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dreadwulf · 4 years ago

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Through the Fire, To the Limit, To the Wall

part one

part two

part three

the original Part Four, which will now be Five

(Here’s a surprise chapter of Ring of Fire! Or at least it was a surprise for me. This will actually slot in as chapter 4 on AO3, as it takes place before Jaime arrives at King’s Landing in the Burning Down the House chapter.)

For Podrick, at least, it is a beautiful day.

He had been awakened with a surly shout by the Commander's squire Peck, who called the boys to order like they were real soldiers, and they had clamoured up and out of their beds with a minimum of dawdling and giggling. They were all ages and sizes, and they lined up by height, rearranging themselves anew every day with Pod shoved somewhere in the middle.

When everyone else had been sent to break their fast, he, Podrick, had been taken on a special mission, stealthily retrieving Oathkeeper from the armory tent. Peck had distracted the quartermaster with conversation while Pod slipped inside, and he had been quiet as a mouse searching through the weaponry to find the valyrian steel sword enclosed in a fine case lined with velvet. The blade stood nearly as tall as him, and he had to smuggle it under his cloak, holding tight to the scabbard with his hands behind his back and even then he looked to have a second head, but somehow no one had questioned him when he reappeared at Peck’s side and they managed to steal away together without raising any alarm.

Peck’s praise for that had been nearly as great a reward as being allowed to swing the sword himself, for just a few moments, before they put it back in the scabbard and brought it to the wood where Ser Jaime awaited them.

Ser Brienne had been there as well. She stood right next to the Commander and yet they had looked very far apart. But still, she had smiled to see Podrick, and the two of them had been set on a pretty chestnut horse and sent riding off into a new adventure -- leaving Pod’s new friends behind, but back together with his lady knight, a squire once more.

All in all, it is a wonderful start to a day, and it is still yet morning.

“Did you enjoy your time in the Lannister camp, Podrick?” Ser Brienne asks him. She rides ahead of him, while the squire grips her waist, and she turns her head only a little to address him, so that he cannot see her face.

“Oh yes, milady,” Pod answers her excitedly. “Do you think we could go back for a visit someday?”

She turns away at that, and does not answer.

They ride without speaking for some time. They look to be going east, with the sun stabbing directly at them through the trees. He holds onto her only lightly. Pod knows she had been badly hurt, is still recovering, and he does not want to pain her. He wonders if she is really recovered - any time he catches a glimpse of her face, her brow is furrowed with pain. Perhaps they should have stayed with the Lannister army a day longer.

“Where will we ride to next, milady Ser?” he pipes up.

Still she does not answer.

Ser Brienne has always kept herself to herself, and Podrick is accustomed to this. He feels fine riding silently with her, and today it is especially grand to be in her company again. It’s always all right either way, whether he talks or not. If he stammers she will not laugh at him, or hurry him along impatiently and push him through each sentence as Lord Tyrion used to. No, the quiet around her has room for him to finish his thoughts, and often in her company his stuttering lifts and he can speak quite normally. Or he can be quiet as a mouse, and she will not think him stupid or forget he is there.

There is often a great deal on her mind, and sometimes she is lost in her thoughts and does not answer him. But Ser Brienne remembers things he says even if she doesn’t reply. She always remembers Pod. She always makes sure he has food to eat and a warm place to sleep. She has been teaching him to fight with a sword, just because he asked her to, and she is a patient and forgiving teacher. If she promises him something she will do it without fail. She is solid and reliable and when there is danger she will be there to meet it first of anyone, and she would never run off and forget him or abandon him to a nasty fate. He knows that as surely as he knows the sun will rise. Pod is safe around Ser Brienne, though that is not a word or a sense that he is familiar with. He does not remember having a single home, or parents, but he remembers sleeping soundly under the stars with Ser Brienne watchful over him in the dark night, and that feeling must be much the same.

Brienne stops them just before they reach Maidenpool. A train of wagons are rolling out of the growing settlement with a moderate guard. They wait a little ways back from the road.

“Lord Tarly’s men,” Podrick identifies the banner. “Allies of King Renly, and of the Tyrells.”

“Lord Tarly is no ally of mine,” she says darkly, and in a lower tone adds, “but what allies have I left?”

He tugs at her sleeve. “Should we tell him of Ser Hyle?”

Ser Brienne frowns harder somehow. “What would we tell him? No. We avoid Lord Tarly for now.”

When the train has passed, they ride cautiously into Maidenpool. The streets are crowded, but all are about their own business -- moving livestock, doing morning chores. No one gives them a second glance.

They pass the bathhouse, newly festooned in banners to cover the faded bloodstains on the stone. Women congregate all around it, dressed in bright colors, hair wet and shining in the morning sun.

“Maidenpool looks a fair sight better than it did when we saw it last,” Podrick says, attempting to be cheerful.

He expects her to still be surly and silent, and he is surprised when she stops the horse and answers him instead.

“When first I saw this place, the waters were bloated with corpses, and the streets filled only with burnt-out husks of buildings. Archers ambushed us here, and Ser Jaime and I fought them off.”

Pod blinks back at her. That must have been when Ser Jaime had been her prisoner, on the journey back to King’s Landing. She speaks of that rarely, even less than she speaks of everything. And then she looks back at him, as though she has just remembered that he is there.

“Do you know the tale of Jonquil’s Pool?” Brienne asks him abruptly.

“Yes, milady.” Pod offers it eagerly, leaning towards her. “The knight Ser Florian the Fool saw the lady Jonquil bathing there with her sisters, and he fell in love. Or at least, that’s the part I know.”

Brienne’s expression is distant and unreadable. She looks at the ladies going in and out of the bathhouse, and holds the reins tightly in her hands.

“He was a homely man, Florian. Picture him more patchwork than shining. His armor was mismatched and his reputation spotted. He was only a hedge knight and not well-born. He was no possible match for a highborn maid. But when he saw Jonquil in the bath he could not help but fall in love with her, for she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Despite everything, he could not help himself. And in time he won her heart, through many trials and heartaches, he won her.”

Pod shrugs. “Those songs are for girls perhaps. I haven’t heard those parts. They never sang them for me.”

“Perhaps they are.” She darkens palpably, her face dipping down into shadow. “I used to love those songs. When I was a girl, or something like it. But I admit it was foolish, Pod. Life isn’t a song.”

She spurs her horse to ride on.

“Could you sing it for me, milady?” His innocent face turns up to her. “One of the songs about Florian and Jonquil?”

She snorts. “Ser Jaime could have sung you Six Maidens in a Pool, with great enthusiasm.”

There is an odder silence after that.

“Do you want to look at the pool, milady Ser? We could stop at the Bathhouse.”

“I’ve never seen it,” she concedes faintly. “Though I’ve been past this way thrice before. But it’s a place for fine ladies, Pod. Not for me.”

Instead they stop at a stream on the other side of Maidenpool. This one is a fairly ordinary pool, fed by a small spring. Before the winter there would have been flowers, and one can see where they would have been. Now there are only sickly shrubs. The water, though, is lovely and clear.

Brienne dismounts her horse and kneels, suddenly, at the side of the stream. For an odd moment, it seems as though she will remove her riding gear and wade into it. She did after all never get that bath she had been promised. Instead she only leans forward and cups her hands in the water, splashing her face. She leaves her hands covering her face a moment too long, and when she removes them she stares down into the mirrored surface of the water for a long while.

“Pod,” she says very seriously, “did you fare well amongst the boys at the camp? Were you well treated?”

“Yes Milady,” Pod nods eagerly. “They have their own tent and it’s bigger, much bigger than the one we use, and dry and warm and they sing and tell tales all the night through. Then we rode in the wagons and slept when the army moved and at dusk we could run and play until full dark and then we got real meat to eat. Jossmyn Peck, Ser Jaime’s squire, he said he would spar with me sometime, we never did though…”

Brienne nods back slowly. “Were they frightened? The other boys?”

Pod frowns at her quizzically. “No. Should they be?”

“I suppose not.” Brienne looks up and down the road swiftly. “Would you like to go back to them for a time?”

He frowns harder. “Aren’t we on a quest, milady?”

“I am. You are not.” She stands.

“I’m your squire.”

“I don’t have a squire. I’m not a knight.” She rubs her face again, leaving it wet and shining. “I’m a foolish girl who’s a long way from home, and I don’t know what to do next.”

“You are a knight really.” Pod argues with her stubbornly. “You’re the best knight I’ve ever seen, better than the Kingsguard and Ser Hyle and the knights we met on the road--”

“But I’m not. I thought I could be, if I were only so perfect and honorable that no one could find any fault in me, and I could fight better than everyone else, then they would have to knight me, they would have no choice. But I’m none of those things, Pod. I promised to protect Lady Catelyn, and instead she was slain. I promised to see her daughters freed from King’s Landing and they were already gone. I promised to see Ser Jaime safe to King’s Landing, and he lost his hand along the way. I promised to rescue Lady Sansa, and I cannot find her, much less see her safely home. I promised to restore Ser Jaime’s honor, and instead I betrayed him.”

“We can still find Lady Sansa,” the boy says stubbornly. “We haven’t looked everywhere yet.”

“We have no leads. There was only rumor to go on and even that has run dry. She could be anywhere now, she could be in the North or in the Reach, or in the Vale, or even across the Narrow Sea. We cannot search everywhere.” Her head bows forward, and her cheeks are wet. “And what would I say if ever I found her? Shall I tell her how I failed her mother, and what she became? How then would I convince her that I can protect her? I cannot even convince myself.”

“You can protect her! You can protect anybody!”

“No, I can’t. I couldn’t protect Dick Crabb, I couldn’t protect Ser Hyle Hunt or Septon Merribald, I couldn’t protect the children at the orphanage, and I couldn’t protect you.” Her eyes fix, noticeably, on Podrick’s neck, where he knows an angry red burn around his throat still marks him. “I will never be knighted, and there is no place that I belong. Perhaps I should just return home.”

Brienne looks very sad. She has looked this way ever since they left the camp this morning.

Podrick hates how sad she looks. He wracks his brain for something to say that might make her not look so sad.

“Don’t worry, Pod,” Ser Brienne interrupts his thoughts. She is trying to smile. “All will be well.”

Podrick recognizes this smile. He has seen it before.

Ser Jaime had been angry when Podrick had met him, though he was trying not to show it. He had reassured him, and even made jokes, but something had seethed beneath it. The golden commander had been formidable in his anger, a towering fit of ire, and it had frightened him. The Lion of Lannister, the Kingslayer, had a famous temper fit to topple kingdoms. In the face of it he had stammered and stumbled over his words and the man had been like to snap his head off in frustration, so impatient he had been.

“P-please ser,” he had finally pleaded with him. “It should be me imp...p-prisoned and not her. She only meant to free me; she begged them not to m-make her do it. She begged them. Ser Brienne would not betray a friend, it was m-me, she did it for me. P-put me on a stake in the ground and let her go.”

Ser Jaime had abruptly left him when he said that, with an expression more of pain than anger.

Podrick thinks on him now as a lion with a wounded paw roaring to keep everyone back. The second time he had met him the lion had been only wounded and not roaring, and not quite so frightening. He had been kinder to him, that time. He had smiled more, but the smiles did not reach his eyes. He had many more questions that time, mostly about Ser Brienne. Though he had called her Lady, which felt strange. Lady Brienne. No one else on their journey had ever addressed her so, and not with that lightly mocking tone which somehow sounded fond and not cruel. He asked, the Lion, if Lady Brienne had ever spoken of him, and Podrick had to tell him no.

What he should have told him was that her silence on that matter had been very loud indeed. That his Lady kept certain things unspoken, and most of all those closest to her heart. He should have told the Lion how she had unwrapped Oathkeeper, the blade he had given her, only at night when she thought no one was looking and stared upon it, and ran her fingers over the jewels and the lions in the pommel, and wrapped it most carefully afterwards, handled it as though it were the most precious thing that she had, the most beloved.

But he told the Lion no, because he did not know how to explain the other part, and she had never spoken of it. And the Lion had been unsurprised, and he had smiled a false smile, and sent him out to play in the snow, and Podrick had not thought of it again until now, when Ser Brienne shows him the same smile.

They must have the same wound, somehow. A blow which had carved them in twain, and they did not know how to put themselves back together.

Podrick knows little and less of how two people might rebuild that kind of trust. But the memory jars something else in him, a memory of the Lannister brother that he knew far better. Lord Tyrion, the Imp, who had been kind to Podrick, if a little dismissive. He had said a thousand wise things, and even read aloud to him, from time to time. And there had been a book there in his quarters, or even several books, about the great knights and the Age of Heroes. There is something there, faint in his memory, that he knows will be important.

Podrick stands up and speaks eagerly, without stammering. “At King’s Landing, I squired for Tyrion Lannister. Lord Tyrion was a smart man. He used to read a whole book every day! And he said, I remember, he said... that there were no knights in the Age of Heroes, they came later, with the Anders--”

“Andals--” she corrects him quietly.

“--right. The Andals had knights, but Westeros didn’t, not then. The heroes before they came were just heroes. But we call them knights anyway, even though they weren’t actually knighted like we do it now. They weren’t really knights!”

“That’s hardly the point--”

“The point is, it doesn’t matter what they really were. They’re knights now, whether people then called them that or not. Because of what they did. Because they were great.”

Her hands make fists. “They were great. They did great things. I haven’t done anything but lose.”

“They probably didn’t always win! We just don’t sing songs about those parts. Maybe they lost and lost and lost and they kept trying until they did something great, and that’s the part we remember now. Not the hard parts.”

Brienne looks down into the pool.

"If they never knighted you, it wouldn’t change the things you did. You would still have killed the bandits in the Saltpans. You would still have stopped that awful Rorge from hurting the children at the crossroads."

"But I don’t want to be merely a killer. I want to keep my promises. I want to be honorable." Her hair falls over her face, obscuring the terrible scars on her cheek. "I couldn't keep my oath to Lady Catelyn without breaking faith with Ser Jaime. I had to choose. If I cannot keep my oaths, if honor is denied me, what is left?"

But she seems to know the answer. She brushes her hair back behind her ears and sighs, and she sounds much older than before.

“There is something… something I feel I must do. But I don’t know if I’m brave enough. This task I cannot fail in, and I do not know if I can succeed.”

“You should try,” Pod pushes.

“If I am a true knight,” she says hesitantly, and then more firmly, “then I must protect the realm, and defend the innocent. Less than a day’s ride from here, Pod, there is an invading army coming to kill King Tommen. He’s only a boy, even younger than you. And he is Ser Jaime’s son. I may have failed in the quest he gave me, but I might be able to help him defend the King. I must do whatever I can. Do you understand Pod? I have to.”

Pod brightens. This sounds more like the Brienne he knows. “I can help.”

“No,” she says sharply. “No. This part I must do alone. I can risk myself for this, but I will not risk you.”

“You would leave me behind?”

“I will come back.” She puts her hands on his shoulders. “If I yet live I will come back for you, Pod, and we’ll look for Lady Sansa. And for Lord Tyrion too, I know you wanted to rejoin him…”

“I want to stay with you,” Pod says miserably.

Brienne looks surprised. Then her expression softens, briefly, and she squeezes his shoulders.

“I will not be riding to battle, Podrick, not the way you’re thinking. I cannot be of help on the battlefield without knowing his plans, but I can try to get into the city ahead of the invasion, and protect the King and the Queen Regent. I will have to disguise myself, and there would be no way to bring you along. But do not worry, I would not go off and forget you. Not for Ser Jaime, not for anyone. I gave Ser Jaime to the Brotherhood to make sure you would be safe."

Pod’s face falls. Could it be his fault that Ser Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime are so unhappy?

"I’m s-s-sorry,” he stammers.

"Don’t be sorry!” she says quickly, wiping at his face with her thumb. “I’m not sorry. Because of that you are here and alive and well. I could never be sorry for that. But now Ser Jaime is the one who needs my help. He thinks he will not win this battle, but he will go anyway, to try to save his son. I fear he will perish in the attempt. I cannot allow that to happen.”

Brienne’s face takes on a strange light then, one that Podrick will long remember.

“The knights in the songs would risk their lives to save a fair maiden from danger. Ser Jaime is not a maiden, but... If there is any chance I might save him from a ghastly fate I must try. I know it must seem foolish. I can’t explain it, but… it’s like a song, Podrick, a song I hear in my heart. Like when Ser Galladon went out to face the dragon, or when Florian met Jonquil. They knew which way their destiny lay, and they rode to meet it. I must do the same, or else be a coward forever. I only hope I can live up to their example.”

Podrick does not want to let her go again so soon. But if she doesn’t go, he knows, she will let herself down, and it will make her even sadder. Perhaps if she can help Ser Jaime, it will heal this wound of hers. Perhaps they could heal each other.

“You can do it, milady ser. You can do anything.” He puts all the enthusiasm he can muster into his encouragement. “You’re the best sword-fighter in the world. You can take a few Targaryens.”

Brienne smiles genuinely, a gap-toothed, shy smile that he has never seen before.

“That’s going a bit far, Pod, but I shall do my best. You’re right, even if I cannot be a true knight, I can still protect the innocent and do what’s right. And if I cannot fight for honor, I can still fight for love.”

Podrick beams. “What can I do to help?”

“You can go and stay with the other boys at the Lannister camp. Jaime won’t take them to war. I think he will leave an ancillary camp behind with the boys, and anyone else he would like to save. The boys, and his squire, and perhaps your cousin too. When you find them there, they will look after you until I return. Find them, and wait for me. Will you do that for me, Pod? So I wont worry?”

He nods. Because he has to, because she needs him to. He’s only just found her again, but he has to let her go. He can see it now - she is a true knight, and she is on a quest to a place he can’t follow. As her squire, he will have to do as she commands.

He will go, and he will take great gulps of air to choke back the tears until she can’t see him anymore.

She gives him much of the coin that Ser Jaime had left her, and all of the supplies too. She takes only the hound’s helmet, and Oathkeeper, and leaves him her horse.

Brienne kneels before him before he takes his leave. “Keep practicing while I’m gone. Every day, the sword forms and the footwork. Will you?”

Pod nods wordlessly, to keep himself from stammering or sobbing.

“I will return, I promise I will. I came back to the Brotherhood for you and I will come back to you this time. You’re my squire and as long as I live I will come back for you.”

Pod stares into her eyes resolutely. “No matter what. Promise.”

She stares back. “I promise.”

Pod throws his arms around her neck. At first she is still, but then her big arms wrap around him and pull him flush against her, and she holds him so tightly he can scarcely breathe. She whispers, “thank you,” into his hair, again and again. He does not know what she is thanking him for.

#ring of fire #I've also just posted Part 3 to ao3 #I wanted to get this chapter up here first for a sneak peek #jaime x brienne #brienne of tarth #tumblr fic

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snowbellewells · 4 years ago

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CSSNS20 Gift Part Two: “One Little Ray of Hope”

So, this is the follow-up and conclusion to the first part of my @cssecretsanta2020 gift for @let-it-raines I never thought it would be nearly Valentine’s Day before I got this gifted, but I went through a major writing slump and just finally pulled it together a bit. @let-it-raines has been incredibly patient and understanding, and I do hope she enjoys a bit more fluff and a happy ending to her little EF Christmas story. May your 2021 have been brilliant so far, Raines! Thanks so much for being such a wonderful shipmate! :)

Part One is here - in case it’s taken me so long you need to refresh your memory!

"One Little Ray of Hope” by: @snowbellewells

Part Two

Nearly two months passed before Emma saw Captain Jones again - two of the longest months she had ever spent waiting for anything it felt to her, and the sameness and routine of her days blended into one seemingly long, endless stretch. She didn’t like to admit it; to be just one more heartsick woman in a harbor town waiting for her restless sailor’s hoped-for return. And yet, she was just that, much as she had tried to fight it.

The only difference she could claim was the man for whom she waited. She had known the Captain’s interest long before accepting her own in return, had been well aware of those brightly intelligent, deeply seductive blue eyes gleaming in the dim light of the tavern as he watched her work, the awareness of his attention shivering along her skin deliciously. She wound’t deny adding an extra sway to her hips or a swing of her hair in response, from time to time, enjoying his silently rapt notice.

This Killian Jones was a patient man; quietly determined and certain of what he desired. He was a man willing to wait if the prize was worth it, and honorable enough to make a vow and stand by his word. Emma had seen it in the way he dealt with his men, his crew; in the way he treated her employer and other tradespeople when he was in port, and when she herself had allowed their better acquaintance and all-too-rare private conversation and brief flirtations, in the way he treated her. Oh, he was tempting, drawing her to his flame inexorably, but despite the reputation of a pirate, she had tried him and found in truth that he was always in fact a gentleman.

While the February snows might still be falling outside, Emma didn’t feel a single doubt. Though she was anxious, she knew he would return. They’d had an interminable late chill this winter; icy conditions still kept many huddled indoors all through the Feast of St. Valentine the past week, when many went out with their significant others for a special evening. This year there had been few couples canoodling in corners of the tavern - most had simply stayed home by their fires (or in their beds) and the lonely who looked on hoping to find their mate at last had been forced to wait another year.

Few ships indeed had managed to make their way in and out to dock in Misthaven’s harbor due to the inclement conditions. Emma wanted to be glad the Jolly was not among them, as she had been watching carefully, worried to note that the Queen’s black guard seemed to be doing the same. Much as she could crawl out of her own skin with the desire to see Killian Jones standing before her, her hair stood on end with the image that had greeted her all too often of the faceless armored men patrolling the docks - as if somehow they knew. She couldn’t stomach the thought of Killian and his crew - meant to sail atop the waves wild and free from one place to another as the wind might carry them - shackled and chained, jailed or even killed. She would have him stay away for months more if it meant he evaded the clutches of the Evil Queen.

However, tonight, for the first time in ages, it looked as though they might have a full house at Granny’s. The wind still howled outside, bitterly cold against the bared skin of cheeks and noses and threatening to bowl over weary travelers plodding against it, but it seemed after so much time cooped up in their own homes, many of the townsfolk were braving the elements in order to drink and make merry and see some other scenery beyond their own hearths and four walls. If nothing else, possibly the sound and good humor all around her in close quarters would keep her busy serving customers and distracted from worrying about Captain Jones, his ship, and his loyal crew - where they might be, what might have held them up for so long, and what sort of threat might await them here if they did return.

The night wore on as it always did; Emma laughed with the regulars, thanking them kindly when they tipped her well for the warm food and good ale. The cozy atmosphere and bustling pace flushed her cheeks and almost did make her forget for whole minutes at a time how much she did miss one particular sailor, how much she ached to see that dark head of hair proudly leading his crewmen through the door, ready to let loose after a long voyage, his booming laugh making her pulse flutter and a smile tug at her own lips giddily. Even as she prayed in equal measure that he stayed away for his own safety, the yearning refused to be smothered.

Just then she heard the opening chords of a familiar reel - one that she had often noticed Jones’ cook and quartermaster and some of the younger men on his ship singing bawdily along with. Once she had even thought her ears detected Killiain’s smooth, rich tone singing the refrain as well before he had caught himself and merely listened silently - reclaiming the image of the ever-serious captain. Emma’s head turned sharply, eyes seeking out Mulan at the piano, wondering what she was about playing that song now rather than the slower ballads and love songs Granny had bade for their holiday festivities.

To her shock, wondering how she could have missed their entrance, Emma’s mouth fell open at seeing that their musical warrior was no longer the player coaxing such fine notes from the ivory keys. It was the quartermaster on Jones’ ship. But how? And did that mean…?

Even as she just dared to hope, she felt him drawing near; his presence close at her back, the fine hairs at the nape of her neck standing on end in response. The heat radiating off him warmed her from shoulder to heel, and she felt a grin splitting her face even as she fought to school her reaction and not fling herself into his arms before one and all gathered there.

His voice was a low, soothing rumble at her ear as he came closer still, calloused fingers trailing down her arm where gooseflesh broke out in his wake until he tangled their fingers together. “Mistress Swan,” he crooned, true ardency in his words, though she cut her eyes over just enough to note the smirk playing about his lips. “You look more beautiful than ever. Might I be so bold as to steal a dance with you, Love?”

Despite the feeling that every cell and nerve ending was quivering with excitement, unclear whether her wobbling knees would support her, Emma gave a small tease of a smile in reply. It took all her resolve not to melt into his arms and nod mute acquiescence. Somehow though, she heard her own voice managing the sort of banter the two of them had perfected - their own secret language of a sort. “I’m not at all sure you can handle that, Captain… but you’re welcome to try.”

She winked and tossed her hair as she baited him, but in the next instant, all breath fled her lungs as Jones swept her up, pressed tightly to the firm lines of his body, arms holding her in an embrace both graceful and desperate. “What shall see who can handle themselves, Darling,” he growled against her cheek.

Then they were whirling, spinning, flying through the paces of the jaunty tune with such all-consuming vigor and speed Emma felt her feet hardly touched the ground. For a time they were both lost in the song and the dance and the nearness of one another. As the notes finally subsided and a gentler melody took its place, they slowed, but Emma’s head still spun, fearing to pull away from Killian Jones. She gazed enthralled into the dark, kohl-lined crystal blue of his gaze, expecting a mocking tilt of his head and quirked brow as he asked just who it was who had been unable to handle their reunion. But Jones seemed equally breathless, at last stepping away only slightly to bend his head over her hand, clasping it in his and kissing the back of it reverently.

“You are such a sight for this poor sailor’s eyes,” he promised, looking up at her and causing what little breath she had gained to escape her once more. “Until the morrow?”

Emma nodded, wordless until she finally replied, “Aye, of course, Killian.”

He did not linger, heading back to his ship for the night, clearly not wishing them all to be seen enough to cause a stir or word to get around, but having left her with merely that chaste and gentlemanly caress of lips that now seemed seared into her skin, Emma could not help but watch him go, burning for so much more.

*** *** *** *** ***

On this voyage the Jolly managed to remain until the spring thaw, some weeks in fact. Luck - or Fate - was on their side and the bulk of Queen Regina’s forces, and her perilous focus, had been drawn elsewhere. Killian kept a tight rein on his crew. They roamed the village quietly and inconspicuously, blending in and inviting no trouble. The ship was docked in the harbor, a beautiful vessel one felt compelled to admire, and yet, with the monarch and her henchmen in other parts of the usurped kingdom, the Jolly went unnoticed by those who would mean her - or her occupants - harm. The last traces of winter were melting into spring, just as the frozen ground in the village and nearby forest turned soft with mud and brightened with new shoots of green grass.

The air had been soft and beguiling, teasing at Emma’s cheeks and the ends of her long hair as she had run errands for Granny in the marketplace that afternoon. She sensed a change in the breeze as it played about her, and that evening as she watched only Killian, Smee, and his purser, a young man called Scarlet, come to dine and settle into a darker corner quietly, Emma knew what that sense had meant. It was time for them to set sail once more. And, even with the tight mass of nerves balled in her stomach, she had reached a decision as well.

Making her way over to take their orders with a friendly smile, Emma tried to send Killian the sort of secretive seduction of the eyes that he had so often turned upon her. She knew he took her signal, mischief sparkling in his own irises in return, and yet his bided his time, tongue firmly planted in cheek.

She turned to go, and suddenly she felt his strong arms wrap around her waist, pulling her backwards into his lap. A playful shriek of surprise escaped her as she landed abruptly, but none of the resistance, nor the punch or slap, she would have offered any other who tried to manhandle her so. Instead, she quickly turned toward him to burrow into his embrace - taking him more than a bit off guard with her enthusiastic response.

“You’ve worked out that we must be on our way, haven’t you, Lass?” he murmured in her ear softly.

Emma nodded, the lump in her throat strangling any audible response as she stared back at him, not even daring to blink and let him vanish from her sight. Leaning in to make sure his next words whispered with hoarse emotion were for her ears alone, Jones added, “Come with me, Emma? Come and be my Pirate Queen?”

He seemed genuinely uncertain, hard as it was for Emma to believe him not assured she would love nothing more. His tongue wet his lips nervously as he awaited her answer, which only made Emma further resolved in her choice.

Meeting his hopeful gaze, she offered a trembling smile before nodding vigorously, tears brimming in the corners of her eyes. It was a soaring relief to be gathered closer as he swept in to capture her mouth - all hesitance long forgotten - and plunder it thoroughly in a kiss that nearly drowned her.

Emma would miss the other girls who had become her friends and sisters, the safety and familiarity of the home she had found at Granny’s, but she would gain an inestimable boon in return. Love - real and true and all-consuming. And when the Jolly Roger set sail with the dawn, she was at her Captain’s side.

Tagging: @cssecretsanta2020 @let-it-raines @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @lfh1226-linda @xsajx @tiganasummertree @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @thislassishooked

#cssns20 #cs secret santa gift fic #one little ray of hope #part two #cs EF ff #cs au fic #cs two shot

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bambi-kinos · 3 years ago

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Well come and well met, my brave little spark How long you've wandered, burned bright as a star Oh, I have long awaited you patiently all this time Past every fate, now sing with me once more Share of your life Far greater than memory These loss-and-love words can not hold Boundless, the tale overflows And carries your light out to sea

Remember the rain, near and far beloved Each drop a blessing from heavens above And how, as time flowed on those waters, became one Streams, rivers, and lakes reaching for the horizon And far beyond They carry onward, however Changed with each brief reflection By setting sun, by storm's wake 'Til welcomed home to gentle sea

Sinking deeper and deeper in calm embrace Loving tides sweep in and bear you down Should you meet us arising, surface thus With your unbeating heart, wish them well

Deep dark, far away I have heard your voice, with your every choice Now our hands join round the meaning you sought I'll catch your tears Quench your fears with joy, to your devotion, Where in time all shall as hope be reborn

Hush, love, close your eyes Let them sleep all blind in such a strange light It calls to undo dreams, thee and all Though you will weep The winds rise again for this journey’s end Is but one step forward to tomorrow

#music #ffxiv

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lawofavgs · 7 years ago

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The Sacrifices We Make - Chapter 4

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

The next morning, I spent an unreasonable amount of time in my room. Everything I could think of to delay going downstairs, I did at a snail’s pace. I made the bed, with corners that would impress any drill sergeant. I dressed myself with the care of someone who had never worn the traditional 18th century garments. I finger-combed my hair, stroke after stroke, until I could no longer find a tangle. Eventually, I had to face the terrifying concept of going downstairs for breakfast – and the potential conflict awaiting me. I just had to keep telling myself the result of what I had done was worth the cost.

I crept into the kitchen, heart beating rapidly as I looked around for signs of danger. A couple of servants bustled in and out – less than I was used to seeing around Lallybroch. A sigh of relief bubbled out of me as I saw a pot of porridge still simmering. Scoping myself a portion, I turned to scurry back to my room and let out a yelp, nearly dropping my bowl in the process.

“Murtagh!”

The man in question raised two bushy eyebrows in surprise before looking at me speculatively. He took in my appearance and I tried not to shrink under his appraisal.

“Aye, and ye’re the Sassenach witch Brian’s been havering about for years,” he spoke plainly, and I expected no different. It was certainly better than the first first impression we had – him playing rescuer then kidnapper all in the span of 2 minutes. Though I was looked upon as a witch, I felt secure in the knowledge that no one at Lallybroch would have me burnt at the stake.

Save perhaps one inexplicably angry red head.

“Well, not exactly a witch, but yes. The Prophesizing Sassenach. I should take my act on the road. Though, I refuse to sing this time.”

Murtagh looked at me as though I was a loon, and I could tell he was already itching to make a hasty retreat from the kitchen. “I dinna ken what you are, truly. All that matters is that ye’ll bring no harm to the people here.”

“Never. You have my word. I just want to see everyone at Lallybroch safe,” I promised. After searching my face for honestly, he nodded once, appeased by what he saw. Without another word, he grabbed a bannock and marched out of the kitchen.

Right past a glowering Jamie.

I couldn’t understand it. What had I done to enrage him so? Not once in all the time I had known him had he once shown this kind of derision for me. Even before we were married, traveling with the rent party, it was more like gentle impatience when I refused to open up to him or accept the Highland way of life.

Hell, even in France when I tried to stop him from duelling with Randall, his rage was reserved for Black Jack. I only received his hurt and betrayal.

“You may have my father fooled, but I’m no’ so easily swayed by mysterious words and a sweet smile,” he warned before disappearing after his godfather. I was left speechless. Did saving his father and sparing him from Randall really change him that much? I couldn’t see a trace of the sweet Jamie I had known for three years.

One thing hadn’t changed though. Jamie was still a man who would defend his family against any perceived threat, and to him, that’s what I was.

Shoulders slumped, I tried once more to escape to the sanctuary that was my room. Fate seemed to be against me, however, as I saw Jenny darning socks in the sitting room.

“Dinna fash yerself over my brother. He has his own matters to deal with,” she informed me with a smile as she continued her work.

“Yes, I gathered that. He was never so....”

“Angry as a stung horse and stubborn as an ox?” Jenny finished for me. I couldn’t help the wry laugh that escaped me.

“The stubbornness I expected. That is a Fraser trait, after all.” At this she smirked and offered no argument. “The anger, however, that one is new. I thought with the information I gave your father and the moments he averted, Jamie would have had an easier life.”

“Well, I dinna ken exactly how things were supposed to go originally – Da was always vague about the details – but life has no’ exactly been easy for Jamie since that prophecy of yers. I get his frustrations. Father would barely let me cross the doorway without an escort, and always sent me to the priest hole when there were sightings of Redcoats. But for Jamie, it was worse. The lad fostered at Leoch and studied at a university in France. He was ready to be a man upon returning to Lallybroch but was instead treated as if he were a boy. Hiding from the English and never going to Broch Mordha without Father or Murtagh. He thought he would be marrit with bairns by now, preparing to be Laird.”

I started at both revelations: that Jamie had led such a sheltered life these past 6 years, and that he was still unmarried despite his status (and many other positive traits).

“I didn’t…I didn’t realize your father would go to those extremes. I thought he would just prevent the one incident I told him about, prepare for the failed uprising, and then life would go on as normal,” I stuttered, setting my now-cold porridge on a table and dropping onto the settee.

“Oh aye, it was like father changed overnight. We could see the difference in him after he brought you back to the fairy hill, but after whatever happened or didn’t happen that October, he became paranoid. His father always had an interest in the supernatural, but Da held no stock in seers or fairies or the like. It was bad enough that people called him a selkie. Once he believed what you told him to be true, it was like he feared fate would come to rebalance the scales.”

“Do you believe me? That I’m from the future?” My voice came out small, and I was surprised at how badly I needed her to say yes.

She regarded me for a moment, weighed the thoughts in her mind and took measurement of them. Finally she said, “I do, aye. I dinna ken what you are exactly, or how it works, but I ken you had knowledge of events that would come to pass and you shared that information with my father. Was it really because you wanted to help? You had no ulterior motives?”

“I swear to you,” I breathed out, “I only meant to save your family from pain.”

Jenny graced me with that typical Fraser nod of acquiescent, confident in her assessment of me, before she returned to the task in her hands. As I rose to leave, I heard her add, “Be patient with Jamie. He’s thick-heided but he’s kind. Once he figures out for himself that you mean no ill will, he’ll no’ treat you so rudely.”

I certainly hoped she was right.

After half-heartedly prodding at the congealed porridge I had brought up to my room, I managed to finish every last bite – the thought of the upcoming famine never far from my mind – and meandered out to the courtyard. The promise of summer was slowly starting to fill the air, and I considered asking Brian if I could tend to some of the gardens. If I were to take up the post of healer for Lallybroch and Broch Mordha, I would need to build up supplies and....

“What are you doing poking about?”

I nearly jumped out of my skin upon hearing Jamie’s near-accusing question. “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! Must you sneak up on people like that?”

Despite his stormy demeanor, he managed a smirk – bloody bastard was pleased with himself. “Aye, weel, if you arena doing anything wrong, you wouldna be so quick to startle.”

“I’ll have you know I was just taking stock of what the gardens need,” I informed him as I crossed my arms defensively. “There are plenty of wild herbs growing on the property that can be transferred and tended to here.”

“Ye ken what grows on the property, do ye?”

I sighed, still coming to terms with his attitude paired with such a familiar voice and face. It was a constant battle to remind myself that this wasn’t my Jamie. This Jamie cast a suspicious eye on me, wary of my intent and annoyed at the shadow I left over his transition into adulthood. I knew he blamed me for the change in his father’s personality, and despite the reason for it, it was hard for him to gain perspective.

It would be easy to think him ungrateful, given the changes made and the trials and tribulations avoided, but to him those events would simply be abstract concepts. How could one wrap their mind around terrible things that would never come to pass? The only thing Jamie knew was the sudden lack of freedom and a superstitious father. Besides, according to Jenny, Brian never went into detail about the horrors that would befall their family.

Still, it was difficult to be at odds with Jamie, any version of Jamie. I’d be lying if I said my heart didn’t flutter when Jenny mentioned he was unmarried. Visions quickly flashed through my mind, of the two of us together and happy and whole, with our child on the way.

But how could that dream ever be reality when Jamie held such a disdain for me? And how do you tell a man that even though you’ve never made love, you’re carrying his child? It was a concept I could barely straighten out in my mind, and I was living it. I started to wonder if coming back to Lallybroch, if staying here, was the right choice. Once again, I had to remind myself that this wasn’t about me; every decision I made would have to be for the baby. In the end, I knew that no matter where our paths led – together or separate – I needed to end this battle.

“All right, that’s it. You and I are going to discuss this like adults. No more sneering or snide remarks. I’m sure you have a lot of questions and I’m willing to answer them,” I informed him, squaring my shoulders and preparing for conflict.

Jamie had the good sense to look at least a little chastised but shook his head. “I’ll no’ get into a stramash wi’ you in the dooryard of my home.”

“Then where would you like to go? The barn? The mill wheel? The other side of the broch?” I could hear the snippiness in my tone but I couldn’t help it. Even if Jamie was acting out over something he didn’t understand, he was still being an arse.

Surprisingly, Jamie turned with a huff and nodded towards the barn. Maybe I had expected him to refuse my suggestion of a tête-à-tête and continue on stubbornly with his bitter behaviour. It was hard to predict his thoughts and his future choices the way I once used to. Where once stood a man forced to grow up quickly, now was a lad whose protected life may have bred an immaturity I never saw in him.

When we stepped inside the barn, I held my arms out in a gesture of invitation for his interrogation. “Whatever you want to know; ask. I will try to answer as best and as honestly as I can. Someone once told me about having room for secrets but not for lies. You have my word that everything I tell you will be the truth, but I reserve the right to hold onto some secrets of my life.”

Jamie sized me up, taking pause to formulate a line of questioning – or perhaps a plan of attack. Steeling himself in a gesture I had seen before, he started, “Are you a witch?”

Suddenly I was seated under a giant tree that blocked out the sun, my dress torn and my back stinging from being strapped. Instead of a suspicious tone, I heard one of concern. I saw blue eyes that pleaded for truth, regardless of what that truth might be. I saw a man who was not looking to condemn me, but protect me.

“I’m not a witch,” I answered, the same way as the first time. “In truth, I don’t know what I am. You’ve heard of “The Woman of Balnain”? That seems like the closest explanation, though not entirely the same. The only thing I do know is when I touch the stones atop Craigh Na Dun, I travel through time. I don’t know the rhyme or reason behind when I end up. I’ve also met one other woman with the…ability.”

Geillis Duncan. Would she have met the same fate in this altered timeline? I couldn’t think of a reason why it would have been avoided. The only difference would be her going through the trial alone.

“What purpose did you have, coming here and warning my father of dark days?” he asked as he lowered himself onto a rickety old stool. Even seated, he was an imposing figure. I pondered his question, piecing out how to answer truthfully without revealing facts about the life we would have led together without my interference.

“At first, I didn’t know what year I was in. With no family to go to, I figured here would be the safest. I knew the people to be kind and trustworthy. When I met your father, I decided to warn him.” As I explained my rationale, I wondered if that was the reason I ended up in 1740. My mind and my heart had been so focused on saving Brian – wee Brian, not yet born, perhaps the stones saw fit to send me to a time where I could save his namesake instead. “How much did your father tell you about my warning?”

“I thought I was the one asking questions,” Jamie remarked with a half-smile. I must have been so starved for positive affection from him, because that small joke paired with the slight upturn of his lips had me glowing. I watched Jamie’s brow furrow as he recalled Brian’s words from years past. “All he said was a White Lady had warned him of life-altering events caused by the British army, and that the scenario you spoke to him about came to pass. He never said what was to happen, or what proof he had that you were anything but a loon. All I ken was how fearful he became every time he heard tell of Redcoats near our lands. I believe if he could have locked Jenny and I up in a tower, he would have.”

Given what Jenny told me, I knew Brian had withheld what I told him, but I didn’t realize to what extent. I was curious as to why he chose not to tell his children, even if it meant bearing their resentment or confusion. And though it may not have been my place, I truly felt Jamie deserved to know the full story. And so I told him, in general statements that were still more detailed than the information he had, about what had been prevented. I watched the colour drain from his face as I went on, confirming to him why Brian had developed such an aversion to the English.

“Please don’t be angry with your father. I’m sure he had his reasons for not telling you the whole story.”

Jamie’s gaze remained fixed on a far wall – the thousand yard stare I had seen from him many times before. I could tell his mind was working hard, turning over what I had said and moments from the past six years that were taking on a new meaning to him. Finally he looked at me, seeing right to my very soul, before standing and walking past me towards the door.

Before he could cross the threshold, he stopped and turned back to me. “I still don’t understand this, but if what you say is the truth, then I thank ye. Not just for me, but for my family and our tenants. For saving my father’s life. And…I’m sorry. I blamed you for things that werena yer doing, painted ye in a false light, and I treated ye poorly.”

With a stately bow, Jamie took his leave. It was all I could do to remain on my feet and get my emotions under control enough to head back to the house.

#outlander fanfic #outlander fanfiction #claire x jamie #jamie x claire #outlander #the sacrifices we make #fanfic

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wizardsnwookies · 6 years ago

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POTA 081518 - Hearth and Fire

“Welcome back.” Drenaris fluttered her eyes, it was dark, almost as dark as the unconsciousness she just awoke from but there was just enough light from a flickering fire to see the outline Aviate’s face staring down at her.

“Tell me they’re dead.”

“Most of them, we find ourselves in the company of the remainders.” Aviate eased her up into a sitting position, casting a glance over his shoulder to the raging funeral pyre consuming the dead.

“They mean to takes us back to their stronghold for initiation. Poh is of the mind to dispose of them before that happens.”

“Of course he is. For once, I’m in total agreement with him.” Drenaris scanned the scene, six figures stood as shadows against the flame, staring into it with a kind of reverent awe. Their horse and wagon had been drawn up to the camp where tents and bedrolls had already been laid out for the evening. Twilight had already settled in, and the stars glittering like diamonds above their heads.

“Where is the little fiend anyways?”

A slight elevation of his head turned Drenaris attention to the back of the wagon where the hunched figure of Poh sat in intense examination of one of the serrated blades carried by the water people. Piled around him were several bits and pieces of armor collected from both sides. Netting and crustacean shell from the water folk, burnished brass on the other. Sitting up, Drenaris reached a hand out towards the hilt of a rather simple looking longsword among the littler.

“This from the flame cult?”

Poh turned his head, seemingly unaware that his companion had once again regained consciousness. He offered a nod, showing no reaction or concern for her state of being, before turning his attention back to what Drenaris could now see was a sword lined on either side with rows of shark teeth. She carefully drew the longsword from the wagon, the cold steel singing as it dragged against the old wood.

She tested it in her hands, the weight, the balance, the construction. She didn’t know much about a lot of things, but she knew weaponry, you needed to if you wanted to survive the pits. In every sense, it was unimpressive. The balance was passable, a bit to heavy to wield with any significant speed, and the blue folded steel had been smithed with reasonable competence. Still, she knew there was a secret to be unlocked here, magical or otherwise. She had see the flame cult wield these with a ripples of flame climbing up its length. The question was, how was this triggered?

“Stow it, they’re coming back.” The pirate stood, collecting the sword from her hands before helping Poh surreptitiously hide the ill gotten goods under a length of tent fabric. Backlit by the raging bonfire, the woman Aviate had come to know as Rebecca approached flanked by two of her subordinates, a slight man with raven hair, and another female with eyes the color of emeralds.

“You’re awake. So tell me, have your friends shown you the light?” There was no alternative offered, instead, she drew the longsword at her hip and let it fall to her side ominously.

“No.” Drenaris stood on shaky legs, chin held high, eyes burning. Aviate felt his muscles tense. He hadn’t yet gotten the opportunity to tell her they were feigning allegiance, this could end very badly.

“The glory of the eternal flame doesn’t need others to attest to it’s power.”

“Well said.” Not quite smiling, Rebecca sheathed her sword, her stance relaxing some. “I am Rebecca Thorne of the Eternal Flame. This is Arman Sial,” she motioned to the slight man to her right, “and Barabal Bhodhsa.” The woman to her left seemed of a much warmer temperment than her colleges, her smile wide, eyes shining.

“Welcome to dae fold. Rebecca seems like a tite arse but donna worry none, she grows on yae.” Drenaris had to strain to hear past Barabal’s thick accent, but her voice was friendly and lighthearted. It was almost a shame that they would have to kill her.

“Come, bask in the power of the fire and we shall begin your education.”

---

Hearth and Fire be ours tonight And all the dark outside, Fair the night, and kind on your Wherever you abide

And I’ll be the glow upon your head The warmth upon your face My life upon the path you tread And upon your name I swear

Wine and song be ours tonight And the fire in our heart; Power and warmth be yours tonight Wherever you abide

Hearth and Fire be outs tonight And the embers upon the wind Oh that the fire we stoke tonight Would find you warm and fair

It was a crowd-pleaser. Sure, he may have weaved a little charm spell into the music, and yes he may have altered the lyrics to suit his needs, but Aviate liked to think that regardless these zealots would have been enthralled by him even if he had not been quite so manipulative. When Drenaris used a simple Thulmaturgy spell to make the flames dance, he had to stow his annoyance and check his ego. This wasn’t a simple plying of his trade, he had to remember, this was about setting the stage for slaughter.

“I feel that song only appropriate for the evening.” He took a strong bow as applause and cheers rang out from the half dozen cultists. Even Rebecca had seemed to lighten up some. “It brings up the only thing missing. Wine!”

“We do not drink.” In an instant, the cold frown returned on the captain’s face. This was a tough one, Aviate thought. “The fire of the eternal flame is already within our bellies.”

“Is that how you ignite your swords?”

“Nah, with our faith.” Barabal stood proudly, thrusting her blade into the air in salute. In an instant, sparks of flame began to dance on the cold blue steel it’s orange glow slithering across her face.

“Your faith, huh?” Drenaris stood, offering her hand, palm up. “Mind if I give it a try?”

Six voices broke out in laughter around the fire, each one of the acolytes slapping their knees and clutching their aching sides. Barabal was more restrained, seemingly not willing to mock her new comrade. Instead she doused the flame and flipped the sword in the air, catching it by the blade and thrusting the hilt towards Drenaris.

“Don’t mean nae offense, but I cannae think a newcomer-” Barabal jumped back with a start, the instant the leather grip touched Drenaris fingers a rush of flame shot upwards towards her hand. Aviate hid a smile from the crowd, smoke and mirrors magic, nothing that would fool anyone with half a brain. However, against those already charmed to take a liking to the group...

“It seems I have misjudged you.” Rebecca stood with a smile of reverence upon her face. Her eyes watched the dancing flame upon the blade as if it were god itself. “The glory of the Eternal Flame burns strong with you. Elazar will be eager to meet with you.”

“Elazar?” Dousing the flames, Drenaris tossed the sword back to an awestruck Barabal. Perhaps it would be wise to hold off on slaying these folk until after they learned a little something about all this. Could be useful if these little encounters were to be a recurring nuisance upon their journey.

“The Leader of the Hall of the Scarlet Moon. He will be the one to initiate you into the fellowship of the flame. He will be first to call you Sister.” A proud hand fell upon Drenaris shoulder. Rebecca had now fully cooled, Aviate’s spell fully taking hold.

“I eagerly await that honor. How much further a journey to we have?”

“Not long, one day’s journey back from whence you had arrived into our fold.”

“Really? We passed no hall on our way here.”

Rebecca smiled before turning back to stoke the bonfire to even greater heights. “These lands once held great kingdoms, of which all that are left are song and ruins. Though not the grand hall the eternal flame deserves, they serve our purposes well enough.”

“Interesting.” Drenaris mask faltered slightly. Casting her eyes over Rebecca’s shoulder she could see the dark silhouette of Poh, skulking behind the turned backs of the five sitting around the fire. He was getting impatient, and if his past actions were any indication, he was not one to wait for the order. He would strike when he was ready, or rather, when he was tired of waiting.

“It will be interesting to see how we all fit inside with the great gathering. The number of those eager to bask in the flame’s glory swells, and things are already becoming cramped in such a space.”

Almost imperceptibly, Drenaris chanced the slightest shaking of her head. Hoping beyond hope that the bird will actually listen this time. “What great gathering?”

“We gather our numbers for preparations of the great ritual.” Rebecca offered a wicked smile, turning back to the fire and tugging up her trousers before sitting upon a small stone. “You are lucky to have joined us when you did. A great cleansing is upon us. All who are unworthy will be wiped clean of this earth, leaving behind only those loyal to the eternal flame.”

This was far more than just a philosophical dispute between factions. This was something bigger, something insane, and now she had found herself somehow caught in the middle of it. All she wanted was to repay a debt owed to a cheating half-ork. How strangely the fates spin their webs.

“It’s about time if you ask me.” Aviate punctuated his exclamation with a pull of his wine skin, wiping his lips clean and nodding towards the group. “As much as I hate to break up the celebration, the night grows dark and it would be prudent to start a watch should any more of those waterlogged fools decide to seek revenge.”

“Mmm, Arman you take first watch.” There was no argument from the slight man when his captain spoke. He stood tall, grabbing his sword belt and buckled it around his waist with the speed and precision of a well trained soldier. These were not mere cultists, Aviate pondered, these were dedicated men and women of skill and discipline.

“Allow us to share the burden. Poh is quite gifted with the shadows, he will stand watch with his new brother.”

“Very well.” Arman stood patiently at the edge of the surrounding brush and tree cover. The way his eyes followed the bobbing motion of the Kenku’s gate betrayed the unease he felt for the creature. Wise man, Aviate thought to himself. Though no words had passed between them, he knew as well as Poh that though two of them disappeared into the darkness of the night, only one of them would emerge alive.

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#princes of the apocalypse #Dungeons and Dragons #role playing games #campaign diary

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arnoldjaime13 · 4 years ago

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Blog Tour- MATRIARCH by @AdamWingWriting With An Excerpt & #Giveaway! @RockstarBkTours

I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the MATRIARCH by Adam Wing Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours. Check out my post and make sure to enter the giveaway!

About The Book:

Title: MATRIARCH

Author: Adam Wing

Pub. Date: December 1, 2019

Publisher: Adam Wing

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Pages: 124

Find it: Goodreads, Amazon, Kindle, B&N, TBD, Bookshop.org

Read For FREE With A Kindle Unlimited Membership!

The story is over. It’s already too late.

At the end of the Turkish War of Independence, a British soldier disobeys orders to return home. Setting out to explore a country he had only known as trespasser, he uncovers danger, mysteries, and magic—adventure, obsession, and true love.

One hundred years later, the soldier’s great-granddaughter sits at her great-grandmother’s deathbed while the old woman recounts this very tale; it is the last she will ever tell.

Secrets are revealed as past and present collide, and as one woman’s future draws toward its inevitable close, another finds hers thrown into uncertainty.

Excerpt:

(First Chapter)

THE ELDEST

FATE. DESTINY. DOOM.

They rule our lives, decide our futures, queens of fortune and potential. So small are we in Their eyes—so titanic Their vision—we sometimes view Them as a single inescapable god, decider of everything, of both final and first, both cause and consequence. But each is unique.

They are Sisters.

Born in the same instant, Destiny and Fate have ever been rivals. Squabbling for control of all that is, and all that will come to pass, they command our stories, vying for ownership: Fate singing Her songs in reverse, with endings decided before have begun—parables carved in the currents of an immutable universe. While Destiny scribbles in the ink of human action, telling stories born of spirit, courage and resolve, of foolishness, fear and greed. Her endings are those we achieve for ourselves, yet they are no less inevitable, no less Hers in the end.

Then there is the Eldest.

Doom.

Doom eclipses Her Sisters. They are nothing that She was not already. Like Fate, She is the chosen endpoint assigned to each living soul; like Destiny, She is the fruit of every worldly ambition. And She is more. Doom is the great and terrible scorecard, the price of admission, deferred until journey’s end. She is the reckoning of each life’s work, be it arranged in the stars or shaped by choices freely made.

Whether you believe in Destiny, in Fate, in neither or both, Doom cannot be denied.

She will be there in the end.

Doom awaits us all.

CHAPTER ONE

Doom

EACH Sister was present in the hospital that day. No one saw them. No one heard their voices as they laid claim to the oldest and youngest alike, to every life and future resting in-between. But they were there. Fate’s unyielding certainty clung to the air, mingling with the sharp balm of ammonia hastily spread across vinyl, tile and plastic. Destiny’s resolve crackled around every pulsing body, binding lives in an intricate web of hopes, fears and grim determination. And of course, Doom was there, lurking out of sight, hiding around corners and behind heavy doors. In such desperate settings, where people came to press back against death, fight tooth and nail for one more decade, one more year, just one more breath of life, the Eldest Sister was never far.

Today in particular, more than any in a very long time, Doom’s presence could be felt. Today, she was here with purpose. This was the day the Merrill family would arrive en masse. The day Ayla Merrill, the ancient family matriarch, came to the hospital to die.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

“SHE was fine,” the man explained—tried to explain—fumbling words as his voice betrayed an agitation barely held in check. “She was normal. Gran’s always been—I mean, she’s old, but she’s always been . . . healthy, you know? I can’t think of a time I’ve seen her sick. But she just started coughing and wheezing, and she just—and she just … dropped. Like a bag of onions!”

“How old is your grandmother?” the admissions nurse asked, pen never leaving her clipboard.

“Great-grandmother,” the man corrected automatically. “A hundred-nineteen. It’s her birthday. It was at her party it happened. Everyone was there. It was something else, really, a miracle—that we could all make it, I mean. Like—not just most of us—everyone came. So many different schedules. Six generations under the same roof…” The man was beginning to babble. For a time, the nurse allowed him. The patient had been admitted, assigned a bed, and wheeled away by an orderly; it was a slow afternoon, and amazingly, no one else was waiting; no harm letting him unburden himself. Soon she realized however, if she hoped to get anything useful from him at all, she would to have to interrupt. “…the youngest still poopin’ in diapers of course, but we—” The nurse opened her mouth to cut in.

“Dan!” A female voice slapped at them from the entrance. Five more had appeared through the sliding glass doors. The one who had called out, a well-made-up but dazed looking young woman—no older than thirty—scooted past a trio of middle-aged ladies who were supporting a hanging-grey-thread of an eighty—perhaps even ninety—year-old man. “We met up in the parking lot.” The younger woman nodded toward the others. “Mum and Dad are right behind. How is she?”

It took the nurse a second to realize this last was directed to her.

“Well we—”

“Cass! Dan!” A couple in their fifties hurried through the doors and up to the group. “How is she? What do they say?” These questions were not addressed to the nurse, who had yet to get a word in.

“I don’t know,” the young woman, apparently named Cass, answered. “I was just asking.”

“I don’t know,” Dan echoed. Then turning back, he resumed his monologue. “She was having trouble breathing, right? Well, first off she was fine. Everyone was saying…” The man’s rambling account washed over her once again. Painfully suppressing the urge to clench her jaw, the nurse watched as three more Merrills trickled in to attach themselves to the group. Was she to contend with the whole extended clan today? she wondered with no small feeling of dread.

Before more could arrive, before Dan could recite the entire family history, she managed to time an interjection into one of his short breaths. The doctors where examining their great-grandmother, she told them—or their grandmother—or in the case of the ancient-looking man, his … mother?—the one they called Gran, in any case—and they would be back with their diagnosis soon. In the mean time, no, they could not all go wait with her; no, she herself was not going to speculate on what might be wrong; and yes, they could remain in the lounge, so long as they kept to themselves and bothered no one.

This last answer was one the admissions nurse would come to regret.

One-hundred-thirty-eight relatives—ninety-nine direct descendants, and a healthy smattering of in-laws—gathered in the waiting area that evening. “Gran is a remarkable woman,” one of them told the nurse when she approached them to elect a contingent who would stay and wait for news, allowing the others to go home. “Hundred-nineteen and sharper than anyone I know. None of us can imagine what we’d do without her.”

“She sounds incredible,” she answered. Now please move on like any normal invasive swarm.

Eventually, she did convince them. Six would remain through visiting hours. One would be allowed to sit overnight with the patient. For this, they elected the young woman, Cass, who had grown up next-door to the old matron. All agreed, she lived closest to Gran’s heart.

◦ ◦ ◦ ◦

IT was a little after 2:00 a.m. when Gran awoke. Cass did not immediately notice. Her focus had fallen hard on what the doctor had told her, and it was difficult to think of anything else. “It’s her time,” the woman had said, hands folded on a closed folder containing Gran’s entire medical life. “Her body’s giving out. She might make it till morning, maybe a day or two, but … she’s very old.”

Old, Cass thought. Her laptop sat open in front of her, a half-finished pamphlet design splashed across the dimmed screen. She had hoped to distract herself with work, but for hours she had no more than stared at the open file. …might make it till morning, maybe a day or two… The words circled in her head, overwriting all other thought. …but she’s very old… The idea that this woman, this fixture in Cass’s life, would be gone soon, was all she could focus on. As her great-grandmother’s sleep became restless, Cass’s attention was drawn inward. Even when the old woman slipped back into consciousness, she failed to notice. Only when Gran actually called out, did she finally snap back to the world.

“Ollie?” Gran’s fear cut the darkness, causing the younger woman to start. “Ollie, where am I? Where is this? What am I doing here? Ollie?!”

Tossing her laptop to the other chair, Cass reached for the old woman. “Sh-hh, Gran,” she whispered. “Sh-hh-hh, it’s me. It’s Cassidy. Your little Cass.”

“Cass?” If anything, Gran’s voice sounded more panicked. “Oh God. Cass … where am I? Where—where’s Ollie?”

“Gran, no; it’s okay. It’s okay. You’re in the hospital. You’re with me at the hospital. You fainted at the party. We brought you here to rest and get better.”

“No. No, I don’t like this, Cass. I need to see him. I need … I need … oh…” Her voice trailed off, as though the effort to speak was too much. This frightened Cass. Gran did not scare easily. Gran did not get befuddled. She was immutable, a force of nature. Seeing her like this…

“Greatest-Granddad’s gone,” Cass said, pressing the old woman’s knuckles in her palm. “He passed a long, long time ago, remember? Years before I was born. You do, Gran. Don’t you?

Surprisingly, this seemed to have a calming effect. Gran’s muscles relaxed. She eased herself back onto the bed. “Yes,” she breathed, sounding a little more herself. “Yes, Cass, that’s right. A long time. I just forgot. Just for a second.” She placed a frail hand over Cass’s, which Cass then sandwiched in her own. They held on like that for a minute before Gran pulled away. “Poor Ollie,” she murmured. “Poor, poor Ollie.” Then, “Please, Cassidy, the light. I’d like to see my favourite girl before I go.”

Cass flicked the switch on a wall-mounted fixture over the bed, and a dull glow kindled in its frosted bulb. “None of this before I go crap,” she chided. “You’re going to get better, okay? Mum and Dad brought you some things from the house; some clothes, your jewellery, that old book you like to read. They want you to keep your spirits up so you can get out of here and back home where you belong.”

Gran smiled. “My little Cass. A hundred-and-nineteen is long enough sentence for anyone, wouldn’t you say?” Cass shook her head. Gran had exceeded her generation’s life expectancy before she herself was born, yet to her, a world without the old woman in it was unthinkable. “Besides,” Gran continued, ignoring Cass’s silent objection, “a promise was made many years ago, and I expect it’s time to keep it.”

“Gran, what are you—”

“You say they brought my bobbles?”

Sitting back, Cass nodded.

“Please.”

Cass allowed herself a moment of uncertainty before retrieving a small cherry-wood box from the windowsill.

The box was an antique. Intricate friezes lay carved around its sides, each depicting a season of the year. Webs of brass and silver decorated the lid, set seamlessly into the polished wood. Cass adored this box, though she had never been allowed to touch it, or even look inside. It was strictly off-limits, the only real restriction Gran had ever enforced. Setting it on the old woman’s lap, she returned to her chair by the bed.

“I never told you how I ended up with your great-grandfather,” Gran remarked quietly, opening the little chest.

Cass took a moment to consider. A legend in the Merrill family—second only to Gran herself—Greatest-Granddad Ollie had died in the 1940s, before even the grandchildren were born. Yet each generation had grown up with him. Sitting cross-legged on the old woman’s worn living-room carpet, or curled into an ancient chair or sofa, listening to Gran’s stories, they had come to know him, to love him as if he had always been around. And though his death was something of a murky spot in the family chronicle—rarely discussed and vaguely understood to be suicide—it was his life the old woman loved to recount. The sort of man he was, how much he meant to her. They had gone on such adventures together, lived through incredible events. Through these enthralling tales, he lived again, and the entire family grew to adulate him, even as Gran herself did.

It was no small shock then, when Cass realized she had no idea how Gran had actually come to meet him. That can’t be right, she thought. Gran would have told that one. Surely, I would have asked. But thinking back, giving herself a good long moment to think, she found her mind drawing a blank.

Before Cass could voice her surprise, Gran—whose eyes remained fixed inside the box—shot up a silencing finger. “Wasn’t a question, Cassidy,” the old woman muttered. “I’m not asking; I’m saying, you’ve never heard this story.”

Cass’s mouth snapped shut.

Picking carefully through her jewelry—a bird digging for insects amidst a carpet of fallen nettles—Gran’s eyes widened as she spotted what she was looking for. She set the box aside, and in her hand held a silver bracelet formed of fine, interlinking bands. It wore a heavy coat of tarnish, painted on, presumably, by time and neglect, but was a wonderfully detailed piece and looked to be one-of-a-kind. Cass could not recall ever seeing Gran wear it. In fact, she was fairly certain she had never seen it at all.

“This bracelet,” Gran said, wistfully, “is older than you’d guess. Older than you’d believe, actually. It has more stories in it than I could tell you if I had … well, till you were my age. But the most recent, the one as it matters to me … and to you … is the tale of your great-grandfather. Oliver. It’s a story I’ve not told anyone. But then, no one as God-awful-old as me could miss how special you are, Cass—could doubt that you deserve to know. I suppose it’s time someone does.”

Cass’s throat seemed to swell. It was a struggle to pull air into her lungs. She knows she’s dying, she thought. She knows this will be the last story she tells. Leaning forward, crushed by the realization, yet desperate to hear what Gran had to say, she listened as the tale began.

“It was, oh … so far back now, in Turkey, maybe a year after the war—not the Great War; a few years on. After the Liberation. I guess these old bones would have looked about your age then—just shy, maybe—a girl, figuring out what it means to be a woman.

The winter rains came strong that year. I don’t think I’d seen the river so high…”

About Adam:

Man of many hats: teacher, engineer, editor, scholar, mountain climber, bar tender, student, world traveller, and through and above it all, writer, Wing has dedicated most his life to the craft of writing fiction.

Wing's published works include the novel, Icarus, and a book of short stories, Apoca Lypse Sink Ships, and he has fantasy work on the way.

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alwayssummerblog · 6 years ago

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10 Reasons Why We Love Carrie Underwood

Throughout the years, Carrie Underwood has had her fair share of iconic moments. From her work as a powerhouse vocalist and diving into the world of acting, to her phenomenal hosting skills (who could forget her and Brad paisley’s impeccable chemistry during the CMA Awards), there’s no doubt Underwood has star power.

In honor of Cry Pretty and its exciting release, we’ve rounded up some of the country star’s best moments for you to look back on while listening to her latest album!

1. The “Before He Cheats” Music Video

Underwood’s introduction to the limelight was a whirlwind experience to say the least, and she took no time at all to release a number of hits along with some pretty impressive music videos.

One of Underwood’s earliest and very best music videos comes from her smash single “Before He Cheats.” Released off her debut album, the video is all about revenge after being wronged by her former lover and features a number of visuals still referenced in pop culture today. From the destruction of a truck with a sledge hammer to the videos explosive ending, the country star showcases some major acting chops throughout the entire clip.

Check out the full video below:

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2. Every Time Carrie Underwood Hosted The CMA’s With Brad Paisley

There’s a reason the Country Music Academy invited legendary duo Carrie Underwood and Brad Paisley to host their award show, eleven times, and counting. Each year the country stars’ have seemed to grow more comfortable in the position, and their comedic timing only gets better and better.

We’re already looking forward to their next gig, which will be the CMA Awards on November 4, so be sure not to miss it.

3. That Fateful American Idol Audition

Re-watching the 2004 recording of twenty-one-year-old Underwood pacing the ballroom hallway, nervously waiting to audition for American Idol, it’s hard to believe she was once one of the many hopefuls yearning for a singing career.

No surprise, Underwood’s audition was nearly perfect and likely audiences everywhere shed a happy tear as the curly haired girl squealed with excitement to “get to fly on a plane” for the first time. As an international superstar, the country sensation has now traveled around the world and has come a long ways away from her small town in Oklahoma.

Watch Underwood’s American Idol audition below that, admittedly, had us a little chocked up too!

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4. When Carrie Underwood Made The Most Beautiful Bride

Another moment that brings out the sappy in all of us, is when Underwood wed her Canadian born, hockey star husband back in 2010. Surrounded by friends and family, the couple celebrated with those they love the most at a gorgeous venue hosted by the Ritz-Carlton, Reynolds at Lake Oconee in Georgia.

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Happy Father’s Day to this handsome fella! “You think I’m strong. You think I’m fearless...even when I’m at my weakest. You always see the best in me when I can’t. I wanna be the girl you think I am.” Thanks to all the men out there who lift their little girls up and think they can do no wrong. Thanks to the ones who protect and provide. Thanks to the ones to work hard. You are the first loves of your little girls’ lives! Thanks, Dads! ❤️

A post shared by Carrie Underwood (@carrieunderwood) on Jun 17, 2018 at 1:58pm PDT

5. Carrie Underwood’s Acting Credits

Underwood has made some amazing TV cameos, from Blue Bloods to How I Met Your Mother, she has demonstrated a pretty impressive range. She’s also done some memorable work with kids, with a cameo role on the famous Sesame Street, and her leading role in the TV movie The Sound of Music Live!

And that’s not even including all the times she stunned in full production style music videos, thirty to be exact!

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6. When She & Husband Mike Fisher Welcomed Their Son

Just when we thought we couldn’t gush over this couple any more, they introduced the world to their baby. Isaiah Michael Fisher, born on February 27, 2015, has been gracing the lives of Carrie Underwood and Mike Fisher fans for three years now, and oh are we grateful.

It’s impossible not to let out an “aww” when faced with a photo of Isaiah, and we love seeing the toddler and his famous family continue to grow.

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“Eye on the target” #flingingsticks #proverbs22:6

A post shared by Mike Fisher (@mfisher1212) on Jun 3, 2018 at 6:35am PDT

7. When Carrie Underwood & Husband Mike Fisher Announced Their Second Pregnancy!

Just this past August, the happy family revealed that they were expecting another addition to their home, or as she adorably puts it in the below video, “Mike and Isaiah and I are absolutely over the moon and excited to be adding another little fish to our pond.”

Now we patiently await a gender reveal!

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Ooh baby do we have a bundle of info to share with you! Click here for info on The Cry Pretty Tour 360! #CryPrettyTourBundle #CryPrettyTour360 #CryPrettyAlbum @CALIAbyCarrie http://www.carrieunderwoodofficial.com/

A post shared by Carrie Underwood (@carrieunderwood) on Aug 8, 2018 at 5:17am PDT

8. Her Performance Of “Church Bells” At The 2016 ACM’s

As we mentioned earlier in reference to her Idol audition, the country star has grown so much as an artist since stepping into the spotlight back in 2004. And nowhere is it more apparent than this 2016 nationally televised performance at the Academy of Country Music awards. The impeccably synchronized choreography, stunning set design, the costume, vocal chops and sheer athleticism stole the show that night, and everyone left talking about Underwood.

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9. Every Single SNF Introduction (2013-present)

After taking the torch from Faith Hill in 2013 to host the Sunday Night Football introduction, Underwood cemented herself as synonymous with American culture. Absolutely holding her own amongst the talented and successful women who held the job before her, she has again shown immense growth in the five years she’s held the position. With an entirely new song and video this year, the singer is getting comfortable taking creative control.

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10. When She Gave Her All To A Song

Most know about the scary accident Underwood had at her Tennessee home earlier this year, but fans may be surprised to learn the title track of her latest album, Cry Pretty, was actually inspired by that event.

In a blog post she shared with her fans in April of this year, Underwood explained, “The title refers to when emotions take over and you just can’t hold them back. It really speaks to a lot of things that have happened in the past year and I hope when you hear it, you can relate those feelings to those times in your life. It’s emotional. It’s real. And it ROCKS!” Her first time appearing live since the accident, Underwood performed “Cry Pretty” and the true emotion was evident. An inspirational moment no doubt, with literal tears running down her glittery, glammed up face, she truly did cry pretty.

#country #MegaCountry #carrie underwood

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