#Maybe she'd be the daughter of the coroner or something

[astro-b-o-y-d]

Thinking about that art line of dolls based on horror movies

[the-badger-mole]

Father of the Bride

Hakoda swallowed hard against a lump in his throat. He had imagined this day so many times since Katara's birth. The details were different, though. She wasn't marrying a proven warrior from among their people. That was fine. She had spent so much time traveling the world, expanding her horizons, creating her own paths. Hakoda didn't think there were one in a thousand men at home who could keep up with the woman his daughter had become, and he had resigned himself to the fact that she might not end up with a Southern Tribe man years ago.

But he hadn't considered that her marriage might take her so permanently from home. A foolish oversight on his part, he admitted. And at least she would have the means to visit her family a few times a year. Still, he felt a pang. Same one he felt when he left his children behind with Kanna to go fight a war too big for him. Now that pang was tempered with bittersweet happiness as he watched the final preparations being made on Katara's wedding gown-a stunning piece of art even to Hakoda's untrained eye. All silks and linens in shades of blue and silver that recalled the bridal outfits of her homeland. Furs and leathers would be too hot for the climate, but Katara wanted to tell everyone up front how she would bring her own culture to merge with her new people. Her groom-to-be not only supported this decision, but had come to Hakoda and Sokka to ask them how he, too, could incorporate the Southern Water Tribe into the wedding on his end. That had been a long night, with strong drinks and stronger emotions, but at the end of it, Hakoda had decided that despite his initial misgivings about the marriage, he couldn't have picked a better son-in-law than Zuko.

Fire Lord Zuko. Fire Lord Zuko was going to be his son-in-law. Sometimes the thought made Hakoda chuckle. Sometimes it sent a chill down his spine. Not that he was worried about Zuko himself, but Katara's proximity to his throne. The crown. She would be coronated the next night in a ceremony as lavish as the wedding. She would become the Fire Lady. Co-ruler of the country that had spent a hundred years ruining countless lives with a war over something as silly as imperialist pride. Hakoda didn't think they deserved his daughter. If Zuko had earned his trust and respect, the rest of the Fire Nation certainly haven't. Not the nobles, anyway. When he brought them up to Katara, she laughed, though it didn't reach her eyes, which were flint hard and grimly determined. She told him no matter where she went in the world, she would have to fight for any respect she got. At least here she would have Zuko fighting beside her. Hakoda wasn't sure he agreed that was a worthy trade off, but he knew better than to try to talk his daughter out of it.

The Fire Nation had already benefited from her presence. As a foreign advisor, she had fostered trade and exchange agreements between the Fire Nation and all of the Water Tribes, Omashu and Gaoling. As an ambassador, she'd helped negotiate reparation packages that have helped the parts of the world hit hardest by the war recover. As one of Zuko's most trusted counselors, she'd helped him work the Fire Nation's budget so the government could provide for education, health and services for returning soldiers. The same kinds of programs she'd helped Hakoda and Sokka build in the Southern Water Tribe. It suddenly struck Hakoda that she had been acting as Fire Lady for a long time. Before she and Zuko had even realized they were in love, maybe. Today and tomorrow would just make it official. Hakoda still didn't think the Fire Nation deserved a Katara, but any chance he had of talking her out of it had long since slipped by him. And he now he wasn't sure he would talk her out of it, even if he did have the chance.

The final touches were done. The maids stepped back in a flurry of excited chatter. Kanna stepped forward, moving stiffly in her old age, smiling up at her granddaughter through tears. She had had this moment with Kya years ago, and Kya should be standing in her place now. Kanna reached out and ran her fingertips over the necklace she had passed to her daughter, and her daughter had passed on to Katara. Kya was here, Kanna assured herself. And Kya would be here with Katara as she made these next steps, first as a wife, then as a queen, then someday as a mother and grandmother herself.

"She would be so proud," Kanna told Katara. The two women embraced. Then Katara stood up, head high and looking as regal as any queen in any nation ever had, and turned to Hakoda.

"Are you ready, Dad?" she asked. Hakoda shook his head.

"I was never going to be ready for this," he confessed. "But it doesn't matter. You are ready."

[edennill]

ruling queens of númenor - headcanons and opinions:

tar-ancalimë: I think she made it very hard for any future ruling queens by being, well, an immeasurably difficult person. and people understood it was because of her shitty upbringing! - but it didn't make her easier to deal with and many felt she didn't even try to move past it... from a governing point of view, it was assumed by some that she'd begin prioritising women in political circles, but oddly enough she didn't? she made it pretty obvious what she thought of men, but she expected the women she interacted with to have the same opinions as her on the subject, and when that wasn't feasible she showed them even greater contempt than their counterparts of the other sex. and as queen... she wasn't a very bad ruler but made it way too obvious that many of her decisions were fuelled by spite, usually towards her late father and husband. in her life however, she was pitied as much as hated, though that pity didn't last for future generations.

tar-telperien: I feel like there would have been considerable mistrust towards her initially because of how tar-ancalimë was remembered, but she ended up being one of númenor's best loved rulers. she was a very fortunate mixture of majestic and warm, her one major fault being that she could be terribly stubborn at times, but somehow people were willing to forgive that. and yes, she never had a romantic liaison in her life, aside maybe from an infatuation or two when she was very young... also I think she had several younger brothers and very good relationships with them. there would have been a lot of space for conflict there because there was no precedence in númenor's history for a daughter with male siblings inheriting the sceptre, but ultimately relationships in her family were surprisingly healthy given what the former generations were like. there may have been some slight jealousy on the part of one or more of them, but they knew the law was fair and didn't let it show... also in a weird flashback to her sindarin ancestors, she had silver hair, hence her name

tar-vanimeldë: I don't really have too much to say about her... I feel she's been given something of a short shrift by the narrative, though otoh it's still more than we have for some other kings... much ink has been spilled about how odd the ratio of kings to queens is in númenor if we consider that the law was absolute primogeniture from ancalimë on. I believe jrrt just didn't think it through well enough, however it certainly encourages one to conclude that there was a bunch of eldest princesses that something happened to; my personal theory being that the fact a woman could turn down the sceptre without even a nominal coronation meant that it was very easy for someone to force her to decline... that said - I don't think vanimeldë was ever interested in ruling and I believe it was her more ambitious husband who helped her through that initial precariousness. she can't have been too glad once she realised he had basically usurped her (because people don't just steal the rule from under their sons without any iffy behaviour before that - or did hallacar invent some weird justification for the latter?), but I don't think she felt she could do anything about it.

tar-miriel: first of all, i kind of like that one version in which she marries pharazon of her own will. I'm not sure what that version goes on to say, but as I imagine it - first she agreed that they be co-rulers; her position was precarious enough, she believed it would be good for politics and she liked and trusted him. but he went on to steal the throne from under her and she never learned if that was what he had been planning to do from the beginning. the rest is history and her personal tragedy. what happened with sauron was not her fault, but she would lie awake at night and blame herself... interestingly enough, the faithful never did and around half of them believed she was forced into the marriage anyway... I have a lot more to say about her, in fact, enough that I think I'll make a separate post, but for now I'll only add that I personally headcanon that while tar-palantir stayed faithful to the end, despite the failure of all his plans, miriel chafed. her father understood that no one could force the númenoreans to change against their will (I mean I guess Eru presumably could? but obviously he wouldn't, because free will), but she didn't and felt betrayed... I think that she had to regain faith before the end, because otherwise it's too bitter a tale, to live through terror without knowing there is good one can rely on. the tale is bitter anyhow, but she did not die in despair.

[imaginationofomi]

Something Wicked This Way Comes

Chapter Eight

☪︎

Aubrie was sure her pacing had worn through at least two inches of the hospital's floor. She ignored direct orders, calling periodically for updates on Ellis' condition. He was unconscious for over a week, but she finally caught a break. Now awake and alert, she could question him about the night that he almost died.

She raced through the city and screeched into an empty spot in the parking lot. If it weren't for the receptionist reminding her that she needed a visitor's pass, she would've bypassed the desk completely, and her stop took extra time because she wasn't family.

Ellis refused to see anyone but his doctor, wife, or daughters. It took some convincing on her part and a flashing of her badge that nearly didn't get her anywhere because her title was not a detective nor was she accompanied by one. He'd been moved to a private wing of the hospital, long money affording him privileges more deserving people could use. The walls were painted a warm, burnt orange. He had a couch instead of the standard chairs, a cots for people that wanted to spent the night. Ellis, though drugged, showed visible signs of trauma and paranoia, eyes darting around the room when she walked in.

"Hello, Mr. Blackwell." She kept her voice soft to avoid startling him and stuck close to the doorway. Even in his hospital gown and covered with the sheet and blanket on the bed, she could tell that he'd lost some pounds since he was found. Smile lines deepened, the skin of his neck was beginning to droop, prominent wrinkles settled in the backs of his brown hands. She tried not to think about his injuries below the belt, "I'm Aubrie Parrish. I'm a forensic pathologist for the police department," she said, showing him her badge so he knew that she was the real deal.

"Pathologist? You're a coroner? I'm dead? I died? I'm dying? Is this Heaven?"

"No, sir, quite the opposite. I'm sure your doctor has shared how extensive your injuries were. You're a fighter." She thought about telling him just how close to death he was, how he'd already been pronounced when she arrived and had she not noticed that he was breathing, he would've bled out on that cold, cement floor. But revealing that information could open multiple people in the precinct to a lawsuit that she didn't want to be named in. She'd likely have to sit in court anyway for the biggest case in her docket. No way Mr. Serial Killer was going to come quietly or give a confession. There was a bigger plan at work, "I'm sorry about what happened to you. I wish I didn't have to disturb your recovery, but I need to know if you remember anything about the night you were attacked."

Ellis remained quiet, glancing at the blinds covering the window before he looked at his doctor, who stood quietly in the corner of the room to ensure their conversation was ethical. His large eyes drifted back to her, and he swallowed audibly, licking his chapped lips.

"Someone broke into my office," he said.

"Were the authorities alerted?"

"Whoever it was, they were good. They got past the alarm and my security." The man was visibly shaken. She didn't want to tell him that it might've been an inside job, but she had to. To get past a high tech alarm system AND guards? The person needed to have extensive knowledge of the building, the software, the walkthrough schedule, and access to their systems. It could've been someone that worked for him, and because they didn't succeed, she expected them to try again.

"Did you see who attacked you?"

"For a few seconds. They weren't alone. I think there was a woman. She tried to put me in a chokehold," he recalled, the memory obviously fuzzy judging from the confusion on his face.

"How sure are you that the second person was a woman?"

"I don't know, maybe 75 percent? They were wearing perfume, and they weren't very strong. The big one put a cloth over my nose and mouth because she couldn't hold onto me."

"How big?"

"Bigger than me. I only saw his eyes. He was wearing a plastic mask."

"What color were his eyes? Did you hear his voice at all? Did he say anything?"

"Blue, I think? They weren't speaking English."

Aubrie sighed quietly. He hadn't said anything useful in the few minutes she'd been there. Was it her line of questioning? She wasn't a detective, so she didn't know how to pull information out of live humans. The dead spoke to her. She was in new territory.

"The people that broke into your office, are they the ones that shot you?"

"The last thing I remember is passing out. I didn't know I'd been shot until I woke up here," he said, throwing her for a loop. He wasn't conscious when three holes were blasted into him, and his memory was limited. She wouldn't be getting a better description.

"Do you know why anyone would want to kill you, Mr. Blackwell?" she asked, hoping he didn't hear the frustration in her voice. It could very well deter him from being helpful then and in the future.

"I own multiple commercial properties and housing complexes. It could've been a tenant that got evicted, someone mad about rent hikes. I don't know. I keep my nose clean."

That was a lie. Money and connections kept him from doing time for the sex party that ended with two call girls deceased, but he was counting on her not knowing that. A lightbulb went off in Aubrie's head, widening her eyes and quickening her heartbeat. Money. Scandal. Death.

"Are you a member at Suite Surrender?" She meant to word the question in a way that wasn't so accusatory, but the possible connection made her rush the words out. Without verbally answering, Ellis' face gave him away, from the bug eyes to the nervous fidgeting in his hands and uptick in the heart monitor.

"I don't know what that is." Another lie.

"I can't help you if you don't tell me the truth, sir."

"I don't know what that is," he said again. She nodded slowly and backed toward the door. She'd gotten all she could out of him. His expression told her he wouldn't be sharing anything else, but she had a solid lead. Suite Surrender connected Bianca, Madison, and Ellis to each other. If she could connect Larissa to the business as well, Hughes wouldn't be able to deny the truth anymore, and she would have the full support of the department behind her.

"Okay. I'd advise you to find some people that you trust and keep a low profile for a while. Limit your contact with your employees. You weren't supposed to survive, but you did. Murderers don't like to leave loose ends untied."

"Hold on, you're saying they could come after me again?"

"It's a possibility," Aubrie answered, "The more information we have, the sooner we can get whoever it is off the streets. I'll leave my card in case you remember anything else. Thank you for your time, Mr. Blackwell. Get better soon." She turned and walked out of the room with the doctor behind her, facing him once they were away from the door, "I need the bullet that you pulled from his chest," she said to the man in the white lab coat.

"This way."

🂡🂡🂡

Suite Surrender was nothing if not inconspicuous. The adult resort sat at the edge of downtown, where the city met the beach. It was the first, or last depending on which direction one was driving, group of buildings on the hotel strip, but unless someone knew exactly what they were looking for, they would drive right past it. She had several times before she realized the unmarked building covered with vibrant vegetation was her destination for the afternoon.

There were thirteen structures in total, the epicenter of it all ten stories high with nothing but the lobby visible from the doors. Two men dressed in suits stood on either side of the gold revolving door. They wore shades, but their eyes were felt as she walked up.

"Authorized personnel only," the bigger of the guards said, using his arm to block her from the door.

"How do you know I'm not?"

"It's their job to know." A tall man appeared out of thin air. Cinnamon hair gelled and styled to perfection, his butterscotch skin glowed in the sun, amber eyes blinking at her with cool observation. His demeanor reminded her of Gio's. There was a quiet arrogance about him, like he knew he was desirable but untouchable, "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I called to make an appointment with the owner. The secretary gave me the run around."

"You don't make appointments with the owner here. He only sees who he needs to."

"Are you his right hand or something?" she asked, and his dark chuckle made an uncomfortable chill go down her spine.

"Or something," he replied and took a few daring steps in her direction. With him closer, she was forced to look up. She flinched at the sudden movement of his arm, glancing down at his outstretched hand, "Aubrie Parrish in the flesh." He waited for her to shake his hand. She took a step back instead.

"How do you know my name?"

"I know a lot about a lot of people. You included. Howard for undergrad, Duke for medical school, mom's local, dad lives in Sacramento with two wives and a husband. Your boyfriend's name is Bryce Hamilton, civil rights attorney. Girlfriend's name is Summer Wilde, metaphysics professor at BBCC. You're a forensic analyst for Briton Beach PD that doubles as a pathologist, and you frequent Sticky Fingers. I hope you know that place is child's play." He smirked at the bewildered look on her face, "What can I help you with, Aubrie? I won't ask again." It clicked for her then that the man speaking to her was exactly who she was looking for, but he intentionally avoided admitting it.

"I want to talk to the owner."

"He's a busy man, and he doesn't like to waste time." Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his slacks, he gave her some breathing room, but the smirk remained firm on his lips, "I'll relay whatever the message is."

"Bianca Cross is dead. So is Madison Torres," she spit out. His vibe was throwing her off, and the second the names came out of her mouth, the dangerously playful nature he displayed turned to stiffness, "And someone tried to kill Ellis Blackwell. This is the only place the three of them have in common. I need to talk to the owner."

"I'm not pleasant when I've been lied to." His voice deepened to a growl, and she gulped.

"I'm not lying. You already know I work for the police department. We found Bianca's body buried at the beach a couple of months ago. We found Madison not too long after in a warehouse. Someone is targeting people affiliated with this place, I'm sure of it. I need to know if Larissa Baldwin worked here."

"Inside. Now."

She took hurried steps to the door, thankful to be out from under the heat of the sun. The lobby was almost too quiet, only a few people roaming around. Empty chairs and couches decorated the luxury posh ground floor. A blonde and a brunette woman sat at the high reception desk, answering phones that rang almost as soon as they completed their call. She wondered which one she spoke to.

"Cancel the rest of my meetings," the man said without looking at either woman. He placed a huge hand on Aubrie's back and guided her to an elevator separate from the group next to the lobby. The lift had its own attendant who said nothing as he took them on a controlled trip to the top floor.

They were let out into a pristine office filled with warm tones of chocolate and wine. The lights were low, and two glances at the bookshelves revealed that they weren't just bookshelves. Some were lined with toys, erotic literature, candles, statues.

Aubrie expected someone to be waiting for them. It would be unsurprising if she was knocked out, dragged off to be held against her will. She was snooping where most people had the common sense not to snoop, but the man that knew too much about her took the seat behind his desk instead of rendering her unconscious.

"I should've known." She continued to play dumb, careful not to touch anything.

"Yes. You should've. Sit." He pointed to the empty couch adjacent to him, and a stare-off ensued until her ass was planted on the buttery cushion, "Tell me everything you know."

"I'm suppose to be the one asking questions," she said indignantly.

"You're not a detective, and you showed up on my property without a warrant. I don't have to tell you anything. Talk," he barked, making her shrink in her seat before she remembered who she was and straightened up.

"I don't have a lot to tell. I'm trying to find out what happened, and I feel like I'm the only one. No one is listening to me."

"How did Bianca die?"

Aubrie decided to keep some information to herself. She didn't even know the man's name. If he wasn't talking, neither was she.

"OD," she answered.

"I told you I don't like being lied to." He glared at her, and she began to sweat. His eyes were too intense, the forceful tone of his voice making her squirm inside.

"What makes you think I'm lying?"

"Bianca didn't do drugs. Anyone claiming she OD'ed is lazy and irresponsible. Are you lazy and irresponsible, Aubrie?"

"You tell me since you already know my life story."

His smirk was back but short-lived, "You're smarter than you like to let on. Let's be honest with each other. We'll get farther," he suggested.

"You first." Because she didn't know him from a can of paint, and she wasn't going to be left high and dry, "Larissa Baldwin. Did she work here?"

"She did. She quit several months ago. Are you telling me she's dead, too?"

"She is." Aubrie watched him put the pieces together. Stress lines took over his otherwise handsome face. She found something behind his head to focus on so she wouldn't drag her eyes up and down what she gathered was a very nice frame, "What can you tell me about her and Ellis Blackwell?"

"They were playmates. Ellis is a particular man with particular tastes. Larissa was the only one that never complained about him," the man said, "Do you have any leads? My most popular girls disappearing is bad for business."

"I'm here for a reason. This is my only lead. You're the closest I've gotten to knowing anything."

"What led you here?"

"Asking the right questions."

His smile was unnerving. He stood and crossed the room to a small bar. That was when she noticed the male bartender waiting for instructions.

"Do you drink?"

She was growing annoyed that she didn't know his name. He had her life typed out on a piece of paper somewhere, and she couldn't address him as anything other than sir. For some reason, she felt like he would get a kick out of that.

"Not while I'm working."

"You're off the clock today."

"Do you realize how creepy it is that you know this much about me?" she asked.

"I make it my business to know everything about anyone that harasses my secretaries to get in touch with me." His wrist twisted in a hand signal she didn't recognize, and the bartender moved, carefully placing two glasses on the counter and filling them with a dark liquid from a frosted glass decanter.

"At least you know I was harassing them for an important reason."

"Yes. I wish we were meeting under different circumstances. You're intriguing." He sat next to her, holding one glass out to her as he balanced the other on his knee and circled the rim of the glass with a fingertip, "What actually happened to Bianca? I've been honest with you. Your turn."

She took the glass from him but didn't sip, putting a careful distance between them. His office was designed for seduction, and it wasn't safe to fall into the trap of a good looking man with shady dealings. She didn't want to be the next one to end up without a pulse.

"Her autopsy was crazy. Official cause of death is blunt force trauma to the head. I'm positive she was kidnapped. She had ligature marks on her wrists and ankles, track marks. The blood in her left arm tested positive for fentanyl, but everywhere else was clean. The track marks on her wrist were braille. It spelled out Madam Psycho. Does that ring any bells for you?"

"It was one of her personas on the floor. This dick branded her?"

"Madison, too. Her's said Harlot's Race."

"And Larissa?"

"The Sacrificer."

A frown creased his face. He downed half of the liquid in his glass.

"What else do you know?"

"Does the name Robin Shank mean anything to you?"

"No. Who is he?"

"He was stalking Bianca before she disappeared. Listen, she was a friend of mine. I promised her parents justice, and my colleagues are bullshitting. I want this bitch handled," Aubrie said and got up.

"We want the same thing. Someone is fucking with me, and I don't appreciate it." He walked to his desk, pulled out a phone and placed it in her hand, "Keep it charged. There's only one number saved. Do not contact anyone else on this. You will call me if you find anything else. I'll get my people on the ground and keep you in the loop. You scratch my back, I scratch yours."

She went to the contacts to see the number, eyebrows lifting at the moniker.

"Your name is Cairo?"

"Make sure you keep that to yourself."

[lencra]

she felt her stomach churn at the thought of seeing the former queen burn to death, but it was the targaryen way to kill and die. she should have known that was how daenerys would end her days. engulfed in flames instead of a swift cut at the neck. while the queen consort might have started carrying the targaryen name after marrying jaehaerys, she still had the expectations of a lady of the westerlands, the mannerisms of a lefford. she nodded in response to his words. lenora was unsure if she would be able to stomach seeing someone burn alive. she would have to see how far her desire for vengeance, to see justice done, would carry her. while she had never had a direct confrontation with the former queen, she knew that she had been poisoned either on the orders of daenerys or because of her. both were enough to earn lenora's loathing. but whatever she felt towards daenerys paled in comparison to what her husband must feel.

as he spoke of her crown and permitted her to be involved with the planning of the coronation, allowing her whatever she desired, lenora felt a slight jab of guilt. she had been so against marrying him. and here he was offering more of a say than anyone else ever had. he had even thought of her part in the coronation. while it was only natural for a queen to have a crown, she was still touched by the gesture. all she had ever wanted was to be respected, to be listened to, to be allowed her own thoughts and opinions. while there was no denying there had been wobbles in their marriage, she would always appreciate the trust he showed her. "thank you," she said softly. lenora was unsure what exactly she was thanking him for, maybe it was for his trust, maybe it was for everything he had done for her. she had to admit that it was a relief to learn about the extentive measures that would be taken to avoid that she'd be harmed once more. "understood." she was grateful that she would be able to control the staff herself. it would be easier for her to trust the precautions would actually work then. she could use her own judgement rather than rely on that of others. she had always felt better when feeling in control of her own destiny. not that she had much experience with feeling that way.

lenora let jaehaerys steer her through the door into an empty hallway, not questioning where they were going. something had been nagging at her ever since she heard of his new council and now was the opportunity to ask about it. at first, she had thought that she simply needed to share her concerns with jaehaerys and he would see reason, but the more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that he had already had the same thoughts. and that made his decision even stranger. "i am grateful for your concern for my safety, but is this concern partly because you believe i'm still in danger since you have decided to retain the celtigar siblings on your council?" it was an honest question. there was no danger in asking it, not when they were so obviously alone. she glanced up at her husband to gauge his reaction to her query. "i am not stupid, jaehaerys, and neither are you." she had no proof the celtigars had done anything. but a combination of lord celtigar gathering up every man from the westerlands and banishing them from king's landing, which sent the royal household of jaehaerys on the run to storm's end, together with his sister being mistress of whispers. lenora knew better than most the full skillset of that position. she had been the daughter of one, now she was the sister of one. they had knowledge of poison and the resources to carry out an assassination.

she strolled by his side as they walked down the hall. if anyone could see them from afar, it might look like they were talking about something as uninteresting as the weather due to their calm demeanour. "why keep vipers in our nest?" her tone was more curious than accusatory. however, there was a tint of frustration in her voice. even without her suspicions of who was to blame for poisoning her, she carried a great dislike of the celtigars. what little experience she had with lord celtigar made her believe the feeling was very much mutual. she did not like that maximus and lyra occupied two powerful positions on the council. if it had been up to her, she would have sent them back to claw isle without a moment's hesitation. but it was not her decision to make. lenora could only strive to understand why jaehaerys would keep them so close, why he would grant them power. even removing everything regarding her, it was no secret that the celtigars had supported daenerys and her branch of house targaryen. either they were waiting to strike, hoping to rebel against jaehaerys from inside the walls of the red keep, or they were turncloaks who only cared for power and sensed they had bet on the wrong dragon. neither option inspired much trust.

"She will be burned alive, the choice to be there will be yours. It will not be as clean as some."

And he knew some thought he should take her head but she would die the way dragons were meant to die. In flames. Her husband ran into his sword and now his cousin would swallow flames beneath the early morning sky of some day of his choosing. It would be quiet as his wife suggested for it was wise to keep it quiet.

None beyond that courtyard would need to know the day nor would it be written. None would raise quiet goblets in her honor, for all they would know is the King locked away his cousin and one day they would hear of her death and perhaps none would care. It was hard to know the true hearts of men. His love and respect for those cousins began and ended with Caerella Targaryen. She was the most important to him. And perhaps one days her daughter would marry one of his sons and it would repair the fractured roots of their house. A final marriage between dragons.

"There's much happening around us. Someone will be here to speak with you about your crown. I want it ready before the coronation of course. And we must make sure it fits you well." The King sent his words to the High Septon with invitation and men who would secure his travel to the Crownlands. There was much to do when it came time for King's to be crowned. Jaehaerys refocused as she spoke of wishing to be involved. Of course, women were frequently in need of being busy. The King recalled Otto Hightower often reminding him it would be important to keep his wife and grandmother busy.

"You may you heart's desire for these creative decisions. You're the Queen of New Valyria. I will make it known, there are people I must speak with first before you join the committee but they will welcome you."

He would need to speak with Wyllam and figure out who exactly sat on his new planning committee, typically the older lords who retained their positions through wise decision making in times of conflict being to old to fight or lead their houses in meaningful ways, second and third sons who would perhaps take offense at the presence of a woman. The king decided he didn't care. New Valyria meant change for everyone.

"Then we will trust this maester. And perhaps will see the fruit of our labour. There will be no more dangers for you. They will present you with food tasters to ensure your safety at all times. They will be alternated for meals. One for food and one for drinks. The staff will also be replaced throughout the Keep. I trust you to oversee the replacing of that staff, seek guidance if you need it and trust yourself. Come, walk with me."

His hand went to her back as he walked toward one of the side doors that would take them through quieter, unseen halls of the Keep.

[rabbitmarrow]

Forty miles from her home in South Los Angeles Mitrice Richardson sat in a Lost Hills Sherriff's Department located in Calabasas, California.

Mitrice was an intelligent, goal orientated, care free, 24 year old, college graduate with a bachelor of arts in psychology. In 2009 she was working towards a masters degree. To support herself she worked at ex-girlfriend Tessa Moon's family business and part time as a go go dancer at a popular lesbian night club.

For the past several months leading up to the event which took place, Richardson had been increasingly acting in ways those close to her deemed "strange" and "odd". Most notably her mother Latice Sutton had began receieving text messages from Mitrice, one reading, "Im writing a book (my journals) because u told me I can be anything I wanted…u told me I was Miss America, u told me I was Americas Next Top Model…now do u know what I want to be when I grow up? Miss Mother Nature…cuz Miss America is a fake ass joke along with everything else we 'see' so I'm trying to find my way to Michelle Obama to see if she will talk to Mr. Obama about creating my position within the White House."

Latice replied "Call me!" to which Mitrice responded "I feel joy mommie…not everyone has to die to live. I heard in the Bible Jesus dies so we can live forever… now I have to prove the 'unlogic'

On the afternoon of September 16, 2009 Mitrice stated that while at work she had been watching a soap opera and that Jesus spoke to her telling her to take the rest of the afternoon off, which she did.

She ended up at Geofferys, an upscale restaurant located in Malibu. Once there she used the valet service. Before going in to the restaurant she went and sat in the valet staffers own car. He had asked why she was there, "its subliminal" is all Mitrice answered.

Inside the restaurant Richardson ordered a cocktail and steak. She spoke of avenging Michael Jacksons death and joined a large group of guests she did not know. She spoke to them about astrological signs and an upcoming trip to Hawaii, she promised she'd call them once she got there. Staffers checked on the group and while this was all strange, the group assured them that everything was fine.

Mitrice eventually returned to her own table and once finished with her meal proceeded to leave without paying. She was stopped and asked to pay. She wouldn't be able to she said, unless she could offer sex as payment, or maybe call her great grandmother. The manager allowed her to call Mildred, her 90 year old great grandmother whom she was currently living with. Mildred was offering to pay the $89 bill through credit card over the phone. However, they would need a signature which would require Mildred to be there in person, something she wasn't able to do.

During the conversation Mitrice seemed unfazed by what was going on and continued to make odd remarks. With staffers growing more concerned for her well being, the police were called.

Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department arrived and talked to staffers and Mildred regarding Mitrice. A field sobreity test was conducted on Richardson, she was sober. They could see Mitrice was acting a bit strange, but overall thought she was fine. They were not going to arrest her until the manager decided to press charges for her not paying the meal ticket in hopes that she would be taken to the sheriff department or hospital for a mental wellness check.

With Mildred still on the phone she commented to Mitrice, "they're gettin' ready to take your black ass to jail." to which no response came from Richardson.

Richardson's car with her purse and phone inside was searched and taken to a nearby impound lot.

Mildred notified Richardsons mother Latice letting her know the situation that had unfolded.

Latice called the L.A. Sheriffs Department around 9:30pm asking when her daughter would be released. They assured her they wouldn't relase her until the next morning. Latice had her 10 year old daughter asleep at home with her and didn't want to drag her 40 miles away in the middle of the night, so she stated to a deputy, "I think the only way I will come out there tonight is if you guys are going to release her... she's not from that area and I

I would hate to wake up to a morning report of 'Girl Lost Somewhere with Her Head Chopped Off' "

Upon their loose assement of Mitrice's mental state, they found her to be well enough to be released at 12:28am, even though several statements have deputies claiming they believed Mitrice to be suffering a bipolar episode.

At 5:35am Latice called the department and became enraged and extremely concerned to learn Mitrice had been released to wander off alone.

Little is known about what happened after Mitrice Richardson left the Sherrifs Department, other than she set off down the desolate road on foot.

Latice was advised by Deputy Kenneth Bomgardner to wait at least 24 hours to report Mitrice missing, which she did.

Over the next 11 months several searches of the surrounding area were conducted as well as the reviewing of the security footage collected from the sheriff department. Unfortunately any signs of Mitrice never came to light from the ground searches, but a possible lead came from that night she was released. Edited footage shows Mitrice leaving the sheriffs department followed out the door by a deputy. After being questioned on numerous occasions by journalists the unnamed deputy commented, “The night this nonsense happened, I was one of the guys that kept away from this, minding my own business.”

On August 11, 2010 the mummified body of Mitrice Richardson was found in a creek bed.

Her remains were poorly collected by police without supervison of the lead coroner, and the surrounding area was not secured for investigation. The usual procedure of collecting soil samples and taking photos fell to the wayside. The lack of regard for proper collection made it very difficult for any sort of evidence to be collected and lead to the coroner not being able to conclude a manner of death, just saying there didn't seem to be any foul play.

Lt. Michael Rosson, who supervised the LASD in the removal of Richardson, stated that he believes: animals removed Mitrice's clothing, she may have been bitten by a rattlesnake, or that she may have went into anaphylactic shock after being in contact with poison oak.

Rosson along with other LASD spokesmen state that in no way was this a homicide and that the LASD is in no way responsible for Mitrice Richardson's death.

The retrieval of Mitrice Richardson was so sloppy and unethical that it drew concerned interest from Clea Koff, a former FBI United Nations forensic anthropologist. Koff now runs the Missing Person's Identification Resource Center. Koff stated her disgust for the lack of evidence and disputed the theories given by Rosson.

A few months after Mitrice's body was found, Latice, a family friend, and Clea Koff went to the creek bed and found a finger bone belonging to Mitrice.

In July 2011, Latice Sutton had Richardson's body exhumed for further investigation. Koff hoped the FBI would conduct the autopsy, unfortunately they declined. LASD's crime lab conducted the autopsy with no new findings.

Latice Sutton and Michael Richardson each filed lawsuits against the LASD for their negligence in Mitrice's case. They were each awarded $450,000.

They also asked for the California attorney general Kamala Harris to review the LASD's reports regarding Mitrice. In 2005, after the 500 page report was reviewed Harris announced "there was insufficient evidence to support criminal prosecution of anyone involved in the handling of the case."

Sadly as of 2020, Mitrice Richardsons case remains cold.

[losersclubimagines]

the coroner’s girl

[the losers club x reader]

warnings: swearing, bullying, blood and body parts.

summary: being the coroner’s daughter means dressing practically rather than flatteringly, carrying your father’s blood samples in your schoolbag, and having maybe too much of an avid interest in human anatomy for your classmates’ tates. you’re an outcast - a loser, something you had always been and been pretty okay with, until the last day of school in 1985, when greta bowie gets a little too familiar with the things you carry in your backpack.

request here

Being a coroner's daughter was never going to be easy.

It was like being the daughter of the exterminator that came to rid your school of rats or termites; nothing inherently bad about it - it was an honest profession, all right - but goddamn embarrassing.

But you knew that. You'd known that since second grade when the teacher said your class had to go around the circle and everybody said what their parents did for a living. There were four temps, one dentist, one taxi driver, a receptionist and a cashier before you proudly said, "my dad examines dead people to see how they died!"

Your teacher had thought it was interesting. Your classmates, not so much. They thought you were dirty. Most of them didn't touch you, if they could help it. You had your own special brand of cooties, creatively named 'The Y/n Touch" that the others would pass and tease each other with at recess and lunch in games you couldn't participate in. Well, fine. They'd decided you were to be an outcast, you'd do just that.

You stopped really trying in third grade. Stopped putting your hair in curlers every night and teasing it with hairspray every morning like the others, stopped dressing fashionably and started dressing practically, stopped trying to fit in at all. A lot of girls talked about lipstick or boys or singers, or else music you'd never heard of and movies you'd never watched. The boys talked about girls and soccer and bikes, or else books you'd never read or bands you'd never listened to. You didn't fit in with anyone else's conversation - you knew hearts and brains and lungs, vessels and arteries and veins, homeostasis and rigor mortis and symptoms of asphyxiation. But when you tried to talk about that, all you got was disgusted or scandalised looks, so you stopped. You kept to yourself.

All through third grade to eighth grade, the closest thing you had to a friend were our various biology teachers throughout the years. You were hopeless at the other sciences, barely passing, and mediocre at everything else, but your biology always came back with a fat shiny A on every report card.

It was the last day of school before summer in 1985. Before you'd gone to school, your dad had passed you three plastic sample jars, half-full of blood. At your raised eyebrows, he grew defensive.

"The refrigerator's stocked again!"

"Maybe it wouldn't be if you did your job like every other coroner in America and stopped-"

"Yes, I know, I know," he interrupted, looking badgered. "Can you just ask your friend in the prep room to store them, just for a day? I'll have the refrigerator cleared out by then."

"Fine." You checked the lids were done up tightly then stuffed the jars in your satchel. "Can I go now?"

"Yeah, go, you'll be late. Don't go throwing your bag around now, those jars are done up tight but they'll burst with pressure."

"Got it," you called, moving to the front door.

"In the fridge as soon as you get to school!" he shouted from the cellar. "As soon as!"

You shut the door in reply, disgruntled.

You did as bid, making your way to the science prep room before class and sweet-talking Mr Keary into letting you store the samples in the huge refrigerator. They kept the stuff used for dissecting in there - sheep hearts and frogs and pig brains. Needless to say, you'd aced that particular section of biology. A scalpel was so familiar in your hand by now, it felt like an extension of your fingers.

They stayed there throughout the day. It grew hotter and hotter, but you kept all your layers on - black jeans cuffed to keep them from trailing on your battered sneakers, a charcoal-grey shirt of your father's that hung to your thighs and a soft, woolly, dark green cardigan that swung about your calves. You liked the comfort that layers of clothes gave you - like wearing multiple plates of armour. The day passed as usual - you ad no biology class, so you spoke to barely anyone and barely anyone spoke to you, you kept your head down and ate lunch alone and doodled in every class until the final bell rang. Great. Okay. Finally.

You swung by the prep room and grabbed your father's samples, placing them carefully in your backpack, ensuring they were cushioned by your pencil case and textbooks before hefting the bag onto one shoulder and making the trek to the front exit.

You were literally twenty feet from the door when it happened.

Greta Bowie stormed out of her history class with a dark expression on her face, evidently having to be held back to be lectured by her teacher. Her mean eyes flickered over the corridor for someone to take her anger out on, and, most unfortunately, they landed on you. You didn't even notice her until her shoulder collided hard with yours, and your bag slipped from your shoulder and sailed through the air, hitting the linoleum hard and skidding away. As you stumbled, Greta hooked an ankle around your's and sent you flying backwards.

"Sorry, Y/n!" she called, sweet as sugar. Sweet as fucking diabetes, you thought to yourself furiously as you reached for your bag - only to draw back in surprise and dread. A large, dark, sticky stain was spreading rapidly through the fabric. You tore your bag open, pleading with God that it wasn't so - but of course it was. The samples your dad had entrusted you with, that you'd chilled all day and packed so carefully in your bag - had burst on impact, and now two were all but empty, and the third was drooling blood slowly, it'd lid knocked to the side rather than all the way off.

"Shit!" you shouted, jumping up, your hands flying to your hair to grab it in despair. "Fuck it all, shit on it you bitch!" Before you even realised what you were doing, you'd lunged at the retreating Greta and shoved her in the back. Hard. So hard she flew into the lockers and slammed her head on the metal.

She yelled in pain, spinning round to look at you. The whole corridor was raptly focused on the two of you, Greta furious and red-faced, a bleeding split on her forehead where she'd grazed a padlock, and you, realising what you'd just done with your eyes widening and your feet beginning to retreat.

"You are so fucking dead!"

Greta ran right at you, her arms catching you in the midriff and knocking you back several paces. You gasped as your back slammed into the floor, hard, and Greta seized a handful of your hair, yanked your head up, and slammed it back down again. You wheezed and whimpered, trying to push and scratch to no avail, and Greta straddled you, her fist raised, ready to punch-

Your left hand closed over something cylindrical, smooth and vaguely wet and warm. As quick as you could, even as Greta drew back her fist, you whipped the lid off the last jar of blood, brought it out from the depths of your bag and tossed what was left of the sample square into Greta's snarling face.

She shrieked like a banshee, rearing back and gagging, and you took the opportunity to throw her off your body. You sprang to your feet, stumbling only a little as Greta retched and choked, groping for you blindly with red in her eyes. You took of running, pausing only to pick up your soaking red bag on the way, slamming through the double-doors at the end of the corridor.

You jumped down the steps double-time, jumping at the end and staggering as you hit the floor, then you ran again. In your haste you charged straight through a group of four boys making their way leisurely down the path. You knocked into two of them heavily, felt them stagger.

"What the fuck, dude?" someone called after you furiously, and you turned your head, still running, to look back at them.

"Sorry!" you yelled hoarsely, tearing out the front gate and out of sight.

"Fuckin' weirdo," mumbled Richie Tozier to Bill Denbrough, who was bending down to help Eddie stand after that girl had barged into them. Richie hauled Stan, who had also fallen, to his feet and clapped him on the shoulder, before picking something up off the ground.

"Stan my man, you dropped your yokefellow!" Richie told Stan cheerfully, holding a brimless cap up with a flourish.

"Yarmulke," Stan corrected tiredly, snatching it back.

"Bless you."

"E-Eddie, I think that g-g-girl left a suh-suh-stain on your sh-shirt just now," Bill interrupted demurely.

"Is that fucking blood?" Eddie squeaked, his eyes widening in horror.

"What the fuh-fuh-fuck?" Bill laughed.

"Maybe it was that time of the month," Richie said wisely.

"Buh-beep beep, Richie."

Richie looked seriously at Eddie, who was frantically scrubbing at the dark red patch on his perfect pink shirt. "Werewolves," he told the littler boy sagely.

"Shut up, Richie!" all three of the boys said together, as they crossed through the front gate, making for the Barrens.

——

a/n: just a lil something to get my creativity going while i work on requests. let me know if you want to be tagged in coming parts!! i’m thinking there will be at least two more <3

[bad-at-names-and-faces]

In the Royal Bedroom

Chapter 6

[painting by August Allebé, 1863]

The morning sun streamed in. There was a soft knock at the door.

"Your Majesty, you rang?" Kai asked as he cautiously opened the door, coming in further only when he saw the queen dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed facing the door.

"Do you know if the council members are still in town?" 

"I believe so, Your Majesty. One or two might be at country estates, but not very far."

"Good. Could you please see that they're summoned in the next few days? We would like to discuss some possible changes to the succession. Let them think we'll be changing the regency clause if that will get them here faster."

"Very well, Your Majesty. Will that be all this morning?"

"Yes, thank you," she said as the steward exited and closed the door behind him. 

"You're up early," Kristoff said, emerging from the covers on the other side of the bed.

"I can't sleep much lately, anyway," she said, "and you know, you didn't have to hide, I think he's seen worse by now."

"It was an excuse to sleep a few more minutes. Why aren't you sleeping?"

"Just some heartburn. The midwife was saying it's a sign that the baby will have a lot of hair."

"Really?" 

"I don't know. She says a lot of things," she paused, "so, how was that dinner last night?"

"I ended up getting cornered by the ambassador from Corona, because apparently we don't allow Inga to make any decisions on her own, and they are extending an invitation for her to attend the upcoming coronation."

"And what did you tell him?"

"That you need to make that decision."

She put her hand on his arm and gave him a teasing glare.

"Come here," he said, gently pulling her down, "if you're going to have a council meeting this week, you need to rest now." She rested her head on his chest, looking at his face. 

"It might be a day or two while he finds everyone.  I said they wouldn't like their vacation interrupted. I think one of them even has a retreat on an island out there. He'll be difficult to find. Are you hungry?"

"I thought you said you had heartburn."

"Only at night. And I asked you."

"I wouldn't mind some breakfast," he said, reaching over for the rope to ring the bell. 

"When do you think I should ask Elsa to visit?" Anna asked after a minute. 

"You would know that better than I would."

"I told you, though, I really don't know how long it's going to be. Not right away, of course. But it could be a few weeks." 

There was another knock at the door. This time Gerda peeked in.

"Something to eat, Your Majesty?"

"Yes, thank you, for both of us."

The door closed again.

Kristoff stroked her hair.

"Maybe I'll let her decide," she sighed.

"She'll assume something is wrong, and I wouldn't blame her. That's worse than just telling her to come. If you want to see her sooner, invite her."

She sighed. 

"Really," Kristoff continued, "if you tell her not to come yet, she's going to worry. So I think the answer is pretty obvious."

The doorknob was rattling, and they heard a faint tapping on the door.

“Mama!  Mama!” “It’s Karl, could you let him in?” Anna said as she slowly sat herself upright.

Kristoff got up and grabbed his robe and put it on while he walked to the door.  

“Mama!” Karl yelled as he ran in to the bed.

“I suppose Nanny was busy getting breakfast, but you can eat with us,” Anna said as he quickly climbed into bed with her to cuddle.

Kristoff checked the hallway for anyone else before closing the door and going into the bathroom. When he came back out a few minutes later, he was dressed for the day.  Karl was nestled against Anna and nursing.

“Should he be doing that?” Kristoff asked.

“It’s perfectly safe, even the doctor didn’t see any harm in it, and the little guy definitely needed some comforting.” Breakfast arrived.  Karl didn’t want to move.

“Hey, let’s get you some bread and jam,” Anna said, gently detaching him. She went over to the small table by the window and sat down.  Karl went over and pulled at her while she spread some jam on a slice of bread and handed it to him.  He stuffed it in his mouth greedily as Kristoff picked him up and sat him on his lap across the table. 

Another knock at the door.  

“Nanny, is that you?” Anna called out.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said, opening the door slightly, “did Karl come in there?”

“Yes, he’s having breakfast with us.  Are the girls having breakfast with you?”

“They are, Your Majesty.  Would you like me to come for Karl in a few minutes?”

“Actually,” Kristoff interrupted, “I think I’ll take him for a ride a little later.” “Very well, Your Highness,” she replied, and slightly bowing as she closed the door, “Your Majesty.”

“It does look like another nice day,” Anna said wistfully, “I am starting to feel kind of trapped.”

“Do you want to go out to the garden again this afternoon?”

“Not if it’s an inconvenience,” she said.

“If I see Inga, I’ll send her up here to keep you company for a while.”

“Only if she’s not busy, I don’t want to impose on her,” she said, “but that would be nice.”

“Oh, and, just as a warning, when I brought up the succession issue, she… kind of… jumped to conclusions…”

“What do you mean by that?”

“She seemed to think we were trying to arrange a marriage for her?”

“Um…  I hope you told her we’re doing no such thing.”

“Of course, of course… and it’s a good thing, too, since I got the idea that the Corona invitation was presented to her as a pretty blatant move for something like that…”

“Why would they do that? There must have been some misunderstanding. I mean, some kingdoms, yes, they take one look at the children and think they’re nothing but commodities…”

"Well, maybe talk to her…" he suggested as Karl was wiggling back to the floor.

"And, what?"

"I don't know, you were a sixteen-year-old girl once, weren't you?" 

"That's… not helpful," she said, watching as Karl climbed onto the bed and began jumping. 

"Maybe it's something she's been reading?" He winked.

"The Hanging Gardens…"

"What gardens?"

"The Hanging Gardens of Babylon. She was telling me about it when she was just starting to read through the Greek and Latin books in the library. The gardens were built for a princess who was sent away from her mountainous kingdom to live in the desert…"

"Is that what she's been reading?" Kristoff asked, as he caught Karl mid jump.

"Just be glad it wasn't Oedipus Rex," she laughed, "Actually, no, she probably has read that, but I don't think she'd want to talk to us about it."

"Should I read that?"

"Well, our copy is in Greek…"

"You know, I've heard people translate books sometimes…" 

Kristoff assisted Karl in doing several flips on the bed as he giggled wildly.

"Maybe it's time to take him on that ride you were promising."

"Good idea," he said, scooping up the boy, "let's go!"

"Bye, love!" Anna said as her husband kissed her on the lips, "and you, too, Kristoff."

Anna sat at the table looking out over the courtyard, watching them head over to the stables. He saw them come out, mounted on Sven, as they trotted off out the gates. 

The door creaked open.

"Mama?" Inga asked, "I saw Papa when he was heading outside. He said you might like some company."

"Only if you aren't busy."

"Of course not," she said as she sat down at the small table and got herself a slice of bread and spread some butter on it. 

"I heard that the ambassador from Corona spoke to you last night," Anna said cautiously. 

"Yes," she said finishing a bite of her bread,"it was rather ham-fisted, if you ask me."

"Your father got that idea."

"Oh, I didn't see him nearby, was I that loud?"

"I really don't know, just that the ambassador came to him after speaking to you."

"I'm not sorry for that. What did Papa say?"

"He told him it was my decision. And I'll leave it up to you, but at least you can be honest with me. You really won't offend me. I remember that ambassador from years ago when he was younger."

"Really? He's been here before?"

"Yes, but you wouldn't remember. You had just turned two years old. I had left a ball a bit suddenly because I… wasn't feeling well. I guess your father followed me out without excusing himself from a conversation."

"He did strike me as a bit self-important…"

"Most of them are, I'm afraid," Anna said sipping her tea.

Inga glanced out at the courtyard deep in thought. 

"That ambassador's secretary seems nice enough," she said, still looking outside.

"Oh? Your father seemed to like him, too, though he seemed to think he can't exactly keep secrets."

"Well that's probably true," she laughed. 

"Why? What did you learn?"

"The Crown Princess seems to think she knows you. And they visited here twenty years ago? You've never mentioned that."

"Oh… I'm surprised she'd… I mean I'm not surprised. Of course she was here."

"We figured she was just being polite," Inga said, adding flippantly, "I can't imagine someone would have actually enjoyed their time here then…"

Anna looked at her daughter.

"Sorry, Mama," Inga said quickly, looking down at her lap.

"No, just… don't worry about it," her mother said, as she began pouring herself another cup of tea. "By the way, I'm going to be inviting Elsa to visit soon."

"Oh, I'm glad to hear that," Inga replied quickly, "does this mean you think the baby is coming soon?"

"I don't know about that, you really all come and go when you want, don't you?" Anna teased. 

Inga rolled her eyes but smiled a little.  She had heard more than a few visitors grumbling about the children left to run wild through the castle, as well as one or two tutors and governesses who didn't stay for long. None of the complaints were ever about any of the things that actually bothered her about her family. 

She wished they would keep their thoughts to themselves, of course, and she certainly wished that they would remember that just airing their thoughts in French didn't give them any secrecy. She and her siblings might be undisciplined, but they heard and understood the whispers about "les petits sauvages" all the same. The visiting diplomats knew better than to say anything around her mother. The first time she heard someone say it, she was standing with her father. She didn't quite understand the implications, because she was still young, but she was in the habit of helpfully translating everything for her father when official guests would slip into speaking French.  He told her to ask them to repeat what they said for him, and the men grew very uncomfortable.

She had been staring at the town for a while. She realized she hadn't had anything to drink, and poured herself a cup of tea. 

"You don't have to decide right now," her mother said, "but at some point I'll need to give the ambassador an answer about the coronation invitation."

"Maybe if Frederick can come," she replied, "I don't know. I don't want to go by myself, or just myself and a chaperone. I know a chaperone of some sort would be expected."

"Do you think he'd really want to go?"

"He said last night he'd like a trip, but I'm not sure how serious he was."

"I don't know. If you think he'd actually behave himself...he'll still be fourteen then, and you'll be seventeen. It's a big difference."

"But you think I'd have been better at fourteen, don't you?"

"I didn't say that," her mother said quickly.

"But you and Papa were thinking it."

"Oh, well, that was his idea, but I thought he had some good points.  We are going to bring the council in this week, if Kai can find them all. I mean, unless you really don't want to, but I do think you should consider it."

"That's what Papa said, too," she sighed, "and I told him, I guess I should be grateful. I'm just afraid that Fred is going to resent me for it. I mean, I understand why he'd want it this way, I really do."

"I'm sorry we brought it up so suddenly. He does get worried, you know, and I can't blame him for that…"

"But you'd tell me if there was anything… anything in particular to worry about right now, right?"

Her mother looked at her and nodded. Inga decided she needed another slice of bread, this time with extra butter and jam.

[siderealxmelody]

Galen & Hayla: A History

@xdarklingx

@thequillandthesword

Galen and Hayla were a product of their of circumstances, pushed to be things they never wanted to be.

----------

Galen's parents wished to ascend and they couldn't do that with a child to care for. So when he was born they gave him to Valentine to raise and ascended with his help (aka: they died believing in Valentine's teachings).

Galen never wanted a kingdom or lands, he was a quiet child. He liked to read, to put things back together, to observe the world around him.

He wasn't very close to his cousins but he loved them, he adored Lazai for his strength and Azariah for her intelligence. Next to them he didn't know what he offered anyone. But they were his only blood family and he desperately wanted to make them proud.

He had a few good friends, but one of them stood out to him like Estel. She was no one, her family were the help. She did the laundry and had been good friends with Galen since they were young. As they grew older that relationship deepened and Galen struggled with what to do. He loved his family but they'd never accept Estel into their ranks. Even if he tried to run - where could he go? Valentine controlled the land, he controlled the coastline.

So he did nothing, he watched as Estel allowed a soldier to court her, as she allowed herself to be happy without him. He couldn't truly blame her, he'd be a hypocrite not to. Wasn't he going to do the same when the opportunitypresented itself to him? She'd asked if she should wait for him, if there was a chance for anything - he'd turned her down.

He'd told her to not wait, to not give her whole heart to him - what good would that have done for either of them? She must have seen through his words because she asked him to take her before her wedding.

"I want to know full love Galen, I want to know what it's like to lay with someone who fully holds my heart. That is all I ask for my wedding gift, will you give me that?"

Who was he to deny her? Who was he to refuse the one and only wish she'd ever asked of him? So he did. He even blessed their union. He offered her husband lands in his court. Valentine was gearing up to coronate them soon, her husband could be comfortable in his court. To his relief her new husband politely declined, and asked to be allowed to move to the islands. Estel had always loved to sea he explained and now that they were reinstating the monarchy - perhaps that was where they could go.

Galen agreed and before he could get comfortable with his new life - Aleksander and Ludamilla came. They liberated them or so they said, they not only restored the powers of his throne - but pledged their support to him.

He supposed he was happy, he supposed he should be happy that the girl they gave him to marry was so easy to love. Hayla wasn't Estel, she filled any room she was in. She was loud and vibrant where Estel was a soft watercolor bleeding into the walls.

Still as Galen prepared for their wedding, he promised to be a man Estel would be proud of. He'd be loyal, he'd love Hayla as best as he could.

----------

Hayla had done whatever her brother had asked of her. The idea of marrying a prince had never filled her mind. But it's not like she was going to pass up such an opportunity.

Galen was sweet, kind even. He treated with respect but even as sheltered as she was - she knew she didn't hold his heart. That was fine, they could be friends couldn't they? Didn't all relationships start as friends?

So when Ulla took her aside and pressed her on if she truly wished for this - she didn't say no. She said yes, she said she definitely did.

Perhaps that's where the trouble first began.

Their parties were always lavish and beautiful. Lazai and Azariah always attended. It was there she met Orvin, he was Lazai's second in command.

He rarely spoke to anyone but she kept hearing of his jokes, of his wild stories from people. It became a game, a personal mission to get him to open up - to hear one of these legendary stories of his.

The first time she got through his defenses he laughed at one of her jokes. She had heard it echo in her head for days. A secret melody that permeated everything she touched for a week.

The second time she got through his defenses she only got a smile. But his eyes followed her around for the rest of the night.

The third time he had her pressed her against a wall, in some unused room. This time he wasn't laughing or smiling - he was kissing her.

"What story can I tell you that would befit a queen? What story can I tell you that you haven't lived Hayla?"

She asked him to tell her one of the skies, of the mountains in the north - of a world lost to myth and time. He had run his knuckles over her jaw and obliged.

She didn't truly understand what was happening, was it love? Was it lust? Did it matter? They found each other again and again over the years. Then Lazai had found a new God, a new thing to obsess over. She wouldn't have minded much except that meant Orvin was taken from her.

She wasn't sure if the isolation that followed was Galen's doing or her own. Ulla stopped trying to talk to her, even Genya stopped their weekly calls. Perhaps it was for the best, perhaps it would make everything easier.

She had children now to care for, to watch out for. Even if she mostly felt like they were draining her, taking bits of her soul everytime they demanded her time and attention.

So she did something she'd promised herself she wouldn't do - she gave them to another woman to raise. A governess to look after them and train them to be the good little children they were supposed to be.

She tried to put Orvin out of her mind, to find other things to occupy her time and attention. It worked well till the day it didn't.

She hadn't grown up in the Old Ways like Galen had so maybe she had forgotten. Maybe she wanted throw it in his face - that for all his self effecting he was just as miserable as she was. To share in the misery thar remained unspoken - they were both chained to this. This alliance needed to stay, it worked out too well for them both to leave it now. Her brother needed Galen's work to push his army and plans forward and Galen needed her to keep Aleksander at bay.

But Galen had decided without telling her to choose an heir. To mark their son with the rune of the Ahren line. When it didn't stick to theit son, he tried their daughter - but neither were able to bear the rune, in fact it burned them.

When he demanded an explanation, an answer to the question she knew he'd always wanted to ask her:

"Who was it you always got ready for Hayla? Who was it that you threw our parties for?"

She couldn't lie - she couldn't deny him this answer. What would he do to the children? To her? So she gave him the answer he wanted.

"Will you kill him Galen?"

Galen tilted his head, his hand loosening on his sword.

"What are you willing to give me for letting him live?"

She knew it was a trap, she knew she should do the smart thing and let Galen meet out his revenge. But she wasn't Aleksander or her sisters. She could never do the smart thing, not when it felt like she was dying simply contemplating it.

"What do you want?"

He had given her a grim smile and threw the sword to the floor. He'd walked to her and knelt in front of where she had sat on the bed. Self-effacing as always only now he got the joke - only now he gave her a false smile.

"A child, a true heir. Give me that and Orvin doesn't ever come to harm. Give me that and I will let you be with him again. Give me an heir and I will let you be free Hayla."

So she did, but she was never truly free of him. He kept his word, he didn't harm Orvin, he didn't demand anything else from her. Danatalion took the rune the moment he was born, and this time it stayed on him.

But in giving Galen this, in allowing Galen to dangle her freedom for it - she found she didn't want it. She found she cared for the boy. She still let the governess care for him but she wanted to make sure he had compassion, that he didn't end up like either of them.

Though when Alek heard of all of this and offered to kill Galen with Ulla's help she didn't stop them. As long as Galen lived she'd never truly be free. She would always be tied to him like a puppet.

[wingsfreedom]

I see, thanks for explaining. However, I think I agree and disagree with you.

I agree she's not the strongest Firebender, while I do believe she has the potential to be. And for better Fire Lord thing, it's matter of opinions, I also think, if she was ok and has better vision of the world other than something to conquer (outside the Fire Nation's Perspective) she'd be very good at Fire Lord business, leading is her natural place.

Also Long Feng is not only one character she was able to read, she read Mai in the Beach, Ty Lee when forced to join her team, Zuko almost in every occasions. She was able to read the Gaang intellectually, when she figured out their locations in the Chase, anticipated their movements in the Day of Black Sun and how they would come back, the innocent prisoner in the Boiling Rock who wasn't lying and so on... est. It's true she may not always can read people (which is natural) but she's still very talented at it. She's people person as she puts it. And she knows the reason behind Mai and Ty Lee's betrayal; is that she controls them by fear, as we saw in the mirror scene.

She may not always know what's going on in Ozai's mind, in the Phoenix King scene his decision was sudden after all. And Azula felt quickly that she's not good enough, which is true, she had failed a lot. She was not even important to know anything about his plans or coronation, even though she was supposed to be the new "Fire Lord", which is unimportant title anymore at that point. ("Take my old car cause I bought new" sort of situation)

Second, people were acting like she has killed thousands of people when she didn't. The argument is she has chosen not to kill many, from the Kyoshi Warriors, to Ba Sing Se citizins, to the invaders of the Day of Black Sun, to the servants -when she was paroniad and believe they're going to kill her- she didn't use it as exuse to kill, they got banished instead which wasn't exactly a great idea but that was better than start slaughtered of "betrayal" or something.

As for Aang point, people could argue on this forever, both arguments are equal and valid, LoK is canon, thus the lightning hasn't killed Aang argument stand. Also she did pushed to the corner when Aang entered the Avatar State. Reports surely told them the last time the Avatar entered the Avatar State, he destroyed an entire Fire Nation fleet and make thousands soldiers drown into sea. So the Fire Nation campaign succession or dangerous enemy's life in underground erea? Not chance at all.

Of course, murder isn't justified in any way, but this is war. Azula capable of murder if she thinks it's justified in battalion, but she's not a sadist/manic killer like many like to claim. She's a trained soldier after all.

Third, Azula does show remorse of her actions. The the way she fear-control others, was the only thing she thinks of at lowest point. Yes, she feels loneliness but she regret her actions, she's confused as "Ursa" puts it, she finds it hard to trust the people around her, so she uses power and fear tactics to basically force people to be her friends (which root to unhealthy relationship with both parents). That Ursa hallucination is part of Azula, it's not something came from outside her, it's her conscience, maybe it's Ursa's good influence, but still it's part of her. Both good and bad are parts of Azula.

Forth, Ursa and Azula's relationship is complex issue. Ursa tried to correct Azula's behaviors, which is true, but she also did emotionally neglected her. Of course Azula's not flawless (no idea when this come from b/c it's indeed abused and not why I liked her in the first place), but also saying Ursa is flawless and never did she hurt her daughter in any way is also absurd. For me, the worst part in this story is that Ursa sometimes unconsciously encouraged Azula's behaviour. Ursa, despite complaining a lot about Azula’s odd behaviours, often causes and/or reinforce them, e. g such in the rose scene in The Search, she comes to loathe them and punish Azula for them without understanding the core of her actions; that was getting attention of her mother who was focusing on Zuko (most of the time, her favorite).

Ursa's inability to empathize with Azula, to understand her wishes and desires, and Azula's reluctance to mend their relationship, only drives them further apart. And I believe Ozai may play a good hand in this too.

Anyway, this is my read on Azula. I love her flaws and all, but disagree with you on some points. You may also disagree with me as well, which is fine. She's a fictional character after all.

PS: I take it you may like characters being evil, it what make them badass to you and that's how you enjoy them. It's fine, but don't treat your opinions on Azula as the most valid while others fans' interpretations are less vaild or distorted, and how their read on the character is wrong and make you hate the character herself when those fans have well-thought opinions themselves.

I love Azula. I’m pretty sure tumblr is set on making me hate Azula. Please. Please. No.