#LANCE IS SHOWING HIM AROUND HIS HOMELAND

[yuuniee]

“Fight with all your might! And if you fall, pick yourself up and try again!”

Name: Viktor Falkenberg

Japanese: ヴィクトル・ファルケンベルグ

Dorm: Savanaclaw

Birthday: 10th August

Age: 19

Height: 195 cm

Dominant Hand: Right

Homeland: Land of the Legends

Family: Unnamed father (†), unnamed mother, three unnamed older brothers

Voiced by: [TBA]

Nicknames/Aliases: Monsieur ??? (Rook), ??? (Floyd)

Grade: Third

Class: 3-B (no. 27)

Club: Magift Club

Best Subject: Defensive Arts

Hobby: Taking care of animals, woodcarving

Favorite Food: Beef Jerky

Least Favorite Food: Cabbage roll

Pet Peeves: Being forgotten or left out

Talent: Rock Climbing

Appearence: Viktor is a young man with dark skin, disheveled black long hair with a crimson streak on the bangs, grey eyes with eyebags under them and an eyepatch under his left eye. Due to the events in his past, he also has so many scars on both his face and his body.

Personality: Viktor is distant and closed off. He may come off as an intimidating person although he is actually pretty reasonable and understanding. He also happens to have a softer side for those who he deeply cares.

Unique Magic: “Forbidden Hunt”

It basically shows one’s weakest points as little glowing lights. The closer he gets to the person, the more damage they will take. It also heightens his senses and if he overuses it, it may temporarily transform parts of his body to a bear’s.

[x]

Fun Facts:

He has skipped a year due to the war between him, his father and his brothers for the kingdom. In the end, he defeated them all but at the cost of his father’s life.

He knows how to use various weapons like claymore, dual sword, bow and arrow.

He hardly opens up to anyone due to some.. past issues. (trauma) He often mocks those around him to push them away due to this.

In the story, it’s revealed that it takes at least 30 minutes for him to wake up.

Before he goes to somewhere different, not for war but for exploring, he makes sure to learn about that place throughly.

He likes being in the forest the most and says that he finds peace there. He also seems to love the forest animals. Because despite his intimidating nature, the animals seem to approach him more than people do.

He lives in Harveston on a mountain where he chops firewood and stays alone in his little cabin. But hey, at least it’s warm and people and animals there seems to soften him at least a little bit! ^^

Despite what others say about him, his cooking is actually good. He even briefly mentions in his dorm uniform story that he used to make pies for his brothers.

In the first Vargas Camp event, he easily identifies which crystal is which. Later when asked, he says that he was taught about crystals at a young age along with other things like fighting with a lance, defensive arts and even science.

[luminousrider]

[ 𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐦 ] : sender has killed someone who threatened the receiver. (Post Timeskip AU)

tw for gore, gruesome imagery

The stink of blood ever pervaded the air around the monastery, even once it began to show signs of life once more, as those who had made their vow on the cold winter's night what seemed like a lifetime ago. In part, it was due to the rust, the tang of iron as metal sheared due to weather and lack of care diffused into the air, biting noses and lungs with the same cling as death itself.

And it was, in part, due to the blood. The blood on their hands, under their nails and in their hair, in their clothing which they could not, for whatever reason wash out.

Or would not.

He refused to allow those souls that had trickled back into the monastery, seeking their purpose in the higher power of the Goddess, to scrub the floor behind him, snarling and rumbling, implacable as the storm if he saw them even approach the long stain that the body left behind in his wake.

He wanted everyone to know what had befallen the man who'd left the smear against the cobblestones, wanted their footsteps to linger and trail along the path the stark red - and then mottled, browned - left. Wanted them to climb the ramparts to the high walls of the monastery, and to look out upon the stonework and see the rat he'd flushed out from its den, who thought his bark worse than his bite.

Dimitri knew nothing of Altena's homeland, but he knew offense when it was given, and he knew what it meant to be an outsider as a byproduct of survival.

He'd left the body intact, such as it was. If the crows took the man apart, it was no concern of his, but it was not his lack of control, not his volition that peeled the strips of skin or the odd bone fragment from the corpse. He had not needed to use Areadbhar, though his relic sang for blood in his hands, thrummed in time with his heart through the bloodhaze - merely the blunted training lance had carved through the sternum and affixed the corpse to the wall just as well, splintering in the chest and leaving the hold gaping where the heart had been removed.

It was no gift left at her doorstep, no token to curry her favor, but Dimitri thought that perhaps for a moment Altena might have wanted to see the worth of this wastrel's life, all that this pitiful man had amounted to.

She's stayed too long. One year as a student had turned into more time as a teaching assistant had turned into more time helping the people of Fódlan as war began to break out. Thracia needs its princess but she finds it harder and harder to leave the country she's lived in for so long as life grows more difficult for the people here.

And she's always been better in a fight than she has been with leadership and diplomacy.

They had been friends, once, she and Dimitri. Perhaps, in some way, they still are. She looks down at the body at her feet and knows he'd done it for her sake. She'd heard what the poor bastard had said before he'd been run through.

She wonders as she watches the blood travel through the cracks in the cobblestones what had happened to the young man who'd held up a lion poster and cheered for his friends after she'd knocked him out of the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. What happened to the young man that had been so baffled and bewildered with her when the pirates they'd prepared to fight had just been some sort of performance. She wonders but, in her heart, she knows.

War, violence, loss, desperation. She's seen men changed by them before. Her father. Her brother. She sighs and closes her eyes.

This is why she's still here. If her lance can help end this war, can help keep anyone else succumbing to the horrors that war brings, she'll fight.

[skitskatdacat63]

Oh my god

[golde-silvere]

So I just finished the Blue Lions demo…

1. One thing I didn’t predict was that Rufus, Dimitri’s uncle, was partly responsible for the tragedy of Duscur and has, according to Dedue and Cornelia, tried to kill his nephew several other times. He’s also pretty pathetic. He’s terrified of his own nephew and is haggard from all the lies and treachery he’s committed. Not a tragic character in the slightest.

2. Cornelia is being set up for a bigger antagonistic role this time round. She has Rufus wrapped around her finger, and goes on to underestimate the Blue Lions before they kick her butt. The game 100% confirms she is from TWSITD, her real name is Cleobulus. So having Kronya and Solon exposed must have pushed her to convince Rufus to stage a coup. I also liked her dialogue against Dedue. Given how Dimitri has survived numerous assassination attempts, I think Dedue may be the reason why he keeps surviving. I don’t think Cornelia likes him very much.

3. We fight Viscount Kleiman during the coup. That was another unexpected turn. I thought he would be set up as another big character but he’s kinda underwhelming. Turns out he’s in cahoots with Rufus. His capture also helps to prove Duscur’s innocence much earlier than the previous timeline. After the two year timeskip, the people of Duscur are resettling into their homeland.

4. We also get to see Sylvain’s father. He’s loyal to Dimitri and thinks highly of him. That’s good. Though we have no word on Miklan. We don’t know if him stealing the Lance of Ruin and turning in a demonic beast happened in the new timeline. If he’s still alive, we may have to fight him.

5. Dimitri is starting to show tiny signs that he’s not doing as well on the outside. Shez talks about how he’s put up a wall around himself. A soldier talks about not knowing what goes on in Dimitri’s head. Dimitri is lost in thought whilst talking to Shez and reassured them despite not resting enough. I predict he’s going to go downhill from there…

6. A knight mentions that Dimitri was constantly watched following the tragedy. Even his letters were looked at before he could send them. This could be a reason why his friendship with Felix, Ingrid and Sylvain had dampened a little. He was not exaggerating when he said Dedue was the only friend he had.

7. We are going to stand by the church in this route. Unfortunately the demo does not let me access the battle where we come to their aid. Dimitri is less hostile towards Edelgard in the demo despite being at war. Though I think finding the true conspirators of the tragedy may have helped. Though how their relationship develops in the future is something I’m looking forward to seeing.

[four-loose-screws]

FE8 Novelization Translation - Chapter 17, Section 2

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations

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I call this a “section” because it is not a separate part of the chapter in the book, but divided from the rest of the chapter by a scene break.

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Chapter 17 - The Demon King's Shadow (con’t)

Frelia's pegasus knight unit was continuing to desperately defend against an overwhelmingly large enemy army.

Their entire unit had already been nearly wiped out, and the remaining soldiers were putting all of their strength into defending the bridges. If they fell here, then the enemy could invade in one fell swoop, and the people of Narube would likely be massacred without resistance.

"Those who can move, take the citizens south!" Syrene, the leader of the pegasus knight unit, shouted as loudly as she could while swinging around her lance and fending off the enemy's onslaughts.

However, she hardly had any knights left that could follow that order. Even if the knights managed to get the children atop the pegasi, their wings were damaged, and they couldn’t fly. Even the citizens who had panicked and cried at first had already lost the energy to do that any longer, and exhaustedly slipped into utter silence.

They’d made a major miscalculation. The Grado Army had lost the capital, yet still had a large number of soldiers left.

If the knights thought only about themselves, then they had the possibility to take advantage of their pegasi’s mobility and retreat, but they couldn’t abandon the people of Narube just to escape.

“We’re at our limit, Lady Syrene! We’ll buy you some time! Please do whatever it takes to get out of here!” A knight wearing armor covered in blood yelled at her.

But Syrene shook her head.

She had no intention of running away until the very end. The bodies of the Frelian soldiers who’d exhausted all of their strength lay around her. She was ready to die here in battle herself as well.

Her only regret was that she couldn’t live up to Prince Innes’ hopes for her. She remembered the day that she’d officially become the leader of the pegasus knights as if it was yesterday. The prince had personally given her a beautiful whip and said that the pegasus knight unit was the pride and joy of Frelia, and he wanted them to fight for their homeland so long as they drew breath.

His words filled her chest with deep emotions. She swore to herself that she would devote herself to Frelia… and Prince Innes and Princess Tana.

The plan was to unite her forces with the prince’s at Narube River and fight together at full strength under his orders. However, before that could happen, she would probably see her end. Regret burned in her heart.

Her younger sister was together with the prince. That was her only consolation. If her sister could protect the prince when she couldn’t… then that was all she could ask for.

“Lady Syrene, that’s…!” One of the knights shouted.

Was it more enemy reinforcements? Just how much leftover strength could the Grado Army have at this point? 

The moment Syrene was about to succumb to her despair, she looked at where her soldier was pointing, and instinctively breathed a sigh of belief.

A large army was nearing from the south. They were still a considerable distance away, so she couldn't clearly make out who they were, but the color of their armor was different from that of the Grado Army.

"Is that… the Renais Army…?" The moment Syrene whispered, a single pegasus knight appeared from the oncoming crowd, and flew straight in her direction. 

Syrene knew who it was before her eyes could even confirm the rider’s face, as she could distinguish the slight but distinct strong wing movements and neck shaking of individual pegasi.

She smiled without even thinking about it, and felt a weight be lifted off her shoulders that had been with her since the beginning of the war.

“Commander Syrene, are you alright?!” The knight riding the pegasus shouted, and swiftly threw a javelin at a Grado soldier coming at her while avoiding his own attack.

She effortlessly hit her target, showing her strength. ‘She’s gotten so much stronger in such a short amount of time.’ Syrene thought.

“Vanessa, you’re here! Meaning…”

“Yes, Prince Innes and Princess Tana are with me! They are safe as well!”

“Thank goodness…” Relief warmed her heart. 

Vanessa continued in a commanding tone, “Please stand down, Commander! We’ll take it from here.”

“No, I...”

‘...am not severely injured,’ she started to say, but thought twice about it.

Both her and her unit were already at the limits of their stamina. Even if she continued to be stubborn and fight on the front line, she would do the exact opposite of help, and get in her allies’ way. It was wiser for her to retreat for the moment, recuperate, and then pick up her weapon again.

“Understood! I will stand down for now, and let your commander take over from here. Please tell them I said so.”

“Yes Ma’am!”

“And Vanessa.”

Vanessa tried to guide her pegasus higher into the sky, but Syrene called out to her again.

Vanessa turned back around and no longer had her previous tense expression on her face, perhaps because she had finally relaxed. 

Syrene responded in a casual tone, “It looks like you’ve been playing a very big role as a soldier of Princess Eirika’s guard. I was really worried when I heard that you’d been betrayed in Carcino, but… I finally feel at ease.”

“Thank you Ma’am…!”

"Your spearmanship has improved greatly since we parted as well. And you've become a bit more beautiful too."

Vanessa’s eyes widened at suddenly being teased, and her cheeks turned red. “S-Sister…!”

No matter how good their relationship was as sisters, on the battlefield, they were commander and subordinate. To Vanessa, who was so serious it made her formal and strict, keeping that distinction was of vital importance. But right now, even she had forgotten herself.

Syrene laughed out loud and guided her pegasus to softly spread her wings.

Her pegasus had taken an enemy attack, which seriously injured her wing. She wanted her beloved pegasus to be healed as quickly as possible. To a pegasus knight, her pegasus was more than just a simple mount. They were invaluable partners whose fates were linked to each other.

“I’ll see you again later, Vanessa.” Syrene parted ways with her sister for the time being, and her pegasus flew off, leading her exhausted unit.

The Renais Army had crossed the bridge and was coming closer. Syrene stopped her pegasus and landed on the ground.

Everyone was injured and bleeding. Their uniforms had been beautiful and stunning when they left home, but now, they looked like they never could have been such dazzling garments. However, each and every one of their faces were lit up like the sun.

Syrene knelt down on one knee before Eirika and bowed her head. “Reporting, Princess Eirika of Renais! The Frelian Army was surprise attacked by the Grado Army, and we regrettably lost most of our soldiers. But only a few of the people of Narube have been killed since the beginning of the attack, and the rest are safe.”

“Good work. All of you please take whatever time you need to recuperate.” 

Eirika’s voice was soft and kind. Just her words alone healed Syrene of her exhaustion.

“Are you alright, Syrene?”

She recognized Prince Innes’ voice, and looked up.

He was standing next to Eirika. Among his dirt-covered army, he stood out as the one refined person. He of course should be tired since he had traveled on a long journey together with the soldiers, but he didn’t show it in the slightest. His clothing looked as if a tailor had just dressed him.

“Lord Innes… I am sorry. The Frelian Army is unable to merge with Renais’ Army. We’ve suffered too much damage, and…”

"Never mind that. None of you have anything you need to worry about. We’ll take it from here.”

His words were reassuring. ‘It appears that Vanessa is not the only one who’s grown up while we were apart.’ She felt that Prince Innes had also become even stronger since the last time they’d seen each other.

‘Perhaps…’ Syrene thought. ‘Vanessa has become more beautiful because of Prince Innes?’ It was difficult for her to imagine Vanessa falling in love with any ordinary man. If he wasn’t a partner that she could respect with all of her heart, then he likely wouldn’t be able to steal it. And If there was any man that Vanessa could respect, it was of course...

“Syrene, do you know any information about the enemy commander?”

Innes asked her in a harsh tone.

Syrene shook her head. “There is a fort on the other side of the river. The enemy commander is using it as a base. I heard that it appears to be Prince Lyon leading the army. I have not been able to confirm that myself, but that is what my subordinates reported.”

“Hmm… Do you know anything about Prince Lyon? ...No wait, nevermind.” In a move that was entirely unlike him, Innes hesitated and changed his words. “Asking won’t change anything. For now, Syrene, please get healed, and return quickly to the battlefront. We still need your power.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

He seemed worried about Prince Lyon for some reason, but knowing that she and her soldiers were living up to the prince’s expectations made Syrene happy. The pegasus knights had survived their long, grueling fight, retreated for the time being, and were healed by Natasha and the other healers.

“Leave the front line to us. We’ll defend the northern bridge.” Ephraim said and charged his horse straight north. 

His loyal knights Forde and Kyle led his other soldiers and followed after him.

Eirika went with Seth and the others to save the citizens. The group totaled a few dozen men and women huddling together and shaking. Eirika talked to each of them individually to encourage them, helped the injured atop her horse, and led them to a safe place.

Eirika worked as hard as she could, trying not to think about anything she did not need to. But every so often, she would remember that wicked voice. Whenever she thought about Lyon and the pain the Demon King had caused him, she couldn’t stand the feeling she felt. 

‘I ate his heart.’ Or so the Demon King said. If she accepted his words literally, then Lyon’s heart was already gone, and his body entirely controlled by the Demon King. She did not want to believe that such a terrifying thing could be reality.

It had been for only just a moment, but she'd heard Lyon scream. “Run away…” He’d pleaded with all his might. “I’ll destroy you…” There was no way that could have been the Demon King’s voice.

Lyon’s heart had yet to be completely consumed. He'd nearly suppressed the Demon King’s consciousness, and was continuing to just barely manage to fight. He was struggling as hard as he could to remain in control. And that was why they had to press forward. They had to defeat the Demon King and restore his heart.

But on the other hand of that thought, the Demon King's last words weighed heavily on her heart. Ephraim told her not to worry about them, yet she couldn't help but think about them.

Kill Prince Ephraim, and claim Princess Eirika. The Demon King said that was Lyon's desire. A kind man like Lyon shouldn't have such a twisted and ambitious desire… or so she wanted to think, but her heart was no longer sure.

As Lyon was a sickly person, Ephraim had always been the object of his admiration. In situations like when Ephraim was praised by Duessel, or he won a match against a senior knight, Lyon would cheerfully say "You really are amazing, Ephraim!" Those were words of wonder and amazement.

At the time, Eirika didn't think much of it, and just took his words at face value. ...There hadn’t been any warped feelings hiding underneath that adoration, right? He thought Ephraim was amazing… and wanted to be Ephraim… but he couldn’t. Those feelings of inferiority hadn’t turned into jealousy, had they?

“Lady Eirika, we have finished leading the people to safety.” Seth reported.

The pegasus knights had also finished receiving their treatment, and were awaiting Eirika’s orders. Now was not the time to be guessing what was within Lyon’s heart. She had orders to give as her army’s commander.

“Let’s go! We will take the fort across the river and capture Prince Lyon!” Eirika hesitated for a moment, then added, “You must not kill him! We still have a lot of questions for him.”

Syrene and her pegasus knights immediately accepted the order and all flew up into the sky at once. The pegasi had all been healed alongside their riders, and their energy was restored. They flapped their white wings at full strength.

Seth looked up at the pegasus knights and said, “Lady Eirika, I understand how you feel, but Prince Lyon is already…”

“...I know.” She cut off the rest of his sentence, not wanting to hear it.

He looked straight at her. "Our enemy introduced himself as the Demon King. We still do not know whether he truly is or not, but if he is, then this is very serious. Even if we fight him at full strength, we still might not win.”

“...You're right.”

“It’s a shame that his heart is in chaos on the outside, but…”

“I know. I’ll be fine, Seth. I’m prepared to fight him.” Eirika nodded with conviction.

She couldn’t make Seth worry, and so she spoke those words to him immediately. In truth, she still didn’t know. Would she be able to turn her sword against him?

Eirika maneuvered her horse to the front line, where Ephraim's group was fighting. She shook off her hesitation and gradually picked up speed.

A harsh battle was unfolding on the northern bridge. Grado dragon knights attacked from the sky, making the fight difficult for Ephraim and his soldiers, but the pegasus knight unit rushed to their side, and started to change their situation bit by bit.

Pegasi were of a smaller build than dragons, but were utterly fearless. They flew bravely at the enemies' chests, and threw them into confusion. Once the dragon unit's movements had broken out into a panic, Innes and Neimi shot arrows straight at them. The arrows flew through the dragon's wings. Their cries pierced the sky, and their riders lost their balance and fell into the river.

Once Eirika's army finally captured the bridge, they used that momentum to continue moving east. They could now see the fort the enemy was using as their base.

"He's in there, right?!" Ephraim asked when Eirika rode up next to him.

Eirika noticed that her brother refused to refer to Lyon by name.

Perhaps Ephraim felt just as lost as Eirika, and that was why he was purposely avoiding referring to Lyon by name. If he said it aloud, it might dull his resolve to fight, no matter what else he did.

The enemy was waiting for them outside of the fort. Eirika's army shifted into a fan formation and surrounded the Demon King.

He had a cruel smile on his face, and waited calmly for them. He no longer seemed to have any interest in pretending to be human. His facial features were clearly Lyon's, but his expressions did not feel human at all.

'That's not Lyon… such a wicked, cold stare could never be Lyon's.' Eirika told herself. But she still could not rid herself of her hesitation, rather, she tried to find if Lyon was left anywhere in his face.

"...So you intend to challenge me?" The Demon King asked. 

The chilling sound of his voice made Eirika's horse tremble so hard she could not calm her.

"You are all so lucky to not yet know my true terror…”

"Get out of Lyon's body!!" Ephraim roared.

Eirika jumped. His voice was filled with an intense anger that she had never once heard come from him in her entire life.

Ephraim did not fear the Demon King, although perhaps it was more accurate to say that he was so infuriated by someone hurting Lyon that he forgot how afraid he was. 

Ephraim's powerful voice boosted the morale of Eirika's army, but the Demon King met Ephraim's anger by laughing at him.

"It's not healthy to make your blood boil, prince of Renais. Don't you get it? Prince Lyon and everything about him is no more. I ate him. This body is no longer his.”

"Damn you…!" Ephraim raised his lance, and his soldiers each readied their own weapons. The archers and mages behind them also prepared themselves to support them.

But the Demon King’s spell was faster. Its waves rippled through the air, and a split second after, a horse collapsed.

Eirika looked over at them and felt fear send a chill down her spine. The neck of the fallen horse was turning in unnatural directions as if a huge, invisible hand was twisting it.

“Nosferatu…?!” Lute gasped. As someone so confident, it was entirely unlike her, but even she was panicking. “Please be careful! That is an extremely powerful dark magic. If you take a direct hit, then…!”

The army’s movements fell into chaos. The terrified horses burst out into a full gallop and tried to shake off their riders. Only Seth, Forde, and a few others managed to keep control of their horses, while the other knights all clung desperately to their horses’ necks.

The Demon King cast another spell. Another horse fell down. 

The army was in a panic trying to rush outside of the spell’s range, but among them, Eirika was doing the opposite, and pushing ahead. 

Seth and Ephraim noticed her and rushed over to her, flustered. They stood behind her, ready to protect her, as she faced the Demon King.

His expression changed, sharp eyes narrowing in satisfaction.

Eirika tightened her grip around her horse's reins. Her horse stopped shaking, the strength of her resolve seeming to communicate with her mount.

"Can you hear me, Lyon?" Eirika said and stared straight into the Demon King's eyes. 

"It's useless!!" Ephraim shouted and tried to stop her, but she paid him no mind and continued.

"You're in there, aren't you, Lyon? Please do not abandon hope. We will defeat the Demon King and save you… so please, don't give in…"

The Demon King's expression shook ever so slightly. He furrowed his brow and glared at Eirika. "Pitiful girl… You still believe that there is any of Lyon's heart within this body? How fascinating. Then come here. I will tear you apart limb from limb with these very hands…"

"Get away from him, Eirika!" Ephraim shouted and kicked his horse's side. Seth followed after him a second later.

Ephraim thrust his lance with a sharp battle cry. The Demon King narrowly dodged a fatal blow, but blood sprayed out from his shoulder. Seth followed up without a moment's delay, thrusting his own lance. 

The Demon King flailed his arm around wildly, but there was no power in his movements.

"Support Ephraim! Archers, step forward!" Innes ordered, and swiftly shot an arrow of his own. 

His silver arrow pierced deep into the Demon King's chest.

'Stop!' Eirika tried to scream. 'If you kill him, then Lyon's heart will die, too!!'

The Demon King staggered, but his eyes did not lose the intensity within them. "This little is too much…? The human body is so frail." He muttered in annoyance and pulled the arrow out of his chest. Blood flowed from the wound. 

He glared at Eirika with eyes burning like a blazing fire. "I have learned the extent of your power. In this case… I will hasten my resurrection. I will abandon this frail body and return to my true flesh. That is the day when this continent will once again be shrouded in darkness. There is no longer a single place any of you can run to!” He said in a tone not unlike that of one giving a curse, and disappeared.

Ephraim yelled at him, “You’re running away?! Do you really think I’ll let you desecrate Lyon’s body ever again…?!”

Ephraim ordered the soldiers to search the area and turned back towards Eirika. “Are you alright, Eirika?”

“Yes…”

"Don't do anything reckless. You know he's not Lyon. The Lyon we were friends with is already…"

"Brother, I want to believe him. The Demon King says what he does, but Lyon's heart is still alive… he's suffering and waiting for us to save him. I can feel it." Ephraim furrowed his brow. His blue eyes clouded over with hesitation.

He was still suffering, too. Just like she was.

He sighed deeply. "...I understand. Right now, finding him comes first. Eirika, you rest for a bit."

"No, I'm going to search too…"

"Your face is terribly pale. You've pushed yourself past your limit. L'Arachel, could you please take care of her?"

L'Arachel was standing near him, so he called her over. 

Eirika went into a tent with L'Arachel, deciding that she would take a short rest.

ー

[jaffaarchfiend]

Auraugust 3 +4: Beliefs + Family

Doma... The Ruby Sea... Sui-No-Sato... This had been what Jaffa had been dreading this entire time. 

He had faced down the gods of beastmen, he had faced off against ancient Voidsent, he had bested Ascians and the draconic embodiment of vengeance itself. He had believed in his abilities as a healer in the aftermath of the raid on Rhalgr’s Reach... even when all he could do was stabilise the few he could make it to in time.

But Doma? Coming to what could be considered his peoples homeland... his parents birthplace, with no context or clue about how anything or anyone worked beyond what he had picked up from Lady Yugiri... This was far more terrifying and nerve-wracking than even Niddhogg himself. Seven Hells, he’d rather fight against Zenos again wearing nothing more than his smalls and a stick!

But Alphinaud and the others convinced him that he was needed for this mission... after all, he was the Warrior Of Light, and more importantly in the Raen’s viewpoint, the only one in their infiltration group who could act as a mender should the worse come to worse. So here he was, at the bottom of the ocean... with a very confused Kojin as they pondered how or why he already had their blessing. “Maybe its because of the Elements and your connection to them as a White Mage?” Lyse suggested, with a hesitant shrug from Alisae. “It’s as good an explanation as any... let us press on though.”

They dove into the depths of the ocean, swimming as naturally as fishes and breathing with just as much ease. As they approached the underwater dome that housed Sui-No-Sato, the Raen Warrior Of Light couldn’t help but feel his anxiety grow for some reason. They entered and began to try and make inquiries as they had been guided to... With some very concerning responses from some of the local Au Ra.

“Did... I step in something on the way here or make some kind of insulting gesture?” Jaffa asked, inspecting himself several times. “Because everyone keeps giving me the biggest stink-eye.” It didn’t take long before they managed to locate the man in charge who immediately thrust a finger at the Raen. “How dare you show your face here Karai! You chose to abandon us, and yet now you dare return?”

The Au Ra snarled and slammed a hand onto the table. “I have no idea who you think I am, but my name is Jaffa! I have never even been here before!” he roared, the Scions blinking as they looked at their companion. They had never seen him lose his temper like this before. The two Au Ra stared one another down for a moment, the older one giving the younger a proper look. “Ah... Now I see. You are not Karai, but his child... I see they did not teach you proper mann-” Before he could get another word out, a lance’s jagged blade found itself suddenly at his throat, the younger Raen’s attire having altered into that of his mantle of the Azure Dragoon.

“Do not speak like that about my parents again. Understood?” Jaffa snarled, the same realisation reaching him even as it had with Shirosai, a vague crimson ring threatening to form around his iris’, the influence of Niddhogg’s Eye barely being kept in check. The tension held thick in the air until both Lyse and Alisae rested a hand on opposite shoulders, the younger Au Ra dismissing the glaive in favour of his healers stave. “My... apologies honoured elder.” he said, giving a deep bow at the waist. “It is no excuse, but they died when I was young. They never told me of this place, only that they hailed from Doma.” he said, taking slow breaths between each sentence as he worked to calm his temper and mind.

The older Au Ra brushed himself off and slowly nodded. “Your apology is accepted young one... and you have my condolences.” After that though the usual business of gaining trust with the people of Sui-No-Sato ensued, with a little more ease as the news of his origins seemed to have spread and some of the ones who recalled the mans parents gave a sympathetic ear to the Scions plight and cause for being here... Some even shared stories with them regarding his parents whilst Lyse and Alisae handled their own share of tasks.

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 10: Time to Sharpen Up

Chances of survival are dwindling into single digits... because Lance is lousy with a sword.

First  Previous  Next

“Come on now, Lance. You’re better than this.” Alfor frowns, following his son's uncertain footwork.

“I’m really not.” The droid pulls on its whip, Lance’s broadsword tangled in the glowing cord. The Altean is panting, skin glistening.

Alfor presses his thumbs into his eyelids, though whether with disappointment or embarrassment, Lance can never tell.

He’s not a good warrior. Not with a sword.

Keith just watches, tail flicking back and forth, ears following Lance’s movements. Shiro stands on his right, visibly unimpressed, but trying to be polite.

Lance sighs. He’s just not very good at this. The droid charges, too fast. Lance has been distracted by his audience, hasn’t seen the advance. It’s a genuine mistake, this time.

“Lance!” Alfor yells, drawing his own weapon to protect his son while Coran tries to end the training sequence. The training sequence can’t end during an attack.

Too fast. Alfor won’t get there in time.

Lance throws a hand up, a flash of blinding blue light flaring from his palm.

Light threads through every crack and crevice in the charging droid, saturating its wires, melting, warping, disintegrating in the blinding light. It crumbles into nothing a mere spot from his outstretched palm.

He collapses to his knees. Too much. Too fast.

“Invalid technique. Victory forfeited,” rings out from the walls. Keith gapes, eyes wide. What a terrifying thing to be able to do to something. Lance could do that to him.

“End training sequence.” Alfor crouches beside him. “Son, are you alright?” Lance meets his father’s worried gaze with weary eyes. Alfor softens. Lance’s eyes find the floor.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get there.” Alfor gently helps him up. “If nothing else, you have plenty of untapped potential. And I know you’re capable.” The king looks his son over, anxiously checking for injuries. Lance nods, staring at the training room floor. “Look at me.”

Lance looks.

“I know you have it in you, son.” Alfor cards a gentle hand through Lance's hair. Lance nods, more for his father’s benefit than anything else.

He doesn’t feel much at all. The things Lance wishes he were good at are the things everyone knows he’s bad at and the things he’s actually good at, no one knows at all. It’s mostly intentional, but in this case, it’s reality. With his father, his spouse, and his spouse’s brother watching, it bites.

Everyone else disperses to return to whatever they were doing, leaving just himself and Keith. The Galra comes over, tail flicking like a pendulum. “I know you said you were lousy with a sword, but...”

“But quiznak am I lousy, huh?” Keith nods, sheepish. “We should go hunting soon. I can finally try out that bow Zarkon gave me for my birthday. You can see my actual skills then.”

“Sounds good.” Keith’s ears are wilted today. Lance knows why.

“We have a few vargas before it’s time to say goodbye.” Lance puts a hand on Keith’s arm. “Is there anything you’d like to do?”

“I think… I think I’d just like to go and… sit in the loft in our quarters, if that’s alright. I know we have work to do, but-”

“Go on. If anyone asks, I’ll say you’re helping the Captain get his affairs are in order and that you’re both working to ensure your safety after he’s gone. Commander Iverson is certain to be bitter about it, since he’s technically in charge of your safety, but I consider that a bonus, personally.” Lance grins, and Keith manages a small smile, despite both his aching hearts.

Lance only has one. How he gets enough oxygen with only one heart is beyond Keith’s capacity to understand. Perhaps that's why he's so bad with a sword.

Up in the loft, Keith finds himself looking out at the grounds. He can’t see beyond the castle walls. He’s never seen beyond the castle walls, not even when he got here. He’s never met the commonwealth, never seen any wilderness. If this past movement is any indication, the Alteans are perfectly content to restrict him to the castle walls and never give him the opportunity to leave. Keith is still staring out the window of the tower loft, half-extended claw dragging down the fine glass, when there’s a knock at the door. He turns away from the purpling sky to find Adam.

“Prince Yorak, Crown Prince Lancel has sent me to escort you to the launch.”

Keith sighs, nods, leaps down from the landing, not bothering with the ladder. “Will I ever be permitted to go somewhere alone?”

Adam sighs, holding the door open for him. Keith trusts this Altean more than the others, though still not much. “Likely not. You are not held in fond regard.”

“So we are still pretending this is for my benefit.”

“No. You are also under constant surveillance. One of the guards posted outside your door is a Listener, one who uses alchemy to enhance their hearing. You’ll be pleased to know that their only report thus far was that you have not yet consummated your union to Crown Prince Lancel. King Alfor is not pleased.”

Keith stops in his tracks. “My body is the only possession I have left.”

Adam turns to him, pushing up his glasses, ever-present datapad cradled in his arm the way one might cradle a baby to their hip. He looks… sad, but trying for indifferent. “That’s where you’re wrong, Prince Yorak. You swore fealty to your King. Everything that you are belongs to Altea, including your body. You have been contracted out to the Crown. That being said, I have instructed the Listener to wait a phoeb, then claim you have mated with the Crown Prince.” Keith frowns, trying to understand.

Adam smiles, lips curling. “Your reality is that you are a living possession. But reality can be manipulated with relative ease. I can make your perceived reality far, far different from what it is. I can make you charming, demure, innocent, beautiful, powerful, awe-inspiring, terrifying, loathsome, dangerous- whatever Crown Prince Lancel wants. That is what you are.”

Keith stares at the green-scaled Altean, eyes wide. The ruff of fur down his back rises with a sudden chill. “You- I’m beginning to think you are the most dangerous thing on Altea.”

“You may very well be correct. Shall we?” Adam turns, leading them down yet another hall.

“My brother sure knows how to pick ‘em,” Keith mutters, more to himself than anybody else.

Adam trips. “Excuse me?”

“Oh. You couldn’t tell?” Keith cocks his head. Adam blinks, hazel eyes wide. He shakes his head. “My brother is embarrassingly smitten with you. It’s really funny, actually.” Keith smiles. “It’s... nice, I guess. At home, he’s always so imposing. He’s imposing a lot here, too. It’s nice to see some other side of him working its way into the open. He normally saved that for when we were in our den, away from everyone else... I think he likes it here.”

“Everyone likes it here. Everyone except you, it seems.” Everyone else gets to go home. Adam turns before backing his way through the doors to the launch pad. “Though, as far as the commonwealth is concerned, you miss your homeland, but our beloved Crown Prince is the only thing you need to be happy.”

Adam grins as he holds the door open. Shiro tugs Keith out into the open before he can step past, pulling him into an all-encompassing embrace. Keith doesn’t even try to resist.

“I’m really gonna miss you,” Keith whispers, a slight whimper in his voice as he throws his arms around his brother.

“Aw, I’ll miss you too.” Shiro gives him a squeeze, eliciting a gentle purr from the young prince. “It won’t be so bad. Lance is a good man. He’ll be good to you.”

“He has been thus far.” Keith doesn’t enjoy the admission, but there it is. Not everything is terrible. “Even if he’s a terrible warrior.”

“True. He is. But he seems to like you well enough. And this place... I know you haven’t seen much of it yet, but it is beautiful here.”

“I know. And it’s nice. But it’s not home.”

Shiro smiles, one of his large hands rubbing the spots behind the younger Galra’s ears. “I’m proud of you for doing this. For not putting up fuss or fight. Sometimes, that’s the hardest thing you can do.”

“I know. I have no regrets. No matter what might happen.” Shiro steps back then, regarding him with that cool gaze. A soldier’s gaze. The captain nods, lays a fist over his breast. Keith returns the gesture. He’s a soldier. Not a pampered prince. A soldier.

Lance watches the farewell, not saying a word. He knows all of this already. His spouse is a warrior, not a lord or a prince. Lance needs to do better to support that lifestyle. Keith can’t be happy sitting around reading all day. In the meantime, he walks over and places his hand on the small of Keith’s back, trying to be supportive.

He wants Keith to know he's here for him.

Lance is surprised when the Galra’s ear turns toward him and his tail curls around his ankle. It’s the furthest Keith has chosen to acknowledge Lance’s presence in view of other people without it being for show. Adam has fallen to gossiping about how cripplingly shy the new prince is to save face.

Speaking of which... Shiro steps up to the Altean, leans down, whispers something in his ear. Adam’s face turns bright red, scales glittering brilliant green as the Galra draws back, grinning from ear to ear. Lance hears a snort as Keith tries not to laugh. He smiles. “I’m going to invite him back as soon as possible. Watching these two flirt is the most fun I’ve had in my life.”

“It’s hilarious,” Keith agrees, whispering in Lance’s ear.

“Reminds me of watching my fathers flirt, to be honest. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen Alfor undignified.” Lance grins. “I’ll tell you about it sometime, if you want.”

“I- I’d like that, actually.” Keith smiles an uncertain smile, willing but not hopeful.

The spouses stand side-by-side as the ship carrying Shiro departs for Daibazaal. A soft keen in Keith’s throat informs Lance the warrior prince wishes he could be on that ship too.

“It will be alright, Keith. You’ll see him again. I promise.”

[fuwafuwamedb]

A Ride Home (Diarmuid, Fionn, Reader (No Gender))

There was something about the way the man was walking.

His head was up, facing towards the world. His hands were swinging at his sides. That long blond hair danced in its ponytail as he walked, keeping an upright beat as you walked behind him. He’d come all this way to pick you up from a long and bothersome shift. The man hadn’t even noticed the atmosphere in the room, simply waltzing himself across the room and taking you by the hand.

He walked you right out, throwing you a smile and a wink like he was some pop idol. Then he’d shoved his hands into his woolen coat and begin this proud stride.

What else was there to do for the great Fionn than to walk behind him, taking in the man’s appearance?

He didn’t simply have a positive personality, he exuded radiance in his every second. He kind of reminded you of some of the reading you’d done before about the knights of the Round Table.

He had a pride prouder than a peacock. He had looks fancier than any of their feathers.

“Dia!” Fionn waved to your other servant, earning a sigh from the knight standing by the car. “I’m going to ride in the back with Master today. You can feel free to drive!”

“I was already driving, Fionn.”

“We were driving together, you jokester,” Fionn teased, ruffling at the man’s hair and opening the door. “Come along, Master, before this guy tells another silly joke.”

“Hello Diarmuid,” you greeted, giving him a soft smile for the hard work. You’d have to treat him later. Fionn really didn’t have any idea how hard Diarmuid went to make life so effortless for him.

“Hello, Master. Work went well then?”

You nodded, not feeling up to talking about what’d happened.

The doors closed. Diarmuid began to drive, leaving you in the small space with the not terribly small servant at your side.

It wasn’t like Fionn was one of those muscular wrestlers like on the telly, but he wasn’t lanky, not really. His arms were still muscle, toned and coiled around bones you swear were steel with the way he could manage to jump and strike back at Diarmuid in training. His height as well made it so that you were unable to do much else other than admire and look up to the man. Literally.

His arm wrapped around your shoulders.

His head leaned against your shoulder.

Then you were looking over to his face, finding his attention on you.

“…Is something wrong-“

“You lied to Diarmuid. Why?”

Your eyes went immediately to the man in the front seat, bringing Fionn’s hand to your face.

“Do not look at him. He’s driving. He cannot help you. You and I are talking here. Is there something missing from our relationship, Master? You and I share everything, even ourselves.”

You did, but…

“If I can take down the monsters that tried to invade my homeland, you should know, no shadows or darkness can manage to take down my master either.” His hand stroked along your chin, turning it softly to face him. “I mean it, Master. You are under my protection now. You have the knights of Fianna at your service… Or perhaps we should just be called your knights. What would your coworkers think of that?”

He leaned in.

“They would never dare to come at you again if you’d let me handle them as I wish. If not that, then at least allow me to teach you how to lead. I could show you a few moves. A couple flicks of the wrist and a good lance and you would never have to deal with them again.”

“You almost sound like a berserker that way.”

“Nah, that would be doing it for some kind of pleasure in the practice.” Fionn’s hair ruffling continued with him ruffling at yours, bringing your hands to your hair. “I just don’t like what I saw today. No one gets to make you upset, master. No one.”

“I was alright.”

The words were surprising, but…

“Oh?” Fionn raised a brow at you, leaning back.

“Sure, they were upsetting, but I have something they don’t have.”

You had the knights of Fianna.

The leader himself leaned back, that radiant smile coming back to his face as he looked you over and leaned against the door.

“That’s the spirit, master. You just keep smilin’ like that and make Diarmuid and I keep falling over ourselves.”

[jaegertango]

Contract

I return to Tumblr after almost two years because fuck learning how to do Ao3 and Twitter puts me in a rancid mood. Have some OC writing with a goblin.

Quel'thalas, home of the High Elves, was a region of legendary beauty and stupendous magics. Its radiant forests and mana-filled skies made it a haven to all spellcasters, as well as made sure every child of the Quel'dorei bore the boon of magical prowess. Being such an effervescent garden of study and bastion of delight made it most of everyone in Azeroth's number one wish to visit – but it was not so easy to travel towards. The High Elves, massively proud of their homeland, were also infamous for their xenophobia, and barred all outsiders from “defiling” their blessed region and taking what was theirs. Not one member of the Alliance, traveler of the Horde, even splendorous mages from Dalaran, were allowed passage to the golden land. For many years, only a scant few outsiders were given permission to enter the borders of Quel'thalas, and even fewer returned back from those woods.

And their xenophobic ways only grew more paranoid after the assault of the Scourge.

Arthas' crusade to the Sunwell, the crown gem and source of power for the Quel'dorei, had left the capital of Silvermoon and much of Quel'thalas in ruin. Their eternal font of magic had been corrupted into an amalgamation, capable only of poison, and the city had been sundered into two razed sides. Most of the Quel'dorei perished horrendously, only to be brought back as wretched shadows of their former selves, seeking only to appease their baser instincts. Only in the recent years, with the arrival of the Alliance and Horde banding together against the greater evils of the Scourge and Legion, could the newly dubbed Sin'dorei – the Blood Elves - attempt to heal their devastated lands and rebuild their ruined city. Despite their fears of outsiders, they demanded help, desperate for even the aid of “barbarians” to return themselves to their former glory once more.

“Mister” Jashuo Blasternut knew better, but he also understood their plight. As he sat in his Shredder, the Goblin was amazed at the sheer magnificence of the city of Silvermoon. He had seen plenty of tall buildings before in his time, but never could he have expected the spires of the Quel'dorei to lance the heavens so proudly, nor enjoy the tidy stone of the streets. Gadgetzan prided itself on its own technology and access to buildings made of metal and stone over wood and mud, but in comparison to how Silvermoon stood, he would've been breathless – were it not for the literal black scar ripped into the capital of utopia. It was the most obscene comparison, as the pilot gazed from extravagant splendor in the shapes of gold, scarlet and emerald – to a twisted artwork of unholy soil and desecrated treasure. It was almost laughable how obvious the comparison was: Jashuo could see a Magister walking in his silk robes of glorious azure, promptly ignoring the wicked burn lashes scorched into the streets not far from his right. Rather than try to admit that their city had been sacked, they instead hid away in what remained of the city, and refused to look at what had been destroyed. Perhaps it was too traumatizing, or perhaps it was an eyesore; perhaps it was both. Mister Blasternut would've understood either one, but that was why he was there: to make sure that Silvermoon City got the supplies it needed to repair itself.

So he waited on the streets in his Shredder, which was continuously coughing out smoke from its double exhausts thickly. Combined with the meaty grumble of its engine, every single Blood Elf in the city was giving Jashuo a wide berth. He definitely stood out among all of the glitz and glamour, and they refused to give such an obnoxious blemish to their amazing city. The Goblin frankly didn't care, though he was annoyed that they weren't giving his crisp suit the time of day. He dressed up for this! The least that the Sin'dorei could do was accept that he was there to help them and not “embarrass” them. At the same time though, it didn't matter. All that did matter was that his contact showed up and recognized that he was there to plot this contract with them properly. Being a benefactor still demanded the proper respect, and the pilot could only hope that the pride of a noble would not get in the way. It certainly would not be the first time...

Eventually though, he was greeted with a small contingent of Sin'dorei riding upon their daintily-decorated hawkstriders. The only reason that Mister Blasternut recognized them from any other clique of elves was due to them walking straight *at* him, definitely showing that they recognized his presence. The Goblin counted five of them – four guards surrounding a fifth. Too many for him to fight; rather, too many for him to fight and get out alive. His Shredder was equipped with enough state-of-the-art weaponry and thick armor to get him out of (and into) any scrap comfortably, but fighting five well-trained Mages would take too much time for him to make a victorious escape. At the same time, this was making the Goblin somewhat nervous: he had neglected to hire any goons himself. The Blood Elves might have been affiliated with the Horde, but he had a hard time trusting uneven numbers. Regardless, he was there to do a job, and all he could hope was that these Sin'dorei weren't trigger happy. Keeping his sidearm pistol tucked into the back of his pants, Jashuo smoothed out the front of his suit and tie, swept his brown hair back and adjusted his aviator glasses. With an easy step, he moved forward to make the drop from his Shredder-

-only to hastily dart to the right as a fireball exploded a foot in front of him. Even if he hadn't made the dodge, the sparks wouldn't have touched him, but the Goblin still yelped and made the effort to move away.

“Not another step, greenskin!” One of the guards growled, his staff held aloft. “Where you stand is already close enough to the Magistrix.”

“Close eno-  I'm twenty feet away!” Jashuo hissed, his hand behind his back in a clumsy attempt to snatch at his hidden weapon. He was unable to do so, and now it was obvious that he was reaching for something without actually drawing it. This only made the Sin'dorei more irked, and the other three were now drawing their respective staves and swords. With every second, the Goblin was highly regretting this meeting: these guys were thirstier for blood than Orcs!

“Perhaps once you've tossed away your weapon, we can assume you can be closer,” the first spoke again, his gaze tempered on Mister Blasternut. The woman in the middle merely sat silent, her eyes clearly concerned as she leered at Jashuo. It was not an argument that the Goblin wanted to lose, but he didn't have much of a choice. If it got bad, all he could hope for now was to scramble back to his Shredder before he got too ablaze. Surely they wouldn't do something so brazen though, right? Despite his instinct demanding that he not be that stupid, Jashuo once more paid them no heed, sighing as he pulled out the pistol and set it onto the ground. He held his hands up, trying to pass off his face as stoic, but he could feel his brows knitting together.

“Ya know, ya ain't makin' the best first 'mpression here!” He retorted back, flipping his hands back and forth to show he had nothing in his sleeves either. “I'm just a businessman here!”

The captain of the guard scoffed, but nonetheless nodded as he looked towards the Magistrix. She nodded in turn and began to dismount, her guardians following suit and forming up around her. While they all wore the garb of Spellbreakers, clad in intricate platemail, their lady wore a brilliant yellow dress definitely not for combat's usage. The fabric fluttered and glittered in any ray of light that touched it, giving it an ethereal appearance like that of the sun. She wore a mask in the shape of a phoenix's beak, but Jashuo could easily recognize she was a woman. Her hair was long and brown, a definite mane of well-kept locks in comparison to the Goblin's scruff. The two could not have been more different, the Blood Elf's tall and graceful to Jashuo's short and sleazy.

“Pray forgive the aggression,” she spoke in a polite, but curt tone, keeping her hands folded in front of her. “It is hard for anyone to trust outsiders, especially after our Ranger-General has seemingly returned from the dead.”

“...Seemingly?” Mister Blasternut grunted, and was luckily able to bite back any more sarcasm he had. He didn't need to give these Sin'dorei any more ammo to use on him. “I'm guessin' you're uh... Lady D'anthius then?”

“Indeed – and you hadn't even butchered the name! Consider me impressed,” the Lady D'anthius spoke, and even though she claimed it a compliment, the Goblin was somewhat annoyed at her words. Her tone could have sounded as pleasant as she wanted: it did not change the toxin her words meant.

“Yeah yeah yeah, I'm honored. Let's cut to the chase: you need metal for your city, aye?” Jashuo grunted, folding his arms over his chest. His bluntness seemed to take the Magistrix aback, for she visibly recoiled and responded quickly.

“Yes well I... ahem,” the woman spoke, and instantly the Goblin knew something was wrong. Those three words, combined with how she cleared her throat, wasn't like her previous tone. It sounded unsure and hasty, as if quickly being taken off-guard. Mister Blasternut was oh-so familiar with such a state of being, and even that cough was reminiscent of the many times he had to clear his head to properly talk. Yet, what most astounded him was how natural it sounded, as if the Lady's voice had only just started to make its arrival. When she spoke again though, it was with that same level volume and politeness.

“Indeed. The Scourge brought forth nightmares that have devastated our homes and left our people divided – but not broken,” she spoke firmly, keeping her eyes on Jashuo. “To that end, we need only the supply to return our people to grandeur once more.”

That tone returned, and the Goblin wasn't sure what to make of it. Now that he heard it again, something about her voice didn't sound correct. The words made sense, and they were definitely admirable, but now her tone sounded wrong. The Goblin kept quiet for a handful of seconds, trying to process what he could make of her statement to no avail. Maybe he was just overthinking it.

“Right... so metal for buildings and weapons and all that. Well, bulk's what I specialize in, so ya came to the right Goblin,” Jashuo replied finally, looking towards the destruction of the city to his left. “So uh... how much are we lookin' to buy here then?”

“Buy...?” the woman murmured blankly, though she instantly lit herself up to try and hide that question. “Oh! Well, that is what the contract is for, pray tell!”

There it was again. That tone of voice. It was striking the pilot in such a bizarre way that he couldn't put his finger on. Despite Lady D'anthius having spoke three times the amount of words in that “usual” tone of voice, hearing these other words was ringing in Jashuo's mind. Something was “off” about this woman, like she was putting on a different face and attitude. For some reason, this was gnashing hard against the Goblin, strongly enough that it was only when one of the guards cleared his throat that the pilot finally realized what the Magistrix had said.

“Aye, contract – y'know. Usually has cash to it. Ya are plannin' to pay for this, right?” Jashuo grunted, unable to stop himself from being somewhat snarky towards the Blood Elf as he raised an eyebrow at her. However, despite his own aggression, the woman nodded easily, and motioned for one of her protectors.

“Indeed! This legally-binding contract will confirm that, in exchange for your goods and partnership, Silvermoon shall pay you warmly for your services. The parchment requires only your signature!” Lady D'anthius spoke up as the guardian walked towards the Goblin with a roll of paper and a quill. After reaching upward quite a bit to actually snatch the contract, Jashuo unfurled it, and instantly heard a murmur through the Sin'dorei. He ignored it, quickly scanning the document.

“Er... that is to say, at the bottom,” the Magistrix continued, and it was only when she spoke that the Goblin looked up curiously at the group. They quickly silenced, and it was because of that sudden quiet that Mister Blasternut felt the disturbance in persona once more. This time though, he could see flashes of concern in all of their faces, namely the protectors, and a cruel thought entered his mind. Did they not think he was going to read it?... or did they not think he knew how?

“...Seems all in order,” Jashuo answered lamely, and he could feel a plan forming in his head as he read more of the contract. Any of his former cowardice was quickly being melted out in favor of spite. If there was any way to give him the bravery to do something, it was entirely out of implication that he couldn't. He raised the quill to sign, and now that he was more aware, could sense the tension as thick as the smog belching from his Shredder.

“Yannow, actually...,” the Goblin spoke up as the quill touched the paper, and he looked up just in time to see one of the protectors inhale slightly. Instantly, that reaction made it worth being shot at. “I gotta quick question here, Lady D'anthius.”

“You... do?” She asked, at first trying to keep up that air of significance, but quickly deteriorating back into that gentler tone. Now there was no denying that false attitude, and it brought a genuine grin to Jashuo's face, full of shining, sharp teeth.

“Ayup! Ya'see, I ain't just a goblin of fortune here – I do what I do for a good cause, ya'hear me?” He spoke idly, gauging their reactions curiously. Lady D'anthius seemed unsure of what to make of him right now, but seemed to be agreeing with his words.  “When I heard that I could be helpin' rebuild one of the greatest empires ever been 'round Azeroth, I knew what I had to do, see?”

“...Indeed?” The woman replied uncertainly, that fake tone trying to return, but the smugness of the guardians already coming back in full force. She seemed to be catching on that Jashuo was plotting something. He had to admire her thinking so quickly on her feet.

“Aye! So I'm here to help, I'm even here to take you tryin' to hose me with this cheap payment of a 'contract.' But here's the thing, Lady D'anthius,” Jashuo continued idly, then coldly insulted just quickly enough for him to segue into the next part of his explanation. The guardians instantly looked angered at the statement, but the Magistrix kept steady, seeming to predict the Goblin's tone as he kept talking.

“I ain't here to bullshit ya, so I'll make ya a deal. I'll leave ya this supply as goodwill, not a gold piece charged! But it ain't gonna be 'nough to fix even a tenth of what's busted here, or any of that crap I had to pass just gettin' here!” Mister Blasternut stated firmly, his bespectacled gaze now burning into Lady D'anthius' mask. “So I'll be here next week, with more metal for what ya need, and if ya play ya cards right, ya'll be back here next week with an actual contract that assumes I'll read it. I ain't here to bullshit, babe, so ya better not bullshit me back. 'Cause ya should know the first rule of business, Lady D'anthius:”

Jashuo took off his shades, his crimson eyes boiling into the Magistrix's mask as he leered at her.

“If we don't see eye-to-eye, there ain't even a copper to be made here outta yer Silvermoon.”

It was deathly silent as the Goblin glared at Lady D'anthius, and he was surprised in himself that he wasn't fidgeting or squirming under the collective gazes of all five Sin'dorei. Yet he managed to hold on, keeping his eyes fiercely on the woman as he waited for her response. She seemed to be scrutinizing him carefully, as if debating whether to even bother replying to him or simply sending her guards after him. Finally, after what seemed like months, she reached up to her mask to take it off softly, revealing her extremely attractive face, and very piercing green eyes burning back into Jashuo with laser focus as he was somewhat taken aback by her reaction. When she spoke, it was in a capable, natural tone of voice:

“Very well. I... graciously accept your donation, Mister...?”

“Blastanut! Mista Blastanut, please,” Jashuo smirked toothily, getting over himself as nodded in return. “I think we'll be getting 'long just fine, Lady D'anthius!”

“Then I hope that next week marks the... proper start of our agreement,” Lady D'anthius paused, then smiled as she bowed her head politely. Jashuo managed a short bow of his own back before clambering back into his Shredder and closing the lid. With a loud sigh, he felt his nerves instantly relax, but not nearly enough to stop him from making as quick of an exit as he possibly could from the city. It was only when the Shredder had turned the corner that Lady D'anthius shook her head, her captain gazing at her.

“It was probably wiser to detain him, milady,” he grunted, looking supremely tired suddenly.

“He caught our ploy. It was a mistake on our own parts, and thus should I pay the price,” the Magistrix replied, that “familiar” tone of curt politeness returning once more. “These Goblins have proven more cunning than expected: we will be smarter for next time.”

The captain looked satisfied with the answer, but as the woman placed her phoenix mask about her face, she looked back in the direction of where the Shredder had departed, and felt a soft twinge in her chest.

He was a curious one, that Blasternut...

[snowbird-down]

Chrome

It had been...a chaotic few months.

No...moons. They had a lunar calendar here. She had to call it moons now.

Already she’d given too much away. Kharn suspected her. Killian probably suspected her. Voldo outright knew her.

It all had seemed so innocuous. Once, when asked what her future plans were, what her purpose was, Laelia could not answer. Then Tieve arrived with a solution: Salemtaza’s Voyage, a massive Ul’dahn research airship, was in need of a skilled pilot. Surely she qualified?

“Yeah, and how do they feel about Garleans?” was Laelia’s sardonic response.

But Tieve assured her that the expedition leader, Nathaniel Salem, wouldn’t mind.

And now here she was. She kept her third eye covered and insisted she was a Shroud native named “Jeanne d’Meche” -- not knowing that such a contrived Elezen name was outright odd.

Salem had initially been understanding and kind, but of late he was suspicious courtesy of her connection to Valeriaux. He’d spoken of odd rumors surrounding the man, when Valeriaux himself had only spoken highly of Nathaniel.

...Val...

If you’d asked Laelia who she imagined herself coupled with, she would have written out a list of gorgeous amazonian women, likely Viera. Instead she was now sleeping with a Duskwight, a Gridanian lord, who had shared as many secrets with her as she had him. He had unexpectedly proven her rock in the most turbulent of times, the order to her chaos, the soothing shade to her burning light. And all because she’d dared to land her stolen airship in the Shroud... But no, that wasn’t complicated enough, of course; fate decreed that she was placed on the engineering team, courtesy of her familiarity with magitek. And those nerds, those assholes, those goobers...they had now become her family, even as Lucas grounded her for stealing a skyskimmer. They were the positivity and enthusiasm she’d never had in her life, the beating heart that had been strangled away beneath Garlean propaganda.

And then there was Lune. Precious Lune.

The brilliant engineer. The burning flame. The endless font of purity and optimism. The...Dalmascan.

Laelia was 12th Legion. She only passed through Dalmasca. But she still felt responsible for Rabanstre’s ultimate fate. The way he spoke of his homeland, with such passionate fondness...each time it was a lance through her heart. She loved the boy like a little brother, wanted to make it right somehow. If her people had destroyed his culture, then by her hand would she see it restored, dammit!

But tonight, she sat with a bottle in her hands, staring at it with abject guilt. Valeriaux hated it when she drank, tried to stop it...but by Solus she hurt so much.

He and Lune believed in her.

Kharn said Salem would cremate her when she was no longer of use to him.

And somewhere out there, Vicky and Max were yet living.

What did she do? What could she do?

And so Laelia drank herself to sleep, and passed out upon her bed. Tomorrow, she would go through the motions once again, knowing that it was all pathetically shallow.

Death was likely around the corner, and she had fuck all to show for it.

[four-loose-screws]

FE8 Novelization Translation - Chapter 16, Section 2

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations

If you are interested in donating to support my work, please check out my Ko-fi here. Thank you!

———————————

I call this a “section” because it is not a separate part of the chapter in the book, but divided from the rest of the chapter by a scene break.

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Chapter 16: Repatriation

The army climbed a mountain, then traveled down a gently sloping mountain road, and finally, they could see Renais Palace just before them.

For Eirika, this was her first time seeing her home in a long time. Though it was currently occupied by the enemy, she still felt nostalgic at the sight.

“What a gorgeous palace!”

L’Arachel said.

Eirika was as happy as if it was she herself who had been praised, and nodded. “Yes. It is a very old building full of rich history. I didn’t realize it while I was living here in peace, but… seeing it like this after so long makes me realize just how beautiful it is.”

“It's so upsetting that such a beautiful palace has to become a battlefield."

Hearing that surprised Eirika.

She hadn’t thought much about that until now. Taking back the castle would mean exactly what L’Arachel had just said. This beautiful building would be filled with angry screams and the clashing of blades. The blood of countless soldiers would flow down the white hallways. The pillars and walls would likely be left with severe damage. Even to Eirika, who’d survived battle after battle to get this far, the thought that the palace of all her memories since childhood might go up in flames made her so sad that she could hardly bear it.

Ephraim noticed that she looked sad, and said to encourage her, “Whatever happens to the palace can be fixed. It won’t be that big of a deal.”

“Brother…”

“Buildings can be repaired however many times they need to be.”

Though those words seemed unconcerned about what may happen to the castle, Eirika couldn’t help but think about what they meant.

Buildings could be rebuilt. But what about human beings?

Both Orson, who’d betrayed his homeland… and Lyon, who’d been changed completely by the Dark Stone… both of them could never become the people they once were ever again. Even if they vowed to do so, the memories of their betrayals and the invasion had stained their hands red with blood, and would forever cast a shadow over their hearts. They already had scars that could never disappear completely.

“If we want to avoid a fight, then we could wait here patiently for a while.” Innes said. “Orson’s poor government should not last for long. A rebellion will eventually break out, and someone close to him will run out of patience with him and assassinate him. However, that means that many people would die as we wait."

“We cannot possibly wait that long.” Ephraim said and looked at Eirika.

The right to command the entire army was still Eirika’s, as it always had been until now. Personally, Eirika wanted to hand it over to her brother, but Ephraim stood behind her. The soldiers had followed her ever since they left Frelia. Eirika was the person they trusted and respected. When he considered how they felt, he imagined that they would fight better if she continued to be their leader. That was what Ephraim thought.

“Yes. We cannot stand by and do nothing. Let’s go!” Eirika raised her sword. 

The soldiers all cheered as loudly as they could.

The neighing of cavalry horses shook Renais for the first time in forever, signaling the start of the battle to reclaim Renais Palace.

Most of the soldiers currently guarding Renais Palace were those brought in from Grado. The news of the emperor's passing and Lyon's fleeing the country had of course reached them as well. Though they had been in battle stations and receiving consistent orders, it was only natural that their morale would be low considering the circumstances.

And because they knew that fierce ex-Grado soldiers like Duessel and Cormag were now members of the Renais Army, their morale was all the worse. Just the sight of Duessel's face made more than a few of them start shaking, drop their swords, and surrender.

The door to the treasure room had been destroyed, and almost all of the treasure was gone. Orson was supposed to be leading the army, but did nothing, so the army had lost any sense of order, and roamed the palace lawlessly.

They conquered the palace in no time at all. Eirika and Ephraim rushed to the throne room.

The moment they pushed open the door, warm memories filled Eirika's chest. Memories from before the day the palace fell, and she fled with Seth. It already seemed like a long time ago, but her father's smiling face when he said goodbye was still clearly burned into her mind.

In that moment, Eirika had made a vow within her heart. That she would reunite with her father and brother, and retake Renais...

Reuniting with her father had become a dream that would never come true for all of eternity, but she had safely found her brother. And now, Renais' recapture was one step away… just one small step away.

The only person waiting for them inside of the room was Orson. He was sitting on the throne, but when he saw Eirika and Ephraim, he calmly stood up.

"Orson…" Ephraim readied his lance. 

However, Eirika did not unsheath her weapon, instead pleading with him, "Orson, please talk to us. Why did you betray Renais?"

He did not answer. He only slowly raised his sword.

His eyes were hollow, but his stance did not show even a single opening. It was a vestige of his time as the leader of the knights that still remained within him.

"Please, Orson. Put down your weapon, and talk to us. Who convinced you to betray Renais?"

"It's no use, Eirika. He is not in his right mind.” Ephraim quickly whispered to her.

Eirika knew that her brother was right. But she couldn't give up. He'd lost his wife, grieving her so deeply that he could not perform his job duties, and then someone tried to manipulate that weakness… There was nothing more pitiful than having to defeat him as an enemy.

"Orson, please talk to us. Who was it? Who tried to take advantage of your sadness…?"

Orson suddenly lunged at her. He swung his sword in one terrifyingly sharp motion. If Ephraim had not raised his lance a split second faster than Orson lowered his weapon, Eirika likely would have been seriously injured.

She felt she had no choice but to unsheath her sword. 

However, Ephraim, repelling one of Orson's fierce attacks with his lance, shouted to her, "Stand down, Eirika!"

"Ah… Brother…"

"I'm the person he betrayed. This is my regret. Leave him to me!"

'Regret…?' Such language was not like Ephraim at all. He must have chosen his words carefully, knowing that she pitied Orson.

"I will not allow you to stand in my way… I will not allow anyone to destroy my happiness." Orson muttered quietly, and brought down his sword. 

Ephraim blocked it with his lance and counterattacked with a sharp battle cry.

Eirika gripped her sword, but did not move. Her chest was tight, and tears were in her eyes. Orson's voice was full of sadness.

'I cannot forgive him.' That one thought was clear in her mind. Whoever manipulated Orson's sadness and tempted him to betray his country, she could never forgive him.

Orson's attacks were desperate, but Ephraim was physically stronger than him. He shifted his stance from left to right, and toyed with Orson.

Finally, the battle was decided. Ephraim's lance stabbed deep into Orson's side.

Orson staggered and dropped his sword. The hand he placed against his wound was stained red with blood.

"Monica…" His final words were his wife's name before he collapsed.

Ephraim wiped the sweat from his brow and turned around towards Eirika. "Are you alright, Eirika?"

"Yes. And you, Brother?"

"We've finally retaken the palace."

"Yes. Father is surely very happy."

"...If he is, then that's all I need to know." He said in a melancholy voice that was entirely unlike him.

Eirika looked at her brother's face. He was staring down at Orson. From his expression, she could tell it was unbearably painful for him.

"We're too late. We couldn't do anything. Renais is in ruins, and the people are suffering. Makes me wonder why I couldn't come home sooner…"

"Brother, don't say that…" 

"I'm sorry, Eirika. I didn't mean to complain. I'm just mad at my own incompetence."

Eirika shook her head. Ephraim was like a miracle, having defeated the enemy army and retaken Renais. Nobody should beat themself up and say they were too late after that. He was just being hard on himself.

Seth soon appeared to give his report. Only a few of their soldiers sustained any injuries, and they had successfully captured the entire castle.

"Also…" Seth started to say something else, but hesitated. It was entirely unlike him.

"What is it?"

"...Please come this way. To the room Orson locked himself in." Seth showed them the way, and they followed behind him.

Halfway there, Seth hesitantly turned towards Eirika. "Lady Eirika, it may be best for you to stay here. What you will see could be too much for you…"

"What is it? Seth, what did you find?" she asked.

But he did not answer. 

Eirika had a slight suspicion that she knew what was making him hesitate. Whatever was inside the room where Orson was locked up, thinking about his deceased wife… it must be keepsakes that it would make her heart hurt. "I'll be fine, Seth. Whatever I see, I will not falter."

"But…"

"We're going to Orson's room, right? Whatever he was doing in his room… I must see it."

Seth nodded and continued on towards the room.

The moment they opened the doors, they heard a delicate voice.

"Darling…"

Eirika twitched.

It sounded like a woman's voice, but was utterly monotonous. It more closely resembled a bird speaking human language...  repeating the words, but not understanding the meaning.

'It can't be.' A premonition almost impossible to believe sent a chill down her spine. The scent of a strong incense wafted from inside the room. It seemed to be trying to hide a foul stench.

Ephraim muttered, "That voice… could it be…. Orson's….?"

"Darling."

The voice was coming from within the dimly lit room. A thin sheet of silk hung from the ceiling, covering what appeared to be the bed.

The voice stopped, and silence fell all around them. Eirika looked away in fear.

There was hardly any furniture to be seen. The room was almost empty… The owner of the voice had to be behind the silk sheet, but she did not have the courage to check.

She heard the voice again.

"Darling. Darling. Darling. Darlingdarlingdarlingdarlingdarlingdarlingdarling."

The voice repeated the same word over and over as if its source was broken.

Eirika felt like she might faint. Seth supported her.

She was confident when she said she would not falter, but those words were just a lie now. If she had not clenched her teeth as hard as she could, she likely would have screamed.

Ephraim quickly pulled out his lance. It was reckless to swing it around in a small room like this one, but he'd lost his common sense, too.

"Is this the same magic that Lyon used? Did someone resurrect Orson's wife… just like Lyon resurrected Emperor Vigarde's corpse?"

Eirika finally realized the meaning behind the ecstatic look on Orson's face.

This allowed his deceased wife to be brought back to him. Every time her corpse uttered "Darling," it comforted him, though the sound had no meaning… When he gently touched her cold, hard skin… it descended him further into madness.

"Seth, take Eirika and get out of here!" Ephraim ordered.

"I'll take care of this. You go outside too, Lord Ephraim…"

"No, I'll do it. Hurry up and take Eirika."

"...Understood." Seth picked up Eirika and left the room.

Even though she was now free from the incense and fresh air filled her lungs, her pounding heart could not relax. She wasn't even aware of the fact that she was clinging to Seth's arm.

She couldn't stop shaking. The monotonous voice echoed through her ears over and over again. "Seth… what… what was that…?"

"I'm sorry. I knew I shouldn't have brought you into that room."

"No, I went in because I insisted…" 

After a few deep breaths, she finally let go of Seth's arm. The feelings rushing through her still had not calmed down, but she managed to regain her composure enough to speak normally. "Orson loved his wife, didn't he? Then why didn't he know that something so… inhuman was nothing more than a desecration of her?"

"If only he'd had time for his heart to return to peace, he certainly would have known. He likely would have slowly accepted her death, and been able to move on. However, while he had still not yet healed from his grief, there was someone who whispered in his ear. That he would resurrect his wife if he betrayed Renais."

"...You're right."

"If I was put in the same situation, I might make the same choice. If someone tempted me with that offer when I lost the person I love, chances are I would find it difficult to turn down."

"Seth…" Eirika felt that was a bit surprising to hear. Because Seth was so calm and composed, there was no way he could go insane like Orson did. He wouldn't really learn what it was like to sympathize with Orson… Someway or another, she knew that he wouldn't.

Seth calmly changed the subject. "Something seems to be going on outside. Let's go check it out." He left her side and walked towards the balcony.

Ephraim came out from the room. He looked even more exhausted than he had right after his fight with Orson.

When Eirika approached him, he showed her a stiff smile. "It's all over now. It… It disappeared and turned to ash, just like Emperor Vigarde did…"

"Brother…"

"What about Seth? Where did he go?"

"We heard a loud noise coming from outside, so he went to check it out…"

Eirika pointed towards the balcony. They could hear the loud voices even from where they were standing. It sounded like a large crowd of people had gathered, and were shouting.

"Is it the townspeople? Why are they here? Are they unhappy about something…?"

Just then, Seth returned. He walked up to Ephraim and told the twins, "Lord Ephraim, Lady Eirika, please go out to the balcony."

"What's going on? What is the commotion about?"

"Please go and see for yourselves."

Eirika and Ephraim looked at each other, then decided to do as Seth said for now and go out to the balcony.

The garden in front of the palace was filled with a crowd of people. It was such a large group that they thought it might be made up of all the people living in the capital. And the moment they appeared on the balcony, the voices only got louder.

The people were waving their hands in the air and shouting excitedly, "Lord Ephraim! Lady Eirika!"

"Long live the king! Our king has returned!"

Eirika looked down at the crowd that had gathered in utter amazement. Ephraim continued walking and placed his hands on the balcony railing. Those in the crowd who saw this became louder still.

Ephraim turned around to Seth, who was standing behind him, with a bewildered look on his face. "What is this?"

"Your ears do not deceive you. They gathered here upon learning of your return home. Please wave at them, and acknowledge their joy."

"O… Okay." Ephraim's gestures were stiff and awkward.

Eirika stood by his side with a smile on her face.

Neither of them were very good at standing in the spotlight. He was utterly confused, and quickly retreated back inside the palace.

He was so nervous that he loosened his collar and took a deep breath.

"I'm surprised. I didn't think there was any way I'd receive such a greeting. When the people of Renais were suffering, all I did was fight with other nations, and couldn't do anything for my own country. I was prepared for it to most likely take a long time before they would forgive me…"

"Their enthusiasm comes from their reactions to Orson's terrible rule. They are not necessarily praising you." Seth's words were harsh. 

Ephraim's expression stiffened. "You… You're right, Seth. The people are seeking a new leader. And that just so happened to be me. I will not disappoint them or their excitement. I will dedicate myself to Renais' restoration and the return of peace to the people.”

"And I will help."

When Eirika said that, Ephraim's eyes lit up with joy. "Your saying so reassures me more than anything else. You are my sister who I can depend on for anything."

"...Really?"

"Of course! To be honest, when we were kids, I sometimes thought it would be better if I had a little brother. I thought it would be fun if I had a mischievous little brother I could rough house with…"

"That's really what you thought?"

"When we were kids, yeah. Now, I truly feel from the very bottom of my heart that I am happy to have you. You're stronger and more dependable than any man."

"Brother!" She realized that he was teasing her, and her face turned red.

Ephraim burst out laughing.

Seth listened to their conversation with a smile on his face, then opened his mouth. "Lord Ephraim, Lady Eirika. I'm sorry to do this while you are both tired, but there is something I want to confirm right away…"

"That's right. The Sacred Stone." Ephraim caught on to what he was talking about.

Seth nodded and continued, "The late Lord Fado entrusted me with these words before Renais fell. 'Raise the Twin Bracelets in the throne room. The seal will break, and the Sacred Stone will be sleeping before you.'"

"The time has finally come for these bracelets to serve their purpose, huh?" Ephraim rubbed his bracelet.

Eirika looked down at her own bracelet.

Ever since she had learned the true meaning it held, she'd felt many times just how heavy of a burden it was. But now, all of that hardship was finally going to pay off.

Since the Sacred Stone was enshrined behind the seal, it should be safe, however, until she saw it with her own eyes, she would be nervous. 

The twins both turned towards the throne room.

The moment they raised their bracelets, a space in the stone floor opened without a sound, revealing a long staircase that led into a basement. Even they'd had no idea that the palace had a mechanism like that within it.

Ephraim picked up a candlestick and went first down the stairs. Eirika and Seth followed him.

At the bottom of the stairs was a small room. Within it was an altar, and placed atop it was a small stone.

For a long while, the three of them stared at it and spoke not a word. It reflected off of the light of Ephraim's candle, and emitted its own strange, glittering light. Both its color and gloss were completely unlike any other stone on earth.

"This is… the Sacred Stone?" Ephraim finally said. His voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper. 

Eirika nodded. "Yes. It is one of the five Stones that sealed away the Demon King long ago…"

"If the bracelets had been stolen, then this Stone probably would have been destroyed around now, huh? This is the power that we were able to protect all this time."

"It is the hope of everyone… of all the people who live on our continent."

Ephraim reached out and gently picked it up. “Now let's get back to everyone."

"Please wait, Brother." Eirika noticed that the bracelets had started to emit a strange light, and called out to him.

Ephraim looked down at his bracelet as well. Both of them were emitting a faint white glittery light. It was a phenomenon that neither of them had ever witnessed until now.

It wasn’t hot. It just gave Eirika a strange sensation that she was being filled by a power flowing out from her bracelet. She looked down at it in surprise.

“Is it… reacting to the Sacred Stone…?” Ephraim wondered.

“Brother, can you... feel something?” Eirika looked into Ephraim’s eyes, and could sense that he was experiencing the same sensation as well.

“Yeah. What could it be…? It… It feels like strength is bursting out from deep within me. I can’t put it into words exactly, but… It’s like I quickly climbed up to somewhere high and the world has opened up below me… or like I broke out from an old shell and was reborn… Regardless, it’s a very strange feeling.”

"I feel the same."

Of course, the feeling didn't necessarily mean that they changed at all on the outside. They were the same Ephraim and Eirika as always. But now, they undoubtedly felt all the effects of obtaining a new power.

Seth said to them, "Your bracelets are the proof that you are the rightful heirs to the throne of Renais. The Sacred Stone most likely divided the power of Renais' royal family between you."

Ephraim nodded. "...Father might have anticipated that this day would come, when the bracelets and the Sacred Stone would lead us in the right direction."

The light coming from the bracelets gradually dimmed, but there was no doubt they could still feel the power flowing through them. 

Ephraim muttered, as if he was talking to himself, "Since... I was a child, I've only ever wanted to get stronger. If I became the strongest king in the world, then ruling my country would come naturally. That's what I always thought…"

Eirika knew that was how he'd thought. As someone who hated war, she felt that line of thinking was a bit scary, but she understood well that he wasn't a violent person. No matter how powerful he became, she believed that he would never misuse his strength.

However, their father had worried about Ephraim's way of thinking. 'One cannot not rule a country by strength alone. You must see more of the world, and learn as much as you can.' He had warned him. 

At the time, Ephraim rebelled against his father and argued with him about it. Every time they did so, it hurt Eirika's heart, and made her think about which of their words was right. She respected her father's reasoning and character, but on the other hand, she also admired her brother's strength. 'Neither of them are wrong…' That was the only conclusion she could ever think to come to in regards to it.

"The moment I heard that Grado had invaded Renais, blood rushed to my head. I wanted to chase out the invaders with my own lance, and bravely set out to war. The result of that is the disaster that Renais is experiencing now. Back then… if I had been prudent like Father was, I might not have just fought by brute strength alone, and been able to think of a better way…"

"Brother, Father was proud of you." She couldn't stand to see Ephraim blame himself, and so she cut his words short. 

Seth politely added his thoughts as well. "Lady Eirika is right. Lord Fado always said that you will surely become a fine king."

Ephraim looked down at the floor and made a pained smile. "I'm not ready yet. It will probably be a long time yet before I'm able to live up to Father's expectations of me." 

He looked down at the Sacred Stone in his hand and suddenly offered it to Eirika. "Eirika, you take this."

"Huh? But that's the…"

"I think you're more worthy to be the one to carry it. Like I just said, I have a tendency to always rely on strength. I want to try to suppress it as much as I possibly can, but if I fly into a rage and lose myself, I might try to use its power for the wrong reasons."

"But…"

"And the Sacred Stone harbors great power. It might protect you if your life is ever in danger. Please take it."

"...I understand. If you insist." Eirika took the Sacred Stone from her brother's hand. "One day, when we welcome true peace, and you officially ascend to the throne, let's return it to this underground altar. But until then, I'll take good care of it."

"Yes, let's! It is a precious treasure that must be passed down to each generation of Renais' royal family."

"Lord Ephraim, Lady Eirika!" Seth called out. "Renais' Sacred Twins should be kept here. Please take them."

"Oh, that's right!"

Beneath the altar was a chest. Seth first pulled a long lance out from within it, and carefully handed it to Ephraim.

Ephraim examined it and gasped. "What a beautiful weapon this is… no matter the craftsman that made the lance, none other has ever felt so perfect in my hands. So this is one of Renais' Sacred Twins? There's an engraving on it here. It reads… 'Flame Lance Siegmund…'"

Seth then took a sword from inside the chest, and gave it to Eirika. "And you take this, Lady Eirika."

"Thank you. This one has an engraving on it as well. It reads 'Storm Blade Sieglinde…'" Eirika stood next to Ephraim, and tried it out, swinging it up over her head.

It was much bigger than the rapier she was used to using, but it was so easy to wield that it surprised her. It even felt like the sword moved faster than her own body.

Long ago, the hero and progenitor of the Renais royal family used this sword to fight the Demon King's forces. This beautiful sword that looked more like a magnificent work of art at first glance had spilled the blood of thousands of monsters. The moment that thought ran through her mind, she suddenly felt its weight.

"It might be best to end the war without using a weapon like this, but…" Eirika lowered the sword and murmured. "If we fear fighting and run away from it, that will invite an even bigger calamity… This war taught me that. Let's fight, Brother. To restore Renais. To bring peace to Magvel."

[lordsister]

One Year Waiting (Masamune Date x Reader)

A/N: So I finished Masamune's dramatic route and decided to do the same thing I did for Nobunaga's dramatic route and write this fic from his point of view on their separation. Enjoy!

I do not own Ikemen Sengoku or any of its characters.

My ko-fi: ko-fi.com/lordsister (please consider donating if you enjoy my work!)

Warning: spoilers for Masamune's dramatic route!

Did he really know what love was before he met you? Masamune didn't think so. No one had ever enraptured him as you had, in all your reckless, merciful, beautiful glory. No one had ever made his heart pound as you had.

It had taken everything in him to keep his cool when you disappeared through the smoke, burning your hands as you desperately tried to get to him through the flaming rubble. His heart had broken as you cried out to him, promising that you would return to him no matter how long it took. He only had time to promise to wait for you and tell you not to cry and show him the smile he loved so dearly before you were gone, taken 500 years away from him.

No matter how much he wanted to give in to the pain and heartbreak that made everything hurt, Masamune had promised to die by your side and only after he had protected you to the end. As neither of those requirements were currently met, he summoned what strength he had left and shrugged off the beam that had fallen across his shoulders, gritting his teeth against the searing sensation on his skin. He managed to find his way down the hall despite the smoke that clogged his lungs and made his eyes water, but more fire and wreckage blocked his path, preventing him from reaching the safety of the outside.

Just when he thought he wouldn't be able to keep his promise to you, Masamune felt something slip from the inside of his tattered hakama, fluttering in the air in front of him before falling to the floor, its edges beginning to curl and blacken. The panic that rose in him was unlike anything he'd ever felt before and he snatched up the drawing you'd made for him before it could be damaged any further. Shoving the paper back into its place next to his heart, the change was instantaneous, determination replacing his momentary fear and hopelessness. He was not going to die here. He was going to live and see you again no matter what it took.

Renewing his struggles, Masamune fought through the flames and debris until he was wheezing and choking, ignoring the blood he could feel running down his skin. When an opening finally appeared, he barely had the strength to pull himself forward except a pair of hands shot out and grabbed him, hauling him across the burning floor until he emerged into the clouded light of day, drizzling rain pelting singed, raw skin. Through the pain, he realized it was Yukimura who had pulled him out and was now hovering over him, shouting something he couldn't hear, before falling into unconsciousness.

When he woke up, Masamune hoped with every piece of himself that he was in his futon at his manor in Azuchi and that you were laying beside him with that peaceful little smile you got whenever you were having a good dream. His hopes were quickly dashed as pain lanced through his battered body and he realized he was lying on stiff bedding in a doctor's home in Kyoto. Yukimura sat next to him, his back to the wall as he slept. Bandages covered his torso and he shot up, startling Yukimura awake as he looked around for his clothes.

"Damn it, Masamune! You're going to reopen your wounds!" The other warlord protested, but he wasn't listening, only relaxing when his eyes landed on the folded pile of burned blue and gray fabric beside him and the paper sitting atop it all. He breathed a sigh of relief as he picked it up and held it close, fingers running gently over the worn edges. Masamune was aware of Yukimura watching him, but didn't care. All that mattered was this little piece of you he still had left. "Masamune, what happened in there? Where's (y/n)? Is she...?" The implication in his words was clear and Masamune shook his head quickly.

"She's safe. We got caught up in the wormhole and she was sucked back with the ninja while I got stuck in the fire."

"It's good that she's safe and all, but what'll happen to the two of you now? Can she come back?"

"She can." Masamune's grip on your drawing tightened just a little and he smiled through the pain of losing you as your words rang in his head. "And she will."

"Well, whatever happens I wish you luck." Unfolding his legs, Yukimura rose to his feet. "I didn't pull you out of that fire for nothing. Next time we meet, we'll be enemies again. I look forward to facing you on the battlefield, Masamune Date."

Masamune scoffed, the shadow of his roguish smile crossing his face. "I look forward to it, as well. Better watch yourself when the time comes, Yukimura."

The other man only smiled back before exiting the small room, tossing, "Don't forget to pay the doctor!" over his shoulder as he went.

The silence that fell afterwards was suffocating as Masamune eased back into a lying down position and held your design between his palm and chest, blue eye staring up at the ceiling as the reality of the situation finally came crashing down. The one person he had ever truly loved, who he wanted to protect above all else, was gone from his side. There was little he wouldn't give to have you back in his arms where you belonged, where he could feel your heart beating and kiss that smile he loved so much.

What were you doing right now, 500 years away? Masamune hoped you weren't crying. Despite his ability to keep calm in even the most dire situations, he couldn't stand it when you cried. Even the thought of tears rolling down your beautiful face and him not being there to wipe them away made his vision blur with tears of his own and grief rise in his throat. It'd only been a day and he already missed you so badly.

Carefully unfolding the drawing still in his hand, Masamune held it up, gaze running over the precious lines he had already memorized long ago. His fingertips just barely brushed the dried ink for fear of smudging or making the lines fade, just enough contact to draw strength from. He missed you so much he thought it was going to kill him, but he would wait as long as it took for you to return to him. He would wait, with his love for you to keep him company.

The months passed slowly without you, each day dulled by his longing for you and the lack of your presence beside him. From Kyoto, Masamune rode back to Azuchi to report to Nobunaga and the other warlords about what had happened to you. Ieyasu took it noticeably harder than the others, something that both surprised and alarmed him. The prickly blonde cared for you much more than Masamune had originally thought and though protectiveness rose in him over the signs Ieyasu was clearly exhibiting, he chose not to do anything about it. You had made it clear that you loved him and him alone while he saw Ieyasu as a brother. If it had been anyone else acting such a way towards you, he may have taken more violent measures to ensure they wouldn't dare try anything, but Masamune was sure Ieyasu knew his place by now.

After much discussion with Nobunaga, it was decided that Honno-ji would be rebuilt again and Masamune was given permission to reside there until you returned. When you came back he wanted to be right there to greet you. The only condition to the agreement was that you be brought to Azuchi immediately upon your arrival. He left it unspoken that if Nobunaga tried to keep you in Azuchi, he wouldn't hesitate to take you and run away to Oshu. Nothing would stand in the way of his life with you, a life that had been put on hold and that he dreamed of every single night.

After everything had been settled in Azuchi, Masamune continued on to Aoba to handle affairs for the time he would be staying at Honno-ji. He'd sent a messenger ahead with a note stating you wouldn't be joining him, but still faced a barrage of questions regarding "his princess" from his vassals upon his arrival at the castle. The excuse he gave was that you'd been called back to your homeland on short notice, but would be back to join him in Aoba in the future. Only Kojuro seemed unsatisfied with his answer, but accepted it soon enough. He'd faced more questions and confusion when he'd revealed that he would be living at Honno-ji until your return, but arrangements to have any matters that required his attention sent to the abbey went along smoothly.

Before he left for Honno-ji, the place closest to you, Masamune commissioned the seamstresses to make a kimono for you using your design. You would need something to wear when you came back and he only wanted the best for you, something that would make you smile when you wore it.

Keeping busy was good for him, kept his mind off of how much he missed you, but the ache was always there, a constant pulse in his heart reminding him that you were still gone. It made it worse not knowing when you would return to him, but he was determined to wait forever if he had to. He didn't get a lot of sleep that year because it hurt so badly to dream of you, to kiss you and hold you and love you to make up for all the time apart, and then wake up and not have you. Several women tried to make advances on him in the time you were gone, but he rebuffed them all, his interest and love reserved for you alone. All he wanted and needed in this world was you.

A year of seeing you only in dreams passed and Masamune stood on the balcony of his room at Honno-ji, looking out over Kyoto. He could feel the paper that had become his greatest treasure, a token of your affection, against the beat of his heart and tried to imagine what you were doing right then. Were you going about your daily life? Or were you on your way back to him at that very moment?

Masamune was just about to turn around and go back inside when a weight hit him in the chest out of nowhere, knocking him to the floor. His heart nearly stopped in his chest when his arms closed around a form he'd only held in his dreams for months. A soft "ow" escaped your figure as you tried to steady yourself from your little trip through time and he couldn't help but chuckle at your reaction as he spoke. "Ow is right."

Slowly, you lifted your head and wide, hopeful eyes met his. "That's the first thing you say to me?" There she was. There was his kitten.

Happy tears welled in your eyes and Masamune reached up to brush them away, holding you close to feel your heart beating with his. "Don't cry, kitten. You know how much I love it when you smile." The watery, messy, beautiful smile you gave him made his longing heart swell and all of the things he wanted to convey so badly embodied themselves in a tender, passionate kiss. 'You're here with me now, finally. I'll make you so happy you won't have to cry anymore. I'm never letting go of you again. I love you.'

[setaripendragon]

Trapped in the Amber - 1x03

Book 1 :: 01 - 02 - 03 Not a lot to say about this one, except that, on watching this episode for the first time, I was severely disappointed that Sam and Dean went to all that trouble to make those Homeland Security badges, and didn’t even think to use them to, oh, I don’t know, stop a plane from taking off? (Also, ngl, so mad that the continuity didn’t remember that they’d had Dean dealing with poltergeists before when they got to the episode Home.) Also, Moonfiends are completely made up by me, based on this one little bit of folklore I found about young women who look at a blue moon getting pregnant from it and giving birth to monsters. SPN lore is surprisingly limited for a show with hundreds of episodes, so I’m going to be tossing in more of my own lore to fill in the gaps in this story. (This being mostly self-indulgent nonsense, there’s going to be a lot of lore, a lot of ethical debates, and at least some linguistics.) And this chapter is dedicated to everyone who’s liked the last two parts, I absolutely wouldn’t have had the courage to continue posting this without you. Especially @spideypoolalways, and @lyratalus​ and @millieccino for those lovely comments <3

Allentown, Pennsylvania – Saturday 3rd December 2005

Meira makes Dean tell her about the poltergeist on their way to Pennsylvania. It’s a good story, and it’s also a reminder that John Winchester is a real person, her grandfather by blood. She knew about him, of course, but he was long dead by the time she came into the world, and honestly, she’d never given him much thought. Now, she’s suddenly aware that if it was her in her dad’s place, she wouldn’t be half so composed.

They don’t even stop to find a motel before heading to the airport where Jerry works. He greets Dean with no small amount of relief, and then shakes hands all around. “And this must be Sam, right?” He asks when he gets to Sam.

“That’s right.” Sam confirms. “And this is Meira.”

“Pleasure.” Jerry says, sincere but perfunctory, before leading them inside. He reminisces a little on the way to his office, and Meira listens in fascination, but once they get there, it’s right down to business. “Okay, listen to this.” He says. “It sounded like it was up your alley. Normally I wouldn’t have access to this. It’s the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia flight 2485. It was one of ours.”

At first, it’s just a crackly recording of a may day signal, and then it fuzzes out to be replaced by a sound that makes Meira reach for her blade on pure instinct. Pain lances through her, and she flinches hard.

“Hey, are you okay?” Jerry asks.

Meira nods. “Took me by surprise, is all.” She says dismissively.

“Alright, well, it took off from here.” Jerry explains. “Crashed about 200 miles south. Now, they’re saying mechanical failure. Cabin depressurised somehow, nobody knows why. Over a hundred people on board, only seven got out alive.”

“Seven people survived?” Meira echoes in surprise.

Jerry’s eyebrows furrow. “That surprises you?” He asks carefully.

Meira shrugs with a grimace. “That sounded demonic to me. Sometimes spirits can affect radios and such, but it’s usually just static, psychic residue. That was way too loud to be residue. And demons aren’t known for leaving survivors.” It isn’t like she can tell them that she understands Hellspeech well enough. It isn’t like human languages, which she’s always been able to understand, but Crowley was one of the few creatures in existence that hadn’t thought she was an abomination. Or, he had, it’s just he didn’t have a problem with abominations, so he’d taught her how to understand his, heh, ‘native’ language.

Yeah, she definitely isn’t telling these two hunters, who aren’t yet her dad and uncle, that the King of Hell, or King of the Crossroads as he is now, taught her how to understand demons. Or that this one is fucking gloating on the radio of a plane it had just caused to crash.

Jerry pales. Sam and Dean both turn to stare at her, eyebrows raised. “Demonic?” Jerry asks, quiet and strained.

“I can’t be sure.” Meira lies. “But that would be my guess, yeah.”

“Well,” Sam says slowly, “we’re going to need passenger manifests, a list of survivors, and-”

“And any way we could take a look at the wreckage?” Dean interjects.

Jerry takes a breath to marshal himself, and Meira is actually impressed by how well he  “The other stuff is no problem, but the wreckage?” He shakes his head grimly. “The NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse. No way I’ve got that kind of clearance.”

Dean nods slowly, and then shakes his head in dismissal. “No problem.”

Meira has to bite back a grin, and once they’ve gotten the lists of passengers and survivors from Jerry and they’re leaving, she nudges Dean with her elbow and asks, “No problem, huh?” Dean just grins back, smug and cocky, and, oh, yeah, this is going to be good.

A short drive and an endless wait later, which Meira fills with reading a paperback she picked up from a bookshop across the street, and Sam passes with pacing and frustration until Meira gives in and starts reading aloud in an over-dramatic fashion, Dean returns with brand new fake IDs for all of them. Sam, of course, immediately remembers his impatience, and huffs, “You’ve been in there forever!”

“You can’t rush perfection.” Dean retorts, flipping one of the cards over to Meira, who catches it between the pages of her book, then retrieves it eagerly.

“Homeland security?” Sam asks incredulously.

Meira whoops. “Oh, man. Yes.”

“See?” Dean says to Sam. “She knows an awesome idea when she hears one.”

“The doors this baby is going to open.” Meira agrees in delight. “The prank opportunities will be endless and glorious.”

Sam rounds on her, while Dean bursts out laughing. “Pranks?”

Meira blinks at him in feigned wide-eyed innocence. “Don’t tell me you’ve never wanted to scare the shit out of someone by threatening them with charges of treason or something.” She points out. She wishes Pabbi were here, or Jace. They’ve always been better at coming up with the truly hilarious pranks. Sam just shakes his head and gets back in the car. Meira and Dean share a grin, and then follow to discuss the case and plan their next move.

Which turns out to be interrogating the passenger in the psychiatric hospital. Meira keeps quiet and lets Dean and Sam do most of the talking, wishing she could see the state of the man’s soul. She doesn’t really need to, to know he’s disturbed by what he saw, but it would be nice to know how disturbed. Whether he’d prefer the illusion of normality, or if doubting his own perception is doing more harm than good. In her own, limited, twenty-five years of experience with human souls, she’s never seen anything so damaging as doubting their own perception, but in some cases, she has to admit that the lie does seem to help people hold it together through otherwise traumatic incidents.

“It’s okay.” Sam says, as Meira considers everything she can read from Max Jaffrey’s body language and comes to a decision. She’s pretty sure Sam and Dean are going to hate it, but they can suck it up and deal. “Just tell us what you thought you saw. Please.” Sam entreats, and it works.

Max sighs, and starts, haltingly, to talk. “There was… this- man.” He begins, stops, licks his lips nervously. “And… uh, he had these… eyes.” He gestures vaguely towards his own face.

“Black eyes?” Meira asks.

Max’s head jerks up and he stares at her with wide eyes, while Sam and Dean both turn to stare at her. “Y-yeah. How did you…?”

Meira takes a step forward from where she was loitering, and claims the last open seat, opposite Max. “You weren’t seeing things.” She tells him simply.

“Meira.” Dean growls.

“Man deserves to know he’s not crazy.” Meira replies without looking away from Max, who’s shaking his head.

“That can’t have been real.” He protests. “I saw him-”

“Saw him what?” Sam prompts gently, although the look Meira sees him direct at her out of the corner of her eye is hard.

Max’s next breath shakes. “He- he opened the emergency exit. But that’s- that’s impossible. I mean, I looked it up, there’s something like two tonnes of pressure on that door.” He insists, looking between the three of them, pleading for an explanation, any explanation, that makes sense.

“Do you really believe you were seeing things?” Meira asks him.

He stares at her, then swallows hard. It’s several long, long minutes before he finally answers. “No.” He says, so quiet Meira almost can’t hear him. “Some-something made the plane crash, right? And if it wasn’t- wasn’t what I saw, then… what was it?”

Meira smiles at him, gentle but proud. “It was exactly what you saw.”

“But how?” Max demands.

“The black eyes are a fairly good indicator that the man you saw was possessed by a demon.” Meira informs him, and Max’s eyes widen in belated fear. “Demons do possess far greater strength than your average human, so one could absolutely open the emergency exit while the plane was still in the air.”

“Oh.” Max says thickly. “Demons actually exist.”

“I’m afraid so.” Meira agrees wryly. When it seems Max is too busy processing that to have any immediate questions, she nods. “Do you have your phone with you?” She asks. Max shakes his head wordlessly. “Do you know your number off by heart?” She asks, not hopeful.

But, it turns out, there are some benefits to being stuck in 2005. People aren’t quite so used to their phones doing their thinking for them, and some of them do, still, memorise their own phone numbers. Max rattles his off without a problem, and Meira whips her own phone out to save it. Then she sends him a text. “There. Now, when you get out of here, if you have any questions, you can call me.” She explains.

Max nods. Then he shakes his head. “You’re not Homeland Security, are you?” He asks.

Meira grins at him. “Special branch.” She tells him, then raps her knuckles on the table, and stands. “Don’t worry, Mr Jaffrey, we’ll get the thing that did this.” She assures him, and a little of the fear in him melts away as he nods.

It isn’t until they’re out of the hospital that Sam rounds on her. Meira honestly wasn’t expecting it. “What the hell was that?” He demands. Meira stares at him incredulously. “Why did you tell him that? You scared him half to death!”

“Um, no.” Meira snaps, indignant at this false accusation. “I didn’t. The demon did.”

“And he was perfectly fine thinking he’d imagined the whole thing, so why did you-?!”

“Checking yourself into a psychiatric hospital is the exact opposite of fine!”

“He would have gotten over it! And then he could go home and carry on his normal life, but instead, you had to go and drop demons on him!”

“You have no guarantee that he would have gotten over it!”

“You have no guarantee how well he’ll handle demons, but that didn’t stop you!”

“Oh, so we should have just joined in on gaslighting him, then?”

“Whoa! Okay, time out!” Dad barks, physically inserting himself between Meira and Rob- No, it’s Sam, Sam who is not yet her uncle and Rob hasn’t been born yet. Meira blinks rapidly as she backs up a step, and then another. She didn’t realise how in each other’s face they were getting until Dad intervened. Dean. Until Dean intervened. She closes her eyes for a moment, trying not to feel too much like her family’s been ripped away from her all over again. “Okay, let’s all just chill.” Dean instructs firmly. “What’s done is done, Sam.”

“It shouldn’t have been.” Sam insists through gritted teeth. “People shouldn’t have to deal with all this unless they don’t have any other choice.”

“Hey, man, I agree with you, but there’s no helping it now.” Dean repeats. Sam scowls.

“He already had to deal with it. It nearly killed him.” Meira points out. “I’m not going to go around shouting it from the rooftops, okay. Not least of all because people would think I’m nuts, but… Do you know how hard it is, to have the whole world telling you that you’re the problem? That there’s something wrong with you, not something wrong out there? No one deserves that!”

Sam sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose, and it’s a gesture that’s going to carry through the rest of his life, all the way until he’s in his sixties and a father and an uncle exasperated with his oh so headstrong niece. But instead of patiently and logically ripping all of Meira’s dreams of chaos and glory to shreds, he just shakes his head and heads for the Impala without another word. It leaves Meira feeling strangely like she’s the one who just lost that argument. Or maybe lost something more important by winning it.

“You know, Sam ran away.” Dean says suddenly.

Meira startles, and is half an instant away from saying something really stupid, like ‘yeah, I know, Dad, you’ve told me this story about a dozen times’, but manages to stop herself just in time. “Oh?” She asks instead, her voice wobbling slightly.

Dean glances at her and grimaces faintly in apology. “Yeah. He wanted to get away from hunting, from the supernatural, be normal or whatever.” He shrugs as if to say the notion baffles him. It baffles Meira, too, but then, she never has been and never will be ‘normal’, and she’s never really felt like her life was missing anything. “Then the thing that killed our mom killed his girlfriend.”

“Ouch. I’m sorry.” Meira says, trying desperately to remember that this is supposed to be news to her, not ancient family history.

“Yeah, well, it makes it pretty hard for him to argue that you should’ve let that guy live in ignorant bliss. He tried that, and it came back to bite him, it could come back to bite this guy, too. But I think he wishes the world worked that way. It ought to. People shouldn’t have to be afraid of the monsters in the dark.”

“People shouldn’t have to be afraid of robbers, either, but we still lock our doors at night.” Meira replies softly. “If people knew, if it was common knowledge what was out there, yeah, maybe they’d be afraid, but maybe they’d line their doors and windows in salt, and get anti-possession tattoos, and then go right on living their normal lives.”

Dean huffs a laugh. “Yeah, maybe.” He doesn’t sound like he believes it, though. Meira can’t exactly blame him. There’s a reason the supernatural has stayed more or less hidden for the last several hundred years, and it’s because most people don’t want to believe it’s true, so they refuse to see it. “Still think it was kind of shitty to just drop demons on him and then leave.”

Meira pulls a face, hunching down against a lecture she knows probably isn’t coming. “I gave him my number. And once we’re done with this, I’ll probably call him if he doesn’t call me and give him the full lecture on demons and theology as it applies to reality.” Somewhere Dean and Sam can’t hear her to question her in depth knowledge of the workings of Hell.

“You hunted demons before?” Dean asks in surprise, finally starting towards the Impala as well.

The answer is yes. On a normal day, demons wouldn’t really be difficult for her. She is anathema to them, after all. “No.” Meira lies.

“Then how do you know enough to give the full lecture?” Dean asks, giving her a look as he opens the driver’s door. Meira doesn’t answer until they’re both in the car with a sulking Sam, and once they’re in, Dean doesn’t give her the opportunity. “You said you don’t really hunt, but you’re a freaking encyclopedia. Moonfiends?” He prompts.

Meira sighs, and resigns herself to cobbling bits and pieces of the truth into a coherent whole, because infinite angelic memory isn’t something she’s going to bring up. “Okay, that one is because my best friend is a moonfiend, so I got a first person account.” She defends. “But my aunt and uncle keep- kept a supernatural library, and I read a lot as a kid.”

“Huh.” Dean muses as they pull out onto the road. ��Okay, I’m just gonna ask. You best friend is a moonfiend?” He sounds incredulous.

Meira pulls a face at him through the rear view mirror. “Azura.” She confirms defiantly.

“What exactly is a moonfiend?” Sam asks, turning to look at her, putting aside his irritation in favour of academic curiosity. Meira beams fondly at him, because this is why Sam has always been her favourite uncle. “I know you said they’re kind of like mothmen, but mothmen are a really specific type of vengeful nature spirit.”

“Well, no, they’re more like furies. They’re not spirits, they’re corporeal, but they’re born from… desecrated ground. Furies are born from human sins against humans, mothmen are born from human sins against nature.” Meira explains, leaning forward as she gets into explaining. “A moonfiend is actually more like a werewolf in metaphysical characteristics, but like mothmen in physical characteristics.”

“So, they’re subject to the phases of the moon?” Sam checks.

Meira nods. “A moonfiend is born when a virgin, and that’s not just a sexual virgin, but a magical and metaphysical virgin, too, stares too long at an unfiltered blue moon.”

Dean actually takes a moment away from watching the road to turn and stare at her. Sam gapes for several minutes, until he finally manages to ask. “Blue moons happen every three years. Why aren’t they everywhere?”

“Well, half the time the pregnancy kills the mother before the baby is viable. Or the mother kills the baby after she’s given birth because, well, it’s pretty obviously not human. All that on top of just how hard it is to count as a metaphysical virgin these days.” Meira points out. “Or what counts as unfiltered. I mean, glasses, smog, clouds, astral disturbances.”

“Astral disturbances?” Sam questions.

“Okay!” Dean says loudly, interrupting Meira before she can even start to explain. “I’m glad you two have made up, you nerds, but can we figure out our next step here? I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve never hunted demon before.” Meira has to sit back and let the weirdness of that statement wash over her. This is her Dad’s first ever demon hunt. Weird. “Are we even sure it is a demon?” He asks, glancing back at Meira and sounding like he wishes he could hope, but he doesn’t. “I mean, this doesn’t exactly seem like demon MO… does it?”

Meira grimaces. “It’s not tempting mortals to sin, sure, but… they like to spread pain and suffering, death and destruction. It’s like a hobby.” She chirps, all dark humour.

“And this one’s hobby is plane crashes?” Dean demands incredulously. “That seems a little… I don’t know, modern.” He mutters, and Meira snickers. “Jesus. Okay. Evolving with the times or not, it’s still gotta be possessing someone right?” Meira nods when Dean’s eyes flicker to her in the mirror. “Great, so it could be anyone right now. How the hell are we gonna find this thing?” He asks, and Meira’s heart leaps into her throat. It’s stupid, she knows that Dean’s never done this before, but he’s her dad and he sounds overwhelmed and that scares her.

“Dean?” Sam asks, obviously picking up on the same thing. “What…?”

Dean sighs. “I don’t know, man, this is kind of out of our league, don’t you think? Demon’s aren’t like the rest of the shit we hunt. Even wendigos, they still- there’s still rhyme and reason to what they do, you know? Demons, man…” He pauses and sighs, hands going white-knuckled on the wheel. “This is… this is big, Sam. I wish Dad was here.”

“Yeah.” Sam agrees quietly, staring intently out of the wind-shield. “Me too.”

Meira swallows and doesn’t say ‘me three’, even though she really wants to. She wants all of her dads. She wants her grace free so that she’s not quite so helpless without them. “Hey.” She says, and ploughs on even though her voice shakes a little. “We can do this. Okay, it might be an entire order of magnitude bigger than a vengeful spirit, but it’s the same basics, right? So, how do we find our monster once we’ve figured out what it is?”

“We figure out what it wants.” Sam says practically. “Because that’s how we’ll know where it’s going to be.” Then he shakes his head. “But if all it wants is to cause plane crashes… I mean, do you have any idea how many flights take off from even just one state every day? There’s no way we could find it.”

That is a good point. Meira grimaces. She’s still trying to figure out how the hell they can do anything about this when Dean slams a flat palm against the wheel, making both her and Sam jump. “Son of a bitch.” He swears sharply, in a tone of revelation. “The survivors.”

Meira blinks. “Dean?” Sam asks, in equal bewilderment.

“The message, on the voice recorder. The demon, it said-”

“‘No survivors.’” Sam echoes. “But there were, there were seven.”

“Yeah, and if this were a vengeful spirit…” Dean trails off pointedly.

“It’d want to finish the job.” Sam realises, nodding along. Then he dives on the bag at his feet to pull out the list of passengers and survivors.

“It was gloating.” Meira interjects, a touch amused. “Prematurely. It’s gotta be so pissed it failed to kill everyone on that flight. I mean, talk about embarrassing.” Dean snorts. “So, now we know what it wants. Now we’ve just gotta figure out where it’s going to be.”

“Do you think…” Sam begins, tapping a finger rapidly on the side of the sheet with the survivors on it. “I mean, if it was a spirit, I’d say for sure, but… Do you think it’ll want to stick to killing them in plane crashes? Because that would be a way to narrow down who it’s going after next.” He points out.

“Sounds like a lead to me.” Dean agrees, and Sam immediately pulls out his phone and starts scanning over the list, before dialling a number.

“I mean, demons basically are vengeful spirits, just ramped up to a thousand on a scale of one to ten.” Meira muses to Dean while Sam hangs up and tries another. “So, yeah, some patterns of behaviour probably do carry over, at least a little.”

“That is so not comforting.” Dean mutters.

“Hey, Jerry, it’s Sam.” Sam greets. “I was just trying to get in touch with the pilot. You said he was a friend, so I thought you might-” He trails off, and then snaps “Dean.” so urgently that Dean automatically takes his eyes off the road to look over at him on high alert. “The pilot’s going up in less than an hour.”

“Shit.” Dean swears, and floors the gas.

“Look, Jerry,” Sam is saying into the phone, “is there any way you can get in touch with him, convince him not to go up?” A pause. “Please try. We’re on our way.” He hangs up, jaw tight. “How soon can we get to the airfield in Nazareth?”

“Forty-five minutes.” Dean announces, then somehow makes the Impala go even faster. “Forty minutes.”

“Okay, so we need to figure out how to get rid of a demon in forty minutes.” Sam states.

“Exorcisms?” Dean suggests.

“Do you know any by heart?” Sam retorts.

“I do.” Meira offers. It’s not exactly hard when one’s fluent in the language of angels and can invoke the name of god in it. Pretty much anything becomes an exorcism then. ‘Go away’ could count as an exorcism, as long as you followed up with ‘in the name of the lord’ or something similar.  “Do we have any holy water?” She asks, not daring to hope.

“Uh, no.” Dean replies.

Meira winces, and amends her request. “Do we have water and a rosary?”

“Rosary is in the boot.” Dean tells her, while Sam retrieves a bottle of water from his bag. After about five minutes of bickering, Meira convinces him to pull over so that she can hop out and grab the rosary. Dean’s peeling out of the layby before she’s even got the door closed again, and then she screws the top off the bottled water, dumps the rosary inside, and sets about blessing it. She really, really hopes this works, and isn’t contingent on her grace being able to affect the world beyond her skin. She’s never officially been ordained or anything, but active grace or not, she’s still a fucking archangel.

“That should be holy water now.” Meira says once she’s done, handing the water back to Sam.

“Should?” Dean barks.

“I’ve never done this before, okay?” Meira shoots back, unable to keep a hint of defensive panic from her tone. “I have the qualifications for it, but I never thought I needed to check that it would work!” Dean pulls a face, but lets it go. Meira swallows down her fear. “You should- you should check on the others while we have the time.” She says to Sam, and he nods. He spends the drive going through the list of survivors and pretending to be a United Britannia Airlines survey. While he’s doing that, Meira calls Max, which turns into an impromptu explanation of how to identify demons.

By the time Meira’s off the phone, Sam’s gone through the rest of the survivors. “I still can’t get in touch with the flight attendant.” Sam states, hanging up the phone again.

“Given her job, I’d say that’s a bad sign.” Dean says dryly.

Sam snorts. “Yeah, no kidding. I’m going to call Jerry, see if he can tell me when she’s working next.” He explains, and then does just that. After a brief introduction, he gives Jerry the woman’s name, “Amanda Walker,” and waits a couple of minutes while Jerry does the research he can’t while he’s stuck on the highway. “Oh?” Sam says, an edge to his voice Meira really doesn’t like. “This evening? Look, Jerry-” A long pause. “No, I understand. Okay. Yeah, we’re on our way. Bye.”

“She’s working tonight?” Dean asks in dismay.

“Yeah. Flight leaves at eight. And there’s no way Jerry can ground the flight.” Sam adds in dismay.

Dean takes a bracing breath. “We’re just going to have to stop this son of a bitch before he can get that far.” He announces, and Meira tries to bolster her own confidence with his.

Nazareth, Pennsylvania – Saturday 3rd December 2005

By the time they get to the airfield, there are already two men walking across the tarmac to a small plane. “Shit.” Dean swears, and they all fling themselves out of the car.

“Mr Lambert!” Sam calls as they jog over. Security inevitably tries to stop them, but Dean flashes a badge at them, almost too fast for them to see more than that it looks sort of official, but it is enough to get them past. “Mr Lambert!” Sam calls again, and one of the two men nudges the other, and he turns.

“Yeah?” The second man says, so he must be Jerry’s friend, the pilot.

Meira looks at the other one, who’s watching them with a sort of sceptical hostility. She holds her hand out to him. “Agent Meira Geyad.” She greets, watching him closely, but there’s no reaction except a raised eyebrow as he takes her hand. Oh, hell. She starts to turn, but then a fist meets her face with enough force to send her sprawling.

“Shit!” Dean swears.

“Chuck!” The other man shouts in horror. “Wha-” He’s cut off by an awful crunching noise that makes Meira’s stomach turn over in guilt. It’s followed by a splash, and the hissing of corruption being melted away by a holy blessing. Holy water worked then, thank God, Meira thinks dizzily, finally healing enough to look up.

The demon grabs for Sam, getting him by the throat, and Dean yells his name in desperation. Meira starts to spit out the simplest exorcism she knows, but before she can get more than three words in, the demon has dropped Sam and kicked her in the ribs hard enough to wind her. Hard enough to break ribs, actually, but those heal quickly like her fractured cheekbone did. It takes a little longer to catch her breath, and by then, the demon has abandoned its meatsuit, streaming out of Chuck Lambert’s mouth and leaving him to collapse to the ground.

“Jesus.” Dean breathes. “Sam?”

“Fine.” Sam rasps.

“Meira?” Dean checks, dropping to his knees beside her. “You alright?” Meira groans, and takes the hand he offers her, letting him haul her up into a sitting position. “I’m guessing that wasn’t how an exorcism is supposed to go.”

“No, it realised what I was trying to do and left before I could send it back to hell.” Meira huffs, rubbing at her side just to check that her ribs are back where they’re supposed to be.

“Why’d it flinch at your name?” Dean asks curiously.

“Ge-Iad is one of the names of God.” Meira explains.

“Never heard that one before.” Dean says, eyebrows rising. “I thought you used Christ to test for demons.”

“The more often the name is used without faith, the less power it holds over the demonic.” Meira replies. “You can amp it up by using a language like Latin, which is both dead and stuffed full of religious ritual by now, but, you have any idea how many people say ‘Jesus Christ’ as an invective, without a thought as to why they swear that way?”

“And Ge-Iad, that’s, what? Never used?” Dean asks.

“Never without the proper reverence.” Meira corrects, and then tips her head. “Until today.” She adds with a pointed look, which earns her the best devil-may-care grin in her dad’s arsenal.

“Guys.” Sam calls, solemn. “Chuck’s dead.”

“Oh, that petty son of a bitch.” Meira grouses, flopping back down onto the tarmac.

“Uh-uh. Come on, up.” Dean instructs, getting to his feet and holding out his hand again. “We’ve still gotta stop this son of a bitch before he brings another plane down.” Meira whines, but takes his hand and lets him pull her to her feet.

“And we’ve got company.” Sam adds, as the airfield security descend on them.

Sam and Dean both look like deer in the headlights of a semi, so Meira takes charge. She orders security to inform the police of the incident, flashes her fake ID about, and then leaves with Sam and Dean on ‘important business’ before the police actually arrive. “Back to Allentown?” Dean checks, and Sam nods, already on the phone.

“I still can’t get in touch with the flight attendant.” Sam tells them several minutes later.

“We can’t let her get on that plane.” Dean insists.

Meira thinks about the fake IDs they’ve been using and has a really, really bad idea. She’s pretty sure Pabbi would approve. “I have an idea?” She offers. Sam turns to look at her, and she grimaces as she holds up her fake ID. “But… we’re going to need to look the part.”

Sam blinks once, and then his eyes widen. “Oh, no.” He says quickly. “No, there’s no way we can pull that off!”

“Why not?” Meira challenges.

“What?” Dean asks, glancing in the rear view mirror. “What’s the plan?”

“What’s TSA going to do if Homeland Security shows up and tells them there’s a terrorist on that plane?” Meira asks rhetorically.

Dean stares out the windshield for a long moment. “Okay. Monkey suits it is.” He says in a tone of resignation.

“And then what?!” Sam demands, a little hysterically, in Meira’s opinion. “We ground the plane, that’s great, and then we’re in the middle of an airport, surrounded by TSA, and we’re going to have to produce a terrorist for them!”

Meira shrugs. “Not necessarily. We just say we got a tip, or a suspicion that there might be, and when there isn’t, well, can’t be too careful in the pursuit of terrorists, right?” She points out. “We won’t even be lying if we tell them we have a suspicion that someone on board is planning to sabotage the flight. It’s true.”

“And how are we going to do an exorcism in the middle of all of this?” Sam demands.

“I’m not sure.” Meira huffs. “If it was just a case of getting the exorcism out, that would be one thing, but we have to make sure the demon sticks around for me to use it. Easiest way would be a devil’s trap, but it’d probably be a bad idea to go around scrawling pagan voodoo on the walls in front of TSA, huh?” She muses.

Dean snorts. “Okay, here’s the plan.” He says briskly. “Once we’ve got the plane grounded and all the passengers and staff isolated for interviewing or whatever, we’re going to insist on talking to everyone separately, and then whatever room they offer us, you two are going to keep everyone busy while I put a devil’s trap… on the ceiling, probably. Somewhere that’s not glaringly obvious, anyway.” He pauses, glancing back to make sure both Sam and Meira are on board. Meira nods enthusiastically, and Sam sighs in surrender. “Okay, so, what’s a devil’s trap look like?”

“Pentacle.” Meira answers easily. “You can make them more complicated, if you need to hold a stronger demon or a specific demon or you need to limit specific things within it, but… basic devil’s trap is just a pentagram in a circle.”

“Right, easy enough.” Dean agrees.

They stop to get suits at the first place they see. Dean looks hilariously uncomfortable, and Meira really wishes there was something she could say to help, but given that it’s a feeling that persists all the way through his life, she figures there’s not much anyone could say to make him feel better. “Should’ve got one with a waistcoat.” She says instead.

“Why the hell would I want extra layers of this bullshit?” Dean demands.

“Waistcoats are sexy as hell.” Meira informs him, smoothing down the front of her own.

Dean pauses and looks back at the shop with pained consideration. “Nope, no time.” Sam informs him. Dean makes a face at him, but doesn’t protest.

Allentown, Pennsylvania – Saturday 3rd December 2005

The plan goes off without a hitch. Meira knows that the most important part of pulling a prank like this is confidence, so she turns hers up to the max, channelling her pabbi and every archangel instinct she has, and TSA goes along with it. In fact, Meira is honestly a little shocked by how quickly everyone responds, until she remembers that, of course, it’s been four, not forty, years since the whole 9/11 thing. The flight gets grounded, TSA agents scurry about searching people and, helpfully, dragging them to and from the room they let the three of them conduct ‘interviews’ from. Meira is honestly having a ridiculous amount of fun, playing the scary Homeland Security agent looking for terrorists.

“You’re having fun.” Sam accuses under his breath, once they’re done with the passengers and about to get started on the staff.

Meira flashes him a wild, reckless grin. “I told you the prank opportunities were going to be glorious.” She murmurs back. Sam gives her an incredulous look, but doesn’t say more because the door is opening. Meira gives it a minute before she turns around, because if this is their demon, she doesn’t want to spook him before he’s sitting right on top of Dean’s devil’s trap, which he drew in magic marker on the bottom of the chair.

“I don’t see why this is-” The co-pilot cuts himself off when Meira and Sam turn around, his eyes flashing black as the demon loses control of itself for a brief moment in its shock. Or rage. Either one. “You again.” It hisses.

“Us again.” Dean says leaning back against the door.

The demon tries to lunge upwards, but the chair, conveniently bolted to the floor, doesn’t move, and the demon can’t leave it. It looks down, then back up again in outrage. “Who are you?” It demands, looking directly at Meira.

She smiles. “Zirdo zizop ol Ge-Iad, od lis ip darb ziri.” She informs it, and watches it recoil in horror with no little satisfaction.

“That’s not Latin.” Sam comments, looking at her in surprise.

“Nope.” Meira agrees cheerfully enough.

“You, though, you I know.” The demon adds, looking at Sam. He and Dean both go very still, staring intently. “I know what happened to your girlfriend, and if you let her do this, you’ll never find out why.” It taunts, a nasty smirk curling the host’s lips.

Sam stiffens. “Wait.” He says, and the demon grins.

“Sam.” Dean warns.

“What do you know about Jessica?” Sam demands.

“Let me go and I’ll tell you everything.” The demon promises.

Sam splashes holy water in its face, and it recoils with a yell, steaming. “Tell me, or I’ll-”

“Or you’ll what?” The demon spits, mocking. “What do you think you can do to me that’s worse than that?” It jerks its chin at Meira, who arches one eyebrow. “Let me go, or no deal.”

“Sam, we’re not letting this thing go.” Dean states. “It’s probably lying anyway.”

Sam’s free hand clenches into a fist. After a minute in which he doesn’t move, Meira gently pushes past him to stand in front of the demon. “Bols ma a’aiom, pa’aox il adohi ol Onsamir.” She instructs, and the demon hisses and thrashes, actually cracking the floor where the chair is bolted to it. Meira reaches out and puts a hand on the demon’s shoulder. It stills, tensing, staring at her with wide black eyes. “Niizo i etharzi, ammal, od yinay ma doal.” She says gently. “Oyi gohe Zire.”

Holy light suffuses the vessel, and the essence of the demon pours out of his mouth in the form black smoke even as it’s forced from this plane of existence, vanishing in midair.

Sam turns away and punches the wall. Dean watches him carefully, but when Sam just stands there, breathing hard, he goes to check the slumped co-pilot’s pulse. “He’s alive.” He reports. “So, do we need to carry on this farce, or can we just…?” He jerks his thumb at the door.

Meira takes a moment to hate the demon, because Sam’s mood is going to suck all the fun out of this. “I think we should finish. Let’s not give them a reason to get suspicious straight away, yeah?” She prompts, and Dean reluctantly nods, then shakes the co-pilot awake. He comes awake with a jolt, and immediately panics at the memory of the demon. “Calm down, you’re fine now.” Meira assures him.

“And if you want to stay fine, you’re going to act normal and not talk about this, or the nice TSA agents are going to arrest you for being a terrorist.” Dean adds, which doesn’t exactly help the guy’s fear, but it does redirect it nicely.

It’s a little tedious, going through the same rote questions with the rest of the staff, but there’s few enough left that Meira doesn’t mind. It’s worth it for the opportunity to bitch, in a restrained and professional manner, to the TSA agents about wild goose chases and bad information, and how she’s going to complain to her superiors about their lax fact-checking. The agents are so busy reminding her that ‘better safe than sorry’ and that it’s important work that they don’t even stop to wonder about a whole plane being delayed for what turned out to be nothing. Then the three of them are back in the Impala and driving away clean.

“We should have questioned the demon properly.” Sam says abruptly.

“Dude, Sam, seriously. It probably didn’t know jack shit.” Dean insists. “These things like to play with your mind, you can’t let it.”

“And even if it did know something, torturing information out of demons is hard, Sam. Not to mention ethically dubious given that the host suffers everything you do to the demon, too.” Meira points out, and Sam flinches, but his hard glare doesn’t waver. “Do you really think you can torture someone worse than Hell can, Sam? Someone innocent, just to find out what the demon riding their soul knows?”

Sam whips around to glare at her. “Yes.” He bites out, and then looks away, nausea twisting his expression. “No.” He capitulates. “I don’t-”

“Look, Sam. We will find this thing, alright? We will. And we don’t need to drag innocent people into it to do it. We’re better than that. Better than them.” Dean insists.

Meira smiles, bracing her elbows on the back of the front seats and lacing her fingers together to rest her chin on. “Damn straight.”

Marion, Indiana – Sunday 25th December 2005

It’s stupid, but it never occurred to Meira that Sam and Dean might not do Christmas. When she’d asked, a few days ago, Dean had just shrugged and said sure, they could do a present exchange this year, like that was optional. It’s only just sunk in, lying in the dark in a lonely motel room, that there just isn’t going to be Christmas this year.

No tree, no lights, no elaborate Santa traps, no cake for not-bro Jesus so entirely stuffed with candles that you could kill a wendigo with it, no trip to Scandinavia to have snowball fights in ancient pine forests, no stories of hunting pagan gods through the festivities. She’s alone, bound beneath her skin, with no possible way of finding out who did this to her, never mind what they did, or how to get home. She could pray to Pabbi, but he couldn’t answer, not without revealing himself to the Host, and she won’t do that to him, won’t force him to make that choice.

Midnight comes and goes, and the only way Meira knows is because she’s watching the shitty digital clock on the bedside table. She can’t feel the turn of the earth through the cosmos, can’t feel the ripples of time as billions and billions of humans make choices and change things. All she has is what’s trapped under her skin, and it’s nothing. Nothing compared to what she used to have. A family, and an entire universe to share with them.

Unable to bear it any longer, she rolls out of bed, gets dressed, and heads out. Once there, she goes to the vending machine and buys one of everything that looks like it has a cavity-inducing sugar-content, and carries it all over to the Impala. Then she hops up onto the hood, lies back, and starts in on her stash while watching the stars. “Hey, Granddad.” She says, out loud while opening up a pack of skittles, because who gives a fuck. “Looks like you’re the only family I’ve got for Christmas this year. Well, you and not-bro. How’s the garden, Josh? Sorry about no cake this year. It’d feel like… cheating, somehow, if I tried to get Sam and Dean to do it with me. Like I’m stealing something from their future, you know? Even if I bet Dean would get a kick out of it.”

She takes a deep breath, suddenly finding it hard not to cry. “You know, I always got why you fucked off, Granddad. Why you won’t interfere. I don’t think anyone else in my family really does. Except maybe Jace. He might’ve figured it out, but I bet he’s still stuck on the free will thing. That you won’t interfere because we’ve gotta do it ourselves, we’ve gotta make choices, and we can’t do that if the Father of all Father’s is looming over our shoulder. And that’s part of it, yeah, but it’s more than that, too, isn’t it?”

She has to sit up, because otherwise she’s going to choke on her own tears. Skittles spill across the hood of the Impala, and she doesn’t give a shit. “You won’t interfere because you love us. All of us, even the worst of us.” She says to the sky. “Even the actual devil. Even pond scum and slime mould and every last demon. Even me, even though I’m a blasphemy, an abomination, the devil reborn.” She pauses to gasp a few wet breaths. “I always knew, you know? You weren’t there, because you’re everywhere. But I don’t- Sorry, Granddad, but I don’t feel very loved, right now. I know you don’t like to- to interfere, but… but I could really use a miracle right about now, and I don’t know who else to turn to.”

She waits, but of course nothing happens. The stars don’t move, the world doesn’t shift. There isn’t even a change in the wind. Meira smiles bitterly, blinking tears onto her cheeks, and pulls her knees up to wrap an arm around them and bury her face in them. She gasps for air and lets it out in silent screams, with nothing left to pray for. Somewhere in the motel, a door opens and footsteps crunch across gravel.

“Meira?”

Meira’s head jerks up. Dean is standing there, looking sleep-rumpled and a little bleary, squinting at her in concern. Then his gaze drops to the mess of sweets scattered around her, and he snorts. He shoves them more towards the middle of the hood so that he can hop up to sit beside her, and snags a pack of M&Ms out of the pile for himself. “Can’t sleep?” He asks, and there’s a veneer of carelessness to it, like it’s an idle question and he didn’t just find her bawling her eyes out in the middle of the night, but he’s asking, and he’s there.

Thanks, Granddad. Meira thinks, as she tips over sideways to drop her head onto her dad’s shoulder. “I miss them.” She says quietly. “Never done Christmas without them before. Didn’t realise… how hard it’d hit me ‘til I got here, and suddenly it’s like I’m the last person on earth, it’s so lonely.”

There’s a long silence, but Meira doesn’t mind. She just watches the stars, and retrieves a skittle, and then starts in on the haribo. After a while, Dean shifts, but only enough to get his arm free so that he can put it around her shoulders. Meira shudders with another sob, and is so desperately glad when he doesn’t take that as a sign that he shouldn’t have done it.

“I felt the same, after Sam went to Stanford. Me and Dad were hunting separate, and Sam was gone. I knew I could just drive to Palo Alto, and he’d be there, but… That felt further than the moon, when he’d chosen to be there, instead of here.”

Meira nods a little against his shoulder, to let him know she’s listening, and she understands. “Pabbi used to dress up as Santa.” She says, sniffling and trying to put a little cheer into her voice. Pabbi didn’t so much as dress up as Santa as conjure one out of the ether for them, actually, but close enough. “And he’d have this huge sack of presents, right? But he’d only leave one. The rest, he’d say, we had to get for ourselves.”

Dean bursts out laughing. “He made you steal from Santa?” He asks, delighted.

“No, he made us hunt Santa.” Meira corrects, laughing a little herself. “Traps and tricks. A present would magically fall out of the sack every time we scored a ‘killing blow’.” Dean gasps out a startled curse, laughing too hard for anything else.

Once he’s calmed down a bit, he wipes at his eyes, still chuckling, and steals a few of her haribo. “Man, we never did anything that fun.” Dean bemoans, but not too seriously. “Most of the time Dad wasn’t even there for Christmas, tell you the truth, since monsters don’t stop just ‘cause it’s Christmas. One year Sammy gave me this, though.” He adds, lifting a hand to snag the cord around his neck and lift an amulet out from under his t-shirt. “Best Christmas present ever. Though, if you tell him that, I’ll put itching powder in your underwear.”

Meira catches it in the palm of her hand to draw it closer. It’s dark, but as she peers at it, she recognises it, despite never having seen the actual thing before in her life. Recognises it from her dad’s and qaada’s stories, and from some deeper well of knowledge that’s from the part of her that should have been nothing more than the Angel of Thursday, the remix, and instead ended up a little bit archangel.

And maybe it’s just lingering body-heat, but it feels warm in Meira’s palm. She grins, and lets it fall. “It’s pretty awesome.” She agrees. “And my lips are sealed, I swear.”

Love you too, Granddad.

[wanderingdragoon]

Answering These Myself~!

Ask a question, any question! Because I have nothing better to do than to answer your questions. … No, really. I don’t. D:

1: What does their bedroom look like?

Aric’s room tends to be pretty sparse, not because of being clean, but simply because he likes to travel lightly. His few items are more or less strewn in a pile, his lance nearby.

2: Do they have any daily rituals?

Aric tends to wrap his lance daily, unwrapping it late at night before bed, to check for damage. He leaves the binding for the morning, so he can check for any damage or change in the material.

3: Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often?

He’s pretty lazy, but he does prefer to walk on his own, so he’s constantly keeping fit with his wandering between the city states of Eorzea. 

4: What would they do if they needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy?

Aric would either complain loudly that he’s hungry, whining until he was fed or was allowed to make himself a meal. That, or he’d try to come back later if he knew the person wouldn’t budge or feed him. 

5: Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)

While he doesn’t own many things, he can still be pretty disorganized and messy with what he does carry on him. Removing his tabard prior to sleeping or bathing tends to be a trail of discarded articles of clothing leading to the bed or bath.

6: Eating habits and sample daily menu

Aric will eat literally anything, and it can get him into trouble. He’ll sample nearly any form of cuisine, and if he’s out in the fields and he becomes hungry, he’ll either hunt, fish or even try to eat a fiend or two. This can cause trouble for his party members, as he will generally offer them some of whatever he’s just caught.

7: Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time

Aric is a procrastinator, he has next to no motivation to actually do much of anything and enjoys to take things easy. Whether watching the skies, taking a nap, eating or merely walking around, he’ll actively avoid doing much of anything productive. The Scions often wonder and worry about how much actual work he could get done if he put the amount of energy into doing his work that he does into avoiding his responsibilities and assignments.

8: Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging

Aric loves to simply relax, watch the skies, the clouds and the coming and going of people within the settlements he drifts through. To him, merely taking time out of the day to rest and relax is the point for his freedom and seeks to do so whenever possible.

9: Makeup?

The scar over his left eye is false, drawn on with waterproof makeup. He tends to wash it away each time he bathes and recreates it nearly perfectly each time. He’ll swap sides, add new ones and even fake facial hair as needed to further his disguises.

10: Neuroses? Do they recognize them as such?

He used to have a fear of the skies, like most Ishgardian children. For the first few years on the run, he had issues with maladaptive coping and responses to stressful situations, but he has gotten better. He can still panic when he’s exposed to situations like when he was afraid he’d die for nothing, akin to his childhood in Dragoon training back in Ishgard.

11: Intellectual pursuits?

Aric is pretty lazy when it comes to many things, and while he is literate and formally schooled, he has no desire to grow that knowledge much. He however picks up tacit information of trade routes, trouble spots and other street wise experiences during his travels.

12: Favorite book genre?

If he can avoid reading, he will. If he can select a photo book of the sky, he will.

13: Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general?

Mostly heterosexual, but he has a few men in his life whom he does share romantic feelings for. Overall, whatever someone chooses to do, so long as it doesn’t hurt anyone else, is celebrated by him.

14: Physical abnormalities? (Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food-intolerances, etc.)

Aric’s false scar on his face is part of his disguise, as is the eyepatch he wears. He has some burn scars and stab wounds from encounters with the Dravians during his time growing up in Ishgard.

15: Biggest and smallest short term goal?

To stay a step ahead of his family’s hunters looking for him to bring him back to the Holy See for his crimes against Ishgard

16: Biggest and smallest long term goal?

To keep wandering the land, seeing the world for how it truly is, far from the war in Ishgard. 

17: Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress

Aric regularly wears a red tabard over a mail hauberk, white jodhpurs tucked into high boots and long gloves over his mail sleeves. He prefers something light and easy to move in, but armored enough to keep him safe. 

18: Favorite beverage?

Aric prefers to stay away from anything alcoholic, but he enjoys juices made from fruits or vegetables, anything sweet. 

19: What do they think about before falling asleep at night?

Often, if it’s about the information he’s learned of the day. Ideally, he feels safe enough to sleep without worrying over being caught by the Inquisitors. 

20: Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them?

Aric suffered from agoraphobia and casadastraphobia, fear of open spaces and being taken into the sky, learned from his family and elder brothers during his time preparing to fight in the Dragonsong War. His eldest brother used to condition his younger siblings by diving upon them at random intervals, and then leaping back into the sky to simulate an attack by dragons to see how they’d react.

21: Turn-ons? Turn-offs?

Aric dislikes domineering, controlling or manipulative behavior when it’s in earnest. He doesn’t mind the occasional bratty or spoiled antics, but a genuine desire to control and own him or his choices makes him instantly defensive and resistant. He enjoys when others respect his desire to self determine, and respects those who choose for themselves and follow their own paths. Kindness and warmth, respect and understanding are attributes he enjoys. 

22: Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

He’d probably fold up the paper into the shape of a bird and toss it to watch it fly. The pencil would be possibly tossed at one of his party members or pocketed for later use.

23: How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life?

Aric is rather laid back, disliking the obligation for order and rigidity he was raised to abide to in Ishgard. He tends to arrive late, if he shows at all, with a lazy, unbelievable excuse. If he has a mess, he’ll shrug and make a half joking comment about it, then ignore it.

24: Is there one subject of study that they excel at? Or do they even care about intellectual pursuits at all?

Aric is formally trained as a Dragoon and Lancer for the Dragonsong War, and learned the necessities and tenents of this position, along with the teachings of the Holy See. Most of his information he currently uses he gathered during his travels, such as learning of trade routes, changes in weather, predicting how a group of people will react, for example if a bar brawl will break out and how to calm the situation, exacerbate it for his needs or escape without a sound. One skill he prides himself on is the prediction of weather based on his knowledge of the skies.

25: How do they see themselves 5 years from today?

He honestly sees himself either continuing wandering Eorzea, looking for odd jobs to feed him for the day, or helping out passerbys with any random event they may need.

26: Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout?

Aric just wants to be left to his own devices, permitted to go where he chooses, when he chooses, with little restricting his travels. He’ll go where the wind takes him.

27: What is their biggest regret?

His biggest regrets come from his time in Ishgard/Coerthas. He regrets how he and his friends were put in the line against the Dravanian Hordes to fight and die, without knowing much of the world beyond the Dragonsong War and what the Holy See decided for him. He regrets taking so long for choosing to run away and that he couldn’t bring any of his training legion with him prior to their deaths.

28: Who do they see as their best friend? Their worst enemy?

Rotatu Neotatu, the Lalafell Scholar he met in his travels is quite easily his closest of friends and confidant. There are few he trusts more than the Lalafell Scholar.

His worst enemy has to be the Holy See of Ishgard, the nobles and the Inquisitors sent after him during his escape from his homeland.

29: Reaction to sudden extrapersonal disaster (eg The house is on fire! What do they do?)

Depending on circumstances, he may not even get involved. If the situation doesn’t involve him or threaten him, he’ll opt to simply not get involved and walk away. However, he does not have much patience or forgiveness for those who oppress the freedoms of others, such as slavers or those who abuse their authority. He may get involved, but hide his actions behind ‘accidental’ interference. 

30: Reaction to sudden intrapersonal disaster (eg close family member suddenly dies)

Aric has been pretty desensitized by his experiences in Ishgard, and tends to smile through troubles and emotional trauma. He has learned to put on an act and avoid such emotional responses, at least overtly and in public. He tends to feel remorse if it was his fault, but he tries to be optimistic. 

31: Most prized possession?

When he fled the Holy See, he stole his family’s magical relics; a signet ring befitting his position of noble descent, however tangential, which can unlock the true power of the item he stole, the family heirloom lance. He is very protective of the item, and is rather dedicated to its upkeep.

32: Thoughts on material possessions in general?

Aric travels lightly, never with too much to his name outside of the clothing on his back, a small amount of gil, and his family heirlooms. He tends to donate or sell whatever he finds along the way to secure funds for lodging, repairs or food.

33: Concept of home and family?

Aric had a very strained relationship with his family prior to his desertion, their religious fervor and fanatical devotion to their roles as Dragoons in service to Ishgard, to kill the Horde or die in glorious combat left him feeling resentful of his role in their lives as just another expendable soldier. While he is certain family and home are important, he never truly had either, so he feels as if he doesn’t need either. 

34: Thoughts on privacy? (Are they a private person, or are they prone to ‘TMI’?)

Aric is deceptively private. While extroverted, candid and readily engaging with even strangers, nothing he ever offers or speaks of are wholly genuine of his true self. He offers stories, grandiose and mundane, anecdotes and more, but it always seems to be just a story or an act. With a smile and a wave, he dismisses many attempts to genuinely bond with others, instead managing to turn the tables, spin the conversation or distract the curious away without ever doing so overtly.

35: What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time?

He enjoys helping others with their troubles, but politely and optimistically chastises them for worrying about such small things, instead telling them to relax and enjoy life as a whole. 

36: What makes them feel guilty?

He has turned and abandoned more than his fair share of people when he feels the Inquisition are near. He knows they trusted him, or expected him to be there for a while longer, but he slips away and focuses on running from his pursuers.

37: Are they more analytical or more emotional in their decision-making?

Aric is a mixture of the pair. While he avoids cold, hard logic, he tends to cite following the heart, but understanding that emotions do cloud the mind. He strives to argue that there needs to be a balance, otherwise any decision is doomed to be a disaster.

38: What recharges them when they’re feeling drained?

Sitting down and gazing at the skies above tend to make him feel relaxed, rejuvenated and raise his spirits. 

39: Would you say that they have a superiority-complex? Inferiority-complex? Neither?

Aric may act slightly arrogant, but it’s a facade he puts on to avoid scrutiny from others and to relax his mind and that of his group. He tends to feel a bit inadequate at times, questioning his place and role with groups such as the Scions of the Seventh Dawn or the Grand Companies. He doesn’t understand why any of the more higher ranked members of these groups even bother with someone like him, leading to doubts over whether or not he is capable of doing much to help anyone. 

40: How misanthropic are they?

After running from Ishgard, he was rather despondent and cynical from the loss of his training legion, his betrayal of his family and the Holy See. He distrusted nearly everyone he came into contact with for sometime until he learned how to move past it. He’s grown and healed, but he dislikes the powerful elite, who often tramples over the rights and freedoms of the normal citizens. He prefers to stick to wandering the trade routes over the hustle and bustle of the large cities.

41: Hobbies?

People watching, cloud watching, sky watching, singing and whistling to himself.

42: How far did they get in formal education? What are their views on formal education vs self-education?

As a former member of the nobility, Aric was privileged in his upbringing, having access to a formal education. As it was geared towards the desires and needs of the theocracy of the Holy See, his role in the Dragonsong War, he found that it had little application usage in other areas of Eorzea, and quickly began to learn all he could to survive in the world now as a wanderer.

43: Religion?

Aric is an apostate of the Ishgard Orthodox Church, the Holy See of Ishgard and has been dubbed a heretic by the Inquisition, despite not joining the Dravanian Horde. He has no desire to correct their declarations and maintains a large amount of disdain for the Church and the Holy See’s trappings and teachings.

44: Superstitions or views on the occult?

While he knows of the superstitions of the Holy See, among some other cultures, Aric sees such things are pretty much nonsense. However, he does hold grave respects for the weapons of the fallen, and often tries to bring them to rest with the fallen or to their families.

45: Do they express their thoughts through words or deeds?

Aric is a mixture of both, opting to elaborate and exaggerate with grandiose tales and retellings of anecdotes, or pledges, while also being quite confident in his abilities, however, he tends to play off these actions as accidental or unintentional.

46: If they were to fall in love, who (or what) is their ideal?

Despite his lack of commitment, Aric is relatively monogamous, and he’d prefer some loyalty to be returned in kind. Idealistically, it will be involving someone who he can be both aspects of his self with, someone he can trust to protect him, choose to be with over other bonds, as he will be giving equally of himself. Love is a partnership, one of mutual respect, trust and vision, and he’ll look for a partner who can understand him, and one he can understand in kind.

47: How do they express love?

Aric is very vocal and prominent, he’ll lavish praise, grandiose and mundane, upon his lover. He’ll go out of his way to find trinkets and gifts for them, and fabricate a tale concerning how he fought a horde of rabid behemoths at the market for such a prize. No task is too dangerous, no journey too far to bring glory and riches to his love, even if it’s all an elaborate story or outright lie on how he acquired the gift. 

Beyond his childish antics, he is a trusting lover. He tends to put their needs beyond anything else, even his personal freedoms and safety, so a moment of betrayal, whether purposeful or due to conflicting loyalties is taken heavily.

48: If this person were to get into a fist fight, what is their fighting style like?

Outside of normal combat, a lot of his actions are made to look accidental or unintentional to hide his trained skill as a knight of Ishgard. In hand to hand combat, he would stay smiling, a joke on his lips, and use his foot to trip up his opponent, or ‘accidentally’ strike them with his limbs while trying to run away or while pretending to fall.

49: Is this person afraid of dying? Why or why not?

Aric has a fear of death, but more so, his fear is over dying for a pointless cause because an authority dictated that he do so. He ran away from Ishgard because not wishing to die a pointless death in an unending war, due to the Archbishop and his family’s orders. When exposed to the Scions of the Seventh Dawn and the political troubles of the Grand Companies and Eorzea’s cities, he has similar fears and concerns over how readily he is thrown into conflict by those in power.

[jbuffyangel]

Entertainment Weekly Arrow Article

We never get any big articles of Arrow, so yeah I am posting the whole damn thing. There were some interesting little tidbits and of course discussion around Emily Bett Rickards’ exit. Is it wrong that I am low key pissed that of course Arrow gets the cover of EW after she leaves? Is it also wrong that while I’m happy Arrow is getting some attention, I’m annoyed it wasn’t an Olicity cover? Cuz that’s where I am at. (X)

How Arrow saved the TV superhero — and why it had to end

As 'Arrow' prepares for the end, Stephen Amell and the producers reflect on its origin story and preview the 'Crisis'-bound eighth and final season. 

Stephen Amell is dreading the eighth and final season of Arrow, though you wouldn’t know it on this hot, sunny July day in Los Angeles. Wearing Green Arrow’s new suit, the CW star seems perfectly at ease as he strikes heroic pose after heroic pose on a dimly lit stage. But once he’s traded heavy verdant leather for a T-shirt, jeans, and baseball cap, his guard drops and the vulnerability starts to creep in as he contemplates Arrow’s last 10 episodes, which was set to begin production in Vancouver a week after the EW photoshoot took place and premieres Oct. 15.

“I’m very emotional and melancholy, but it’s time,” Amell — who is featured on the new cover of Entertainment Weekly — says as he takes a sip from a pint of Guinness. “I’m 38 years old, and I got this job when I was 30. I’d never had a job for more than a year. The fact that I’ve done this for the better part of a decade, and I’m not going to do it anymore, is a little frightening.”

Developed by Greg Berlanti, Marc Guggenheim, and Andrew Kreisberg, Arrow debuted in the fall of 2012. The DC Comics series follows billionaire playboy Oliver Queen (Amell), who, after years away, returned to now–Star City with one goal: to save his home-town as the hooded bow-and-arrow vigilante who would become known as Green Arrow (it would take him four seasons to assume the moniker). What began as a solo crusade eventually grew to include former soldier John Diggle (David Ramsey), quirky computer genius Felicity Smoak (Emily Bett Rickards), lawyer-turned-hero Laurel Lance/Black Canary (Katie Cassidy Rodgers), and the rest of Team Arrow. Together they’ve defended their city from a host of threats — dark archers, megalomaniacal magicians, and the occasional metahuman — while Lost-like flashbacks revealed what Oliver endured in the five years he was away, first shipwrecked and then honing his skills around the world to become someone else, something else.

The premiere gave The CW its most-watched series debut since 2009’s The Vampire Diaries. But before they launched Arrow, Berlanti and Guggenheim had to suffer through a failure: 2011’s Green Lantern, starring Ryan Reynolds. The duo co-wrote the script but lost creative control of the film, which flopped. So when Warner Bros. Television president Peter Roth approached them in late 2011 about developing a Green Arrow show, they were wary. After much deliberation, Berlanti and Guggenheim agreed, on the condition that they maintain control. Says Guggenheim, “As long as we succeed or fail on our own work, and not someone else’s work then maybe this is worth a shot.”

Their take on the Emerald Archer — who made his DC Comics debut in 1941 — was noteworthy from the beginning. Taking cues from films like The Dark Knight and The Bourne Identity and series like Homeland, the writers imagined a dark, gritty, and grounded show centered on a traumatized protagonist. “As we were breaking the story, we made very specific commitments to certain tonal things, such as ‘At the end of act 1, he has his hands around his mother’s throat.’ And, ‘At the end of act 2, he kills a man in cold blood to protect his secret,’ ” says Guggenheim.

A hero committing murder? That was practically unheard of then. Having Oliver suit up in a veritable superhero costume by the pilot’s climax was radical too. Sure, the Marvel Cinematic Universe was deep into Phase One when the producers were developing Arrow, but TV was traditionally more apprehensive about comic books. Smallvillefamously had a “no tights, no flights” rule and only introduced superhero costumes in the last years of its 10-season run, and there weren’t any masked avengers running around NBC’s Heroes or ABC’s No Ordinary Family, the latter produced by Berlanti (Let’s not even mention NBC’s The Cape, which was essentially dead on arrival and never did get its six seasons and a movie). But Arrow not only fully committed to the idea of someone dressing up like Robin Hood to fight crime with a bow and arrow, it introduced a second costumed rogue, the Huntress (Jessica De Gouw), in episode 7.

“It’s just comic book to the extreme and the fans seem to really love it,” says Batwomanshowrunner Caroline Dries, a former writer on Smallville. “They still maintain it very grounded, but it’s very different with everyone in costumes. The appetite for superheroes has changed in my mind in terms of like they just want the literal superhero [now].”

Not that the team wasn’t meticulous about creating Green Arrow’s cowl. “We had to have so many conversations to get it approved, but that’s why we got [Oscar winner] Colleen Atwood [Memoirs of a Geisha] at the time to [design] the suit,” says Berlanti. “We were determined to show we could do on TV what they were doing in the movies every six months.”

“It’s really easy to make a guy with a bow and arrow look silly. We sweated every detail,” says Guggenheim, who also recalls how much effort it took to perfect Oliver’s signature growl. “I actually flew up to Vancouver. On a rooftop during reshoots on [episode 4], Stephen and I went through a variety of different versions of, basically, ‘You have failed this city,’ with different amounts of how much growl he’s putting into his performance. [We] recorded all that, [I went] back to Los Angeles, and then sat with the post guys playing around with all the different amounts of modulation.”

That process took eons compared to the unbelievably easy time the team had casting Arrow’s title role. In fact, Amell was the first person to audition for the role. “It was Stephen’s intensity. He just made you believe he was that character,” says Guggenheim, recalling Amell’s audition. “We had crafted Oliver to be this mystery box character, and Stephen somehow managed to find this balance between being totally accessible in a way you would need a TV star to be, but he’s still an enigma.” After his first reading, Amell remembers being sent outside for a short time before being brought back into the room to read for a larger group: “I called [my manager], and I go, ‘I know this is not how it’s supposed to work, but I just got that job.’”

In the first season, the show’s chief concerns were maintaining both the “grounded and real” tone and the high quality of the stunts, and investing the audience in Oliver’s crusade. Beyond that, though, there wasn’t much of an over-arching plan, which allowed the show to naturally evolve — from introducing more DC characters, such as Deathstroke (Manu Bennett) and Roy Harper (Colton Haynes), sooner than they initially intended (the shot of Deathstroke’s mask in the pilot was meant as a harmless Easter egg), to promoting Emily Bett Rickards’ Felicity from a one-off character in the show’s third episode to a series regular in season 2 and eventually Oliver’s wife. Even the whole idea of a Team Arrow — which, over time, added Oliver’s sister Thea (Willa Holland), Rene Ramirez/Wild Dog (Rick Gonzalez) and Dinah Drake/Black Canary (Juliana Harkavy) — was the result of the writers allowing the best ideas to guide the story. “Greg used to say all the time, ‘You have a hit TV show until you don’t, so don’t save s—,’ ” says Amell.

Also not planned: Arrow spawning an entire shared universe. “We went on record a lot of times during the premiere of the pilot saying, ‘No superpowers, no time travel.’ But midway through season 1, Greg started to harbor a notion of doing the Flash,” says Guggenheim. “I’m a very big believer that it’s great to have a plan, but I think when it comes to creating a universe, the pitfall is that people try to run before they can walk. The key is, you build it show by show.” And so they did. First, they introduced The Flash star Grant Gustin’s Barry Allen in the two-part midseason finale of Arrow’s second season. From there, Supergirl took flight in 2015, then DC’s Legends of Tomorrow in 2016, and Batwoman is due this fall. “It’s like the hacking of the machete in the woods and then you look back and you’re like, ‘Oh, there’s a path,” says executive producer and Berlanti Productions president Sarah Schechter. But even though Arrowis the universe’s namesake, Amell doesn’t concern himself with the sibling series outside of the now-annual crossovers. “I never think about any of the other shows,” he says. “I want all of them to do great, but they’re not my responsibility. My responsibility is Arrow, and to make sure everyone from the cast to the crew are good.” His sentiments are seconded by Flash’s Gustin: “I don’t understand how he does it — his schedule that he maintains with working out, the conventions he goes to, the passion he has for it, and the love he shows towards fans. He’s always prepared. He cares more about that show being high quality than anybody else on the set.”

That said, the universe’s expansion precipitated what is widely considered to be Arrow’s best season, the fifth one. After focusing on magic in season 4, the show returned to its street-crime roots as part of “a concerted effort to play not just to our strengths but what made the shows unique,” Guggenheim says of balancing their four super-series in 2016. “Because Arrow was the longest-running Arrowverse show, we were able to do something that none of the other shows could do, which is have a villain who was basically born out of the events of season 1,” he explains of introducing Adrian Chase/Prometheus (Josh Segarra), whose criminal father was killed by Oliver. “That gave the season a resonance.”

It was midway through season 6 when Amell realized he was ready to hang up Oliver Queen’s hood. “It was just time to move on,” the actor says of pitching that Oliver leave the series at the end of season 7. “My daughter is turning six in October, and she goes to school in L.A., and my wife and I want to raise her [there].” Berlanti persuaded him to return for one final season, which the producers collectively decided would be the end. “We all felt in our gut it was the right time,” says Berlanti. Adds Schechter, “It’s such a privilege to be able to say when something’s ending as opposed to having something just ripped away.”

But there’s one integral cast member who won’t be around to see Arrow through its final season. This spring, fans were devastated to learn Rickards had filmed her final episode—bringing an end to Olicity. “They’re such opposites. I think that’s what draws everyone in a little bit,” showrunner Beth Schwartz says of Oliver and Felicity’s relationship. “You don’t see the [love story of] super intelligent woman and the sort of hunky, athletic man very often. She’s obviously a gorgeous woman but what he really loves is her brain.” For his part, Amell believes the success of both Felicity and Olicity lies completely with Rickards’ performance. “She’s supremely talented and awesome and carved out a space that no one anticipated. I don’t know that show works if we don’t randomly find her,” says Amell, adding that continuing the series without Team Arrow’s heart is “not great. Arrow, as you know it, has effectively ended. It’s a different show in season 8.” And he’s not exaggerating.

The final season finds Oliver working for the all-seeing extra-terrestrial the Monitor (LaMonica Garrett) and trying to save the entire multiverse from a cataclysmic event. “[We’re] taking the show on the road, really getting away from Star City. Oliver is going to be traveling the world, and we’re going to go to a lot of different places,” says Guggenheim. “Every time I see Oliver and the Monitor, it’s like, ‘Okay, we are very far from where we started.’ But again, that means the show has grown and evolved.” Adds Schwartz, “This is sort of his final test because it’s greater than Star City.” Along the way, he will head down memory lane, with actor Colin Donnell, who played Oliver’s best friend Tommy Merlyn in season 1, and Segarra’s Adrian Chase making appearances. “Episode 1 is an ode to season 1, and episode 2 is an ode to season 3,” teases Amell. “We’re playing our greatest hits.”

But season 8 is not just about building toward a satisfying series finale. “Everything relates to what’s going to happen in our crossover episode, which we’ve never done before,” says Schwartz. Spanning five hours and airing this winter, “Crisis on Infinite Earths” will be the biggest crossover yet and may see Oliver perish trying to save the multiverse from destruction, if the Monitor’s prophecy is to be believed. “Oliver [is told] he’s going to die, so each episode in the run-up to ‘Crisis’ has Oliver dealing with the various stages of grief that come with that discovery,” says Guggenheim. “So the theme really is coming to terms, acceptance.”

If there’s one person who has made his peace with Oliver’s fate, it’s Amell. “Because he’s a superhero with no superpowers, I always felt he should die — but he may also not die,” says Amell, who actually found out what the show’s final scene would be at EW’s cover shoot. “I cried as [Marc Guggenheim] was telling me. There are a lot of hurdles to get over to make that final scene.” Get this man some more Guinness!

[arrowdaily]

Stephen Amell is dreading the eighth and final season of Arrow, though you wouldn’t know it on this hot, sunny July day in Los Angeles. Wearing Green Arrow’s new suit, the CW star seems perfectly at ease as he strikes heroic pose after heroic pose on a dimly lit stage. But once he’s traded heavy verdant leather for a T-shirt, jeans, and baseball cap, his guard drops and the vulnerability starts to creep in as he contemplates Arrow’s last ten episodes, which was set to begin production in Vancouver a week after the EW photoshoot took place and premieres October 15.

“I’m very emotional and melancholy, but it’s time,” Amell—who is featured on the new cover of Entertainment Weekly—says as he takes a sip from a pint of Guinness. “I’m thirty-eight years old, and I got this job when I was thirty. I’d never had a job for more than a year. The fact that I’ve done this for the better part of a decade, and I’m not going to do it anymore, is a little frightening.”

Developed by Greg Berlanti, Marc Guggenheim, and Andrew Kreisberg, Arrow debuted in the fall of 2012. The DC Comics series follows billionaire playboy Oliver Queen (Stephen Amell), who, after years away, returned to now–Star City with one goal: to save his hometown as the hooded bow-and-arrow vigilante who would become known as Green Arrow (it would take him four seasons to assume the moniker). What began as a solo crusade eventually grew to include former soldier John Diggle (David Ramsey), quirky computer genius Felicity Smoak (Emily Bett Rickards), lawyer-turned-hero Laurel Lance/Black Canary (Katie Cassidy-Rodgers), and the rest of Team Arrow. Together they’ve defended their city from a host of threats—dark archers, megalomaniacal magicians, and the occasional metahuman—while Lost-like flashbacks revealed what Oliver endured in the five years he was away, first shipwrecked and then honing his skills around the world to become someone else, something else.

The premiere gave the CW its most-watched series debut since 2009’s The Vampire Diaries. But before they launched Arrow, Berlanti and Guggenheim had to suffer through a failure: 2011’s Green Lantern, starring Ryan Reynolds. The duo co-wrote the script but lost creative control of the film, which flopped. So when Warner Bros. TV president Peter Roth approached them in late 2011 about developing a Green Arrow show, they were wary. After much deliberation, Berlanti and Guggenheim agreed, on the condition that they maintain control. Says Guggenheim, “As long as we succeed or fail on our own work, and not someone else’s work then maybe this is worth a shot.”

Their take on the Emerald Archer—who made his DC Comics debut in 1941—was noteworthy from the beginning. Taking cues from films like The Dark Knight and The Bourne Identity and series like Homeland, the writers imagined a dark, gritty, and grounded show centered on a traumatized protagonist. “As we were breaking the story, we made very specific commitments to certain tonal things, such as ‘At the end of act one, he has his hands around his mother’s throat.’ And, ‘At the end of act two, he kills a man in cold blood to protect his secret,’” says Guggenheim.

A hero committing murder? That was practically unheard of then. Having Oliver suit up in a veritable superhero costume by the pilot’s climax was radical too. Sure, the Marvel Cinematic Universe was deep into Phase One when the producers were developing Arrow, but TV was traditionally more apprehensive about comic books. Smallville famously had a “no tights, no flights” rule and only introduced superhero costumes in the last years of its ten-season run, and there weren’t any masked avengers running around NBC’s Heroes or ABC’s No Ordinary Family, the latter produced by Berlanti (let’s not even mention NBC’s The Cape, which was essentially dead on arrival and never did get its six seasons and a movie). But Arrow not only fully committed to the idea of someone dressing up like Robin Hood to fight crime with a bow and arrow, it introduced a second costumed rogue, the Huntress (Jessica De Gouw), in episode 7.

“It’s just comic book to the extreme and the fans seem to really love it,” says Batwoman showrunner Caroline Dries, a former writer on Smallville. “They still maintain it very grounded, but it’s very different with everyone in costumes. The appetite for superheroes has changed in my mind in terms of like they just want the literal superhero [now].”

Not that the team wasn’t meticulous about creating Green Arrow’s cowl. “We had to have so many conversations to get it approved, but that’s why we got [Oscar winner] Colleen Atwood [Memoirs of a Geisha] at the time to [design] the suit,” says Berlanti. “We were determined to show we could do on TV what they were doing in the movies every six months.”

“It’s really easy to make a guy with a bow and arrow look silly. We sweated every detail,” says Guggenheim, who also recalls how much effort it took to perfect Oliver’s signature growl. “I actually flew up to Vancouver. On a rooftop during reshoots on [episode 4], Stephen and I went through a variety of different versions of, basically, ‘You have failed this city,’ with different amounts of how much growl he’s putting into his performance. [We] recorded all that, [I went] back to Los Angeles, and then sat with the post guys playing around with all the different amounts of modulation.”

That process took eons compared to the unbelievably easy time the team had casting Arrow’s title role. In fact, Amell was the first person to audition for the role. “It was Stephen’s intensity. He just made you believe he was that character,” says Guggenheim, recalling Amell’s audition. “We had crafted Oliver to be this mystery box character, and Stephen somehow managed to find this balance between being totally accessible in a way you would need a TV star to be, but he’s still an enigma.” After his first reading, Amell remembers being sent outside for a short time before being brought back into the room to read for a larger group: “I called [my manager], and I go, ‘I know this is not how it’s supposed to work, but I just got that job.’”

In the first season, the show’s chief concerns were maintaining both the “grounded and real” tone and the high quality of the stunts, and investing the audience in Oliver’s crusade. Beyond that, though, there wasn’t much of an over-arching plan, which allowed the show to naturally evolve—from introducing more DC characters, such as Deathstroke (Manu Bennett) and Roy Harper (Colton Haynes), sooner than they initially intended (the shot of Deathstroke’s mask in the pilot was meant as a harmless Easter egg), to promoting Emily Bett Rickards’ Felicity from a one-off character in the show’s third episode to a series regular in season 2 and eventually Oliver’s wife. Even the whole idea of a Team Arrow—which, over time, added Oliver’s sister Thea (Willa Holland), Rene Ramirez/Wild Dog (Rick Gonzalez) and Dinah Drake/Black Canary (Juliana Harkavy)—was the result of the writers allowing the best ideas to guide the story. “Greg used to say all the time, ‘You have a hit TV show until you don’t, so don’t save s—,’” says Amell.

Also not planned: Arrow spawning an entire shared universe. “We went on record a lot of times during the premiere of the pilot saying, ‘No superpowers, no time travel.’ But midway through season 1, Greg started to harbor a notion of doing the Flash,” says Guggenheim. “I’m a very big believer that it’s great to have a plan, but I think when it comes to creating a universe, the pitfall is that people try to run before they can walk. The key is, you build it show by show.” And so they did. First, they introduced The Flash star Grant Gustin’s Barry Allen in the two-part midseason finale of Arrow’s second season. From there, Supergirl took flight in 2015, then DC’s Legends of Tomorrow in 2016, and Batwoman is due this fall. “It’s like the hacking of the machete in the woods and then you look back and you’re like, ‘Oh, there’s a path,” says executive producer and Berlanti Productions president Sarah Schechter. But even though Arrow is the universe’s namesake, Amell doesn’t concern himself with the sibling series outside of the now-annual crossovers. “I never think about any of the other shows,” he says. “I want all of them to do great, but they’re not my responsibility. My responsibility is Arrow, and to make sure everyone from the cast to the crew are good.” His sentiments are seconded by The Flash’s Gustin: “I don’t understand how he does it—his schedule that he maintains with working out, the conventions he goes to, the passion he has for it, and the love he shows towards fans. He’s always prepared. He cares more about that show being high quality than anybody else on the set.”

That said, the universe’s expansion precipitated what is widely considered to be Arrow’s best season, the fifth one. After focusing on magic in season 4, the show returned to its street-crime roots as part of “a concerted effort to play not just to our strengths but what made the shows unique,” Guggenheim says of balancing their four super-series in 2016. “Because Arrow was the longest-running Arrowverse show, we were able to do something that none of the other shows could do, which is have a villain who was basically born out of the events of season 1,” he explains of introducing Adrian Chase/Prometheus (Josh Segarra), whose criminal father was killed by Oliver. “That gave the season a resonance.”

It was midway through season 6 when Amell realized he was ready to hang up Oliver Queen’s hood. “It was just time to move on,” the actor says of pitching that Oliver leave the series at the end of season 7. “My daughter is turning six in October, and she goes to school in LA, and my wife and I want to raise her [there].” Berlanti persuaded him to return for one final season, which the producers collectively decided would be the end. “We all felt in our gut it was the right time,” says Berlanti. Adds Schechter, “It’s such a privilege to be able to say when something’s ending as opposed to having something just ripped away.”

But there’s one integral cast member who won’t be around to see Arrow through its final season. This spring, fans were devastated to learn Rickards had filmed her final episode—bringing an end to Olicity. “They’re such opposites. I think that’s what draws everyone in a little bit,” showrunner Beth Schwartz says of Oliver and Felicity’s relationship. “You don’t see the [love story of] super intelligent woman and the sort of hunky, athletic man very often. She’s obviously a gorgeous woman but what he really loves is her brain.” For his part, Amell believes the success of both Felicity and Olicity lies completely with Rickards’ performance. “She’s supremely talented and awesome and carved out a space that no one anticipated. I don’t know that show works if we don’t randomly find her,” says Amell, adding that continuing the series without Team Arrow’s heart is “not great. Arrow, as you know it, has effectively ended. It’s a different show in season 8.” And he’s not exaggerating.

The final season finds Oliver working for the all-seeing extra-terrestrial the Monitor (LaMonica Garrett) and trying to save the entire multiverse from a cataclysmic event. “[We’re] taking the show on the road, really getting away from Star City. Oliver is going to be traveling the world, and we’re going to go to a lot of different places,” says Guggenheim. “Every time I see Oliver and the Monitor, it’s like, ‘Okay, we are very far from where we started.’ But again, that means the show has grown and evolved.” Adds Schwartz, “This is sort of his final test because it’s greater than Star City.” Along the way, he will head down memory lane, with actor Colin Donnell, who played Oliver’s best friend Tommy Merlyn in season 1, and Segarra’s Adrian Chase making appearances. “Episode 1 is an ode to season 1, and episode 2 is an ode to season 3,” teases Amell. “We’re playing our greatest hits.”

But season 8 is not just about building toward a satisfying series finale. “Everything relates to what’s going to happen in our crossover episode, which we’ve never done before,” says Schwartz. Spanning five hours and airing this winter, “Crisis on Infinite Earths” will be the biggest crossover yet and may see Oliver perish trying to save the multiverse from destruction, if the Monitor’s prophecy is to be believed. “Oliver [is told] he’s going to die, so each episode in the run-up to ‘Crisis’ has Oliver dealing with the various stages of grief that come with that discovery,” says Guggenheim. “So the theme really is coming to terms, acceptance.”

If there’s one person who has made his peace with Oliver’s fate, it’s Amell. “Because he’s a superhero with no superpowers, I always felt he should die—but he may also not die,” says Amell, who actually found out what the show’s final scene would be at EW’s cover shoot. “I cried as [Marc Guggenheim] was telling me. There are a lot of hurdles to get over to make that final scene.” Get this man some more Guinness!