#The Reappearing Pheasant

[marcogiovenale]

un articolo del 2022 su "the reappearing pheasant", il convegno/reading svoltosi a novembre a new york

articolo di Luciana Capretti: https://lavocedinewyork.com/arts/2022/11/15/the-reappearing-pheasant-ballerini-stefano-albertini/ in video: Francesco Muzzioli; al tavolo, da sinistra a destra: Fabrizio Bondi, Marco Giovenale, Daniele Poletti; foto di Terry W. Sanders _

[hedgehog-moss]

I found a nice plant in a bog last year, like a reed with a tuft of very soft cotton at the top (bless you English, I just looked up "plant that grows in a bog and looks like cotton" and the English language replied "bog cotton, duh") (in French it's called linaigrette, which should be a small bird), and I was very charmed by the look of it and decided to try to pirate it so I would have some on my land. I plucked one fluffy reed and kept it on my windowsill so I wouldn't forget to return.

Of course, when I returned a few days later with a shovel and a bucket, I couldn't find the bog cotton again. Or the bog. It was a small swamp-y area in a very vast plateau with few landmarks, so it's possible I got turned around, but also, things tend to disappear around here sometimes, like the footpath that leads to the stream, only to reappear a few weeks later. I very much felt like I was in the correct location and the bog wasn't, but okay. Since I didn't trust myself to tell the normal reeds from the cotton-y ones in other seasons, I decided I'd come back around the same time next year.

I've had the linaigrette in my egg spiral in the kitchen this whole time as a memento, and I finally resumed my quest today. I left my car in the exact same spot where I'd left it the previous two times, just before the road gets squiggly for no apparent reason:

I climbed the hill and behind it were just miles and miles of estives (summer cow pastures) with sometimes a barn here and there with a mobile milking parlour. My plan was to follow every rivulet I came across, since I was looking for a watery area.

I picked a barn as a landmark to find my car again, and off we went.

Finding reeds wasn't difficult, but none of them had cotton tufts...

Pandolf was extremely aware that we were looking for something, but he wasn't sure what. Here he is digging in the mud with his paw, looking invested in this treasure hunt.

Sometimes he would stop with one paw poised in the air and his whole body pointed forwards like an English setter who just smelled a pheasant in a Heywood Hardy painting and it was always for cow herds. If I squinted and squinted I could be sure to find a cow on the horizon, the size of an ant—I think Pan was a bit disappointed when he realised I never followed up on the cows he smelled, and it probably wasn't cows we were looking for.

(zoom x400 in case you can't see this cow standing apart from her herd like a sentinel)

I tried to amuse him by giving him little challenges here and there, like climbing on big rocks because he likes rocks. He likes being congratulated even more, though, and if I didn't insist that he actually climb on the rock he would just sort of run towards it and push himself off of it like a swimmer doing a flip turn at the wall to run back to me even faster (for pats). (Had to turn off the sound in the video because the wind was loud, so I subtitled our dialogue)

Some challenges he politely declined to do. I like how despite being very eager to please he sometimes gives me very clear "no thank you"s when I tell him to do something that sounds absurd to him. We found a little waterfall that went down a slope like a mud toboggan and I said "down!" to tell him to slide down that thing and he was like

Our strategy of following water paid off, because look what we found eventually!!

I had a very hard time digging up one clump of reeds with some roots; the bog was holding on to its cotton for dear life. Every time I opened a hole in the mud with my shovel with a horrible sucking noise, the bog would immediately close on itself again with an even stronger vacuum. It also tried to eat my boots, repeatedly. When I moved around the reeds I was trying to steal I had to take my foot out of my boot, stand on one leg like a heron and put the tip of my shovel under the sole of the boot to pry it up. But after maybe 20min of effort, the bog finally let go of one muddy clump of reeds in a loud, dejected SLURP and I was able to put it in my bucket. It was about 10x heavier than I expected so the walk back to my car was slow!

(One thing to keep in mind if you're going to wrestle a swamp for half an hour, is that you're going to end up looking and smelling like a swamp creature. I had to stop at the post office to send a parcel and I really regretted not doing it earlier. It's funny because the post office lady is always like "no, don't worry, come in!! <3" when you show up on rainy days apologising for your muddy shoes, but when I arrived today and asked her from the entrance if I should just throw my parcel at her rather than go in, with my socks making a pitiful plop-plop sound in my boots as I walked, and mud freckles all over my face from aggressive shovelling, and overall looking like a gravedigger, she took one look at me and went "... yes, throw it.")

The good news is, I didn't get lost returning from the swamp to my car, and had no trouble finding my barn-landmark again, and there were new animals there, a nice mule with a retinue of small ponies.

She was friendly at first but then soured on me when I refused to let her sniff and maybe taste the reeds I'd had so much trouble digging up, and then she wouldn't let me approach her ponies.

One of the ponies approached Pandolf, and I told him to stand still—we've been working on "reste là !" (stay there) for a while and it's hard because he's so friendly and exuberant, so I was very proud of him when he stood there frozen as a marble statue, waiting for the pony to come closer. The pony ended up stopping at a prudent distance and stretching his neck out to try and sniff Pandolf, it was very cute.

That's the end of the quest for bog cotton! Here it is now, transplanted to the swamp-y part of my pasture, I hope it'll like it here.

[eolewyn1010]

Downton Abbey Fashion 30 - 1920s evening dresses

We’re on glam’n’glitz again: Time for evening gowns. I always want to comment on the recent developments of the evening fashions of the time, but then I always start with Violet, who never goes with the current fashion, so is there even a point to it?

Violet struts up in some gorgeous blue silk satin, the base layer of it plain, but the sleeveless robe part is a damask with a brambles-and-flowers motif. Not that this is what catches the eye because there’s no kill like overkill: The frame of the top and the sleeve cuffs are dripping with beading and sequins. I think we’re going with a kind of feather motif here – I don’t want to say peacock feathers because it’s lacking the typical big eye spot elements, but the shape is similar. I love how the colors come together here, various shades of grey, silver and gold with the blue of the dress. Funnily, despite her old-fashioned get-up with a tiara and throat brooch and all that, the necklace is quite a modern style of the 1920s, an overlong chain with a tassel-like pendant.

This comes off as a little more subtle by virtue of the monochromatic color scheme. It’s still silk satin over a massively embroidered white under layer, and it’s another tiara look, so it’s not lacking in opulence. Check out that choker. If Violet wanted to show off her entire jewelry drawer, it was a wise choice to go with a dress which has a largely plain surface, although that’s no shade on the lovely beaded trim.

Finally, the silver gown that she keeps for a while; it reappears in season 4 and then, in season 5, Violet gifts it to that snippy Russian revolution survivor princess. We get a layer of black chiffon over silver satin, and all the embroidery ever, a very delicate flower motif that’s sprinkled with beading here and there. I think the scalloped edges of the chiffon layer give this a bit of extra charm. But I will allow myself a little amusement at the fact that, while Violet gave Princess Snooty over there one of her nicer dresses, she drew the line at the bejeweled choker.

--------------

For the total contrast program, Martha. Well, to be fair, her evening gowns are surprisingly subtle in comparison to her coats – no bright orange silks (shame) and no furs (probably for the better). But if Martha chooses to wear black, it’s gotta be black velvet. With tons of golden feather embroidery. And speaking of feathers: Her cute little cap there with the very subtle golden and enameled brooch on it, that’s been decorated with Lady Amherst’s pheasant feathers. I still don’t know who Lady Amherst is, but I’ll recognize these feathers anytime because I personally recommended them as a very ostentatious prettying-up element of a fictional outfit. And she can just afford to casually wear those. Never mind all the jewelry. I’m fine.

Martha likes her feather motives on black fabric, it seems. Other design, similar concept, including the same chiffon sleeves. The neckline is round this time when the former was square, and the jewelry is… ehm, subtler? I don’t know; those gems on her necklace are probably the real deal, but the design is simpler, and she has black feathers on her headpiece instead of big-ass speckled pheasant fathers. I’m actually not sure what that thing is; it’s not a hat. A beaded headband?

I have seen several things of an opaque fabric with translucent sleeves. My brain reacts kind of befuddled at this, being made of the most delicate chiffon but with opaque sleeves. Huh. It’s obviously embroidered with gold thread and sequins again; the necklace might be amber beads and is a nod to one of Martha’s other preferred colors, orange. That and her ginger wavy bob remind me of Edith. Girl should have just left for America with her grandma. But back to fashion: Martha has another big black feather in her hair, on some golden fixture that I think may be a kind of aigrette, but I can’t prove it either way.

You’d think this is another black evening dress, but no, the lighting is just unkind to the velvet. This is actually a very deep teal shade, and all the voided wavy lines and triangle elements in the fabric give such an art deco statement and make a massive contrast to Violet’s ornamental, classic embellishments. Where Violet wears a choker to go with her high Edwardian collars, Martha opts for another overlong necklace, although I wanna bet that it’s still full of real diamonds and emeralds. As is her hairpiece – expensive, but in a playful 1920s design; a sort of triple-headband with big feathers. The arched, floofy feathers remind me of birds-of-paradise, but I don’t know if the colors check out.

--------------

For something more modern than Violet but definitely less ostentatious than Martha, let’s have a look at Isobel. It’s not shabby either; this seems to be brocade after all, but that should be why the dress goes without any decorative elements aside from the most subtle trim. At this point, we’re well-acquainted with black chiffon sleeves, but the shape of the dress, a kind of apron-style, is new, and one that Isobel settles in quite comfortably for the next couple seasons. The shoulder also has a couple of tassels hanging down the back, which I think is cute.

This might be a similar cut, but I can’t really tell because this is more tone-in-tone. Yay, I was just getting withdrawal symptoms from a lack of black sack dresses. At least it has some embroidery over the front. Could be a butterfly motif?

--------------

Susan MacClare is a frustrating case for me. Firstly because the character is written with all the subtlety of an anvil and gets on my nerves, secondly because she gets dressed down which I’ve already gotten sick of with Edith, and thirdly because she wears a variety of evening gowns and none of them are shown very well. I first thought this green number was Lavinia’s dress. To be fair to Lavinia though, her dress didn’t look slightly tatty as this one does. Perhaps it doesn’t fit her right; that would be par for the course for Susan’s outfits. It has some embroidery and emerald chiffon going for it, but honestly, I would want to wear something nicer to this tiara.

Orange-bronze-yellow-something; I wish I could tell you about this dress, but I can’t see a damn thing. It has a drop waist and a chiffon overlayer and is rather baggy, so Susan goes with the times, but aside from some beading with a stars-in-the-sky motif, it doesn’t have much to look at.

This dress is not 1920s fashion with its high, tied-in waist, but I have to admit that it looks the best out of her evening dresses. It fits, it has a nice color contrast with her Tartan sash, it makes a nice backdrop for very nice jewelry. White is what we’ve already seen other attendants of the Ghillies ball wear, so there’s a continuous theme, and she has an excuse to wear something not quite in fashion for a traditional event.

Other than here where she has no excuse. This looks like red satin. Why does this woman not even have any color preferences? The floral embroidery stripes prettied up with some beading here and there are actually quite nice. It’s just that I look at this dress and think, oh, this is something Mary or Cora might have worn four or five years back. Why does Susan wear a high waistband when we've already seen her in period-typical drop waist? This must be the fashionably most inconsistent character on the entire show.

[hel-the-growl]

Cultural Annotations on New Gods: Yang Jian -Part 3-

Part 1｜Part 2

I counted five periods of Yang Jian’s life that were depicted within the scroll.

1 - his childhood.

2 - teenager cleaving Peach Mountain. His hair is in a half updo, opposed to his full updo as an adult. The totem on his pauldrons is most likely Yazi (睚眦) - the second son of the Dragon King, who has the body of a dragon and head of a jackal. As a creature that likes to fight and is aggressive, Yazi’s image is often used to adorn armor and weapons, normally found on cross-guards on swords. The Yazi here is a cute pup, fitting for baby Jian.

3 - As a general in the war against Shang. His armor is decked with a red cape and he wields his signature trident. On his helmet are a pair of pheasant tail feathers called Lingzi (翎子) - which is indicative of the wearer as a warrior figure. The length of the feathers is also an indicator of the warrior's rank. This event was probably during the Battle of Muye, the decisive battle between Shang and Zhou. These flashbacks, like with Nezha Reborn, are the traditional depictions of the characters and are emphasized by the different art style.

4 - the disaster of the three realms twelve years ago. In Journey to the West, he was described as wearing “boots that were lined with cloth of gold; dragons coiled round his socks; His jade belt was decorated with the eight jewels”. He seems to have gained a new chest plate and notice how Yazi has also grown over the years from a cute pup to a ferocious beast with large fangs.

5 - bounty hunter. A tie-dyed bandanna covers his third eye - tie-dye was popular during the Eastern Jin and Southern and Northern Dynasties, where the extraction method of indigo dyes was recorded in the agricultural text Qimin Yaoshu (齐民要术).

His clothing is also described in chapter 40 of IOTG - “This Daoist wore a cloud crown with a fan, a robe the color of water with a silk sash around his waist, and hemp shoes on his feet.” This attire was typical of Disciples of Chan Daoism.

Wrist guards wrap around his index finger while his bounty hunter’s tally hangs from his belt. Despite falling into poverty, he still maintains an air of aristocracy with his white robes showing subtle intricate cloud details.

Blink and you’ll miss - during the battle at Mount Hua, he ripped his pants at the crotch lol.

Not that I think that the placement of Go pieces have any real significance, but I recreated the board for fun. Despite some minor inconsistencies (some black pieces disappeared and reappeared between shots, and the spot where Yang Jian hovered his piece is an illegal move), the game was mostly accurate. Btw, black is winning.

Yang Jian had a noble upbringing and has retained his discipline over the years - his left hand is clenched while his right palm lies flat on his lap.

What the hell is a Fenix? In the movie, the Xuan Bird was translated as Fenix, however there is no direct english equivalent for this mythological bird. “Xuan” means black or mysterious, so some sources describe it as a black bird, while others call it a swallow. The Book of Songs dedicated a line to it: The Book of Songs dedicated a line to it: "The Xuan Bird of destiny descends to give birth to Shang."

Fa Tian Xiang Di (法天象地) translated as “Heaven and Earth I rise to Thee” is the law of heaven and earth that is commonly mentioned in ancient texts. In Journey to the West, invoking Fa Tian Xiang Di grants the user the power to rise as high as the heavens and as vast as the earth. Only Erlang and Sun Wukong have this ability.

The inscription on Yuding’s giant sword reads “福生无量”, a Daoist mantra. They are written in small seal script, an archaic form of Chinese calligraphy, and a variant form of seal script that became the standard during the Qin Dynasty. The characters are separated by the horizontal lines of the eight trigram figures.

The moment Yang Jian knew exactly what would happen when Chenxiang ran toward his mother, yet was powerless to stop him. This scene BROKE me.

In the post credits scene, Yunxiang (Nezha) asks Wukong “you couldn’t beat him?”, a nod to their battle at the beginning of Journey to the West where Erlang was able to subdue Wukong after 300 rounds of fighting.

In the teaser for the sequel, Yang Jian is seen overlooking East Sea City/Donghai (the same city Nezha: Reborn was set), commenting “so many years have past again”. What he meant was, about 1500 years since Chenxiang cleaved Mount Hua. “So many years” is a gross understatement.

FAQs

What is Yang Jian’s origin story?

Yang Jian is a disciple of Chan Daoism, the third generation disciple of Yuanshi Tianzun, known as the Primeval Lord of Heaven, one of the highest deities of Daoism. The Jade Emperor really is his uncle. According to some legends, his mother Yaoji was imprisoned under Peach Mountain for falling in love with a mortal, breaking the laws of heaven. Yang Jian cleaved the mountain in order to save her.

If he’s heaven's prince, how did he fall so low? And where is his uncle the Jade Emperor?

Yang Jian doesn’t exactly have a great relationship with his uncle. It was the Jade Emperor who imprisoned his own sister under Peach Mountain, and Yang Jian wrecked havoc in heaven over this incident (not unlike what Sun Wukong did a few hundred years later). So obv he doesn’t associate with the other gods in the heavenly court, choosing instead to live elsewhere along with his six sworn brothers of Plum Mountain.

As for the whereabouts of the Jade Emperor, this is something the movie has not hinted. However in Nezha Reborn, Ao Guang mentioned it’s chaos up there [in heaven] right now.

If Yang Jian lost his powers, how was he able to phase through the jail’s barrier and overpower all of his opponents?

Most of the powers he lost pertain to the powers of his Eye of Heaven, which had the ability to differentiate truth from lies and see through deceptions and disguises and be used as an offensive weapon to fire continuous, highly destructive blasts of light energy and/or divine fire. He also lost the ability to manifest his primordial spirit, as well as the ability to fly. He does however retain his skills in the martial arts, primarily his “Nine Turns Mystical Arts” (九轉玄功), which grants him vast, physical durability of undefined limits and nigh-invulnerability to conventional weapons and various magic spells. His 72 transformations should be a part of this skill so whether he retained it or not remains to be seen.

It would be awesome to see him be able to transform though, it would suck if he were stuck bounty-hunting for the next 1500 years.

So how powerful is Yang Jian exactly?

In Journey to the West, he was unrivalled and the most ruthless among all of the gods - even the Monkey King could not defeat him. Another time, he single-handedly killed a beast that Wukong and Pigsy were struggling to fight. At the beginning of the movie, we got to see him finish off the ogre before it even had time to react. When outnumbered by Boss Hai and his goons, none of them could even lay a finger on him. Yang Jian is so powerful that even with his powers nerfed, the toughest opponents seem like small fries to him. During the battle at Mount Hua, his primordial spirit was so unbelievably massive that its body couldn’t even fit in the frame. The combined efforts of four gods could not hold him down and just one swipe of his axe was able to destroy Master Yuding and three heavenly kings. Yang Jian is no joke.

How old is Yang Jian?

We know that Yang Jian was born after Jiang Ziya, a real life figure who was born in 1128 BC. Jiang Ziya was peers with his master Yuding, who already had a head of gray hair when he took Yang Jian in as a child. Going by this logic, we can estimate that Yang Jian’s age was about 20-30 when he participated in the battle against Shang, making his birth year between 1075 and 1066 BC. His age when he cleaved Peach Mountain is a broad estimate, as he looked much older than Chenxiang when he cleaved Lotus Peak, so it might not be that long before the events of IOTG. Yang Jian would’ve been about 1512 years old when Chenxiang was born, 1525 at the start of the movie, and 3093 years old today.

What is Yang Jian’s relation to Nezha?

They were allies. After the final battle in IOTG, a few of heaven’s warriors including Yang Jian and Nezha came to court to inform that they did not desire positions and wealth and asked to be liberated from service.

How does this tie in with Nezha Reborn?

I read a tragic leaked original ending for Yang Jian where they weren't able to free the fenixes and he was the one that becomes trapped under Lotus Peak. It took another 1000 years before Nezha freed him... talk about tragic life. By now, it is pretty much given that Yang Jian ending up in Donghai over a millenia later has something to do with the new Order of the Gods. It was repeated in Nezha that Ao Guang wants to establish a new order to improve his ranking on the list, and some theories say that the the fenixes being freed from Mount Hua heralded the end of the old Order. Sun Wukong also alluded that the list had been re-ordered more than once.

Part 1｜Part 2｜Part 4

[nickyroethemarinebiologist]

I've been really excited to talk about the dragon breeds in the pirate book because it's SO fun to describe them and give each breed little quirks and characteristics. I have a spreadsheet of all the (known) dragon species of this universe (which is also shared with a second book series I may or may not be planning)

So here's some fun info on all the mentioned dragon breeds so far!!

First of all we have my dear boy Timor; he's a Golden-crested Sharpnose, of course, which are one of the smallest Sharpnose breeds (I only did that so he could fit on the ship even at full growth) and are based off Golden Eagles, so shape-wise they look a little like this

But in terms of colouring it ranges from a more common brown-gold mix, to almost entirely brown, to a brighter, full gold colour like Timor!!

(A Common Sharpnose is based off of a Long-crested Eagle, so looks more like this)

They're very good at imitating people's habits and 'tamed' Sharpnoses will often pick up on the speech patterns of the people around them subconsciously

Moving swiftly to Caritas, my sweet little guy. He's a Silver Pinnet, though he's not actually silver. I did that on purpose as a funny little nod to the naming conventions of birds (e.g. Golden eagles are actually brown, etc)

Pinnets are the smallest breed that's considered 'tameable', though Silver Pinnets are a little bigger and faster than the common breed. They're pretty much exclusively couriers, and they're based off of a Sandgrouse in shape:

Where as colouring wise they're very similar to a pheasant hen, with very little range between individuals (though every Pinnet has a distinct mottling pattern! Like human fingerprints) so something like this

Then there's dear Fancy (Elliott's dragon) and the two dragons he's napping with in chapter four

Fancy is a Royal Spinewing, and he's based off a Great Blue Heron:

Spinewings are very flashy and have great manoeuvreability in the air, so overall they're widely considered to be a very impressive and VERY valuable breed. However they are also very dim.

Fancy specifically isn't very bright however he talks like Miette ('you KICK Miette? You kick her body like the football?') and I think it is very endearing

The two dragons napping with him are currently unnamed and likely will never be named, unless I can work them into the story somehow. But they're Creepers (closely related to Stonecreepers) which are based off Wallcreepers (a lot of creeping going on here) so:

Little cutie patootie pies

There's also the briefly mentioned younger captain who comes up with Davis, he IS named and he will be reappearing, and so will his dragon!!

The dragon is a Little Dipper, which are based off Turnstones, so she looks something like this!!

And last but by no means at all least, we have Tolly!!

Tolerans is a Slipwing, so he's based off a bird called a Pheasant Coucal, which I had never heard of until I happened upon it on wikipedia entirely by chance. He looks a little like this:

Slipwings aren't a very smart breed but they like having things to do and will get antsy if they sit around for too long. Tolly's personal favourites are flying and reading poetry with Riley, though whether he understands it at all is an entirely different matter

Slipwings are very closely related to Weefs, which are a more shorefaring dragon breed, so while Slipwings themselves are more suited to land, they can swim pretty well and naturally love being in the water (in contrast to Timor, who was born at sea and loves it dearly, but has never once tried to swim and probably never will)

[ask-kurt-wagnerandrpwithhim]

In the dead of night, the peace within a forest field was deeply perturbed when a door suddenly opened and, with it, an entire tavern appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The light at the entrance shun almost as brightly as the moon and the stars in the sky.

'... How many times has this happened again?' Azazel thought apathetically as he felt himself getting flung head first a dozen of feet forward.

He flipped upside down midair, more as a reflex rather than a conscious decision, before slamming back first against the bark of a tree.

This should by all means be painful but seeing how much alcohol was in his system at this very moment, saying he feels numb would be as much of an understatement as saying the blanket of snow currently covering the area was deep.

He slowly slid to the bottom, landing almost soundlessly in a snow pile.

"If I EVER see your face at MY TAVERN again, the next place you'll be landing at is the foot of your MAKER!" Shouted the tall Wolpertinger, fangs bared and pheasant wings defiantly spread before loudly shutting the door behind her.

He rose from his spot mechanically and shook the snow off his hair.

'So why do I feel like I'm missing something this time around?' He mentally noted as he stared blankly in front of him, right at the spot where the tavern used to be.

Usually, he would have been on the move by then on the account of those new flakes falling from the sky right onto him. Yet, he found himself unmoving, almost waiting.

Just then, the magical building reappeared right as the door opened once more.

"And TAKE your frosted DOPPELGÄNGER with you!" Another found himself thrown out by the tavern owner to be left with him in the now empty field.

Landing a few paces away from him, on his own separate snow pile, was his son.

'Someone. It was someone.' He finally took his first steps away from under the tree and moved to closely check on Kurt after quickly digging him out of the snow.

"Still amongst the living?" He asked, half joking half genuinely concerned.

Kurt groans, "unfortunately... In all zhe times I've died, it's not been nearly as cold as it is here." He sits up, not really used to being thrown into snow piles in the woods and having landed face down. He gets as much of the snow off his face as possible but some of it ends up melting a bit and going down his shirt, causing him to shriek, wide eyed and desperately trying to get the cold liquid out from under his shirt

[sadinasaphrite]

Whumptober Day 4 - Sebek

Time for another Twisted Day of Whumptober! Today, Sebek does endurance training under Lilia’s instruction and his stubborn streak gets him into trouble.

No. 4 DEAD ON YOUR FEET

Hidden Injury | Waking Up Disoriented | Can’t Pass Out

I feel like this isn’t so much “Hidden Injury” as it is “Ignored Injury,” but I feel like the fic fits the “Dead on your feet” theme. 

Read on AO3!

Fic under the cut

This was not how Sebek planned on spending his winter vacation. He expected to spend some quality time with his mother and siblings, even if it meant enduring his father’s embarrassing jokes and ridiculous tacky sweaters. Instead, Sebek was halfway up a mountain, scaling a cliff with only his bare hands, with no family, home cooked meals, or hot cider in sight.

Although, Sebek admitted to himself, the holiday hadn’t exactly started as well as he’d hoped. Upon arriving back in Briar Valley, he found his older brother was buried in schoolwork and his sister was planning on spending most of the break with her friends. Even his parents were scarce, working long hours at the dental clinic due to a staffing shortage.

He’d resigned to spending winter break alone when Master Lilia appeared out of thin air and whisked him away. They reappeared in the middle of the mountain range, far from civilization.

“How far do you want to go?” Lilia asked, hovering beside him.

Sebek looked around. At first, Sebek didn’t see any familiar landmarks amid the mountain range, but far in the distance was a blurry black shape that looked like it might be the great Briar Castle. To be at Master Malleus’ side had always been his goal, so the answer seemed obvious. He pointed to the castle on the horizon.

“I will travel all the way to the castle!”

Lilia tilted his head. “Do you want supplies?”

Hah. This was a test, was it? Endurance training, surely. He would proudly pass any test Master Lilia challenged him with!

“No,” Sebek proclaimed. “I will make it on my own!”

“If you insist,” Lilia said.

He disappeared, leaving Sebek alone on the mountaintop. Thus had started some of the most grueling training Sebek had ever endured. He had only the clothes on his back, his magestone pen, and the hiking boots he was fortunate enough to have been wearing when Lilia spirited him away. No human would have survived the elements in such gear, but Sebek’s fae blood offered him some resistance to the bitter cold, even as only a half-breed. He foraged what little plant life he could find amid the snow and alpine forests and hunted with variable success using either his own speed and strength or crude spears he made as he walked. He climbed and hiked until it was too dark for even his fae eyes to see, then used his magic to light a fire and slept without shelter until the dawn, when he would do it all over again.

It was miserable. The cold wasn’t enough to kill him, but that didn’t mean Sebek wasn’t freezing all hours of the day and night. The physical activity of hiking helped to keep him warm, but foraging while hiking at the same time slowed his progress. Either he moved slowly and focused on finding enough food to fill his belly, or he kept hiking to get some distance and burned energy on an empty stomach. The nights were just as bad, laying in the snow with a fire that barely produced any warmth while his stomach growled and he thought longingly of hot cider, roasted potatoes, and baked pheasant.

Every dawn and every dusk, Lilia would appear out of thin air beside him.

“How far do you want to go?” He would ask, and Sebek would assure him that he was strong enough to make the journey. Lilia would always offer food, or supplies, or water, but Sebek always refused his help. He would not fail this test due to a mere discomfort!

It took five days before Sebek reached the next mountain peak. He looked behind him as he approached the summit, and his face split into a toothy grin. The last mountain peak was so far away! He’d made incredible progress! All his hard work would be worth it when… when…

Sebek crested the top of the incline, reaching the mountain summit and looking toward his goal. Briar Castle was still just a speck on the horizon, no different than it had looked at the last summit, so very far behind him. In fact, in this lighting, he couldn’t even tell for sure if it was Briar Castle.

Crushing despair settled around his shoulders. All that work, and for what? At this pace, he wouldn’t reach Briar Castle by the end of next year, much less the end of winter break! Was… was this part of the test? Was he to spend the next year on a cruel journey to prove his devotion to Master Malleus?

For the first time, doubt entered Sebek’s heart. He’d pushed himself beyond his limits to reach the summit. His legs trembled and every inch of him was sore from the grueling days of hiking and climbing. His chest heaved, the thin icy air stabbing through his lungs like needles with every breath. His clothes were soaked through with snow and sweat, and his hair was crusted with dirt and grime. He was cold, he was hungry, he was sore, he wanted a bath, and more than anything he wanted to sleep and rest. He knew he was burning more energy than he was taking in with his meager foraging, and continuing at this pace would wither him down to nothing, assuming he didn’t just collapse from exhaustion.

He wanted to go home.

As if summoned, Lilia appeared beside him.

“Brrr! It’s chilly up here!”

Fury flared within him. Lilia was cold? Lilia was cold?? With the wind whipping around them and snow packed down inside Sebek’s boots from trudging through knee deep snow? And Lilia was cold???

Sebek let out a hard, sharp exhale that sounded suspiciously like a snort.

“How far do you want to go?” Lilia asked once again, the damnable question more infuriating than ever before.

“I’m fine!” Sebek roared in return. “I can do it!”

Lilia paused, his expression closed off and guarded.

“There’s no penalty for stopping,” he finally said, “you can stop at any time. Whenever you want. You don’t have to keep going.”

“I don’t need to stop.” Legs shaking, Sebek trudged down the incline, leaving the summit behind.

“Do you want food? Water? Help?” Lilia called after him.

Sebek didn’t answer and didn’t look back.

How dare he? The absolute nerve! What was Lilia even doing? Just… just showing up every now and then to taunt him? Remind him that he wasn’t good enough? Wasn’t strong enough?

Sebek stormed down the mountainside, rage and adrenaline overriding his exhaustion, and not watching where he stepped as he shoved his way down a winding game trail that followed the edge of a ravine.

Damn his human blood, and damn his human father! If he were a full fae, surely he’d be able to handle this! Damn it all, he would prove himself worthy to stand at Malleus’ side! He would—

His foot came down hard on a layer of slush beneath the snow and his ankle twisted hard. Sebek let out a roar of pain and reeled back, losing his balance. His arms pinwheeled wildly, then he overcorrected his balance and lurched forward. Without thinking, he caught himself by putting all his weight on his twisted ankle. Something inside his ankle popped and his leg gave out entirely.

Sebek crumpled forward to get a faceful of slush and mud as he hit the ground hard. The slush shifted beneath his weight and Sebek slid to the left, off the edge of the game trail. He scrambled at the rocks and mud, but his hands found no purchase on the slick ground and he slipped off the trail to the ravine below.

He rolled down the steep slope, unable to tell which way was up and futilely trying to grab onto anything to stop his fall. Rocks and branches scraped his face and arms, tearing at his clothes and skin. Pain sliced across his flank as he crashed against a particularly large rock and then bounced off. He had the terrifying sensation of sudden weightlessness, falling freely through the air. The bottom of the ravine came into view, ground covered in the thick, thorny brambles that Briar Valley was known for, then Sebek smashed through the thicket and hit the ravine floor with a wet crunch.

For a long while, the forest fell silent. Sebek didn’t know how long he lay there, staring uncomprehendingly at the sky above him, a background of white clouds criss-crossed by thick, twisting vines with inch-long thorns. Slowly, sense returned to him, and he let out a long, low groan.

He tried to move and instantly regretted it. The thorns had all but shredded his skin, tearing right through his clothes, and every movement brought a new thorn stabbing into his flesh. Sharp pain radiated from his lower back and down his flank, where he’d hit the big rock on the way down. After a moment, Sebek realized his rear was wet, not with the icy sensation of melted snow, but with something else, warm and sticky. He reached down gingerly, thorns seizing his sleeve and arm all along the way, and carefully felt the most painful spot.

Blood. It was definitely blood soaking his clothes. He couldn’t get a good look at the area and had no idea how bad the injury was. It sure felt painful. Hell. Everything hurt. His head was throbbing, his ass was bleeding, and everything in between was just as miserable. Maybe he should stop. Just lay here until Lilia appeared again and took him home.

Sebek closed his eyes, the idea extremely tempting. After a few minutes of serious consideration, he let out a long breath. No. No, he wouldn’t give up. Not even now.

Slowly, he sat up. Thorns clung to him like barbed wire, mercilessly tearing through him with every movement. Sebek gave a low, menacing growl, rumbling through his chest inhumanly deep, then roared and lashed out with his magic. A wave of wind and fire forced the brambles back just long enough for Sebek to heave himself out of their clutches before they slithered into place once more.

Good. That was one obstacle gone. Next was getting to his feet.

Standing proved to be easier said than done. The gash across his flank sent horrible stabbing pain through him with every wrong move, and his ankle radiated with the bone-deep ache of a sprain. Using a boulder for balance, Sebek slowly dragged himself upright, smearing a stripe of blood across the stone.

There. Step two done. Now all he needed to do was walk.

Sebek clung to the boulder supporting his weight and hesitated. Walk where? There was nowhere to go. The narrow ravine had steep walls on both sides, and was otherwise filled with thorny briars. He had a little bit of breathing space by the boulder, but he was trapped between briars and the ravine wall, with no path around any of it. He looked up the sheer cliff. There was a decent number of possible footholds. If he didn’t put weight on his twisted ankle, he might be able to scale the ravine wall.

Only one way to find out.

He lurched away from the boulder and caught himself against the wall. A handhold here, a handhold there, and… lift. Sebek’s muscular arms strained as he pulled himself clear off the ground. His good foot fished around for a foothold, and he let out a shout of victory when he found one. Excellent! Easy, this was just doing pull ups with an extra step. He glanced down, confirming that he was a comfortable two feet off the ground, then looked up at the cliff wall.

He just had to do that another twenty or so times. Sebek swallowed back his trepidation and climbed.

Two feet. Six feet. Twelve feet. Twenty feet.

“Sebek!”

Lilia appeared beside him, floating in the air as Sebek climbed. Lilia’s calm, stoic expression was gone, replaced by open alarm.

“Sebek, stop! You can stop now! You don’t have to keep going, it’s okay! We can stop!”

“NO!” Sebek growled. Sweat poured down his brow and his arms trembled violently from the strain. Blood oozed sluggishly down his bad leg, dripping to the ravine floor below. “I can do it!”

He reached for another handhold.

“Sebek, please! Just say you can’t go any farther! We can—”

Sebek didn’t hear the rest of Lilia’s words as a wave of dizziness washed over him. He clung to the wall and trembled, waiting for it to pass, but it only grew worse. Darkness crept in from the corners of his vision.

“Sebek?”

Beaten, bloodied, and exhausted, Sebek’s body finally gave out. Unconsciousness claimed him and he fell.

“SEBEK!”

Sebek was warm and a little… floaty? Like he was floating on a cloud in the sunshine, but also a little numb. He frowned and stirred, not sure if he liked the sensation. He became aware of delicate fingers stroking his hair.

“Sebek? Can you hear me? Are you awake?”

Sebek opened his eyes and blinked blearily. Lilia’s worried face took up most of his vision, but the room around him was also familiar.

“I’m… at your home?”

“Yes,” Lilia said, “you needed medical attention. The training exercise is over. You might feel a little odd, you’re on some pretty heavy pain meds.”

Sebek slumped back into the bed, his face falling in misery.

“I failed.”

“Yes,” Lilia said, giving his head a gentle pat, “but not for the reason you think you did.”

Sebek’s heart sank. “I wasn’t strong enough.”

“That is not why you failed.”

“But… I never reached the goal,” Sebek said, his face twisted in confusion.

“I never gave you a goal,” Lilia explained. “I never told you how far to go or where. You made those goals yourself. The lesson was not how far you could trek in the mountains. The lesson was to teach you to stop. To teach you to respect your limits. …And to know when to ask for help.”

Sebek stared at him.

“...What?”

“I asked how far you wanted to go,” Lilia continued patiently. “You’re the one who answered. Every time I appeared, I asked if you wanted to continue. I offered you help. I even specified there was no penalty for stopping. Strength is not endurance alone. There is strength in accepting help from those willing to give it.”

Sebek opened his mouth to protest, temper flaring, but the words died in his throat and he fell silent. Lilia’s words rolled around in his head as he considered his response.

“I think,” he said slowly, “you were deceptively vague about that.”

“And sometimes it may not be clear when someone is asking to help. Or asking for help.”

Sebek let out a hard breath through his nose. There was no arguing with Lilia when he was like this, acting all wise and cryptic, like he’d just gifted knowledge of the Elder Fae to lesser mortals and expected to be thanked for it. Still, Sebek was nothing if not a dutiful student, and he would do his best to take the lesson to heart.

A sudden unpleasant thought struck him.

“Silver didn’t see me like this, did he?” Sebek asked.

“Oh, he absolutely did,” Lilia said with a smile, rising to his feet. “I believe he called you a stone-headed fool when I told him the situation.”

Sebek groaned and Lilia laughed.

“Now, you just rest there. I’ve got hot soup ready for you.”

Panic flashed across Sebek’s features. “Soup that you made? Can’t I go home?”

“Not until you’re a little more healed up.”

“Why?”

“Because if I take you home looking like this, your mother will kill me,” Lilia grinned and slipped from the room.

Sebek groaned and rubbed his face with both hands. Perhaps this was his punishment for failing to understand the lesson. No matter. He’d be home with his family soon enough.

So long as Lilia’s cooking didn’t kill him, first.

[wangxianslillotus]

Au where Wei WuXian doesn't go to Nightless city after Wen Qing, Wen Ning and the remaining Wens. Instead he runs away with A-Yuan and the granny. They stay hidden for years in a humble house in between a forest and a river at the border of Qinghe Nie and LanLing, away from Yiling.

Wei Ying tries to stay away from the towns after hearing about the burial mounds being attacked, of course that there would be those who search for the stigean seal, "That Yiling laozu, he disappeared in the night! Who knows when he's going to appear again to cause more trouble!!" He hears, "He's preparing to take revenge, he hasn't learned from the last time!!" . But he doesn't want revenge, he just wants to raise A-Yuan. After that, he knows that he has to hide, and ends up avoiding all contact and interactions with the world, but he remains doing his research in demonic cultivation, enough to train and develope new things that they will need for protection, but never enough for it to attract any attention.

Granny passes away after taking care of her boys, and when they find themselves in the winter out of provisions such as food and others, Wei WuXian makes his trip to the market for the first time in almost seven years. He wears a disguise, but he can never be completely sure that they are safe. Of course, he takes his son along, because he can't leave him alone. He's never sure.

A-Yuan has come with granny before, he knows the people in town, and they pretty much adore him just as the people loved Wei WuXian at the old pier market. Wei WuXian watches him and lets him lead the little trip to town with a bright smile. They buy the necessary things for a couple of cold months, and go back home at night. But as they are leaving, they catch a glimpse of gold robes in one of the streets. Wei WuXian drags A-Yuan to a dark alley to hide, until the cultivators of LanLing pass by without noticing them. After that, they don't go to the town anymore for a while.

A-Yuan doesn't ask, he never does, he respects that his father has a very mysterious past that he wants to hide, to forget if possible, and that if something happens, he will have to run away with the stigean seal. He knows that, but being aware of the pain that crosses his father's eyes is hard. But he doesn't ask even when Wei WuXian starts to train him to be a cultivator, not just for fun anymore.

He developed a golden core very young, but never used it for anything more than some night hunts at the near forest and protection. Now, they are preparing just in case those golden robed people got closer, he knows that much.

He practices archery, calligraphy too ("A-Yuan, even if dad can't write like he draws, you should do it properly. Maybe I can't make it look good, but I know how it should look.") and his father lends him his sword from time to time, for him to learn how to transfer energy on the blade, how to fly, and how to retrieve it if he sent it flying for attack. Suibian accepts him, almost knowing that he's his owner's son. Wei WuXian teaches him everything he knows about cultivation, that is not little knowledge, on the contrary, Wei Yuan ends up learning so many things, even about different sects. His father teaches him about the Lan Sect and Jiang Sect more than any others, he hears about a big library where he used to copy 3000 rules from the Lan Sect, watched closely by the most gracious man that his father has ever seen. Wei Yuan learns that his father often thinks about this Lan man, when the moon rises fully in the night sky, drinking some alcohol if they can allow it.

He learns enough demonic cultivation too, enough to prevent accidents from happening, enough not to panic, and enough to suppress the stigean seal if needed. Of course, he can't do that alone, it's only to help his father. "Never use it, A-Yuan, you know how if feels now, so you can identify it, but never use it. You can think of better ways."

He learns about talismans, more than any other Sect may even know that exist, his father is proud of that. And he is too. His father knows so many things that A-Yuan is enchanted with everything he learns. He is a good boy.

......

When A-yuan is close to become 13, Wei WuXian goes back to the town and orders a sword for him, one similar to suibian in terms of speed and weight, but black. It was going to be ready in a month and a half, the shopkeeper said. And it was going to be expensive. But it was worth it, Wei Ying knew, anything for his little boy. Besides, winter didn't had many hunting opportunities, it was a good timing.

When the time passed, Wei WuXian took A-Yuan with him to the town. They sold some talismans during the day, bought food and some warmer clothes that would be useful since there was starting to snow already in the forest, and then, they stopped by the smithy. Wei WuXian gave his son an excited smile.

When A-Yuan received the sword, he was more than happy. He was jumping like he was five again, hugging his father like he would never let go, so happy that he cried a little. Wei WuXian laughed at him for that, but he was equally happy just by watching his son. He knew it was worth it.

On the following days, Wei WuXian trained him with his sword. He couldn't use Suibian properly since he couldn't transfer it any energy, and using resentful energy didn't work at all on the blade (he had tried, it didn't went well.) But he could use it as a normal sword, and he was good at it. Better than the good ones. They sparred until his father said it was good enough to go for a nighthunt in the following days.

Little did they know that they would split, running from a Yao that had really long claws, just as large as Suibian, and creept at fast speed. It was a dangerous one, climbing the trees and jumping at them from above. The beast followed A-Yuan at first, be could hear it growling right behind him. The boy ran away at his father's order, and the beast got distracted after a while thanks to his father's music. A-Yuan ran until stopping at the entrance of a cave, listening attentively to the dizi in the distance, just in case he heard another order from Wei WuXian.

The snow was freezing his feets, and he was already wet to the knee, some of his back too because he had rolled over avoiding the Yao's claws. The dizi went silent abruptly, but it wasn't always a bad thing. It probably meant his father had killed the beast using resentful energy. He waited for about ten minutes before deciding he would go back, but as he was about to go the way he came from, he heard steps behind.

Too close to avoid to be seen, too close to run away successfully. A-Yuan turned around, ready for a fight when he saw a boy his age, dressed in white, with a headband matching the could embroidery of his robes. A Lan. It was a Lan. They couldn't find his father.

Turns out, it was a friendly Lan, that gave him a look and then proceeded to explain that he was lost. "We were nighthunting, but I got lost following the tracks of a Yao." He had said. "Honestly, I fell into a pit when I was running away, and when I got out, it was gone. Have you seen it, perhaps?" But A-Yuan lied, said that he hadn't. That he was fighting a ghost. The ones that didn't let traces behind. At this, the Lan shivered, murmuring something about hating ghosts, and A-Yuan couldn't help it, he laughed hard. He was absolutely stressed from running, ten minutes more would probably help his limbs, he thought.

The Lan got flustered at his laugh, not used to such displays of emotions from others, but he ended up laughing too. They talked for an hour or so, until A-Yuan realized that his father must have been searching him like a madman. He apologized to the Lan boy, grabbed his sword, and run away in a hurry, leaving a very confused cultivator behind. When he arrived his home, it was almost sunrise already. Wei WuXian was waiting for him in front of the door. When he saw him appear, he run towards him and hugged him hard.

Again, A-Yuan didn't ask. He knew his father's pain without need of explanation. He hugged back, letting the bad feelings go at once. They slept side by side that night, like when A-Yuan was a toddler, holding all their memories together. Keeping them warm.

.......

A couple of months later, the spring came back, and A-Yuan was more than happy to help his father with the orchard. They played in the river too, hunted some pheasants and rabbits that started to reappear from their hibernation, and Wei WuXian allowed A-Yuan to go alone to the town. He knew it was a big thing, because his father thought of his petition for about a week before answering. He had to be careful, "there are really bad people out there, my radish." But if he could nighthunt, he could take some walks around the market and enjoy tasteful food once in a while, he thought.

In one of his expeditions to the town, he met that Lan boy again. "This one is called Lan JingYi, since you ran away last time I couldn't tell you that, but we spoke about good food, and you mentioned this inn." He said. And A-Yuan smiled. He didn't say his name, but it was enough that the owner of the inn saw him, invited them both to take a seat and eat, calling him "A-Yuan". He had to be aware from his last name.

Nonetheless, he shared with Lan JingYi a good meal, happy when his new friend complimented his good taste with food.

It was not the last time they met. Lan JingYi usually appeared at the town from time to time after sending him a letter to that inn, that the owner gave him when he arrived the town. He was happy to have a friend, so Wei WuXian allowed it. It was good that his son had a dependable friend. Even if it was dangerous, he thought that some meals and sporadic letters couldn't do any harm to anyone. As long as A-Yuan was happy, he would comply. He wanted his son to have everything.

Time passed by quickly, they knew. They sold more talismans at the market, nighthunted anything and everything that they could, shared stories about their days when they were apart, ate delicious foods at the inn sometimes, and trained. They trained a lot.

In was when they turned 15 that Lan JingYi gave A-Yuan an invitation to study at Cloud recesses.

And Wei WuXian had to decide new plans.

[cooliogirl101]

When they meet, Hashirama is a 18-year-old boy who’s known as an idealist fool with dreams bigger than himself and Hisana is a 15-year-old civilian girl with a cranky, elderly donkey as her only companion.

“No, no, no, not again,” Hisana groaned as she woke up to see that Carrot had-- once again-- chewed through her ropes and was now chomping away at some flowers further down the road. “Goddammit, get back here, you stupid donkey!”

At the sight of Hisana running towards her, Carrot took off at a fairly impressive speed, considering she was 22 years old and had arthritis. Not for the first time, Hisana considered just letting her go-- but then, that wouldn’t do. There were wolves out there (probably), just waiting to make a meal out of some poor old donkey, and Carrot was pretty slow when she wasn’t making Hisana’s life difficult. She wouldn’t survive.

The sound of muffled laughter caught Hisana’s attention and she looked up to see a teenage boy perched in a tree (where had he even come from??), one hand covering his mouth in a very poor attempt at hiding his amusement.

“Need some help?” He offered, eyes glinting with humor as he took in Hisana’s sorry attempt at chasing down her donkey.

Hisana briefly considered turning him down to try and preserve what remained of her dignity, then glanced back at Carrot’s departing figure and promptly decided it was too early in the morning for things like personal pride and chasing down donkeys.

“If you don’t mind,” she said, only a little grudgingly. The stranger’s lips quirked up and he disappeared in a swirl of leaves, only to reappear holding Carrot’s reins a second later.

Hisana blinked. So he was a shinobi. Alrighty, then.

“Here you go,” the stranger said cheerfully, a grumpy donkey trotting behind him.

Scowling, Hisana marched up to Carrot and swatted her lightly on the head.

“Do that again and I’ll make donkey skewers out of you, don’t think I won’t,” she threatened. Carrot nudged at her, nosing around for something to eat, and Hisana sighed, wrapping her arms around Carrot’s neck in a hug before turning to the stranger.

“Thank you. Really,” she said, giving him a faint smile. “You saved me ten minutes of chasing after her.”

“No need to thank me! It was no trouble at all, honestly,” the stranger laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was glad to help.”

Hisana studied him for a moment. She didn’t think he was acting, exactly, but there was something almost scripted about the way he spoke, his posture, his expressions, every movement carefully telegraphed. Like he was taking care to appear as harmless as possible.

It didn’t take a genius to realize why. This may have been her first time encountering a shinobi in person, but she’d heard more than enough stories.

They’re killers, Hisana, plain and simple. People without honor, who slaughter children, innocents, each other-- whoever they’re paid to slaughter-- without hesitation or remorse. Monsters in every sense of the word.

“Hey, um,” she said slowly. “Have you eaten?”

“I beg your pardon?” The shinobi asked, startled.

“I asked if you’d had breakfast yet,” Hisana repeated. “If not, would you care for something to eat? I can offer you--” She paused to mentally take stock of her food inventory. “--leftover meat buns, half an apple, and some vaguely sketchy berries.”

The shinobi coughed.

“Vaguely sketchy berries?” He asked, lips twitching. Hisana shrugged.

“I mean, I’m pretty sure they’re harmless. I’ve been snacking on them for days and I haven’t died yet, which is a good sign.” She smiled at him. “So, breakfast?”

“Yeah,” the shinobi said quietly, after a pause. There was a hint of uncertainty in his eyes, almost like he was waiting for her to withdraw her invitation. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

~~

“I’m Hisana, by the way.”

“Hashirama. It’s very nice to meet you, Hisana.”

~~

Hashirama ended up staying for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and then for another two days past that. Shinobi, it turned out, made for very good hunters, something Hisana discovered very quickly into their acquaintance.

“Hashirama,” she said, staring at the struggling rabbit in Hashirama’s hand. “This is the fifth rabbit you’ve brought me. I appreciate the thought, but--” She gestured helplessly in the general direction of the rabbit. “--it’s really too much.”

“It’s okay, you can save it for later!” His expression fell. “Unless you’re tired of rabbits? Wait no, of course you’d be tired of rabbits, I should have thought of that. I can get you something else instead? Maybe a pheasant? I think I saw some pheasants around here.”

Hisana studied him for a moment.

“Hashirama,” she said abruptly. “Why did you decide to travel with me?”

“What do you mean?” Hashirama asked, brow furrowed.

“I mean that I’m well-aware I’m slowing you down. Don’t deny it, you can’t tell me that your maximum speed is that of a twenty-something year-old donkey,” she said, exasperated. “I’m not the best at cooking, and we’ve already established that you’re a far better of a hunter than I am. So why stay? Why travel with me when it’d be easier for you to travel alone?”

He was quiet for a long moment.

“You knew I was a shinobi and invited me to stay anyway,” he said finally, voice soft. He wasn’t quite meeting her eyes. “And besides, I like talking to you.”

Hisana swallowed, caught off guard.

“And I like talking to you,” she replied quietly. “I didn’t invite you along because I wanted your protection, or someone to hunt for me, or anything like that, Hashirama, I did so because I have fun spending time with you. If you like catching rabbits or whatever, that’s fine. But don’t feel like you have to do so for my sake, or that you need to-- to prove something to me.”

Hashirama let out a slightly shaky laugh.

“I’m sorry. I guess I’m not very used to this,” he admitted. “You know, you’re the first civilian I’ve spent time with outside of a mission?”

“Well, you’re the first shinobi I’ve ever met,” she replied. He looked at her, surprised.

“Seriously? But you weren’t scared at all!” He exclaimed.

“Well, that’s on you,” she scoffed. “You weren’t very frightening.”

“Or maybe you’re just not very easy to scare,” he answered.

“If that helps your ego, sure,” Hisana grinned.

She reached down to stroke Carrot’s neck.

“So tell me, what was it like, growing up as a shinobi?

When Hashirama hesitated, she added, “You can lie about all the classified parts. It’s not like I would know, anyway.”

Hashirama laughed, shaking his head.

“Alright, then,” he said, smiling. “But I’m warning you, it’s really not as interesting as you’re probably imagining. I grew up in a large ninja clan, and--”

Bonus:

“Care to explain why you came back from your mission three days late?” Tobirama asked flatly. “Half the clan thought you’d died.”

Hashirama smiled, a slightly dreamy look in his eyes. Tobirama didn’t like it at all.

“Just took a detour, that’s all.”

The next time they meet, several years later, Hashirama is the newly appointed leader of his clan and Hisana has built a name for herself as a wandering clan-less healer (she listens for rumors of recent battles/bandit attacks/shinobi disputes and goes wherever there’s recent bloodshed. In doing so, she creates quite a few connections and ends up building the shinobi world’s largest, most detailed information network completely by accident).

[jaskierek]

Temporary

Summary:

Everyone's always left Jaskier, he's come to expect it. After all, he was temporary, forgettable. Until Geralt comes back. Until Geralt seems bent on proving him wrong.

-----------------------------------

Julian and his parents were never that close.

They weren’t really invested in him if he was being honest.

Well, maybe they were. They were invested in his academic grades and his ‘upbringing’, which for them consisted of learning how to hunt pheasants and which fork to use.

Other than that, Julian was pretty much left alone with no one but his nanny to keep him company. He liked her. She’d sing for him and tuck him in at night with a kiss.

When he was 7 he figured out that she was being paid to care for him so he closed himself off even to her, hiding behind his blinding smiles.

His father wasn’t gentle with him and Julian tended to get in trouble. How else would an ignored child get any sort of attention? Turns out that the Earl of Lettenhove was more invested in the dignity of the Lettenhove name than he was in ignoring his son. So Julian got what he wanted…in a way. It’s sickeningly clichéd, isn’t it?

Eventually his parents didn’t know what to do with him so they sent him off to boarding school.

Julian learned how to be charismatic, how to become popular among his peers and earn ‘friends’. All fleeting relationships, never lasting long, never slipping past his mask of smiles. Unfortunately, that did not stop him from getting into trouble, nor did it keep him interested in his studies.

He remembered one particular professor. He was a wizard with a cane. He knew exactly where to strike to make it the most painful. “No tears.” He used to say and Julian was forced to swallow them down. After a while he learned how to be an academic.

His love for poetry came as a surprise. He’d only started liking it when he was 19. It was also when he’d met the Countess de Stael. Once she’d stepped into his life, poetry had poured out of him. He’d forgo sleep in favour of letting the words slip onto the pages before him. She loved it at the time.

And then she left.

And so Julian had carried on with his studies, allowing his broken heart to write the most beautiful sonnets and ballads.

And then Julian had left. And he’d changed his name. He changed it to Jaskier. Buttercup. Beautiful, bright and yellow. Small, delicate and smooth to the touch.

Buttercup. A weed.

Loosen the soil, yank at its base and pull it out. More room for better things now.

He’d fallen into many beds during his travels. Men, women, neither. Sometimes it was the Countess de Stael herself. He remembered most of their names. And when he didn’t, it was because he’d been blackout drunk. And even then, he’d remember things like the touch of their skin or the colour of their hair.

None lasted long. Many didn’t care to learn his name. He wasn’t hurt. He hadn’t expected anything more.

He wrote beautiful songs. People didn’t care to listen. So he wrote what was popular. He wrote of monsters and heroes and kings. He knew nothing of monsters and heroes and kings. His songs were bad. He wasn’t paid much.

Then he’d met Geralt of Rivia. Witcher. Monster Hunter. Emotionally constipated. Self loathing. Kind. Generous. Asshole. Utter and absolute asshole.

The love of Jaskier’s life.

Geralt had never shown Jaskier much outward affection. Jaskier had hoped that he cared though. He’d hoped that he wasn’t dispensable, forgettable. The Witcher, for all of his grumpiness, had provided food, had let the bard sleep in occasionally, had let him talk for hours on end, had made sure he was always safe and healthy. He had once even nursed Jaskier back to health after a particularly malicious cold that had left him numb and with a raging fever. Jaskier could even make out the faint whisper of worry in the Witcher’s golden eyes.

Geralt had also inspired him to write in a way he hadn’t known possible. Suddenly, the lyrics and notes were pouring out of him again. His pockets filled with coin. His stomach filled with food. His fame spread. His music was respected. People’s desire for him had grown. He was wanted. But never in the way that he needed.

People ignored him when he was with Geralt, their gaze slipping over him like water. He understood. It was hard to focus on a simple bard when a Witcher stood right beside him. And not just any Witcher. Geralt of Rivia. The White Wolf. A mass of muscles and sharp swords and white hair and amber eyes and gods, did Jaskier understand. He often found himself struggling to look away. And besides, he was used to not being seen, at least not being seen truly and wholly.

Then came the golden dragon and the witch and the mountain and -

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.”

It seemed to be a common wish for anyone who’d met him.

Some of his relationships lasted a night, maybe a week, a month, maybe a little more.

With Geralt it had been 20 years. He’d cleaned his wounds, he’d bathed him, he’d learned to understand his grunts and the minute twists of his lips, he’d loved him with all that he had. 20 years. He still wasn’t enough. Jaskier wished he could blame the Witcher. But he’d seen him be kind, he’d seen him be gentle, he’d seen him be careful with his words. Perhaps Jaskier simply wasn’t enough. Maybe he wasn’t enough to warrant care.

Dispensable, forgettable, temporary. Fun while it lasted but not enough to love.

While Jaskier was an idealist, he’d always considered himself to be realistic about his own assets. He was attractive, he had great eyes and a great smile, he was a good dancer, he could write a hell of a song.

There was not much else.

He was annoying, too excitable, too greedy, he was interesting up to a point. He talked too much. He was too cocky. He was useless in a fight. He had a tendency to fool around with married people. He was unlovable.

Ah, yes, and he was dramatic. Overly dramatic.

Jaskier looked at himself in the mirror and smiled, big and bright.

Buttercup.

Weed.

Temporary.

“If life could give me one blessing -”

The smile didn’t waver.

Geralt had found him half a year later performing at a rather respectable inn. He had been singing one of his new songs. It wasn’t about Geralt. None of his new songs were. Not for lack of material though, he found he could write about the Witcher endlessly. Jaskier had believed himself adept at swallowing down pain. He was proven wrong.

“What can I do for you, Witcher?” He’d asked with a grin, hoping Geralt wouldn’t see through it.

“Nothing, Jaskier.  I want nothing from you.” He’d responded and the bard felt his chest clench at that. Perhaps this meeting had simply been an accident. Geralt didn’t want anything to do with him. He should have been used to it.

“Ah, well then,” Jaskier said, turning around, finding he couldn’t stand to look into those amber eyes any longer, “see you around, Geralt.”

“No - Jaskier, please, wait,” the bard had ground to a halt at that, looking over his shoulder to see a pained expression on that beautiful face, “I - I’ve been looking for you.”

So, yes, Geralt had found him and not accidentally. He had been looking for him.

Jaskier didn’t know what to do with that information.

“I want to apologise.”

The smile finally slipped.

“You…you want to apologise?”

“Yes.” Came the response. Short. Fast. Without any room for doubt.

“Why?”

Geralt looked almost incredulous, almost confused. “Because I said terrible things to you.”

Jaskier furrowed his brows.

“So?” He couldn’t help but ask, not maliciously but entirely curiously.

“‘So?’ What do you mean ‘so’? Jaskier, I said things to you that I didn’t mean, things that I couldn’t stand you believing. I - Jaskier, you - you were there and I was angry and I lashed out.”

A beat of silence.

“After the mountain, I - I tried to be alone and I couldn’t stand it. Even…even before - we’d spend weeks apart but I still never felt as alone as I did after I said…what I said and I - I didn’t mean it and then I went to find Yennefer,”

Ah, Jaskier was an idiot. Add that to the list of flaws. Of course he wasn’t the first one to be sought out by the Witcher. Why would he be?

“Must have been a fun reunion.” Jaskier said, trying to inject some genuine sounding mirth into his voice and the smile that had reappeared. Geralt looked away.

“It wasn’t like that. Although we care for each other, we realised that that wasn’t what we wanted.”

Despite himself, Jaskier’s chest still tightened painfully. Hearing - hell, even seeing - how truly and deeply they cared for each other… His smile didn’t waver.

“Sorry about that.” Was all he could think to say.

“Stop it.”

Jaskier blinked.

“Stop what?”

“That smile. That smile you do when you don’t really want to be smiling. I’ve known you for 20 years, bard, I know which smiles are genuine.”  Geralt sounded frustrated. Almost pained.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“For fuck’s sake, Jaskier. I know I fucked up. I know I did and you deserve to be angry at me but don’t give me that smile. I hate it. I hate that smile.” The Witcher took a step closer and the bard finally let his smile slip. It wasn’t his only mask. Geralt seemed to realise this too, still looking displeased.

“What do you want from me, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, the amusement gone from his voice, but he managed to keep it levelled, not betraying the tiredness behind it.

“I don’t want anything from you, Jaskier,” he paused for a moment. “What I wanted to say was that I talked to Yennefer and she helped me realise that I don’t want a life without you.”

It would’ve sounded romantic if Jaskier wasn’t certain that Geralt would never think of him like that.

“So you do want something from me. You want me to travel with you again.”

Geralt winced and after a moment said, “yes”.

“You hurt me.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m - I��m trying to make up for it.”

Jaskier was weak. Add that to the list. He was so fucking weak.

“Okay.”

After that, Geralt would eye the bard warily for a while, as if expecting him to reveal himself as some sort of shapeshifter, a doppler maybe. But Jaskier knew that the Witcher would smell anything like that a mile away so he didn’t really know why he kept glancing at him over the campfire.

Other than that, it seemed like things were back to normal.

Everything forgiven, nothing forgotten. Unfortunately.

Jaskier pushed that out of his mind and returned to his rambles and Witcher-themed ballads. After all, Geralt had said he’d missed him. Surely that had meant the whole ‘Jaskier experience’, prattling and all.

The bard still didn’t know how to comprehend that information. No one had ever missed him in his life. At least, not that he knew of. Maybe they missed how he made them feel, like when the Countess would moan “gods, I missed this,” as he’d trail kisses up her thighs. So no, he didn’t know what Geralt wanted but it was strange. The Witcher smiled at him more, talked to him more. Every time they separated for a time, Geralt would greet him with a small smile. It made the bard’s heart do things and it wasn’t fair.

Perhaps this was a punishment from some god or another, maybe destiny herself or karma. Maybe it was Jaskier’s punishment to have to endure a love for a man who would never reciprocate it, all the while being subjected to that same man openly stating that, yes, he wanted Jaskier around.

A few months later, Geralt had kissed him.

It was after a battle with a Leshy, half wildcat, half bear, with fangs and claws like knives, sharp and long enough to sever a man in half. Jaskier had gotten very close to being that man before Geralt had yanked it back by its tail, swinging his sword as it whirled around in fury. After the fight, the Witcher had surged over to Jaskier, arm bleeding and eyes searching.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, voice gruff. His hands were running over the bard’s body, checking for injuries.

“No.” Jaskier managed to choke out, trying to ignore the feeling of Geralt’s hands skimming over his hips. “But you are. Let me check that arm.” He said, reaching for the Witcher’s bleeding bicep. A hand snapped up and grabbed his wrist, bringing it back down to his side.

“You got too close.” He rumbled, taking a step closer so that he was practically pressing the bard up against the tree behind him. Jaskier swallowed.

“I know. Sorry.” He let out a shaky breath as he noticed those golden eyes sliding down to his lips. Geralt growled and pressed their lips together, one hand behind Jaskier’s head, the other still gripping his wrist. Jaskier was quick to reciprocate, tangling his fingers in the Witcher’s snowy hair and opening his mouth willingly.

Their kiss was all tongues and teeth and sucking and biting. Their sex was much the same. Jaskier knew it was adrenaline and he knew it was just physical, but he couldn’t stop from smiling the next morning, for once waking before the other man. Geralt’s injured arm was wrapped around Jaskier’s waist, the wound already mostly healed. The bard found himself tracing the outline of Geralt’s cheekbone, his jawline, his thumb running over his lips. He had never known the Witcher to sleep so deeply that a touch would not wake him.

He didn’t know whether this was a one time thing but he was grateful it had happened. Even if he only got to taste the man once, he would find a way to make it be enough.

After a while, Jaskier got up and wet a small rag, cleaning himself before rinsing it and beginning to clean the Witcher, it was nothing he hadn’t already seen, some of it he’d even helped wash before. They were still sticky from the night before and they were nowhere near any lakes or rivers. Geralt woke to Jaskier running the cloth across his thigh.

“Sorry, I thought it would be nice to wake up not so icky.” The bard said, pulling his hand away.

Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s hand, “I like it.”

Jaskier smiled and looked away, missing the way his favourite pair of golden eyes lit up at the sight.

“Well, I’m not about to miss my chance at touching that body again.” He said with a whistle. Geralt laughed at that and pulled the bard down, pressing a kiss to his lips that threatened to burst Jaskier’s chest with affection.

The Witcher’s gaze was soft for the rest of the morning.

They’d fall into bed multiple times again. Sometimes it was rough and fast and adrenaline-hazed. Sometimes it was soft and gentle and it left Jaskier feeling heady, his head filling with sweet honey as Geralt’s fingers worked wonders.

It was hard for him not to get attached even more. He knew he shouldn’t. He wouldn’t allow himself to believe that Geralt cared for him romantically. He wouldn’t put his heart through that. Still, it was hard.

So one evening, when a particularly brave woman had chosen to flirt with the Witcher, all but offering herself up on a platter, Geralt had looked to Jaskier with a look in his eye.

“It’s okay, Geralt.” He’d reassured him from the seat across the table, he smiled and Geralt frowned before rejecting the woman bluntly. Jaskier felt a sigh of relief building in his throat as the woman sauntered away.

“What did you mean ‘it’s okay’?” Geralt asked, turning to him with stiff shoulders. Jaskier froze. Was he really going to make him say it aloud?

“I - I mean, it’s okay if you want to sleep with other people, you don’t have to worry about me.” You don’t have to worry about me trying to stop you, about me being hurt.

“What - Jaskier -,” The Witcher struggled for a moment before taking a breath, “is this just about sex for you?”

Jaskier definitely wasn’t expecting that.

“I…is it for you?” He asked. It was a coward’s response. Had he already put that on the list? Add cowardly to the list. Geralt was quiet and Jaskier could feel his heart beating in his throat as those amber eyes searched his.

“No.”

He thinks he might have misheard.

“What?”

“It’s not just about sex for me and if it is for you then we should stop.”

Jaskier’s mouth was open, trying to find a response. He knew what he wanted to say but a declaration of love was probably not what the Witcher wanted.

“I love you, Jaskier.” Geralt said, his face pinched.

Huh.

“I know you don’t want me like that,” Geralt continued, his gaze still on Jaskier’s, “you of all people have seen the worst of me and I wouldn’t blame you for not being able to stomach romance with a Witcher,” the way he said that word made his chest clench, “but I can’t keep doing this, Jaskier.”

Since when had Geralt ever been more eloquent than his bard?

“You think I don’t love you?” Jaskier’s voice came out quiet, hesitant, incredulous. Geralt’s eyes looked wary.

“You -“

“Geralt, how can I not fucking love you? I’ve spent 20 years loving you. Fuck - it - it hurts how much I love you.”

Because it did. Every time Geralt smiled at him or teased him or tied his hair back in the morning, it was like a blow to Jaskier’s chest, but he’d gotten good at swallowing pain, swallowing tears.

He could tell Geralt was still disbelieving and fuck - he knew that the man’s self-loathing ran deep and he couldn’t help himself from saying; “Geralt, you are the best man I’ve ever known and it frustrates me to no end that you don’t see it.”

Geralt was watching him, scanning his face, his eyes, looking for something.

“Then why - why do you hide yourself from me?” He asked, frustrated, “You - you do this smile that - it’s not you, it’s not your smile. There’s this look in your eyes sometimes. It’s like a wall and I hate that you need to hide from me.”

Jaskier’s hand shot out to grab Geralt’s, trying to comfort him. The Witcher had never been big on affection in public but he let his hand be taken by the bard.

“It’s not you, Geralt, I don’t blame you. It’s - it’s not love…what you feel for me.” Jaskier smiled sadly, his years of practice swallowing down tears being put to use. “It’s not love. You’ll get bored of me soon. I’m not permanent. I’m - I’m a fleeting fancy. And that’s okay.”

“You - I - what?” Geralt asked, looking so completely confused that it was almost comical. “Fuck. We’re not talking about this here.” He said, standing up and dragging Jaskier up through the inn and into their shared room. “Now,” the Witcher growled, whirling on the bard and grabbing him by his shirt, “what the fuck did you just say.”

Geralt didn’t scare Jaskier. He could never scare him, but the bard’s eyes were wide as he looked at Geralt’s furious expression.

“I - I don’t know how to say it, Geralt, I - no one’s ever wanted me before, not in a way that matters.” He managed to choke out, his vision turning blurry. Fuck, he thought he’d gotten good at swallowing down tears but Geralt had yet again proven him wrong.

“Who told you that?” He asked furiously.

“No one,” Jaskier responded, pushing Geralt away and scrubbing at his cheeks fiercely, “no one had to. I know, okay? I know.” The Witcher snarled.

“You know nothing, bard, if you don’t know that I love you.”

“Stop it, Geralt.”

“No.”

“I can’t do this if you’re just going to leave me.”

Jaskier froze and a silence passed. His breath was shaking from barely restrained tears.

“I can’t do this, Geralt,” he continued in a quiet voice, “not if you find someone better and leave me. I - I don’t know what I’d do. Everyone I’ve ever known has either left me or grown tired of me. It’s not a pattern that’s going to end with you. I - I don’t think I could take it if you left me again.”

Geralt’s gaze was soft, pitying. Jaskier was pitiful, add that to the list.

“I’ve known you for over 20 years and I have not grown tired.”

“What is 20 years to a Witcher? And even so, you did, you did grow tired of me.”

‘If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.’

“I didn’t grow tired of you. I grew tired of myself and my ability to fuck everything up.” Geralt said softly, “And I did, I fucked it up.”

“Geralt, it’s not love.”

“Stop saying that.”

“It’s not.”

Geralt snarled and pushed Jaskier up against the wall, leaning in close so that Jaskier had nowhere to look except for those golden eyes. Those disarmingly honest, golden eyes.

“Listen to me, Jaskier, I love you.”

Jaskier wouldn’t cry. He swallowed down a shaky breath.

“I’m irritating.”

“You are.”

“I talk too much.”

“You do. I like it.”

“I’m greedy.”

“You enjoy finery. It’s not the same.”

“I’m arrogant.”

“Clearly you’re not.”

“I can’t fight. I’m a coward.”

“You’re one of the bravest men I know. To the point of recklessness, it worries me.”

“It does?”

“It does.”

Geralt’s lips were grazing over his now, teasingly. Jaskier smiled, genuinely. Geralt smiled right back.

“You love me?” He asked, voice breaking.

“I do.”

And Jaskier cried, finally.

Jaskier cried and laughed and kissed Geralt. It was bad. It was wet and sloppy and he loved it. And Geralt loved it too. Because he loved him. Jaskier. He loved him.

Then Geralt had dragged him to bed, whispering praise into his skin as if hoping it would soak through him and settle in his bones. Jaskier had done the same because fuck, he was in love and it was dizzying.

“You know,” Jaskier began the next morning, earning a grunt from the Witcher laying under him, “I think last night was the longest I’ve ever heard you speak.” The chest beneath the bard’s head rumbled with a laugh.

“Fuck off.”

“I guess I just bring it out of you, Witcher.” Jaskier continued, grinning devilishly.

“I will kick you out of this bed, bard.”

“Please, I dare you to try and rip me off of you. I have melded my body onto yours.”

Geralt simply grumbled in response. It was a grumble of acceptance, Jaskier could tell. He could always tell.

-

They ran into Yennefer two months later and Jaskier found that he wasn’t concerned. He wasn’t worried Geralt would return to her. Partly because when she spotted them the first thing out of her mouth was;

“Finally. For Melitele’s sake, that took much too long.”

Geralt had looked at her with a pointedly unamused gaze which she’d returned with a wink.

Later, after they had helped her with a monster-slaying job so she could collect some sort of venom, the three had shared drinks.

“I take full credit for this, by the way.” She’d said, gesturing to the two of them and the arm wrapped around Jaskier’s waist.

“In what way is this your doing?” Jaskier had asked.

“I’m the one who told him to tell you how he felt.”

“Which he did months after he’d found me.”

“Is his lack of communication skills my fault?”

“If he didn’t do it when you told him to then it doesn’t count.”

“Fuck off, it counts.”

“It most certainly does not.”

Geralt took a sip of his ale as the two continued to bicker.

Not long after, Yennefer had decided to join them - “graced” them with her presence as she’d put it. Jaskier could tell that Geralt and the sorceress still cared for each other deeply. He couldn’t really talk though, he’d found himself caring for her as well. When she’d called him her “friend” he had practically glowed. Then Ciri had barrelled into their lives and their little circle had grown and gods, did he love that little girl.

“Where are your parents, Jaskier?” She had once asked as he was soothing her back to sleep after a nightmare. It was always Cintra burning, Jaskier ached for her. She was too young for all of this.

“I don’t know, honey, I haven’t spoken to them for years.”

“Why not?”

“We were never really a family.”

Ciri paused before smiling widely.

“But you have a family now.”

Jaskier smiled back, brushing the hair out of her face and listening to the sounds of Yennefer sleeping soundly and Geralt mumbling something to Roach.

“I do.”

[norman891]

...

@sleightlyoffhand

“Pardon me?” Edward bristled at Haigh’s tone.  Again, he heard the man mumble something that could be mistaken for a less than genuine apology before wandering away down the beach. He looked at what he assumed had once been a pheasant and glanced at Victor.

“And what does he expect us tae do wi’ this wee birdie?” he asked sarcastically.

Victor shrugged, then took the bird and seasoned it with salt, pepper, and some dried herbs, including some strong-smelling rosemary and sage, then put it over the fire to cook. “The captain will enjoy this.” he remarked, knowing Hook’s fondness for tender white meat. “I’ll be glad when we can go back to ship.  Is too damned hot on this beach.”

“Aye mate,” Edward agreed.  “Bugger all this heat.”

“What did his nibs say to ye?” Victor asked.

“Not quite sure about that,” Edward replied, watching Haigh grow smaller the further down the beach he strolled.  “I think it were supposed tae be an apology of sorts, but it was a back handed one if any at all. He did nae mean a word of it either.” He snorted. ” We’ve been busting our arses for almost thirty hours, and he thinks a pheasant will do for his penance?”

“Bloody assassin,” Victor grumbled. “Tis a mistake the captain took him on, in my humble.”

“Or not-so-humble,” Edward grinned, and Victor laughed.

The bacon was finally cured to Edward’s liking as well as the two turkeys and some of the cuts of venison and wild boar.  The meat was wrapped in cheesecloth or flour sack towels until it could be properly stored on board.

The longboat had returned from delivering its first load to the Jolly Roger, and Victor set about loading it with more provisions with help from the crew. Several men brought the stretched hides to be taken out and set out on the ship’s deck and the boat headed back to the ship to be unloaded.

Hook’s tent and accoutrements were loaded into a second longboat, leaving room for the captain to be seated at the stern. All other frames were taken apart and stowed between two downed trees and covered with leaves for future use. Once a smokehouse was done with, several crewmen would carefully disassemble the large sheets of bark and frame and hid them in a niche under the outcropping of rocks Haigh had been perched on.

The longboat returned from the Jolly Roger a third time, waiting for the Victor to decide if the large venison and boar hams were smoked to perfection. Finally, he gave the word and the last of the meat was wrapped in cheesecloth and loaded into the longboat while the last of the smoke houses were broken down and stored.  The pit the pig had been cooked in had been filled in last night and to the uniformed viewer, the only evidence the pirates had been there were the ashes from their fires.

Victor returned to the ship with the longboat on it’s last ferrying of meat and tools. His remaining pots and pans were on board as well as the cast iron roasting spit. He had stored the roasted pheasant in one of his Dutch ovens with some of the roasted vegetables to serve Hook for his evening meal.

Now that hard work began for the crew. The four cannons were rolled back to the longboats and loaded back to be replaced on the Jolly Roger.  Hook watched his dogs working in unison with high spirits, even more satisfied with Edward’s hunting prowess. He watched the man kicking sand over the last two small fires that had fueled the smokers and dust his hands in a most pleased manner. The two boats with the cannon shoved off and began rowing back to the ship, leaving Hook, Smee, and Elijah waiting on Joe Haigh to return.

“If you don’t mind, Captain,” Edward started, “I thought I’d take a quick dip tae get the sweat off me.”

Hook nodded his approval.  “Of course,” he said.  “Why should I mind?”

“Anyone else mind?” Edward asked the remaining hands.

“Go ahead,” Hook insisted. “You’ve worked for over thirty hours. Please, refresh yourself. I understand the water is comfortably cool.”

Edward needed no further prodding.  He pulled his shirt off over his head, shed his kilt, and strolled in until he was waist deep in the ocean, then dove into the waves, scrubbing at his scalp. He washed under his arms, after a fashion, and rubbed the sweat from his chest, then reached down and cleaned his undercarriage. Satisfied he was clean, and muchly cooled off, he sauntered stark naked out of the waves and reclaimed his kilt, which he always wore regimental style. He retrieved his shirt and walked back to the last longboat where Hook and the others were waiting on him. The breeze had quickly dried his torso and arms, so he pulled the thin white linen shirt back on.

“And where is Mr. Haigh?” Hook asked, annoyed.

“He mumbled something about digging clams and went off down the beach,” Ed replied, running his fingers back through his damp hair to keep it out of his eyes.

Hook glared down the beach angrily.  Unless the man was hiding behind the cluster of boulders, he was nowhere to be seen. “Damn that impertinent son-of-a bitch!” he swore.  “I distinctly told him to make himself useful in camp.

“Oh, he did bring several armloads of firewood, and a single pheasant, but that was the most of it,” Edward answered. “That’s when he said something about digging clams and I’ve no seen him since.

“Well, I’m not waiting all evening on him to return.” Hook snorted, climbing in to take his seat. Smee, Elijah, and Edward all pushed the longboat into knee deep water before assuming their places; Smee and Elijah at the oars and Edward sat beside his captain.

“Di’ nae fret about him,” he said to Hook.  “He has a wee boat he can row back in when he’s done wi’ whatever devilment he’s up to.”

“What makes ye think he’s up to no good,” Smee asked, pulling on his oar.

“Because he’s out o’ sight and in defiance o’ the captain’s direct orders.” Edward pointed out. “I know I’m only the cook’s helper, but I know a rat when I lay eyes on one, be it two or four legged.”

“I am beginning to share your opinion.” Hook said angrily.  “There will be retribution for this, whenever Mr. Haigh decides to grace us with his presence again.” He sat staring out at the open ocean beyond his ship, wanting to up anchor and leave this cursed island, and leave Joe Haigh on it. But as many times as they’d tried, no matter what course they set, the island always reappeared on the horizon.  He was trapped here so long as Pan lived, and Haigh was not doing the recon on Peter’s hideout as promised.

“Tis a shame those brats hobbled you, Edward. I think you’d have had the imps hunted down in a matter of days. That was some damned fine hunting you did. Damned fine shooting too.”

“Thank ye, sir.” Edward felt himself blush. “Just doing my part to help out.”  He looked back over his shoulder at the empty beach, wondering just where Joe had gone and what he was up to

Once back on board the Jolly Roger, Edward collected his baldric, carbine, and bow and stored them in their appropriate corner of the pantry.  The room smelled heavenly: warm, smoky, and spicy. The scent of smoked meat was heavy, with meat hanging from hooks in the ceiling. Victor’s crocks lined the shelves and there was still fruit and vegetables to be dealt with. The apple barrel was full as well as a barrel of oranges and several bushels of pears. He smiled, rolled up his sleeves, and headed to the galley to help Victor. Smee passed him on the way out, taking the captain his dinner.

[marcogiovenale]

"the re-appearing pheasant": an encounter of american and italian poets and critics: nov. 2022

“the re-appearing pheasant”: an encounter of american and italian poets and critics: nov. 2022

a poem by Charles Bernstein (in The Brooklyn Rail, April, 2022) here:https://slowforward.net/2022/05/27/one-from-charles-bernstein-from-the-brooklyn-rail-april-2022/a prose piece by MG in the same issue of TBR, together with poems by several authors: https://brooklynrail.org/2022/04/criticspage/from-Excesses-on-a-little-flight+ editor Luigi Ballerini wrote an introduction…

[besanii]

dragon double happiness ficlet has only increased my want for noodle!wangji; any chance of something along the lines of 'wei wuxian finds the exact right spot on lan wangji's massive jaw to scratch to make him purr like a jet plane engine, cheerfully does this while everyone else looks on w their eyebrows raised at this shameless display'? thank u so much for sharing the delights that come out of ur brain

Extra 09: Mount (坐骑) | previous parts here

“You know, when you told me we were gonna do something fun, I thought we were going to be hunting pheasants or something,” Wei Wuxian sniffs, taking a bite out of the peach in his hand, his legs dangling from the tree branch. “Not watching you fail to catch subdue a zuoqi.”

He grins at the rude gesture Jiang Cheng sends his way and sits back against the tree trunk to watch him stalk his prey. It’s been about eight hours now, and he is still nowhere close to capturing the bi fang niao that lives in this forest. At some point, about an hour or so ago, he had gotten within a hundred metres of it before the bird had rushed past him in a blaze of fire and disappeared again. Since then, there has been neither sight nor sound of it.

“Say, Jiang Cheng, why do you suddenly want a zuoqi anyway?” Wei Wuxian asks. “Where are you even gonna keep a bi fang niao at Lotus Pier?”

“It’s not for me,” Jiang Cheng bites out through gritted teeth. “It’s for Nie Huaisang. His birthday is in a couple of days and he doesn’t have a zuoqi.”

“Aw that’s so nice of you,” Wei Wuxian coos. “I didn’t know you were such good friends with Nie-xiong that you would risk your life to catch him a bi fang niao. Why are you so nice to him anyway? You’ve never offered to catch me an immortal beast before!”

He cackles as an enraged squawk sounds from somewhere to his left where Jiang Cheng had disappeared amongst the trees. It’s followed immediately by a flash of fire, the smell of singed hair, and Jiang Cheng’s voice swearing profusely. A moment later, the bi fang niao reappears in the little glen Wei Wuxian is lounging about in, its green and red feathers ruffled, a black sooty mark across its white beak.

Wei Wuxian sighs and tosses away the peach pit. This is why you never get a fish to do a fox’s job.

He leaps out of the tree, shifting back into his original form in mid-air, and lands on the bird’s back, sinking his teeth into its neck. The bi fang niao panics and tries to throw him off, but he holds on tight enough to not be thrown off, but not too tight as to snap its neck. It’s a delicate process, but he knows what he’s doing. Unlike Jiang Cheng.

When the bird’s thrashing grows too violent, Wei Wuxian cuts his losses and lets go, landing on his feet several metres away. He reverts back to his human form and summons Suibian to hand, pointing it at his prey just as Jiang Cheng appears on the other side of the trees with Sandu. The bi fang niao, exhausted and injured, sees itself cornered after an eight-hour chase, decides to surrender.

It bows its long, crane-like neck to the ground and changes into its human form, a young man wearing green robes and red robes in the same colour as its feathers. He raises his head and looks between Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng.

“You have defeated me,” he says solemnly. “I hereby pledge my allegiance to you, and promise to serve you faithfully and to the best of my ability.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head.

“Oh no, not me,” he laughs, clapping Jiang Cheng on the shoulder. “This guy’s the one you should be looking to.”

Jiang Cheng shrugs his hand off with a scowl.

“This is why Nie Huaisang gets a zuoqi and you don’t,” he tells him waspishly. “You’re perfectly capable of catching your own, so don’t complain about not getting one.”

“Yeah, but it’s the thought that counts,” Wei Wuxian says with a pout. “Don’t you love me enough to catch me a zuoqi, Jiang Cheng? I’m your brother.”

“Get your precious Lan-er-dianxia to catch you one then!”

“Hah! I don’t need a zuoqi,” Wei Wuxian says triumphantly. “I have Lan Zhan!”

Almost as if on cue, there is a rumble of thunder from the sky and the clouds part for a silvery white dragon to descend on them. Bi Fang is so startled he falls back on his behind, eyes wide with fear as he looks to the two of them for help, but Jiang Cheng is just scowling at the newcomer, while Wei Wuxian is jumping up and down, waving his arms.

The dragon disappears into the trees, and Lan Wangji walks into the glen a moment later in human form. Bi Fang gasps and prostrates himself on the ground with a garbled “Er-dianxia!”; Jiang Cheng bows and offers a curt greeting. Wei Wuxian, however, bounds over to Lan Wangji and latches onto him without hesitation.

“Lan Zhan!” he chirps. “Look what we caught! He’s for Nie-xiong, isn’t he grand?”

Lan Wangji’s amber eyes glance at Bi Fang appraisingly.

“Well done,” he says, and pats Wei Wuxian on the head. “Are you ready to go home, Wei Ying?”

Wei Wuxian nods. “I want Lan Zhan to carry me!”

“Alright,” Lan Wangji agrees readily. “Just a moment.”

He steps away from Wei Wuxian and closes his eyes. Jiang Cheng catches on just in time to grab Bi Fang by the collar and drag him out of the way of Lan Wangji’s lengthening body, winding in and out of the trees until only his massive silvery-white head is visible. Wei Wuxian hums happily and kisses his muzzle, scratching enthusiastically at a spot beneath his powerful jaw.

“Thank you, Lan Zhan, you’re the best,” he croons.

The large, reptilian eyes slide closed as a long, hot breath leaves its nostrils. And then, to Jiang Cheng and Bi Fang’s disbelief, another rumble, this time much louder and much closer, shakes the ground beneath their feet as Lan Wangji purrs with pleasure.

“Zhuren,” Bi Fang whispers, tugging at Jiang Cheng’s sleeve. “What—”

“Ugh, don’t ask,” Jiang Cheng says, rolling his eyes in disgust. “Just…don’t. Hey, Wei Wuxian, aren’t you meant to be leaving?”

Lan Wangji fixes him with a glare that would have melted the flesh off a lesser immortal, but Jiang Cheng only folds his arms and glares back. Wei Wuxian sticks his tongue out at him and gives Lan Wangji a last pat before clambering onto his back, grabbing onto his horns for balance.

“See you back at home, Cheng-Cheng!” he shouts. “Let’s go, Lan Zhan!”

He whoops with glee as Lan Wangji raises his head and takes off into the sky in one, smooth motion, leaving behind a gobsmacked Bi Fang and an irritated Jiang Cheng.

“Zhuren, did he just…” Bi Fang looks like he’s about to faint with the knowledge that someone had dared to use the Second Prince as a mount, as if he were any ordinary beast.

Jiang Cheng sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“That’s not even the worst of it,” he says heavily. “Just…don’t think to much about it. Don’t even look too hard. Come on, I’ll take you to meet your real master.”

Notes:

zuoqi (坐骑) - a mount, a steed; for immortals, they have to hunt and subdue an immortal beast and win its loyalty before they can use/gift it as a mount

bi fang niao (毕方鸟) - a one-legged, crane-like bird from Chinese mythology, associated with fire and good luck (also the mount that Zhe Yan catches for Bai Zhen in Three Lives Three Worlds)

Zhuren (主人) - master

// buy me a ko-fi //

[frostsinth]

Li’un Ma Shkio - Pt. 6

Part One, Two, Three, Four, & Five

Unvar and Karianna awaken in each others arms. Have things changed between them? Or is Karianna still fighting the strange bond she feels?

Bit of a slower scene. Next part gets better. Going to start wrapping up the story soon(ish), so stay tuned! Likes and comments to let me know you still want updates.

....

I wasn’t sure how long I slept, but when next I woke, I could hear the camp bustling around me just beyond the tent walls. Still, it was muffled, and only began to filter into my ears as I started to wake. It was easy to tune out.

My eyes blinked lazily, and I yawned wide, feeling a little hazy. That sort of stupor when you first wake up, when you are simultaneously in all the places you’ve ever woken up in your life before your brain catches up your memory retrieval. For a second, I thought I was back home, in my own bed. There was a little confusion as I tried to sort out where my window had gone, and why I felt like my head was at the foot of the bed instead of on my pillows.

But then suddenly it all came flooding back to me. I started slightly, my eyes going wide. I jerked and twisted, sitting bolt upright. My elbow hit something solid and warm beside me as I sprung up.

There was a loud grunt next to me, and I spun, giving a confused squeak when I looked down.

Unvar’s yawn was so wide I thought I might be able to fit my head inside his mouth. Slowly, he rolled onto his back and stretched his arms up over his head, the muscles rippling as he flexed them. Blinking dully, he looked up at me with bleary eyes, tucking his hands behind his skull.

“Yukna vat,” he greeted me in a deep grumble still laden with sleep.

I stared at him stupidly. “What?”

“Eh, good morning, you say.” He untucked one hand and rubbed his meaty fist against the corner of his mouth.

The Tlaloc resumed his stretching with his massive legs, grunting softly. The muscles in his abdomen flexed and I quickly tried to find somewhere else to look. Shyly, I pulled a blanket up over my shoulders and wrapped myself in it, suddenly very aware of the thin slip that barely covered my breasts and stomach, let alone my thighs.

Unvar grunted again, and swung his legs out of the bed. Sitting up, his broad shoulders rippled as he stretched them back and forth too.

“After midday,” He grumbled softly, shaking his head and running one hand over the top, “Not morning.”

Unsure what to do, I looked around the tent and listened to the muffled sounds from the other side. I rubbed at my injured shoulder, which was tender and sore this morning. But the skin was cool to the touch, so I figured I had managed to stave off infection so far at least. Unvar gave one last huge yawn, then stood.

I gave a soft “eep!” and quickly spun as his tight ass suddenly filled my view. I covered my eyes with one hand, staring down at my own lap instead as my cheeks flushed red.

The Tlaloc gave a snort. “Shikoba have strange-ness about body naked-ness,” He observed, and I felt the bed shift as he stood, “Is just skin. But Shikoba shamed by seeing it.”

I didn’t feel like arguing the point of it. Instead I listened quietly as he shuffled about. Eventually, I dared a peek through my fingers, and saw that he was just pulling up his armor over his stomach. He fussed with the ties while I slowly dropped my hand again.

“You have hunger?” He asked me, then turned without waiting for an answer and disappeared out the tent flap.

There were loud shouts in his guttural language, though I supposed the tone sounded mostly cheery. I couldn’t make out any of the words, and decided I only knew all of three words anyways. Considering they mostly had to do with kissing, they wouldn’t likely be very helpful to figure out what was going on. My lips tingled at the thought, and I felt my ears growing hot again. I scooched to the edge of the bed and draped my legs over.

Unvar reappeared, smacking the tent flap back, with a plate full of meats, bread, and cheeses. I jumped at his entrance, but managed to quickly relax when I realized it was just him. He lifted the plate a little, almost triumphantly, then plunked down onto his stump, grabbing up a fistful of food as he did.

Quietly, I slid off the bed, my bare feet wiggling as they touched the cool floor. But it was much warmer than the night before, so I shuffled over with the blanket still wrapped around me to take my seat across from him.

He had already gobbled up a large portion of the meat by the time I got there and held out the plate to me, so I took up a large leg of what looked like it might be pheasant for myself. I grabbed a warm bread roll and a large wedge of cheese as well, finding myself surprisingly hungry.

Unvar leaned back and grabbed a jug from nearby, dragging it over. He uncorked it, then drained half the liquid with thirsty gulps. Some dribbled down his chin as he drank, and I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at him as I watched. He gave a satisfied “ahhh!” as he dropped the jug down, and wiped at his wet mouth with the back of his hand.

I had stopped chewing, with the meat halfway to my mouth, staring at him. He seemed to notice, cocking his head to one side curiously. He held the jug out to me, shaking it slightly in invitation. I showed him my full hands helplessly, and he nodded, placing it within easy reach instead.

He leaned back slightly, the plate he had brought in almost entirely bare, and made some happy sounds I couldn’t quite describe. All while patting his stomach. He reached up and dug one fingernail between his tusks, stretching his jaw about as he did. It looks almost comical, and I wrinkled my nose to suppress a laugh. Instead, I focused on my own food, finishing it (though not nearly as quickly) then dragging the jug over to take a much more delicate few sips. Whatever the liquid, it was cool and refreshing, though tasted a little like barley or perhaps wheat. I licked my lips and sipped a little more.

Unvar meanwhile stood, collecting his boots and ax from where he had tossed them the night before. He also grabbed his broadsword, but didn’t strap it to his back just yet. Instead, he dragged it over to the fire.

“What are you doing today?” I asked him curiously, picking up another roll from the plate now on the ground. I used it to fish up the few scraps of meat left on the plate and spoon them up to my mouth.

He grunted. “Many things. Chief things. Hard to explain.” 

Then he turned and considered me, appraising me from head to toe. I swallowed my mouthful under his scrutiny and shuffled nervously. He shook his head. 

“Cannot wear blanket all day.” He told me, his tone almost scolding.

I glanced over at my clothes in a pile on the ground. “But, my clothes are filthy, and-”

I jumped as the Tlaloc Chief shouted something out the flap of the tent.There was a resounding roar in reply that had my eyes shooting wide.

Another Tlaloc entered the tent at his summons, ducking her head to avoid knocking it into the post over the doorway. She was huge! Taller than Unvar, and though not as wide, her muscles still seemed larger than my head in most places. She was covered with equally sparse furs and leather, and one of her long tusks was capped in silver. Garnished in simply a strange leather breast piece and a small fur skirt that reached halfway down her thighs, her chiseled abs and stoney shoulders were bare. Her hair was in wild dreads, falling about her shoulders like a black mane, and she crossed her meaty arms over a full bosom, raising one bushy eyebrow at Unvar. 

For his part, Unvar simply looked up at her and exchanged some words with her in their tongue. She grunted, then turned her eyes on me. Her hawk-like gaze made me feel like shrinking into some dark corner somewhere and never coming out again. She looked me up and down from head to toe as Unvar had, then turned back to him, speaking loudly. I didn’t have to know the words to tell she was complaining. Unvar growled back at her, and she seemed to bristle a little at his words. But then she nodded, and ducked back out of the tent.

“Ta’nik will bring you clothes.” Unvar told me, nodding approvingly.

“But-”

The Tlaloc in question reappeared, bundles of furs in her arms and a small basket under one elbow. Though perhaps it just appeared small since her elbow was the size of my thigh. She seemed to dip her head to Unvar, somewhat politely, then began speaking again in their deep, throaty language. Unvar argued back with her, and their volume slowly began to increase.

Ta’nik, as I supposed her name was, dropped her things next to the fire and spun on Unvar, her hands on her hips. Her voice was getting even louder, and I flinched nervously. Unvar raised his voice to match hers, and even raised one finger at her. But Ta’nik shoved him, gesturing to the door, then shoved him again. I was absolutely shocked, especially when Unvar grunted, seeming to relinquish whatever argument he had just lost.

Looking over at me sheepishly, he shrugged, scooping up his broadsword. “I wait outside.”

Before I could beg him to not, he slipped out the tent flap, leaving me alone with the female Tlaloc.

She spun on me, and I jumped as she stomped over and reached out. Her huge hand grabbed my good arm, and yanked me up to stand before her. My forehead barely came to the bottom of her ribs, and I had to crane my neck back to look up at her. Still, she glared down at me with her hawk eyes, then they narrowed. I wracked my brain, trying to remember the words Unvar had said to me just a few minutes ago.

“Umm…. Yukna… vak?” I tried, even attempting a feeble little smile.

Her scowl deepened. “‘Yukna vak?’ Tasht vil ik non, valmul shik’na.” Her tone was scolding, and I shrunk into the blanket.

Shaking her head, she grabbed the fur and yanked it off me. I yelped, but she simply tossed it to the bed, then grabbed one of my shoulders. She turned me a little, then back the other way.

“Ick’thin dul!” She exclaimed, smacking my good shoulder with the back of her hand and placing the other on her hip. Even that light touch had me staggering back a step to keep my balance.

She plucked at the thin slip I wore, then poked one finger at my bandages. Shaking her head and grumbling some other words I didn’t catch, she turned to what she had brought with her. She held up one fur, then dropped it and held another.

“Bah!” She growled, tossing it to the side.

Ta’nik scowled at my slip again, lifting the hem between two fingers and thumbing it. Her hawk eyes seemed to consider the bloodstain almost thoughtfully, then she poked at my bandage again. I resisted the urge to make a sound, but rubbed the spot after she had dropped her hand. Tsking, she reached down into her boot and pulled a dagger from within.

I started to back away, but she simply grabbed my shoulder and with a quick swipe, sliced the slip from my shoulder to waist. I grabbed at it with my arms as it started to fall away, but she tucked the knife back into her boot and pushed my hands aside back. The last remnants of my garment crumpled at my feet, she took stock of me again. My cheeks had grown red hot, and I crossed my arms over myself and tucked my knees together. Ta’nik let out something which I thought might be a hearty laugh, but the sound just had my ears boiling too.

Dropping to one knee in front of me, she picked up one of the leathers from her pile, swatting my arms aside and holding it up to my torso. Her head tilted slightly, then she tossed it aside in favor of another fur, this one a soft tan. It was a long strip that seemed to be fastened together at the ends to make a large circle. She draped it over my shoulders, and it looped lazily down my front, hooked around the back of my neck. She studied it for a moment, pulling it to more fully cover my breasts, then nodded approvingly. I prayed to whatever god was listening that this wasn’t the only thing I was expected to wear. My ass and legs were still completely bare, and the fur stopped just above my navel.

Thankfully, she picked up another light colored leather and fur stitched piece and wrapped it twice about my waist. It fell generously to my knees in front and back, though it rode a little higher on the sides where the layers broke and overlapped. She tugged my elbow, pointing and drawing my attention to the strings at my hip. She pulled them, and I felt the fabric tighten against my skin. Then she deftly tied a knot, and leaned back again to look me over.

She was talking to me now, as she reached back into her pile. She pulled out some leather straps and showed them to me. I supposed she was probably explaining something to me, based upon her tone and gestures. But I wasn’t sure what she meant. She gestured to her own ample breasts, then traced a line with the straps just underneath. She jerked up and down, obviously to illustrate some point. Then she reached out, smacking my elbows until I lifted them up, and wound the straps about my torso. One she placed in the spot she had shown me on her own body, the other she placed just under my armpits, then crossed it down to my waist and wrapped it around my body again. She pointed to the buckles, and showed me how to fasten them.

Ta’nik sat back on her heels, looking pleased with herself. She studied me, turning me this way and that, then nodded. But as her eyes skimmed up to my face, she frowned, then clucked her tongue. Meaty fingers reached out and tugged at my hair.

“Ow!” I exclaimed, pushing her hand away boldly.

She laughed, and I felt more inclined to smile back at whatever humor had tickled her now. With a gentle shove, she sat me down on the ground before her, then leaned over me. Her fingers wove through my hair, firmly, but not painfully. Plaiting the hair on one side of my head. She finished it with a bone pin, then tugged on it again with a smirk.

I smiled back at her. “Thank you,” I said, and genuinely meant it.

She probably didn’t understand me, but nodded approvingly, so I hope she understood at least what I was trying to convey.

I nearly fell onto my back as she yanked my foot out from underneath me and held it up. I scrambled, trying to pull it back, but she exerted no effort in keeping it under her control. She frowned, poking at my toes. I almost couldn’t suppress the giggle at her touch, and wiggled my toes at her. She smirked, then dropped my foot, gesturing over my shoulder and saying something in her own tongue. Glancing back, I saw my own boots there and gathered her meaning. No new shoes for me.

She gathered up the remainder of her things as I stood and slipped on the boots. I suddenly realized that they were indeed my own boots, and wondered exactly how they had ended up back at the tent.

Ta’nik shouted something out the door, then dropped the flap and came over to me again, tucking her things all under one arm. She smiled down at me and plopped her giant hand on my head.

“L’ma shikoba, dol un’nik guut dai.” She told me, then pinched one of my nipples through the fur. “Ol’n mi’hik Unvar dil’nuer pusht tlaloc’kin.”

She laughed at my yelp, and squished one of her own breasts through her clothes, nodding. She poked at mine, then back at hers, grinning widely.

“Yeah yeah, I get it-” I told her, pushing away her fingers and growing pink- “You’ve got bigger breasts.”

She laughed again, then turned at the sound of the tent flap opening. Ta’nik nodded, looking proud, and bustled off, pushing aside Unvar to leave.

He smirked, his eyes following her as she exited, then looked back at me. He froze suddenly, and I thought his eyes widened a little. I shuffled my feet nervously, tucking one loose strand of hair behind my ear.

“... Do I look ok?” I asked, suddenly worried. 

I tried to look down at myself. All the important bits seemed to be covered, though you could see a hint of the shape of my breasts around the edges of the fur both at my front and sides. It also seemed a little bold to have my skin showing from the nape of my neck to the bottom of my sternum, but the straps seemed firm enough to keep my breasts from popping out unexpectedly. My shoulders were bare, as was most of my back, but I felt the covering was not horribly indecent.

Still his reaction gave me pause, and I smoothed my hands over the furs on my stomach. He seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in, and shook his head.

“No… I mean-” He shook his head again- “-Yes, you look good. Look like Tlaloc!” Then he grinned, “Small, white Tlaloc. Missing teeth.” He tapped his own tusk to illustrate the point.

I laughed a little at that, not sure if the second part was very good. But I was sure he meant the first part as a compliment. I fiddled with the edge of the fur at my waist, twirling a loose piece between my thumbs.

“So now what?”

“Now we go.” He nodded, “Busy day. Much work.”

He grabbed his blood stained cloak from its hook, then pulled a smaller grey speckled fur from the pile. It had a small strap at the top, and he tossed it to me. The fur fit perfectly around my shoulders and upper back.

“Is cold,” He told me, “Come.”

I had to practically run across the tent not to lose him as he ducked out the door. The sunlight beyond blinded me briefly, and I blinked a few times. Unvar was already striding away, and I skipped to catch up to him. A few curious looks were shot my way, but for the most part the Tlaloc seemed unsurprised to have a human in their midst. Even one following around their chief, whom they each greeted respectfully.

“...Are there other humans here?” I asked as I considered the myriad of colors and shapes around me.

“Hmm?” He grunted, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

“Ah, Shikoba. Other Shikoba, like me.”

He snorted, raising one hand in salute to a passing man. “Not like you. None like you.” Then he nodded. “But yes. Few. Servants, and a workman. Maltoc keeps one.”

“Maltoc?” I echoed, and there was a tingle down my spine at his choice of words describing my fellow humans.

Unvar didn’t seem to notice my discomfort. He nodded in response, steering us around a rowdy crowd gathered about what appeared to be a blacksmith stall.

“Maltoc. He… what is word-” He grumbled, scratching his chin, “ah… Shaz’gul … he keeps sick. Helps hurts.”

“A healer?” I offered, skipping a few more steps to keep pace with him.

Unvar shrugged. “Shaz’gul, ta tlaloc.” He replied simply. “Shikoba helps Maltoc, and Maltoc keeps shikoba.”

I fell silent, chewing that over thoughtfully as we rounded a few more tents. Finally we came to a halt, and a loud greeting was offered to Unvar as he approached a small group of Tlaloc men. They saluted him with their chest beating greeting and hunched their heads. Then more than one clasped his shoulder or punched his arm. At first I watched with alarm, but the grins exchanged seemed passive enough. I noticed the other Tlaloc draping their arms around each other or touching various parts of their fellows’ bodies as they spoke. As if conversation required some form of touch at all times.

The words they exchanged were too quick and strange for me to begin to understand, so I waited quietly a few feet away. A few minutes later, he clasped the shoulder of one and gestured for me to follow him again.

We repeated this several times with varying clan members. Sometimes Unvar would be given something, sometimes he would just talk. Sometimes the Tlaloc would fully embrace him in bone shattering hugs, or they would pound a fist into his chest which would incite some shoving before it settled into the usual communication. Once or twice the words seemed to get heated, but it always deescalated with a drink and some arm clasping. At first, I tried to follow the exchanges. Perhaps learn some words or get a sense for what was being said. And I was impressed with the way Unvar changed his mannerisms depending on whom he was talking to. I could tell all the tlaloc we met with seemed to respect him greatly.

But after what felt like hours of following him around with nothing but sideways glances to acknowledge my presence, I was growing bored. The talking was too fast paced for me, and the meetings beyond my scope. ..

....

UPDATE: Part Seven HERE

[little-ligi]

Whumptober - No. 22

No. 22 - Poisoned Fandom - BBC Merlin Wordcount - 1553

Arthur raised his goblet.

“To a successful day,” he toasted.

“Hear, hear!” Gwaine called, downing the last of his goblet.

The others laughed but raised their goblets and sipped as well. It had been a long day, but a good one. They had rescued a village being tormented by a magical creature, half wolf, half lizard. Arthur himself had struck the killing blow and the villagers had been incredibly grateful, sending them back to Camelot with a brace of pheasants and a bottle of wine made by the village wise woman.

“More please, Merlin, my lovely purveyor of alcohol,” Gwaine sang, leaning back in his chair and waving his goblet.

“I think you’ve probably had enough for this evening,” Arthur told him.

He pouted, flicking his hair out of his eyes.

“Bet you can’t go the rest of the evening without having another drink,” Elyan said, flicking a bit of bread across the table at Gwaine.

Gwaine looked affronted. Percival nudged him with his elbow and Gwaine nearly fell off his seat. Although that could have been down to Percival’s strength rather than Gwaine’s intoxication.

“I think I’ll join that wager.” Arthur dug in his pocket and drew out a gold coin. He slammed it onto the table in front of him. “No more drink tonight.”

Gwaine groaned. Leon and Elyan fished coins out as well, laughing and adding them to Arthur’s pile. Lancelot gave a rueful smile but he was never one to gamble. Percival flipped a coin between his fingers.

“I wager he can,” he said calmly, patting Gwaine’s shoulder. “Faith in you, my friend.”

“Merlin?” Arthur looked up at him, he was grinning goofily. He pulled a face then got a coin from his own pocket, walked deliberately to Percival’s end of the table and dropped his coin down in front of the big knight.

The knights jeered and chuckled, Arthur raised an eyebrow.

“I’m in charge of the pouring, I’ll make sure he has no more,” Merlin said with a grin.

“Merlin!” Gwaine groaned. “Fine!” He looked around grumpily at the rest of the knights. Then snagged Leon’s goblet from beside him and drained it. “Starting from now.”

“That was the last of that wine anyway,” Merlin said, tilting the empty pitcher.

“Open the one the villagers gave us,” Arthur told him.

Merlin emptied the bottle of wine the villages had given them into the pitcher. Then came over and filled Leon’s empty goblet.

“Thank you, Merlin.” Leon took a sip, wincing and coughing slightly. “Ugh, that’s strong.” He shuddered and put the goblet back down.

“Aww, Gwaine, just how you like it!” Arthur teased.

Merlin plonked a goblet of water in front of Gwaine, some sloshing over the side at his overzealousness. Arthur was surprised Merlin didn’t end up wearing it, given the glare Gwaine sent him. Elyan clapped and laughed. Lancelot smirked and lifted his goblet, nodding to Gwaine satirically. Then jerked in his seat as Gwaine kicked him under the table. Elyan laughed harder and received his own kick.

Leon coughed, lifting a hand to pat his chest and rub at his throat.

“You alright?” Lancelot asked, putting his goblet down and leaning forwards across the table.

“Yes, just a tickle in my throat. It’s dry,” Leon said, coughing again. He picked up his goblet and had a large swig to try and alleviate the tickle. He pulled a face and pushed the goblet away. “That really is bad wine.”

“Merlin?” Lancelot turned to Merlin but he was already pouring a goblet of water from the other jug. He handed it to Leon, taking the offending wine away.

Sniffing it, Merlin pulled a face as well.

“So thanks, but no thanks to the homemade wine,” Arthur laughed, taking a sip of his own wine, which was still his first gobletful from the original pitcher of Camelot wine. “Throw it out, Merlin. Open another good bottle.”

Merlin sighed. “I’ll just go down to the cellars and fetch one, shall I?” He glared at Arthur. Arthur just gave him his princely stare and Merlin stomped out of the room.

Leon coughed again, Gwaine thumped him on the back, but Leon kept on coughing. Suddenly his hands flew to his mouth and he bent over double, coughing and retching. There was a loud scraping of chairs as the rest of the knights leapt to their feet.

Arthur grabbed Leon’s shoulders, pulling him upright. Blood tinged saliva was bubbling at the corner of his mouth, spilling over his lips into his beard. He was gasping, his hands clutching at his throat. His eyes were wide and terrified.

“Merlin!” Arthur yelled, hoping the servant wasn’t out of earshot already. “Someone get Gaius!”

Elyan sprinted from the room.

Percival caught Leon as he fell from his chair, shaking and convulsing. Together Arthur and Percival lowered him to the floor and rolled him onto his side. Lancelot knelt behind him, propping him up.

Gwaine stormed over to the table at the side of the room where Merlin had left Leon’s goblet of the homemade wine. He examined it closely.

“Poison?” Arthur asked, gritting his teeth in anger.

“Must be,” Gwaine replied. “But why? We saved their bloody village.”

Leon began gagging, his fingers scrabbling at his throat and the collar of his tunic.

“Loosen his tunic,” Lancelot suggested, Arthur was already trying to do so.

“Should we get him to drink some water?” Percival asked and Gwaine leapt towards the table, snatching his own untouched water goblet, spilling half of it in his haste to bring it down to Leon.

But Leon was gasping and didn’t seem able to drink. His face was turning red as he struggled to breathe, sweat running down his temples.

Arthur was beginning to panic by the time Merlin came back in, tossing the wine bottle from hand to hand. It dropped and smashed on the floor as Merlin noticed Leon. He ran to them and fell to his knees at Leon’s side.

“What happened?!”

“That wine was poisoned.”

“No!” Merlin’s hand fell to Leon’s chest, steadying him as he spasmed.

The door banged open again as Elyan reappeared. Gaius was panting with exertion behind him. He hurried over and Percival helped the old man down to his knees, moving out of the way so Gaius and Merlin could examine Leon.

“Elyan says he drank some poison?” Gaius asked.

“Yes, the wine’s over there if you need to see.” Arthur pointed at the pitcher. Gaius looked up at the pitcher and nodded then back down at Leon.

He opened his medicine bag, it was much more of a mess than usual, as if he had hurriedly thrown things into it when Elyan told him what had happened. He pulled out some dry herb sprigs, handing them to Merlin, who leapt up and dashed to the table, holding the twigs over a candle. They caught fire and Merlin threw his arm over his face, covering his nose and mouth with his elbow.

“Cover your faces,” Gaius said to Arthur and Lancelot. “You three stay back. You don’t want to breathe any of this in.”

Percival, Gwaine and Elyan backed away as Gaius, Arthur and Lancelot copied Merlin’s action. Merlin knelt back down, holding a bowl and handed the smoking bundle of sprigs to Gaius. Gaius waved them under Leon’s nose, making sure he breathed the smoke in.

Arthur saw why Gaius had told them to cover their faces when Leon leant forward and vomited violently into the bowl Merlin held.

“And again, make sure it’s all out.” Gaius waved the twigs again, patting Leon’s back as he gagged and retched, emptying the contents of his stomach. “That’s it. Merlin, cover that and no one touch it, the poison’s in there.”

Gaius dropped the smoking twigs into the bowl and Merlin whisked it away.

“Right, let’s get him to my chambers. I can analyse the poison and find an antidote.”

Percival and Elyan hurried forwards to help Lancelot and Arthur lift Leon to his feet. Percival wrapped Leon’s arm over his shoulders and hoisted him up. Arthur pulled Leon’s other arm over his own shoulders.

Leon groaned, his head lolling. Sweat was streaking his pale face and a small trickle of blood seeped down his beard, but he seemed to be breathing easier and was no longer choking.

“How did we end up with poisoned wine though?” Gwaine asked, picking up the pitcher and holding it at arm’s length.

“It was probably meant for you, Sire,” Lancelot said angrily.

Arthur growled. “I will not let him die because of me.”

“He shall not die, Sire,” Gaius assured him. “We’ve removed the poison from his stomach and I’ll treat him with a simple tincture of rue and yarrow first. Then as long as I can keep control over his heart rate and fever, he will stay stable until I have made an antidote. Then he should recover fully in just a couple of days.”

Gaius bustled out of the room, Merlin at his side with his medicine bag. Arthur and Percival carried Leon after them, Elyan hovering behind them to support if Leon fell.

“I think we’ll let you off the bet,” Lancelot said to Gwaine, putting an arm over his shaking shoulders. “We’ll all need a strong drink after this.”

[nadiaportia]

Life Lessons - A Past Tale

Summary: On a day meant for relaxation, a young magician-in-training finds herself in the middle of an explosive confrontation.

Starring the Rubalacaba family; Ximena, Heloisa, Cibela, Esmé and Marisol

Word count: ~4.6k

Content warning for violence (nothing too graphic) and a messed up family dynamic.

It was a warm midsummer’s day, the sun stood high in the sky and my lessons had been finished an hour earlier. Mistress Julia had congratulated me on my good work and progress and allowed to me go enjoy myself outside for the rest of the day while she was going to the docks. Her wife had been travelling to Karnassos to see her family and they haven’t seen each other for several weeks.

As it was a habit, I decided to go the aviary to relax after my lessons. The grounds were vast, in my own opinion a little too vast, so there were always places to hide but the aviary had something about it - despite the fact that I was barely on my own there. It was also my sister’s Heloisa’s prefered location; she could spend hours in there taking care and marvelling at its residents. When we were both younger, she would teach the goldfinches to sing along to her whistling and proudly showed them to the servants and our father. The aviary was her dominion, especially since our older sister couldn’t be less interested in birds and spent the time she was on the grounds training or studying. 

The aviary was a large cage made of gilded steel with vegetation and a small river flowing through it, in size bigger than the main hall in the manor, where its residents had free reign to live in. Upon entering, I heard giggling and following the path deeper into the small forest, I saw my older sister. She sat on the ground, stroking a golden pheasant on her lap while a hummingbird flew about her face. It was currently holding one of her black curls in its beak as if to pull her up from her comfortable position.

“No, please, Xquic!”, she laughed and stopped stroking the pheasant to gently let the hummingbird sit on her index finger.

“Dorian deserves his caresses too, you know I don’t play favorites.”

She had given every single bird in the aviary a name and treated each of them like individuals. I liked all of them just fine enough but to Heloisa they were as much as her friends like the noble girls she went to parties with in secret. When she saw me, a grin spread across her face. 

“Welcome to freedom! I've been here for two hours now, Livia decided to give it a rest because even she didn't have the spirits to talk for too long about this guy's manifest. I mean, reading about revolting merchants can only be so interesting, especially when you already know they were beaten after the armies of Karnassos and Bizatena came to the Zaan's aid!” 

She sighed dramatically and proceeded to make kissing noises at Xquic. I sat next to my sister. The grass was warm and soft, and Dorian raised his head to look at me. I reached out and caressed the top of his crown. 

“Well, I spent three hours trying to make portals large enough for a human to fit through, but it takes a lot of concentration. When Julia does it, it looks so easy.” 

“Your magic stuff is vastly more interesting than politicking and learning how to lie.”

“I don't get your complaints - Tía Esmé has you on track to leave the junior court meetings and go full game. Cibela attended her first meeting last year.”

My sister's smile turned into a sneer. Even though we all enjoyed the luxury of fundamental education - history, philosophy, various languages such as Bizanti, Zadithian and Prakran, literature, art, music, the sciences and common etiquette proper for a noble of Cartagenth - each of us was also given tutelage in a special field in order to prepare us for our future at the Zaan's court. 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”, she said and shrugged, “and still, making portals, lifting objects and talking with spirits is pretty wicked and exciting.” I sighed. It didn't matter if she was the best junior politician and won several play-debates against seasoned courtiers during dinners, she would always want the talents others possessed. But I wasn't in the spirits to argue with her, not today. 

“Magic is a lot more complicated than you think, and from what Tía Esme says it might take even years before I am as good as Julia - and I don't wanna be just good enough to become a tutor.”

“By the mother, imagine that! No, you will be the greatest magician of all times, they will build statues for and tell stories of you, not only here but everywhere! Crystalleans in the North, bandits in the South, Firenti in the East and Calpacians all over will know the name Ximena de Rubalcaba!” 

I laughed and shook my head.

“If you say so, it will be true one day.”

“Of course it will.” Heloisa reassured me and gently shooed her avian companions away from us. “I talked to Tía Esmé a couple of days ago, according to her it could very well be that I were to start my travels very soon. If you asked me nicely and with a bow on top, I could consider namedropping you to the rulers of far away and powerful countries…”

“How's that going to go down? 'Oh, Queen of Prakra, say, if you happen to be looking for a magician, I might just know the right person - my fifteen year old sister!'”

“No, of course not, you idiot. One of the essences of politics is: less is often more.”

“Ah, yes, less was definitely more on the party thrown by the son of the Karnasso ambassador. Or when Shayera, Filomena and you went to a 'health resort'. Or-” 

“Okay, I get it. Phew, it's not my fault you are boring and never want to join in on the fun.” 

“Whatever. At least I won't die of boredom in cabinet rooms or in court sessions when I'm a grown-up.” 

Heloisa scoffed loudly and stood up. “Fine! And you'll never be a capable magician, in the meantime I'll be dining with the influential sovereigns of the world. Who knows, maybe I'll become the next Zaan before you manage to cast a portal!”

I looked lazily at her, how she stood over me, her hands on her hips, the sun behind her head and casting dark curly hair into a warm light. 

“Hm.” I closed my eyes and smiled as I heard her walk off and out of the aviary, fuming while murmering curses under her breath.

And yet she was also my best friend even though we were nothing alike. The nightly carousing my sister loved so much was nothing I could ever be interested in, apart from the fact that she was four years older and thus allowed to do it, but rule-breaking and rebellion without a cause in general never had the same appeal to me. It wasn't as if I hated being in company but it wasn't something I craved like a moth needed the lantern's light, and I certainly didn't have the same social charisma as her, with a face known and beloved by all and the ability to make everyone feel special in her company. I liked being on my own, listening to my own thoughts or doing things on my own such as reading, practicing on Cibela's piano whenever she wasn't on the estate (her visits were becoming rarer anyway), stealing into the kitchen to watch the servants prepare our food (the first time I had done that, they thought Madre had send me to make sure they did a good job), making sketches of the paintings in the galleries and many other things lonely noble children seemed to do, as I had been told by my cousin Agustín. The only son of Tía Esmé was a diplomat on track to becoming an ambassador and during his visits, he would stay on the family estate. Despite him and Cibela being the closest in age, they were like cats and dogs to each other, with him having thrown around the words “cruel” and “heartless” while Cibela had complained to Madre about him being a pathetic excuse of a politician and even a traitor to Cartagenth. So he spent most of his visits with Heloisa and me, even though he always told me I was his favorite - and judging by the sharp remarks he made about Heloisa, even to her own face, there was no doubt it was true. It was a nice feeling to be someone’s preferred company even though I felt as if favoritism seemed to be a family tradition, and not a good one. 

I sighed, opened my eyes again and was immediately almost blinded by the sun. The goldfinches were singing somewhere in the trees and something was chirping softly in the scrubs. A thought crept into my mind and I grinned. I sat up, leaned towards the bush and let out a whistle. It rustled and a black manakin made its way to me. 

“Hello, you cutie.” I said, and wiggled my finger at it. “Wanna help me in an experiment?”

I hoped this would work. We would throw marbles throw the portals to see whether they fulfilled their purpose but never tried it with a living organism, so if it didn't work…

The manakin tilted his head and looked at me. I sighed. 

“Right, you don't understand human speech.” I reached out and softly stroked his chest. “But you're not flying away, so I'll take that as a yes.” He nibbled at my finger. “I'll collect some worms for you, I don't have a problem with digging in the ground unlike someone else.”

A chirp, whether he actually understood a word was another matter.

I closed my eyes and let out a breath. I tuned out the noises all around me and concentrated on the manakin, where it was and on creating a gateway to bring it to another location - not very far, just a few meters away from me. A noise that wasn't quite a noise caught my attention and upon opening my eyes, I saw the bird looking curiously at a small doorway, big enough for him to comfortably fit through, and another one near a tree trunk.

“That's for you. Please…?” 

The manakin looked at me as if he himself was unsure of this.

“Go ahead, nothing will happen.” I said with hopefully enough conviction in my voice. 

It seemed to have hit the mark because he jumped through it - and reappeared a few meters away from me. 

“Yes!”, I screamed and pumped a fist in the air and startling the manakin who jumped about a foot in the air.

Time flew by as I made portals, some bigger than others, for my new friend to walk or fly through, and he strangely seemed to find as much joy as this as me. 

I was in the middle of making another one when I heard footsteps. To my surprise, it was Heloisa, with her face dark like a beetroot and her mouth twisted into a snarl.

“What happened?” I asked worried, hurrying over to her but instead of an answer she pushed me away. Her eyes were rimmed red and there was a glint of fire in copper brown that made me take a step back. 

“What do you think you're going to do with this?”

“Get out of my way!”, was the snappy answer I received as she made her way over to a tree, reached into a hole in the trunk and pulled something out. A shining steel blade, one that I was sure I had seen many many times.

“By the Devil, is that one of the Nopali swords in the ancestral gallery?” I blurted out and followed Heloisa as she stomped out of the aviary. When I got no verbal response, I grabbed her arm and made her face me. 

Her lips switched and she scrunched her nose. 

“You'll see soon enough what I'll do to her.” Wrenching loose of my grip, she whirled around and continued her way, and it hit me like a falling anvil to know where she was going. The aviary wasn't far from the estate building itself so it didn't take too long before we reached the first inner court which also functioned as training grounds for the guards. In the center, on the sand ground, a young woman in light armor with one arm on her back and the other wielding a blunt training sword was parrying the blow of a figure also clad in light armor and with a double-handed sword. She dodged the next blow, made a sidestep and used the momentum to hit her opponent in the side with the swords pommel. The opponent clutched their side and wheeled around to meet her blow, metal hitting metal in an ugly noise.

“Hey! Cibela!” Neither of the figures acknowledged us but merely continued their melee.

“Don't tell me you want do what I think you want to do.” I sighed and held Heloisa's arm. 

“Don't tell me what to do,”, she hissed and shoved me away, “and don't even dare to tell Mother. Cibela!”

“Don't be stupid and put down the sword, please! You'll hurt each other.”

Fury was written all over her face when she said: “That's exactly what I want to do. I've had enough of her thinking she is better than me just for being allowed to train as a warrior!”

“Then challenge her to chess or something, not a swordfight.”

Heloisa let out a mocking laugh. “Of course you'd say that, words befitting of a cowardly magician.” My cheeks stung at her words as if I had been slapped in the face. “You wouldn't understand. You don't have any fighting spirit, so all you are good for is rolling over and playing dead.”

“I just know that fighting battles I can't win doesn't do any good.”

The noise of a body hitting the floor brought our attention back to the fighters and we saw how the woman took the hand of her opponent to be helped off the ground. Dark curls had escaped her braid during the fight and made her look distinctively messy, beads of sweat glittered on her forehead and her neck and face were flushed. 

“May the Devil damn you, stop distracting me!”, she yelled at us and pushed the loose strands of her out of her face. Dark eyes fixated us angrily and Heloisa laughed yet again. 

“Oh, is it that easy? I'm starting to believe you are not good a fighter as you make everyone believe. How do you even survive on those battlefields you claim you're so successful on?”

Cibela's face flushed even darker than it did from the exhaustion and she let out an angry snarl. “A mercenary is easy work compared to you, sister. Now go away, be a nuisance elsewhere.”

“No, I won't!” Heloisa screamed and held out the sword in front of her. The swordsman dropped their sword in shock and made a motion to walk over to us.

“Stay your hand, Octavio, or I'll have you fired and sent to live with the rats in the gutter.”

“Lady Heloisa, please calm down. The sword you're holding is sharp.”

Cibela let out a laugh. “Of course it is. Stop this nonsense before you hurt yourself, you're not worth a fight.”

I couldn't stop her from stomping at Cibela and I threw myself between the two of them, holding my hands out. “Will you two stop provoking each other?” I knew better than to ask what exactly caused this dispute to begin; I wouldn't get an answer anyway. Heloisa and Cibela constantly butted heads over even the smallest issues, and it wasn't helped by the fact that they were both too eager to find reasons to get into arguments. 

Cibela's lip curled in a sneer. “Even Ximena is more of a realist than you. She knows I'd gut you like a fish if this were an actual fight. You are no fighter; all you can do is talk a lot and charm people into doing what you want them to - and that is something everyone can do, it takes no real talent. You're just as stupid and useless as those birds you love so much - pretty to look at and have around with their feathers and songs but shallow and of no use whatsoever.”

Heloisa roared in anger, lifted the sword and ran at our sister. I jumped out of the way, and saw in shock how Cibela easily dodged the blow and took a few steps back.

“I won't fight you, you don't even know how to! It's a waste of my time and an easy kill.”

Frantically I turned to Octavio. “Get whoever, otherwise they'll kill each other for real!”, I yelled and as Cibela's coach ran off, I stood up and thought about what to do. Damn me for not knowing how to make protective shields! 

“Get a real sword and let's find out, and do you think me so stupid to fight you without knowing how to?”

“Yes, I do.”

The next hit on the tourney sword left a dent in it, and Heloisa let out a triumphant laugh. “Don't bother with holding back, or is that all you can do? I have long suspected all you did on those battlefields was have others do your dirty work, seems I was right after all!”

A kick to the stomach silenced Heloisa and sent her tumbling back. Cibela scoffed and walked back to the assembly of swords to train with and took out a silver shortsword. “Yield now, sister. Scars don't suit you and we'd never hear the end of it.”

“I have been watching you train with Octavio and the others, do you really think I never learned even a bit? Or that I might have had someone who helped me from time to time?” The grin slipped from her face as Cibela approached her with sure steps, sword in hands and swung at her. Heloisa ducked and scrambled away from our sister's reach, who looked merely amused. “I think you're in way over your head. But I will give you a lesson you will not forget ever, that you may know your place and to stay in it.”

A quick movement and Cibela took off, sword pulled back to strike at Heloisa, who stood her ground with a determined look on her face. But the impact of Cibela, who was at least a head taller and had a more muscular frame, was enough to send her on her back onto the ground. “Your battles are in court and with words, not blades.”

I screamed in terror as Cibela threw back her arm, to swing it at Heloisa's face-

I acted on instinct, for fear for my sister's life. Light bubbled in my hands and I aimed it at the two. Cibela groaned at the blinding light and covered her face as she stumbled back as Heloisa gave a hard kick at her ankle and rolled out from under her.

“You're a true magician, Ximena,”, Cibela spat at me, her face scrunched up in anger as she stood up, “too much of a coward to get involved directly but always ready to help with dirty tricks. You two are a disgrace to our family name.” Then she spun around to catch Heloisa's wrist, I hadn't even noticed her getting up again and trying to hit Cibela in the back with the pommel. 

“Especially you.”

Her grip was so hard that it made Heloisa scream in pain, she dropped the sword and let it fall into the dust between them. Cibela let her fall back, and as if through fog I saw the blade in her other hand find its way onto Heloisa's torso, connecting with it at the shoulder blade and making its way to the hipbone. Someone's shrill scream rang in my ears and only when I covered my mouth I realized it had been me. But I couldn't move, I was rooted to the spot as I watched my sisters, one standing with the tip of her blade bloodied over the other, lying on the group, gasping like a fish out of water.

Someone else's scream brought me back to reality and I spun around to see our mother and our aunt make their way to us, Octavio hot on their heels. 

“Oh my goodness!” Madre threw her hands to her face as she saw Heloisa in the dust. Her flowing purple gown fluttered behind her as she ran to them, while Tía Esmé approached me and grabbed me by the shoulders with urgency. “Marilena, what happened? Be quick about it.”

I stumbled upon my words various times and only when she dabbed my face with her cape, I noticed tears were streaming down my face. “He-Heloisa challenged Cibela to a-a fight. I didn't think they'd ac-actually-”

“What's done is done. With me, now.” Her hand wrapped around my wrist like a vice as she pulled me along. “Julia taught you the basics of healing, now's time to make use of them.” 

I gaped at Tía Esmé but the steely look in her eyes made me swallow my doubts. 

“Are you happy now? Isn't that what you wanted?” Cibela's voice was cold as ice, no hint of regret upon what she did. 

“Cibela, what have you done?” Mother cried as she cradled Heloisa, tears were freely running down her face and leaving dark traces of her make-up. My sister was looking at the cut in her chest as if she couldn't believe what just happened. The blood was beginning to stain the burgundy fabric black as it seeped out. She raised a hand to touch it and screamed at the sight of her own blood on it.

“I gave my dearly beloved sister what she was so desperately chasing; someone who would put her back in her place and teach her some respect.”

I stared at Cibela and felt my throat tighten at the venom in her words. For a brief moment, nothing more than a split second, I considered picking up the sword on the ground and hitting her with it, but the thought of it frightened me as soon as I finished it. 

The vice around my wrist disappeared and Tía Esmé closed in on Cibela, who held up her chin in defiance. “Did you stop to think about turning down the duel and reason with her without spitting poison? Is this how an officer of the Grand Army of Cartagenth behaves, or this is more akin to a lawless bandit?”

Cibela took a step forward, her face mere inches away from Tía Esmé. “She was the one who insisted on a duel, she can be lucky I decided to show mercy even if I was in the full right to kill her and I wouldn't have shed a tear if I had done so.”

The silence behind that statement lasted both nothing and an eternity, and the ensuing sound of the back of Esmé's hand hitting Cibela's face full force seemed deafening. Mother screamed and instantly let go of Heloisa to help her eldest of the dust, leaving me to catch her before she hit the ground.

“You ungrateful little parasite.” Esmé sneered as Cibela held the side of her face where she had been hit, “have you learnt nothing? Family is the only thing that matters. Without us, you’re a fucking nobody. Get out of my sight.”

Cibela scrambled onto her feet, a trail of blood running down her nose and furious tears building in her eyes. Without a further word she whirled around and left the training grounds, with Madre running after her and saying words made unintelligible by her sobs.

“Octavio, get a doctor. Have them bring something for transport.” The coach bowed quickly with a murmured “Yes, General.” and ran back into the building.

I took a deep breath as I laid my hands on Heloisa's chest. She let out a scream and squeezed her eyes shut. Esmé knelt next to us and regarded the wound with an expert's eye.

“Try to keep her from bleeding out, from what I see the wound is not deep enough to make lethal damage but you can never know. I've seen soldiers bleed to death from a lot less and survive a lot worse.”

She reached out and took Heloisa's hand, gently stroking the back of it with her thumb. “Stay awake, it'll all be alright.”

…

It would be alright, but it ended up taking two whole months. Two months that Heloisa spent in bed, taking medicine that would hurry up the healing process and barely being able to move without experiencing pain. That did not prevent her tutors from giving her stuff to read and it drove her mad with anger, along with the fact that this prohibited her from leaving with the junior council to places such as Vesuvia and Firent. I was the one keeping her company most of the evenings, occasionally Madre or Padre would join but more often than not instead of them it was Tía Esmé if she happened to be on the grounds and not in the city or at court giving war council. Cibela had left the estate grounds days after the incident to lead a division of Cartagense soldiers to the Sea of Persephia, which had to be a journey of approximately two months. After a long discussion between Tía Esmé and Madre on which I had eavesdropped, they decided it was best to send Cibela away for at least a while for the bad blood to die down, and the troops desperately needed support on the front.

“Against who is the Grand Army fighting now?” I asked Tía Esmé one evening during dinner.

“The Bizanti are on the verge of starting a trade war after being threatened by a small, way too insignificant city state and it is our duty to stand by our allies and aid them in crushing the enemy.” Her gaze turned cool as she spoke. “You make it sound as if you think we are always at war with others.”

“Aren't we? You're always holding war councils with the Zaan and his courtiers.”

“Ximena!” Madre put down her fork and looked at me. “Don't speak like this to your aunt, especially not at the table.” But Tía Esmé merely raised her hand. “I don't mind, Marisol. And I don't blame you, dearest, after all you are still only a child whereas your sisters understand the way things work. We have the right to defend ourselves from our enemies at all costs.”

“I know, but does it have to be that way? Agustín surely could solve this, isn’t that what diplomats are for?” Aunt Esmé regarded me with a raised eyebrow, Madre laughed quietly and soon everyone turned their attention back to the food. Even Heloisa seemed to agree with them when I told her what happened at dinner.

“You should be glad we have people like Tía Esmé. If generals like her hadn't been so successful, Cartagenth would’ve already been conquered by someone and instead of the Zaan, some foreign ruler would call the shots.”

I sighed. “Maybe you're right. But not everything needs to end in bloodshed.” You out of all people should know that, I thought bitterly and sat down in an armchair. 

“Some people simply don't know better,”, Heloisa sighed, like always lacking self-awareness, and turned her attention back to her book. I looked at her, my tongue barely holding back a sharp remark, and grabbed the card deck. With Julia not teaching me divination beyond the basics, it was the only area I had to work on myself. The books in the library were helpful but it was mostly a matter of practice, as I found out. A lot of practice and listening. I shuffled the deck and pulled out a card. Justice, reversed. Unfairness and lies. How very fitting.