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[slushyseals]

👽 Alien seal with antennae?

[shesjustanothergeek]

His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Nineteen

Masterlist of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: I felt this story severely lacks dragon content. I want to make up for that. I hope you enjoy the little spice I've sprinkled in there toward the end. ;) Thank you so much for your support!!

Chapter Warnings: Implied cannibalism, dubcon.

Translation Guide: Zaldrītsos ipradagon: little dragon eater. Pālēs: turn. Kelītīs: halt. Lykirī: calm. Dohaerās: serve. (I tried my best to use proper grammar. Please don't call the High Valryian police.)

"Father, don't blame us for trying to live, for trying to love, for wanting more? Why did you dress our pleasure up as greed? While you're limiting our love, taking sunlight from the seed? Why did you give us hearts we don't understand, like an apple in our hand that you'll never let us have?" - AURORA, The Devil is Human.

It was midday before you decided to venture from your cotton sheets, letting you and the servants rest as much as possible before ringing the bell that signaled them to your room. Your ladies did not commence the morning ritual you had come to despise. They, too, must have also participated in a celebration last night and were nursing the same headache as you.

You stretched and yawned as you basked in the yellow afternoon sun that peeked through the emerald curtains, relaxing your achy muscles. The balcony appeared relatively comfortable in the daylight, and you decided to venture out, sitting on a cushioned bench. A cold breeze passed through King's Landing, picking up the withered plants across the ground and billowing your night dress around your bare ankles.

Winter was only weeks away. The once viridian foliage was now barren, revealing the wooden bones of each plant. The grass was a burnt orange from the lack of nutrients the soil provided, and no more earthy-smelling flowers were sprouting within the cracks of the flagstones. Death and decay surrounded you, bringing comfort despite how desolate everything appeared.

You hoped that snow would fall in the coming months. It would be the closest thing to home again.

You could reminisce fondly about your first wintertide at Dragonstone, the thick flurry of snowflakes blanketing the sandy beaches and rocks that covered the island, but never upon the castle itself. You remembered staring out of one of the many black stone towers and observing the steam rising from a carved basilisk as the slush melted. It was as if the haunting creature had the heat of a living being. It disturbed you immensely, plaguing you with endless nightmares alone in your apartments.

For the small folk, winter in King's Landing was always strife. Sickness and starvation were rampant throughout Flea Bottom that time of year, inflicting everyone no matter how plentiful the harvest was. It agonized you to no end each season you spent at Dragonstone, your stomach in knots if Madam or the other residents had enough to eat and if they managed to survive whatever illness spread.

The wintertime of your sixth year was the most gruesome. The growing season was met with drought, and when it came time to harvest, the merchant carts were bare. Ma tried to conceal the difficulty that year brought by distracting you with oral lessons in history and math, but no matter how much a parent attempted to protect their child, it was never enough.

You remembered the taste of the stale loaf of bread the whores shared throughout the week, the texture of jerky meat, and the ache it gave your jaw when chewing.

The atrocities you witnessed your fellow neighbors commit left you feeling hollow, memories of people burying the emaciated bodies of their kin only to dig them up. You were uncertain why they would do such a thing at the time. It was a sin against the Seven to desecrate the bodies of the deceased, and you had questioned Ma why they would do it. She hadn't given you an answer then, but you didn't need one. You already knew. Even in your youth, you could comprehend the atrocities of man.

Though you were a Targaryen, the hot blood of the dragon coursing through your veins, you preferred the colder weather.

Perhaps the reason was because of the Northern blood within you. It was rumored that your mother came from the area, but exactly where you were unconfident. The only other person who could attest to your mother's lineage besides herself was dead, swept from this mortal realm by the Hand and the Stranger, their head on a spike left to rot until forgotten. But you would remember. You would never forget nor forgive.

You thought back to the feast and how scores of meals were brought out and left over by the end. The scraps alone were enough to feed the entirety of the slums and still have more than enough to satiate all the guests. You hadn't felt remorseful at the time as you indulged yourself in a slice of ham, but in the light of day, the unawareness of your actions caused a profound contempt to grow. Gazing over the hundreds of cottages in various architectural states made you realize how disconnected you became from your roots.

Living a life of luxury made you into what you despised as a child—an out-of-touch, uppity, supercilious highborn.

You and the court members had more in common than you admitted, which was disgusting in and of itself. A sickening feeling of self-hatred permeated in your gut, causing you to retreat into the comfort of your space.

You needed to change. You needed to use your position of power to help the people of King's Landing.

You hadn't realized you were pacing until your ladies entered your room, a silver tray of tea and fruits in Dyana's hands. Fiora gave a charming grin in greeting as Jeyne went straight to your wardrobe, a storm of crimson skirts.

"Good morn Princess," the littlest maid said, placing your food on a table.

You smiled in admission, but it did not reach your eyes, putting your thumb between your teeth and pulling a piece of dead skin. Fiora and Dyana changed your sheets, replacing the breathable cotton with thicker wool as you broke your fast. The red cherries stained the tips of your fingers, mixing with the blood from your torn cuticles, the juice burning the open skin. You didn't wince at the pain, continuing to eat as your mind conjured up different ideas for the future.

From this moment on, you promised yourself never to stop. Never douse the flames of your drive to do what needs to be done. You would burn any lord, lady, prince, king, or queen who stood in your way.

***

The day continued without a hitch. Most of the guests from last night were still asleep or had already left for their homes while you were resting.

It was pleasant to walk the halls without having to create a polite conversation with people who would turn in the same breath and spread vicious rumors of your brother's parentage and spit vile insults that always referenced your birth. As twisted as it was, you hoped that one day you would hear something more interesting than the word "bastard." But it might be too much to ask the people at court to use their minds for something besides counting how many coins they reaped from their land.

Truthfully, you didn't have much to do. There were no Council meetings after events like these; everyone was still recovering from the night of debauchery, even the men who helped run the kingdom. It left you with nothing to do except plot and scheme and live within the torture of your mind.

You made your servants dress you in your favorite winter riding clothes to mark the season's coming. A magnificent statement piece that Rhaenyra commissioned for you as a Winter Solstice present.

The short, long-sleeved dress bathed your frame in flowing blood-red velvet trimmed with black braiding and lace with a high collar secured at the neckline to protect you from freezing temperatures. A dramatic steel pin of a three-headed dragon kept the heavy material together on your shoulders. A collection of practical and fashionable buttons were sewn onto the fabric to cover your torso, stopping at your hips to give you a range of motion and the allusion of a full gown to hide the trousers underneath.

You decided to take advantage of the rare break to see your dragon. You felt terrible for neglecting Cannibal the past week, leaving him to explore the skies of King's Landing in his solitude. He was accustomed to a life of isolation. Most of his fellow species were terrified of him and left the black dragon alone for a good reason.

In the beginning, Cannibal did not take well to being kept in the part of Dragonmont where the other creatures were, thrashing in the Keepers' hold like an unbroken stallion and breaking the chains that bound him multiple times.

Daemon had commanded you to beat submission into Cannibal more than once, giving you a long whip to have him obey your commands. You were hesitant and felt your heart shatter as the leather cracked his scales, but after much arguing, your father convinced you that it was the only way. Beasts like the Cannibal did not listen to any other language.

You had snuck out of the castle the evening it happened, leading the ferocious animal out of the caves and letting him fly to his home on the eastern side. There was a silent understanding between rider and dragon that night as you stared into his menacing green eyes.

Cannibal felt your sorrow for hurting him, realizing that you were just as afraid in your ways, lashing out whenever threatened and angry at the world for things you could not control. That night he lowered himself willingly to let you ride, taking you over the islands of Driftmark, Sharp Point, and Claw Isle. He did not speed through the midnight skies but soared high and low, letting his pointed wings slice the salty waters below and glide over the clouds until all you saw were stars and the waxing moon.

Since then, you and the Cannibal had a true bond of rider and dragon. Not one owning the other, but equals on land and the sky.

Unsurprisingly, you could not find your dragon within the Pit as you explored and asked the Keepers if he had appeared. While Cannibal had stopped briefly, attempting to enter for a snack but wisely deciding against it, no one had seen him.

You continued journeying undeterred, following your instincts as you traveled along the outer ring of walls in the Red Keep, enjoying the brisk air on your cheeks. You found a small exit that went out to private beach access. To those outside these red rock walls, it was only accessible by boat. You were optimistic he would be there, curled under one of the many rocky cliffs that reminded you both of home.

Sure enough, you saw the droppings that could only belong to a beast of his size. There were tracks on the shore, indents, and drag marks throughout the pale sand. Piles of bones leading up to where you spotted him, eyes shut and scales so dark that it looked like there was a hole in this realm. You noticed his nostrils twitch as you drew closer, indicating that he caught the scent of what you carried and was awake.

"Zaldrītsos ipradagon," you called in a sing-song voice, feigning to creep behind him as you scratched his tail with your fingers.

Cannibal pretended to nap, acting as if you couldn't see how his eyelids moved.

"Zaldrītsos ipradagon," you repeated, walking closer to his horned head. "I know you are sore that I have neglected you these past days, but I've brought something that I think you'll like..." you trailed off, exaggerating the last word.

Finally, he opened his eyes, the vivid yellow-green of his irises indicating that this massive void was an animal. You revealed the dragon egg that you stole from Dreamfyre's clutch.

"You know, I barely made it out alive," you taunted, raising the textured brown oval as Cannibal unhinged his jaws.

Before he could take a bite, you leaped away, hiding his present behind your back as he let out a warning growl. You rolled your eyes, the cruelness of your actions not lost on you.

"Oh, please. If you eat me, who else would risk their lives to steal another dragon's child for you?" you interrogated as if he could talk. "Exactly. No one. You would be all alone again, hoping someone like me would come along so you don't have to work for food again. I think you have become rather lazy over the years. Mayhaps I should stop bringing you food and make you fend for yourself, hmm?"

You felt the earth tremble beneath your feet as Cannibal stood, shaking the stray sand that landed on his body as he bared his elongated teeth.

Numerous people said that dragons couldn't comprehend the common tongue and that it was pointless to communicate with them, but it wasn't about what language you spoke, but how you felt as you said it. All animals could sense the emotions of other beings; you didn't have to bark to have a dog listen to you. You didn't have to squeal so that pigs knew when their slop was coming; they could sense it-- sense you.

You had grown a habit of testing the limits of Cannibal's basic instincts, wondering in the back of your mind if today might be the day he loses himself to his past and becomes the monster the small folk of Dragonstone believed him to be.

But the conviction you held within your bond would snuff that out quicker than he could fry a hatchling. It didn't make it any less frightening, though, as a roar blew loose the hair from your pined style, saliva splattering on your forehead.

"Fine! Here!" you relented, throwing the egg directly into his opening mouth as he chewed with a stomach-turning crunch.

He still wore the custom leather saddle between two large spikes on his lower neck. It was always a hassle for the Keepers to take off, and you needed more time to remove it when you first arrived at King's Landing. Cannibal became accustomed to it and hardly noticed the thirty-stone piece of equipment as he continued his hermit lifestyle.

"Let us fly today," you spoke softly, with no hint of your jesting tone from earlier. I shall see if I can wrangle you something live when we finish. Some pork would settle nicely in your gut, don't you think?"

You stood with a giddy smile as Cannibal lowered himself so you could clutch hold of the rope ladder along his side, adjusting until you were satisfied in your seat. You loved the aching stretch the saddle gave between your legs, your dragon pushing from the sand into the skies. That was also a relaxing feeling for him as he flapped his enormous midnight wings.

Cannibal took you over the entire townlet, soaring above the small folk as they halted and stared. Seeing as three claimed dragons were already housed within Rhaenys's hill, one being the largest in history, it shouldn't have been such a marvel to them. Though you took the admiration in stride, commanding your dragon with a "dracarys" as a burst of orange flames spewed from his massive jaws into the blue sky. You could hear the awe within their murmurs, smiling down at them as you shared your gift.

Your little dragon eater was more than happy to put on a show, nose-diving into a crowd of onlookers as they watched with horror and shrieks, sure that the beast was going to kill them before he abruptly swooped up, leaving them unharmed and knocking them over from the sheer force.

It was freeing to be on Dragonback. Especially when your dragon was more feared than even the war-hardened Vhagar, flown by the notoriously haughty One-Eyed Prince. To feel the wind whipping your hair, biting your cheeks, the sun warming you with its intense glow. You could feel the moisture from the clouds collecting on your thick black braids, creating tiny water droplets that glimmered like diamonds.

You flew over Blackwater Bay, the sea mist collecting on your eyelashes, the salty taste bursting on your tongue as you licked your lips. There were merchant ships larger than Balerion's skeleton residing at the many docks, the crew members looking like tiny grains of rice as they loaded shipments and hoisted sails.

As a child stuck to the sandstone streets of Flea Bottom, you never imagined yourself as someone who would one day be claiming the skies. The girl who once looked above at the stars as she sat on Lyra's lap was now one with them; what you wouldn't give for her to see you now.

Leaning your body and shouting the command, "pālēs!" Cannibal took you over the Blackwater Rush. Signs of life grew scarce and left only a few small villages along the river, their brick and mortar chimneys emitting the smell of woodsmoke as you soared over them. You were sure that those who saw the speeding dragon were met with fright. The almost demonic-looking blackness absorbed all light briefly before they were again met with the comforting rays.

The Red Keep came into view through the horizon as you circled back, the tallest structure in King's Landing sitting atop Aegon's Hill. Cannibal descended over the high pale redstone buildings, his wings barely a meter away from the tiled roof of the Tower of the Hand. With a smirk, you hoped that Otto was in there, crouching behind the stacks of parchment on his desk.

Suddenly, a roar sounded in the air. Your head swiveled around your body, searching for the noise, but you couldn't find it. You assumed the sun blinded your vision, causing your brown orbs to burn with water. You dug your palms into your sockets, rubbing the sting away as you felt Cannibal ascend.

The screech boomed again, followed by the sound of the wings of a dragon. You turned, prepared for the bright golden glow of the beast's scales. Aegon sat snuggly on his saddle, whipping the reigns so Sunfyre would go faster. You groaned in annoyance at the drunkard prince, shaking your head and commanding Cannibal to lose them before you decided to land.

"Put that wastrel of a man in his place, Cannibal," you snarked. "I promise to allow you as many Dragonkeepers that can fit into your mouth if you do." You swore he nodded in response, beating his ebony wings harder against the wind.

The frigid air pricked your eyes like needles, ripping out more strands of hair as they scratched against the sides of your face. You were glad you chose a warmer riding outfit, for the sun's heat was overpowered by the biting cold that dried your skin.

Cannibal showcased his skills, creating a distance between you and Aegon faster than his dragon could blink. You led them back to the original path you took. The fabric awnings that covered merchant stands ripped from where they were nailed as you flew by, carts carrying fruits and vegetables toppling over as your two dragons raced above. Turning sharply above the slums of houses you once frequented, you went to the port of Blackwater Bay, even more, populated than the inner mouth.

Ships of all sizes resided there, not just merchants, each coming and going, creating a mess of coordinated chaos only shipmasters could understand. The sails were various colors, Houses, and some without indicating what they were. You weaved through them, Cannibal closing his wings as his momentum carried you between the small gaps.

While you expertly dodged each boat, proudly smiling at the men below, you heard a deafening thud and crack, turning to see the pink and golden body of Sunfyre ramming into the mast of an unsuspecting crew.

"Kelītīs," you ordered Cannibal, positioning him as you saw Aegon and his dragon plummet into the brackish waters.

Panic seized your heart, telling your beast to land on the stern of the nearest ship, nearly capsizing it. Without a second thought, you dove into the icy Bay, the briny and freshwater searing your lungs. You swam to the ship Aegon crashed into, moving the floating pieces of stalwart oak out of your way as you said a silent prayer. Sunfyre's head rose above the water, flailing like a drowning cat until he pulled himself onto the sea wall.

"Aegon!" you called out, hoping he would answer you.

You paddled further into the wreckage, yelling out his name again. He still didn't answer, and you feared the worst. The repercussions of the eldest Prince's death were not in your mind; you only wanted to save a drowning man whose death would be your fault.

You inhaled quickly, forcing your eyes to stay open as you dove under the murky water. You could only see a few meters before you, the thick wool of your outfit slowing your movements and making your muscles work twice as hard. Struggling to resurface, you were met with the hull of a ship, swiftly dunking yourself again to avoid being crushed. You sucked in another breath, coughing the contaminated liquid out of your lungs as you looked at Cannibal. You screamed at him to block more ships from passing, and he pushed off, breathing a line of fire to prevent them.

The hair that had come out obscured your vision as you went under again. Your prayers were answered as you spotted an opaque figure, your fingers yanking the floating fabric of the Prince's clothes. You kicked and kicked your legs, straining against everything, pulling you under as you carried Aegon's lifeless body to the surface.

Locking your arms underneath his, you positioned him on your torso, leaning back as you swam to the port wall. The mussels and barnacles dug into your thighs, bending against the stone for support as you heaved Aegon above your head.

He spread on his rear, splayed like the Seven-Pointed Star, his ankles still hanging over the ledge. You realized he must have ingested water; using the last bit of strength, you flipped him over, smacking his back to get rid of it. Aegon sputtered a cough, water, and mucus spewing out of his mouth. You rested your arms on the top of the stone wall, catching your breath as your head turned low. The ground shuddering interrupted your rest, the water around you rippling with vibrations.

Two dragons stood face to face. One of aureate and one of coal, shimmering in the iridescent glare like a prized jewel, the other an ember of carbon and darkness. A low growl rumbled inside the anthracite one's throat; legs bent to pounce and smoke rising from its nose. The golden one put up its defenses, mimicking the stance of the other.

"Lykirī," you said breathlessly, trying to pull yourself over the levy, arms shaking. Cannibal's eyes flickered over you, unwilling to leave himself and you defenseless. "Dohaerās," you demanded firmly as your dragon obeyed, flying into the air before Sunfyre could attack.

"Princess!" a voice yelled. The clink of armor rang in your ears before two hands hoisted you onto dry land, your shins scraping against the ground.

They rolled you onto your rear, looking down with great concern. "Aegon," you panted, pointing toward the groaning man. "The Prince..." Unable to articulate, you only gestured, your tired stems quivering as you attempted to explain what happened without words.

The Cargyll twins directed their attention to the crowned Prince, helping him upright as they assured he was well. You didn't discover you were shivering until the resounding vibrations of your teeth chattering echoed in your skull. Your mind focused solely on rescuing Aegon as the sopping outfit stuck to your skin, the frigid autumn climate chilling you to the bone. A dark shadow of a man blocked what little warmth you acquired from the sunlight, squinting to decipher who he was and why he was only staring.

Ser Criston Cole stood beyond your quivering form, blankly peering down from his nose. The reflection of his silver armor seared your eyes as you turned away. 

You couldn't speak. You couldn't think, concentrating on not being shocked by the freezing temperature. Abruptly a cloak was thrown, and you secured it around your form greedily, curling into a ball to conserve your heat as Ser Cole went over to the small group forming around Aegon.

You needed to get warm.

Why couldn't you get warm?

You hugged the wool blanket closer to your body, helpless to get what every nerve fiber was screaming at you to receive. Exhaustion washed over you, your eyelids gradually drooping.

Aegon is safe; you convinced yourself. There is nothing to worry about now.

You ultimately let the tiredness take control, shutting your eyes as you let out a shuddering breath, your finger loosening around the blanket.

"Princess," the faint title echoed beyond earshot. It sounded too far away, and you couldn't be bothered to reply.

"Princess," you heard softly again.

You couldn't understand why someone was calling for you. Everything was all right now. You could rest comfortably.

Your name was unexpectedly screamed, and you barely managed to pry your lids apart to see the terrified countenance of Ser Arryk Cargyll. You felt yourself lifted onto your shanks as they buckled, causing a surge of adrenaline to wake you partially as you griped the constituents that held you.

"She is soaking wet," you heard Arryk communicate before looking down at your blanched sallow fingers, holding them together with his palms. "Princess, please forgive me for what I plan to do. I must remove your clothes or risk you getting frostbite."

You still couldn't answer, a soft groan jostling in your nose as you felt your legs give out again, shutting your eyes. Intrusive digits began to unbutton your attire, your arms weakly pushing them away in protest. You didn't understand what was happening. One moment you were soaring high atop your dragon, and the next being forcefully undressed. Did Aegon have you again?

"No. Stop. Please," you begged, sluggishly swatting Ser Arryk.

"My Lady, I beseech you," he pleaded. "You will die otherwise."

You persisted, wiggling feebly in Arryk's hold as he stripped you down to your braes and breast binder. Tears of shame and powerlessness flowed down your cheeks, the salty trails warming the area briefly before chilling on the wind burnt skin.

The blanket wrapped around you again, the knight aiding you to his white horse. It didn't feel like you were there, seeing your figure in the surroundings from an outside perspective. Arryk tried putting you onto the saddle by himself, struggling as he couldn't lift the entirety of your limp body.

There were conversations that you could not hear as you leaned against his steely armor, your breathing becoming more difficult each second you stood. Another set of limbs came to assist, resting you on the front of the leather saddle, the pommel digging into your backside as you rested against the rider's chest.

The rhythmic swaying indicated that you had begun moving, hopefully to someplace where you could rest. Preferably scorching with a hearth the size of a solar and a fire blazing like the flames, Cannibal exhaled as you felt yourself fall into a deep slumber.

***

In your subconscious, you felt a tickle on your cheek, swatting it away as you drifted back to unconsciousness.

It happened again, this time a pull to your hair. You opened your heavy eyes, your vision blurry with sleep as you rubbed the afflicted area, turning over with an annoyed grunt. Then again, but now a pinch of your nose as you shot up, lunging into the person that so desperately wanted to disturb your rest.

"You," you spat, moving to get off the intruder.

"Me." Aegon smirked.

"Why are you here?" you interrogated, sliding off the bed to the roaring fire.

"I wanted to see how you were fairing. You gave us quite a fright," he admitted, gleaming smirk still on his pink lips.

Staring at him, you searched your mind, the memories returning in flashes. You, gliding over the streets of King's Landing. You pursued by a serpent of shimmering pink, orange, and gold. Aegon, falling into the dangerous murky waters of Blackwater Bay. He watched the recognition on your face, walking to your place by the hearth.

"And to extend my endless gratitude for saving my life." You scoffed, turning away from Aegon as he clasped his hands behind his back. "What is that now? Twice? I owe you," he admitted, sitting in a green armchair.

You released a huff, trying to distance yourself from Aegon as you went to the pot of tea in the center of the table. Pouring yourself a cup, you were pleased it was still tepid, with the taste of cinnamon and cloves warming your tongue. A bowl of stew rested next to it, the hazy memory of being huddled at the fireplace with thick fabric weighing on your icy bones as you sipped on the broth.

"You would have a debt if you thought twice about your actions," you cursed without thinking. "Do you ever think about how they affect other people? How they affect your wife, your mother... how they affect me?" Aegon's head lowered, his choppy blonde hair draping over his face as he fiddled with his fingers. "Look at me when I am speaking!" you yelled, storming over to where he sat.

"I am not going to lecture you as the Queen does, for you are well enough to know better. I want you to listen to me, hear my words." You kneeled before him, forcing Aegon's glassy eyes to meet your raging ones. "Your drinking and whoring wounds me deeply. You say that I am to put my trust within you, but then you lead two slaves into your bed, a place that we have shared. A place where I-" You choked on your words, a thick lump suddenly forming as you looked away.

You hadn't meant for this to become emotional. Your original intent was to have him whimpering at your feet and begging you to forgive him. The appeal of your sex was the key reason, but you were shaken. Watching in horror as Aegon fell into the Bay had scared you, truly and sincerely. It would've been partially on your hands, and his death, you realized, was not something you could stomach.

"We are allowed to have fun and forget our duty at times. I understand that our life is not what we would have chosen if given the choice, but we must take into account others. We do not have the freedom to forget people as others do with us. If we do then we become the ones who have hurt us, loosing our true selves."

Before you could continue, Aegon released a loud sob, slumping in the chair with his head in his palms. The sound was like an arrow to the heart, pricking your eyes with the intensity of it.

"I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry. I have tried to be everything they wanted of me. To be the son my father dreamed of, to be a boy my mother could love," he cried, his shoulders shaking. "Why don't they love me? Why does no one love me? Am I truly such a monster?"

You inhaled a ragged breath, pursing your lips as you held back your tears. You could not bring yourself to give Aegon the assurance he needed. He was not a good man by any means. He participated in child fighting pits, gambled to the point of gluttony, and bedded women who were willing and those who were coerced. By certain standards, he was a monster, but not to you. You could see behind the heinous actions he committed was a boy who never learned what was right and wrong. A boy who was neglected and abused since he was born for reasons he could never control, tormented by the realization that he would never receive happiness.

Aegon was a drunkard, a slut, a craven, a wastrel, and a deadbeat, but he was no monster. You knew that to be true even when blinded by loathing, rage, and grief.

Your chin began to quiver, and your pulse began to race as you extended a hand, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. Aegon snapped his head up, his glimmery amethyst eyes glistening in an ocean of tears as you rested his palm against your cheek.

"You are broken, as am I, but we are no monsters." You placed a chaste kiss against his wrinkled skin, showing him your sincerity.

Aegon's lips trembled in his pout, so deeply moved by your words that he collapsed into you. You returned comfort, snaking your arms around him and smoothing his frizzy hair as he cried into the crook of your neck, wetting the fabric of your nightgown with his tears.

You stayed together like that until his sobs turned into hiccups, squeezing you tightly against him as he steadied his breathing. Even then, you did not let go, ridding him of his shoes and outer tunic as you led him to your bed. You were both drained, on a constant emotional overdrive that sucked the energy straight from your souls.

Settling onto the top sheet of your feather tick mattress, you held your arm to Aegon, signaling he could lay beside you. He crawled in like a child to a parent with a nightmare, seeking the comfort of their protective embrace. You let him lean his head on your chest, your back propped up against the collection of pillows at the headboard.

His index traced the curve of your knee, sending tingles up your leg and into your chest. It was intimate, an action one would make to their lover, but it didn't startle you. And the fact that it didn't give you that nauseating feeling in your stomach did not frighten you either. You allowed his digits to slide further up your leg, to your navel, sternum, and back down again. It caused gooseflesh to cover your arms, your nipples hardening with the rush.

Aegon's back settled on your plush thighs, your heart racing out of your chest as he stared with his cracked, shimmering amethyst eyes. He looked like a boy, younger than your brothers, and you knew exactly what broken boys like him needed.

Wordlessly you undid the front strings of your nightgown, letting gravity slide it down your prickled arms and revealing your breasts for him. A sudden heat rushed through your stomach and between your shanks as you saw his pupils dilate, nearly swallowing his irises. You inhaled deeply to settle yourself, endeavoring not to show your uncertainty about being in such a vulnerable situation.

"May I," Aegon paused, choking on his words and wetting his lips. "Can I touch them? Please?"

Your pulse stalled at the inadvertent confession of his nervousness, an almost maternal feeling coming over you as you brushed his curly locks behind his ear. "Yes, you may, dear prince," you mumbled.

The sensation of his fingers gently kneading one breast caused your toes to curl, sparks of satisfaction igniting in your core. You were not proud of letting him do this to you, surrendering one of your most sacred regions to a man known to defile them, but it felt so good. It simultaneously made you feel weak yet powerful, confusing your head and heart on right and wrong.

Aegon was silky in his touches, adding another hand to your neglected globe and leaning his countenance ever so close to them. You tried to hide your enjoyment in his efforts, sinking your teeth into your lower lip as the once saddened boy transformed into the mischievous Prince and brushed his finger over your nipple. You needn't look down to know there was a grin on his face, but you did. The water pooled in his sights was now gone, contentment in its place as he did the same thing to the other. You tipped your head back to hide from his observant gaze, knowing that if you continued watching, a moan would fall from your tongue and only feed his never ceasing ego.

His hold became harsher now, attempting to get a reaction out of you as you held firm. Aegon's index and thumb pinched your nipples, upping his antics. Still, you did not make a sound, but the bend of your knees and scrunching of your nose were winning enough for him, letting out a breathy chuckle as he continued to grope.

Aegon loved your tits. They fit perfectly into his hands as if the Gods made them with him in mind. He hated how you bound them. He believed that they should hang freely (preferably in his palms) without anything to step in the way of their full glory. He understood you did it to repress the sexuality of your body to the people of the court, wishing that by making yourself less palatable to the men and less of a competitor in looks to the women, you would be respected.

Aegon learned you would never admit such a thing to him, but he wasn't stupid. You made choices with careful calculation and a purpose; he just wished it didn't come in the form of repressing your body.

You were exquisite. The way your dark lashes batted against your cheeks, your midnight hair so long and thick that Aegon wished to blanket himself with it. People would constantly say that Targaryens are closer to Gods than men with white hair and purple eyes, but he didn't see it that way. His family rode dragons. That made them Gods, not the incestuous looks passed down from generation to generation in hopes of keeping their Valyrian blood pure.

You were just as gorgeous as the songs claimed Aegon the Conqueror's younger sister, Rhaenys was, but not in the supremacist ways his family judged. You appeared human, but a Goddess in your own right, not one that came with a name.

"I love your tits," Aegon complimented, lost in his mind as he rested his forehead on your sternum.

It felt natural to surrender to your desires, ignoring the racing thoughts that screamed at you to stop this. Your fingers rested on his meaty thigh, digging into the flesh as the Prince latched his mouth onto your nipple like a babe, swirling his tongue against the bud.

"Aegon!" you shouted in what was meant to protest but sounded more like a moan.

Your digits gripped his blonde hair, not pushing or pulling but giving you the faux action of control. You felt the vibrations of his breathy grunts through your ribcage, causing you to rub your legs together in desperation as he sucked brutally.

"Oh. Aegon, please," you whimpered, unsure if it was a plea for him to stop or keep going as you arched your back.

Wave after of pleasure rippled through your breasts and straight to your core, feeling uncomfortably wet as he moved his mouth to the other. A dull pain sensation rippled through your free tit as Aegon slapped it, soothing the skin with his touch before doing it again. You could feel his hips moving into the air, seeking the same ecstasy he was giving you.

Without thought, you found yourself unlacing his breeches, your trembling hands searching for what hid there. You pulled his throbbing cock free, seeing it for the first time and noticing the pearlescent liquid leaking from the rudy tip. He barely fit inside your hand, only your middle finger and thumb touching as you swiped the essence from his silt, dragging it down over a tiny ridge and veins.

Aegon's hips bucked at your touch, biting harshly against your abused nipple. You squeezed his shaft in response, throwing your head back momentarily as you began to move. You raised your hand in almost a spinning way, gently tightening around his cockhead before sliding down again, repeating it over and over.

"Gods. You're so fucking perfect. Your tits are so fucking perfect. They would feed babes well," Aegon mumbled against the plump skin of your breast, moving to the other one. You couldn't conceal the brief shock at his vulgar, coarse, and heady words, making you lose your breath as you sped up your ministrations.

The eldest Prince continued thrusting into your fist, aiding you as hot air from his nose dampened your chest. "So good. So fucking good, little one," he rambled into your flesh. "You're so good to me, my pretty girl-my good girl. You know what I need."

His words temporarily stole you from your trance, trying to conceal it with the tightening of your fist. Suddenly, the real reason you initiated this came to mind. It was just another step in securing the throne for your mother. Everything was falling into place. Perhaps it was just nonsense spouted during the heat of the moment, but it was still said. It was what Aegon felt, even if it was because your hand was pumping his manhood. A smirk rose to your lips in victory, leaning over to slide a glob of spittle onto him to help aid in his pleasure.

"I do, Aegon. I know what my sweet prince needs," you confessed into his hair, using your free arm to push him further into your chest. "My sweet Prince needs to come for his pretty girl. I want to feel your seed dripping on my flesh." You placed a chaste kiss on the crown of his head, yanking the ends of his damp hair so he could look into your eyes, deepening the act of your siphoning hand.

"Be a good boy, and let go for your little girl. I know you want to."

Aegon nodded aggressively, his lips parting as he panted. His thrusts became twitches until you felt him go entirely still, mouth agape, as he released the loudest, most lecherous groan you had ever heard, his thighs trembling. You felt the warm ropes of his spend on your still-moving fist, his cock spasming as it aided your pumps.

You soothed him through the aftershocks of his little death, kissing the salty tears that ran down his cheeks from the intensity of it. You sang praises in Aegon's ear as he clutched onto your body for dear life, attempting to ground himself. You were unsure of what else to say as a sense of triumph washed over you, the doubts you had from days prior only a distant memory.

This would be easier than you thought. You didn't have to let him do things to your body. If you kept his prick busy, you could leave Aegon completely satisfied and smitten without concern.

Instead of speaking and letting your thoughts escape you, you gave the buzzed Prince a peck on the nose, sliding out from under him to find a rag as you cleaned him and your hand. You opened the covers for Aegon after you were finished, seemingly a simple offer for him to stay, but you knew the truth. A smile curled on your lips as you watched him crawl under the sheets, his breathing still faster than normal from his climax. You felt like the cat who finally captured the canary.

You scooted closer to him, wedging your arm under Aegon's neck as you directed him to lie on your chest. You kept the strings of your gown untyed, allowing him free access whenever he wanted. Almost instinctively, he took it, cupping the curve of your breast in his hand as he settled. You felt him swipe self-soothing movements over your nipple for it to become hard again, blowing cool air to keep it that way.

"Will you sing to me?" Aegon suddenly asked, catching you unaware.

"I apologize, but I do not think my singing would be the last thing you want to hear before sleep," you lightly teased. "I am no siren."

You felt him smile against you, moving even closer into your body. "'Tis alright. Your mere presence is enough to lull me."

You lay there in silence, a war raging between your heart and your head. There wouldn't be any harm in singing. If it were what Aegon wanted, then you would do it. After all, it was just another stepping stone toward your goal.

"When you call to me asleep up the ragged cliffs, I scramble. A single thread hangs limply down, and I breathe, 'Not now, not now.' And I find you all unwoven, trying desperately to sew. I know the kindest thing is to leave you alone," you started, feeling Aegon's eyes widen against you.

"When your seams have come unknitted, and you cry out to the sky, I've run out of my words; my song just let me die, me die. The rockrose and the thistle will whistle as you moan. I could try to calm you down, but I know you won't." 

The Prince's rubbing of your body gradually ceased, drifting off into a much-needed rest as you continued to sing the only melody that came to mind. 

"All the pins inside your fretted head and your muttered whens and hows, all your mother's weaves and your father's threads. Let me rob them of you now. Because I'll darn you back together when you think that you're bereft, and you'll wail, you'll scream, but I'll never stop because it's all that I have left." 

You felt your breathing hitch, swallowing a lump that had suddenly formed.

"I wake and hear you calling, and up those cliffs, I climb, and I find you with a thimble weeping, 'May I?' I ask, 'May I?' And you gently gift it to me because you've no clue how to sew, and I know the kindest thing. I pray to god it's the kindest thing... I know the kindest thing is to never leave you alone."

Masterlist of Series

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How about that exciting chapter? What do y'all think about that?! The song I included at the end is by The Amazing Devil titled The Rockrose and the Thistle and is sung mainly by Joey Batey, who you might know as the bard, aka Jaskier, in The Witcher Netflix series. Please take a listen to it if you have the time to support them!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter because I enjoyed writing it!

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @alexandra-001, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @silverslive, @unclecrunkle, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @honestlykat, @graykageyama, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @brezzybfan, @dd122004dd, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfild, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @bellameshipper, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd, @buckylahey, @justarandomflowerchildofthenight, @partypoison00, @please-buckme, @pastelorangeskies, @joliettes, @existential-echo, @priyajoyy, @valaenatargaryensdragon, @merovingianprincess, @rachelnicolee, @candy12110, @w3ird11, @ruhjkie, @somemydayy, @ariana-dumbledore8, @marikkjj, @zillahvathek, @sunfyresrider, @sunny-boy-06, @heavenly1927, @prettylittlelady, @hjgdhghoe

[jedimasteramell]

12 in grass .... (u-s) :3c

12. When we lay together on the fresh spring grass

Too tempting, its the boys. Azred of course is @uldren-sov’s ♡

Original Characters // SFW // Post-SWTOR

—————-

The change in seasons always rolled through Tython with a serene sweep that could conjure the notion of an intelligent, guiding, force for even the most grounded and focused of minds. The foliage unfurled at a precise, patient pace, and the animals awoke from their wintertide sleep to join the growing song of the dew drips and newborn insects as life returned to the rolling hills of the Jedi’s ancestral homeworld.

Never liking to be cooped up anyway, especially in the warm weather, Jacoac freed himself from the stuffy confines of the Temple to wander the mountains, v'rake companion Zubé at his side.

Breathing deep of the crisp air, not for the first time Jac reflected on how much more comfortable he felt on this verdant world, seperated from the crowded core and the planets of billions. He’d certainly developed since he’d entered knighthood, and the bustle of worlds like Coruscant or Corellia no longer was overwhelming, nor was the pain of places like Telos and Taris jarring to his senses. But still, Tython remained home.

Instinct and a heightened awareness lead him to a familiar glade, one he’d only ever seen through Azred’s eyes. With a satisfied sigh from his hike, he took a seat on the ground, running his fingers through the tender, spring grasses. Zubé nuzzled his shoulder, an affectionate rumble in her throat before wandering off into the bushes. Jac laughed lightly, sensing her excitement, the bane of bugs everywhere.

Laying himself out comfortably on the cool soil, Jac’s senses drifted out, merging with the life all around him. Now this was meditation, none of that uncomfortable kneeling in stagnant rooms. His heart swelled with the sensations, the determined unfurling of the leaves; the thankful refreshment of the mammals coming out of hibernation; of the simple dedication of the insects that churned through the thawed earth; Zubé’s excitement, followed by disappointment when she pounced and missed her quarry, and then the unbothered non concern when her attention was drawn elsewhere.

And Azred. He sensed Azred.

Azred’s presence was as familiar to him as breathing; a steady piece of himself he’d always known he had, and they’d been this way long before they realized their shared attraction. He sensed Az’s appreciation of the hike, the warm nostalgia when he realized where Jac had gone, the rush of love when he acknowledged the active presence in their bond. Following their connection as much as he did the pathway, it wasn’t long before Az joined him in the glade, silent as he sat down beside him. Jac shifted that his head lay in Azred’s lap.

‘Do you want to feel it?’

Not a sound broke the tranquility of the forest, the words shared as thoughts. Azred embodied a deep connection to the core of the force, but Jac’s odd mix of being blind and an empath gave him a different perspective.

‘If you want to share.’ Came the quiet reply, Az’s tender fingertips brushing Jac’s bangs from his forehead.

‘Well close your eyes…..’ They both laughed.

As easy and confidently as a practiced swimmer entering a pool, Az surrendered the barrier that divided their separate beings and melded with Jac’s spread presence. The two became everything around them, one with the living force and its connections between everything. Regardless of the times they’d done this, the experience always proved an emotional one, though the source could never be so easily identified.

They remained as such for minutes, maybe an hour, until the mutual decision to return to their physical forms broke the meditation. Az opened his bright eyes to look down at the blissful smile on Jac’s lips. He kissed him.

‘I brought you a treat.’ His voice hummed like a heartbeat in Jac’s mind.

‘I was wondering what that was.’ Though upside-down, Jac reached to draw Az’s head back in for another kiss.

‘Wouldn’t want you to starve.’ Azred teased, Jac’s faux-offended expression making him laugh. ‘It’s those flakey date pastries you like so much.’

Az felt Jac’s current quandary as it came to him and he huffed softly. ‘Yes you’ll have to sit up because Im not feeding you.’

Jac pondered this for a moment, and opted for the simpler course of staying precisely where he was, head nested in Az’s lap. They both smiled at the same time by the choice.

A few minutes passed, uninterrupted by the twittering birds or the crunch of Zubé in the undergrowth some ways off. ‘You’re the best Az.’ Jac’s emotions conveyed all the gravity his casual words didn’t.

‘I love you too.’

[fatalelity]

atop the mahogany table perched a perfectly manicured parcel, wrapped in brown, dressed in red ribbons. a doctor's scrawl contrasts the meticulously wrapped gift. "happy birthday, 13", it read. innocuous, but few would guess that the box would hold another, cerulean blue tied up in white. it may say tiffany on the top, but it is addison's name that's etched on each pearl on that string.

arduous hours are the most natural parts of her job. the soul searches for moments of satisfaction, the etches to fulfill the hollowed hole within the confines of her chest in the place of where her beating heart once was whole / together / alive.  it is within the months of wintertide that he broke her heart, shattered her morale – and strange how it is within wintertide that she finds the warmth that revives the husk of a heart she once had. as if her heart could beat again, as if the dulled flesh now aglow in a bask of warm hues… it is a quaint feeling. 

white coat drops onto the chair across from her swivelling office chair. a moment of respite, a minute to breathe – she settles & oh, how she sinks her weight into the leather. curiously, those slenderly digits reach out and grazes against the innocuous looking parcel before her. ah, right. it marks the day of her birthday – or it did before the clock struck midnight & marked a new day coming. 

a year ago she expects isolation. yet, a year later she finds solace in simplicity. 

oh, how she marvels and smiles at the object. if there is one thing her heart craves, it is the sweet lover’s embrace after a long day at work – the relaxation of limbs / the synchronization of breaths within each other’s comfort / the soft mirthful laughter shared between their own domestic walls. 

yet, the clock never stops ticking & the job never stops calling for her. 

thus, she concedes & settles for the next best option. phone in her hand, the blue screen lights up and she begins to type: 

[ 3:03 AM | SENDING → Remy 💖] : Hey! I just saw your present. [ 3:03 AM | SENDING → Remy 💖] : Thank you, I… I really like it.[ 3:04 AM | SENDING → Remy 💖] : Can’t wait to see you! 

addison’s late birthday | not accepting ( @prxdigaldaughter )

[painpro]

the frozen king episodes 24-25: SEASON 1 FINALE

everybody knows shit fuck! LONG ass summaries bc uh LOTS OF PLOT!!

Episode 24: Brothers and Sisters 

The KC and Karlina begin their battle with Lorna and Symon- and it goes very, very poorly for them. Cezall's mind is quickly over taken by Symon, with Selxi's following shortly after. Under Symon's command to "kill the clerics", Selxi takes her axe and nearly does just that- lopping off Karlina's left arm. But Karlina doesn't give up, even when things look rough- and Bell dishes out all the healing he has to keep everyone standing. Keen rushes in while Karlina and Selxi are locked in desperate battle with Lorna, and slits her throat, ending her. Symon upon seeing this summons swarms of rats to attack. Cezall throws Selxi and she scores a massive hit against Symon. Symon, cornered and hopeless, begins to formulate an escape plan- but it is cut short by Bell, who ends him with a Guiding Bolt that goes straight through his chest and sends him tumbling to the ground, destroyed. Bell tends to Karlina's missing arm. Selxi, devastated at what she's done, abandons her trust Forge Axe that she's had for so long.  The group then leaves the castle (after picking up Lorna's sword Wither and Symon's armor the Nightleathers that go to Cik and Keen respectively) and trudges across the Deadlands for another day, finding their way back to the ship Safina that they sailed in on. On the way back, Karlina thanks Cik for killing Eloise out of mercy, Keen tries to cheer up Selxi, and Cezall makes friends with a rat. They return to King's Watch just a few days before the Wintertide festival, and spend that time recuperating from their draining journey. Dating advice is given, baths are drawn, drugs are taken, heartfelt conversations are had. Cik takes Dravera and a dying Ezita on a day trip to Kilead using his Amulet of the Planes. Karlina tells Bell she knows what she has to do now, and that she will confront their father. Karlina's time in King's Watch and with the KC has come to an end: one arm fewer, but with more determination than ever. The group receives a letter from Seraphina the night before Wintertide, and it garners mixed reactions. They all go to bed with all kinds of thoughts swirling in their heads, but they know one thing for sure: tomorrow, there's going to be a huge festival.

Episode 25: Nail in the Coffin

The KC is back home in King's Watch, getting ready for Wintertide. Gifts are exchanged and Cik pulls a prank on the wizards in the Lyceum involving 17 dildos he purchased. The festival ushering in the new year of 782 takes place in the evening. Selxi beats Bell Cik and Cezall at a drinking contest, and wins a golden mug as a prize. Cezall then beats out Keen and Selxi at arm wrestling, but gets beat by his own employee, Abel. But no hard feelings are shared, and mostly everyone gets wildly drunk. The gang convinces Maedis to come back to their after party at their keep, and all get even more drunk there and have a crazy fun time playing hot potato (which Keen is strangely good at) and playing musical instruments (some not so well). Maedis and Cik go back up to his room for a night together, while the rest of most of the KC passes out in the dining hall. In the morning, Keen is awakened by Viceroy Rensford who informs her, privately, that the Queen wishes to speak with her in her quarters tonight. Keen doesn't know what to think, though her mind does stray in a sexual direction, but obeys and makes her way through the castle to meet Queen Cerolia. Cerolia does not seem to realize why Keen is there- in fact, she even says she made no such request. Just as Keen is starting to get a bad feeling, Cerolia starts choking seemingly out of nowhere. Keen is shocked for a moment as Cerolia is lifted out of her wheelchair and thrown to the ground, writhing. She lunges forward to try and grab the invisible assailant, and does, but it does not stop whatever it is from slitting the Queen's throat, leaving Keen in the room with the dead body of her Queen. She goes into the hall to call for help- and  is met with Prince Hilren, who sees the dead body of his mother and calls the guards. The guards detain Keen, seeing as it looks rather bad for her, and throw her in jail, telling her to await further judgement. Meanwhile, General Kasto shows up at Starcrest, informing the rest of the KC they are under arrest for suspicion of murder of the Queen. They are baffled but go along with him. Bell requests to see the Prince, and then begs him to try and let him attempt to revive his mother- but Hilren is having none of it, clearly in a fit of grief and anger. He tells Bell he wants to see the KC executed, and that he won't let him near her. A frustrated Bell is thrown in the dungeon with the rest of the KC. Through some of Orna's charm magic, a meeting with General Kasto is arranged. After much back and forth, it starts to fall into place that Rensford is manipulating the Prince, not letting him think there is any other option besides execution. After several persuasion checks, Kasto believes that Keen did not kill the Queen and the KC had nothing to do with this, and agrees to help them escape. The KC makes a break for it- but Cik first says goodbye to Maedis, who hugs him for the first time. Orna sneaks into their home Starcrest which is swarming with guards, and gets Cik's pheonix Clair out of there using her invisibility spells. Bell meets with Barnabas, who was in the middle of a rather intimate situation- but informs him that the KC did nothing wrong, and that they were all technically fugitives on the run. Cezall, Selxi and Bell all change their hairstyles while in an abandoned farmhouse on the outskirts of the city. Bell scrys on Rensford- and sees him comforting a distraught Hilren, promising the KC will be executed. The KC tentatively plans to head to Arcomb, and camps for the night before continuing their journey. Selxi and Cezall spend their first watch talking about how unfair this all is- and then Selxi hears a twig snap.

[yatorihell]

In the Darkness Chapter 7 - Wintertide

Words: 2,376

Summary: Chapter 7 of the Harry Potter AU! Yato tries flattery and Yukine is adamant that he will not celebrate his birthday.

Previous chapter | First chapter

Thank you to @themusicalbookworm for beta-ing me!

Dedicated to @brimicky101 happy birthday!!!! <3<3<3

Read on AO3

The apparent new-founded friendship that had formed between him, Hiyori and Yukine meant that Yato would come up to them casually and strike up a conversation. Although both Hiyori and Yukine had caved in, they were in agreement that Yato would be good for extra lessons seeing as his face made a perfect target.

Yato wandered into the Grand Hall surprisingly early, finding the tables were still laid with food as not many students had come along for breakfast yet. However, one face he could always count on to be there was Hiyori. Almost every day for the past week he would come up to the Gryffindor table and smirk under Bishamon’s annoyed gaze, Hiyori’s protection enough for his rival to bite her tongue and turn away in disgust.

It seems it wasn’t needed at this hour as Monday mornings were reserved for ‘special seeker training’, as he heard Bishamon call it. Yato walked over to the table, watching Hiyori as she slowly chewed on a piece of toast whilst flicking the pages of a newspaper. She didn’t look up as he came up behind her, engrossed in whatever new article that had caught her attention. Yato leaned over her shoulder slightly, seeing that the newspaper was the slightly ill-reputed ‘Daily Prophet’. Cocking his head to the side, he read an extract of the double-page spread.

Break in at Gringotts

Believed to be the work of dark wizards or witches unknown, Gringott’s goblins have acknowledged a break in and says nothing was taken. Its reported that nothing was taken as the breached vault – 717 - was emptied the same day.

Yato frowned. Vault 717… why was that so familiar? Yato pushed the gnawing feeling from his stomach, instead deciding to make his presence known to the paper’s owner.

“That looks interesting.” Yato said quite loudly, grinning as Hiyori jumped out of her skin and dropped her toast. Hiyori twisted around on the bench as Yato sat down beside her in his usual straddle position, picking up a piece of toast for himself.

“Mmh-hmp!” Hiyori’s words were muffled by the buttery toast in her mouth, so she opted to crossly glare at him.

“Good morning to you too.” Yato said carefreely, biting into his toast.

Hiyori turned back to the paper, silent as she chewed down the last of her toast and proceeded to ignore the annoyance that was watching her.

“You have Professor Zucchini again today don’t you?” Yato said around a mouthful of food. Hiyori gave a small sigh, confirming it. She paused mid page-turn, sudden confusion on her face.    

“Why do you call him Professsor Zucchini?” Hiyori asked, baffled at the ridiculousness of the name.

Yato smirked.

“It annoys him,” he said simply, “and I don’t like zucchinis.”

Hiyori gave him a look as if she had just discovered that he was a single cell organism that had somehow managed to get accepted into Hogwarts regardless of intelligence.

Well, perhaps he was.

“Maybe zucchinis don’t like you either.” A new voice from behind her caught her by surprise. Yukine sat down on the other side of her, sandwiching her between himself and Yato. “Hiyori, have you practiced the spell for class today?”

Hiyori groaned. She’d totally forgotten to review the Knockback Jinx after her success with Yato.“I’ll be fine, if I can do it once I can do it again.”

“That’s the spirit,” Yato butted in, leaning over to grab another slice of toast. “Wands know what they’re doing, even if the owner is a klutz.”

Hiyori opened her mouth in surprise. Was he really going to insult her magic every time they met? Before she could rebuke his words, Yukine interrupted.

“That’s true, you know.” He admitted.

Yato beamed at him, happy that he was being backed up. He tapped his finger on the desk impatiently as he swallowed his mouthful and broke into his I-know-what-I’m-doing mood.

“Show me your wand.” He instructed Hiyori.

Hiyori pulled it out of her satchel and held it up for Yato’s inspection. He plucked it out of her grip, balancing it between his fingers and thumbs as he critically analysed it. Brown. 10 ¾ inches. He gave it a slight bend as if testing its flexibility.

“Unyielding, so it’s very loyal to its original owner. Quite good for combat and healing.” He twirled it between his fingers, listless thinking about the qualities and what it told him about Hiyori. He practically knew what all wand woods, cores and flexibilities meant and their tendencies. Perhaps it was time to get in Hiyori’s good books.

“Only smart wizards get wands like these,” he continued before pausing for effect, “or witches.”

Yato concealed a smile as he felt Hiyori’s gaze on him, attentive and intrigued. He continued to lather on the positives, talking about the finer details.

“This is cherry, right?” he said, already knowing the answer.

Hiyori nodded, clearly impressed at his knowledge of wands. “With dragon heartstring.”

Yato ‘ahh-ed’, feigning wisdom and awe as he held the wand out in front of him. “It has a very strong power. Cherry and dragon heartstring requires great self-control and strength of mind.”

He tilted his wrist back, offering the wand back to Hiyori with a reassuring, confident smile. “If you can do a spell once, you can do it again.”

“Fancy giving some words of wisdom to me, or are you just flirting?” Yukine cuts in irritably, leaning over Hiyori with his own wand extended to Yato.

At a glance it’s unremarkable. Brown, 9 ¼ inches. Picking it up, Yato looks at it thoughtfully. “Hazel and… phoenix feather?”

Yukine grunts a ‘yes’, watching as Yato dangerously bends the wand so hard he fears it would snap.

“Brittle.” He taps it against his finger before rolling it back across the desk. “No wonder your magic is so unreliable, hazel reflect its master’s emotional state.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yukine says in a raised voice, making Hiyori glance nervously at him. Just when they started to get along, Yukine was about to snap back to his past self.

“It means that if you don’t simmer down, Puff, your wand will never do what you want.” Yato says, cheer devoid in his voice as his tone rises to match Yukine’s. “Your wands loyalty reflects your own, so don’t be surprised when it backfires on you.”

Yukine is about to explode with a fresh tirade of colourful language that no eleven-year-old should know when Hiyori puts her hand on his arm, placating him. Hiyori kicks Yato, hard, in the shin under the table. With a yelp, he scowls at her and opens his mouth to complain, but is silenced with a look that could stop even a child from misbehaving. Silently and discreetly, she mouths two words.

Be. Nice.

Yato’s lip curls slightly. ‘Owners of these wands are also cynical, unlucky and have insecurities’ is the next phrase he wants to spit out, but he knew that Hiyori’s intervention was right. They couldn’t keep fighting like this. He reluctantly offers what he would call a compliment to Yukine, who had angrily torn into a piece of cold toast.

“Owners of this wand are clever and thoughtful; transfiguration and non-verbal spells are their forte.” He says begrudgingly, looking away as Hiyori’s expression softens at his attempt to be friendly. “They are weak to extravagant magic so their magic is normally simple yet powerful.”

Yukine grunts a response, pretending to have too much in his mouth to give a proper answer. An uncomfortable silence settles over the trio. In an attempt to break the tension, Hiyori turns her attention to Yato’s own wand.

“So, what kind of wand do you have?” she asks curiously, the secrets of wands being revealed to her in a much greater detail than they were by Mr Olivander at the wand shop in Diagon Alley.

“Ah,” Yato grins, chest puffing out in pride as he produces his wand with a flourish. Hiyori tentatively reaches out to it, silently asking permission to hold it. Yato gives it to her, and she takes it, somewhat carefully. She stares at it for a moment, admiring the pattern engraved into the ebony wood in such fine detail that it must have been specially made. Then, she looks at Yato, waiting for him to explain it, and he does so readily.

“Blackthorn, phoenix feather, 13 ½, hard.” He lists off the basics before somewhat narcissistically describing what qualities the wand – or rather, himself – possessed.

“It’s used by gifted warriors, the best aurors in the wizarding world. It only accepts those who have proved themselves worthy and faced danger. It will never accept another master; it is loyal as a dog.”

“Its owner is also close-minded and stubborn,” a tall boy is standing behind Yato, peering down at him from behind his black framed glasses. The blue fabric peeking out from his robes hood tells Hiyori he is a Ravenclaw. Yato tilts his head back, a quip ready to throw back at his… friend?

“Kazuma, you’re so cruel. We all know you’re the close-minded one.” Yato hits back, not missing a beat at his interruption.

Kazuma ignores this, instead turning to smile at Hiyori and Yukine who had been watching this exchange with surprised expressions.

“I’m Kazuma. Second year student and Ravenclaw’s Seeker.” He says politely, “and you are…?”

Hiyori and Yukine both introduce themselves in a star-struck manner, floored at how this Seeker was a polar opposite to the Slytherin Seeker they had managed to befriend. He gave a them another smile before turning back to Yato and giving him a lecture about the importance of contributing to class projects, earning an eye roll and a disinterested wave of the hand from Yato as he promised to start his share of the work.

“Good god he’s a bore,” Yato grumbled, pouring himself a glass of orange juice from one of the crystal cut glass jugs on the breakfast spread. “He should be focusing on the exam.”

Hiyori’s heart flipped. Exams. The test. Next week.

“Oh, shoot!” she cried out, spinning around to face Yukine’s bewildered expression. “Yukine, have you started studying for the test?”

“Nope,” he said, “I don’t plan on being in class that day.”

Puzzled, Hiyori asked: “Why not?”

“It’s my birthday, I’m having a day off.”

“A birthday?” Yato cuts in, mostly drawn to the idea of cutting class – which wasn’t new to him, “Fantastic, let’s have a party.”

“Absolutely not! We have a test!” Hiyori says, slightly horrified at the idea of skipping class.

Yukine lets out a groaning noise, wishing he’d never said anything. The last thing he wanted was inviting cause for celebration, or to be monitored by Hiyori that day to ensure he sat the test.

“No party, no test.” He says, pushing himself up from the table decisively and quickly walking out of the hall, Hiyori’s calls for him falling on deaf ears. Sighing, Hiyori swings her legs over the bench, picking up her satchel and readjusting her robe.

“May as well go to class now. I have to talk some sense into Yukine.” She says exasperatedly.

Yato raises his half-empty glass to her back in a salute as she brushes past sleepy-eyed students who have finally emerged for breakfast, turning left once she is out of the room.

“Good luck.”

~

After much nagging over the weeks leading up to his birthday, Hiyori convinced Yukine to sit the test on the condition that there would be no party or hint of celebration.

Of course, Hiyori completely ignored this and produced a slightly lopsided cake from her cauldron after the classroom had been vacated. Yato – making the executive decision to skip his own class and lurk outside – glided into the room at the promise of free food as Yukine began to protest.

“I said no celebration!” he grumbled. He tried to avoid looking at the snow-white icing of the cake which had begun to drip onto the floor.  

“But it’s your birthday!” Hiyori whined, tilting the cake precariously to avoid any more spillages.

Yukine pursed his lips. He stole a glance behind her at Yato who raised his eyebrows before his gaze slid back to Hiyori.

Her wide-eyed, innocent expression and downturned mouth melted his resolve pretty quickly as he turned red at the look she was giving him. Defeated, he flopped back down into his seat.

“Fine,” he huffed. “We’ll have cake.”

Hiyori’s face immediately lit up. She plonked the cake down on the table before rummaging in her bag for something. Yato ambled over and sat down on the desk, eyeing the cake impatiently. It looked like Hiyori had tried to use some sort of spell to make the icing shimmer like snow crystals, but hadn’t quite worked out. Aside from that, the cake was pretty simple, small and round as if made for an intimate occasion rather than a party.

Yato reached out to swipe a bit of dripping icing, but was sharply slapped on the hand by Hiyori who had pulled a cake knife and a slim wooden box wrapped in a red ribbon from her bag. presented the parcel to Yukine and eagerly watched as he opened it. Craning his neck, Yato leaned to look over Hiyori’s shoulder to see what she had given Yukine.

“A quill?” Yato said, unimpressed. Hiyori passively waved a hand at him, silencing his doubts as she waited for Yukine’s reaction. He had taken it out of the box, careful not to bend or break the feather. It was yet again simple and snow white like the cake, but was speckled with flecks of grey and decorated with a silver nib.

“I noticed your quill was a bit…” Hiyori searched for a word which wasn’t as bad as ‘shabby’, “worn. So, I thought a new one would be helpful.”

Yukine had a small smile on his face as he gently twirled the quill between his fingertips, something Yato hadn’t seen Yukine do before.

“Thank you,” he murmured, delicately placing the quill back into the case and stashing it in his bag. Hiyori smiled at him, handing him the cake knife before dragging a chair between him and Yato who was eyeing the cake yet again.

“Shall we?”

[heartofhryule]

Heart of Wisdom - Chapter 10

Chapter 10 - T*T good and bad. lots of off screen death. But we get a new friend!

WARNINGS: Contains Hyrule Warriors spoilers and story items. I highly recommend playing the game if you haven’t! It’s complete fluff, but fun fluff…. minus Lana.

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Heart of Wisdom - a Tale after Hyrule Warriors | Chapter10 - Smoke in the Distance

Zelda’s heart was soaring as she all but ran with Link down the halls of Snowpeak Keep to find Volga, Impa, and ask how to find a Sage. They’d scrambled around to get dressed like excited children at Wintertide, and the excitement hadn’t faded.

Their secret intimacies had done precisely what she’d hoped, as she’d slept wonderfully and instead of the attack she’d endured dancing behind her closed eyes, it was Link that greeted her thoughts any moment she let her mind wander. And tonight, or… this afternoon if she was lucky, she would give everything in love, appreciation and affection to the soul hers longed for. Her Hero.

The moment they came into Volga’s study, where the servants had said he and Impa were speaking, the energy began to syphon her newly found joy. She instantly knew something was wrong. “Impa?” she asked, her pace halted, though she did not let go of Link’s hand.

Volga sat behind a small but nice wooden desk, Impa standing in from of the fire in the spartan, but nicely appointed study. Volga was not wearing his armor, but still dressed head to toe in reds and orange - his tunic embellished nicely with flame motifs and gold thread. Impa was in her normal blue and silver, the on shoulder of her jumper that was usually down to free her sword arm was up and the only real added deail was a long, blue, leather coat. The Sheikah was not accustom the the cold weather.

They both looked up to Zelda’s voice to find the Princess and Link standing just inside the doorway, Impa’s face impassive. “Close the door,” she bid softly.

An invisible hand gripped Zelda’s heart as Link closed the study door, squeezing her hand. His face was set seriously, braced to endure whatever bad news was about to come, but Zelda had a far, far worse feeling she could not explain.

“What’s happened?” Link asked, his voice even and low. Her brave knight.

Volga and Impa shared a look, Volga lifting a letter from his desk and standing. Walking around he offered it to them, Zelda taking it to read and holding it so link could too. However, it did not take long to determine that the letter was not for her. Despite being addressed to General Impa in the care of the Baron of Snowpeak, the letter was for Link.

The steward Impa had assigned wrote about how a villager from nearby to Hyrule Castle had shown up, bloodied and nearly dead saying they’d been attacked by a group of Gerudans, but from the North. They were lead by whom could only be assumed as Griffin, and they had laid waist to all men, women and children… save the one survivor to take the message to the Castle. Specifically the message; “Darkness comes for The Hero and his Goddess.”

Hand over her mouth, Zelda realized slowly that the village in question was the village in which Link had grown up. He was an orphan, but the village was his family. They had raised him as a community, and personally all gathered the rupees needed to purchase his gear and passage to Hyrule to become a knight. Zelda knew this as she had already sent missive to them that Link had proposed and there would be a royal wedding.

Watching his face carefully as he read the letter again, she did not let go of his hand, nor did she move. His jaw was clenched and the muscle in from of his ear was jumping. Blue eyes shining as tears began to form, he looked up to Impa, taking the letter from Zelda and crumpling it in his hand. “When?”

“Yesterday,” Impa answered flatly. She was also clearly angry on his behalf, but she was keeping her temper.

“How?”

“Magic,” Volga grumbled. “There’s no other way they could have made it so far in less time than we made it here. And I saw the man disappear before me eyes.”

“What did it look like?” Zelda asked. Volga’s eyes narrowed as if he didn’t quite understand the question, and Zelda held up a hand. “The purple fire and darkness - or black lightning. Was there any trace of it.”

“There was a red flash,” Volga nodding, now understanding her purpose. “If I’m not mistaken-”

“It was the Triforce of Power,” Impa and Zelda said in unison.

“So he can use the Triforce, but may not yet have Ganon’s full power,” Impa added.

“The Master Sword is still in place.”

“Does it matter?” Link snapped, but did not raise his voice. “He killed innocent people… children.” His voice cracked with the last and Zelda’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces. Children he knew, had helped raise. People, innocents and children that he loved.

“No,” Zelda said, coming to stand in front of him and rest her forehead to his. “No, it doesn’t matter. Not anymore. He has gone far enough it no longer matters if he is Ganon.”

“He is,” Link hissed through clenched teeth, but was also resting his head to hers.

“I know. But it doesn’t matter if he knows any longer. We should return to the Castle. There is much preparation to do.”

“I’m going to find him.”

She’d been afraid of that. He was angry, understandably. She was angry and she’d never met any of his kin. But tearing off alone was not the answer. Trying to think of a way to say as much without hurting him, it was Impa that spoke.

“Link,” she said gently, “If that is what you truly desire we can make it happen. However, may I point out that while I am General of the armies, and Volga has already offered to return to Hyrule Castle with us, neither of us are the Goddess’s Chosen Hero. We stand no true chance of protecting Zelda if the full might of Darkness strikes our weakened defenses at the Castle.”

“I fear this is what he wants,” Volga supplemented. “To draw you off. He’s made it very clear that Zelda is a target. Drawing you off for revenge may be his plot.”

Zelda shivered at the idea but stilled her heart best she could. Looking up to meet his eyes, she spoke just for him. “If you feel you need to, I understand and will give you everything I can to see you off and back to me safely.”

Gears turned in his mind, she could see him thinking. His gaz dropped, and he reached out to crush her against him into a hug. “No, you’re right, Impa. Volga. We are the bearers of the Triforce. The Goddess’s chosen ones. We are stronger together.”

“And if you are with me,” she added, letting a bit of her own anger seep into her words as she hugged him, “Then eventually he will come, because Volga is right. If it’s me he wants, let him come. We will strike him down again.”

“And again,” Link muttered into her hair.

“In this life and beyond.”

“Forever.”

***

The ride back to Hyrule was faster than it had been there. The storms had passed and everyone had their own horse. There had been no further discussion necessary on the matter of urgency. Their wedding was going to have to wait, and while a part of Zelda was sad for that, it was entirely necessary.

It was still overcast when they reached Hyrule Castle in the middle of the next day, and they wasted no time heading inside to summon the war council. Upon reaching the throne room, Zelda’s curiosity had been peaked to see who it was that Impa trust enough to Steward the throne in their absence, and at first her eyes refused to make sense of what they were seeing.

Her pale skin was grey-ish green, a compliment to the glowing magic geometry on her black robes. But her fiery orange hair, exotic eyes and devilish smile were unmistakeable.

“Midna?!” Link declared and picked up his stride.

The Princess of Twilight stood from the throne grinning as she stepped down the dias and stood, waiting on them to reach her. Sitting into her hip, she crossed her arms over her chest and chuckled. “You were expecting…?”

Link was the first to reach her, and they embraced companionably, Midna coming over to hug Zelda next. “How is this possible?” Zelda asked in wonder, but could not hide her joy.

“It’s been what, a few weeks since you two saw me?” she asked pulling back, her eerie voice still echoed in a lovely manner. “For me, it’s been hundreds of your human years. Twili aren’t immortal, but we’re certainly more long lived than Hyruleans.”

“Wait… so Twilight…?”

“Is still there. Always has been.”

Link shook his head. “But how… are you here? Twilight was sealed from Hyrule.”

“You think I can’t fix one stupid mirror in 300 or more years?” she snorted, but there was a twinkle of laughter to her eyes. “Thanks, bud. Good to see you too.”

“Midna arrived and told me you two were in danger, and that Ganon had returned,” Impa explained, stepped forward.

“I was spying,” Midna shrugged. “I do that whenever the Hero and Goddess are back. Just incase they need me again. Like now. I also dreamed of Lana,” she added with a sneer. “She kept crying it was all her fault, and boohoohoo woe is her and blech!” Midna shuddered as if to shake something unsavory from her shoulders. “Well I certainly couldn’t have a repeat of that dream, and if Darkness was making an encore which is unusual and not supposed to happen, then I figured ‘Hey, I can be an ace in the hole!’ So, here I am.”

Despite her distaste for Lana, Zelda was smiling. After all they’d been through both recently and in previous lives, Zelda reached out to touch her friend’s arm. “I’m glad you’re here, Midna.”

The smile Midna gave was mostly in her eyes, but Link slugged her gently in the other arm. “Nice of you to join the party. Again.”

“Maybe if we all make it through this, I’ll stick around for the wedding too.”

“Wait how did you-”

“Uh, spying? Remember?”

***

Link stood on the balcony outside the room he was coming to think of as ‘their’ room. Zelda was washing up from their journey inside before the war council convened. He had stepped outside to keep his hands to himself as they were somewhat in a hurry. Also seeing her healing bruises reminded him of all the other reasons he was going to kill Griffin slowly and painfully if given the chance.

His village. His home. The closest thing Link had ever had to a family. Gone. The one survivor, a young man name Lucas who he’d helped raise, who he’d watched as a child and helped train with the hopes he could also one day be a knight, remained in the infirmary. His wounds were so severe it was taking many potions to heal him. His home burned to the ground, his beautiful Goddess, his to be wife had been violated.

Griffin would pay. Ganon would die.

Delicate hands came around his waist. He’d been so lost in thought he’d not heard her come up. But she was gentle, and resting her cheek between his shoulder blades so he’d not been startled. Her touched eased him - he was still angry, but he could turn his thoughts from loss and murder when she was consoling him.

“We’re going to have to get the Master Sword,” he said softly.

“I know.”

“If he’s not Awakened yet, he will be when that happens.”

“...I know,” she said more softly as if her mind had been running in the same circles as his.

“I’m going to end him. For good, if I can.”

“I have one condition,” Zelda whispered, turning him around in her arms to face her. “I want a piece of him. I don’t always… I can’t always help. But this time, I want to.”

The look in her eyes was one of anger, hurt, and every inch of the abuse and shame he’d inflicted on her mind. Link’s blood was hot, but he gave her a smile, hands rubbing her arms. “Damn straight,” he affirmed. “No one deserves it more than you. And if I have my way, this will be your last chance.”

It wouldn’t be, not really. They both knew that, but they could try and waylay it as long as possible. They shared a smile, and knew they were thinking the same thing. But it was time to go. The War Council was waiting.

[theskyrimlibrary]

A Dance in Fire v3

A Dance in Fire Chapter 3

by Waughin Jarth

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Mother Pascost disappeared into the sordid hole that was her tavern, and emerged a moment later with a scrap of paper with Liodes Jurus’s familiar scrawl. Decumus Scotti held it up before a patch of sunlight that had found its way through the massive boughs of the tree city, and read.

Sckotti, So you made it to Falinnesti, Vallinwood! Congradulatens! I’m sure you had quit a adventure getting here. Unfortonitly, Im not here anymore as you probably guess. Theres a town down rivver called Athie Im at. Git a bote and join me! Its ideal! I hope you brot a lot of contracks, cause these peple need a lot of building done. They wer close to the war, you see, but not so close they dont have any mony left to pay. Ha ha. Meat me down here as son as you can. Jurus

So, Scotti pondered, Jurus had left Falinesti and gone to some place called Athie. Given his poor penmanship and ghastly spelling, it could equally well by Athy, Aphy, Othry, Imthri, Urtha, or Krakamaka. The sensible thing to do, Scotti knew, was to call this adventure over and try to find some way to get back home to the Imperial City. He was no mercenary devoted to a life of thrills: he was, or at least had been, a senior clerk at a successful private building commission. Over the last few weeks, he had been robbed by the Cathay-Raht, taken on a death march through the jungle by a gang of giggling Bosmeri, half-starved to death, drugged with fermented pig’s milk, nearly slain by some kind of giant tick, and attacked by archers. He was filthy, exhausted, and had, he counted, ten gold pieces to his name. Now the man whose proposal brought him to the depths of misery was not even there. It was both judicious and seemly to abandon the enterprise entirely.

And yet, a small but distant voice in his head told him: You have been chosen. You have no other choice but to see this through.

Scotti turned to the stout old woman, Mother Pascost, who had been watching him curiously: “I was wondering if you knew of a village that was at the edge of the recent conflict with Elsweyr. It’s calling something like Ath-ie?”

“You must mean Athay,” she grinned. “My middle lad, Viglil, he manages a dairy down there. Beautiful country, right on the river. Is that where your friend went?”

“Yes,” said Scotti. “Do you know the fastest way to get there?”

After a short conversation, an even shorter ride to Falinesti’s roots by way of the platforms, and a jog to the river bank, Scotti was negotiating transport with a huge fair-haired Bosmer with a face like a pickled carp. He called himself Captain Balfix, but even Scotti with his sheltered life could recognize him for what he was. A retired pirate for hire, a smuggler for certain, and probably much worse. His ship, which had clearly been stolen in the distant past, was a bent old Imperial sloop.

“Fifty gold and we’ll be in Athay in two days time,” boomed Captain Balfix expansively.

“I have ten, no, sorry, nine gold pieces,” replied Scotti, and feeling the need for explanation, added, “I had ten, but I gave one to the Platform Ferryman to get me down here.”

“Nine is just as fine,” said the captain agreeably. “Truth be told, I was going to Athay whether you paid me or not. Make yourself comfortable on the boat, we’ll be leaving in just a few minutes.”

Decumus Scotti boarded the vessel, which sat low in the water of the river, stacked high with crates and sacks that spilled out of the hold and galley and onto the deck. Each was marked with stamps advertising the most innocuous substances: copper scraps, lard, ink, High Rock metal (marked “For Cattle”), tar, fish jelly. Scotti’s imagination reeled picturing what sorts of illicit imports were truly aboard.

It took more than those few minutes for Captain Balfix to haul in the rest of his cargo, but in an hour, the anchor was up and they were sailing downriver towards Athay. The green gray water barely rippled, only touched by the fingers of the breeze. Lush plant life crowded the banks, obscuring from sight all the animals that sang and roared at one another. Lulled by the serene surroundings, Scotti drifted to sleep.

At night, he awoke and gratefully accepted some clean clothes and food from Captain Balfix.

“Why are you going to Athay, if I may ask?” queried the Bosmer.

“I’m meeting a former colleague there. He asked me to come down from the Imperial City where I worked for the Atrius Building Commission to negotiate some contracts,” Scotti took another bite of the dried sausages they were sharing for dinner. “We’re going to try to repair and refurbish whatever bridges, roads, and other structures that got damaged in the recent war with the Khajiiti.”

“It’s been a hard two years,” the captain nodded his head. “Though I suppose good for me and the likes of you and your friend. Trade routes cut off. Now they think there’s going to be war with the Summurset Isles, you heard that?

Scotti shook his head.

“I’ve done my share of smuggling skooma down the coast, even helping some revolutionary types escape the Mane’s wrath, but now the wars’ve made me a legitimate trader, a businessman. The first casualties of war is always the corrupted.”

Scotti said he was sorry to hear that, and they lapsed into silence, watching the stairs and moons’ reflection on the still water. The next day, Scotti awoke to find the captain wrapped up in his sail, torpid from alcohol, singing in a low, slurred voice. When he saw Scotti rise, he offered his flagon of jagga.

“I learned my lesson during revelry at western cross.”

The captain laughed, and then burst into tears, “I don’t want to be legitimate. Other pirates I used to know are still raping and stealing and smuggling and selling nice folk like you into slavery. I swear to you, I never thought the first time that I ran a real shipment of legal goods that my life would turn out like this. Oh, I know, I could go back to it, but Baan Dar knows not after all I’ve seen. I’m a ruined man.”

Scotti helped the weeping mer out of the sail, murmuring words of reassurance. Then he added, “Forgive me for changing the subject, but where are we?”

“Oh,” moaned Captain Balfix miserably. “We made good time. Athay’s right around the bend in the river.”

“Then it looks like Athay’s on fire,” said Scotti, pointing.

A great plume of smoke black as pitch was rising above the trees. As they drifted around the bend, they next saw the flames, and then the blackened skeletal remains of the village. Dying, blazing villagers leapt from rocks into the river. A cacophony of wailing met their ears, and they could see, roaming along the edges of the town, the figures of Khajiiti soldiers bearing torches.

“Baan Dar bless me!” slurred the captain. “The war’s back on!”

“Oh, no,” whimpered Scotti.

The sloop drifted with the current toward the opposite shore away from the fiery town. Scotti turned his attention there, and the sanctuary it offered. Just a peaceful arbor, away from the horror. There was a shudder of leaves in two of the trees and a dozen lithe Khajiit dropped to the ground, armed with bows.

“They see us,” hissed Scotti. “And they’ve got bows!”

“Well, of course they have bows,” snarled Captain Balfix. “We Bosmer may have invented the bloody things, but we didn’t think to keep them secret, you bloody bureaucrat.”

“Now, they’re setting their arrows on fire!”

“Yes, they do that sometimes.”

“Captain, they’re shooting at us! They’re shooting at us with flaming arrows!”

“Ah, so they are,” the captain agreed. “The aim here is to avoid being hit.”

But hit they were, and very shortly thereafter. Even worse, the second volley of arrows hit the supply of pitch, which ignited in a tremendous blue blaze. Scotti grabbed Captain Balfix and they leapt overboard just before the ship and all its cargo disintegrated. The shock of the cold water brought the Bosmer into temporary sobriety. He called to Scotti, who was already swimming as fast as he could toward the bend.

“Master Decumus, where do you think you’re swimming to?”

“Back to Falinesti!” cried Scotti.

“It will take you days, and by the time you get there, everyone will know all about the attack on Athay! They’ll never let anyone they don’t know in! The closest village downriver is Grenos, maybe they’ll give us shelter!”

Scotti swam back to the captain and side-by-side they began paddling in the middle of the river, past the burning residuum of the village. He thanked Mara that he had learned to swim. Many a Cyrodiil did not, as largely land-locked as the Imperial Province was. Had he been raised in Mir Corrup or Artemon, he might have been doomed, but the Imperial City itself was encircled by water, and every lad and lass there knew how to cross without a boat. Even those who grew up to be clerks and not adventurers.

Captain Balfix’s sobriety faded as he grew used to the water’s temperature. Even in wintertide, the Xylo River was fairly temperate and after a fashion, even comfortable. The Bosmer’s strokes were uneven, and he’d stray closer to Scotti and then further away, pushing ahead and then falling behind.

Scotti looked to the shore to his right: the flames had caught the trees like tinder. Behind them was an inferno, with which they were barely keeping pace. To the shore on their left, all looked fair, until he saw a tremble in the river-reeds, and then what caused it. A pride of the largest cats he had ever seen. They were auburn-haired, green-eyed beasts with jaws and teeth to match his wildest nightmares. And they were watching the two swimmers, and keeping pace.

“Captain Balfix, we can’t go to either that shore or the other one, or we’ll be parboiled or eaten,” Scotti whispered. “Try to even your kicking and your strokes. Breath like you would normally. If you’re feeling tired, tell me, and we’ll float on our backs for a while.”

Anyone who has had the experience of giving rational advice to a drunkard would understand the hopelessness. Scotti kept pace with the captain, slowing himself, quickening, drifting left and right, while the Bosmer moaned old ditties from his pirate days. When he wasn’t watching his companion, he watched the cats on the shore. After a stretch, he turned to his right. Another village had caught fire. Undoubtedly, it was Grenos. Scotti stared at the blazing fury, awed by the sight of the destruction, and did not hear that the captain had ceased to sing.

When he turned back, Captain Balfix was gone.

Scotti dove into the murky depths of the river over and over again. There was nothing to be done. When he surfaced after his final search, he saw that the giant cats had moved on, perhaps assuming that he too had drowned. He continued his lonely swim downriver. A tributary, he noted, had formed a final barrier, keeping the flames from spreading further. But there were no more towns. After several hours, he began to ponder the wisdom of going ashore. Which shore was the question.

He was spared the decision. Ahead of him was a rocky island with a bonfire. He did not know if he were intruding on a party of Bosmeri or Khajiiti, only that he could swim no more. With straining, aching muscles, he pulled himself onto the rocks.

They were Bosmer refugees he gathered, even before they told him. Roasting over the fire was the remains of one of the giant cats that had been stalking him through the jungle on the opposite shore.

“Senche-Tiger,” said one of the young warriors ravenously. “It’s no animal - it’s as smart as any Cathay-Raht or Ohmes or any other bleeding Khajiiti. Pity this one drowned. I would have gladly killed it. You’ll like the meat, though. Sweet, from all the sugar these asses eat.”

Scotti did not know if he was capable of eating a creature as intelligent as a man or mer, but he surprised himself, as he had done several times over the last days. It was rich, succulent, and sweet, like sugared pork, but no seasonings had been added. He surveyed the crowd as he ate. A sad lot, some still weeping for lost family members. They were the survivors of both the villages of Grenos and Athay, and war was on every person’s lips. Why had the Khajiiti attacked again? Why - - specifically directed at Scotti, as a Cyrodiil - - why was the Emperor not enforcing peace in his provinces?

“I was to meet another Cyrodiil,” he said to a Bosmer maiden who he understood to be from Athay. “His name was Liodes Jurus. I don’t suppose you know what might have happened to him.”

“I don’t know your friend, but there were many Cyrodiils in Athay when the fire came,” said the girl. “Some of them, I think, left quickly. They were going to Vindisi, inland, in the jungle. I am going there tomorrow, so are many of us. If you wish, you may come as well.”

Decumus Scotti nodded solemnly. He made himself as comfortable as he could in the stony ground of the river island, and somehow, after much effort, he fell asleep. But he did not sleep well.

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[celtfather]

Celtic Christmas Cheer #440

Merry Christmas from the Irish & Celtic Music Podcast lots of Celtic Christmas culture and cheer.

Eira, Heather Dale, Peat in the Creel, Marc Gunn, Natalie MacMaster, Donnell Leahy, Alexander James Adams, A Shamrock in Kudzu, The Wee Heavies, Jil Chambless, Ed Miller, Scooter Muse, Spencer & Beane, The Selkie Girls, Sarah Marie Mullen , Susan Toman, Farsan, Aizle & Riognach Connolly, Tommy Sands

I hope you enjoyed this week's show. If you did, please share the show with ONE friend.

The Irish & Celtic Music Podcast is dedicated to growing our community and helping the incredible artists who so generously share their music. If you find music you love, buy their albums, shirts, and songbooks, follow them on Spotify, see their shows, and drop them an email to let them know you heard them on the Irish and Celtic Music Podcast.

Remember also to Subscribe to the Celtic Music Magazine. Every week, I'll send you a few cool bits of Celtic music news. It's a quick and easy way to plug yourself into more great Celtic culture. Plus, you'll get 34 Celtic MP3s for Free, just for signing up today.

VOTE IN THE CELTIC TOP 20 With the new year comes a new votes in the Celtic Top 20. This is our way of finding the best songs and artists each year. Just list the show number, and the name of as many bands in the episode as you like. Your vote helps me create next year's Best Celtic music of 2019 episode.  Vote Now!

THIS WEEK IN CELTIC MUSIC

0:05 - "Taladh Chriosda" by Eira from Glen Tidings Pronunciation: Tall-uck Crees-da

3:25 - MERRY CHRISTMAS

4:06 - "O Come All Ye Faithful" by Heather Dale from Spark

8:25 - "Merry Christmas Jig, Masters of the Hall, All Around the Holly Tree" by Peat in the Creel from Winter

12:50 - "Slainte Mhaith Christmas" by Marc Gunn from Single

14:52 - "Ding Dong Merrily On High" by Natalie MacMaster/Donnell Leahy from A Celtic Family Christmas

18:06 - CELTIC CHRISTMAS FEEDBACK

23:32 - "Wintertide" by Alexander James Adams from Wintertide

29:21 - "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen w/The Lamplighter's Jig" by A Shamrock in Kudzu from Kudzu for Christmas

31:14 - "Court of a King" by The Wee Heavies from A Christmas Minding

34:35 - "Christmas Card" by Jil Chambless, Ed Miller and Scooter Muse from Nollaig Chridheil / Songs of the Christmas Season

35:48 - "Blessed Be That Maid Mairie" by Spencer & Beane from On Christmas Day in the Morning

39:03 - CELTIC PODCAST NEWS

41:15 - "Upon a Winter's Night" by The Selkie Girls from Winter Lore: Songs of Celtic Christmas

44:44 - "Good King Wenceslas" by Sarah Marie Mullen from In the Moon of Wintertime

47:22 - "The Sussex Carol" by Susan Toman from Angels on High

50:31 - "A' Mhisg A Chuir An Nollaig" by Farsan from Farsan Pronunciation: A-Vishk a cur an knoll-ig

54:16 - "The Wexford Carol" by Aizle & Riognach Connolly from The Wexford Carol

58:49 - CLOSING - NOLLAIG SHONA DAOIBH

1:00:00 - "Slainte Mhaith/The Cat in the Attic" by Tommy Sands from To Shorten the Winter - An Irish Christmas

The Irish & Celtic Music Podcast was produced by Marc Gunn, The Celtfather. To subscribe, go to Apple Podcasts or to our website where you can become a Patron of the Podcast for as little as $1 per episode. Promote Celtic culture through music at http://celticmusicpodcast.com/.

  CELTIC PODCAST NEWS

* Helping you celebrate Celtic culture through music. My name is Marc Gunn. I am a Celtic musician and podcaster. This show is dedicated to the indie Celtic musicians. I want to ask you to support these artists. Share the show with your friends. And find more episodes at celticmusicpodcast.com. You can also support this podcast on Patreon.

If you enjoy this episode makes sure you subscribe to the Celtic Christmas Podcast. You’ll get over 50 episodes of Christmas music by Celtic musicians.

Find more Celtic Christmas music, including podcasts, videos, Spotify playlists, Celtic Christmas song lyrics, and even some free downloads.

Stephen Conroy’s Celtic Playlists

TRAVEL WITH CELTIC INVASION VACATIONS Every year, I take a small group of Celtic music fans on the relaxing adventure of a lifetime. We don't see everything. Instead, we stay in one area. We get to know the region through it's culture, history, and legends. You can join us with an auditory and visual adventure through podcasts and videos. Join the invasion at http://celticinvasion.com/

THANK YOU PATRONS OF THE PODCAST! Because of Your kind and generous support, this show comes out every week and has done so since 2014. You can pledge a dollar or more per episode and cap how much you want to spend each month over on Patreon.

Your generosity funds the creation, promotion and production of the show. It allows us to attract new listeners and to help our community grow. Plus, you get to hear episodes before regular listeners. When we hit a milestone, you get an extra-long episode. We are super close to getting a two-hour instrumental special.

I want to thank our Patrons of the Podcast:

You can become a generous Patron of the Podcast at http://patreon.com/celticpodcast.

  I WANT YOUR FEEDBACK

What are you doing today while listening to the podcast? You can send a written comment along with a picture of what you're doing while listening. Email a voicemail message to celticpodcast@gmail.com

James Slaven emailed a photo last year: "I’ve very much enjoyed the holiday music! The main podcast’s Christmas was a great cherry on top.  Listened while baking Busha Bread (my great-grandmother’s recipe) for family holidays. Keep it up!"

Brian Stuepfert of Sacramento, California emailed a photo: "Training for a marathon with celtic and Irish music in my ears."

Neill McShea emailed: "Hey man, Just got back from a trip to Asia so I hadn’t actually heard any of the recent podcast. Nice job on the track titles! Sounded like a true Gaeligor!"

Thanks also to Neill for helping with my Gaelic pronunciation on many of the recent episodes of the podcasts.

Michael Vitagliano emailed: "Hey Mark! My wife and I are listening to episode 430 while driving from Galway to Dublin. It’s our last couple of days on the Emerald Isle and one stop is definitely going to be Cobblestone in Dublin for some amazing live trad tunes. One thing I’ve been surprised about being over here is the lack of cd shops. Back in the States we stream everything, but I understand why artists over here don’t want to be on services like Spotify. We’re going to explore Claddagh Records tomorrow and I’m optimistic we’ll find a pretty solid selection. I don’t know how much more work it is for you, but to include album links in the episodes would definitely help us in finding the artist and knowing which album to purchase. Just throwing that out there. Love the podcast, we’ve been binging it these past two weeks here in Ireland. It’s definitely made the experience that much more special."

Joseph Rosenthal emailed: "Hey Marc! I've been listening for about 2 months now and love hearing the diverse styles of Celtic music and helps me expand my knowledge on artists. I was going to email a favorite local Celtic group I listen to religiously during the Maryland Renaissance Festival called The Hooligans, but I'm unsure if you've played them already since you and they've been around for a couple years. Is there a condensed archive of Artists you have shared on your Podcast available? Keep up the good work! And good on you for imploring that no hate comes to your podcast! I like the focus on the positivity!"

#celticchristmas #irishchristmas #scottishchristmas

  Check out this episode!

[slushyseals]

[slushyseals]

Anguish, August Friedrich Schenck, oil on canvas, 1878

[slushyseals]

[slushyseals]

Seals are so weird sometimes

[celtfather]

Irish & Celtic Christmas Music #389

  Listen to Irish & Celtic Christmas music of 2018 from Peat in the Creel, The Selkie Girls, The Grenaways, Susan Toman, Kilted Kings, Eira, Jil Chambless, Ed Miller, Scooter Muse, Carolina Ceili, Catriona O'Leary, Heather Dale, Spencer & Beane, A Shamrock in Kudzu, David Pedrick, Matt & Shannon Heaton, Sarah Marie Mullen. http://celticmusicpodcast.com/

I hope you enjoyed this week's show. If you did, please share the show with ONE friend. 

The Irish & Celtic Music Podcast is dedicated to growing our community and helping the incredible artists who so generously share their music. If you find music you love, buy their albums, shirts, and songbooks, follow them on Spotify, see their shows, and drop them an email to let them know you heard them on the Irish and Celtic Music Podcast.

Remember also to Subscribe to the Celtic Music Magazine. Every week, I'll send you 4 or 5 cool bits of Celtic music news. It's a quick and easy way to plug yourself into more great Celtic culture. Plus, you'll get 34 Celtic MP3s for Free, just for signing up today. Thank you again for being a Celt of Kindness.

VOTE IN THE CELTIC TOP 20  

It's easier than ever to do. Just list the show number, and the name of one or two bands. That's it. You can vote once for each episode help me create next year's Best Celtic music of 2018 episode. http://bestcelticmusic.net/vote/ 

THIS WEEK IN CELTIC MUSIC

0:06 "Merry Christmas Jig, Masters in this Hall, All Around the Holly Tree" by Peat in the Creel from Winter

5:19 "Wexford Carol" by The Selkie Girls from Winter Lore: Songs of Celtic Christmas

9:41 "Anchor" by The Grenaways from Port Isaac Christmas Album

13:57 "The Sussex Carol" by Susan Toman from Angels on High

17:04 "God Rest ye Merry Gentlemen" by Kilted Kings from Single

20:30 "Christmas Is Coming/Red Hair Boy/King's Reel" by Eira from Glen Tidings

24:42 "Christ Child Lullaby" by Jil Chambless, Ed Miller and Scooter Muse from Nollaig Chridheil / Songs of the Christmas Season

28:56 "Merry Munster Mashup" by Carolina Ceili from Holiday Hooley

32:37 CELTIC PODCAST NEWS

34:15 "A Virgin Queen in Bethlehem" by Catriona O'Leary from The Wexford Carols

39:25 "See Amid the Winter's Snow" by Heather Dale from Spark

43:03 "Blessed Be That Maid Mairie" by Spencer & Beane from On Christmas Day in the Morning

46:19 "I Saw Three Ships" by A Shamrock in Kudzu from Kudzu for Christmas

47:53 "Gower Wassail" by David Pedrick from Wintertide EP

51:15 "Day Dawn" by Matt & Shannon Heaton from Fine Winter's Night

57:53 "Good King Wenceslas" by Sarah Marie Mullen from In the Moon of Wintertime

The Irish & Celtic Music Podcast was produced by Marc Gunn, The Celtfather. To subscribe, go to Apple Podcasts or to our website where you can become a Patron of the Podcast for as little as $1 per episode. Promote Celtic culture through music at http://celticmusicpodcast.com/.

CELTIC PODCAST NEWS

* Helping you celebrate Celtic culture through music. My name is Marc Gunn. I am a Celtic musician and podcaster. This show is dedicated to the indie Celtic musicians. I want to ask you to support these artists. Share the show with your friends. And find more episodes at celticmusicpodcast.com. You can also support this podcast on Patreon.

Nollaig Shona Daoibh

If you enjoy this episode, you can subscribe to get all 51 episodes of the Celtic Christmas Podcast at CelticChristmasPodcast.com. There's a LOT of wonderful Christmas music by Celtic artists that you will enjoy over there.

I have another podcast that you might enjoy. Celtfather Music & Travel is a talk podcast about... music and travel. I share thoughts about Celtic music, culture, Celtic Invasion Vacations to Ireland, Scotland, and everywhere I visit. You'll enjoy interviews and rants on topics that affect musicians. It's part Celtic and part Geek, because that's who I am. There are over 200 episodes to choose from that typically range between 5-15 minutes long.

In one of the most-recent episodes, I share the latest Celtic Christmas albums I received through this podcast. And other Celtic Christmas music news.

TRAVEL WITH CELTIC INVASION VACATIONS

Every year, I take a small group of Celtic music fans on the relaxing adventure of a lifetime. We don't see everything. Instead, we stay in one area. We get to know the region through it's culture, history, and legends. You can join us with an auditory and visual adventure through podcasts and videos. 

2019 is the Celtic Invasion of Star Wars. 2020 is the Origins of Celtic Invasions. You can find out more about these two exciting trips. Join the invasion at http://celticinvasion.com/

THANK YOU PATRONS OF THE PODCAST!

The Irish & Celtic Music Podcast is listener-supported. Instead of filling your ears with advertisements, I make this show free and let you, the listener, support the podcast through your kind patronage on Patreon. You can make a per episode pledge and cap how much you want to spend each month supporting this podcast.

Your generosity funds the creation, production, and promotion of the show. Best of all, you get episodes before regular listeners, discounts on merch, and when we hit a milestone, you get extra special episodes.

And sometimes, I forget to charge you like I did last month. I end up with an over $500 shortfall. I want to thank John T. for raising his pledge on Patreon to help out for this month. I also want to thank all of listeners who put money in my Virtual Tip Jar to help me recoup some of that loss. You are amazing! Thank you!

If you love this music, this podcast, and this community, You can become a generous Patron of the Podcast at http://patreon.com/celticpodcast

I WANT YOUR FEEDBACK

What are you doing today while listening to the podcast? You can send a written comment along with a picture of what you're doing while listening. Email a voicemail message to celticpodcast@gmail.com

Check out this episode!

[celtfather]

Instrumental Celtic Music for Studying #371

With school back in session, I thought the students listening might enjoy some instrumental Celtic music for studying. Less talk, more music from The Here & Now, The Fretless, The Rowan Tree, Moonrakers, Spencer & Beane, Across the Pond, David Pedrick, Tom Eure, Atlantic Wave, The Gothard Sisters, Wicked Tinkers, Heavy Blarney, Serious Kitchen, Susan Toman, Poitin, West of Eden.  http://celticmusicpodcast.com/

Do me a favor share this podcast. Subscribe to the Celtic Music Magazine. This is our free newsletter and your guide to the latest Celtic music and podcast news. Download 34 Celtic MP3s for Free.

One of the things I love about the Celts is our generosity. We give with kindness and without expectation to the people and causes we believe in. Remember to support the artists who support this podcast: buy their albums, shirts, and songbooks, follow them on Spotify, see their shows, and drop them an email to let them know you heard them on the Irish and Celtic Music Podcast.

THIS WEEK IN CELTIC MUSIC

"Chicago Chicago" by The Here & Now from The Winding Stair

"Forked Deer" by The Fretless from The Fretless

"Neidges Awarra" by The Rowan Tree from The Rowan Tree

"Les Poules Houpees/Fine Run" by Moonrakers from Bird on the Wing

"The Flower of the Forest" by Spencer & Beane from Amhrain Saoil

CELTIC FEEDBACK

"Banks of Spey/Brenda Stubbert's" by Across the Pond from Kid on the Mountain

"Carolan's Draught" by David Pedrick from Wintertide EP

"The Path Home" by Tom Eure from The Coin, The Prayer, The Crow

"Garret Scary's" by Atlantic Wave from Craic'd

"Willow's Waltz" by Gothard Sisters from Story Girl

CELTIC PODCAST NEWS

"Radar Love" by Wicked Tinkers from Hammered

"Blue Harvest" by Heavy Blarney from From Bog to Swamp

"Escargot" by Serious Kitchen from"Tig"

"Cooley's Reel/Merry Blacksmith" by Susan Toman from Emerald Shores

"Emily" by Poitin from Bofiguifluki

"The Scilly Set" by West of Eden from Safe Crossing

The Irish & Celtic Music Podcast was produced by Marc Gunn, The Celtfather. To subscribe, go to Apple Podcasts or to our website where you can become a Patron of the Podcast for as little as $1 per episode. Promote Celtic culture through music at http://celticmusicpodcast.com/.

CELTIC PODCAST NEWS

* Helping you celebrate Celtic culture through music. My name is Marc Gunn. I am a Celtic and Geek musician and podcaster. This show is dedicated to the indie Celtic musicians. I want to ask you to support these artists. Share the show with your friends. And find more episodes at celticmusicpodcast.com. You can also support this podcast on Patreon.

TRAVEL WITH CELTIC INVASION VACATIONS

Every year, I take a small group of Celtic music fans on the relaxing adventure of a lifetime. We don't see everything. Instead, we stay in one area. We get to know the region through it's culture, history, and legends. You can join us with an auditory and visual adventure through podcasts and videos.

2019 is the Celtic Invasion of Star Wars. 2020 is the Origins of Celtic Invasions. You can find out more about these two exciting trips. Join the invasion at http://celticinvasion.com/

THANK YOU PATRONS OF THE PODCAST!

The Irish & Celtic Music Podcast is supported by listeners like you. Your generous pledge helps pay for the production and promotion of the podcast and its artists, as well as my time in producing it. Patrons get episodes before regular listeners, discounts on merch, and when we hit a milestone, you get a two-hour special. Our next milestone will bring 2-hours of Celtic flute and whistle music to your ears. We are still $19 away from the next goal.

Special thanks to our newest Patrons: Richard Boyce, John Fiala, Neil, Joe Mahoney, Thomas Burns, Michael Conners, Darby O'Flannery, Thomas Jordan.

You can become a generous Patron of the Podcast at http://patreon.com/celticpodcast

VOTE IN THE CELTIC TOP 20

It's easier than ever to do. Just list the show number, and the name of one or two bands. That's it. You can vote once for each episode help me create next year's Best Celtic music of 2018 episode. http://bestcelticmusic.net/vote/

I WANT YOUR FEEDBACK

What are you doing today while listening to the podcast? You can send a written comment along with a picture of what you're doing while listening. Email a voicemail message to celticpodcast@gmail.com

Margaret Sneddon emailed a photo on Facebook: "Have a fabulous trip. We're enjoying a podcast on our boat, "Isle of Skye" Living the life and loving your music."

John Evans emailed a photo on Facebook: "Walking through sprinklers in 98°f weather in Grand Island Nebraska listening to episode 360 looking forward to the Greeley Irish Festival in mid September. I got our tickets already!"

Check out this episode!

[celtfather]

Rainy Day in the Celtic Nations #357

There's nothing like dancing in the rain with awesome Celtic music from Dun Aengus, Na Rosai, Gwendolyn Snowdown, Breabach, Lunasa, Spirited Lads, Ginger Ackley, Moonrakers, IONA, Jim Sharkey, Colleen Raney, The High Kings, David Pedrick, Trinity River Whalers, Runa, The Gothard Sisters. http://celticmusicpodcast.com/

Listen and share this podcast. Download 34 Celtic MP3s for Free. Subscribe to the Celtic Music Magazine. This is our free newsletter and your guide to the latest Celtic music and podcast news. Remember to support the artists who support this podcast: buy their CDs, download their MP3s, see their shows, and drop them an email to let them know you heard them on the Irish and Celtic Music Podcast.

TODAY'S SHOW IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY CELTIC INVASION VACATIONS

Every year, I take a small group of Celtic music fans on the relaxing adventure of a lifetime. We don't see everything. Instead, we stay in one area. We get to know the region through it's culture, history, and legends. You can join us with an auditory and visual adventure through podcasts and videos. Join the invasion at http://celticinvasion.com/

  THIS WEEK IN CELTIC MUSIC

0:03 "Shandon Bells" by Dun Aengus from Down By the Glenside

3:42 "The Rainy Day/The Sparkle Slip/The Cloon" by Na Rosai from First Rain

8:28 "Little Duke Arthur's Nurse" by Gwendolyn Snowdown from Three Strand Braid

12:28 "Cockerel in the Cree" by Breabach from The Big Spree

15:35 "Paddy's Green Shamrock Shore" by Lunasa from Cas

20:03 CELTIC FEEDBACK

22:30 "Jigs" by Spirited Lads from Tall Tales and Fond Farewells

25:39 "Celtica" by Ginger Ackley from Elf King's Horn

27:38 "Shotover" by Moonrakers from Tides

30:40 "Wildwood Flower" by IONA from Signature

35:20 "The Campaign Song" by Jim Sharkey from Sweet Anne's Road

40:59 CELTIC PODCAST NEWS

42:32 "I Know My Love" by Colleen Raney from Lark

44:38 "The Rising of the Moon" by The High Kings from Decade: Best of the High Kings

49:02 "Carolan's Draught" by David Pedrick from Wintertide EP

50:48 "Strong Women Rule Us All" by Trinity River Whalers from Dancin' Beggarman

55:06 "Black River" by Runa from Current Affairs

1:00:15 "Midnight Sun" by The Gothard Sisters from Midnight Sun

The Irish & Celtic Music Podcast was produced by Marc Gunn, The Celtfather. To subscribe, go to Apple Podcasts or to our website where you can become a Patron of the Podcast for as little as $1 per episode. Promote Celtic culture through music at http://celticmusicpodcast.com/.

CELTIC PODCAST NEWS

* Helping you celebrate Celtic culture through music. My name is Marc Gunn. I am a Celtic and Geek musician and podcaster. This show is dedicated to the indie Celtic musicians. I want to ask you to support these artists. Share the show with your friends. And find more episodes at celticmusicpodcast.com. You can also support this podcast on Patreon.

You are an integral part of the Irish & Celtic Music Podcast. Not only are you listener and possibly a patron. But you find Celtic music you love in places I will never go. If there's a band are artist that you've found who you've not heard on the podcast, do us both a favor, contact them. Ask them to submit their music to our award-winning and largest podcast of Celtic music online. My goal is to help give indie Celtic artists a voice. They just need to complete the permission form and send music. I will get them on the show.

Patrons of the Podcast will save 40% off the price of the 2018 Irish & Celtic Music Podcast shirt in May 2018. Order your shirt right now in time for the festival season.

THANK YOU PATRONS OF THE PODCAST!

The Irish & Celtic Music Podcast is supported by listeners like you. Your generous pledge helps pay for the production and promotion of the podcast and its artists, as well as my time in producing it. Patrons get episodes before regular listeners, discounts on merch, and when we hit a milestone, you get a two-hour special. Our next milestone will bring 2-hours of Celtic flute and whistle music to your ears.

I want to send a huge thanks to our many new patrons: Properal, Tracy Beedy, Charles Hunt, Annie Moisan, Bridget Robertson, George James, Pamela Hajcak, Asa Swain. We are $24 away for our next milestone.

You can become a generous Patron of the Podcast at http://patreon.com/celticpodcast

VOTE IN THE CELTIC TOP 20

It's easier than ever to do. Just list the show number, and the name of one or two bands. That's it. You can vote once for each episode help me create next year's Best Celtic music of 2018 episode. http://bestcelticmusic.net/vote/

I WANT YOUR FEEDBACK

What are you doing today while listening to the podcast? You can send a written comment along with a picture of what you're doing while listening. Email a voicemail message to celticpodcast@gmail.com

Kitty emailed: "A few years ago, you had a song on the podcast (from an Irish-american band) called The First Ones Drinking and the Last Ones Standing. That was the refrain if not the title. The song was hilarious. Is it available for download? I cannot remember the name of the band. Thanks!"

Laurie Fisher of Carolina Ceili emailed: "I'm listening while prepping for a waltz dance I'm putting on this evening in a lovely ballroom in Asheville, NC.  I've been turned on to some fine music and bands thru your podcast.  I especially appreciate the homage to trees and Arbor Day.  May I suggest 'Bonny Portmore', which I've heard on your podcast before.  'Tis a song about regret for cutting down a beautiful tree."

Joseph Earl-Ridley emailed a picture: "You always sound so pleased to hear from your listeners so I thought I'd send a message to let you know how much I've been enjoying your podcast. I only started listening on Easter Sunday so the latest Arbour Day episode was my sixth. I attach a photo that I took this morning whilst listening out walking my goats, high in the mountains of Portugal! Keep up the good work."

Check out this episode!