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alderaani · 3 years ago

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more than gold

summary: A lost Jedi Temple, a riddle, some literature, and feelings that Cody isn't ready to speak out loud. | AO3

note: written for @codywanweek and the alt day 5 prompt Sith/Jedi Artefact Shenanigans! sliding in on the last day with one more thing written than expected, so i’m happy with that! i’m pretty ill today so i hope it actually makes some coherent sense 😂 also if the riddle was super obvious, soz, never written one before and turns out it’s really hard.

“You know, I could have sworn I told you not to touch that,” Cody says conversationally, from where he’s splayed out on his back.

“Really? I’m sure I didn’t hear you,” Obi-Wan says, cheerful despite being crumpled in a heap. His elbow is in Cody’s gut. Cody glares at him.

The room they’re lying in is circular, stone, carved out of some Forced-damned mountain and according to Obi-wan, practically thrumming with power. The ceiling is high and vaulted, letting in slivers of light where intricate mirror systems catch the sunlight of double suns and project it deep underground. It takes on a slightly blue cast, reflecting off the huge pool of water they were lucky to not fall into. Four walkways at each cardinal point lead to a central platform, and interspersed between them are four waterfalls.

It should be serene. Except now the waterfalls are travelling backwards, and all the doors, including the one they came in by, are blocked. Cody scrambles up onto his elbows, dislodging Obi-Wan with a grunt.

“What did you do?”

Obi-Wan follows his gaze and gasps, delighted. “Now, will you look at that?”

Cody is looking. Frankly, he doesn’t trust this place enough to not keep his eye on it at all times. Obi-Wan keeps saying that this temple was built long ago, by ancient, peaceful Jedi as a place of learning, and that it won’t hurt them. After they got cut off from the rest of their men at the entrance, however, Cody thinks he could be forgiven for having his doubts.

As Obi-Wan himself proves, peace-keeping hardly rules out danger.

“Amazing,” Obi-Wan breathes, hoisting himself to his feet without a second glance, to walk back up to the plinth and stalk round it, examining the incomprehensible runes engraved there.

Cody is left to peel himself off the floor, and instead goes to prod at the barriers now sealing the exits with the end of his blaster. He tries not to look too much at Obi-Wan, at the soft sweep of his hair and the span of his shoulders. Being on their own like this is something he’s avoided, of late - not because he doesn’t enjoy it, but because he’s starting to enjoy it all too much.

He doesn’t trust the way his heart leaps when Obi-Wan smiles, when he asks him to call him ‘Obi-Wan’, when the cycle draws on and they’re up late again, companionably finishing reports and debating strategy. Or, as they had been doing until Cody got cold feet and started finding excuses, debating novels, which Obi-Wan checked out of the Temple archives and read aloud, one chapter at a time, before they turned in for the night.

He doesn’t trust himself not to ruin this by overstepping. There’s something about his general that makes him lose all control of his tongue, and puts him in danger of voicing thoughts that really he should not be having at all.

It’s agony. It’s bliss. It’s stretching him to breaking point, and this is possibly the worst situation they could have ended up in, really.

“These are made out of water,” he says over his shoulder, grunting as he tries to push his blaster through. He is, of course, unsuccessful.

“Ingenious,” Obi-Wan says. “How did they manage that, I wonder?”

Cody cuts a glance back at him, and grins, despite his exasperation.

“You’re not more worried about how we’re going to get out?”

Obi-Wan waves a hand. “I’m sure the path will reveal itself, in time. Oh, look - Cody, I think this is a puzzle!”

Cody bites back a groan. They do not have time for this. They never really had time for it, but Obi-Wan promised it would be a brief detour on their way to the capital for hyperspace lane access negotiations. He’d looked so excited by recon reports of a lost temple that Cody just hadn’t been able to say no. He’s never able to say no to Obi-Wan, even when he isn’t following orders. It’s probably his fatal flaw.

“I don’t suppose there’s an off switch? A back button?” He asks hopelessly. The Force, at least the Jedi sort, very rarely seems to work that way. Obi-Wan is always talking about moving through problems, about seeking balance and adapting to what’s around you, rather than manipulating it. It’s not Cody’s favoured approach; he was trained to leverage his environment to its maximum advantage, and finds he has little patience for anything else.

Obi-Wan snorts. “This is a defensive mechanism, I’m afraid. Judging by the architecture this was built at the height of the Sith Wars. This artefact is designed to trap us here until we understand the mechanism and progress, or until, back when the temple was occupied, someone would come and deal with the intruder.”

“That doesn’t sound very peaceful,” Cody says.

Obi-Wan shoots him an amused look, the warm, soft kind that makes heat rise from the pit of Cody’s belly right up to his ears.

“Even a pacifist may defend himself,” he says, then leans over the pedestal. “Now, how about you stop grousing and come help me with this?”

Cody rolls his eyes, but goes, slinging his blaster across his back and crossing his arms.

“And stop looming,” Obi-Wan laughs, catching one of Cody’s gloved hands and pulling it down to rest at his side. The simple touch makes Cody’s cheeks burn.

“Don’t see what help I can give you, Sir,” he says, frowning down at the characters surrounding the bright blue artefact. “I was never any good at Ithorian.”

Obi-Wan pauses, then tilts his head up. “Ah. Is that what it is?”

“I - I think so?” Cody was never any good at his language flashtraining; he never had the proper patience for it, but he can usually figure out the basics.

“No, no,” Obi-Wan muses, stroking at his beard with his free hand. “You’re quite right. Goodness me, it's been a long time since I last saw this dialect. Let’s see now…”

Cody steps back and waits, keeping his attention firmly split between their blocked exit points while Obi-Wan ponders. The slow upward movement of the waterfalls is eerie - it still makes noise, but none of it is right. Instead of the gentle patter he expects of water joining a larger pool, there’s a faint gurgling as they move further into each grate, travelling somewhere he cannot see.

Obi-Wan finishes his fifth circle round the platform, and the hand at his chin goes still. Cody stands at attention, expectant.

“It’s a riddle,” Obi-Wan says, and if possible, his delight grows. “Yes - the language is coming back to me now. Do you know, I haven’t looked at Ithorian in maybe 12 years?”

“Sir?” Cody says, tilting his head to look at the characters more closely. He doesn’t have even a passing proficiency at modern Ithorian, and presumably it’s changed a bit over the millennia. His training was focused on the basics, and only the useful bits, at that. He thinks he can make out the words for ‘ water ’, and ‘ enemy’ , both of which are either unhelpfully descriptive or frankly discouraging, but that’s about the extent of it.

“My old master - he loved prophecies. When I was a teenager I could never see the point of it, but it meant I spent a lot of time learning the old Ithorian dialects. They’re known as the most peaceful species, did you know?” Obi-Wan shakes his head. “They’ll exile anyone violent, it’s quite remarkable, really. I suppose in some sort of idealistic emulation, a lot of the early Jedi texts are written in their dialect.”

His blue eyes are keen, his laser sharp focus firmly on the podium. It gives Cody a moment to observe his clever fingers, the long line of his neck, the open delight with which he tackles this new problem. It’s a rare thing, to see him so relaxed, and Cody can’t help the fond smile that creeps up on him despite the circumstances. This almost makes it worth it, and on reflection, he’d rather an ancient temple than the last thing that had made Obi-Wan so happy; a wretched, bioluminescent fungus, which had infected half the battalion and given them hives. Their general had studied it for weeks.

Obi-Wan’s lips quirk up. Cody barely trusts himself to speak.

“I didn’t know, Sir,” Cody croaks, then pauses, fishing for something normal to say. “Didn’t we have to defend the governor’s daughter from an Ithorian bounty hunter on Ganaris-IV?”

“Well,” Obi-Wan grins. “Those exiles have to go somewhere, don’t they?”

Cody huffs a laugh and reaches up to scratch his neck at the seam of his bucket.

“Let’s just hope they didn’t all come here. What’s this riddle, then?”

Obi-Wan shifts to the side, then points at a spot on the podium. “As I said, it’s been a long time, but I think it starts here, and goes something like:

A thing to be forged, where water is thicker,

Worth more than gold, unless it’s pyrite that glitters.

An enemy of my enemy, or in hard times, in need,

Sometimes fair-weather, or in high places indeed.

What are you, traveller? ”

All of Cody’s hopes that it would be something nice and obvious, like “lightsaber” or, given what’s going on around them, “gravity”, escape from him like smoke. Jedi and their metaphors. It’s not just a quirk of Obi-Wan’s, clearly.

“Does that mean anything to you, Sir?” he asks, turning the words over in his head once, twice, then frowning when nothing comes immediately.

Obi-Wan’s brow is also furrowed, but in a leisurely, meditative manner.

“...I have some ideas, I think,” he says. “How about you, my friend?”

What does he think? He thinks that there are other sorts of puzzles he is much better suited to. Word play and idioms...what does a clone have to offer that?

Still, Obi-Wan is watching him, expectant and gentle, and he sifts back through the lines, a little more seriously this time.

“Ice, maybe?”

Obi-Wan nods, slowly. “Perhaps. Walk me through it.”

Cody swallows. “Ice is something that can be made, right? It’s not exactly forged, but…”

He trails off in uncertainty.

“Go on,” Obi-Wan says with another one of those soft, devastating smiles. It fractures all the thoughts in Cody’s head, and he has to stop, clear his throat and gather up all the pieces.

“I suppose...it’s just thicker water, isn’t it? On warm planets it’s a valuable commodity, it’s found in high places, and I suppose if you wanted snow, a freeze would be fair weather.”

Obi-Wan is rubbing his beard again, and he’s still smiling. “Fascinating. I would never have thought of that...only, I don’t think it’s quite there. That mention of pyrite is troublesome, and the ‘enemy of my enemy’, where does that fit in?”

Cody shrugs his shoulders, frustrated, and feels a hot flush creep up his neck. “Don’t know why you’re asking me, to be honest, Sir. Kamino hardly covered poetry.”

There’s a slight pause, then Obi-Wan’s hand is on his again, tugging it slowly down from where he’s crossed his arms.

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he says, soft.

“Do what?” Cody’s voice is gruff.

“Dismiss yourself. You do it sometimes when we’re reading together. There is often no right and wrong answer to these things, no secret. There is only perspective, and you see things I never would, if only you would trust yourself.”

Cody looks down and away, back towards the waterfalls and their slow, glacial climb. He isn’t sure that’s true. He enjoys what Obi-Wan shares with him, what other lives he gets to touch in their books, but more than anything they convince him that, beyond war, he knows very little of anything at all. He would like to, someday.

His eyes land on Obi-Wan’s lips briefly, before he tears them away. Particular experiences he would like to know more than others.

There was one book that Obi-Wan had read early on, back when this infatuation was just setting its first tendrils into him, about a forbidden romance at the heart of the old Mandalorian court. Two heirs of rival clans battling to be together against the good approval of their noble relatives. It had been torrid, ridiculous and entirely unexpected when Obi-Wan had suggested they break up their reports with some literature.

But what it had done was give him the words to express the crawling heat in his stomach, the urge he has to reach out, to touch, to soothe, to care for. He’d known what he wanted before that, of course, in a more rudimentary manner, but it had gifted him the language of yearning.

Suddenly, a particular passage springs into his mind and he straightens.

“You don’t think it could mean ally, do you? In Beneath the Armour, Mata threatens Clan Riza by saying he has ‘allies in high places’.”

Obi-Wan pauses, and then a brilliant smile spreads over his face. “Yes, that’s it! Pyrite - Fool’s Gold; a false friend! Brilliant Cody, whatever made you think of that?”

Cody grins, even though Obi-Wan can’t see it, and doesn’t answer.

“Is that really it?”

“I think you’re very close,” Obi-Wan says. “The characters engraved into the platform...yes! Stand close to me, Commander.”

Cody does, watching curiously as Obi-Wan lifts his hands, shuts his eyes, frowns, and pushes . Six blocks that make up the platform lift, the characters on each glowing bright, lurid blue. Under their feet, something scrapes, shifts and clunks, before the platform lurches upwards, spinning gently.

There’s a thunderous gurgling sound, before all of the pool beneath drains away.

“The answer,” Obi-Wan says, slightly breathless, his hair a little out of place. “Was friend.”

“The doorways are still blocked,” Cody notes drily. The plinth with the blue orb that started this whole mess has also risen, and underneath it are a set of very wet, slimy looking steps. “I don’t suppose it’s as simple as just walking down these and getting in?”

“Likely not,” Obi-Wan agrees, then inexplicably shifts a little closer, so that they are sharing space. Cody’s heart skips a beat. “But it’s like I told you, Cody. You are far greater than what you have been given.”

Cody coughs and looks at his feet, at their boots almost toe to toe, pleasure at the praise singing low through his body.

“Now,” Obi-Wan says, too close and not close enough. “How do you feel about another puzzle?”

Cody groans, laughing, and after a moment, follows his General into the dark.

#codywanweek2021 #codywan #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #alderwrites #i would tag this jedi culture but i literally pulled this out of my ass #there is absolutely no basis in canon here #only vibes #the clone wars #star wars #codywan week 2021

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mimiplaysgames · 3 years ago

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Terraqua Week Day 6 (Free Day)

Summary: Terra and Aqua are getting married—and Ven is the Bridezilla. || Word Count: 9,058

Read on AO3

A/N: @terraquaweek I could have never written this without my dear friend @localcryptideli. We talked about this wedding years ago, and I promised to write it. It’s here, three years later, blending their headcanons with mine and I couldn’t be more proud of it. <3

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

the threads that tie hearts together

Terra never once considered in his entire life that his wedding preparations would include the perk of mice squeaking in his ear—but he here is, in the tailor’s studio, getting re-fitted for his tuxedo, with Princess Cinderella’s team of seamstress mice on his shoulders, measuring the length of his arms. His muscles were too big for the previous suit.

Ven refuses to hire a proper tailor, and instead rents out the parlor so the mice could do their work in private.

Lea sits on a nearby bench by the shoe shelves, the top button of his shirt open, jabbing at his Gummiphone. He’s quite popular today, pinged every two minutes. Isa and Roxas share a mirror, trying to get the mechanics of their bow ties right.

Terra is getting married.

The thought. Married. Soon. Yes. Damn. He can’t cry right now.

Terra stands in front of a mirror and bends his elbows to see how the fabric moves. The mice are tiny, three of them in skirts. They’ve developed an efficient obstacle course of threads all down his entire body, a network so the mice on the floor can deliver them supplies—spools, sewing needles, thumbtacks, measuring tape—in a jiffy.

Lea groans, squeezing his Gummiphone. “This twerp is going to turn me into a serial killer.” He yawns, possibly for the fortieth time.

“Not an ill-fitting job, all things considered,” Isa says from across the room.

“I do appreciate your sarcasm.”

“Who’s bothering you?” Terra asks, lifting his collar so the mouse on his left could thread through it with a sewing needle.

Lea snorts, slaps his knee and leans forward. “Did you not know your buddy is a monster?”

“Ven?”

“Oh, he’s a joy.” Lea holds his Gummiphone up as if he’s about to make a speech. “Come help me pick out Aqua’s flowers. Now. If you could.” He glances at Terra, then back at the phone. “He writes that in all-caps.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be so pushy.”

“The other day, he called me to model the bride’s dress because Miss Aqua couldn’t be bothered to come to the fitting herself.”

“Master Aqua was away on a mission,” Isa explains.

“Isa took photos of me in it—” Lea scrolls through his phone, but stops. “Oh, I can’t show you before...” He clicks his tongue. “It’s very nice. Very bridal.”

Terra is sure that’s true, but the image of Ven hanging his head so much on someone else’s wedding is worrisome. Last night, he fell asleep at dinner. “I think Ven is taking on too much stress.”

“Lea,” Roxas says, snorting a chuckle and giving up on his bow tie, “you should show him the texts.”

“Gladly.” Lea stands to shove the Gummiphone into Terra’s face. Out of the history, a couple of messages stand out.

Ventus

I got 500 cake flavors come taste them with me

Ventus

Which cologne do you think terra should wear

COME SMELL

i need a second opinion

Ventus

Do you have aqua’s flowers yet?

remember

we want orange roses and bluestars

Ventus

Aqua isnt here im freaking out

Youre closest to her body type

HELP

After all that, Terra feels as though he’s being watched by several microscopic eyes. One of the mice squeaks with urgency, and he straightens one of his arms. “I don’t know what to say... Why doesn’t he talk to me directly?”

Lea purses his lips as though this is a secret not worth sharing. Roxas is the one to step forward, a knowing grimace plastered on his face.

“He told me that he doesn’t want to bother you with anything.”

That doesn’t sound entirely false but not true either.

“That’s ridiculous.” Terra tests the bend of the elbow to fiddle with his bow tie. It’s already done but something about it doesn’t sit right. “He could come to me for anything,” he says with a low voice, wondering if there’s something he’s missing. Terra has also been a mess. He’s getting married. Holy stars.

Isa huffs out of frustration, turning away from the mirror, his bow tie undone. He studies Terra’s suit. “I don’t like it.”

His straightforwardness is well appreciated. Aqua would probably smirk at the sight of it and stare at his neck the entire ceremony. “I don’t either,” Terra says.

“Smart man.” Isa smirks, and tugs Terra’s bow tie to undo it. “Let’s change it.”

Lea snorts. “You might want to ask permission from he-who-shall-be-slapped.”

“It’s my wedding,” Terra says.

“So you think.”

He-who-may-be-slapped enters the tailor’s parlor through the front entrance, announced by the bell of the ring. He’s perfectly dressed in his ringbearer’s/best man’s/maid of honor’s suit, vest fitted, bow tie sublime, sleeves coiffed. He sees what Isa is doing. He gapes.

“Hey guys,” Ven asks with a frustratingly shaky voice. “What are we doing?”

“They are unbecoming,” Isa answers, wrapping a traditional tie around Terra’s neck.

“Oh.”

Sometimes, speaking to Isa is like getting clocked in the stomach. By the looks of Lea’s expression, chewing on the edge of his Gummiphone, it’s well deserved.

“Okay,” Ven says, with a tight smile. He takes the tie from Isa’s hands. “Do they match?”

“A hello would be less rude,” Terra says. “Hi, Ven. Can we talk?”

Ven glances up. “Later. There’s lots to do.”

Lea inhales sharply. “Hey, Ven. Here’s an idea. Did you know you could tame cicadas to sing in harmony on command?”

Ven whips his head around. “You can?”

Isa brings a hand up to hide a smirk and Lea passes him a subtle wink.

“Picture it.” Lea opens his arms. “From nine until eleven at night, they gather in the bushes. They mutter, a light dusting of atmosphere on a peaceful summer night.”

Ven’s eyes grow wide with obsession.

Roxas comes near. “You can also make them glow.”

“Like stars in the bushes,” Ven whispers to himself.

“Come on, guys,” Terra says, unimpressed. “Leave him alone. We’ve got better things to do.”

Ven snaps himself out of it, but not before pulling out a notepad and writing notes. He eyes Terra over, nudging him to open his arms and pinching the sides of the suit. Ven draws them in by the measure of a finger and pulls pins out of his pocket, like he’s been expecting to use them, and marks their places. “Jaq Jaq,” he calls, “where’s Suzy? We need to make sure these ties look right. Oh, and we need two extras—we have to ship some to Riku and Sora.”

Some mouse squeaks in reply.

“I can help her carry things.” Ven gives a flash of a smile and then hurries off.

Out of earshot, Lea gives Terra a look. “Anyone able to talk to mice is a crazy person in my book.”

Terra glares back and quotes, “‘You could tame cicadas to sing on command?’”

“He needs something to obsess over. How else am I going to get peace?”

“This is going to bite you in the ass,” Roxas says, wrapping his new tie over the neck and having a much easier time.

“Ventus may very well task you with hunting and gathering the cicadas,” Isa says, a tie already in place, immaculate.

Lea groans and Terra feels it’s well deserved.

Well deserved… the suit may be. The future wife, maybe not. The suit is a glove for every finger with no excess. It makes him a good-looking groom, a nice addition to the closet for any special occasion. The bride is beautiful, no matter what she wears. She is loyal, patient, strong, intelligent, loving, funny when she’s stern, too good for him, a divine gift he didn’t earn and he still can’t understand how she said yes.

“I hope you’re laughing at the face of my misery,” Lea says.

Terra knows that’s sarcasm. Weddings are headaches, emotions are terrifying and Terra needs Aqua like a sip of medicinal tea to calm down.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The others squeal when they walk into Le Grand Bistro. It’s sunset, the city lights already ignited and giving it the glow of evening fairies welcoming the moon. They’ve just discussed dresses—Xion requests a pantsuit instead, which looks stellar—and they can choose their own styles so long as they all wear the color of night. Simple, elegant. That’s the kind of effect Aqua prefers. Thank goodness they’re almost done. Aqua couldn’t handle more hands in her hair and she rejected the flower crown that would have come down on one side to compensate for the lack of length.

She fiddles with the ring—a thin, intricate design weaved around a small, blue stone—as a waiter escorts them to the kitchen. On days when she doesn’t have missions, she wears it.

Aqua is getting married. Some part of her wonders about the surreality of it, like it’s a dream or a picture she created in her mind when she was a child, at the altar with a faceless person next to her. Sometimes, it feels like she is already married. Terra has always been with her. Every day in class. Every day strolling through the woods. Every day sparring, sharing meals, bickering and laughing. Her best friend, her confidant, her rock.

There is something about nearly dying that challenges perspective. When they both thought they’d never see each other again, it made them realize there’s more to it and there’s been more to it for years. The emotional intimacy that strengthened after the fact. The physicality of it, when he takes her to bed. They argue differently, they laugh the same. Terra has always been with her, so what is the difference between being with him and being married to him? A part of her is eager to find out. The other is already at peace, a kind of joy Aqua has always wanted.

Ven is in the kitchen, talking with Remy (responding to Remy, who is naturally unintelligible). Plates of cake pieces sprawl out on the table, eliciting oohs and aahs from the others, all patient like they’re waiting for Aqua’s permission to take a small bite.

Aqua reads through the description of flavors—strawberry, fudge, angel food cake with blueberries, red velvet, even coffee. “The one we requested isn’t here.”

“You mean…” Ven pulls out his notepad and looks through his notes. Remy climbs onto Ven’s head, squeaking and pointing to a bowl of flour and eggs, unmixed. “Dark chocolate and rum?”

“That would be correct.”

“A spicy cake? Are you insane?” At his shock and at Aqua’s denial, Kairi helps herself to a spoonful of vanilla. “This is a wedding, not a club!”

“My wedding, Ven.” Aqua isn’t annoyed, but amused. Ven has such strong opinions about for some reason.

“Try this one.” He holds up a plate of a decorated piece that honestly looks delicious. “Triple chocolate, with the rarest berries found in the woods, matured at thirty-five degrees Celsius for a week.”

“Burnt cake?” Kairi asks with a smirk.

“Not the cake, the berries.”

“Oh,” Xion gasps, with need in her eyes. It takes a nod from Aqua to grab a fork and have at it. She approaches each piece with so much excitement— Aqua wonders if there are flavors here she’s never tried before in her short life.

“What will the final cake look like?” Naminé asks, the only one not to dive forward. She’s so gentle, so serene. When they were trying out dresses, everyone was saying what a beautiful bride she’ll be one day if she chooses.

“Perfect,” Ven says, like it’s the most obvious thing. “It has to be perfect so it will look beautiful. Painted like a night sky, with stars everywhere. You got that, Remy?”

Remy glares at Ven.

“I want,” Aqua starts, and when Ven frowns, she smirks. Sometimes, for the sake of maintaining control, she has to play dirty. “Rosewater and cardamom.”

Ven sticks his tongue out in disgust.

“Terra needs something to enjoy,” Aqua insists. “These are all too sweet for him.”

“Terra is the bane of my existence.”

“By the way, I don’t know if I want King Mickey and Queen Minnie to officiate.”

“You are way more difficult to deal with.”

Aqua and Ven have a staring contest as the others talk about their favorite flavors. Ven, a glare, a challenge to outwit her. Aqua, a calm knowing that she’s going to win. Ven relents.

“Fine,” he stresses. “Remy, change of plans. We’ll need some damage control. Let’s add some”—he writes into his notepad—“fruit pastries, sweet cheese with chocolate—”

“Triple chocolate,” Kairi adds.

“Custard and kiwi,” Xion says.

“All good choices.” Ven writes them down.

“Sea salt ice cream?” Naminé says, lifting a shoulder. “Everyone else eats them, I hope to try some.”

“Ven.” Kairi slams a hand on the table. “You need to add marshmallows covered in hazelnut and chocolate.”

“We need all the chocolate,” Ven agrees. “Call it revenge on this nasty cake.”

Kairi cackles, but it’s nothing malicious. They’re young and excited about the wedding, their suggestions a way of helping. Aqua takes it all in stride. The small details don’t matter, only the intent, and letting friends have fun deciding makes the entire process easier. What’s bothering her is Ven. He’s exhausted from taking it all too seriously. Aqua assumes the best intentions, but she doesn’t get it.

“You know what would be really cute?” Xion says. “Little petit fours shaped in your symbols.”

Ven blinks. “What symbols?”

“Oh, the Keyblade Master symbols.” Naminé claps her hands. “That would be so lovely.”

“In different colors,” Xion says.

“Each a different flavor,” Naminé adds. “Maybe the same colors as your Wayfinders?”

“You two are geniuses.” Ven taps his notepad. “Remy, we gotta get to work.”

Remy stomps a paw and squeaks vigorously.

“No worries. You’ll get paid.” Though it seems that’s the last thing on Remy’s mind.

“Ven,” Aqua says softly, pulling him aside as the others brainstorm ideas. “I don’t think we can afford all this.”

“Sure you can,” he says too confidently, though she and Terra were the ones to save up their munny. “Don’t worry,” he stresses when she’s not convinced, giving her a squeeze on the arm. “You asked me to bookkeep your finances”

“Reminder that I did not ask you to take full responsibility. Remy can’t do all of this alone, he’s going to need you.”

“I’ve got plenty of time, and we’ve got plenty of budget.”

Aqua does not know how that is possible. After the dresses, the refitting of Terra’s tux, the decorations… sure, since they’re using the ballroom in the Land of Departure, they saved on not having to rent out a venue, but the original plan was to have a small, intimate wedding in the woods, something private with just the three of them, minimal decorations necessary, all plucked from nature.

All of this is out of their price range.

Ven goes back to the table, back to the stovetop and oven where he follows Remy’s instructions and mixes the flour in the bowl with some milk. He doesn’t assuage her at all, like he knows something she doesn’t.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Home should be a solace but not when it’s the wedding rehearsal.

Ven has ushered in movers from different worlds to carry in artifacts, all decorations, all star-themed. Terra has yet to see the ballroom, but the amount of people rushing through the hallways makes him nervous.

Ever since Terra called Riku in the dead of night (in a panic, needing someone to talk to, alone in the kitchen with a cracked mug of tea), blabbing about tripping on the way to the altar, or cutting the cake clean through the table, or stepping on linen and ripping the curtains, or dropping his plate of food, or looking like an idiot on the dance floor, or worse—forgetting his vows—he hasn’t lived a moment of peace. Sora won’t let him.

Terra finds it hard to breathe. What if he chokes on his vows and accidentally offends everyone?

He stays far away from the workers—it’s for the best. No one needs a huge bull stampeding in a china shop, destroying everything.

Lea crosses the hallway on his sixth trip and enters one of two entrances to the ballroom, vases of flowers in his hands. Terra peeks. From the looks of it, Ven did a fantastic job.

The ballroom, once gold, now looks like the set of night. The ceiling is covered in blue with twinkling lights. The table linens are also dark, with napkins and silverware sets a solid gold. Glass windows that take up one entire side to the ballroom are bare of curtains—the wedding is planned for after sunset so they’d be declaring their vows under the stars. Two navy blue carpets come in through both entrances of the ballroom, meeting in the middle and then straight to the altar at the far end. The point is for him and Aqua to enter together, like equals. With her in a bridal dress, she’ll look like a light in the darkness.

Through the doorway, Terra can see Riku and Sora, the latter making motions with his arms as if he’s flapping like a bird. Terra lets the door close so they don’t notice him.

There are fears he’s never voiced.

What if she realizes she doesn’t want to get married to him after all? At the altar no less?

Oh stars, what if he makes a terrible husband?

What if he neglects her?

What if, years down the road, she realizes after a slowly oncoming epiphany that she isn’t happy and regrets it?

Tonight is the party, tomorrow is the wedding, and Terra still has no vows. He pinches his nose hard enough to distract him from crying. He’s already cried five times in the arc of three hours.

Footsteps—light, brisque, confident, hers—approach him, and Terra embraces her in his arms, taking her in with a needy kiss. She smells like home, she lets him breathe again.

“You look like you’re about to fall apart,” she says, stroking a thumb on his cheek.

“Not if you’re my glue.”

She snorts, smacking him on the bicep. “What did I say about the puns?”

“Shower you with them.”

He kisses her before she can roll her eyes—

—and gets interrupted the moment Ven peeks out of one door.

“What’s with the hold-up?” he says.

Terra breaks from the kiss, casually noticing how Aqua is patting his shoulder, as if to warn him. “What’s with your attitude?”

Ven pouts like he’s about to choke and slaps the notepad to his forehead. “No one listens to me. I said baby blue and champagne on the napkins, all shaped to form the constellation of Juno… and they gave me yellow. I am gonna complain so much.”

“There are worse things?” Terra says and Aqua shakes his shoulder as another warning.

Ven snaps his eyes open. “Get into position, we’re starting.”

Aqua stands behind one door and Terra goes to the other, waiting for the cue to enter. On the other side, Ven is speaking out loud, organizing people and where they should stand. Grooms and bridesmaids will enter the altar from behind and gather together, leaving the carpet only for the star couple (no pun intended). He interrupts himself, raising his voice about vases that match too much and Terra can imagine him pointing across the room.

“I have to tell you something,” Aqua loudly whispers from the other side of the hall.

Terra runs to her and wraps an arm around her waist. Touching her is a panacea. Despite knowing there is still a possibility she’ll rethink this entire relationship, it seems unreal, like a nightmare.

“It’s about Ven,” she continues, keeping her voice low even though they’re the only ones in the hall.

“Lea threatened to slap him.”

She frowns.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Don’t you think it’s too expensive?”

“I don’t know. Ven doesn’t tell me how much anything costs.”

“It’s way more than we have saved up.”

Terra gapes. “Then how—?”

Aqua stammers, fiddling with her fingers. “I looked into his books.”

Terra melts into a breath-heavy laugh, careful to keep his voice out of it. “Reading people’s diaries? Aqua, I thought I knew you better.”

She blushes. “I didn’t mean to, but I was worried.” Now Terra is worried. Her expression is too serious. “Ven has been doing side-missions and hustles for months just to earn enough to hire the best chefs and tailors, to buy linens and all these flowers and carpets—”

“He wouldn’t.”

“He did.”

“Why?”

“I think it’s because he wants us to be happy.”

“We are.” Terra doesn’t appreciate how he doesn’t sound confident, scared he’s assuming too much on her behalf. “How could he just…”

“We were stuck in darkness for so long and he couldn’t help us.”

“But that’s not his fault.”

“He feels he is the weakest and wants to compensate.” Aqua grimaces and she blinks back tears.

“I feel so guilty.”

“I feel worse.”

“Why?”

Aqua bites her lip. “I’m still attached to the idea of a small, intimate ceremony in the woods. Just the three of us. Does that make me a horrible person?”

“No. Our wedding has become a spectacle. Maybe pointing that out makes me terrible, too.”

She groans. “I found a book. I left it in your room. It’s very last minute, but there are some ancient rituals in there that I found so beautiful… the exchanging of rings is beautiful, too, but modern and there are some lost traditions from our Keyblade history that I’d love to do instead... if you could take a look?”

The way she smiles, stars. Ancient, modern, he’d do anything for her. “Sure. I’ll read it tonight.”

Aqua winces. “He’ll be so angry with us.”

Terra squeezes her hand. “He wants us to be happy. Think about that.”

One of the doors burst open, and Lea sticks his head out. “Kindly stop being an ass and don’t keep your guests waiting anymore?”

They start: Terra at one entrance, Aqua on the other, entering the ballroom at the same time, where guests will watch them approach one another, like the shadow of the moon to a star. They meet at the point where their lanes merge into one.

Terra offers his arm—

“Nonono,” Ven warns, running up to them. “You can’t meet her like this. You must bow at a forty-degree angle.” Ven scans the room frantically. “Here, I have a ruler.”

After that hiccup, Aqua finally takes Terra’s arm, walking down the single aisle, where guests can ogle at them. Their groomsmen and bridesmaids take pictures with their Gummiphones for their arrival at a wall of flowers.

Sora has his hands behind his head and snickers when they reach the end. “I made sure the carpet is ironed out so she doesn’t fall with you.”

“I’m going to kick you in the shins,” Terra says.

He snorts and wipes his nose. “I’ll kick you back.”

At the altar, Ven is too excited to stop rambling. “We have to make sure that you arrive here, at this spot, at exactly nine-thirty so we can finish the vows at ten because...” He frames the windows with his hands. “We’ve got a perfect spot for star sighting so we need to be on time.”

“Do you mean, right after the wedding ceremony?” Aqua asks.

“Before the reception, yup. We’re walking out to the balcony, we’ll watch the meteor shower where a new world will be born, then we’ll come back in for supper and dancing.” When he notices their stupefied faces, he continues, “I spent three weeks finding the right angulations so you can witness a unique astronomical event, and we’ve got a miracle of a spot right here so we can’t be late.”

“It’s a wonderful thought, Ven,” Aqua says, her voice shaky.

“Okay, now you get into position and face each other.” He points and they follow. “Next, Mickey and Minnie will talk some stuff, you know, all official, and then you say your vows.”

Terra freezes up. “Our vows.”

“Yeah. That’s what I said. You ready?”

Terra hesitates and Aqua speaks for him. “We’re keeping those a secret until tomorrow.”

Ven pauses, then shrugs. “Fair enough.”

Aqua doesn’t let Terra have another thought, leaning forward to kiss him in front of everyone (aahs and awws elicited), and ending the rehearsal.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“How do you get your skin so clear?” Kairi asks, though the warm glow of the fire makes for spectacular lighting.

They’re camping in the woods near the waterfall, equipped with warm blankets and pillows, a bowl of cookies, and toasted marshmallows on sticks; Aqua’s vision of a bachelorette party. No gifts necessary.

“Mountain spring water does wonders for you,” Aqua says.

“I’ve read in a magazine,” Xion says, crawling out of her sleeping bag, “that some people like to put mud on their faces to get clean skin.”

“Why?” Naminé asks, chewing on a marshmallow.

“Something about the properties. Lots of good minerals.” She walks over to the creek, digging her hands into the dirt and smashing it into her face against the shocks and cries of the other girls. “If mountain water is good for you, then that must mean this mud is magical.”

“Is that true?” Kairi says, though she’s asking no one. She hurries over and joins in on the mud-mashing, running fingers over Xion’s face in places she’s missed.

With globs of mud in their hands, they bring over the excess to the camp.

Xion offers it to Aqua. “For beautiful skin on your special day?”

“It’s our job to pamper,” Kairi says with her hands out so that Naminé can scoop up the mud on her own.

Aqua tries not to chuckle too loudly. It’s adorable. “Okay,” she says, and Xion gets to work, massaging it into her skin. It smells unpleasant, earthy and mukky. She closes her eyes and tries to relax regardless.

“I think we’re supposed to keep it on our faces for at least a half hour,” Xion says, rubbing more on Aqua’s nose.

“This will make us prettier?” Naminé asks.

“Cleaner,” Kairi says.

Naminé blinks, already covered in the mud and hesitating to put on more. “But we look dirty,” she says quietly.

“Can I request something, Miss Aqua?” Xion says, patting her fingers onto Aqua’s forehead.

“Certainly.”

“Can you tell us the story of how Terra proposed?”

Kairi jumps and squeals, and Naminé claps her hands, both of them chattering please, please, we’re dying to know.

“We’re around a fire,” Kairi says, as if that’s a convincing argument. “We’re supposed to tell stories.”

“I feel bad for asking,” Naminé says. “You’re very private, and I don’t want to intrude…”

Aqua reads her face. “But you’re curious.”

Naminé pouts. Xion’s eyes go wide, and Kairi nods excitedly. Everyone is guilty as charged.

“It’s a simple story, I guess,” Aqua says, crossing her legs and watching the fire. It’s not often that she talks so openly about the details of her relationship. The two of them together is something people know, but never knowing where they come from and why, except for Ven—even then, there’s so much he never pries to. Watching their reactions is a little overwhelming. She rubs the stone on her ring. “Terra made the engagement ring with his own hands, but he took months to propose.”

“I remember that,” Xion says, sitting on her chair and smiling. “It annoyed Lea so much that he offered to set you both up just to get it over with.”

Aqua laughs. “I’m grateful we had it to ourselves.”

“Was it romantic?” Kairi asks.

“Not at all. I… knew he was up to something. I know him.” She lifts a shoulder. “He was burning breakfast too often, he couldn’t look me directly in the eye, and he left on his own to do more missions than usual. I took that as though he had done something wrong. The last time he was that clumsy and avoidant, it was because he accidentally cast Firaga in the library and was trying to hide it. Or when he broke the oven. Or when he offered to do my laundry but didn’t know how to treat my fabric and ruined my clothes.”

“He sounds like a clumsy oaf,” Kairi says.

That makes Aqua smile. She loves that oaf. “He is. The general rule of thumb is that a clumsy, avoidant Terra is usually hiding something.”

“So how did the proposal happen?” Naminé asks.

“I cornered him—”

Kairi snorts.

“—and he blurted it out.”

They giggle, Kairi acting out how that may have looked and Naminé holding her hands over her heart in a show of genuine affection.

Aqua smiles to herself, a finger to her lips. It might be her favorite memory, her standing her ground and demanding to know what was going on.

Terra, looking all around the terrace except for her face, guilty, guilty, guilty, pulling a box out of his pocket and stammering for a cohesive sentence. Well, I don’t know what to say, he had said, like a child getting grounded. I-I’m sorry. I’m dumb, I’m a big lump of a human being. He paused, his cheeks rounding up like he was about to vomit. Will…will you marry me, anyway?

It felt like racing in a train and pulling all the stops, crashing. He got red in the face, tears welling in his eyes and she realized he took her silence as rejection. Aqua had to hold his forearms, and all she could utter was a soft, I genuinely thought you burned down a building.

Terra’s eyes went wide. Do you mean you’re not mad?

Of course not. Why would I be?

So… He licked his lips, reaching for her but not touching her, forgetting that he had the box with the ring inside. What do you say? I mean, you don’t have to give me an answer straight away. I mean, I just thought you would… you know… because… He sighed. Yeah.

Aqua finally laughed, and kissed him on the cheek. Of course I will marry you, you beautiful dork.

The laughter quiets around the fire. They’re waiting for Aqua to continue her story.

“Then he drops the ring.”

They howl, melting into a blissful exchange of cheers and gossip, a vibrant hearth brighter than the one keeping them warm.

“I had hoped to propose first, actually,” Aqua continues. She shrugs. “The end.”

“That was beautiful,” Naminé says, wiping her eyes.

“If Sora hears about this, he’ll never leave Terra alone,” Kairi says, grinning something mischievous.

“I don’t know what love is supposed to look like,” Xion says thoughtfully, gazing at the sky. “But it sounds sweet.”

In Aqua’s opinion, the proposal was perfect, him scattered on the ground frantically searching for the ring, her on her knees helping him. How he slipped it on her finger, how they kissed for an hour in the dirt, unaware that they were dusty, unaware that anyone else existed in the world.

Aqua nods, mostly to herself. It aches to be away from Terra tonight but it burns her insides to see him tomorrow and finally do this. Aqua wants to sleep and get this night over with but she doesn’t want to sleep so she could see the sunrise, knowing he’d be up early watching the same thing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Bachelor parties aren’t fun.

Sora is whooping about a cannonball, the water splashing when he makes contact. Ven and Roxas race to the lake, testing who will be the first to dive, the first to swim across and come back. Considering the expanse of the surface area, they’ll be gone for a while and the barbecue will get cold, but maybe it’s for the best. It’s not the right time to talk to Ven right now, not when all of them have a moment of fun (except for Terra, the only one here thinking about tomorrow). Lea and Isa prefer to relax, sipping drinks on their chairs by the lanterns erected onto the sand, speaking quietly about memories, about chores, about home and what ifs.

Terra sits by himself, the thin booklet Aqua gave him on his lap, tucked under layers of parchment. It’s titled The Way, no author. She was right: old Keyblade rituals are interesting, almost possessive, their focus on the literal binding of hearts. They’re from the Age of Fairytales, and Terra realizes as he reads through it that ancient Keyblade wielders were for some reason obsessed with the loss of memory and the prevention of it. The rituals sound painful, too—maybe Aqua has developed a mild taste of macabre from her time in the Realm of Darkness.

All Terra has left to do are his vows. His stupid, dorky-sounding vows. He should have accepted the simple, “I do.” He shouldn’t have waited until the last minute.

He’s tried dramatic.

You are my other half, my heart, my breath of life, my sky, my angel, can we keep our souls together?

He’s tried poetic.

The mountain will thirst if not for the water—

He’s tried being honest.

I don’t know why you love me, but I’ll do my best to make it up to you.

All dumb.

Terra groans into his hands, eyes wide in existential blunder.

“Keep doing that,” Riku says, setting a chair next to him and sitting down, “and you won’t be able to blink again.”

“I’m not finished.”

“But if you don’t sleep, then you’re more likely to have accidents.”

Terra gapes and almost whacks Riku on the side of the head from the sight of his constricted smirk. “You’re so mean. I called you one time.”

“In a huge panic talking about causing mass destruction of a wedding the worlds have never seen.” Riku shrugs nonchalantly. That’s his state of being—too cool for anything, too sensitive for everything. It’s refreshing. “It was the funniest phone conversation I’ve ever had.”

“I’ll never call you again.”

“Not in the middle of the night, please no.” Riku bites a forkful of steak. “Is it cliché to tell you to speak from the heart?”

“This entire conversation is cliché, but here I am, living it out.” Terra stares at his messy pages, where he pressed the pen so hard that it left ink blots.

“You could do the very committal thing and tell her you love her fifty times.”

“All the guests would leave by the time I reach twenty-five.”

“More like fifteen.”

“Ten.”

“Disaster.”

Terra grimaces, not entirely comforted, but not entirely anxious anymore, either. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“It is a big deal, I’ll give you that,” Riku says, more serious. “I don’t have any advice.”

“None of it makes sense. Be honest, but not too honest. Be loving, but don’t make it cheesy. Express yourself, but hold back on certain things. Do make it personal. Don’t expose personal details. How am I supposed to know how to do it right?”

It would be easier if there are no witnesses. If it’s just Ven, if Aqua is the only person he’s talking to, if he could simply say, You’ve been my best friend for as long as I can remember. I know I’ve fucked up. For as long as I live, I’ll never do that again. I will never take your forgiveness for granted.

And if she doesn’t want to be with him anymore, there’d be nothing he could say to make her stay.

“I think if Aqua was the kind of person who expected you to do it right,” Riku says, looking out to the lake where Ven and Roxas are swimming back to their shore, “you wouldn’t be marrying her.”

Terra bends the pages, exposing the cover of the thin, leather bound booklet. There are no vows he could use in there, except for the officiator declaring their hearts intertwined. “Thank you,” he mumbles.

“Sorry I can’t be of more help.”

Riku pats him on the shoulder and leaves him alone to take a walk, Sora begging him to enter the water. Terra flips to a page where he’s repeated I love you, I love you all over, each in different calligraphy, like doodling, like losing his mind and procrastinating the night away, hoping that any moment, inspiration would drop bricks on him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s time.

The strangest part of the day is waiting it out in her bedroom until it’s her turn to show herself. Over the years, her bedroom has been a reflection of her personality. The cleanliness, the artifacts from her home world long ago, the size of the bed, the furniture—they all stayed the same. What’s come and gone were the paint colors, the bedsheets, the art on the wall, the smaller vanity mirror. Her bedroom is her old life, and she sits in front of the mirror in her bride’s dress, about to start a new one. For now, they both collide, as though her childhood doesn’t know her.

The cape dress is simple, plain white with the neck scooped across the collarbone. The sleeves slit at the shoulders, draping over to the floor with the rest of the train. Aqua couldn’t have asked for something better. She completes the look with the ring, a jeweled hair pin on one side, and an armored choker. Makeup is minimal.

Aqua is surprisingly calm and the sun is going down.

Her Gummiphone buzzes with a text message.

Terra

Let’s do it

Aqua sighs, not texting back immediately.

Aqua

I don’t want to break Ven’s heart

Terra

I’ll talk to him

We can both get what we want

I already stole some flowers from the wall

Don’t think he notices

She chuckles, moving a hair strand behind her ear. She hasn’t noticed that her stomach has been a knot, from excitement, from nerves, from anticipation. The sun takes so long to set. Terra is the warmth of a tight blanket.

Aqua

Will this label me as a runaway bride?

Terra takes a long time to answer, giving her the impression that he must have been distracted and forgot to reply.

It buzzes.

Terra

The shame

Aqua

What will they think when they find out the groom seduced her to it

Terra

The scandal

when they hear how she met him secretly at the creek

an hour before the ceremony

It sounds like an action plan. Aqua picks up her bouquet of orange roses and bluestars from her vanity table, heading out the door.

Aqua

I want Ven there

Terra

Definitely

I love you

Aqua

I love you too

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Terra finds Ven in the dining room, taking inventory of an indulgement of sweets and a feast of meats, fritters, and rice. The wedding cake is as tall as his body, a dark blue with smacks of gold glitter in the shapes of galaxies, large stars framing each layer, and topped with two halos. Ven is mostly dressed in his vest and tie, the suit missing. By comparison, Terra is overdressed, a groom ready for his encore.

Ven sighs when he sneaks a cookie the shape of the Keyblade Master symbol into his mouth, as though Terra’s presence reminds him of disappointment.

“I couldn’t tame the cicadas,” he says morosely, like he’s apologizing, and for a moment Terra second-guesses what he’s about to do. Ven eyes the white rope curled around Terra’s shoulder. “What’s that for?”

“This may either cheer you up or piss you off,” Terra says, dropping The Way on the counter.

“I don’t like how you said that.” As Ven flips through pages, he frowns, chewing on the side of his lip. “Are you... not happy with the wedding preparations?”

Terra inhales, caught off guard. “Of course I am. Happy, I mean. It’s… huge. It’s a giant ordeal.”

“And you don’t like that,” Ven says quietly, stroking one of the pages with his thumb.

“I think there are things we’ve always wanted to have privately.” Terra sits on a stool, but Ven won’t look him in the eye. “And we want you to be there. We can do it now. We’ll be back in time for our guests.”

The booklet shakes in his hands. “I messed up.”

“From my point of view, I’ll be eating very well tonight. There’s nothing to compensate for.”

Ven closes the book. “I just wanted to do a good job.”

“If you allow Lea to slap you, he’ll forgive you.” Terra smiles, but Ven doesn’t join him. “We’re still doing your grand ceremony—that, we could never pull off on our own. But we also want something tiny and ours, and we won’t do this without you.” Terra takes Ven’s hand and squeezes it, before glancing at the cake. “I hope it’s delicious.”

“It’s disgusting so you’ll definitely like it.”

“See, I can always count on you.” Terra stands up. “Now come on. You wouldn’t want us to be late for the bride.”

Terra takes him to the creek, not far from where Aqua hosted her bachelorette camp, where the sound of rushing water is gentle and the creek splits into two directions, one that would drip off the side of a cliff and one that would join a massive river downstream. The trees huddle close in the clearing, a soft shadow from the fierceness of the setting sun, like a pocket of protective magic in the middle of the forest.

Ven gasps. “You stole my flowers.”

“Please, you didn’t even notice.” Terra had built an easy wooden arbor before the crack of dawn that morning, an arch weaved with orange and blue flowers, spotted every so often with green lilies. He showered right after so no one would suspect.

“Let’s take it over there.” Ven points to a short boulder against a tree nearby, a good photo op. They pluck the arbor up from both sides and plant it in front of the boulder. Ven takes stock of the sight. “Not bad.”

“Thanks!”

“I take credit for the choice of flowers.” Ven rolls the rope into a tight circle, layering it on the boulder with each loop in equal circumference. He splays the book open and studies. “It’s kinda creepy,” he says though he gets no response and he doesn’t ask for one.

Terra shoves his hands into the pockets of his tuxedo and waits. Aqua isn’t here yet. The vest constricts his breathing, the thicket suddenly feels humid, and Terra wipes his cheek, realizing that his heart is beating fast. Time sped up to this moment and dropped him here without warning. Now it’s slowing down out of pure, unjustifiable spite to torture him in the final hour.

“You okay, dude?” Ven asks.

Terra lifts his face to the sky to keep the tears in his eyes. “If I cry now, I think I’ll cry for the rest of the night.”

Ven snorts. “No one would be surprised, trust me.”

But it’s not working. He’s two seconds from sobbing. “I don’t know. I…” He scoffs. “I can’t believe it’s happening. I’m expecting her to never show up or brush me off last minute when she realizes what we’re doing—”

“No.” Ven approaches Terra like he’s about to punch him in the stomach to make a point. “Don’t think like that, she’d never do that.”

Ven has good faith and better timing. Aqua approaches the other side of the clearing, the fabric of her dress gracefully making waves with every step, the foliage fluttering light and shadow on her figure. She holds her bouquet in one hand and a framed photograph tucked under the other.

It shocks Terra.

He can’t stop the flow of tears. He covers his shivering lips and the drip of his nose, his face twisting from the sight of her—brilliant, like she’s made of stars, a gift walking the earth.

“Terra, are you okay?” Aqua asks, rushing to him now, the train of her dress bouncing behind her.

In the flash of an instinct, Terra runs to meet her, tripping over a branch and landing right into her arms.

“You’re—” Terra sucks air in, his heart shoving itself up his esophagus. “Y-you’re s-so beautiful.”

Aqua uses her pinky to wipe his tears. “So are you.”

“Let me help you.” He takes the frame—a portrait of the Master, bordered with a white ribbon—and walks her to the arbor. Ven takes the portrait and places it on the boulder, their little family tied together, fractured in glued pieces, now and always. Before they start, Terra asks Aqua to pose under the arbor so he can take a picture of the trees and the flowers surrounding her. Beautiful.

“How do we do this?” Terra asks when he finds his voice again, still trembling. Aqua stands to the side to take her place. She’s beautiful.

Ven takes the book in his hands. The description of this ritual covers at most two pages. “Well, it’s archaic. It’s from the Age of Fairytales but it sounds like we will intertwine your hearts—but in an intense way, like we’re sewing them together.”

Aqua holds her bouquet to her chest. “Shall we start?”

Terra chuckles too hard, gasping for breath. “Simple as that.”

They wait for Ven’s cue, who also has no idea how to do anything. Ven clears his throat, shrugs his shoulders, and reads:

“We witness today the soldering of two hearts. To intertwine like the roots of a tree, the severance painful, the nourishment plentiful. A physical bond, a magical one, the merging of two sprites under the guidance of one truth. Two hearts, but one.” Terra watches the way Aqua watches him. There’s no one else in the world, Ven’s voice disconnected, like it floats on air. “Now it says to summon your Keyblades. Dig the tips into the ground, and offer your hilts to each other.”

Ends of the Earth is massive, taller than Ven. Stormfall looks delicate but it’s menacing, sharp, direct. They offer their hilts, the shafts crossed over each other, Stormfall light and airy in his hand, Ends of the Earth weighty and thick in hers.

Terra finds it interesting that they’re using the hilt to connect each other’s hearts—the Keyblade should never be used against a person’s heart in traditional Mastery, because it’s such a dangerous weapon and it’s so violating. The blunt hilt, on the other hand, the physical manifestation of their hearts, is like exposure, an offer of vulnerability.

Aqua’s feels like it’s thrumming, singing. She’s happy.

Ven steps forward with the rope and ties it over the hilts in loops. “This is just an image, the ties that bind, two Keyblades, but one. To intertwine a heart is to forge a chain, a friend, a companion, a memory. If missing then a void, a dream, a wish until reunion.” He steps back into position. “Before we go on, I think this would be a nice place to say your vows. Terra, you first.”

Terra stammers, looking into her eyes. “I-I couldn’t write one. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Ven whispers, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket. “I wrote some just in case.”

Terra doesn’t take it. He licks his lips. “It wouldn’t have been graceful. None of it—all of my thoughts—pale in comparison to you, Aqua.” He steadies himself with labored breathing, the squeeze on her Keyblade like a hold on her waist. “You’re so, so beautiful, and I’ve spent my days believing I don’t deserve you, because… because I couldn’t make things right like I should have.”

Aqua quivers, gently touching his arm with her free hand and motioning for him to breathe.

He continues, “I’m sorry. I wish the Master was here. I wish I was smart enough to prevent it from happening.” He inhales, choking up from the mention of Eraqus. “I never thought you would marry me of all people, so… I promise... I will be there every step of the way. I promise you, if you’re scared at night, I’ll be there to protect you. If you’re hurting in another world, I’ll come find you. If you’re confused, I’ll hold you close and help you make sense of it. I’ll brew you tea to help you sleep, I’ll step in the line of fire even if you wish to do the same for me, I’ll walk to the ends of the earth to make sure you are safe and healthy. I promise I’ll be with you.

“And I’ll mess up. I know me. I’ll fix it. If you want to clobber me, I’ll be patient. I’ll learn. I’ll do better. Every day you save me from myself. This is the least I can do. I’ve loved you since I was a kid. I’ll love you every day.”

Silence falls on all of them, Terra sniffing just to get some fresh air, Ven wiping his eyes, Aqua blinking too much.

“Now you, Aqua,” Ven says.

Despite being teared up, Aqua holds it together. She’s so good at that.

“Terra, I stand with you because I do want to be here. I do want to be by your side. I do want to laugh at your bad jokes.” She relieves a giggle. “I love you. I have for as long as I can remember, even if I didn’t know the words for it.” She studies his face. “I’m sure the Master is here with us, and he couldn’t be prouder of you. I’m proud of you.” Suddenly, she switches her tone, as if to lecture. “And if you even fathom taking a hit for me, remember that I’m faster than you. I’ll protect you first.” Then she softens. “I promise to be your shelter when the storm falls on us. I promise to sit on your bedside when you’re sick, to lift you up when you’re down about yourself, because you are sometimes.

“You are my home, no matter how far your heart is from me. If you need a star to light your way back, I’ll give it to you.” She smiles widely, like she’s about to laugh. “If something between us breaks, I’ll mend it with you. I can’t imagine my life any other way.”

Their words are now spoken. Aqua suppresses a laugh and grins like a child. Terra holds his breath, just in case he screams from every emotion that he can’t name.

“Well,” Ven says, rolling his sleeve up so he could wipe his nose on his forearm. “I guess it’s time. This bond is an oath you will remember each other until you close your eyes for the last time, for the tragedy to forget is to be alone forever. Do you accept this?”

“I do,” Terra says.

Aqua hums. “Yes, I do.”

Ven smiles. “You know what to do.”

With his free hand, Terra presses two fingers to his chest, over his heart, where he builds a golden glow. Twenty years living with her, ten years in darkness thinking about her, this vow is impossible to break—even if they can’t do this any longer, Terra could never forget her. Never. In his hand is now a piece of himself, a nugget of his heart, a memory of her in his bed that he never wants to lose.

He takes those fingers to her chest, two thick golden threads drawn out from his heart. She winces at the touch, quick to dissolve. Stormfall shifts in his hand, growing longer, its hilt thicker and darker, wrapping around like a weaved shield. A subtle change, a little piece of him.

Aqua does the same, fingers to her chest first to create the threads, bringing them to his chest. It does hurt, like a needle digging into his skin, sharp for the entire length until it’s suddenly gone.

He feels full, as though his insides are creating space for something extra. Warm, frightening, whole, exciting. Her piece is a memory he can’t read but he doesn’t need to. Ends of the Earth opens way for an icy blade to cut through the middle as the hilt fans out like wings. A piece of her to take with him where he goes.

“Alright,” Ven chirps, snapping the booklet closed. “The book ends with the quote, Two hearts, only one, but I think this means I can call you husband and wife in secret. So kiss.”

Their Keyblades dissipate when they hold each other, tender but with appetite, unaware of their surroundings for several selfish moments. With sewn threads, it’s as though he breathes through her. Terra presses her onto him, feeling how her heart now beats in sync with his.

“I love you,” she whispers. They are married.

He’ll never tire of hearing it. Stars, they are married. “I love you, too.”

Terra hears Ven sniff before a handkerchief is shoved into his face. “You need your face dry and clean before everyone sees you,” Ven says.

The sunset now is deep, a fiery orange. Terra doesn’t want to let go.

“I’ll hold you again tonight,” Aqua says, patting his chest. “I want to see the meteor shower Ven promised.”

“It’ll be a good one,” Ven assures.

Terra kisses her. “Then we have to make a run for it.” He picks Ven up like a log, jogging through the thicket of the forest with Aqua close behind him, the Master in her arms. When they approach the castle, in the twilight, they hear chatter coming from the halls, as though ghosts are partying outside.

Terra feels at peace despite that he now has to perform, balancing on a tightrope where he doesn’t care if he falls. He turns around and holds her neck to kiss her again, feeling her laughter in his mouth. “One more?” he asks when they break.

Ven, still tucked in Terra’s arm, groans. “I never asked for a front seat to the kissing show. Is this my punishment?”

Aqua kisses him one more time, whispering to him I love you for what will be a string of I love you’s in the night to come. Friends will cheer, Terra will trip on the way to the altar, Sora will cry because Terra will cry, Xion will eat too much cake and get sick, Isa will laugh because he is drunk, Kairi will be the star of the dance, Aqua will be the star in his eyes.

#terraqua #terra #aqua #ventus #terraqua week #kingdom hearts fanfiction #omg #this is finally out holy shiiiiiiiiit #i'm really proud of this one #reading through for edits #i impressed myself haha #my fic

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voidsentprinces · 5 years ago

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📜 (For each)

Each of the Voidsent Princes are translated from my creation of them in my mind back in 2010, 2011. All of them have kept a few of these details necessary to their characters when translated to Final Fantasy XIV.

📜 - Envy’s overwritten existence was a happenstance in that the Catholic belief each sin is represented by a corresponding demon. Meant that the Leviathan is associated with Envy. Since, there always exists a Leviathan in Eorzea, this meant that Envy would be overwritten even if he was the Leviathan of his world. Envy’s spite initially came from being forced into a humanoid form and keeping only his tail to forever remain nostalgic and bitter over, what he once was rather than what he could grow to be.

By this same vein, I added the aspect of him keeping his eye color, hair color, and tail to remind him of this. To drive him forever to begrudge the Sahagin and the Eorzeans. Which motivates him to commit atrocities out of spite.

As it stands, I am still trying to work in how Envy got his start in creation lore. As in his original back story, he was literally placed in a Goddess without her knowing. Feeding on her divinity and driving her mad with the newfound feeling of jealousy, spite, envy, and pettiness. Which slowly turned him from a simple snake, into a great draconic serpentine.

This event he clings onto as his peak and why he is arrogant in that he is greater than any being. Wishing to reobtain such a place and corrupt all hearts. Feeding on many more essences. But alas, he remains anchored to trying to reobtain that lost former glory. Rather than using, his powers for any good. Reminded daily of his current state, forever chasing a dream he will never reobtain.

📜 - In their origin and repeated in their back story. Only Wrath and Sloth began as demons. Which had been changed for their translations into FFXIV. Initially; Envy was a Primordeal force, Lust was human once, Gluttony was an angel, Greed was a human made deity, Sloth was a demon, Wrath was a demon, and Pride was an angel. To reflect this, Envy was a Primal in his world, Lust was a mortal, Gluttony was a Warrior of Light, Greed was an Elder Primal, Sloth is a homunculus, Wrath was an Xaela Au Ra, and Pride was also a Warrior of Light.

I, explain this, due to keeping with the translations of things that stayed over other than the obvious (i.e. eyes, hair, manner of speaking, dress). Lust maintains his backstory of prostatuting himself to make enough money. To hire, his sick sister a life-time doctor for her non-specific illness. Then the tragedy following, where his memories and beings are stripped away. Forever doomed to only vaguely remember his sister. Ever searching for her, but centuries have past and she was mortal. Whereas, he isn’t anymore.

This was my attempts to make Lust more than a simple overtly sexual force. Giving him meaning, a passion and something to lust forever outside the obvious. He wants to remember his sister, he wants to be there to protect her, watch over her, as a big brother does. See her grow, see what choices she made, etc. Alas, he might never have that chance as his shard of origin was consumed by one of the Ascian’s ploys.

📜 - Gluttony has always been together with Pride. As it is written that Beelzebub was lieutenant to Lucifer in his uprising. This follows suit, in both interations of my translations of the sins, the two are separated. Gluttony takes up hunting in a hellscape. Eventually consumes corrupted meat which drives him mad with hunger.

Unfortunately, there is far too much green, I associate with the Seven Deadly Sins. Got Envy, Gluttony, and Greed all which could be associated with various shades of the color. So, I couldn’t decide whether or not Gluttony’s eyes should be an acidic yellow or a bile green. In the end, I felt it better to learn on this angelic figure twisted into monster. When full hog on the eldritch monstrosity. His eye deforming into a compact insectoid ocular. Carapace, translucent wings, etc.

Beelzebub was shown to favor the bow in some scriptures and drawings. So, he kept a hunting aspect about him. Though I might change him, to be more approachable in the near future.

📜 - Greed was always to be a welcoming being. As he was worshipped in both previous lives in both iterations of him. He is more than happy to welcome mortals. Share a drink, buy them food, etc.

One of the few sins to actually grow, after his downfall from the throne of divinity and being outwritten as a faux deity. Mammon found to value less material things and more people in general. Though he still wishes to collect various objects, now that he has found himself in a new world. He also wishes to collect people. Relationships, memories, experiences, stories, and the like.

This turns Greed away like Lust from the simple path of corporate greed to one of more character. Always broad shouldered, hair and eyes the color of fresh minted dollar bills. Dressing in suits like a romanticized prohibition mob boss. But, with genuine hospitality. Greed was probably the easiest to translate story wise.

📜 - Sloth is probably the least touched on Sin, I’ve worked on. They follow the troupe of being lazy and unmotivated. But, in a logical way. Yes, Sloth does tend to sleep and prefer to be undisturbed. But, in my research, I came upon an interesting bit of lore from the Belphagor myth, Belphagor is sent out into the world by Hades to measure humanity. Though his findings are uninteresting, the folklore of Belphagor offering up unimaginable inventions for people to patent and claim as their own to incite Sloth. Had some sort of impact on me.

Absolutely brilliant, able to invent things on the spot, but the laziest being in the universe. Whenever awoken, Sloth would offer up someone a genuine good idea or invention which would see themselves prosper. If, they’d just let Sloth roll over and go back to sleep.

Another aspect of Sloth kept in both iterations, they are either unfathomably lucky or unlucky depending on where you look at it. As they get around purely by chance. By never moving and always sleeping, Sloth is often farried around without their knowing. Appearing in odd places all due to random chance.

For example, Sloth went from the Great Gubal Library steps to Ul’dah by; being swept by one of Matoya’s brooms off the beaten path, rolling down a hill into the river below, floating through Coerthas onto the oceans near La Noscea, where they were subsequently eaten by an over size fish, said fish washed up on the harbor of Horizon, where it was split up only for them to come tumbling out of its belly, into a cart, which was then farried to Ul’dah, whereby they rolled off it onto the streets.

📜 - Amon is one of 72 demons written about in the Goetia of Soloman. He is a marquis of Hell and bears an owl’s head with wolves teeth, a man’s body, with a serpent tail. He is sinfully summoned by scholars to foresee the future or help them obtain knowledge. This is an aspect translated into Wrath, once a great oracle of the Xaela. He predicted an outcome which bode ill for the current Khagan. Ill respecting of this prediction, that Khagan killed Amon’s tribe and tried to force fate to bring about a new revelation which served the ruling tribe before Nadaam.

To this end, they tortured, Amon for many moons. Until at last, fate intervened in a way that was unexpected. Infusing Amon with the rage of all those unlawfully killed in his tribe. He began a beast of Wrath. Still maintaining his ability to see the future, as indicated by his ring patterned eyes. Always prone to anger and irrational thinking, going as far as to destroy a marking place because of some pineapples. Sloth developed a system of stealing piercings.

Wrath’s body is covered in piercings that pentrate through Wrath’s abdomen, fore and upper arms, his ears, nose, and lips. When ever, he gets angry. The piercings attempt to seal in the rage and when they are close to expiring, they glow molten white. This way, Wrath can maintain proper thought and function without going berserk at a moment’s notice.

The piercings can double as explosives, as Wrath can remove them and throw the heated piercings to erupt releasing the fiery energy in the designated area.

📜 - Pride, Lucifer. One of the most iconic sins and in a handful of religion, the first sin and sometimes to root of it all. Vanity, narcassism, and glory seeking. Pride is another one I hadn’t touched on alot and currently sits in an amnesiac state.

Though, his form is that of a Warrior of Light, who did his best and was awarded nothing for it. He started out seeking adventure, gathering friends and allies along the way, battling everything the troubles of the world put forth and in the end, he and his Warriors of Light. Couldn’t stop of the Ascians from consuming, his world in Calamity.

His last act was to protect, what he thought, was the last remaining member of his group from the flood of darkness. That would go on to consume his form.

Once golden in hair and eye, his fair hair turning black and the shine of his gaze fading.

Now Pride is going to be acting as a Project of mine. Balmung is going to shape him into what he becomes. Will he return to being a Voidsent Prince? Become an adventurer? Or something else? We’ll see....when I get to courage to throw him at the Balmung community again.

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maulionicious-blog · 5 years ago

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PRENATAL

Prenatal development, this follows 2 developmental patterns are cephalocaudal pattern and proximidistal pattern. Cephalocaudal pattern growth that proceeds from the head downward. While Proximidistal pattern growth that proceeds from the body outward. The fetus is responsive to stimuli and appears to learn in the womb. Prenatal temperamental differences persist into infancy and childhood, and some aspects of the prenatal sensory environment maybe important to future development. There are risks associated with teratogenic material diseases these include rubella, AIDS, syphilis, gonorrhoea, genital herpes, and CMV. If a mother has poor nutrition, her fetus faces increased risks of stillbirth, low birth weight, and death during the first year of life.

When I realized prenatal, I really don’t know if this past is real that I remember or not because before I come into this world I started seeing pink path flowing through the clouds of what I see it depicts that makes me travel at that time I was like watching from what just I saw passes me by. I don’t know if these are real or that was inside my head but from what i see that looks like stars maybe a nebula of some kind galaxies. When I was born I thought it was like a space shuttle which I was riding but that’s it that is how I end up either I imagine that or it was like I saw how I really travel from that part and even so I choose to forget it.

INFANCY

In infancy, many were able to say first words or other making sounds like cooing and anything that the baby emotion has express. The humans are born with adaptive reflexes that help them survive. Automatically sucking any object that enters the mouth, disappear in infancy or childhood. Primitive reflexes controlled by the less sophisticated parts of the brain. Sensorimotor stage, infants use information from their senses and motor actions to learn about the world. Object Permanence understanding that objects continue to exist when they can’t be seen. The infant has attachment things to the parents to identify his or her parents.

I didn’t remember what I do but I experience how difficult I was since my first guardian abused me then my parents forced me to go in Tagum were my grandparents can take care of me while my parents can do their work on their own. I was lucky and happy which leads to me being naughty and I was a difficult child to handle. From that past I was never recognized who are my parents was because all I know my parents are my grandparents thought they were real to me. And from that day I was quiet and suddenly would be different than any other day.

EARLY CHILDHOOD

The measuring intelligence an assumption in studying differences in intelligence is that these differences can be measured. The first tests led by Alfred Binet and Theodore Simon to identify children who might have difficulty in school. This intelligence was later called Intelligence Quotient (IQ). The intelligence of child affects the influences in the family it depends how they raised their child. Parenting styles differ in temperament themselves, so, just like their children; they vary in how they respond to situations. The four types of parenting styles are permissive parenting style, authoritarian parenting type, authoritative parenting type, and uninvolved parenting style.

When I was elementary student I was a running around person until they set new rules for me. My parents were became permissive or strict in general term, they intended to bring me after class hours in the tutorial centre to guide me through my topics and some of that I became a nuisance to others who were studying there too I suppose that I never learn anything that days. It may be different from today because I realized that studying is important and I learn through their reasons why my parents are so very strict to me. As of today I realize something that even when in difficult struggle, can be trying harder again to accomplish once goal.

MIDDLE CHILDHOOD

Physical and cognitive changes the way for being a middle childhood. Many children participate in such clubs like sports, arts, and etc. This has intellectual interest about their health, fitness, and academic performances were concerned. The cognitive changes which term for their language on how they initialize their potential to make it in time. Achievement tests are designed to assess specific information learned in school. The relationships of parents and also friends are important to keep the bonds together and strong no matter the problems are and their child and friends help to sustain their courage to do so in the end.

Middle child hood for me is about the pressure and sometimes I ignore the mistakes I did but I never well go around. I focus more on ignoring stuff playing a gadget my prioritize time that I did than studying. I never concern about my health and fitness, I always drink soda and eating junk foods. I had friends before, friends that see u one time then ignore me instantly, only cares when I am bullied by my classmate then they come and when the problem solves they’re gone. Parents can courage to their child something more and something wonderful to be great.

ADOLESCENCE

Adolescence is the transitional period between childhood and adulthood. They’re puberty changes as primary and secondary sex characteristics, which their hormone as menarche which is the beginning of menstrual cycles. Adolescent sexuality can be so tempting and there are risks factor which led to sexual situation. Teens nowadays engaged in sexual activities were often seeing on television shows like the Pretty Little Liars. An adolescent learns and changes their gender identity as they confirm themselves gay, lesbians, and bisexuals. Most of the teens engaged in drugs, alcohol, and tobacco which of them bring out the curiosity of teenagers are sensation seeking.

As I experience there are things which is evolving around me my sexual characteristics that I don’t understand which leads me to confusion. After that when I saw some television shows that romantic love scene how to proper court someone and make fell in love. Creating sexual desires in their dream longing for someone to be loved and that is how is. I tried to be gay for a contest which I had someone make up for me and quite a lot of fun to give laughter for everyone in just a nick of a time. I am into alcohol but not a strong one; I usually drink if there is an occasion going on with my parent’s permission.

EARLY ADULTHOOD

Primary aging occurs most of them develop gray hair, wrinkles, and changes in visual acuity. While Secondary aging is the product of environmental influences, health habits, or disease, and it is neither inevitable nor experienced by all adults. Health habits shows the detection of illness can see what kind of illness is and can determine can be prevent it or not. Sexual Transmitted Disease which the humans never use contraceptives to protect from it and they were getting from it through sexual intercourse. Most intimate partners’ abuses which due to most reasons are jealousy of having their partners seeing someone. Career development focused on adapting to the workplace, managing career transitions, and pursuing personal goals through employment.

I may develop gray hair but I always thought of something that an illness which of the disease may try to kill me in the only way to die but I always thought the diabetes is the reason why I die. I will never know which would be so my fate will be decided which one of the diseases. I had always doubt about my lifestyle and I am getting obese more than ever. Career development for me is different, imagine where would I be sitting and seeing I help people. I really dream about not only becoming a RPm but maybe becoming an air force pilot someday.

MIDDLE ADULTHOOD

Most of men and women having osteoporosis resulting in reduced bone mass and more brittle and porous bones. Vision and hearing can be sudden changes for adulthood which began to decrease the retina and person’s overall sensitivity to light waves. Health and Wellness can be so devastating when it comes to illnesses which started by imbalance diet or any hobbies like smoking that lead to lung cancer. Memory function drawing conclusions about memory rarely include middle-aged people. They were being generosity is their care, give what they can give for their grandkids. They struggle long enough to survive from their illness.

I really imagine that what could be waiting for me if I suffer an illness which is different from early adulthood of mine. I should be hardly and slowing to move my body as I was beginning to had crack bones of mine with its sound. As I imagine a lot what would be the life of me in 60 years age of me look like exactly. I can be grown old, grumpy, and sad living in home for the aged or even live with grandkids of my own. It is really hard that thinking way more about it is just never ever will happen if I just don’t let it.

LATE ADULTHOOD

Life expectancy and longevity improvements in these variables among the elderly themselves over the past several decades are responsible for changes in the expected lifespans of adults in their 60s and beyond. General slowing the biggest single behavioural effect of age-related physical changes is a general slowing down. Wisdom and creativity elders might have some advantages over the young because of their accumulation of knowledge and skills. Wisdom reflects understanding of “universal truths” or basic laws or patterns. Life satisfaction or a sense of well-being is also an important component of successful aging. Religious beliefs are the component of religious coping involves people’s beliefs and attitudes.

Life can be full of surprises when realize about something that can be precious to our love ones and we expands our life expectancy to experience more and thank God that we exist long lives today and some of old of us can be slow to stimuli. We do believe our own will to find out how our experiences can show to others how we make it and offer as a good advice to others that may help to guide others away from dangerous paths they never cross. Life of our existence is constant and I would say that it is okay for me to live this life, I owe it to the end of my last breathe for I shall die happy person. Religious gives you the morality and the spirituality which gives the inner peace of our mind and channels our prayer to our God.

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r-ultrazul · 6 years ago

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From BF to YASHA, Yoshida never changed.

[This article contains heavy spoilers of YASHA and Banana Fish]

[There're two bonuses at the end of the article. Please jump straight to the end if you only want to know some interesting facts (also with spoilers).]

[As I’m not a native English speaker, sorry to make you tolerate possible language problems.]

===========================

After reading YASHA, I realized how it inherits part of BF’s theme. Basically, it picks out the “mirrored” relationship between Ash and Yut-Lung, then elaborates it with the story of a new pair of characters: Sei and Rin. They are artificial genius twins (genetically modified) raised in very different conditions, which results in their different characteristics, like the two faces of the god Yasha. Other settings are very similar, such as conspiracy involving Japanese and US government, Chinese underworld forces, secret experiments, and beautiful but dangerous prodigies…

Here I try to explain the inner connections between the two series, and how YASHA further elaborates some of Yoshida’s main interests while creating stories and characters. It also talks a little bit about Eve’s Slumber, YASHA’s sequel. (There’s no full English translation of Eve yet so I haven’t read the full story.)

1 The objectified children

Many of YASHA’s core concepts can be found in one of BF’s extra stories, “The Private Opinion” (thanks for the translation here) which tells how Blanca met Ash for the first time and became his tutor. Published in 1996 (YASHA started in 1996), it serves as a bridge between BF and YASHA.

1.1 The objectification of a child. In the short story, the primary job of Blanca was not taking care of young Ash. It was a "project evaluation," to see if Ash was worth working on. If Ash failed Blanca's evaluation, Dino would send him back to his ill fate without hesitation. Here we understand that Dino didn’t train and educate Ash because of love (which was not clearly explained in the original story). It was out of utility as if he was treating a product.

It's also how Amamiya Kyoichiro treated Rin in YASHA as his adoptive father, who raised and Rin as a tool instead of a son.

1.2 The artificial genius The short story reveals some of Blanca’s past. He was chosen as a child prodigy when he was young. After 15 years, only 18 out of 300 children survived, Blanca being one of them. Thus he tells Dino: “To artificially create an elite – that’s a saying of utter nonsense in the first place. Mankind isn’t strong to such an extent.”

However, YASHA is precisely a story about the “artificial elites” and the problems they bring about. Sadly Blanca never appeared in the story, so we don’t get the chance to see his reactions about the matter…

2 The unqualified fathers

Although Yut-Lung and Rin are portrayed as opponents in the stories, they are not the real antagonists or villains. The “delinquent” fathers are the real villains in both stories.

Yoshida has a strong tendency to portray negative fatherhood. Even in her early work, “Kawa Yori mo Nagaku Yuruyaka ni (Longer and Softer Than River)” the absent father is the one who ruined the protagonist’s family and got him to where he is. In BF, we see at least 3 characters that claim to be the “father” of Ash: his biological father, Papa Dino and Max Lobo, and two of them are not doing a proper job. Eiji also comes from a family that the father is not functional (in "Fly Boy, in the Sky," his father has been sick for a long time so young Eiji was under a lot of stress, and Ibe was the one who helped him to get through.

In YASHA, things become even more apparent. We are presented with several unqualified fathers.

Amamiya Kyoichiro, the adoptive father of Rin, is basically a milder version of Dino. He is not a pervert, but a “control freak” who treated Rin as a good product. He isolated Rin from all others since childhood to prevent him from “wasting his talent” and uses him for his own goals. Once he found out that Sei was “better”, he would dump Rin without hesitation, which left Rin in utter desperation.

However, what makes the character even more interesting is his cowardice, not his power and wealth. Kyoichiro suffered from the violence of his own father - a tyrannical patriarch - for many years. The bravest thing he ever did was trying to get married with Hisako (Sei’s adoptive mother) without his father’s permission. For him, such “rebellion” or “sacrifice” gave him the right to control Hisako as if she owed him a debt, making the woman run away and steal baby Sei from the laboratory. Later, when Rin was abused by his father, Kyoichiro didn't dare to intervene. Because of his cowardice, Kyoichiro turned from a victim to a perpetrator, causing Hisako’s death and Rin’s twisted personality.

But, being the initiator of many tragedies, Kyoichiro kept doing what he believes to mean love. He tried to clone Hisako because she was “the perfect woman”. He was willing to offer Sei anything only if the kid went with his plan. And, like Dino, he finally gave his life to protect Sei (Rin), making him another complicated, mixed character. Love or possessiveness, who knows.

The fathers of the main supporting characters are no good either.

The father of Takeru (Rin’s partner) impregnated his mistress as his wife was infertile. Then he brought little Takeru back and let his wife raise him, causing the break-down of two women and the abused childhood of Takeru.

Ken’s stepfather was responsible for the suicide of his little sister.

The father of Raymond Goldberg was a violent pedophilia, and Raymond grew up to be exactly like him.

……

Among them, Takeru’s father was the only one who realized that they must stop passing on the tragedy to the next generation, which somehow helped Takeru escape from destruction.

Personally, I feel that all these things make the ending of YASHA even harsher than BF. When Ash fell in the eternal dreams in the library, his soul was saved and filled with happiness. But Rin was staring at something that never belonged to him till the very last moment of his life, paying for somebody else’s mistake that had twisted his fate even before he was born.

3 The unconditional love

Love is another theme that Yoshida portrays in both BF and YASHA. What she keeps emphasizing is that the highest love is always “unconditional”. It’s something very close to “godly love”. It’s the way Eiji loves Ash, and the way Hisako loves Sei. Sei’s uncle Dr. Arisue, and his childhood friend Toshi also love him that way. “Love you whatever you do.” “Trust you under any circumstances.” – It’s a bit different from romantic love. In my personal opinion, that’s perhaps why Yoshida tends to deny the category of “BL” for BF, even stressed that Ash and Eiji’s relationship was “non-sexual” in “The Garden of Light”.

What would happen if people can’t love unconditionally? Perhaps the answer lies in Takeru’s question: “Why do people so easily become demons?”

They just shouldn’t ask for anything in return.

===========================

Bonus 1:

It’s definitely not a good idea to be the protagonists in Yoshida’s works. Because they leave us, somehow, in some way, even in the next story.

As a main supporting character, Sing Soo-Ling is the luckiest guy. He lives through all three stories and even has a son (named Lie, with Ibe Akira).

Bonus 2:

According to the interview in the Official Guidebook of Banana Fish, Yoshida said that Blanca was initially designed to be a woman. She wanted to draw an affair between female Blanca and Ash, but the idea was stopped by the editor. (Thanks for the translation here.)

This is her illustration of female Blanca (photo by me):

In YASHA, she finally got things done. What a persistent author… And that scene between Sei and Ru-Mei leads to the story of another sequel, “Eve’s Slumber” .

Fin.

R 2019-2

#YASHA #akimi yoshida #banana fish

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acaddicts · 6 years ago

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Meet your Admins!

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Name: Amy-Louise

Nickname: Ames, Amylou, "Queen"

Age: 20 Birthday: 24th November Timezone: BST (GMT in Winter) • Best Available: after 5pm Fave Villager/NPC: Rosie|Phylis Fave AC Game: New Leaf About Me: I am a full time carer at the moment. Originally a secretary. I have a puppy called Sox. I am a devoted auntie, and love spending time with my family. Originally from Northern Ireland. Suffer with several chronic illnesses.

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Andrea Nickname🌻 •Andi Age🌼 •19 Birthday💫 •30.12.98 Time zone✨ •UTC + 2 Best availability⚡️ •Depends, but normally 12 pm - 8 pm Fave villager/NPC🌷 •Bob is by far my favourite villager! He is my baby. My favourite NPC would be Isabelle, she’s so sweet. Fave AC game🌟 •New Leaf A little about me😸 I love cats. Almost everything I own is cat related. I currently work in a kindergarten (whenever someone is sick I come in), but my dream is to become a dementia nurse. I’m engaged and we live together in a small apartment in Northern Norway. I struggle with my mental health, but I try my best to beat it and do my best to help out in our lovely group. When I don’t play AC or do admin stuff I play other games (Skyrim, Pokèmon) or watch Netflix😎

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• Nickname - Chriss or Vicko • Age - 21 • Birthday - July 24th • Timezone - UTC - 6 CST • Best Availability - Mornings and at night • Fave Villager/NPC - For NPC's, Kapp'n and the Porter, for villagers uff I have lots but specially, Molly and Muffy 　. • Fave AC Game - New leaf • A little about you - I love potatoes, anime and manga :3 , also I'm a student from college, I love doing pics editions, draws and such, so if you guys ever need help with thigns related to this, you now know who to call ;) I also can give spanish classes 😝

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Hanna Nickname: none Age: 22 Birthday: 4th August 1996 Timezone: GMT (Germany) Best Availability: most of the time, but the highest chance is in the evening Fave villager/NPC: Colton, Lobo Fave Ac Game: New Leaf A little about you: My AC passion started with ACWW and I also love Pokémon (Eevee is my fav) and other RPGs like Skyrim and Fallout. I also love my pets (I have a lot^^), reading books and draw some stuff. I’m a student and study the science of language and and literature (but mostly german literature).

Hannah 👑 Nickname: Han 👑 Age: 24 👑 Birthday: Feb 7th 👑 Timezone: GMT/BST 👑 Best Availability: Evenings and Weekends 👑 Fave Villager/NPC: Chrissy & Cookie, Celeste 👑 Fave AC Game: New Leaf 👑 A little about you: My favourite Pokemon has always been and will always be Vulpix, so when Alolan Vulpix was revealed I lost my shit. I have anime, I write fanfiction, I write stories and edit for a living, I play a lot of other games like League of Legends, World of Warcraft, Persona, Bloodborne - you name it I've probably played it, I love sunflowers and roses, Sailor Moon is my life and aesthetic forever, and finally, I have three cats <3

Jennifer • Nickname: Jen or Jenny • Age: 21 • Birthday: February 9th • Timezone: UK, GMT • Best Availability: Late night • Fave Villager/NPC : Whitney and Skye • Fave AC Game : New leaf • A little about you I work in retail maybe 2 days a week, I love animals, Disney, games, drawing, reading and writing. Im self teaching guitar and writing songs as a hobby. Tryng to be a vegetarian which is going well, haven't ate meat in a week, yay. The tv shows I like vary in type, I like: The walking daed, Once upon a time and A series of unfortunate events. Movies I like are mostly Disney , the lion king most of all. I also love animals , especially my dog Amber. I do hope to run my own business to rehalibitate pets and wild animals to find homes and re release the healed ones back into the wild. I also appreciate kind and loyal people 💜

Mollie 💖 Nickname: MolflakeMagic (my main gamer tag & online name) 💚 Age: 19 💖 Birthday: December 1st 💚 Timezone: GMT / BST (UK) 💖 Best Availability: Currently Afternoons through to Night unless I'm with family or my boyfriend :3 💚 Fave Villager / NPC: Goldie!! 😍😊 💖 Fave AC Game: Animal Crossing City Folk 😍😊 💚 A little about me: I'm generally very goofy and always looking to make people laugh and smile. I'm currently preparing to move to Nottingham to study at University in September, so essentially preparing to be an official adulty adult xD I play lots of League in my spare time but also love to design on New Leaf, and I'm currently working on completing all the collections for the museum. I also love to dance and I'm also currently starting to learn Japanese :3 When not with my goofball boyfriend or at home, you can usually find me at my grandparents with my doggy Poppy 😍😊

Panyia 🎀 Nickname: Pan/Panini/Pancakes 🎀 Age: 20 🎀 Birthday: Feb. 16th 🎀 Timezone: PST (soon to be HST) 🎀 Best Availability: Depends, usually 12pm - 10 pm 🎀 Fave Villager/NPC: Coco/Celeste 🎀 Fave AC Game: New Leaf 🎀 A little about you: I’m soon-to-be engaged, going to be moving in with my partner very soon. Im usually playing any Harvest Moon game series when I’m not playing AC and helping out with the group. I’ve played other games but it’s too many to name lol. I love watching anime too! They all help me with my mental health and depression, which I try not to let them get to me when I’m helping out with our group ❤️

Ruth 🌸Age: 21 🌸Birthday: 25th December 🌸Timezone: BST/GMT 🌸Best Availability: Usually evenings or any day that I’m off work 🌸Fave villager/NPC: Apple and my fave npc is Kicks ❤️ 🌸Fave AC Game: New Leaf 🌸 A Little about me: I have lived in the south west part of the uk all of my life with my parents and older brother. I love cats so much, I used to have a black cat called Twinkle but he was very ill and passed away from a heart murmur at only 7 years old. I now have a calico called Poppy who I love very much ❤️ I have suffered from anxiety and depression, with the occasional severe migraine (to the point I passed out) since 2013 (but thank goodness I’m nowhere near as bad now) I also love an incredible KPop band called BTS (you may have heard me talk about them already 😛) and playing games like Animal Crossing and Zelda ❤️ Sorry I’m rambling now 😂😂

#admin list #admins #adminlist #acnladdicts #acaddicts

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laurelsofhighever · 7 years ago

Text

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 13 - The Sword, part 2

The winter of 9:31 Dragon draws to a bitter close. Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, hero of the people, has revealed a string of secret letters between King Cailan and Empress Celene of Orlais. The specifics are unclear, but suspicion of Orlesians run deep, and there are always those willing to take advantage of political scandal. Declaring the king unfit to rule, Loghain has retreated to his southern stronghold in Gwaren, with Queen Anora by his side. Fear and greed threaten to tear Ferelden apart. In Denerim, Cailan busies himself with maps and battle plans, hoping to stem the tide of blood before it can start. In the Arling of Edgehall, King Maric’s bastard son fights against the rebels flocking to the traitor’s banner, determined to free himself from the shadow of his royal blood. And in Highever, Rosslyn Cousland, bitter at being left behind, watches as her father and brother ride to war, unaware of the betrayal lurking in the smile of their closest friend.

Words: 4528 Chapter summary: Alistair has a bad day, then Rosslyn challenges him to a duel.

Chapter 1 on AO3 This chapter on AO3 Masterpost here

Alistair had a difficult morning. After a hurried breakfast, he was waylaid by Ser Nevvis, the aide-de-camp in charge of the archers who had arrived two days before from Waking Sea. The man was incorrigible, inflated by the fact that Bann Alfstanna had personally put him in charge, and it took twenty minutes before he could ease the man’s bluster and sort out the problem of billeting. Then, he was forced to deal with a complaint from the quartermaster, and then the head blacksmith – and then the chief of the impromptu merchants’ guild came to see him too.

The only break in the fog was the two minutes where Rosslyn had spoken to him, had actually looked pleased to see him. He had worried for her while she was gone, perhaps more than proper, though he didn’t dare entertain the idea that she might have spared him a thought in return. He was only an officer, and only elevated that high because Teagan had taken pity on him as a child. Still, the bashful smile she had offered as she joked with him, with the star-white flowers in her hair, left a peculiar kind of lightness in his chest, and for a while – though he knew it was ridiculous – the image created a wall between his mood and all the people who seemed to have nothing better to do than shout at him.

And then Teagan found him arguing with a drayman whose horse had come up lame, and in a rough, exhausted voice, told him to find the errant teyrn’s daughter and check on her. He didn’t give details, but Alistair guessed easily enough that it had something to do with Franderel.

He tried her quarters first, but the local woman employed as her new maid shook her head and returned to the arrangement of daffodils in a vase on the windowsill. The dog, evidently returned from breakfast in the kennels, snored fitfully on the bed. As he rand a hand through his hair to work out where to go next, he noticed the sprig of Andraste’s grace that had been woven into her hair stood in a pill bottle on the table, next to the plate of food he had had sent to her. It relieved him more than it should to see it was scraped clean.

“You might try the training grounds,” the maid offered when he still lingered.

“Thank you,” he replied, already marching back into the corridor when the young woman curtseyed prettily at him.

He almost missed Rosslyn in the lists, too. When he finally caught a flash of steel beyond the ranks of training recruits, he hung back, unwilling to interrupt. An area had been cleared for her near the horse paddocks, away from the soldiers drilling under Arms Master Grint, and when he realised what she was doing, Alistair felt a coil of anticipation stir in his gut.

The exercise was known as the Orchard, an advanced technique designed to teach precision and fluidity in battle against multiple opponents. She stood surrounded by twelve thin poles, all set at different heights, topped with cabbages worm-eaten from winter storage. The goal was simple, if difficult to achieve: instead of following a set pattern of steps, the student improvised their movements to glide between the poles and strike each object from its plinth without touching the wood it rested on, in as few steps as possible. The ground was already scattered with the crinkled remains of previous rounds, and whole motley crate of vegetables awaited their turn to be on the receiving end of Rosslyn’s frustrations.

She shifted into a beginning stance, guard up, shield held close to her left side. His own fighting style lacked the finesse to perform such an exercise well, but as she wove through the poles, he started to understand why her army held her in such high regard. Her footwork was impeccable, her grace undeniable. When her sword flicked out, the action opened from her centre rather than her arms, which loaned more power to the stroke, and control enough that she could withdraw and change direction like a leaf turning in the breeze.

He stopped noticing the mechanics of her form when the fourth cabbage dropped in two pieces before the third even hit the ground. The sun flashed on her hair, gathered into a bun at the nape of her neck, the effort of the exercise bringing a pink blush to her cheeks that set her grey eyes dancing. But after the sixth cabbage a frown creased her brows, drawing down over her eyes as a snarl of frustration pulled her lips upwards over her teeth. Her strikes lost their polish. With the instincts of a soldier, he saw the sword gaining momentum independent of her control, swinging wide on the outside edges of her strokes, creating chinks in her defence when she had to overcompensate with her shield arm.

The exercise ended with the dull slam of metal on wood and a hissed curse as the last cabbage bounced off the ground and rolled away, untouched. Alistair let out the breath he had been holding, his mouth dry. Rosslyn yanked the blade from where it was wedged in the pole and stepped away with a growl, pushing hair and sweat carelessly out of her eyes – until then she spotted him. Her face flushed a deeper red even as she rolled her shoulders back.

“Is there something you need?”

He gulped. “Do you, uh, want to talk about what’s bothering you?”

“There’s nothing bothering me.” She stalked away from him towards a low table laden with a water pitcher and a cloth, discarding her shield as she went. The sword she treated with more care, taking the cloth to the flat of the blade so she could wipe away the sting of cabbage juice.

“Clearly.” He dared to step closer. “You know, if you’re planning to do this until the kitchens run out of vegetables completely, you’d probably get on better with a different sword.”

She paused. “Did Teagan send you?”

“Well…”

“Tell him he’s wasting his time. I’ve had enough of being patronised today.”

Alistair frowned. “He’s only trying to help.”

“Feel free to tell him what a marvellous job he’s doing.” She delicately picked a speck of cabbage off the hilt of her sword, her mouth curled with affected disdain.

“There’s no need to get tetchy,” he grumbled. “And just so you know, Teagan’s the only reason we’re not already marching to Denerim, so you might show some gratitude.”

She levelled an incredulous stare at him, and too late he swallowed back his impertinence. He had forgotten protocol, as he so often did in her presence, but realising he should have known better didn’t lessen the cut of that look. He cleared his throat and looked down to the scuffed toes of his boots, a mumbled, formal apology dragging over his tongue. When he glanced up, the haughty glare was gone and she was biting her lip.

The silence between them grew awkward.

“Look…” He sighed. “Whatever Bann Franderel said – he’s very good at getting under other people’s skin, but that doesn’t mean what he says is true.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “Whatever that weasel did or did not say to me,” she snarled, “it’s no concern of yours.” With a shake of her head, she turned away from him again and sheathed her sword, intent now on resetting the poles for another round, but after the first few steps she halted, the cabbage she had failed to cleave before now held loosely in her palm.

“What’s wrong with my blade?” she asked, without looking at him. Her voice still held an edge, but the anger bunched in her shoulders had softened.

Alistair huffed. He shouldn’t be opening his mouth, but he had never been very good at shutting up at the proper time. “It was made for someone with a longer reach than yours. The weight is balanced too far towards the point and it swings wide.”

“Perhaps that’s why I’m practicing.”

“Ignoring ill-suited equipment might work in the tilt yard, but in a real battle it’ll get you killed,” he snapped, forgetting protocol again. “Excuse me for trying to help.”

For a long moment, Rosslyn didn’t answer. Her thoughts were her own as she eyed the sword girded at her side, the white steel shaped like a willow leaf in an ancient Alamarri style, from a time when forging techniques produced chunkier, less sophisticated weapons. A muscle ticked in her jaw.

She faced him again. the cabbage dropped to the ground with a dull thud. “Show me.”

He blinked. “You want to spar – with real weapons? Now?” So much could go wrong. He might injure her, and then he would be in trouble, and what if –

“Unless you’re not a match for me?” A militant gleam shone in her eyes now, a challenge without even a hint of mirth. But he had his pride, too, and the world shrank to the bare ten paces that separated them as he squared up to her.

“If I do match you, you’ll admit I’m right – find another sword to use?”

Her head tilted to the side, that lop-sided smirk of hers enough to make his insides squirm. “If.”

Word of the fight spread through the barracks within the time it took for the runner to reach the officers’ quarters with instructions to retrieve Alistair’s weapons from the glorified box that served him as both bedroom and office. By the time the poor lad returned, laden down with a sword and shield that together probably weighed about the same as he did, he had to battle his way through a mob of soldiers five deep around the ring who had drifted in to watch the spectacle. Silver glinted between palms as bets were taken, passed along with good-natured insults between Cousland loyalists and staunch Rainesfere men.

In the centre of the commotion, calm and quiet, the two warriors padded up in practice gear.

“Honour must be satisfied, Madam Enchanter,” Rosslyn said, without looking up from the buckles on her cuirass. “That sour look does nothing.”

“I have enough patients already without you two clobbering each other senseless, my lady,” Wynne shot back. “If this is about satisfying honour, I’ll eat my own boots.” The old woman’s arms were crossed over her chest, the expression on her face unchanged since she had first noticed the gathering and come to investigate.

Rosslyn tightened the final strap on her vambraces. “Your objections are noted.”

She picked up her sword from where it had been resting against the closest ring-post, and checked the bark sheath on the blade to make sure it wouldn’t come loose. Such bindings were reserved for high level training, light enough not to impede balance or add extra weight, but strong enough to protect the blade from blunting – or from fatally lacerating an opponent if a fight got too enthusiastic. On the other side of the ring, Alistair was doing the same, his skullcap already in place over his tawny hair, and his shield hefted on his left arm.

“Just so you know,” he told her when they met in the centre of the ring, “I bruise easily.”

Flint-eyed, she squashed her own cap onto her head and fastened the chinstrap. He imagined he caught a faint twitch of humour on her lips before the movement obscured her face, but he couldn’t be sure.

“You both know the rules,” croaked the nervous recruit who had been picked as a referee. “No weapon strikes aimed above the shoulders; no interference from the spectators; the fight ends when one competitor yields, or… or is too injured to fight.” He glanced at Rosslyn and licked his lips. “Hopefully it won’t come to that. Do you both swear to abide by these rules?”

“Yes.”

“I do.”

“Then begin!”

They tapped swords as a formal salute, and stepped back out of range, circling slowly. Alistair brought his shield up before his face, his sword held point-forward at his shoulder in readiness to lunge, while Rosslyn, cautious about his superior size, held hers swept to the side for a better chance at deflection should he close for a strike. Her gaze dropped to the centre of his chest, the better to anticipate his movements; faces, after all, could lie.

Shouting grew into an excited buzz around them, then faded out of hearing, useless.

She struck first, a whirl of blows that sent them both spinning to opposite sides of the ring. Cheers rose from the Highever soldiers, but this initial flurry was just a test of Alistair’s defences, probing for weak points she could exploit. It wouldn’t be easy; his strength foiled her speed and he had the solid bearing of a shieldmaster in training. She had to rotate the hilt in her grip to release the jangle of nerves the impact sent down her arm.

“Get ‘im telt, lass!”

With the second attack, she sliced forward at an angle, faster, cutting crosswise so he was forced to overreach. She caught his sword on the outer edge of her shield and he jumped back as she swung her right arm in a reverse arc that would have disembowelled him had the fight been real. The move seemed ungraceful, but he had left the opening on purpose, to see if she would take it.

“Don’t insult me,” she snapped. “You could at least try to kill me.”

“If I do that, I’ll get executed,” he retorted. Now that his battle-blood was rising, he found himself enjoying being the sole object of her attention, antagonistic though it might be. The fire-hot fury that had consumed her earlier was gone, and in place of her scowl a frown of concentration, and maybe just the faintest hint of a smile. But he had to focus, or the fight would be lost, and his argument along with it.

So he came at her without warning, driving her towards the rail, shield to shield before she could get out of the way, but in an instant the pressure against his shoulder vanished. She sidestepped neatly and turned along the length of his off-side, delivering a swift elbow to his ribs before disengaging to circle again, to whoops and jeers from the spectators. He had not meant to let her do that, and he stumbled, knowing that if she wanted, she could have ended the fight there. Payback for the opening he had given her before. When he looked, he saw a grin pulling at her lips, but it vanished quickly.

They became more serious. The blows they traded were fast and brutal, the two of them evenly matched and equally invested in winning. Soon they were both breathing hard and fighting the itch to dash the sweat from their eyes. Rosslyn kept their engagements brief, making Alistair do the work of closing to a distance where he could use his bigger size to bear down on her, but she had grown up training against her father’s guardsmen, and she had learned how to turn her blade to redirect the force of such blows, to combat reach with flexibility.

She swiped low for his legs and used the distraction to dance away again. Alistair turned and trailed after her, dogged, and doubts began to creep into her mind. All her injuries from the road ached from his unrelenting attacks, which often came over the top of his shield and meant she had to raise her arm to deflect them. She might have expected some leniency from a different opponent, but Alistair wasn’t Gilmore; he respected her skill enough to give her all of his. He saw the way she rolled her left shoulder to ease the strain of her injury from Glenlough, and he noted it only as a weakness to be turned to his advantage.

But he was starting to tire, as well. She saw it in the slight drop of his guard, how he hesitated to close the gap between them. The onlookers had quietened, sensing the match was nearing its end and eager not to miss a moment of it.

“Give ‘er what-for!”

He rushed her. She was done running. Her stance braced to hold her ground, and their shields locked together with a hollow smack, their swords trapped at crossguards in the middle. For an instant they stood close enough to feel the ragged edge in each other’s breath, silver eyes caught on amber, but then Rosslyn dove left with a growl and Alistair stumbled forward. His right arm overextended, exposed between her shield and his own. Her sword was already swinging in a backhanded arc above her head – he could see its path down across his shoulders, a killing blow to the back of the neck – the crowd now at a roar –

He ducked and twisted on his heels. His loose arm dropped and he exploded upwards with a last burst of strength that broke against her shield just as she reached the apex of the Coachman’s Cut. Unbalanced, she was knocked clean off her feet, the sword flying out of her hand as she instinctively reached out to brace against the fall. Alistair tumbled after, and together they hit the ground with a muffled thud that sent a shock of force through Rosslyn’s teeth. Disbelief settled on the crowd with the dust, and those at the back peered over the heads of those in front to see what would happen next.

Alistair stared down impassively, the point of his sword resting flat against Rosslyn’s neck and the weight of his shield heavy on her chest. She had managed to get one elbow underneath her, but she was pinned, caught out of reach of her sword with his bulk pressing her into the dirt. The silence stretched; time was measured in racing heartbeats. Her eyes darted between her blade and the one at her neck, searching for some way to save the situation, to change the odds, to fight. Alistair tried very hard to ignore the warmth of her breath on his cheek.

Finally, she sagged, her voice choked and tiny. “I yield.”

“Ser Alistair is victorious!”

At the announcement, Alistair scrambled to his feet, all traces of the merciless warrior gone. He caught a flicker of vulnerability in Rosslyn’s eyes before she rolled gaze away from him to the sword lying inches from her right hand, and he watched as she hesitated, then snatched it from the dirt like it was a snake about to bite.

“Here.”

She grasped the hand he offered to pull her up, her grip strong, her back and entire right side dusted with sawdust. She hardly seemed to notice, and did not look at him as they touched shields to signal the formal end of the bout. Cheers and groans rippled around the ring with the chink of coin, but to him it was muted by his confusion, the feeling that in his victory something had gone terribly wrong.

“My lady?”

“If you’ll excuse me –”

Rosslyn bowed and left, letting the crowd part before her like iron filings before a lodestone. By the time he caught up with her, she had reached the equipment tent and flung her sword on the workbench, half her training gear already unbuckled. At the tramp of his footsteps, her hands stilled on the straps.

“I… didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked.

“Only my pride,” she joked, but it was unconvincing. “You’re impressive – your fighting skills, I mean.”

Alistair felt heat creep up the back of his neck. “I could say the same. You almost had me a few times there.”

“But not quite.” And there it was again, that flash of hurt smothered as quickly as it emerged. She scowled down at the sword on the workbench. “I apologise for taking up so much of your time – you must have duties to see to.”

He recognised the dismissal for what it was, but sympathy made him hesitate. Now that the anger had drained out of her, away from the crowd, she looked exhausted, leaning against the table as if the responsibility on her shoulders were too much to bear alone.

He had never been very good at keeping his mouth shut.

“You know, I know better than you might think how hard it can be to – to live with a legacy hanging over your head.” He fiddled with a stray thread in his shirt. “I can see why you would want to hold on to anything you can.”

She turned and stared at him for a long time, her expression inscrutable. “Your parents had high expectations for you, then?” she asked eventually.

“I… no.” It was his turn to avoid her gaze. “My mother died when I was small and my, uh, father barely knew I existed.”

She frowned, irked by this information for a reason she could not define. “So who raised you?”

“Dogs,” he said, shrugging.

“Dogs?”

“Yup. Giant, slobbering dogs from the Anderfels, a whole pack of them, in fact. In the winter we’d all sleep in a big pile and play wicked grace for ram chops.” He grinned, and was pleased to see an answering smirk on Rosslyn’s lips.

“I see,” she hummed. “That explains the table manners.”

“Oi!”

“And was it the dogs who taught you swordsmanship?” she asked. “Or, swordsdogship, I suppose.”

“No, that was Duncan.” His smile broadened into something more genuine at the happy memory, and the warmth brightened the honey of his eyes. She had called him impressive, she was joking with him again, she was funny. “He’s a Grey Warden, he used to stop by when he was recruiting sometimes. He’d take me out and teach me, first with sticks, because you might not have noticed but I’m terribly clumsy, and then later he’d bring real practice swords with him.”

“He sounds like a good man,” Rosslyn said.

“He is. He’s Commander of the Grey now – or he was, last time I heard anything about him.”

“Hm – you have friends in high places.”

He chuckled. “I suppose I do.”

“I hope…” Her smile faltered. Her fingers danced along the edge of the workbench. “Oh, never mind.”

Concerned by how she turned away from him, Alistair edged closer, stretching out a tentative hand, only to spring backwards when the tent flap whipped aside to reveal Teagan, his cloak awry and his face creased into a disapproving glare.

“Would either of you care to explain what just happened?” he demanded. “Why did I get word from Captain Rothby that a fight had broken out in the lists? Well?”

Rosslyn and Alistair glanced at each other like children caught stealing pastries.

“You’re expected to set an example – there are recruits out there who have barely been with us a week! And now they’ve seen two of their superiors decide to hash out their differences in a glorified brawl.” Teagan rubbed a finger along his jawline. “I expected better of you, Alistair. I thought you had more sense.”

“Yes, my lord. I’m sorry.”

“Teagan, the fault is mine,” Rosslyn interrupted, stepping forward. “I goaded Alistair, and he was honour-bound to respond.”

“With due respect, my lady, if he allowed himself to be goaded by you, then he has yet to learn the lessons I have tried to teach him. Such childish behaviour is a disgrace to your positions, and provoked or not you should both have had the presence of mind to conduct yourselves with a greater amount of decorum. Do you think your father would be proud of your little fit of temper today?”

“It’s a shame he’s not here to be asked his opinion.”

“The soldiers were pleased,” Alistair said hurriedly. “The bout was a boost to morale and it gave the newer recruits a demonstration of the level of skill they might be able to achieve one day.”

Teagan rounded on him. “Do not try to justify this action. I am still Commander-in-Chief of this camp, and that display showed a flagrant disregard for rules put in place for the benefit of all.” He stepped back, suddenly weary. “Lady Rosslyn, I apologise for the comment about your father. I’m sure he would be happy to know you can hold your own against such a skilled opponent. He taught you well.”

Rosslyn swallowed. “Thank you, my lord.”

“I will speak to the quartermaster. Both of you will spend this evening helping the normal rotation clean the practice equipment, since you’re so eager to behave like common soldiery, and maybe that will teach you a lesson about settling arguments with steel.” He turned on his heel before either could muster a protest and marched out into the gathering dusk, the silence left in his wake a palpable thing.

“Well that could have gone worse,” Alistair muttered eventually.

“It could have gone better, too,” Rosslyn replied. “Why didn’t you stand up for yourself when Teagan stormed at you?”

“What else could I do?” he shrugged. “Without him I’m just a stablehand or a farm grunt living hand-to-mouth. He took me in, so to speak.”

“From the dogs?”

Alistair’s head snapped around at the new, probing lilt to her voice, and scowled. “He’s not my father. My father’s dead, and never wanted anything to do with me in the first place.”

She started. “Forgive me – I shouldn’t have pried.”

After that, they lapsed into silence as they finished stripping off their practice leathers and laid them out for cleaning, but Alistair’s mind resounded with the weight of the secret he had never revealed to another living soul. Never before had he even wanted to, and yet in the last few weeks he had caught himself wondering what might happen if he did. On better days, he imagined what it might be like to be raised to princehood, how many people he could help if given the power to do so. Soon enough, however, he would hear Isolde’s tittering laugh ringing in his ears, mocking him for thinking his father’s name would ever outshine his mother’s common blood.

“Alistair? That’s a very thoughtful expression on your face.”

He did his best to smile. “Just trying to work out what I want for dinner.”

She smiled back, remembering their earlier conversation. “It would have to be something filling, to last through all the gruelling hours of work Teagan has in store for us.”

“Maybe not something with cabbage in it, though.”

“I doubt there are many cabbages left for the refectory to get their hands on.”

“And whose fault is that?”

The smile turned into an outright chuckle. It was brief, but he heard it. He watched as she gathered up her gear and placed it back in the racks, wondering what it might be like to make her laugh properly, every day.

“I’ll see you later,” she said, pausing on her way to the door.

Only once she had gone could his thoughts scramble enough sense together to answer, but by then there was nobody to hear but himself. “I look forward to it.”

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #alistair theirin #alistair x cousland #cousland #teagan guerrin #ferelden #alistair x warden #king alistair #rosslyn cousland

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