains, like the fields back... back...

No, not home. There isn’t home anymore. Home is Vesuvia... or at least going to be home...

I think...

...

I’m not so sure yet. I hate to admit it, but I’ve heard nothing but bad and wild stories about Vesuvia. Mẹ said that her brother was irresponsible to settle in a place such as that.

At least... at least I’d be with Cậu Bảo. He’d be a familiar face in a strange place, even if we haven’t seen each other in...

Ten years?

His letters to the house were always months and months late, but he has kept us updated on how he was doing. Mẹ read his messy script, saying that he really needed to work on his penmanship more, tut-tutting as if she were his mother, and not his younger sister.

Letters aside, I knew he was someone I could go to in case anything went wrong back at the house. Our village was right in the middle of two warring territories after all. The village was a neutral spot, which had been agreed upon by the warlords because of our position in the river. It was one of the easiest access ports in order to buy, trade or barter for food.

I just never expected it to go so wrong for me, the way it did...

I shake my head vigorously, getting my mind in the present. Right. No need to get caught up in that business now.

That was then, and this is now.

And here I am, at most two hours away from what is, hopefully, Vesuvia.

I move to rest my head on the low slope of my knapsack, adjusting every so often so I have some sort of support for my neck and head.

As the wind blows, the stalks around me rustle. They play a chorus of shh shh shh, the semi-repetitive sounds lulling me to sleep.

O*O*O

When I wake up, it takes me a moment to realize I’m somewhere impossible.

I’m floating in midair, surrounded by a sea of unfamiliar stars.

I bolt upright, and my body feels out of sync with my mind. My eyes see multiples of the same orbs of light all around me.

When I collapse back onto what feels like the ground, stars gather under where my hands and feet are planted. These things... they’re keeping me afloat...

Slowly but surely, the place around me finally stops spinning. Or rather, my vision stops bouncing around like a rabbit.

My breaths are shaky, but I slowly stand to my feet. Once fully upright, I look around.

As far as my eyes can see, there’s nothing but stars. They’re an assortment of colors and sizes, but the stars are spherical in shape. They shine like precious gems.

I am filled with a sense of awe.

A sound like a tree trunk snapping in two jolts me out of it. I’m suddenly aware that a path is assembled before me. Layer upon layer upon layer of stars gather together, creating a path. It looks like it’s a way forward... but forward to where?

I pause a moment, thinking.

The stars haven’t failed me yet. The stars for the past year and a half have not failed me. The only times they failed was because of human error. The gods placed them in the sky and we mortals are the ones that are supposed to follow the directions with the tools we have in order to navigate.

And these stars... say go forward.

With one more exhale, one foot in front of the other, I head onward.

****

I don’t know how long I have been walking, but it’s been an oddly pleasant experience. The stars not beneath my bare feet subtly hum and ring in greeting as I pass them by.

Before I can take another step, a deep, resonating rumble cracks the walkway ahead of me. The sheer force of it—!

I've been thrown off, backwards. I am flailing my arms about, trying to reach for the starry road, but I miss.

It dawned upon me that I'm falling.

No! No, nononono-!

I'm screaming, but nothing comes out. My voice... it's stolen from me.

I hurtle past a hundred thousand things. I glimpse dying stars, whorls of stars with fields of blue and skies of green, spheres fit to burst with fire and ink, and bubbles full of nothingness.

It's more than I can comprehend, more than anyone can possibly comprehend.

O*O*O

Eventually, I've slowed down. I'm not in danger of losing my limbs if I flail about now, but I'm frozen. I'm curled up into a ball.

I'm crying; silence is still taking hostage of my throat.

If the tears I cry drip past my chin and miss my sleeves, they lazily wobble down into the darkness, dotted with glittering stars. It's above, it's below...

It's everywhere. Everything and nothing is the same.

Despite being semi-blinded by my tears, I began to take stock of what's around me. I've been rationalizing my thoughts ever since I slowed to the speed I'm at now.

I know I'm dreaming. None of this, this all around me, could be possible in the waking world.

Umbrae mentioned to me that was possible for humans to travel to realms in their dreams...

The bubbles I passed before... were they the realms Umbrae spoke of?

Despite my neck being sore, I lift my head to finally look around. Even if I squint, eyesight is still crap. I can't make detailed assessments.

After a while, I can make out that there's something below me. I'm too scared to move, so I just let whatever force is pulling me down take me there.

****

I can finally make it out: it's another bubble. A massive one at that.

I spot a smattering of white from my position. Spots of browns and greens peek through gaps of that top layer in that massive sphere.

Before I can process it, and to my alarm, I make contact at the very top—

—and I breach through the bubble.

An immense force overtakes my body. I'm pulled down, down, down, past a layer of what I realize are clouds. Faster, and faster and faster I go, heading for a blur of brown and bright green below-!

My voice finally kicks in as I scream. It’s the only thing I can hear aside from the wind whistling past my ears as my body falls.

I'm sorry, Mẹ.

O*O*O

...

....

.....

I'm flat on my front, eyes still shut. Dirt is in my eyes and my short, severely asymmetrical hair, but somehow, I'm alive. I’m alive.

Slowly, I wiggle my extremities. Finger by finger, limb by limb, I realize nothing's broken.

Blearily, I open my eyes. Everything is fuzzy, but I can feel that I'm in something that's like grass.

Tilting my head up, I'm greeted by a sky that is a confusing mix of hundreds, if not thousands, of colors.

I gag, my stomach lurching. I end up dry heaving into the grass...

...

....

.....

Once my body runs its course with nausea, I manage to wipe the dirt out of my hair and eyes.

What... what the hell is going on with me?

I want to wake up. I beg silently. Please, let me wake up...

I freeze as a bush just off to my right starts to rustle. I fall back onto my bottom, my blood rapidly pumping through me as I'm face to face with that bush.

... There's something in it.

If it's hostile, I'm screwed. If it's friendly, it might be able to help me...

What am I going to do? What should I do?

[ Investigate the bush || Run ]

~To Be Continued~

EDIT ABOUT 5+ HOURS AFTER INITIAL POSTING: Hello readers! I failed to note that this is NOT a choose your own adventure!

Lyra has chosen both options, but this is where her path from being an NPC turns onto the path of The Apprentice, or turning to the Love Interest AU.

You’re gonna get both! (In time. I’m still working on this and other things in real life).

Thank you for reading!

A/N: And also a disclaimer: I am not in anyway bashing on the devs’ decision to change the prologue to the way it is currently. I am merely explaining how I reached my decision in terms of *where* Lyra is coming from (location wise) to get into Vesuvia, based on the map the devs released a while back for Vesuvia.

Now then:

In the prologue, previously to version released on May 21st, 2019, there was a maze test Nadia gave MC to perform in order to find Doctor Devorak (Julian). There was an option to escape the maze, and you’d end up meeting Julian that way.

He notes that MC came out of The Palace from the Southwest side, and the background graphic that was shown upon exiting the maze was The Fields during the day.

This is where I have gotten my head canon for how Lyra came to Vesuvia, heading Northeast from the edge of the Fields. There is no way Lyra would’ve *survived* crossing from The Fields into The Forest, and passing out in The Forest is high on the ‘you’re most likely going to die’ route.

And with that, disclaimer & A/N done! Thank you for reading.

#The Arcana #fan apprentice #fan apprentice bio #about this apprentice #magicianapprenticelyra #tw: abuse mention #tw: injuries #tw: blood #the scribe writes #The Path She Picked

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lothiriel84 · 7 years ago

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Crossing the city's compactness pierced by the spokes of underground passages

A map of Esmeralda should include, marked in different coloured inks, all these routes, solid and liquid, evident and hidden. It is more difficult to fix on the map the routes of the swallows, who cut the air over the roofs, dropping long invisible parabolas with their still wings, darting to gulp a mosquito, spiralling upwards, grazing a pinnacle, dominating from every point of their airy paths all the points of the city.

- Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities

Or, a pretty random account of my recent trip to London and Brighton.

The thing about London is that you actually have plenty of different options when it comes to public transport. All you need to do is to get yourself an Oyster card, then you can travel across the city by Tube, Overground, bus, tram, train, boat, DLR - which the Train Driver from JFSP reminds me is an automated light metro system - and if my memory serves me right, even the Emirates Air Line.

That means it’s relatively easy to travel between any two points within the city, barring of course any disruption, traffic, delays, or whatever; the only downside is that, if you’re like me and rely entirely on Google Maps to calculate your route, you might end up discovering you haven’t the faintest idea where those points are located on an actual map. Travelling mainly by Tube, I invariably fail to figure out the relative positions of my starting point and my final destination, up to the point that I sometimes can’t even remember if a certain spot is located either in North or South London. And given how big London is, and how different from one another each of its areas are, you might have a hard time reconciling all the different images in one single picture - especially if you tend to visit different areas at different times.

The 'famous buildings and landmarks’ London is different from the Docklands London, which is in turn different from the Royal Parks London, and so on. And as I’ve already visited most of the classic tourist attractions, or simply don’t care about some of those, I find it far more interesting when I happen to find some less known spots, or even better, places that are somehow significant to one of my interests. (My favourite is quite obviously references, or even actual locations, from my favourite radio shows and podcasts. I once went all the way to London Bridge solely to stand on the exact spot where the bunker from The Bunker podcast is supposed to be located, and then all the way to Brixton in order to get a look at Electric Avenue. I’m not even sorry.)

As I tend to have a problem with planning my trips - as a result of a mix of being anxious, and trying to save myself any unnecessary disappointment if I end up not being able to go - I usually have to come up with new sightseeing locations on the spot, which is not the easiest thing of all, and mostly involves seeking inspiration in the most random of places. This time around, it was a Facebook post from one of those ‘visit London’ pages that prompted me to go to St Dunstan-in-the-East, which is a public garden within the ruins of a church; it might be small, but it makes for a great spot for picture taking, or attempting to, at any rate. After that, I simply fell back to one of my favourite haunts, which is Greenwich and its park; the cold wind surely didn’t help, nor did my lack of sleep from the night before, but still a lovely spot all the same.

All of this was last Wednesday, of course, after landing in Stansted and taking a train into London. On Thursday morning, I was once more on a train, only it was headed to Brighton this time around; and as I’ve done little else other than looking forward to John Finnemore’s Flying Visit for the past three months, you may easily guess my reasons for going there. I had already been in Brighton on a previous occasion - as Facebook’s mainly useless time hop function reminded me only a few days later, it was very close to precisely two years before - only that time around I had been so desperate to reach the Seven Sisters that I spent very little time in it, seeing basically nothing but the Pier and some random landmark as I walked there from the train station. This time I spent most of my day around the Royal Pavilion and the seafront next to the Pier, once again taking pictures - because that’s my actual idea of fun while being on a trip - until it was finally time to rush to the Brighton Dome Concert Hall for the show. (I am the kind of person who is perpetually late, no matter what. Still managed to get there ahead of the doors opening, which as far as I’m concerned is a major win.)

As for the show itself, you can find a longer and quite more rambly post here; however, please bear in mind that it contains plenty of spoilers, which might somewhat ruin your enjoyment of the show if you’re going to go yourself. For the purposes of this (horribly long, I’m afraid) account of my trip, suffices to say that it was a joy from start to finish, and that the cast seemed to be having at least as much of a fantastic time as the audience themselves. For all that I love their voice acting, seeing them on stage was miles better, and John’s new material was particularly clever and funny in places. And, well, don’t tell the man himself, but I somehow found it endearing when he fluffed the lyrics a bit as he was singing one of his solo songs - which is more than understandable, as I don’t have the faintest idea how any of them did manage the feat of memorising so much material in such a short span of time, not to mention the lines that are specifically tailored to each of the tour locations, which is definitely impressive.

After the show, I was one of the few people who successfully located the stage door, and was lucky enough to be able to say hi to a few of the members of the cast. (No idea why they kind of seem to expect that fans would only be interested in meeting John though.) I barely caught a glimpse of Margaret and Lawry, while Carrie was talking to a gentleman that apparently was a former children’s TV presenter of some sort - she sounded positively chuffed about meeting him, which was quite adorable. John, on the other hand, was more than happy to sign stuff for the handful of people gathered out there, and I can’t even remember what sort of idiotic things I must have told him, but as he’s one of the loveliest men alive, I am fairly confident he didn’t get offended or anything. Simon was also incredibly lovely, and took the time to chat for a bit; he looked like he was having a great time with the tour, which is brilliant. (I think I might even have been briefly introduced to David Tyler, as he was passing by. I probably just stood there gaping as a goldfish, woops.)

Given how I was staying in Brighton for the night, I decided to take the opportunity to go back to Birling Gap on the following day. It’s a beautiful spot, with the Seven Sisters stretching on both sides, and I actually managed to take a walk along one of the paths that stretch along the cliff edge. (Oh, and I didn’t risk missing the last bus and get stranded in the middle of nowhere this time around, so that was definitely a plus.) I should really try and plan a proper trip across the UK at some point, or at least one that doesn’t require me to stay overnight in London, because I love both the seaside and the countryside, and there are so many beautiful places I haven’t been able to see yet. Still, it was lovely to be able to go to Birling Gap once more, and I did go back to the Brighton Pier for a bit before finally taking a train back to London.

As it happened, Saturday was also the day of the omnipresent Royal Wedding - which I had completely failed to factor in when I was booking my trip - so I decided I might as well go somewhere quiet, yet not too difficult to reach by public transport. My original idea was Richmond Park, but a poster inside one of the Tube stations had kindly reminded me that Kew Gardens was also an option, and as I had only managed to see less than half of it on my previous visit, I decided I might as well go back there. It was a warm, sunny day, and I did enjoy wandering around its paths and several glasshouses, taking far more pictures of flowers that I know what to do with. But that’s what I always do, so nothing to see there.

That being said, I think I’ve finally reached the end of this unnecessarily long account, as I flew back home on Sunday morning, and that’s all there is to say about it. I may or may not be on tenterhooks already, waiting for my (paws crossed) upcoming trip to Edinburgh, but that’s a story for some other day.

#London #Brighton #May 16th to 20th #2018 #John Finnemore's Flying Visit #Seven Sisters #Birling Gap #the JFSP cast are the loveliest people on Earth #(no idea what that quote from Invisible Cities has got to do with anything but still)

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thehikingviking · 4 years ago

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Jumbo Peak, Packard Peak, Playground Peak, Mica Peak & Gold Butte

Jumbo Peak was a mountain that I was familiar with, but one that had not recently been on my radar. I had seen it on some Clark County P2k list, but for some reason it is omitted from both the Desert Peaks Section list and the Great Basin Peaks Section list, which I have prioritized. Oddly, it also wasn’t included in the book “Desert Summits”, while some other lower nearby peaks such as Bonelli Peak and Gold Butte were. It was included in “Rambles and Scrambles”, but then again what in the desert isn’t? I was driving south down Highway 5 to Las Vegas when I decided to text Josef Nuernberger to see if he’d be interested in climbing something. He promptly responded asking if I wanted to climb Jumbo Peak. I knew there were some technical difficulties with the peak, and I didn’t have my climbing gear with me. I expressed my concerns, but Josef had an extra harness and a rope. He seemed rather confident that we could pull it off so long as we took my 4WD Jeep Grand Cherokee to the trailhead, so I readily agreed, knowing that finding someone to lead the climb would be the toughest part of the whole trip. As the big day came closer, I began to dread our upcoming itinerary after later realizing that I signed up for more than 6 hours of driving in one day; 3+ hours from Vegas to Jumbo Springs Wilderness and back. That meant a very early departure and a very late return. Asaka wasn’t thrilled, but I earned a day in the desert after our family hike up Hamblin Mountain the day before. Jumbo Peak is a very short hike, but I came prepared with a list of bonus peaks that we could attempt so long as we had daylight. The early morning (or late night) alarm clock went off. I very quietly exited the house, so as not to disturb the slumbering baby. I picked up Josef at his house in Henderson and filled up my tank. The area we were going to was very remote, and running out of gas could spell serious trouble. We drove along Northshore Rd towards the Arizona border, but prior to crossing we headed south across dirt roads to the pin which I selected the night before. I was concerned with the quality of the roads, however I found them actually quite good. Aside from 4WD, no special vehicle modifications were needed to reach the northeastern base of the peak. Jumbo Peak stood about a mile away, but we knew the challenge wouldn’t be with the distance nor elevation, but with the summit block. I had read so many trip reports with mixed feedback, so I really had no idea what to expect. Josef’s constant optimism helped greatly. There was no trail, so we began cross country from the end of the dirt road.

We dropped into a shallow wash then navigated our way through boulders, trees and patches of brush. To our south was Packard Peak, a logical bonus peak that stood a short distance away from Jumbo Peak.

I had low energy after the early wakeup and long drive. Our direct route to the summit was very steep, and I labored trying to keep up with Josef.

We had read many trip reports, but none of them clearly described how to best approach the climbing route. Many trip reports reported difficult bushwhacking and route finding to get to the starting point. We first arrived on the southern side of the peak, but there was no class 4 route visible. My instincts told me to follow a shoulder width crack that led to the north side, but this answer almost seemed too easy. What we instead did was follow the recent trip report from Bob Burd who reported circling around the west side of the summit block. This ended up being a mistake, and we soon found ourselves in the brushy and difficult route finding section that others had written about. Some creative scrambling allowed me to avoid most of the brush, and I got to the start of the climbing route several minutes before Josef. The crack to ascend is on the NNW side of the summit block (Burd incorrectly describes this as WNW). Avoid the west side altogether and you will find an easy enough time. The crack looked intimidating at first, but we both found it quite tame. It would have been easiest to leave our packs down at the base, but we still were unsure if we needed to rappel so we brought everything up with us.

The crack was very tight, especially for me with my broad shoulders. I grunted, huffed and puffed my way up. There was very little risk of falling here, but it was very awkward and in some cases painful. There were a few chock stones we had to surmount, but this was done with simple stemming. The hardest part for me was carrying and keeping my backpack in front of me, since it did not fit on my back. We then reached the infamous tunnel, which was much longer and darker than I had expected. Thankfully I brought my headlamp, which is necessary if you want to get through the whole thing. It was a very tight fit and at times I felt claustrophobic. One small tremor and I would be stuck here forever. There were some painful spots where I had to place pressure on a granite edge with my shins so I could squeeze through. It was unbelievably tight, but I am on the larger side of most hikers and climbers. Finally I emerged into an area with some breathing room. I had the pleasure of watching Josef squeeze through.

Josef seemed to have a much better time than I did. “It’s like a pussy, the tighter the better,” made all the funnier with his Austrian accent.

“I feel like I am being born again.” Now that we were out of the tight section, I put my backpack on and stemmed up the next wider chimney pitch. There was not much exposure here, so long as you avoid the alternate 5.3 face.

From the top of the second chimney, the remaining scramble took less than a minute. I watched Josef climb before heading to the summit.

I found the summit pipe bomb, err register, underneath a small cairn.

Inside was a very organized sign in sheet requesting a lot of information. I didn’t like it. To the southwest a localized storm pounded Bonelli Peak. I felt rushed to get off the summit quickly before any rain could make the granite slick, however we never got rained on the whole day.

To the south was the Colorado River forming the beginning of Lake Mead.

To the east was what appeared to be a portion of the Grand Canyon.

To the north were Gold Butte, Mica Peak and Playground Peak, all of which I planned to climb that afternoon. In the distant background was Virgin Peak.

To the northwest was the Overton Arm of Lake Mead.

It would have been nice to have been able to relax, but I was nervous about getting back down to solid ground.

Rather than rappel, we both agreed that it was safe enough to downclimb. My long legs made it easy enough, and Josef had a little more trouble than me. He tossed down his harness for me to hold onto while he climbed, but I dropped it and it fell down a crack. I had to perform some acrobatics just to retrieve it.

After jamming and wedging my body in uncomfortable positions, I finally made it back down to the bottom of the crack. The scary part of the day was over, so I thought at the time. Little did I know that much scarier climbing lay ahead.

We turned our focus to Packard Peak, which was the Jumbo Springs Wilderness High Point. This time we went around the eastern side, which proved to be much easier.

We emerged from the shoulder width crack wondering why we didn’t go that way in the first place.

From there we dropped steeply down to the saddle of Jumbo Peak and Packard Peak.

Tramp Ridge and Horse Benchmark stood illuminated behind Gold Butte and Mica Peak.

-Jumbo Peak

We followed a steep route, sometimes sidehilling rather than following the ridge in an effort to avoid brush. Initially the summit block looked like it would be a challenge similar to its neighbor.

What we found was a near walk up along the back side. We made it to the summit a little more than two hours after leaving Jumbo Peak, with a good chunk of that time consumed in downclimbing the previous summit block. To the northwest was Jumbo Peak.

To the northeast were Virgin Peak, Mica Peak, Playground Peak and Grand Wash.

To the southeast was the exit of Grand Canyon West.

To the south was Gold Cross Peak and Lake Mead.

To the southwest was Bonelli Peak.

While descending from the summit we first aimed for the saddle between Jumbo Peak and Packard Peak. From the saddle we weaved through a brushy wash. Josef and I got separated and we made our own separate paths to the car. Along the way I stumbled upon what appeared to be a mule deer skeleton.

I wanted to bring the rack home but it was too large and stuck firmly to the rest of the skeleton. Things got spooky all of a sudden and I found myself checking my back as I covered the final distance to the car. I found Josef there and we were both thrilled to have completed the main objective. Next up was Playground Peak; listed in Courtney Purcell’s “Rambles and Scrambles”. I had no beta on the peak, but it looked simple enough. We drove north along the sandy road, then parked on a lightly used spur road along the southwest ridge of the peak. We were about a mile away as the crow flies. I scarfed down a Trader Joe’s chicken wrap and we headed off.

At first there was a use trail and the ridge was easy to follow. Our pace slowed down as the top of the ridge became rocky, so we avoided these big boulders by sidehilling beneath the minor intermediate bumps. I started to wonder why Bob Burd had skipped this peak on his prior trip to the area, since I know he is avidly chasing the peaks in “Rambles and Scrambles." It then hit me like a lead brick. Bob probably skipped this peak because it had a technical summit block. I expressed my concerns to Josef, and when he crested over the intermediate bump along the ridge ahead of me, I heard him yell, “Oh no!”

Oh no indeed!

We were more than half way there, so we decided to go check it out. I had a little bit of service, so I went about doing some research as I hiked on. All I could find was a vague description suggesting class 5.2. The summit area was a mess of giant boulders. We scrambled though the maze finding our way to the north side of what we thought was the summit block, but we found some other challengers. Tricky route finding which involved lots of friction slabs and a big air leap took me to what I felt was the base of the highest rock.

From there I climbed one more friction slab to the summit.

Hey, I thought, that wasn’t so bad. There was a cairn here but no register. I was clearly higher than what I previously thought was the high point. To the north was Mica Peak.

To the east was Grand Wash.

To the south was Packard Peak.

To the southwest was Jumbo Peak.

To the northwest was Cedar Basin.

I directed Josef as he made his way towards me. I was pretty happy, but then I noticed the rock just a few meters to my north. There was a notch separating itself from where I stood, and upon close inspection, it looked maybe 6 inches higher.

Josef soon joined me, and he wasn’t sure if the northern point was higher, but I was already convinced. I looked down at the notch; it looked like I could jump down to a friction slab and walk up to the higher point.

Getting back would be a different story. The rock was vertical, but it looked like there were some okay holds. I didn’t want to sit long and think about it, so I took a leap of faith. I landed on the bottom of the friction slab and scampered my way to the true summit.

Okay, I made it. There was no cairn or register, but it felt higher. Now I had to worry about my return. From the base of the friction slab, I tried a big reach to grab onto a hold halfway up the wall, but I instead slipped off and slid down into the notch ripping up my hands in the process. That was stupid, I thought to myself. I began climbing again from the notch, and while the 5.2 rating was accurate, the holds were really flaky and I didn’t want to trust them with all my weight. I got most of the way up, but the final holds took me to an exposed section which meant certain death in a fall. Josef reached down with a hand. He had good leverage, and with one big heave, I weighted the flaky hold and pulled on his hand until I was securely back on the slightly lower summit block.

For future climbers interested in this peak, I recommend protecting this section somehow. Maybe the belayer can act as an anchor to counterweight the other climber, since there are no features to build a traditional anchor on.

The big air leap was made more difficult on the return, since I now had to jump up to a higher rock. There was some serious pucker factor, but I made the jump.

Josef did not feel comfortable with the leap, so he instead tried some awkward down climb. Having a rappel here would be nice.

-False summit

-Peak 5102

I was happy to be done with the boulder pile area. My hands were torn up and I didn’t want to use them anymore. I felt a little depressed afterwards. I shouldn’t have attempted the peak once I saw it required unprotected class 5 climbing. I had a 6 month old son waiting for me at home, and if things went south, I may not have made it back that night.

In the end what I expected to be 2 miles tracked out to be 3.5 miles, and needless to say our “easy” bonus peak turned out to take twice the time (and maybe more than twice the effort) than we had budgeted.

We drove north once more, hoping to take a jeep track to the saddle between Mica Peak and Gold Butte. We first went for Mica Peak, which I prioritized as it is listed only one meter shorter than Jumbo Peak. This is well within surveying error, and the only way to know for sure if we climbed the true P2k was to climb both peaks. The road to the saddle was okay, and from here we began hiking along the ridgeline towards our fourth peak of the day.

A more interesting aspect of Playground Peak was visible from our new vantage point. If you look closely you can see the dual summit.

-Mining Claim

-Mica Peak

-Playground Peak

Josef was feeling strong and blew ahead of me. I wasn’t so concerned with keeping up. All I cared about was reaching the peak, and having enough energy left over for Gold Butte.

I reached a false summit with a radio repeater, and from here the true summit was in view just a couple hundred meters further.

I met Josef once again on the top.

-Grand Canyon

-Packard Peak & Jumbo Peak

-Gold Butte

Tramp Ridge, Horse Benchmark & Virgin Peak

We retraced our steps back down the peak. Our final objective stood in front of us.

Once back at the car, I was almost ready to call it quits, but Gold Butte was such a short distance away, and it wouldn’t have been appropriate to leave the remaining daylight unused. I did nothing more than touch my Jeep before starting up the final bonus peak. After a short climb we met an abandoned road which switched back up the east ridge.

We left the road when it could help us no further, then followed the ridgeline towards the summit.

At last, our fifth summit of the day.

-Tramp Ridge

-Mica Peak

Playground Peak, Packard Peak & Jumbo Peak

We signed the register and finished off our last snacks. Apparently one can drive almost all the way to the summit of this peak from the north side, however this would have required additional driving on a day which already had a lot of driving, and the road conditions were unknown.

I texted Asaka letting her know that we were on our final peak, then we headed back towards the car. We stopped along the way to admire a spectacular barrel cactus.

-Mica Peak

We made it to the car right before sunset.

From our parking spot on the saddle, we continued along the Jeep track north. I was concerned due to the unknown conditions of the road, but Josef pushed me to go for it, and rightfully so. There was some pinstriping, but we probably saved a good 30 minutes of driving time by doing so. During the drive back we talked about other hiking objectives, and the idea of climbing the Grand Teton came up. I told him I was highly interested, and I hadn’t looked into it much yet because I needed to find someone to lead it, but if he would do so then I would be in. He looked at me curiously asking why I couldn’t lead it, and I responded that I don’t know how to lead climb. It turns out that he wasn’t comfortable leading either, which is why he suggested Jumbo Peak in the first place, thinking that I would be able to set up the rope if needed. There were laughs all around. I thought he mostly needed me for my vehicle. It’s a good thing that the scramble proved to be easy, or else we could have ended up in a pinch. We made it back late that night, but it was well worth it. Josef and I agreed to do a family hike the next day which happened to be New Year's Day. I dropped him off then drove the remaining 30 minutes back to Summerlin. Leif was asleep when I got home, but Asaka was awake to greet me.

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tysonrunningfox · 7 years ago

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Tired, Hungry, and Chiefly

This chapter is my pride and joy. You think you’ve seen Eret be bad at women? No you haven’t, he peaks here. Wait, no he doesn’t, there’s that time he’s gonna super awkwardly bring up marriage at a bad time but whatever. And the poor boy can’t be trusted with his little mini stoick thing he’s got going on. Someone help him. The baby boy.

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“Is it broken?” I feel stupid asking the question as I stare at the dam Sven wants help with. I’ve never looked at a dam for this long before, of course I understand the basic idea of it, that it stops water from flowing and makes a pool that we can draw from more easily, as evidenced by the channel taking water down the hill to the fire suppression system. But there’s also water trickling through the front of it, a smaller stream than the one uphill, sure, but isn’t it supposed to stop the water?

“No,” Sven shakes his head, “we just need a bigger reservoir behind it, the chief gave permission for a secondary channel down by the hanger in case of fire and when we try to fill both,” he shrugs, “it doesn’t work.”

“Ok…” I sigh, “dumb question, but why don’t we just stop all of the water coming through it? Can’t we grab this water.” I dip my toe in the trickle through the front of the rocks and Sven looks at me like I’m stupid.

“If we fully dam the creek and get more rain than we expect, that’s a flood for sure.”

“But wouldn’t it just go the new way you tell it to?” I point at the diverted channel and Sven shakes his head, obviously frustrated.

“Well, no, it’d flood the dry riverbed and eventually the North fields and the village itself, most likely.”

“So we can’t do that.”

“No.”

“What exactly do you need again?” I rub my forehead like that’ll make it think faster or de-clutter the thoughts that are already there. I’ve been on my own with this stuff for a week and a half now but it feels like a lifetime, or at least like I have a lifetime worth of everyone else’s problems jamming up my brain. Bang nudges my hand and I pat his nose.

“You ok, chief?”

“Acting Chief,” I correct, because the opposite of what people say almost always sounds better. Acting Chief sounds ineffective when I don’t know what to do but Chief sounds like I should know what to do. There’s no winning with it really. “Just a headache. I’m fine. It’ll be better when we figure this out, so what exactly do you need? Again? Again again? Sorry.”

“We need the pool behind the dam to be bigger.” Sven speaks slowly in a way that would usually offend me, but it’s about all I can keep up with right now. “So conventionally, that means we need to make the dam wider and taller, but I don’t know what rock to use and we can’t spare the dragons to go off island for it.”

“Right,” I look around like I keep forgetting to, the absence of wild gronckles fluttering around more ominous than it should be. “What kind of rock do you need?”

“Any of the bedrock around here works best. Big pieces,” he holds his arms out wide to tell me how big, “are good, but I’ve used them all.”

“Big pieces…” I think to myself for a minute, but I’m apparently too tired to be contented in thinking about a list of places I’ve seen the biggest, hardest rocks and my mind tries to wander. The chief would know the answer, if he were saying anything other than the blandest small talk I’ve ever had to suffer through. Fishlegs might know, Hel, Rolf might now and I should probably check in on the dragon catalog anyway. That’s just another thing that got pushed aside in all of this, that and the fact I haven’t talked to Fuse about our plan in weeks. Fuse…Fuse! “Oh! Fuse Thorston is about to blow out that wall at the edge of the wood bin, by the new dock, I wonder if there’s a way to make it crumble into big enough pieces for this.”

“That’s an idea,” Sven shrugs, and in some ways I like talking to him more than other people, because he tells me when my ideas are stupid instead of just taking pity on the young, frazzled Acting Chief and letting me get away with being wrong. “I’ve used a lot of her rubble before, it’s usually a little small but it’ll do.”

“I’ll ask her if there’s any way to make it bigger.” I swing onto Bang, “and I’ll let you know what she says.”

“We need this by the end of summer!” He calls the deadline after me like I’m not stressed enough about it and I steer Bang a little higher than is really necessary, closing my eyes as we cut through a cloud and cold water condenses on my face. My beard’s getting long again, just on the cusp of annoying, and I make a note to shave it later, you know, if I have a single instant at home and awake enough to remember.

The easiest way to avoid Aurelia and the chief’s sad, dead eyes is to get home late and wake up early. Unfortunately, there’s more than enough to do to fill pretty much all of that time, so that means I don’t see Stoick or Mom either. And maybe that’s something I’m avoiding too, because at this point I’ve left her alone with this far too long if she isn’t as ok as she’s been acting. I hate that somehow, I’m at this point where I’m in a position to doubt what my mom tells me, to read into it more than she might want me to.

But she’s been ok. She’s been keeping up with the house, Stormfly’s saddle is shiny and her axe found its way back inside after spending a couple days in the demolished trunk out front. Maybe she’s doing what I’m doing and keeping busy to avoid thinking about anything and maybe that’s all anyone can do sometimes.

I land at the edge of the square, pointed towards the Thorston house and walking quickly enough to avoid any reasonable interruption, but when someone grabs my hand with an irrationally strong grip and crows in my ear, I know it’s not reasonable.

“Oh, Eret, I just need to ask you for the quickest favor!” It’s Mrs. Ack, her wrinkled arms almost mystically strong as she hooks her elbow through mine and reaches up to pinch me on the cheek. Or she tries, I think she gets mostly beard because of her height and slumped back and the fact that there’s not much unbearded cheek at the moment. It hurts anyway and I rub my face when she lets go.

“I’m a little busy right now, Mrs. Ack.”

“It’s really the smallest favor,” she drags me towards the farm stand on the other side of the square and I look almost wistfully over my shoulder at the barely visible roof line of Fuse’s shed. It’s quiet there. I bet if I asked, she’d let me hide for half an hour. I wonder if she’d mind if I took a nap, honestly. “I was just thinking to myself how I’d bought too much heavy food when I saw you landing just nearby.” She squeezes my arm the way she pinched my face, “you just remind me so much of your grandfather.”

“Stoick the Vast was known for his food carrying abilities?” I laugh and try to loosen her grip on my arm, but it’s pointless. I’ve learned that in the last couple of weeks. Vikings are stubborn and cutthroat and can’t fathom being wrong, but when it comes to Viking women, that’s all a horrible understatement. And it gets worse with age, for me to tell a woman over eighty that I don’t want my cheek pinched at this exact instant is essentially an act of war.

“He was always so ready to help.” Mrs. Ack has no visible problem picking up a basket and setting it in my arms and before I can start walking towards her house, her arm is back through mine even though she’s dragging me more than she appears to need help walking.

This is the part of being even acting chief that I wasn’t prepared for. When I was helping the chief out, I usually had a directive, I was doing one small thing to completion to the best of my abilities. But when I’m alone out here, I’m always being pulled a million ways at once, and it seems like the strongest pulls, literally when considering Mrs. Ack’s fingers digging into my arm, come from the least important places.

But I don’t exactly resent the few smaller errands I end up with a day, the grocery carrying is new but there’s always a terror in Mrs. Ericson’s tree or a yak in Mrs. Jorgenson’s house that they end up wanting help with. And they usually feed me and try to coerce me to stay for tea and even though they’re pushier than most of their husbands, they’re generally more complimentary on the kind of job I’m doing and at this point, I’ll take what I can get. If my praise is coming in the form of Mrs. Hoarkson shoving her homemade apple bread into my mouth and commenting on how I can’t keep growing if I’m running myself into the ground, at least I’m both full and tired.

“I’ll take that back,” Mrs. Ack drops my arm and nimbly plucks the basket from my hands with one arm, setting it inside her house on the floor and shushing an old Nadder that whines when disrupted from its nap in front of the fire. “Do you have time to come in for a cup of tea? I have leftover pie from last night and if I may say, you’re looking too skinny, chief. You can’t spend so much time taking care of all of us that you forget to eat.” She pats my face again and I laugh.

“I’m just skinny, Mrs. Ack, unfortunately no amount of pie is going to change that.” I take a step back and avoid another cheek pinch, if only narrowly. “And maybe some other time. I’ve got a lot to do today—”

“Can I at least send it with you?” She walks further into her house and starts wrapping up something in waxed parchment. Her husband grunts about giving away all the food and she shushes him. “It’s just Eret, Sigurd, if he doesn’t slow down and have some pie he’s going to blow away the next time he takes off!”

“I’m really fine.” I take a step back from the door but she practically sprints after me, shoving the food into my hand and patting my arm.

“Come by any time, chief, we’ve always got an extra seat at the table since our Burpa moved in with her son last year.”

“Thanks.” I’m probably not going to take her up on that, but at the same time it’s nice to know I have some option to be very well fed even if tensions get too high at home. “Have a good rest of your day.”

She squeezes my arm before letting go and I hear her chewing out her husband interspersed with brief seconds of praise that I try and take in while they last, because if I let them sink in maybe it’ll be a cushion the next time someone directly calls me stupid or naïve or laughs when I try to tell them to do something. I unwrap the pie almost immediately, eating it as I walk back across the square towards the Thorston house.

“I thought Mrs. Ack was going to lock you up inside her house and never let you out.” Someone appears beside me fast enough to startle and I drop my pie, barely catching it in the other hand and crushing it slightly.

It’s Ruffnut and when she looks at my clumsiness with vague disgust, it makes her look more like Fuse and less at the same time. Mostly it makes me miss Fuse’s fond annoyance at my antics, even though it’s only been a few days since I’ve seen her.

“She seems convinced she can feed me out of my skinny phase,” I look down at myself, the bony lines of my ribs practically visible through the shirt that’s somehow tight on my shoulders and loose everywhere else. Maybe it’s a holdover from when Mom was…incapacitated and the chief was getting someone else to do all the laundry. It must have shrunk and then stretched funny. “I told her it’s not a phase. What can I do for you, Mrs. Ingerman?”

“Oh come off of that,” she rolls her eyes, “I wiped your butt. It’s Ruffnut, whether you’re some fancy chief or not.”

“Acting Chief.”

“Yeah, you are acting like a chief but I’m not going to hold it against you.”

“Do you need something?” I shove the slightly crushed pie in my mouth and almost choke on a crumb, coughing after I manage to force it down.

“I was just checking that you’re actually that clueless,” she shakes her head, “and not letting yaks into the Jorgenson house just to check up on the misses.”

“That was so weird,” I laugh, “it left really willingly too. Which was good because I know about as much about livestock as I do about—”

“Women?” She raises an eyebrow and everything about the way she’s looking at me makes me uncomfortable. It’s like she’s both on my side and against it and I have no way of knowing which way she’s facing at any exact instant. “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

“I was going to say being chief but, I mean—”

“Women works better.” She rolls her eyes and shifts her basket to her other hip. She looks young like Mom, but in a different way, like she stole it from other people’s youth by teasing them until they willingly handed it over. “Don’t let some grandma pinch your arm off before my niece comes to terms with how clueless she is, alright?”

“I uh…” I frown, “I’m going to go talk to Fuse now if she needs help with something. Not that I usually have more clues than she does, but—”

“That’s gotta be the Astrid part, right?” She’s talking through me more than at me and I get that all too familiar feeling that everyone knows something I don’t. “Hiccup figured it out eventually and it wasn’t as obvious.”

“You’re being super cryptic and not helpful at all…”

“Odin, that’s always weird,” she shakes her head and sighs at me like I’ve caused her great personal distress. “When you do the…the talking thing, like that. Ugh. Anyway, I’m not going to ruin the surprise for anyone, so I’ll see you around. Also, just in case you didn’t know, Terrors don’t actually get stuck in trees. They can fly, just, by the way.”

“I know terrors can fly,” I call after her but she doesn’t stop, a fact I’m frankly glad about because I wasn’t enjoying that conversation. “But I did think that one was weird,” I mutter to myself, licking a spot of filling off of my thumb and feeling oddly like I’m being watched. It’s probably Mom, probably ready to jump out and tell me off for my manners, because even chiefs can’t escape those.

Right before I turn to walk up to the Thorston place, I spot Hotgut out of the corner of my eye, landing hard in front of the forge, belly probably full of something heavy and explosive. Fuse slides off of her and I change direction, clicking when Bang doesn’t follow immediately. He’s been sluggish too, well, that and clingy to Mom any second I let him out of my sight.

Smitelout drops whatever she’s doing, literally, and leans over the window to talk to Fuse. Fuse has one of those wrinkled drawings and Smitelout frowns at it, trying to smooth it on the windowsill.

“Ok, but how does blowing up an island help anything?” Smitelout asks at full volume right as I get there and I shush her, earning a spectacularly dirty look.

“There’s a thermal vent under the island that it seems like the dragons are trying to get to.” Fuse explains casually, voice low, and I hope she’s not still dwelling over Aurelia. I hope this isn’t fake confidence, because that’s not something she’s ever supposed to have.

“How could you know that?” Smitelout scoffs at an appropriate volume and I lean in slightly like my back could possibly shelter anything we’re doing. The drawing is just a shell, thankfully, nothing that’d give it away as anything out of the ordinary.

“We found some old drawings that said that island wasn’t there a few hundred years ago and now the sick dragons keep diving into the volcano—”

“Ok, ok, I get it. Let’s blow the bitch then.”

“We’re trying,” Fuse rubs her temple, dirty bandage on her first finger stretching halfway up her nail. Her fingertip leaves a dot of soot behind next to a freckle and I don’t believe she’s ever been clueless in her life. “That’s what that baffle you worked on is for, it’s a directional amplifier and I can’t get it quite right yet. We need something really big to get a vertical fracture that’ll actually opens something up—”

“And that’s your shit,” Smitelout cuts her off and I glare at her, “and the twerp likes hearing about it, apparently, weird flirting, again—”

“Can you just help without all the commentary?” The arm closest to Fuse feels hot, like I can tell she’s uncomfortable, like bringing up flirting makes it worse for no reason that makes sense. Maybe it’s because it’s Smitelout and because Aurelia just did what she did, maybe Fuse feels weird trusting someone who’s clearly delusional.

I can’t say I don’t share that fear.

“You need six of these?” Smitelout looks at the drawing again, “I assume you can’t pay, given that this is some kind of secret…”

“How much do you want?” Fuse rolls her eyes and I shake my head, leaning my elbow on the counter.

“It’s Smitelout,” I scoff, “the answer is probably your house, your shed, everything in your shed—”

“I’ll do it for free if you go away, Twerp.” Smitelout looks smug, like she pulled one over on me and I sigh.

“I think I might be able to manage that,” I push off of the counter and look at Fuse, half frozen for a second as I dig for something in the mess of my short term memory. “I had to talk to you about something.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t remember,” I laugh, “it’s been a day. I think your aunt might have threatened me.”

“Which Aunt?” She frowns and I didn’t know she had more than one.

“Which do you think?”

“Oh my gods, go flirt somewhere else,” Smitelout bellows, smacking her hammer against her anvil like she can spook us away like wild Terrors, “you’re scaring away customers.”

“Nope, just your personality, Lout.” I start walking with Fuse anyway, unsure if I should address the flirt comments or not. “I don’t know why she finds the idea of me flirting so funny. Like yeah, it would probably be a disaster, but that seems to be the only thing she can find to make fun of. Which…come on,” I gesture to myself and wish I hadn’t said anything. She glances at me like I’m crazy, cheeks suddenly red like she’s thinking about making the quietest escape possible and I scratch the back of my neck, “uhh, that thing I had to talk to you about though. What was it? I know this…”

“How would I know what it is?” She frowns, eyebrows knit together and how did Smitelout think we were flirting? She’s looking at me like I’m the dumbest thing she’s ever seen.

“I know you don’t know.” I smack my forehead a couple of times with the heel of my hand, “I swear, I get why the chief carries a notebook around all the time now, how am I supposed to keep everything straight?”

“Maybe get a notebook.”

“Super helpful, Fuse, I hadn’t thought of that.” I gripe, and I keep going back to the flirting comment, because it’s so stupid and disruptive because I know I have something real to talk to her about and now I can’t think of it. “Wait! I remember. Sven needs rocks to shore up a dam and I asked you to go ahead and column the corner of that wall and I was wondering if there’s any way you could like…leave bigger sized rubble when you take it down so that we don’t have to find dragons that can search for stone off island.”

“How big?” She slows down, dragging her feet slightly as that practical engine lights up behind her eyes. I hold my arms out and accidentally bump her in the arm but she doesn’t notice or if she does, she doesn’t care because Smitelout is an idiot above all things.

Some things remain the same, at least.

“About like…eh, maybe? I think a bit bigger or smaller would be fine, but we don’t want like…pebbles.” I sigh, “I’m not being descriptive enough, am I?”

“No, I get what you’re saying.” She bites her lip, snaggletooth peeking out slightly as she narrows her eyes, counting something only she can see. “Maybe some smaller charges at the top and bottom spaced a little wider than that. There’s always going to be that vaporization bubble but if I could try and get sort of a grid on it…”

“Vaporization bubble?”

“Some of the rock vaporizes if it’s close enough to the bomb.” She grins, her eyes lighting up like I just told her she could blow something entirely new up. I’m glad she’s looking better, like she’s not dwelling on Aurelia, and I’m really hoping the Mrs. Ack’s of the island hold off long enough that I can ask her about it.

“That’s awesome.”

“Right?” She laughs before falling serious for just another moment, “and I can try it, I mean, no promises. I’ve never tried to control rubble size before except, you know, making it smaller than could fall on someone and kill them but…I’ll try it. I��ll let you know when he could expect it to be done when I figure that out.”

“Thanks,” I laugh, “did you know that you make things really easy? There’s more arguing in carrying old Mrs. Ack’s groceries than in getting you to do something crazy and impossible.”

“It’s not impossible,” she shakes her head, “I don’t know if I’ll get it right the first time but if building materials are a thing we’re looking to optimize—”

“Something crazy then.”

“They’re not very big charges—”

“Ok, there we go, there’s the Viking stubbornness.” I laugh and she doesn’t seem sure if she should laugh with me. It’s frustrating, because I can’t tell if that’s just Fuse being Fuse or if she’s still upset and I wish I were funny enough to draw that line a little more clearly because all that’s left for me to do is ask, and that feels like ruining probably the only pleasant conversation I might get to have today. But it’s the right thing to do and as I’m becoming a boring slave to that idea, I sigh and try to figure out how I can best get this over with quickly. “Also, just…how are you doing?”

“Why are you saying that so significantly?”

“Because I should have just asked how you’re feeling about the whole Aurelia thing and I’m an idiot.” I sigh, trying to read her face as the question sinks in.

She thinks about it a little longer than she usually does and shrugs, “I’m not happy.”

“I’ll talk to her again when I see her, alright?”

“If you’ve already talked to her, I doubt you’d have anything new to say for trying it again.”

“Not everyone’s brain works as fast as yours, Fuse, I’m frequently left coming up with excellent come backs days to weeks after a conversation actually ends, so I’d be willing to bet I’d surprise myself.” I can feel myself talking funny, not funny like I’m trying to sound like someone else, just…odd. It’s like I want her to correct me, to tell me that I’m smart or something, which is kind of a failed attempt from the start in a conversation where I couldn’t remember an important conversation from three hours ago. “I won’t though, if you don’t want me to or—”

“You’re checking in on me.” She stops and cocks her head, braid falling over her shoulder. It’s tangled and only holding onto what seems like about half her hair at this point, the rest tucked behind her ear and sticking to the front of her vest.

“You were upset.”

“But it wasn’t your fault.”

“Well, not directly, but…I still care when you’re upset. You’re my friend. One of my best friends, really.”

She halfway smiles, brows still furrowed like she’s waiting for me to say something else and unlock a last, mystery piece of some puzzle.

“What?” I wipe my beard, “do I have pie on my face?”

“Thanks,” she grins, slow and quiet like her smiles ever are and I feel better for opening my mouth, for once. I don’t have to worry how she’s feeling because I know. “And no pie, you’re clean.”

“Thanks,” I say because that feels like a compliment even though it’s not, really, unless I’m someone who doesn’t believe in myself to get food into my mouth without messing it up. Which, fair, but not necessarily encouraging.

“Eret,” my mom appears beside me and rests her hand on my shoulder and I jump like she just caught me doing something wrong. I turn to look at her and she’s giving Fuse a pointed look and I step out from under her hand.

“What? What’s up?”

She raises her eyebrows at me and looks at Fuse again like it’s something she can’t say in front of her and I almost blurt out that I tell Fuse everything anyway, but that’s volunteering her for something without asking first and with my family involved? Well, it could be bad.

“Can I come find you later?” I ask her and she looks between me and my mom, shrugging.

“Sure, I’ll let you know what I come up with.”

“Yeah,” I nod, “good. Thanks for, you know, making it easy and stuff.”

“Sure…” She lingers for a second, glancing at my mom before deciding not to say anything else.

“What?” I turn back to my mom, trying not to let a sudden flash of irritation creep its way into my voice. “Is something wrong?”

“Don’t you have some work to be doing?” She raises an eyebrow like she knows something I haven’t told her and I look over my shoulder like Arvid or Aurelia is going to be lurking there, armed with something they promised not to share when we were on better terms.

“Like what? Do you need something?”

“You volunteered for this, Eret—”

“What are you talking about?” I gesture after Fuse, “I was just talking to her about the wood bin, she’s doing something the chief asked her to before—well, he asked her to and then Sven needs rock for some dam and I was asking if she could, I don’t know, help me out with that and she said she could.”

“And Smitelout—”

“She was overcharging Fuse for the special thing I’m asking her to do,” I half lie, “I fixed it.”

“And Mrs. Ack—”

“Come on, Mom, you’re going to say I’ve been goofing off with Mrs. Ack?” I roll my eyes, “she asked for my help with carrying something, I’m just trying to help people which, last time I checked, is the gist of my job.”

She stares at me for a second like she’s looking for a lie and I scratch my face, taking a step back and looking over my shoulder for Fuse. Maybe I should have asked about that nap in her shed, because I’m about that exhausted at this point.

“Can Fuse do it?”

“Can Fuse do what?”

“Whatever you asked her to do.” Mom raises an eyebrow, “because you were asking her to do something, right?”

“Oh, yeah, she’s going to try. Apparently it’s going to vaporize some rock but—”

“That’s encouraging.” She sounds angry in a way that almost means something and I wonder what I’ve missed at home while avoiding it as much as possible.

“I thought it was kind of cool, honestly.” I mime my hands blowing apart and make a sound like what I’d imagine vaporizing rock would sound like. Kind of a whoosh. “Just…as a concept. Just…boom and the rock is gone. And the crowd goes wild…”

She’s unimpressed.

She purses her lips at me and crosses her arms.

“Have you told Sven that Fuse is working on it?”

“Well, no, because she just finished telling me that she could do it.” I gesture up the hill where Fuse went, “and then you interrupted the end of our conversation and that brings us up to the present.”

“Is that an attitude?”

“Is trying really hard to be cooperative even though you’re interrogating me for no reason an attitude?” My voice cracks slightly and I clear my throat. “Because if so, yes, this is an attitude.”

“I like this attitude. It’s good. Keep it up.” She nods at me and I fidget slightly under the odd weight of her gaze, like she’s trying to scan my brain for something I missed.

“I’m just trying to keep things together.” I shrug, “I’m probably messing everything up but…”

“Go talk to Sven, maybe make sure he has a secondary plan in case Fuse can’t do what she thinks she can.”

I cross my arms, “the secondary plan is send dragons off island to search for stone.” That’s a challenge I hate posing, I hate wanting her to say something other than I know she will.

“Well, what’s wrong with that plan?”

“Lack of dragons, Mom. That’s one question I do know the answer to.”

She frowns but I’ve hit the one subject she won’t argue with me about because like everyone else I’ve tried to talk to, she’s not willing to admit I have a point because somehow, that magically might make it right. I don’t think it works that way but Hel, I could be wrong. Maybe if I found some optimism I could turn this whole thing around. Maybe Acting Chief means the kind of power everyone wants it to be.

“Fine. Are you going to be home for dinner tonight?”

I shrug, “I don’t know, Mrs. Ack did invite me—”

“You should come home for dinner. Stoick hasn’t seen you in days.”

“He hasn’t seen Bang in days, you mean.”

“Well,” she tugs on the tight shoulder seam of my shirt and frowns, “you two are kind of a package deal so…”

“I’ll be home.” I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes.

“Good. I’ve got new clothes for you.”

“Fine.” I take a step back and she looks almost hurt, “I mean thanks. I’m sure they’re good.”

“See you at home.”

#eret iii #festerverse #fuse thorston #smitelout jorgenson #he's trying so hard at chief guys #he's doing such a good job #with the middle aged women crowd #they love him

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authormitchel-blog · 7 years ago

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COS: Part 4

The end of summer vacation came to quickly for Harry’s liking. He was looking forward to going back to Hogwarts, but his time spent at the Burrow had been the happiest of his life. It was difficult not to feel jealous of Ron when he thought of what life was like back on Pivet Drive.

Mrs. Weasley made them a wonderful last dinner, though Percy in his continuing odd behavior scampered off to bed early. They were each given some hot chocolate and sent off to bed.

The next morning Harry realized what it was like living with a big family. While Millicent had been ready and dressed, prepared to leave, it seemed one thing after another was stopping their departure. First, Fred had forgot his Fillibuster fireworks, then Ginny didn’t have her diary, then Ron had to go to the bathroom. By the time everyone had clambered back into the car, they were running very late, and tempers were running high. Not even Millicent was eager to poke at the Lions.

Mr. Weasley glanced at his watch then at his wife.

“Molly, dear…”

“No, Arthur…”

“No one would see…this little button here is an Invisibility Booster. I installed it myself. Once were up in the air, no one can see us. We’d be there in ten minutes, and no one would be any wiser…”

“I said no Arthur, not in broad daylight.”

Not in pitch black either, Harry thought. Mrs. Weasley was still upset about the fight between Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy.

They reached King’s Cross at a quarter to eleven. Mr. Weasley dashed across the road to get some trolleys for their trunks then they were truly underway. “Percy first,” Mrs. Weasley said, looking nervously at the clock.

Percy strode forward then vanished through the barrier. Mr. Weasley went next then Millie hopping in front of Fred and George with Ginny at her side.

“If my sister gets sorted into Slytherin my parents are going to burst,” said Ron then quickly looking at Harry. “No offense.”

“None taken,” said Harry. “It’s not what goes on at Hogwarts that makes Slytherin evil, but what happens at home.” Even as he said it he wondered what that made him. Then, Mrs. Weasley gave him a quick smile before stepping toward the barrier and he felt okay again.

“Let’s go together,” Ron said to Harry. “We’ve only got a minute.”

Harry made sure that Hedwig’s cage was safely wedged on top of his trunk and wheeled his trolley around to face the barrier.

The two boys ran confidently toward the barrier then CRASH! They were both knocked to the ground, trolleys and things strewn everywhere. Hedwig shrieked as a guard nearby yelled, “What in blazes do you think you’re doing?”

“Lost control of the trolley,” Harry said quickly. Ron ran to pick up Hedwig who was causing quite the scene.

“Why can’t we get through?” Harry hissed to Ron.

“I dunno….”

Ron looked wildly around. A dozen curious people were still watching them.

“We’re going to miss the train,” Ron whispered. “I don’t understand why the gateway’s sealed itself.”

Harry looked up at the giant clock with a sickening feeling.

He wheeled his trolley forward cautiously until it was right against the barrier and pushed with all his might. The metal remained solid.

Three seconds….two seconds….one….

“It’s gone,” said Ron, sounding stunned. “The train’s left. What if Mum and Dad can’t get back through to us? Have you got any Muggle money?”

Harry gave a hollow laugh.

“The Dursleys haven’t given me pocket money for about six years.”

Ron pressed his ear to the barrier.

“Can’t hear a thing,” he said tensely. “What are we going to do? I don’t know how long it’ll take for Mum and Dad to get back to us. And we’re attracting a little too much attention.”

“We’d better wait at the car,” said Harry.

“Harry,” said Ron eyes gleaming. “The car!”

“What about it?”

“We can fly to Hogwarts.”

Harry shook his head.

“We’re stuck, right? And we’ve got to get to school, haven’t we? And I’d call this an emergency wouldn’t you, and if Bulstrode can drive it then I certainly….”

“But your Mum and Dad,” said Harry, pushing against the barrier fruitlessly. “How will they get home?”

“They’ll apparate,” said Ron like it was the easiest answer in the world. “The only bother with the Floo because we all aren’t old enough to apparate, but they’ll be fine…”

Harry’s feeling of panic turned suddenly to excitement. Is this what being a Gryffindor felt like, he wondered?

“Can you fly it?”

“No problem,” said Ron, wheeling his trolley around to face the exit. “Come on, if we hurry we might be able to catch sight of the train.

No problem, Harry thought as they made sure no one was watching and Ron hit the button.

No problem, Harry thought as the car around them vanished. No problem, Harry thought as he felt the car rise.

“Let’s go,” said Ron’s voice from his right.

And the ground and the dirty buildings on either side fell away, dropping out of sight as the car rose. In seconds the whole of London was beneath them.

No problem, thought Harry until there was a popping noise and the car reappeared in the sky.

“Uh- oh,” said Ron, and Harry knew for sure that there most definitely was a problem. Ron jabbed his hand at the Invisibility Booster. “It’s fault….”

Both of them pummeled it, and the car vanished once again. Then it flickered back.

“Hold on!” Ron yelled, and he slammed his foot on the accelerator, and they shot straight into the clouds.

“Now what?” said Harry.

“We need to see the train to know what direction to go in,” said Ron. “There,” he said a moment later. “I can see it, right there, ahead of us.”

Harry looked out the window and easily spotted the train.

“Due North,” he said.

“Yeah,” agreed Ron. “We’ll just pop down every half hour or so to make sure that we’re still with it.”

It was as though they had been plunged into a fabulous dream. This, thought Harry, was surely the only way to travel, in a car full of hot bright sun, candy shoved in the glove compartment, and the prospect of seeing Fred and George’s jealous faces when they landed smoothly and spectacularly on the lawn. Malfoy wouldn’t be able to pick his jaw up for a month.

“Can’t be much further still, can it?” croaked Ron, hours later still, as the sun started to turn pink on the horizon. “Ready for another check on the train?”

The engine made a funny noise.

“Not far,” said Ron. “Not far now,” though Harry didn’t miss the nervous tone in his voice. And they both pretended not to notice the whining from the engine growing louder and louder as the sky became steadily darker.

When they flew back beneath the clouds a little while later, they had to squint through the darkness for a landmark they knew.

“There!” Harry shouted, making Ron and Hedwig squeak. “Straight ahead.”

Silhouetted on the horizon was Hogwarts castle, home.

But the car had begun to shudder and was losing speed.

“Come on,” Ron said cajoling, giving the steering wheel a little shake, “nearly there, come on.”

The engine groaned. Narrow jets of steam were issuing from under the hood. Harry found himself griping the edges of his seat very hard as they flew over the lake.

The car gave a nasty wobble. Glancing out of his window, Harry saw the smooth, black, glassy surface of the water, a mile below.

“Come on,” Ron muttered.

They were over the lake, the castle was right ahead, and Ron put his foot down.

There was a loud clunk, a sputter, then the engine died. Ron pulled out his wand and pointed it at the dashboard, but they were still plummeting.

“WATCH OUT FOR THAT TREE!” Harry bellowed, lunging for the steering wheel, but it was too late.

CRUNCH

With an earsplitting bang of metal on wood, they hit the thick tree trunk and dropped to the ground with a heavy jolt. Steam was billowing up around them, Hedwig was screeching in terror, and a golf ball sized lump was throbbing on top of Harry’s head where it had hit the wind shield. To his right, Ron let out a groan.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked urgently.

“My wand,” said Ron, in a shaky voice. “Look at my wand.”

It had snapped, almost in two; the tip was dangling limply, held on by a few splinters.

Harry opened his mouth to say he was sure they could fix it, but he never even got started. At that very moment, something hit the car with the force of a charging bull sending him flying into Ron. They were stuck in the Womping Willow.

“Run for it,” Ron shouted, throwing his entire body weight into the door, but the next second he had been slammed back his assault stopped.

“We’re done for!” he moaned as the ceiling sagged, but suddenly the floor of the car was vibrating and the engine started back up.

“Reverse,” Harry yelled and the car shot backward. The tree was still after them, it’s branches reaching out and lashing at them even as they sped out of reach.

“Well done, car,” said Ron. The car, however, had reached the end of its tether. With two sharp clunks, the doors flew open and Harry, Ron, and all their things were tossed from the car. Hedwig’s cage flew through the air and burst open; she rose out of it with an angry screech and sped off toward the castle.

“Come back,” Ron yelled at the retreating car. “Dad will kill me!”

Ron was breathing deeply as he bent down and picked up Scabbers.

They were lucky. The ancient tree, which was still flailing its braches threatingly seemed to be watching them.

“Come on,” Harry said wearily. “we’d better get up to the school…”

It wasn’t the triumphant arrival he had pictured. Still, cold and bruised, they seized the ends of their trunks and began the long walk up to the great oak doors.

“I think the feast has already started,” said Ron, dropping his trunk at the foot of the front steps and crossing quietly to look through a brightly lit window. “Harry, look, it’s the Sorting.”

Harry hurried over, and he and Ron peered into the Great Hall. They watched for several moments before Harry noticed something.

“Hang on,” he muttered to Ron. “There’s an empty chair at the head table, where’s Snape?”

If Harry hadn’t spent all last year in such close proximity to him, Harry might not have even heard the sweeping of robes that now meant someone was behind them.

Harry and Ron hadn’t even turned around before Snape had given them their marching orders. “Follow me.”

Harry’s stomach dropped.

Not even daring to look at each other, Harry and Ron followed behind Snape, the smell from the Great Hall taunting them as they made their way toward the dungeons.

“In,” Snape barked as they approached Snape’s office. He had avoided this room last year, and was glad now that he did. The fireplace was dark and empty and large glass jars dotted the shelves. Snape closed the door and looked at them.

Snape looked like he would rather be anywhere else.

“An explanation, Potter?” He turned to Harry only, like Ron wasn’t even in the room.

“It was the barrier at King’s Cross, it wouldn’t let us through.”

Snape silenced him with a look.

“I meant explain in a succinct way how on Earth you thought that it would be a good idea to fly a magical car to Hogwarts and then crash in to the Forbidden Forest!” Snape yelled at them.

Ron gulped. This wasn’t the first time Snape had given Harry the impression of being able to read minds. But a moment later, he splayed a copy of the Evening Prophet onto the desk in front of them.

“You were seen,” he hissed, showing them the headline that read, “ FLYING FORD ANGLIA MYSTIFIES MUGGLES”. He shoved the paper toward Harry.

“Read it,” he ordered, like they were in class instead of potentially getting kicked out of school.

Harry picked up the paper.

“Two Muggles in London, convinced they saw an old car flying over the Post Office tower at noon in Norfolk…” Harry skipped forward. “Six or seven muggles in all….”

Snape cut in. “Doesn’t your father work in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office?”

Harry felt as though he’d just been walloped in the stomach by one of the mad tree’s larger branches. He hadn’t thought of Mr. Weasley, and what trouble he could possibly get into.

Snape looked like he was about to combust.

“You will wait here until I can fetch Professor McGonagall to deal with you Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter I shall deal with you.”

Ten minutes later, Snape returned with Professor McGongall, and with instructions to explain, Harry and Ron set to telling her what had happened.

“Why didn’t you send us a letter by owl? I believe you have an owl?” she said coldly to Harry.

Well, now that someone had suggested it, Harry felt supremely stupid.

“I… I didn’t think,”

“That,” said Professor Snape, “is obvious.”

There was a knock at the door then Professor Dumbledore entered the room, and Harry’s whole body went numb. Dumbledore was looking unusually grave. Harry wondered if taking on the Womping Willow again instead of the three of them were an option or not.

There was a long silence. Then Dumbledore said, “Please explain why you did this.”

It would have been better if he had shouted. Harry was used to shouting. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had pretty well taken care of that. It would have made sense to Harry. He had done something wrong so he should be yelled at, denied certain meals, locked away. Those were the things that made sense to Harry, but he told Dumbledore everything, knowing what happened when he tried to lie. Still, he left out the part about who the car belonged to. He could tell Dumbledore wasn’t fooled, but he didn’t say anything. When Harry had finished, he merely continued to peer at them through his spectacles.

Harry looked at his head of house, but the man was steadfastly looking at the headmaster.

“We’ll go and get our stuff,” said Harry in a hopeless sort of voice.

“What are you talking about Mr. Potter?” barked Professor Snape.

Harry straightened. He wouldn’t cry here, Millicent, at least, would never forgive him.

“We’re being expelled, sir, it stands to reason that we should be getting our belongings.”

Ron nodded his head, apparently the same thought having gone through his head as well.

Ron looked at Dumbledore, Harry looked at Snape.

“Not today, Mr. Potter,” said Dumbledore. “But I must impress upon both of you the seriousness of what you have done. I will be writing to both of your families tonight. I must also warn you that if you do anything like this again, I will have no choice but to expel you.”

Just when Harry thought that the punishment was over, Snape stepped forward. “And you Mr. Potter will be facing more consequences than that, I’m afraid. For now, Quidditch has been canceled.”

“Sir,”

“Mr. Potter, you have flouted the Decree for the Restricition of Underage Wizardry, caused serious damage to an old and valuable tree, and if it were up to me you would most certainly be expelled.”

“But, Professor,” Ron said moving to take up for him.

“Oh no, Mr. Weasley,” Professor McGonagall said. “Mr. Potter is in Professor Snape’s house and is therefore his responsibility. You, however, are mine and will be facing some more punishments of my own making.”

Harry felt a little relived. He had lost Quidditch, but at least he didn’t have to deal with whatever creative punishment Professor McGonagall was going to cook up for Ron.

It was better than expulsion. As for Dumbledore or even Snape’s writing to the Dursleys, that was nothing. Harry knew perfectly well that the most extreme emotion they would feel would be disappointment that the Womping Willow didn’t finish him off.

“You will eat in your dormitories,” said Professor McGonagall. “Mr. Weasley, your sister has been sorted into Gryffindor and the rest of your family will surely be wondering about your little adventure so I’d advise you to get back to the tower.”

She ushered Ron toward the door. “And Mr. Potter, please return to the dungeon where your meal and a very perturbed Ms. Bulstrode are waiting for you.”

Harry moved to follow Ron and Professor McGonagall out of the room, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“I’d mind yourself, if I were you, Potter,” said Snape. He looked him over, before removing his hand from his shoulder. He looked disappointed, whether from Harry and Ron being allowed to stay and kind of relieved that he hadn’t been the one who had to make that decision in the first place.

“Go to bed, Mr. Potter.”

And that was that.

Harry’s reception in the Slytherin common room was a lot different than usual. He was a second year and he knew where he stood on the totem pole, and that meant that while everyone might have known his name, not many of the upper years or people in his year took much notice of him. That changed when he walked into the common room.

The students that were still up and it looked like more than normal, looked at him like he had sprouted another head. Some looked impressed, some looked annoyed, and some looked personally offended, but it was Millicent who shooed them all back. Her broad shoulders nudging the few out of the way who hadn’t seen her glare.

It was a quiet sort of consciousness, sort of awe, but Harry felt more of a quick in his step until Harry saw Marcus Flint. Apparently, news traveled fast, and while McGonagall was a creative punishing genius, Snape was quick and deadly.

“Less than a year, Potter, and you throw it all away because what, you wanted to impress a Weasley?”

Harry shook his head.

“I’m….”

“Potter, apologies mean nothing. You will come to practice and you will come to tryouts and you will assist in finding a new seeker.”

“I thought Snape said that I couldn’t fly.”

“Nonsense,” said Flint immediately. “If you have the quaffles to drive a magical car and pick a fight with the Womping Willow then I’d say not much can keep you off a broom.”

Flint clasped him on the shoulder and then turned and walked away. Did he sound impressed? Whether he did or not the look on Millie’s face let him know that she, at least, most assuredly was not.

She just shook her head, her wand waving menacingly in his direction as she directed him to the boy’s dorm. He opened the door and was immediately pulled into the room.

“Tell us everything,” Blaise yelled.

Goyle, Crabbe, Nott, even a slightly interested looking Draco all rallied around Harry demanding to know what exactly had happened and if the stories that had been going around the Great Hall were true or not.

“Did you really have a run in with the centaurs?” Nott asked.

“Of course, he didn’t,” Draco said immediately, but he didn’t look to sure about that when Harry gave him a look.

Harry moved to his bed, and sat down, his dorm mates all around him as he set to telling them all about the magical car and the tree that tried to eat them.

#Slytherin!Harry #Slytherin Harry #Harry Potter #Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets #Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets rewrite #Harry Potter rewrite #cosp4

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j0sgomez-blog · 5 years ago

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By Michael Lanza

We step into the ankle-deep North Fork of the Virgin River, in the backcountry of Zion National Park, and water at refrigerator temperature immediately fills our boots. Until sometime tomorrow afternoon, we’ll walk in this river almost constantly, crossing it dozens of times—with the 50° F water, at its deepest, coming up nearly to our waists. As we splash downstream, the canyon walls of golden, crimson, and cream-colored sandstone steadily creep inward and stretch higher, soon eclipsing the sun. We’ll see very little direct sunlight as the sheer walls of Zion’s Narrows eventually tower a thousand feet overhead and, at times, close in to the width of a hobbit’s living room.

Drinking in the scenery, I’m feeling a surreal sense of luck just to be in this place, considering that, for various reasons, it has taken my friend David Gordon and I a few decades to finally get here—and the fact that it’s sunny and warm in November as we set out on one of the most uniquely beautiful and sought-after backpacking trips in the entire National Park System.

The Narrows is the roughly 14 miles of the North Fork’s canyon upstream from where the road in Zion Canyon ends at the Temple of Sinawava. Enormously popular, the lower end of the Narrows teems with hundreds and sometimes thousands of dayhikers on hot days of late spring and summer, when the river is warm and low. Many of those people don’t go beyond the first mile or two of the Narrows, while some hike as far as Big Spring, five miles upriver, the farthest point you’re allowed to venture without a wilderness permit.

Backpacking the Narrows from top to bottom—16 miles from the Chamberlain’s Ranch trailhead to the Temple of Sinawava trailhead—requires a permit that’s very hard to get, whether you try to reserve a campsite in advance (they get scooped up as soon as they become available) or try to get a permit on a walk-in basis no more than a day in advance of starting the two-day trip.

Click here now to get my e-guide The Complete Guide to Backpacking Zion’s Narrows.

David Gordon on day one backpacking the Narrows, Zion National Park.

But there’s one other way of snagging a permit—perhaps the easiest, given the towering hurdles of the other two methods, though it does involve pure luck. The park holds a Last Minute Drawing for unreserved campsites between seven and two days prior to the date you’d like to start. (See Permit info in the Make It Happen section at the bottom of this story.) When I saw an unusually warm, sunny forecast for the first week of November—not a high-demand time for Zion permits—I grabbed two of the most-coveted wilderness permits in the National Park System through the Last Minute Drawing: backpacking the Narrows top to bottom, and dayhiking Zion’s Subway top to bottom. (Read my story “Luck of the Draw, Part 1: Hiking Zion’s Subway.”)

David and I have both had backpacking Zion’s Narrows in our sights literally for decades. But for various reasons—including the short season and stiff competition for permits for both—it has taken us this long to get to them. Now, thanks to watching the forecast, good timing, flexibility in our schedules, and sheer luck, we are spending three straight November days of temperatures in the 60s knocking off two of the best hikes in America—the Subway and the Narrows—and seeing relatively few people, a situation unheard-of during the peak seasons.

After the Narrows, hike the other nine of my “10 Best Backpacking Trips in the Southwest.”

Hi, I’m Michael Lanza, creator of The Big Outside, which has made several top outdoors blog lists. Click here to sign up for my FREE email newsletter. Join The Big Outside to get full access to all of my blog’s stories. Click here to learn how I can help you plan your next trip. Please follow my adventures on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Youtube.

The Narrows Day One

By mid-afternoon, a few hours into the hike, the only evidence of sunshine that we see is where it sets fire to the upper canyon walls, a few hundred feet above us. Down in the canyon’s basement, we walk in the shadows of a premature, extended dusk.

Here in the upper Narrows, several miles above its confluence with Deep Creek, which triples the river’s volume, the North Fork of the Virgin River meanders through adolescence, a skinny but energetic stream—at least during times of low water levels, which is when park officials open the Narrows to hikers. (See the Make It Happen section at the bottom of this story for details about safe river levels for hiking.) We’re still above the true “narrows” stretch of the canyon; pine trees grow sparsely along the river, like thin hair on an old man’s head, and the rims wear a green crown.

Day one in the upper Narrows, Zion National Park.

Black water streaks bleed down blood-red walls smeared with spilled-paint splotches of white rock. At sharp riverbends, where flash floods and high water have done the destructive work of erosion, cliffs crest overhead in petrified waves.

Our canyoneering boots and neoprene socks do not keep our feet warm so much as prevent them from getting painfully cold; I wouldn’t do this hike without them, except perhaps in really hot weather. We’re also carrying dry suits in our packs for the deeper water we’ll encounter later today and tomorrow. Here, we don’t need them yet for water that rarely tops our ankles. (See details on gear at the bottom of this story.)

Eons of geological uplift and the erosional force of the river carving into the Navajo Sandstone created the Narrows. Floods continue that eternal work. The Narrows and many other similarly tight canyons can transform from placid to deadly in a span of minutes—which is why you should avoid them if there’s any chance of rain. A flash flood in 1998 abruptly raised the Virgin River’s volume from 200 to 4,500 CFS (cubic feet per second), acting like a giant, high-speed plow coursing downstream, damaging the park road in Zion Canyon. On Sept. 15, 2015, seven people descending a slot known as Keyhole Canyon were killed in a flash flood in the worst disaster in the history of Zion National Park.

By late afternoon, we reach the beginning of the true “narrows” section. The walls pinch down to 15 to 20 feet apart and shoot up several hundred feet. For the rest of this day, we’ll wade water that comes up to our calves—and briefly higher—through a dark, cool, and church-quiet hallway in solid rock, with only a sliver of sky visible high above us.

We hear the North Fork Falls well before we see it. At 8.5 miles from the trailhead, the river pours thunderously over a 10-foot-tall, boulder-and-log jam. To bypass it, we squeeze through a claustrophobic passage on the south side of the waterfall, between a massive boulder and the canyon wall, and then wade a short distance back upstream to see the waterfall.

I can help you plan this or any other trip you read about at my blog. Find out more here.

David Gordon on day one backpacking Zion’s Narrows.

Minutes beyond the North Fork Falls, we clamber over a log pinned between the close walls and lower ourselves into the deepest pool of the day. The numbing water rises crotch-deep on me; I wade across it as quickly as I can propel myself forward into shallower water. Around the corner, we reach our home for the night, campsite one, the first of a dozen designated campsites in the Narrows. (This campsite made my top 25 all-time favorite backcountry campsites, and I grouped the 11 other sites in the Narrows together as one on my list of the 15 nicest backcountry campsites I’ve hiked past.)

Our camp sits on a slightly elevated patch of dry ground, on one side of a cavernous opening where a tributary canyon joins the North Fork. Within an hour, by 6 p.m., it’s completely dark. With no moon out yet, stars riddle the Y-shaped slice of sky visible to us above this confluence of two canyons.

After dark, a mouse skitters around our site, obviously accustomed to pilfering food from backpackers. As David sits on a log enjoying the quiet and the stars, he feels the mouse crawling up his pant leg and kicks it off. With the forecast for clear weather, we didn’t bring a tent; we lay our pads and bags on the comfortable bed of soft, dry sand. But a few times during the night, I feel the mouse crawling up the outside of my bag and kick a leg out to send it airborne.

See my “10 Tips For Getting a Hard-to-Get National Park Backcountry Permit.”

The Narrows Day Two

In the morning, we awaken to a clear sky—what we can see of it, anyway. At the bottom of this deep hole, beneath close walls that dwarf skyscrapers, we remain in deep shadow. A breeze blowing down canyon sharpens the knife-like chill in the air, as the temperature sits in the high 30s Fahrenheit. The forecast had called for lows in the 20s, so we’re lucky on that count. But “lucky” isn’t the word I mutter while tugging my wet, stiff, half-frozen neoprene socks and boots on over my feet and taking my shocking first steps back into the 50-degree river.

Before long, though, the air temperature starts rising and our feet warm up as blood finally seeps back into them—even as we’re constantly crossing the ankle- to calf-deep river. I shed two of the three shirts I’m wearing and my wind shell, and roll the top of my dry suit down to my waist, thinking: It’s November, and I’m hiking in shirtsleeves.

Want to take this trip? Click here now to get my e-guide The Complete Guide to Backpacking Zion’s Narrows.

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Low-angle sunlight gradually infiltrates the canyon. Some walls catch indirect light reflecting off other walls, making them appear to glow. At every turn, the cliffs display a different face, a complex mosaic of curves, cracks, columns, pinnacles, and buttresses in a rich geological color palette. Mature trees lend the green of conifers and, at this time of year, the yellow of cottonwood trees.

High above us, the wind blows clouds of dust off ledges, and the sun backlighting the tiny dust particles makes them sparkle as they float earthward. “Pixie dust,” I tell David. Moments later, a gust hurls leaves off the rims hundreds of feet overhead, creating an identical effect, the leaves twinkling in the sunlight as they float downward.

An hour out of camp, below campsite four, we see the first people we’ve encountered since we started hiking from Chamberlain’s Ranch yesterday—two backpackers who remain ahead of us and mostly out of sight.

. . .

Tell me what you think.

I spent a lot of time writing this story, so if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a share using one of the buttons at right, and leave a comment or question at the bottom of this story. I’d really appreciate it.

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mazurah · 7 years ago

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Lost in Time Ch. 4: City - An Elder Scrolls Fanfic

Chapter Summary: Ma’zurah and Fayrl defeat a giant and bring word of the Dragon attack on Helgen to the Jarl of Whiterun.

Cross posted from Ao3. Chapter Rating: M for canon typical violence, prostitution, and non-explicit sexual situations.

First Chapter - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Lost in Time Chapter 4: City

As they got closer to the commotion, Fayrl and Ma’zurah discovered three people fighting a giant, which was pounding the ground with a great mace. Ma'zurah's eyes widened and she halted the cart so their horse would not bolt, and began to prepare an ice spike.

"What is with this place and giant creatures out to murder everyone?!" Fayrl cried. He had fought a giant only a single time in his life. It had been asleep. And there had been five of them. "If we live long enough to get out of here, it will be a miracle of the Three!"

"Sure, sure..." Ma'zurah sent the ice spike flying toward the giant, guiding its path with telekenisis. At the last second, she whistled loudly, catching the giant's attention so it whirled to face her. The ice spike hit it in the eye, and it roared and clutched its face, falling to one knee. The three fighters immediately closed in on it. "Damn! Did not hit it hard enough to kill it!" Ma'zurah muttered, and started to prepare another spell.

"Giants take a lot of damage to bring down, far more than other creatures. They do not feel pain as much as we do.” Fayrl lept out of the cart. “Try for the throat!" he called over his shoulder.

He began an invocation of his Prince. "Mephala, jikhi lo arc'ga!" Fayrl raised his hands towards the giant, and a light appeared underneath it, which spread out in fractals until it formed into an enormous web. Three large spiders began spinning silk around the giant's ankles. The three fighters jumped back with wide eyes. One of them continued trying to shoot the incapacitated giant; the other two backed off a bit further and put away their melee weapons to retrieve their bows.

Ma'zurah cast her ice spike again, throwing it harder this time with her telekinesis, and aimed for the giant’s neck. She missed her target only by an inch, and the spike embedded itself in the juncture of the giant's shoulder and neck, lodging right above the collarbone. The giant roared again, trying to rise, and fell back to its knees from the silk entangled around his calves. The spiders had managed to wrap the feet and calves of the giant securely enough to restrain it to the ground, and they began to sink their teeth into its flesh, injecting their venom into the giant, immediately discoloring the skin surrounding their bites. The giant sank into a stupor.

Fayrl watched as Ma’zurah’s ice spike missed the giant’s artery. "A little to the left and you'll have it!" he called out, then in a flash he was next to the spiders, cutting at the tendons in the heel to keep the giant from getting back up. The three fighters backed away a little further at Fayrl's sudden appearance next to the giant.

Ma'zurah prepared another ice spike, but the giant finally fell under the combined attacks of so many foes, so Ma'zurah let it fall to the ground. She let out a whoop of laughter at the victory and the rush of adrenaline.

Fayrl dismissed his spiders, and both the spiders and webs disappeared in a flash of flame. Fayrl appeared next to Ma’zurah. "You did it!" he exclaimed delightedly.

Ma’zurah laughed, giddy with success. "That was great! Ma'zurah wants to learn that teleportation trick Fayrl did!" The adrenaline suddenly became too much and Ma’zurah swayed. "Ai... Does Fayrl have any water? Ma'zurah thinks she might need to sit down."

Fayrl quickly produced a small canteen and handed it to her, steadying her as he helped her back to the cart. "It might be a bit hard for me to teach you the skill,” he told her. “It took many years of study with my master to achieve the requisite skills so he could show me how to perform it. But if you would like, I can attempt to teach you the teleport strike."

Ma'zurah took a drink from the canteen and sat for a second to catch her breath.

The three fighters cautiously walked over to the cart, a huntress with long red hair and three blue stripes of war paint across her face in the lead. "Hail! uh... friends! We thank you for the assistance."

Fayrl gave them a formal bow. "Hail and well met."

He glanced at Ma'zurah to check on her recovery. Ma'zurah flashed him a grin and took another sip of water. Satisfied, Fayrl turned to the fighters, giving them his full attention. "We are happy to help those in need."

The huntress took a step closer to Fayrl. "You both carry yourselves well in battle. A friendly word of warning though, not everyone around here is welcoming to magic. It might be in your best interests to hold back on the more showy displays."

"Thank you for your advice. I admit I have been to Skyrim many times, but I find my knowledge has become a bit out of date since last I was here. We shall endeavor to be more cautious in future. Had the threat not looked so large, we would have refrained."

Fayrl walked towards the woman who had address him, eyeing the other two warriors as he approached. They seemed guarded, suspicious. "My name is Fayrl In--" He paused, then continued. "and this is my dear wife. I apologize for her state, we have just found out she is with child and using magic is a terrible drain on her in her condition. Could you tell us where we might find an inn for the night?"

"You're married to a Khajiit?" the Nord man butted in. "Don't you know? Khajiit are not allowed inside the city walls. It's like that in almost every city."

Fayrl bristled and took a step forward. "You speak to me of fear. Would you, a hardened looking warrior, let petty fears keep you from what you knew was right?"

"Whoa whoa, hold on there!" The Nord held up his hands in a pacifying gesture. "I don't make the rules around here. I was just telling you. Where are you from that you haven't heard?"

Fayrl let the tension fade from his stance. "I did not say that I didn't know, just that I am not so cowardly as to let myself be swayed by the fears of another when love is involved. But in light of her condition and our situation, finding a place to stay has been... difficult. I apologize for my quick temper."

The huntress cleared her throat. "Well, in light of your assistance, perhaps we can convince the guard to make an exception. The Companions do have a lot of influence in the city."

"Oh!” Fayrl exclaimed. “Are we in the presence of the acclaimed Companions?" Fayrl’s tone took on a note of adoration. He made a bow so deep his neatly arranged hair nearly brushed the ground. "Please accept my most humble apologies! I would not have raised my voice so if I had known. The brave wolves of the north!"

The young woman behind the huntress stifled a giggle, and the Nord man raised his eyebrows. The huntress crossed her arms. "Alright, I don't know how you heard, but don't go spreading it around. May we ride with you?"

Fayrl wasn't sure what he had 'heard' that he wasn't meant to, but he had a piece of leverage on them now to play if need be. He turned to Ma'zurah. "My radiant moonbeam, would it be alright for the Companions to share the cart back to town?"

Ma'zurah stifled a snort. "Sure, why not? Ma'zurah does not care either way." She handed Fayrl his canteen, stood, and stretched.

Fayrl returned the canteen to his belt and held out a hand to help Ma’zurah onto the cart before climbing up himself. "My dear Companions, please make yourselves at home in our cart."

Fayrl wondered who would be the easiest target to draw more information out of. Not the woman with the warpaint; she seemed mostly business. One of the others. Perhaps the man that had backed down from him.

Ma'zurah settled into the driver's seat and waited for the others to take their seats as well before urging the horse forward.

Fayrl turned back toward the three warriors with a buffoonish grin. "So, my brave warriors, I hate to bother you after the fatigue of fighting such a foul creature as that, but might I have your names, so that I might tell our future child of how we all fought and then rode together? Oh, it would just be such a bright spot in our lives to brag of how we had met you all. All of our friends and families will be jealous when we tell them. Oh, please! I will try not to be too much of a bother." His face took on an open and pleading expression, one better suited to the face of a child seeing a dearly desired toy or treat, than a mer who had helped to slay a giant moments earlier.

Ma'zurah smacked Fayrl's arm with the back of her hand without looking at him. "Stop that, Fayrl, you will freak them out."

"Sorry, my dear," Fayrl said, then turned back to the three warriors. "I'm so very sorry, sometimes I get carried away. It's not often you meet those you hear of in tales and song." Fayrl managed to look thoroughly embarrassed.

The young Imperial girl giggled, and the other two looked at Fayrl, frowning skeptically. Finally, the Nord man said, "You know, you don't have to beg us for our names. We'd just tell you anyway. I'm Vilkas, and this is Aela and Ria." He pointed to the red haired Nordic woman and then the dark haired Imperial girl in turn. "Now strangers, might we get a formal introduction as well?"

Fayrl cleared his throat awkwardly. "Right. Yes. I'm Fayrl. You might have guessed that. Or perhaps I had already said. And the beautiful, talented as the stars themselves, spirit of grace and beauty you see driving the cart is my wife, Ma'zurah." He flushed a little as he glanced at her.

Ma'zurah didn't turn her head, trying to hide a smirk from both Fayrl and the party in the back. Fayrl was a good actor, and funny, even if he was getting annoying and spouting ridiculous lies for no apparent reason. The cart reached the road that led uphill toward the city, and Ma'zurah turned onto it.

Fayrl hoped that his well established act of the likable fool would help them to proceed without issue going forward. They were approaching the gate and if he didn't make a good impression the Companions might not vouch for them.

Ma'zurah stopped the cart by the stables. "Okay, we will have to stop here and walk. Ma'zurah should only be a second." She fished in her pack for her coin purse, desperately hoping that her money was acceptable.

Fayrl hopped down from the cart to hurry and hold out a hand for her. It appeared a gesture of a mer assisting his wife. He slipped some coins into her hand. "Just in case. Shout if you have trouble," he whispered into her ear. He headed back to the Companions to continue his act of the likable fool.

Ma'zurah walked up to the stablemaster. "Greetings, this one is Ma'zurah. We need someone to look after the horse and cart. Do you take Imperial Septims?"

The tall Nord stablemaster looked her up and down. "We can't take your horse; no room," he declared. "I'm afraid you're going to have to go elsewhere."

Ma'zurah blinked. The man was standing right besides a half empty stable. "Godsdammit..." she muttered. She turned and looked at Fayrl over her shoulder. "Faaaaryl!"

Fayrl turned on his heel and was besides her in an instant, his hands near, but not on the hilts of his weapons in both preparation and warning. The Nord jumped at the suddenness with which Fayrl appeared. "Shor's bones! Where did you come from?"

Fayrl ignored the stablemaster. "You called, my dear? Any…" his voice took on a dark note, "...trouble?" His voice rose to its previous lighthearted timbre. “Something I can help you take care of?"

"That one insists he has no room for our horse." Ma'zurah crossed her arms and glared at the Nord. "Ma'zurah thinks he must be mistaken because Ma'zurah sees plenty of room, but Ma'zurah just wanted to double check, you know how her vision sometimes gets."

Fayrl stepped away from her and approached the stable. The Nord moved forward to stop Fayrl, but Fayrl easily sidestepped him, taking the hand reaching for him into his as if the taller man was a child who needed guidance. He led the man toward the row of empty stalls.

"My dear sera," he began, turning back to face the man, "I thought you said there was no more room. Yet it appears as though you may have just gotten an opening."

The Nord began to make poorly disguised excuses about reservations, but Fayrl merely took a step forward with an implicit threat in his gaze that made the taller man back away from him until he was backed against the side of the building.

"How about we broker a deal, my good sera?" Fayrl’s voice was filled with danger and unspoken promises of violence.

The Nord swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing up and down like the head of a nervous bird. "What kind of a deal?"

Fayrl smiled and leaned in to whisper in the man's ear.

At first the Nord stiffened. Then he began to relax. By the time Fayrl had leaned back, the Nord was leaning towards him to say something in return.

Fayrl laughed and leaned closer to the Nord, trailing his fingers across the man’s chest. "Of course. How could I say no?"

Ma'zurah raised her eyebrows and gave Fayrl a questioning look.

The three Companions walked back toward the stable. Aela had her arms crossed. Vilkas' brow was furrowed, and Ria was giggling at how close Fayrl was standing to the stablemaster.

"Is there a problem here?" Aela asked.

"Oh no, none at all." Fayrl’s hands lingering on the Nord's chest for a moment before he turned to the Companions. "I was just working out a payment deal with the stablemaster." He turned his back to the Nord to address the others, backing himself up against the larger man, though only Ma'zurah could tell exactly how close from the angle.

The stablemaster seemed to be tense behind him a bit.

"Ma'zurah, darling, why don't you go with the Companions and ensure we can get into the city?"

Ma'zurah looked at Fayrl skeptically, but walked up to him and gave him a handful of gold Imperial Septims. "Alright, but here. Just in case."

She walked back to the Companions and smiled. "Ma'zurah is ready to go! Fayrl should have no trouble getting into the city himself, and Ma'zurah thanks you for vouching for her!"

Aela glanced Ma'zurah up and down, smiled, and offered her an arm. "Not at all, come with me!"

Ma'zurah took the proffered arm and gave the tall woman a coy look out of the corner of her eye. Behind them Vilkas rolled his eyes but followed them up to the gate with Ria. On the way, Ma'zurah noticed a small caravan of Khajiit traders, but did not think she could afford to stop to talk with them. Upon reaching the gate they were stopped by the guard.

The guard, a hard looking woman who bore heavy scarring across her face, nearly blinding her in one eye, and with part of her nose missing, held up a hand. "Companions you are free to enter, of course, but we can't let your friend in.”

Aela stepped forward. "This one is with us--"

"Oh! And the Dark Elf back there too!" Ria cut in. Aela shot her an annoyed glance for interrupting.

"Yes. And the Dark Elf who is arranging accommodations for the horse. They helped us with our latest contract, so we would like to take them up to Jorrvaskr."

Ma'zurah shot Aela an anxious glance. "Ma'zurah should probably talk to the Jarl immediately. We bring urgent news."

The guard glanced between everyone present, deeply scrutinizing the faces of all involved. She glanced pointedly at Aela. "You can assure me that you will take responsibility for the actions of the both of these…" her voice turned derisive, "...people?" She turned her gaze to Ma’zurah. "And what news is this?"

Ma’zurah was not sure what to tell the woman, but without being able to consult with Fayrl, she settled for the truth. "Er... Ma'zurah does not wish to alarm anyone, but Fayrl and Ma'zurah have information about the Dragons."

The guard looked dumbfounded. "Dragons? In Skyrim? You must have had too much skooma," she scoffed. "I thought you had some actual news. If the Companions are willing to accept responsibility for your actions and any crimes you commit in the city, then I suppose I might be able to let you pass."

The three Companions shuffled uncomfortably in the background.

Ma'zurah pursed her lips and crossed her arms, pinning the surly woman with a glare. "Do not look at them. They have not known these two for more than half an hour, and Ma’zurah hardly expects them to vouch on so little acquaintance.” Ma’zurah took a step toward the guard.

“Instead examine yourself,” she continued. “Are you seriously willing to risk turning away not one, but two witnesses to an attack from a creature whose only logical description can be ‘Dragon’? When more witnesses arrive--and more will arrive--and it is discovered that you, personally, have detained the first two bearers of news, potentially at the risk of the rest of the Jarl's holdings, who do you think is going to be held responsible? What if this creature turns another of the Jarl's towns to slag?”

The guard leaned back, so much so that she had to take a full step backwards.

Ma’zurah bared her teeth in a feral smile. “Yes, this one did say ‘another’, because Helgen is already gone, and the guards from the village along the path to Whiterun from Helgen hurried hurried these two witnesses along to spread the word while they prepared a rescue for any survivors because they all heard and saw this creature fly overhead. Are you seriously willing to risk the anger of the Jarl when he finds out that you, personally, put his land in danger because you were not willing to accept the word of not one, but two eyewitnesses because of racial discrimination? Because this one needs no other corroboration than the corpses and charred stones of Helgen, and you will be held accountable." She gave the guard a cold and totally sober stare.

The guard resisted the stare for a tense moment, but finally nodded. "Very well, you and your elf companion, wherever they may be, are free to enter. But mark my word, there will be no lollygagging about. You report straight to the Jarl or I will have you thrown back out on your furry face."

"Thank you." Ma'zurah gave the guard a cool glance out of the corner of her eye as she moved to open the heavy gate. The three Companions hurried to assist her, and began walking through the streets of Whiterun.

Vilkas cleared his throat nervously. "Uh... what you said back there, about the Dragon, that was all true wasn't it?"

Ma’zurah nodded. "Unfortunately yes. Ma'zurah will need to visit the Jarl, and since it seems that these two are the first to bring word, Ma'zurah would appreciate your assistance with any more potential disruptive racists." She paused. "Actually, Ma'zurah thinks she would probably be taken more seriously if Fayrl were present. Perhaps we should wait." She made a face, and stopped in front of a blacksmith shop.

The Companions nodded nervously.

Meanwhile, Fayrl waited until he could see that the Companions were out of sight before pulling the stablemaster into one of the empty stalls and shutting the short door behind them. He knew he would have to do this quickly, and discreetly out of sight of passersby, but he could certainly do enough even so to get the Nord to not just cooperate, but possibly even pay him for the pleasure. He began manhandling the stablemaster, using his gifts in speech to speed along the process. He hated to rush things like this, but if he was gone too long someone might come to check on him, and that would likely ruin the illusion that he was married to Ma'zurah.

Fayrl managed to bring the Nord to climax with his voice as much as with his hands. He promised to return later to give him another installment of his ‘payment’. With a last caress, he hurried to help bring the horse into the stable, leaving the rest to the Nord. He quickly washed off his hands and jogged up to the gate.

A grim looking guard glared at him and ushered him to go on ahead, promising she would be keeping an eye on him. He winked at her and told her he hoped that she would, and he hurried through the gate. He paused just inside, his mind reeling from the strangeness of this new Whiterun which was vaguely familiar, and yet vastly different from the Whiterun he knew.

He saw the others waiting outside a blacksmith shop and walked over. "I hope you will forgive my absence. It took a bit more strenuous haggling than I thought to handle the stablemaster. Shall we?" He flashed a toothy grin Ma'zurah's direction.

The Companions began walking Ma'zurah and Fayrl up the hill to the Jarl's keep. They passed through a market and up some steps, and Vilkas and Ria bid the rest of the party farewell and headed toward a large building shaped like an overturned boat. Aela and Ma'zurah fell in stride with Fayrl as they passed under a massive dead looking tree toward another set of stairs. A man in a hooded yellow robe shouted from in front of a huge statue of Talos about the evils of elves who were denying freedom and stealing children and lives. Ma'zurah glanced at Fayrl. The few people on the streets seemed to be paying more attention to her than to Fayrl.

Fayrl busily studied the changes to the city. The temple of Kynareth and the keep appeared starkly unchanged compared to the rest of the city. But what shook him more than anything was the sight of the Gildergreen. On the one hand, it had grown far larger than when last he had seen it. On the other, it looked completely dead. That part chilled him to the bone and made him wonder about the Eldergleam. Had it, too, perished? He hoped not.

As they passed a yelling man in yellow robes and a statue of an armored man with a sword, he wondered what had happened to the Whiterun he knew. He had never seen the statue before and could not guess who it could be depicting. If he really had traveled to the fourth era, then he would not likely know much that was relevant. It made his skin crawl. He did not like feeling so lost or out of place.

They reached the huge wooden drawbridge that led to the keep, and were this time halted by a pair of guards on either side of the door. Aela spoke with the two guards barring passage forward in a low voice, and they stood back and waved the party forward.

They entered the keep, and Ma'zurah glanced around at the high pillars that supported the ceiling and balcony on the second floor on both sides of the hall. She caught sight of a dark haired human child sitting with his legs dangling between the bars of the balcony to the left, and waved to him cheerily, but the boy immediately withdrew from sight.

Fayrl felt far more at ease within the keep. Some of the furniture had been changed, but the tables and throne and tapestries were all in place. Some of them were even the same, unchanged since his last visit.

As they approached the throne, they passed between two long tables laid out as though in preparation for a feast. Beside the Jarl, who was lounging on his throne, stood a beautiful red haired Dunmer in leather armor, who drew her sword and stalked to intercept the party. "Halt! Who approaches Jarl Balgruuf unsummoned? State your names and your business quickly, or taste my steel."

Fayrl ignored the prickly Dunmer and stepped forward, giving a deep bow in the direction of the Jarl’s throne. "Jarl Balgruuf, my name is Fayrl, and may I present my wife, Ma'zurah. We have just come from Helgen by way of Riverwood. We bring grave news, I am afraid. News that concerns all of Whiterun hold, and perhaps even more than that."

The Dunmer with the drawn sword glanced at the Jarl for direction. He tilted his head and shifted on his throne. “It’s alright Irileth. Let them approach.” He gestured for them to continue.

Ma'zurah stepped up to Fayrl’s side and gave a flourishing Elsweyri bow. "Jarl, we two were in Helgen when it was attacked by a giant flying creature with huge black wings and fire breath which defies all description other than ‘Dragon’. We escaped on a cart and alerted the guards at the small town between here and Helgen, and they directed us to you to spread the word and request aid. The last we saw, Helgen was in flames, and there were many dead and injured."

The Jarl's relax posture gave way to stiffness and he leaned forward in his throne. “You're sure this was caused by a Dragon?”

Fayrl turned to show the Jarl the back of his tunic where it had been burned. "It’s all true! I was nearly burned alive! Only the quick thinking of my wife was there to save me." Fayrl turned to the Dunmer bodyguard, Irileth, who was still watching them carefully. "It was utterly awful! The smell of charred bones and flesh and wood and stones…. There must be something that can be done!"

Irileth turned to the Jarl. "My lord, if there is even a single iota of truth to this report, reinforcements must be sent to Riverwood at once, and a contingent sent to confirm the story at Helgen. Riverwood is dangerously undermanned to withstand any encounter, Dragon or no."

A short Imperial man with a balding head stepped forward as well and bowed. "My lord, the Jarl of Falkreath would not view such a move with kindness. He would likely believe it to be an aggressive gesture on the part of your lordship."

Fayrl turned his attention to the Imperial. "We spoke with the guards in Riverwood. They told us to continue to Whiterun and bring word." He turned to the Jarl. "They told us to come to you, Jarl Balgruuf."

The Jarl considered the situation for a moment. "I agree. Such a move could be construed as an aggressive gesture. We cannot risk that until we confirm this story. However, I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people! We will send a pair of swift couriers to Helgen to find out the truth of the situation, and prepare a detachment for Riverwood in the event that they are needed. If the couriers can confirm this report, one will return straight here, and the other will bring word to Jarl Siddgeir to advise him of the attack within his holdings.” The Jarl turned to the balding man. “That should be enough to satisfy your caution, Proventus." The man nodded and bowed.

The Jarl turned back to Fayrl and Ma'zurah. "I thank you for your report. Stay in Whiterun, and I will send for you when the couriers return.”

Ma'zurah bowed again. "Yes, of course Jarl. We thank you."

Aela stepped forward and ushered the two back toward the door to the hall. "Come, I will take you to the nearest inn. Jarl Balgruuf is a fair man, and I'm certain he will have a reward for you once your story is confirmed."

Fayrl was not surprised by any of the outcome of reporting to the Jarl that a neighboring hold was under attack. Skyrim was only a loosely held together system of what boiled down to miniature kingdoms. The fact that remained unchanged was in some ways reassuring.

The three walked past the ends of the banquet tables and began walking down the short flight of steps until the dark haired boy Ma'zurah had spotted earlier greeted them with a sneer. "Oh good." he drawled, leaning against one of the pillars. "More wanderers here to lick my father's boots. Good job."

Something about the boy caught Fayrl’s interest. Sure, he spoke like a brat; unsurprising for the son of the ruler of a small hold in the middle of the frozen lands of Skyrim. But there was an aura about the boy that he felt a strange kinship to.

He stopped and turned back to the boy, reaching for one of the ties in his hair--the one used to identify other followers of his Mistress. "Young man, I am curious, do you happen to know where I might find something like this?"

It was a long shot, he knew. Still, if the boy knew someone connected to his Mistress, then she might be able to help send him back to his own time.

The boy leaned forward and examined the tie with a look of confusion, then he narrowed his eyes and glanced sharply up at Fayrl. "You know... Her, don't you?" He looked over at Aela and Ma'zurah suspiciously. "Yeah. I might. Lose the bootlickers and come find me again, and I might be able to help you. No promises though."

Fayrl gave the boy a grateful nod. "I have been loyal since before I was your age. Any assistance would be greatly appreciated. Let my Lady know I shall send prayers to her until I can return." His voice was quiet enough that only the boy could hear.

The boy gave him an evaluative look and stepped back, walking off in the direction of a flight of stairs to the right of the throne. Aela gave Fayrl a tight lipped look of disapproval and shook her head, gesturing the party forward.

Fayrl walked alongside the others. "What can I say, I have always liked children. Such wonderful imaginations. I can't wait until our own comes along." He motioned towards Ma'zurah’s belly with a foolish grin on his face.

Ma'zurah shook her head. She was becoming somewhat annoyed at Fayrl’s antics. She wished he’d consulted her before spinning these fanciful and completely unnecessary lies and assumed her complicity.

They followed Aela down through the city streets until they came to an inn with a sign depicting a horse with a flag.

"This is the Bannered Mare," Aela told them. "You'll want to stay here until the Jarl calls for you again. I'd also like to extend the invitation to you both to join the Companions for supper at Jorrvaskr. I'm sure you can find your way. Now, if you don't mind, I must take my leave."

Fayrl bowed. "Thank you, brave Companion Aela, and all of your fellows. You have done us a great service and we would be more than glad to accept your invitation."

Aela clasped Fayrl's forearm in a warriors greeting, offered the same to Ma’zurah, and turned and left.

End Notes:

Fayrl’s tumblr: @talldarkandroguesome

Screenshot of Fayrl Screenshot of Ma’zurah Check out my art tag for more pictures of Fayrl and Ma’zurah.

Constructive criticism is welcome. We also really like it if you leave comments on Ao3.

#TES #Elder Scrolls Lore #Skyrim #ESO #Morrowind #My Writing #Fanfic #Lost In Time TES Fanfic #Fayrl Indoril #Ma'zurah the Khajiit #Rated M

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lilbooktopus · 7 years ago

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A Court of Thorns and Roses

Author: Sarah J. Maas Synopsis: The huntress Feyre is taken to Prythian as punishment for breaking The Treaty and slaying a faerie in a wolf's skin. She is given freedom to roam within the gates of the manor, but not to return to her family and home. The longer she stays in the manor of her captor Tamlin, the deeper she falls in love with the masked fae. Outside Tamlin's walls, the kingdom that lies north of the human realm is a land tormented with a curse, a shadow that leeched the magic of its inhabitants and set dark creatures dangerously close to the human borders. Feyre must break the spell or watch everything she loves fall into its doom.A Court of Thorns and Roses is a retelling of the Beauty and the Beast.

First Impression: ACOTAR is told in first person POV and we get Feyre to narrate everything to us. I'm not a fan of first person POV but I thought the first four chapters were okay until I felt they were going too slow. And that's where things started to go downhill.

Book Talk

Meet Feyre, a huntress whose only motivation in life is her family who treats her badly despite being their sole provider in this hard winter and her hobby painting. She gets whisked away to faerie land by a not-so-obviously handsome masked high fae as a punishment for killing one of their kind. In Prythian, she lives a life of absolutely zero consequences for reasons revealed in the last part of the book, if you manage to hang on long enough.

Feyre is a sad excuse for a heroine. She's petty (don't let her hear you say 'ignorant' and 'insignificant'; she'll think you're talking about her and mope, or find a creature that could kill her), and goes beyond the usual amount of recklessness and stupidity YA main characters have, the likes of which has never been seen since Bella Swan's cliff dive. She'll do the exact opposite of anything you say will keep her safe and manage to stay alive long enough for an alpha-male to come to her rescue.

ACOTAR is a book that kept me thinking who the bigger douche is, Tamlin or Rhysand, and watch Feyre mistake abusive behavior for protectiveness and kindness over and over again as she tries to break the most specific curse in the history of magic casted by the most underwhelming villain I've ever seen. I got frustrated watching Feyre complete everyone's sentence with "insignificant human", describe things with "I can/not paint it", wait to be invited to faerie parties she had no business being in, fail to answer the easiest riddle in the history of riddles, and basically make the worst decisions ever without having to face any consequence.

It took a dull 275 pages and 31 chapters of Feyre's whining, hating faeries, and inexplicably falling in love with faeries enough to sacrifice her life for her High Lord (haha yes, that's a thing!) before any semblance of a plot became apparent and by then the only things keeping me hanging on were sheer will, moral support from friends, and the fact that I bought all three books already and doomed myself to this fate. If you ever find yourself in the same position, the only way to get through it is by telling yourself there must be an explanation somewhere. Explanation, never a justification.

PS. Lucien is the character I liked the most and I love the Suriel (a veiled faerie with features scary enough that Feyre will probably say she won't be able to paint).

World-building: ★★☆☆☆ Characters: ★★☆☆☆ Plot: ★☆☆☆☆

(Click read more if you’re prepared for a long ass review. You have been warned.)

Book Talk

Let's start with the things I loved. Let it not be said that I loved nothing in this book because if I am to be completely honest, I did.

Side characters I loved Lucien, Tamlin's friend and emissary. He's the life of the book for me, the person that makes most sense. Just your regular slightly-arrogant fae, but not really out-of-line. He has a witty response for everything and will never tire of reminding our MC how to keep herself alive, although he's always ignored. Plus, interesting backstory.

Alis, another fae serving the Spring Court, who is Feyre's handmaid. She gives Feyre some bits of advice throughout her stay in the manor, to keep the new girl alive… if only Feyre would listen.

Creatures Above all, I loved the assortment of faeries roaming Prythian, especially the Suriel, a faerie that could answer all your questions. Feyre's encounter with the Suriel is my favorite event, more because of the Suriel than Feyre's presence. I liked how eerie it felt to read of this faerie, yet feel responsible for its safety.

Things I loathed about this book:

Plot (or the lack of it) There is basically no plot. The only part that matters is the events Under the Mountain. The rest of the book talks about: 1. Feyre thinking she is worthless, useless, ignorant human 2. Feyre painting, Feyre failing to paint something 3. Feyre worrying about her family 4. Feyre-Tamlin inexplicable "romance" 5. Feyre being stupid and running to random dangerous things Only around 150 pages matter here, which could be found at the last part. The events Under the Mountain are the most exciting too, if you manage to hang around that long. Tip: Just tell yourself it would get better. It won't ever be good, but it will get better.

Writing I just hated Sarah J. Maas's writing. For one, SJM abused dashes and adjectives. I'm daring you to find at least two consecutive pages without a dash in it. She uses three adjectives on something that could be described with one.

Another thing I despised was Feyre constantly bleating about her painting. Her hobby is used to describe both her mood and her surroundings. She's sad: she can't paint. Something is too beautiful: she can't paint it. How the heck is "It's so beautiful I wouldn't be able to paint it" supposed to make me understand how a place looked like?

Third thing I hate is how easy information comes to Feyre in the form of characters in the know spout these info while they monologue. Tamlin spilled Lucien's backstory to her, Alis talked about the curse, Rhysand explained his motives and whatnot. It's so lazy on SJM's part.

The Most Boring, Annoying MC since Bella Swan I have never hated an MC this much since Bella Swan. Feyre is presented to us as a badass huntress, the sole caretaker of her family in this hard winter. She endures her spineless father and ungrateful sisters, slaves for them and keeps them alive. Basically, they are bitching on the only reason their family hasn't starved to death yet. I would have pitied her if only she weren't such a martyr.

This girl is one giant walking trope. She constantly thinks she is plain and not beautiful, how hunger made her bony, how her cheekbones are too sharp. Basically an attempt to make her more relatable which doesn't really work because she's the one narrating the story so we hear her whining and then hear everyone else tell her otherwise and want her/lust after her.

Feyre sees her worth through the eyes of others: a. How her family needs her before and doesn't need her now that they are provided for by Tamlin, b. How the faeries perceive her. She is petty enough to take one snide remark to heart and repeat it to herself over and over again. Here's a few of my favorite (there's a really long list):

1. Insignificant - yes, I was insignificant to their lives, their power. As insignificant as the fading chipped designs I'd painted around the cottage. (pg. 66) 2. I could still cling to that scrap of a dream, though these High Faes are likely to laugh at how typically human it was to think so small, so little. (pg. 78) 3. You mean a faerie is passing up the opportunity to mock an ignorant mortal. (pg. 117, when Tamlin offered to help her) 4. I'd stop asking, just as the Suriel had ordered. Like a stupid, useless human. (p. 170) 5. I was an ignorant human fool. (p. 367) That said, I am very much annoyed with her constant whining about how useless the faeries think she is, snapping at anyone who mentions she has a flaw. Apart from that, she hates how no one seems to trust her (although she doesn't trust faeries herself), how she's not privy to their decision-making, and surprise: how she's not invited to parties.

1. As if I were at the very, very bottom of a long list of priorities. (pg. 106) 2. Perhaps it was contained but it seemed it was still wreaking havoc - still a threat - and perhaps one they truly didn't want me knowing about, either from lack or trust or because… because I was nothing to them. (pg. 108)

So what if she's petty and very much presumptuous? That's not enough to hate her! Brace yourselves because Feyre is also that kind of heroine who has a death wish. She deliberately disobeys any orders which were set for her own safety. Okay, so what if she's reckless? Right! If only she could save her own hide but sadly, she could not. Every freaking time she heads out, either because of curiosity or spite, she puts herself in a dangerous situation she could not get out of until a male savior comes to her rescue.

Under the care of these faes, Feyre lives a life of zero consequence, never gets reprimanded earnestly because… you'll find out if you could hang around long enough to reach 75% of the novel. And even then I felt like I was being cheated because it's so lame that Feyre could do nothing wrong or if she does, no one will lift a hand because everyone is looking to her to break the spell that's on them. It's a very convenient way for the author to slink out of the responsibility to keep her MC in check. Feyre being reckless to the point of almost killing herself doesn't make her brave or endearing; it makes her stupid.

Here's another attempt to make her more relatable: giving her a very ordinary hobby which is painting. More about this on Writing.

Problematic Relationships

This book is riddled with red flags for me, problematic relationships and power imbalance. Feyre is tossed into a world dominated by powerful males, high lords and such, and she is a powerless human forced to blend in. She is forced into desperate situations she could not get out of without the help of said males like Tamlin and Rhysand. I felt like Feyre is often exploited, reduced to a plaything, and she could do nothing but to accept it. Problematic relationships are okay only if these instances were not romanticized and are presented as problematic indeed, not like how Feyre saw these as sweet, sexy, kind, or supportive.

Tamlin "Do not disobey me ever again." My favorite Tamlin quote. Tamlin is presented as this high lord, noble and fair, probably handsome behind the mask (No, the mask didn't really do anything to diminish his effect on women). And he would not explain anything to Feyre and would constantly growl and unsheathe his claws, and lengthen her canines at her. Cursed or not, he's a too-dominating, overprotective, suffocating ass of a fae.

An example of which is Fire Night, where Tamlin tells Feyre to lock herself in or else, when he becomes possessed later in the night, he might come to her and force himself on her. Feyre was thrilled and thought, "A feral part of him wanted me." Yes, if she didn't stay in, he would rape her and it would be her fault. When the douche of a guy comes home, he pins Feyre against the wall and kisses and bites her neck despite her protests which, no matter how half-hearted they are, are still to be taken as NO. And when she tells him not to do that ever again, the damned fae just chuckles. Next day, he justifies biting her neck because she disobeyed him despite his orders, saying "If Feyre can’t be bothered to listen to orders, then I can't be held accountable for the consequences."

Rhysand Rhysand, on the other hand, was marketed as this bad boy whatever. He's just a douche. No matter what his ulterior motives were, I felt like he went overboard and did unnecessary stuff that the author wanted readers to swallow as sexy. Rhysand would make Feyre do/do everything to Feyre without her permission, invading her mind and body.

Later in the book, Rhysand abuses her both verbally and physically, making her dress in clothes she's uncomfortable in, insulting her, intoxicating her and making her dance for him in front of people while he touches her and makes her sit on his lap. He laughs at Feyre's pain when he was checking her injured arm which is totally unnecessary - you can't say it's because he's playing a role here - because no one was there to see. When he comes to her in the night to lick her tears and insult her more, she thinks that Rhysand had kept her from shattering completely. It's really worse when Rhysand reveals he didn't need the one-week-a-month deal to heal her arm. He was hurting her for fun.

Romance I'd be hard-pressed to tell you how Feyre and Tamlin fell in love with each other, so much that Feyre was so ready to let go of her anger towards faeries and throw her life away for him. In the absence of an actual showcase of their hearts jiving together, we just get SJM telling us that they're in love. Or Feyre was very much attracted to this sad, brooding lord, whose tan skin and perfect eyes call to her, whose touch makes her skin burn.

Villain/Curse I was so disappointed by the villain of this novel and the curse this notorious she laid on the land. It was so underwhelming that I nearly melted into a puddle. Amarantha, the she so evil, so powerful, that they would not mention her name is not worth all the fuss they're giving her.

First, her curse is the stupidest curse ever. I mean, you expect a mask to hide Tamlin's beauty to prevent people from falling in love with him? Did it stop Feyre from assuming he's beautiful? Did it stop her from noticing his tanned skin, his muscles, which she was soooo attracted to?

Anyway, the curse was so damn specific that it sucked. It super duper sucked.

Oh and did I mention about the easy way out Amarantha gave Feyre? Okay, defend it all you want and say the evil queen did that because she underestimates humans so much but it was so ridiculous I answered it by the second line. For a quicker way out, she should have at least made it more difficult than that.

Final Verdict:

This book gave me the biggest headache of all time, especially the final chapters where the strength of my mind was tested. I hate this book with a burning passion but I will read on because I already bought all three books and it would be a waste of money to burn them. From a lame MC, abusive alpha-males, underwhelming villains, and a non-existent plot, this book will give Twilight a run for its money.

Rating: ★★☆☆☆ (2 out of 5)

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of thorns and roses book review #a court of thorns and roses review #sarah j maas #sjm #feyre #feyre archeron #tamlin #rhysand #book review #books #bookblr #book blogger #bookblogger #bookblog #book reviewer #(.reviews from the deep)

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shawnjacksonsbs · 5 years ago

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Have more purpose than that. Make it infinite. Let's change the world one fucking person at a time if that’s what it takes. 6-7-20 "FOR AS LONG AS I CAN REMEMBER, I JUST WANTED TO DO WHAT WAS RIGHT." - Steve Rogers This is where I'm at now, with as much of my life as I can control, and even still more of it that I can't. It's an ever urging and pulling feeling of responsibility stinging my heart. But man it hurts so good to do what feels right. So here's my weekly take on things. If you aren't arguing to convince the opposition of your side, then you are only arguing to be arguing. Am I right or am I wrong? If that's not the case, but you're not trying to educate them either, then why not remove yourself from the heat of the agitated discussed topic. I can only really think of one example, and that is if you were stepping into a situation to stand up for someone or to help someone who is being bullied. Then obviously get it done, and realign when it's over. Other than that, what else is there to gain aside from just wanting to argue and be disturbing, (for lack of a better description)? I'm all for sticking up for the underdog and standing up to bullies, but are our racially charged family members completely hopeless, or completely evil? I imagine some are, but most are probably not, especially some of the younger ones. Some of those very specific behaviors can be so disgusting, but if that's the case and you don't want to educate, then can you ax them out of your life? Or ignore them altogether. Why stay trapped in a never-ending loop. We can help others to help others as well. Look, I'm just as guilty as anyone when it comes to standing up for people, for kindnesses, and standing up to those who would treat others as less than. But . . . evil and ignorance don't always have to be holding hands, albeit does happens a lot. I have to constantly ask myself why, what for, how, and to what end usually in each situation. I'm not perfect at it, but at least I try. I can get just as worked up as those I'm talking to, especially if it's a topic that touches my heart on a deeper level, as most obvious(?) injustice issues tend to do. I'm grateful to be on mission though, and considering it's a learning curve for me anyway, I can try this way or that today, learn more, and better ways for a different approach tomorrow. Hell, I've taken a stance on so many issues in the last 7 years alone that my mind has been changed on or altered towards it isn't even funny. Its called growth. Its called being an adult. Changed minds solve more conflicts than closed minds ever will. Some a little more slightly, like my views on Black Lives Matter, and some drastically like with my views on white privilege, just to name a couple. Each step in that growth that I take may change as I progress forward in positivity, but it's still just that; more positive steps than last time step. Which doesn't mean my view was negative before. It was just a little lesser of that positive than it is now but still positive. Growth. Every day a little more. With an open mind, which was very hard for me to get to, I was shown how to open my heart. With my heart open, I learned why I should open them up more. Its always about others, from family and friends to struggling strangers. It's my most important part of the life explanation. Sometimes I feel confused as to why more people don't feel the same way, but then I am reminded of all those who do, and that I was once someone who didn't. Now though, I know it to be better. I know it to be right. Not everyone does, but not everyone has to. Light will always be greater, even if the darkness never dies completely, but if people like me started getting discouraged that we may never win the war and started "pulling out", or "giving up", (probably not "giving in" so much, as that would probably be hard to do once you've made it here) then holding back the darkness would become extremely tiring for those who were left holding the line. I'd hope that would never happen, but if it did then I'd hold the line alone for as long as humanly possible. Anyone who knows me now probably knows this to be true. Just keeping the hope alive, the push for kindness cultivating, and the gratitude growing is the easiest fighting style I've ever grown accustomed to and it's the right thing to do. Always with the next right thing, making good choices etc, is just plain easier. My big go-to is that lying used to be exhausting. Now I don't have to remember bullshit lies or backups for future reference. The truth is just easier, even if it is sometimes a little uncomfortable. And, once again, it's the right thing to do. I'll say it like this. Do what you want and I will continue to as well. But ask yourself, why wouldn't you want the same things, with similar outcomes? Kindnesses may start out as little tasks, but if you're anything like me then they'll end up being a lifestyle soon enough. A new direction real quick, I have probably been in handcuffs over 150 times in my life, probably arrested closer to 100 of those times, charged maybe 50 of them, with felonies being an even lower number, and of those felonies less were incarceratable. I was also the family junkie that no one thought would pull out. And I mean no one. Most loved me but didn't believe I'd ever find solid ground again out of that life, at least not without overdosing, dying in the street, or ending up back in prison. I suppose this is just to kind of brag on myself a little, but not like you think. Not for the quantity or length of time I stayed lost, which would have had me give up on me as well, but because of how far I've come since then and in a pretty short amount of time. Not that others weren't worse, or better off or any other such irrelevant shit, because 20 years of using, and being a lowlife is a stretch for anyone. Enough of one to think it would remain the same. Yet . . .I found my way out. Found my way back, and then some. It's not enough to just not do those things anymore. I had to learn or re-learn life, love, continuity of purpose, consistency, integrity, empathy, compassion, and a whole lot more came with it. If I can, anyone can. And you don't have to force some preconceived ideas on how to into your being. If you are sincere and start actually opening your mind to reason, then your heart will follow. It all starts with hope. With hope, we start to believe in greater things, and that things will get better. That's all you need at first. Don't let what you think might come next dissuade you from starting here at all though. When you're ready to move forward the next thing you'll need will reveal itself. It may be god or religion, it may 12 step or support groups, might even just be family. For me, it was recognizing myself again allowing me to establish it with what I believed in my heart, regardless of what anyone else thought or believed. I readjusted my own moral compass. It stays truer north now than at any time previously, in my whole life, except for maybe the innocence of my childhood. "Hope is an optimistic state of mind that is based on an expectation of positive outcomes with respect to events and circumstances in one's life or the world at large." It means to "expect with confidence" and "to cherish a desire with anticipation". If hope ever truly died, there would be no more point, for any of this. Hope is huge. No matter which avenue you decide later to walk down, they all start at the corner of Hope and Honesty. All of them. The responsibility I feel towards others is more than I could ever completely define in here, maybe anywhere. Nor would I ever expect everyone to understand it. I'd more would but . . . It's mostly that I want to give love, because so many need it, and most, and I mean most, aren't undeserving. I still wish I knew better ways to fulfill parts a little closer to home and family, but I'm dealing. On my personal side, I spent my first week in the new apartment. It's going to take some getting used to again, the whole being by myself again. I said it before, the feelings of independence hits fairly differently at first, but it'll balance out soon enough. It was a full week and I still have plenty to do, and unpack. Plus a little bit of stuff to buy for the place as well. (I'm not big on big expensive technology either. I'm used to be someone who could probably live the rest of my life with a 32-inch black n white t.v. with a fuzzy picture, but I am starting to lean a little more every day towards a 65 inch curved television like the one I saw the other day in the store. Have you seen these? Torn between - living with limited material possessions and "I don't ever blow money on myself") Anyways, keep your eyes open. lol If I find one in the next week or so for under $500 bucks, I'm taking that as a sign from the universe. No, seriously. Life is good though, as it usually is for me. Its an amazingly beautiful opportunity for opportunity every single day. Keep in mind, that sharing the love and the laughter could mean more to those around than it sometimes does for you. It's no reason to stop, maybe more reason as to why to keep it up. Find the hope and hold onto it, then walk the walk, and you'll find yourself in a better place before ya know it. Pushing kindnesses across the board and living in gratitude every day is the new cool. Until next week; "Love is like infinity: You can't have more or less infinity, and you can't compare two things to see if they're 'equally infinite. ' Infinity just is, and that's the way I think love is, too." - Fred Rogers

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erinelezabeth920 · 6 years ago

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Day 7 – The Fourth

The Fourth of July was a strange day, full of ups and downs. The morning started off beautifully. The sun filtered in through the window and I more energy than I had before the hospital. I was skipping my clinic work that morning and just easing myself into the program schedule by planning to attend Spanish class in the afternoon. Instead, I listened to The Lumineers, painted my nails, and ate a breakfast that Monica brought me of tea, bread, pineapple and watermelon. It was delicious. I organized my new room, messaged a few friends and laid on the bed for a while, trying to read. I still felt very weak; it was difficult to be active for long periods of time. I tried to avoid scolling the slow-loading internet. Holidays plus boredom plus internet when you’re travelling are a dangerous combination, as I know from past experiences (ie thank goodness I decided to go out on Christmas in Thailand two years ago and get drunk with some Brits. RIP world cup friends). I did see a few posts though; fireworks, parties, floating, beers etc. I knew Andy was having a party with some friends. I tried not to think about it. At 12 pm I got dressed, gingerly walked downstairs, petted the dogs and walked outside. The noon equator sun was hot, but I felt energized walking down the street for the first time in days. I stopped by Panderia Miraflores, the little bakery near my house to get a pastry. The bus (SUR OCCIDENTAL) wasn’t crowded and I could actually sit down. Riding through the street around lunch time, there were vendors everywhere with bananas, empanadas, oranges, meat stick things, and all sorts of else. (Fun fact; in Ecuador, roasted guinea pig is very popular. It still looks just like the animal, head and all, spinning on a stick over coals. Have yet to try…)

But the other food looked good. Specifically empanadas. I looked for some on the way down Avenida Amazones (the large north-south running avenue I walk down about 10 minutes to get to the Spanish school), but no dice. I headed into the school. A few folks were already there. They looked thrilled to see me (“Lizzy!”) and gave me huge hugs. (Other fun fact; I go by Lizzy here. There are two Erins, and in a group of 8 that’s a little tough, so I took the sacrifice. I don’t mind it. I was going to, you know, just re-invent myself completely but then I got sick and threw up for 5 hours straight and was maybe the most vulnerable I’d ever been. Oh well) I sat down, exhausted from the commute, feeling weak and empty. Some others trickled in. Kayla and Erin from my work site showed up; “My other half!” cried Erin and they both hugged me. It was really nice to be greeted so warmly, with such concern from folks I’d only known less than a week, having missed some bonding experiences during the hospital. Shared experiences make fast friends. I then met my Spanish teacher, whose name is Irma. We have one-on-one Spanish lessons three times a week for 3 or 4 hours each day, to meet the needs of all the different levels. Its honestly incredible. Irma was a straight hoot, lighter skin and short hair. In two short hours she knew most of my life, how I had met Andy, places I had lived, and that I don’t like to cook. At one point I even had Google maps open, showing her the layout of Seattle, and pictures of Pike Place. When she asked what kind of music I liked, I responded country because it was the easiest thing in the moment to say. She asked me to name an artist. For some unknown reason I said Dierks Bentley, so we spent the next 10 minutes google you-tube videos of Dierks Bentley. It was about as close to a 4th of July celebration as I got. The lesson ended with me trying to explain the app “Bumble” (she had asked how I met my boyfriend, to which I responded “telefono…”, and she said “cual applicacion?” and I said Bumble because I did not feel like translating Coffee Meets Bagel into Spanish.) I tried to explain the concept, “los mujeres hablan PRIMERO porque los hombros son muy malo…” etc. She finally understood and was very intrigued, asking if there was Bumble in Ecuador. I told her I didn’t know.

By that point it was 5:30. Class had started at 1:30. I was pure exhaustion. Go from hospital one day to a four hour intensive Spanish class the next day and see how you feel. I said bye to Irma and everyone and weakly walked out the door. I wanted to walk home; I wanted some energy in my body so I would sleep well, but crossing the big intersection past the park I got turned around. It was starting to get dark and I was exhausted, sad, a little nauseous, and probably also very hungry now that I’m writing this. Eventually I found a bus (SUR OCCIDENTAL) and got home. I laid on my bed, feeling sad. I scrolled through Facebook and Instagram, a terrible idea but I did it anyway. I wanted to talk to someone, but who I am going to call with my travel lonliness when everyone is off having fun? My parents and brother were sailing our boat. I wanted to message Andy but he was cooking for friends. Everyone was having parties and I was sick, sad in South America. Or so it felt like.

Finally, Monica called me down to dinner. Hernando sat next to me. It felt nice, to be in a warm kitchen with the radio playing and dogs milling about. It helped unstick me from my funk. Monica served me broccoli soup pasta with meat sauce. I don’t even like broccoli, but I ate the soup up, and the pasta was the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted. Although I could only eat a little as my stomach was still very small. Primo (I am calling him Primo, which means “cousin” in Spanish because I don’t know his name), came in and sat down. “Where have you been?!” he said in English. “El hospital” I replied, and held my stomach. “Ah,” he said over his white moustache. “You get the revenge.” “Que?” I said. He said some words in Spanish and asked if I understood. I shook my head no. “The revenge,” he said again in English. “There was once an Inca king. You know the Incas?” I nodded. “Atahualpa was his name. Like Montezuma but for Ecuador. Finally one day, the Conquistadors came over the mountains and killed him. The last Inca king. He takes revenge on all the foreigners. You have the revenge.”

“Creo.” I said solemnly. I believe it.

After dinner I felt nauseous, had to lie down for a while trying not to throw up the first real meal I’d eaten in 4 days. I listened to my audio book. It was one of those nights that you just need to ride out, waiting for the dawn.

I think that sometimes with traveling I am afraid to feel vulnerable. I have this image of myself I want to uphold; fun, wordly, carefree. I am afraid to cry while Face-timing my boyfriend; that is not my image of a strong independent adventurous woman. I am afraid to feel beaten, if only temporarily, afraid to admit the difficulties, the homesickness, the fomo of scrolling through Instagram and seeing all the 4th of July parties, feeling very alone. But, the older I get the more I understand that vulnerability is strength. That admitting when things are hard is bravery. That pushing through, seeing the beauty in the weakest moments, appreciating the little things in ways we never did before is the joy of stepping outside of our comfort zones. The intense privilege to sit at another family’s table, on the other side of the globe and drink their tea, hear their conversations. To see the lines clearly, the colors deep and rich contrasted with the dulls and greys. Like the beauty of a sunset reflecting off a snowcapped peak, sending into the air just a little bit of a taste of home; a smaller world under one wide sky.

#travel #ecuador #travelabroad #quito #4thofjuly #writing

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jesusvasser · 7 years ago

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The Wonder of Off-Roading

I call him my brother, but we share no blood. We’ve just known each other long enough to matter. We spent our young days trying to kill ourselves together by feat or dare, ripping around the county I now call home in a pair of hand-me-down sedans with the throttles welded to the floor and our collective sense of self-preservation somewhere behind us. Neither Sam nor I expected to live much past 18. By luck or grace, we did.

Our lives have wandered far. Me banging around the southeast, building a family, chasing work, and him settling on Florida’s Gulf Coast to be near his father and pursue a nursing degree. It’s been long, arduous years of study and internship, and while we were never farther than a phone call away, we’d go months between sitting down at a table together or raising a little hell.

He passed the last of his exams this month, landed a job up north, and celebrated by finally putting his ragged Accord out to pasture, replacing it with a 2009 Nissan Frontier Pro4X. It is the perfect machine to ferry him to his new life in New Hampshire, fully kitted for abuse and adventure by the previous owner. There’s a modest lift, a stout bumper, plenty of underbody protection, and a winch should the factory rear locker and low range prove insufficient.

It is one of an army of such vehicles. You see them sometimes, the Jeep Wrangler Rubicons and Toyota Tacoma or 4Runner TRDs, the Ram Power Wagons, seemingly outfitted for the apocalypse with antennas, lights, and armor. It is easy to dismiss them as cosplay for CPAs, as grown men and women playing dress-up with their daily driver, but they offer something that no sports car or family sedan can deliver: the excuse to explore and the serenity that comes from a barely worn trail.

The Frontier is an impressive tool, but one Sam doesn’t have much experience using. When he came through town on his way north, I pried a few hours out of the mid-week slog and pointed us toward the Jefferson National Forest for a little light off-roading. Virginia isn’t as flush with forgotten two-track as the open deserts of Utah or Texas, but there are gems to be found. Roads that wind you up and away from the towns that dot the Shenandoah Valley, paths that wander into the gorgeous and lonely hills.

The weatherman swore a winter storm was on its way. On any normal evening, I’d be putting dishes away and trying to decide what to do with myself before bed. Maybe turn on the porch light and eye the dark, waiting for the first flakes. It’s strange how quickly the night slips from your grip. How gladly you yield the dusk to younger men.

Sam’s headlights flickered along the boulders and ice that lined the road, the springs that welled and sweated from the ridge now beautiful and ornate displays in the cold of winter. We cracked the windows to listen to the creek to our left as it rushed through the forest. In the daylight, the water’s as clear as the air in our lungs, but our high beams only shone on the snow that still sat in the shadows, the currents running like ink between the banks.

I aimed us at Shoe Creek, a forest road that once wandered all the way to the Blue Ridge Parkway. Now it comes to a stop at a gate where it crosses private land, but it’s still a perfect playground for someone new to the vagaries of four-wheel drive. It constricts and climbs, dives through the water and up and over wide stones. Nothing about it looks like a place you’d willingly take a vehicle, and yet, the Frontier worked its way through it all without so much as spinning a tire. I gave Sam a few pointers on when to be in four-high, when four-low’s best, and how to use the rear locker as a get-out-of-jail-free card. By the time we wormed our way back to the main track, he was grinning wide with new-found knowledge, with the glow of capability and where the truck could take him. I could see him hungry for the winding tracks of the White Mountains.

It’s a different type of driving, but not so far from the thrill of chasing a redline or bending the limits of tire adhesion. The lessons Sam has learned from a lifetime of slinging a car around serve him well here. Spatial relation, grip awareness, and tire placement all play a role. Everything just happens more slowly. Those delicious and perfect moments when you do not know whether you’ll overcome the obstacle in front of you, whether you’ll sail through without a scratch or go tumbling off course, they hang in the air like a pent breath. It’s a perfect thrill at walking pace.

But there were other lessons to be learned. Like how quickly the easiest trail can snap your confidence. On the way home, we took one last diversion, bouncing up a simple cell tower service road that clung to the side of the ridge. To our left, the land fell away, the driver’s window full of nothing but sparse tree branches and the occasional flicker of light from the valley below. To our right, the slope climbed its way to the Appalachian Trail. When we turned a corner, our eyes didn’t quite know what to make of what covered the ground: a dark blanket, three inches thick and spread across both wheel ruts. Asphalt? No. Ice.

There was no backing the truck out. No turning it around, either. We simply had to inch forward in low range and hope the slick stuff was broken enough for the BFGoodrich All Terrain KO2s to get a bite. The cab went silent, the two of us staring out into the darkness and praying for a patch of gravel. For a moment, it seemed fine. The Frontier edged its way down the small dip, towards a kink in our path. That turn was our undoing; the truck snapped sideways in the width of a breath. Sam turned into the slide and grabbed a boot full of brake in time for us to come to a stop perfectly perpendicular to our intended path of travel.

I looked at him, his jaw set and his breathing shallow, his knuckles blanched against their skin. His eyes were wide with the knowledge that we’d nearly slid his truck off the mountain and into the trees below. He hadn’t managed to put 1,000 miles on it yet.

But we were stopped, we were safe, and we had time to contemplate our next move. This is the brilliance of off-roading. It is a mechanical game of chess played against physics and water and weather and the very land beneath you. There was a tire’s width of gravel ahead of us. If Sam could coax the Nissan to that patch, we’d be home free, at least until we had to turn around and come back up the hill.

At first, Sam couldn’t understand what I was saying, but as the haze of adrenaline lifted, he saw what I was working towards, and he eased us forward. There was a brief slide before the tires gripped and the truck worked its way up the bank, through a bit of brush, and around the worst of the ice. He was ecstatic, laughing and cursing as we continued on, up to the crest and the towers there. The valley spilled out below us, a dozen hamlets glowing in the dark and shuttered tight against the coming storm. We could smell the snow, the air sharp with the promise of it. Neither of us wanted to be up there when it hit.

The way out had us retrace our steps, and when we came to the ice sheet, we parked the truck, got out, and walked the road, searching for a line that would carry us up and over the worst of it. I hadn’t taken two steps before my feet went out from under me so quick I couldn’t get my hands up. I bashed my face off the ice, my tongue full with the taste of blood as I struggled to stand. As I did, I caught a glimpse of the source of our woes: a natural spring pouring warm, clear water out onto the ice, where it immediately refroze. Now it was my turn to laugh and curse, my lips already swelling to a bruise.

We made a plan, Sam got back in the truck, and I guided him up the slope, working to keep him on as much dry ground as possible. It worked fine until the very top, where the ice spread wide across the trail. No matter our approach, we couldn’t get the Frontier up and over. The tires dug and spun. Sam sawed at the wheel in a quest for purchase. None of it worked. I hadn’t intended on giving a lesson in winch recovery. I’ve always viewed the things like a fire extinguishers: absolutely vital to have, but only to be used in the very worst of circumstances. With the temperature dropping and the wind picking up, it was time to pull cable.

I hiked up the hill to a suitable stump, mindful of slick spots and briars and ankle-busting stones, hooked to, and talked Sam through working himself up and over the trouble spot. In a blink, he was clear, and we were on our way off the mountain well ahead of the first flakes. The two of us were exhausted, bruised, bloody, and muddy from a fight with a stretch of trail no longer than a couple hundred feet. We were content, too, washed in the kind of calm that only comes from the sort of hyper-focus required by any specialized driving. It’s a breath.

It’s a rare thing in our world of ever-growing distraction and connection. We are wedded not to the moments at our feet, but the ones accessible through the tapping of fingertips on screens. And it’s endangered. What room does our electrified, automated future have for mud and ice and stone? For wild creeks and the foolish human desire to cross them only to turn around and come back again? Get in your trucks and go while the world still lets you.

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jonathanbelloblog · 7 years ago

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The Wonder of Off-Roading

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