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justlookatthosesausages · 5 years

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‘Emergence’ - an interactive fanfic

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CHAPTER 10 - Epilogue

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It was a known fact now that Honeymaren and Elsa lived together. It took a while for both women to take that decision. For Elsa, because she needed a long time of reflection for such a decision than the one of welcoming Honeymaren in her tent to live with her; and for Honeymaren herself, who usually was fast in taking decisions, but who kept insisting to her girlfriend that she had all the time in the world to agree on that change, even if mutual.

Which, Ryder underlined, was the worst idea ever.

“She'll take forever to decide now.” Sighed the Northuldra.

Honeymaren had punched his arm at his sentence.

“Aoh! Why are you always so violent when I talk about her?”

“Stop being mean about Elsa if you don’t want me to kill you.”

“Oh yeah. Because my sister is famously known for being a massive murderer. You wouldn’t even kill a moth last summer.”

He got kicked to the ground by Honeymaren’s staff, and he didn’t add anything for the whole day. And took a mental note to never anger his sister during morning fight session.

Honeymaren wiped the sweat off her face with her towel as she giggled with other Sami girls. Sighing in the typical happiness after early training, she walked to Elsa’s tent - their tent, she corrected her thoughts.

She walked for a while. The Fifth Spirit’s tent was isolated from others. It was at one of the borders of the village, but not too far so nobody felt like she was out of the camp, and children were happy to have space around the tent to play with her ice games when she made some.

The brunette smiled at the memory of the moment she had asked Elsa how okay she was to not have her little fortress of solitude for herself anymore. Elsa had laughed openly in a soft way, and assured her that she had Ahtohallan for that. Another thing that Anna was right about.

With a smile, Honeymaren entered the tent... And she suddenly blinked at the surprising heat in it.

“WAOW! What the--”

She looked around for Elsa.

“What the heck happened here? Did you make a fire??”

Elsa stopped right in her move, a wood log in her hand, about to add it to the stove in the middle of the room. She looked at her girlfriend with wide eyes, her mouth still.

“I thought you were going to like it.”

“Like it?” Scoffed Honeymaren. “Elsa, it’s like a thousand degrees in there! I feel like I just stepped into a volcano!”

The Spirit frowned. “You once went into a volcano?”

She then realized how stupid she could get when her brain was too distracted on Honeymaren.

“No, of course you haven’t.” She muttered, shaking her head.

The Northuldra stepped in, fanning her collar.

“I’m so sorry”, rushed to say Elsa, spraying ice into the stove. “I just have no idea what chilling air is. I don’t know what’s the discomfort limit, and as I used to live alone in this tent until now, I thought it would be too cold for you and that--”

Honeymaren put her hand on her shoulder to interrupt her. It was really efficient, for every time she touched Elsa, she instantly stopped talking and thinking.

“I’m fine. It’s perfect. I actually needed that heat, it’s getting cold outside. But nuances and appropriate measures are something we need to work on, okay?”

“Definitely.” Exhaled Elsa, agreeing. She really needed to know what was best for them both.

There was a silence.

“You can lower the temperature of a dozen degrees at least.” Indicated Honeymaren.

“Oh, right, sorry.” Hurried Elsa, and she refreshed the logs.

The Sami looked at her with a touched smile. “No need to apologize, you did nothing wrong. I truly appreciate the gesture.”

A smile appeared at the corner of Elsa’s lips.

“I’m quite surprised that you didn’t set the tent on fire.” Joked Honeymaren.

Elsa stuck her tongue out.

“How was training?” She asked, changing the topic.

“Great as always.”

“Did you let Ryder win?”

“Pff. No.”

“Honeeeeey...” Sighed Elsa, bending her head. “You should let him win someday.”

“What? Oh, you’re so soft. He has to earn his victory. If he can’t beat me, he has to train more.” Smirked the Northuldra, cracking her fingers.

Elsa shook her head.

“Let me guess, you let Anna win from time to time so she doesn’t get angry?” Eye-rolled Honeymaren.

“She actually win sometimes. And I don’t really have a competitive mind.”

Her girlfriend giggled. She knew that very well.

“Say, are you done with the... Whatever that obsession with making me comfortable was?” She asked, smiling. “Because I need your help on something. Are you available?”

Elsa nodded.

“I’m all yours. No, wait, that sounded weird, I’m taking that back. I’m... Available.”

They laughed, and went out of the tent.

A little blue ball bounced from a nearby log and uncurled, jumping on Elsa. Hopefully, she was used to those unprompted surprises from the salamander, and welcomed him with a giggle.

“Hi, Bruni. What’s up?”

The Fire Spirit smiled and cuddled in Elsa’s palms. The latter absentmindedly showered him with snowflakes, and turned to Honeymaren. “So? What is it? What did you want to show me?”

"Follow me.”

That was an odd thing to ask, and quite useless, given that the Sami girl had grabbed Elsa's hand and started to walk to an isolated place of the forest. Bruni, curious like always, followed them - curiosity really was the character trait that all the Spirits had in common, thought Honeymaren as she looked at how the salamander walked behind them with its tiny adorable steps.

"Where are you taking me?" Asked Elsa, smiling.

The brunette didn't answer, and gave a stare to Bruni with a silence sign, putting her finger on her mouth. The Fire Spirit tilted his head to the side, trying to understand why she looked like she wanted to make him keep a secret.

Elsa turned her head to him, sharing the confusion. Suddenly, Honeymaren kissed Elsa on the lips, and she blinked of surprise, then smiled and kissed her back. What started as an improvised kiss turned into a passionate one, and they kept their love rhythm for a long time.

Bruni squealed in embarrassment, and he closed his eyes as he became pink, his magic fire glowing like a blush. When he gave a peek by slowly opening his eyes, Honeymaren and Elsa had parted the kiss, and looked at each other with such devotion that it was obvious that they had forgotten Bruni's presence. They were looking into each other's eyes with their arms on each other's waist, relaxed and happy. Bruni perceived the message - mostly "Shoo! It's a private moment!" - and trotted away with a giggling squeal.

Honeymaren stared at Elsa.

"You're not blushing." She noticed.

"Should I?" Teased the blonde.

The Northuldra’s hold on Elsa’s hip got stronger.

“No, I'm happy that you've used to our intimacy now. And as we'll live in the same tent starting from today, I just wanted to make sure...”

“That I won't get embarrassed? Or bashful?" Completed Elsa.

"Yes." Nodded her girlfriend.

Now it was Elsa's hold which got stronger. And Honeymaren gasped, because she was pretty sure that it was even tighter than her own touch.

"You’ll have to be the one who’s going to get used to me in the tent." Smiled Elsa.

There was a beat.

“Wait... Did my sentence make any sense?"

Honeymaren laughed, and she hugged her close. "Not really, but I got it. By the way, you're a terrible flirt."

Elsa pouted, but knew that it was true.

"But it's okay!" Smiled Honeymaren on a reassuring tone. "You'll learn."

The Fifth Spirit switched to sarcasm. "What? From you?"

"Am I not a model?" Smiled the brunette, getting even closer to her, and now their noses were touching.

"Certainly not.” Puffed Elsa.

She then looked around. "But we can learn from each other."

They got even closer, if that was even possible.

"I'd love that." Grinned Honeymaren.

She kissed her, and started to walk away the instant that followed. "Let's go take care of the reindeer."

Elsa grabbed her arm. "Wait. Didn’t you need my help on something?"

Honeymaren thought that she was trying to hold her for more cuddling, but she was genuine. She puffed at Elsa's big caring eyes. She really did have a long work to do to make her better at flirting...

"Of course not, you ethereal idiot. That was a ruse to make you follow me without asking questions. You're the attentive and protective type. And it obviously worked."

Elsa pouted once again, but admitted that she was right, once again.

"So you don't need my help to take care of the reindeer?" Said Elsa, lifting an eyebrow.

Honeymaren’s mouth opened in a perfect O when she heard her sarcasm. "Hold on, that's not what I meant."

"Byyyye", smirked Elsa, waving and turning around.

"No wait, Els, you know it’s always easier when you use your magic! Hey, come here you dork!”

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Several days later, or rather nights, the peaceful silence in Elsa’s and Honeymaren’s tent was interrupted by a light scratching of pen on paper.

Honeymaren finished noting the soup recipe Kristoff had asked for, taping her pen on her lips as she checked that she didn’t forget any advice in the composition, and exact ingredients. She wanted to make sure that Kristoff would cook the best version of the soup. He had asked the recipe discreetly on his last visit, for he wanted to cook it for Anna on the upcoming cold Winter evenings, when she was so busy with royal paperwork that she barely had the time to eat.

The Northuldra smirked as she added ‘Mix the butternut first if you want the soup to be even sweeter’ in a corner of her notebook page. Once she was done, she detached the page and folded it at the light of the lantern next to her on the nightstand. She then closed her notebook and put it next to Elsa’s on the ice cabinet. Honeymaren stretched her arm as she reached the surface, her tongue out, doing all the effort necessary to not go off the sheets to not wake Elsa up.

The blonde was sleeping next to her on the bed, but practically on her, one arm against her on her pillow, and the other on Honeymaren. The woman sighed at how beautiful she was in that position, and yet she had no clue. Honeymaren had lost the count of how many times she had told Elsa how beautiful she was in casual moments and that the latter had looked at her with a surprised face and a ‘I do?’.

Elsa was a real extra and dramatic person who loved sparkly outfits, noticed Honeymaren, but paradoxically she had no idea how she was admired in daily moments where she didn’t even bother about her appearance.

In this specific moment, Elsa had crafted herself a quick ice night gown that was like a second skin, too tired to make herself something more fancy before falling into bed. As Honeymaren was outside telling a story to the children, Elsa had entered their tent, turned her outfit into something lighter, fell on the sheets, and curled herself against the coat which the Northuldra had left on the bed that morning. Elsa obviously wasn’t doing this to warm herself up; she liked the smell of her girlfriend in the winter clothes, and when Honeymaren entered the tent an hour afterwards, she wasn’t surprised to see her sleeping tight to it with a smile at the corner of her lips. The blonde was holding her coat like a child would do with a comforter.

Elsa was exhausted, after spending her whole days helping the Giants build a valley up West to make an access for merchants. She was deep into slumber, and was sleeping with her mouth slightly open, breathing calmly. Honeymaren smiled as she observed her. She was very glad that Elsa was a Spirit with still a human body, and could feel tiredness and had to sleep, so she could admire her as she did so.

The Sami woman blew the candle out in the lantern she had lit up to write the recipe, and slid down the bed under the covers to be at Elsa’s level. Only the light of the Moon passing at the top of the tent lit up her face, but her platinum blonde hair looked like it shone in the dark. Honeymaren smiled and softly put a kiss on her forehead.

Elsa moved at the sensation, waking up a bit, but falling right back to sleep.

“Yep, you’re wrecked.” Murmured Honeymaren.

She put the blanked on them both, even though, she knew, that it was of no use on Elsa, and she would soon toss it away in her dreams. She felt Elsa getting closer to her, and that was so soothing that she found sleep in no time.

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They enjoyed the rise of the sun as they had their breakfast, and Honeymaren nudged her girlfriend as they ate.

“How powerful are you, exactly?”

Elsa looked down with a smile. The brunette was lied down, her head next to her. Honeymaren’s voice, as she asked that, was filled with concern and fascination at the same time.

“Well, we were bored on a rainy day with Anna once, and we kind of did the maths…”

“I thought that you couldn’t estimate your magic with numbers.”

“It’s an expression.” Smirked Elsa.

Honeymaren stared at her girlfriend with a challenging look, and twirled so her chin would be on her hands, lying on her stomach. “What is the most powerful thing you’ve ever done with your magic?”

The blonde smiled, and looked at the horizon.

“I switched an entire kingdom from Summer to Winter, once. Just because I was upset.”

The Northuldra’s jaw dropped, and the Fifth Spirit laughed at her reaction. She nudged Elsa. “You’ve never told me that!!”

“Well, I don’t really like to talk about it. It was four years ago, and I still am a bit ashamed about it…”

“I understand. But when blondie is upset, she’s upset!” Giggled Honeymaren. “I’ve seen the state you can get into when you’re angry. I pity the poor enemies.”

Elsa wasn’t smiling, however. Honeymaren’s smile therefore vanished.

“You don’t get it. I wasn’t upset in that way.” Stated Elsa, now grave. “I was scared, overwhelmed, and I lost control. I didn’t do it on purpose. Also, that wasn’t a foe kingdom. It was Arendelle.”

The Sami woman got speechless. All those informations at a time… Her eyes widened as she processed everything.

“Elsa…” She muttered instinctively.

But to her surprise, the Spirit didn’t seem to be sad in any way. Like it was all part of the past, and she had completely healed from it. The blonde looked down at the hand Honeymaren had just put on hers.

“I’m okay.” Smiled Elsa, a bit weakly. “Anna helped. And I managed to thaw it all and bring back Summer. Thanks to her. She helped through the years, as well.”

“To move on?”

The blonde nodded. “The Arendellians also were comprehensive and supportive. I didn’t expect it, and it was really heartwarming.”

Honeymaren smiled. “Even if some of them got severe colds?” She joked.

Elsa giggled at her humor. And the brunette enjoyed the return of happiness on her face in the early sun rays.

“Apparently, nobody got harmed. It’s a miracle.”

“Your magic is a miracle.” Slipped Honeymaren.

Elsa turned to her with a touched expression and a light blush.

“…Thanks.” Muttered the blonde.

The brunette took another chocolate treat from the box - Arendelle’s finest, that Anna had brought as a gift - and a silence passed.

Elsa cleared her throat.

“So, yeah. That was the most powerful thing I’ve ever done. I think.”

“This, and stopping a gigantic tidal wave.”

“Oh, yes, also that.”

“Hey, you did that sudden Winter accidentally. Imagine what you could do on purpose.”

Elsa smiled. “Anna comments on that quite often. She says that if Arendelle is ever attacked or at war, we’ll be safe and done with it before the first day of fight is even over.”

The Northuldra laughed. “Especially with the help of the Spirits.”

“Especially with the help of the Spirits”, nodded Elsa, sharing her laugh.

She looked at Bruni, several meters below, playing with Gale and sticking his tongue out as he flew in the air.

“Well, some of us really aren’t the fighting type.”

Honeymaren smiled, and took a chocolate treat from the box.

“Think fast!”

“Uh?”

A chocolate treat bumped Elsa’s mouth, and she grunted at the sudden shock.

“The heck?!”

Honeymaren cackled.

“Yep, your reflexes are really bad. We’re screwed.”

“Come here, you’ll see if my reflexes are bad!” Threatened Elsa with a smile, suddenly standing up to tickle Honeymaren.

The latter hurried to roll away and stand up too, and gasped with a giggle as she ran out of her reach.

Elsa tried to catch her, grabbing her waist, and they kept running after each other in the forest, filling the woods with laughter.

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THE END

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*bows* Here we go! :D I hope you enjoyed this fanfic just as much as I enjoyed writing it (read: a LOT). Thank you SO MUCH for all the awesome feedback you gave me so far, you all, it’s really meaningful and touching. Whether you tell me you laughed, or cried, or squealed, it shows that you loved my work and I’m very happy!

The best compliment you guys gave me and that seems to come back again and again (to my delight) is that everything is “totally in-character”. It’s amazing.

I’m glad you like my style! If you want to read more of it, check out Untangling the Frozen Knots, my Frozen x Tangled crossover fanfic novel. It’s 140K words long and available in paperback version. So comfyyyy!

Cheers and thank you all again! See you on the next fanfic or drabble! ;)

#wooooo final chapter!#yes it's shorter than others haha it's so weird to write a normal length one for once #but it was a sort of bonus epilogue i wanted to bring #to finish on some private elsamaren #also i really wanted to make clear that they live together now!!#ps: their tent has tons of lanterns because i love lanterns #if it were a modern au it would be a house filled with dozens of light garlands #pps: it has been tough to create a whole character for honeymaren (let's be honest we only had like 2 seconds of her in F2)#but i managed to conceive a personality that fits elsa a lot without being too much like her or too much like anna #(sometimes she's a little bastard yes)#i had fun #frozen #frozen 2 #frozen 2 fanfics #emergence #elsamaren #honeymaren #fifth spirit elsa #frozen 2 elsa #post frozen 2 fanfics #post frozen 2 #disney #disney fanfictions

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marveliciousfanace · 5 years

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Fictober Day Thirty: “I’m with you, you know that.” – Crowley/Aziraphale

The morning after was strange for a number of reasons, not the least of which had to do with Aziraphale waking up in quite the wrong body. He wasn’t used to sleep to begin with, and so when he rose to wakefulness, still pleasantly drowsy with the last vestiges of slumber, he was quite disconcerted to find that when he stretched himself, his limbs did not behave quite as he expected. Crowley’s body was lankier and lighter than his, more muscular, and it moved differently, grounding him back in reality sooner than he would have liked. He sat up in bed and examined the hands, turning them over so as to see the palms as well as the backs, taking in the neatly trimmed fingernails and occasional faint freckle. These were Crowley’s hands. Hands that, just last night, they’d used to…

Aziraphale blushed and then startled as the form beside him shifted, groaning and stretching. “Angel?” It sounded odd in his own voice. “What are you doing up?”

“It’s morning,” he chided, blinking and putting a hand to his throat. “I say. That is going to take a moment to get used to.”

Under a lump of blankets, one blue eye popped open to peer at him, and then Crowley emerged, his movements caught somewhere between his own grace and Aziraphale’s solidity. He squinted. “Is that really what I look like in the morning?”

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen you in the morning.”

“Sure you have. I’ve camped over at your place before.”

“Yes, but never in a bed.”

Crowley gave a grunt of acknowledgement. Aziraphale didn’t have a bed, so when Crowley wanted to nap it was usually on the sofa. Aziraphale ran his fingers self-consciously through his hair. “Does it look bad?”

“I don’t know how to answer that without sounding self-serving.”

Aziraphale suppressed a smile. “Quite right.” He pulled the bedsheets up a little higher, casting around the room for his clothes, discarded in haste the night before. “Ah…”

“Wardrobe’s over there, angel.” Crowley gestured towards it, and Aziraphale eyed it from across the room, his gaze flicking down to his currently covered but definitely bare body. At the hesitation, Crowley rolled his eyes. “For fuck’s sake. It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before.” Which was fair enough. Aziraphale slipped out of bed, padding across the floor to the wardrobe.

As he flicked through the options, he said, “I was under the impression you preferred to miracle up your clothes.”

“Sure.” Crowley pushed back the covers, and even though it was Aziraphale’s own body, the angel blushed scarlet when he caught a glimpse, hurriedly averting his gaze. “Mostly I do. It’s the look of the thing. It’d look weird if I didn’t have clothes at my flat.”

“No one else would be looking.”

“Semantics.” Crowley waved a hand, stooping to collect Aziraphale’s clothes from the floor and pulling them on. “We’re all set on the plan, then?”

“Stay in each other’s bodies until Heaven and Hell inevitably try to punish us. It’s not much of a plan.”

“Well, better than nothing.”

Aziraphale began dressing too. His throat felt a little tight, and he wasn’t sure if it was him or the body. He swallowed hard. “You’re sure you want to do this? I know Hell can be quite rough, but I think you might be surprised just how vicious Heaven can-“

“Aziraphale.” Crowley cut him off with a hand on Aziraphale’s forearm. Aziraphale looked up. He didn’t think he would ever get used to staring into his own eyes. Particularly when it was so clearly Crowley staring back out. “I’m with you. You know that. You and me, whatever happens.”

“Our own side?”

“Our own side.” Crowley gave him a squeeze and then let go. “Come on. Let’s have some breakfast, and then we ought to head out.”

“That sounds perfect.” Aziraphale relaxed, twisting in the mirror to examine himself. Crowley’s body really was quite nice to look at. It would be quite awhile before he realized his collar had shifted from red to tartan, but the underwear he was very clear on. Crowley’s preference of tiny briefs was where he drew the line. He’d changed them to something more appropriate the moment he’d put them on. He cleared his throat and looked away from the mirror, hoping his appraisal hadn’t been too obvious. “What’s for breakfast, then?”

Crowley’s eyes glinted in a way that suggested he hadn’t been fooled. “Well,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets and giving a smile that showed all of his teeth, “how would you feel about crepes?”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #my thoughts #my writing #fictober #i cant seem to stop writing around the body swap scene #i cant help it i love that trope so much

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unsettlingshortstories · 4 years

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In the Penal Colony

Franz Kafka (1919)

“It is a very special machine,” said the officer to the visiting researcher as he looked with an admiring air at the machine that he knew so well. The visitor seemed to have accepted only out of politeness the commander’s invitation to witness the execution of a soldier who had been judged guilty of disobedience and of insulting his superior. The execution had moreover not aroused much interest in the penal colony. In this deep, sandy little valley surrounded by bare slopes there were only, apart from the officer and the visitor, the prisoner – a stolid, broad-mouthed man with bedraggled hair and a dissipated face – and a soldier holding a heavy chain from which smaller chains ran out to shackle the condemned man’s feet and wrists as well as his neck, and which were linked together by other chains. Moreover the condemned man looked so cringing and doglike that it seemed as if he could be left free to wander around, as one would only have to whistle for him to come back when the execution was to begin.

The visitor had little taste for the machine and was going back and forth behind the condemned man almost visibly unconcerned while the officer was making the final preparations, crawling under the machine that was mounted over a pit and then going up a ladder to inspect its upper part. This was work that really should have been left to a machinist, but the officer carried it out with obvious relish, either because he was a firm partisan of the machine or because for other reasons this work could be trusted to no one else.

"Now everything is ready," he finally cried out and came back down the ladder. He was very tired, breathing with his mouth wide open, and he had two delicate lady’s handkerchiefs stuffed into the collar of his uniform.

"These uniforms are really too heavy for the tropics," the visitor remarked, instead of asking about the machine as the officer had expected.

"Certainly," said the officer, washing oil and grease for his besmudged hands in a water basin standing nearby, "but they represent the homeland: we must never forget the homeland. – Now just look at this machine, " he continued straightaway, drying his hands with a towel and pointing at the same time to the machine, "up to now preparatory work has been necessary, but from here on the machine will function all on its own."

The visitor nodded and followed the officer. The latter was taking precautionary measures against possible malfunctions and said, "Naturally there are sometimes incidents; I certainly hope that there won’t be any today, however one must always take the possibility into account. The machine should function for twelve hours without incident. If however there is a problem it will only be a small one and will be easily fixed."

"Would you like to be seated?" he asked finally, taking a cane chair from a pile and offering it to the visitor, who couldn’t refuse. He now was sitting on the edge of a pit, into which he glanced. It was not very deep. On one side of the pit there was a wall of dug-up earth, on the other side was the machine.

"I don’t know," said the officer, "if the camp commander has explained the working of the machine to you."

The visitor made an uncertain movement of the hand; the officer asked for nothing better than to explain the functioning of the machine himself.

"This machine," he said and took hold of a crankshaft, on which he leaned, "is an invention of our former commander. I participated in all of the preliminary research and was also involved in the construction work right up to its completion. The credit for the invention however belongs to him alone. Have you heard about our former commander? No? Well, I am not exaggerating when I say that the organisation of the whole penal colony was his work. We, his friends, knew at his death that it was so fully developed that his successor, even if he had a thousand new projects in mind, wouldn’t be able to alter anything in the organisation of the camp for many years at least. Our prediction has been shown to be true; the new commander has had to recognize that. It is such a shame that you never knew the former commander! – but", the officer interrupted himself, "I am chatting, and his machine is standing here before us. It consists, as you can see, of three parts. Over time each part has acquired certain well-known names. The lower part is called "the bed", the upper part "the plotter", and the middle, suspended part here, "the harrow."

"The harrow?" questioned the visitor. He had not been listening attentively, the sun was starkly penetrating into the shadowless pit, one could hardly gather one’s thoughts together. All the more so did he admire the officer who, in a close-fitting parade uniform with epaulettes, his tunic laden with braids, was so avidly explaining his affair and at the same time tightening screws here and there with a screwdriver while he was speaking. The soldier seemed to be in a similar state of mind as the visitor. He had wrapped the chains around the condemned man’s wrists, was supporting himself with one hand on his weapon and had lowered his head down on his neck in an attitude of indifference to everything around him. That did not surprise the visitor, as the officer was talking in French and without a doubt neither the soldier nor the condemned man understood a word of it. It was all the more surprising that the condemned man was all the same carefully following the officer’s explanations. With a kind of sleepy perseverance he directed his gaze to wherever the officer was pointing, and now as the latter was interrupted by the question from the visitor he also, just like the officer, turned his gaze upon him.

"Yes, the harrow" said the officer, "the name is appropriate. The needles are arranged in the manner of a harrow, and the whole operation will be carried out like a harrow that efficiently and completely works over a field. You will understand that right away. The condemned man will be laid out here on the bed. I shall first describe the machine and only then start it up. You will be better able to follow that way. Moreover, a cogwheel in the plotter has been too worn down: it screeches so much when it is in action that one can hardly hear oneself; spare parts are unfortunately too difficult to procure. And here is the bed, as I have said. It is completely covered over with a layer of wadding, for a reason that you will soon see. The condemned man will be laid on his stomach on this wadding, naked of course; these straps are for the hands, these are for the feet, and these here are used to fasten the neck, to keep it solidly in place. Here at the head of the bed, where the man, as I have said, will be lying face down at first, there is this felt stump that can easily be regulated so that it goes directly into the man’s mouth. Its function is to prevent him from crying out and from biting his tongue. Of course, the man must let the felt into his mouth, otherwise the straps would break his the neck."

"Is that cotton wool?" asked the visitor, leaning forward.

"Yes, certainly," said the officer smiling, "feel it yourself." He took the hand of the visitor and led it over the bed. "It is a specially prepared cotton, which is why it has an unusual appearance; I shall talk more about its purpose later on."

The visitor had already started to be interested in the machine; with his hand over his eyes to protect them from the sun, he looked up at it. It was a big structure. The bed and the plotter had the same dimensions and seemed to be like two large dark chests. The plotter had been set some two meters over the bed; they were attached together in the corners by four brass rods that sparkled in the sun. Between the chests the harrow swung on a ribbon of steel.

The officer had scarcely noticed the earlier indifference of the visitor, but his attention was immediately caught by this newly awaked interest, so he paused in his explanations to give the visitor time to examine the machine without being disturbed. The condemned man imitated the visitor; because he couldn’t protect his eyes with his hands, he looked up at the machine blinking his unprotected eyes.

"And the man lies down like this," said the visitor, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs.

"Yes," said the officer, pushing his cap back a little and passing his hand over his hot face, "now listen! Both the bed and the plotter have their own electrical battery; the bed uses it for itself, the plotter uses its own for the harrow. As soon as the man is firmly attached, the bed starts moving. It trembles in tiny, very rapid impulses both sideways and up and down. You will have seen similar machines in medical institutions, but all the movements of our bed have been precisely calculated; they have to be precisely adapted to the movements of the harrow. But it is the harrow that in fact carries out the verdict of the tribunal.

"What exactly is the verdict, then?" asked the visitor.

"You don’t know that either?" said the astonished officer, biting his lip: "Excuse me, if my explanation seems somewhat disorganised, I do beg your pardon. Previously it was the duty of the camp commander to give the explanation; the new commander has however declined this honour; that he hasn’t for such an important visit, – the visitor tried to wave away the honour with both his hands, but the officer insisted on the expression – for such an important visit at all explained our way of carrying out the sentence is another novelty, that –," he had a curse on the tip of his tongue, but caught himself up and only said: "I did not agree, it is not my fault. It so happens that I am the most qualified person to explain our method of carrying out the sentence, for I have here – he took some papers out of his briefcase – the relevant drawings done by the former commander."

"Drawings done by the commander himself?" asked the visitor: "Was he a master of all trades, able to do everything himself? Was he soldier, judge, builder, chemist, draughtsman?"

"Certainly," said the officer, nodding in agreement, with a fixed, thoughtful look. Then he examined his hands; they didn’t seem to him to be clean enough to touch the drawings; he went over to the washbasin and washed them again. Then he took out a small leather briefcase and said: "Our sentence does not sound very severe. The rule that a man has infringed is to be written on his body by the harrow. For this man, for example," – the officer nodded towards to the condemned man – "will be written on his body: respect your superior!"

The visitor looked fleetingly at the man; he kept his head down after the officer had pointed to him and seemed to be straining to hear what was said, to learn whatever he could. But the movements of his thick lips pressed together showed openly that he couldn’t understand anything. The visitor would have liked to ask a number of questions, but only said after having glanced at the man: "Is he aware of the verdict?"

"No," replied the officer and wanted to continue with his explanations, but the visitor interrupted him: "He doesn’t know his own verdict?"

"No," the officer said again; he broke off for a moment as if he were waiting for the visitor to elaborate on his question, and then said: "It would serve no purpose to inform him of the sentence. He will be informed about it on his body."

The visitor would have liked to say no more, but he felt the eyes of the condemned man on him, who seemed to be asking if he approved the procedure that was being described. So the visitor, who has already leaned back on his chair, bent forward again and asked once more: "But surely he is aware that he has been judged?"

"No, nor that" said the officer and smiled at the visitor, as if he were expecting another bizarre statement from him.

"No," said the visitor and stroked his forehead, "then the man doesn’t know how his defence was carried out?"

"He had no opportunity to defend himself, " said the officer, looking aside as if he were talking to himself and didn’t want to shame the visitor by explaining such obvious things to him.

"He must however have had the opportunity to defend himself," said the visitor and got up from his chair.

The officer realised that there was a risk of interrupting his exposé of the functioning of the machine for quite a while; he went over to the visitor, took his arm, pointed with his hand to the condemned man, who now that they were directly looking at him was standing to attention – the soldier took up the chain, as well – and said: "The affair was conducted in the following manner. I am the judge here in the penal colony, in spite of my youth, because I always assisted the former commandant in his punishment duties, and also I know the machine best. The principle on which I base my judgements is: the guilt is always certain. Other courts may not respect this principle, for they have several members and have other courts over them. That is not the case here, or at least it wasn’t under the former commander. Although the new commander has shown some inclination to interfere in my jurisdiction, I have so far managed to defend myself from him, and shall continue to do so. You wanted an explanation of this case: it is as simple as anything. This morning a captain posted a complaint that this man, who had been assigned to serve him, was sleeping in front of his door; he had slept on duty. He specifically had the obligation to get up on the stroke of the hour and salute the captain in front of his door. Certainly it is not a difficult obligation and it is a necessary one, for he must remain as fresh on watch duty as on other duties. Last night the captain wanted to see if his orderly was performing his duty properly. He opened the door precisely at two o’clock and found him crumpled up sleeping. He took up his whip and struck him in the face. Instead of getting up and asking for pardon, the man wrapped his arms around his superior’s legs, shaking him and shouting: "Throw the whip away or I’ll eat you alive!" Those are the facts of the case. The captain came to me within the hour, I wrote out the details of the case, followed by the verdict. Then I had the man led away in chains. All that was very simple. If I had first summoned the man and interrogated him that would have led to confusion. He would have lied, and then, when I would have shown that they were lies, he would have changed them and replaced them with other lies and so on. Now however I have him and will not let him go. Is everything clear? But time is passing by, the execution of the sentence must begin, and I have not finished explaining the functioning of the machine."

He indicated to the visitor to sit down again, went over to the machine and began: "As you can see, the harrow corresponds to the shape of the man; this part of the harrow is for the upper body, here are the harrows for the legs. For the head there is just this little stylus. Is everything clear?" He leaned over toward the visitor in a friendly manner, ready to provide the most comprehensive explanations.

The visitor looked with furrowed brow at the harrow. The information about the procedure had not satisfied him. However he said to himself that this was a penal colony, that here special rules were necessary and that here one had to adhere strictly to military procedures. Apart from that he placed some hope in the new commander, who clearly, albeit slowly, was implementing a new set of regulations that the restricted mind of this officer could not accept. Proceeding from this train of thought the visitor asked, "Will the new commander be present for the execution?"

"That is not certain," said the officer, who was painfully affected by the direct question, and whose friendly expression became distorted: "Just because of that we must hurry up. I shall even have to shorten my explanations, much as I regret having to do so. But I could provide further clarifications tomorrow, after the machine has been cleaned up – its only default is that is gets so dirty. Now we only have time for the most necessary explanations. When the man lies down on the bed and it begins to shake, the harrow will sink down over the body. It is so regulated that it only touches the body with the tips of the needles; when that has been done, the steel spring is tightly stretched out like a rod. And now the work begins. A layman can see no external difference between the punishments. The harrow always appears to function in the same manner. With a quivering motion it sticks its points into the body that is quivering with the motion of the bed. For everyone to be able to see just how the verdict is carried out, the machine was made of glass. There were some technical difficulties in connecting the needles, but they were successfully resolved after a number of experiments. We spared no effort. And now everyone can see through the glass how the inscription is engraved into the body. Would you like to come closer to look at the needles?"

The visitor slowly got up, went over and leaned over the harrow.

"You see", said the officer "two types of needles in diverse arrangements. Each long one has a short one beside it. The long one does the writing, and the short one spurts water out to wash the blood away so as to always keep the writing clear. The bloodied water is led into this groove and finally flows into this main channel, whose drainpipe goes into the pit." The officer showed with his finger the path that the bloodied water had to take. As he ceremoniously took hold of the drainpipe with both hands to make everything as clear as possible, the visitor slowly lifted his head and, feeling in back of him with his hand, started to go back to his chair. Then he saw to his horror that the condemned man had also responded to the officer’s invitation and been examining the workings of the machine. He had dragged the sleepy soldier a bit forward and had also been leaning over the glass. It was visible from his uncertain look that he was trying to see what the two men had been looking at, but unsuccessfully as he lacked the explanation. He leaned over here and there. He constantly ran his eyes back over the glass. The visitor wanted to push him back in place, for what he was doing was probably forbidden. But the officer held the visitor firmly with one hand, took a handful of earth from the wall with the other and threw it at the soldier, who raised his eyes with a startle, saw what the condemned man had dared to do, let his weapon fall, stuck his heels into the ground and jerked the condemned man backwards so that he fell down, and then looked down at him as he was turning over with his chains clinking. "Pull him up!" cried the officer, as he could see that the visitor was all too distracted by the condemned man. The visitor even leaned away from the harrow without bothering about it and only wanted to see what was being done to the man. "Handle him carefully!" cried the officer again. He came around the machine, took him under the armpits himself and pulled the man, who was constantly slipping on his feet, upright with the help of the soldier.

"Now I know everything," said the visitor as the officer turned back to him.

"Except for the essential," said the officer, who took him under the arm and pointed upwards: "There in the plotter are the gearings that control the movements of the harrow, and these gears are set according to the drawings that are established to conform to the sentence. I still use the drawings of the former commander. Here they are," – he took some sheets out of the briefcase – "Unfortunately I can’t put them in your hands, they are the most precious things that I have. Sit down, I shall show them to you from a distance and then you will be able to clearly understand everything."

He showed him the first sheet. The visitor would have liked to say something appreciative, but only saw a labyrinth-like series of crossing lines that so completely covered the page that the white background between the lines could only be seen with difficulty.

"Read it," said the officer.

"I can’t," said the visitor.

"It is however clear," said the officer.

"It is very artfully done," said the visitor evasively, "but I cannot decipher it."

"Yes," said the officer laughing, and put the briefcase away again, "it is not a script for schoolchildren. It has to be studied for a long time. You too would certainly eventually recognize that. It couldn’t of course be written in a normal script; they mustn’t die right away, but only on average after twelve hours; the turning point is designed to take place in the sixth hour. There must also be a great many arabesques around the inscription itself; the real text only goes around the body in a small strip; the rest of the body is reserved for the embellishments. Can you now appreciate the work of the harrow and of the whole machine? – Watch!"

He jumped onto the ladder, turned a wheel, called down underneath: "Be careful, step aside!" and everything was set in motion. If the cogwheel had not creaked, it would have been splendid. He shook his fist at the noisy wheel as if he had been surprised by it and then threw out his arms, excusing himself to the visitor, and climbed quickly down to watch the functioning of the machine from below. Something was still not in order that only he had noticed; he climbed back up, put both hands inside the plotter, and then instead of using the ladder slid down on one of the rods so as to come back all the quicker, and shouted into the ear of the visitor so as to be understood in the din, with great intensity: "Do you understand the process? The harrow begins to write; when it has finished with the first phase of writing on the man’s back, the padding rolls and slowly turns the body over, to give the harrow more space to work on. Meanwhile the engraved part lies on the cotton, which with its special preparation stops the bleeding and prepares for further deepening of the engraving. Here, as the body is rotated further, the prongs at the edge of the harrow remove the cotton from the wounds, reject them into the pit, and the harrow has more work to perform. In this way the script is engraved ever deeper throughout the entire twelve hours. For the first six hours the condemned man lives almost as beforehand; he suffers only pain. After two hours the felt stump is taken away, for the man has no strength left to cry out any more. Here in this electrically heated dish by the head some warm rice broth is deposited, which the man, if he wishes, can take in with his tongue. No one forsakes that opportunity. I know of no cases, and I have a lot of experience. Only in the sixth hour does he lose the pleasure of eating. I usually knee down right here to observe what happens then. The man rarely swallows the last morsel; he only turns it over in his mouth and spits it into the pit. I have to duck down then, otherwise it goes into my face! How the man becomes still in the sixth hour! Then even the stupidest one begins to understand. It starts around the eyes. From there on it spreads out. A sight that could make one want to go under the harrow oneself. Nothing else happens, the man simply begins to decipher the script; he purses his lips as if he were listening. You have seen that it is not easy to decipher the writing with the eyes, but the man deciphers it with his wounds. It is however a lot of work; he needs six hours to achieve full understanding. Then however the harrow spits him completely out and ejects him into the pit, where he splashes down in the bloodied water and the cotton. Then the judgment is over, and we – the soldier and I – bury him."

The visitor had his ear turned towards the officer and with his hands in his coat pockets was looking at the work of the machine. The condemned man was also looking at it, without understanding. He was bending down a little to look closer at the swinging needles when the soldier, after a gesture from the officer, cut open his shirt and trousers from behind with a knife so that they fell off; he wanted to reach down for the fallen clothes to cover his nakedness, but the soldier lifted him up and shook off the last scraps of clothing. The officer set the machine in motion, and in the aura of silence that now prevailed the condemned man was placed under the harrow. The chain was taken off and in its place the straps were fastened; it almost seemed at first to be a relief for him. And the harrow sank down a step further, as he was a lean man. As the needles touched him, a shudder ran over his skin; he aimlessly stretched his left hand out while the soldier was occupied with the right hand; it was however pointing to where the observers were standing. The officer looked steadily at the visitor from the side, as if he were trying to read in his face the impressions that the execution, that he had at least superficially explained, was making on him.

The strap intended for the wrist broke; apparently the soldier had tightened it too much. The officer had to intervene; the soldier showed him the broken piece of strap. The officer went over to him saying, his face turned towards the visitor: "The machine is so complex that it must here and there tear or break something; however one must not be led astray by that. For the strap moreover there is right away a replacement; I shall use a chain instead; the smoothness of the balancing movements will however certainly be affected for the right arm." And while the chain was being put in place, he added: "The funds allocated for the maintenance of the machine are now very much reduced. Under the former commander there was a fund just for that, to which I had access. There used to be a warehouse here in which all the possible replacement parts were stored. I admit that I was almost wasteful with it, I am referring to that period, not to the present as the new commander maintains; for him everything is used as a way to criticise the old way of doing things. Now he has placed the funds for the machine under his own administration, and when I order a new belt the torn one has to be produced in justification, the new one comes only ten days later and then of a worse kind that’s not worth much. Nobody cares how I am supposed to operate the machine without straps in the meantime.

The visitor thought to himself: it is always risky to interfere in the affairs of others. He was neither a member of the penal colony nor a citizen of its mother country. If he wanted judge the execution or even to thwart its functioning, they could say to him: you are a foreigner, be quiet! To that he wouldn’t be able to reply, but could only admit to himself that he couldn’t even understand his own conduct, as he had travelled here with the intention of observing and in no way with the intention of interfering with a foreign judicial procedure. Now the situation was certainly very interesting. The injustice of the procedure and the inhumanity of the execution were undeniable. No one could suppose any selfish motivation on the part of the visitor, for the condemned man was a stranger, not a fellow countryman and not at all a man who provoked any feeling of pity in others. The visitor himself had recommendations from high-placed authorities and he had been received here with the greatest politeness; and that he had been invited to assist at the execution would seem to indicate that his impression of this judicial process was being sought. This was all the more probable as the commander, as he had just clearly heard, was no supporter of the procedure and was firmly opposed to the officer.

Then the visitor heard a cry of anger from the officer. He has just thrust the felt stump into the mouth of the condemned man, not without difficulty, when the man in an irresistible fit of nausea closed his eyes and vomited. The officer quickly raised him up from the stump and tried to turn his head towards the pit; but it was too late, the filth flowed over the machine.

"All that’s the commander’s fault!" cried the officer, and shook the brass rods senselessly, "the machine will be as filthy as a pigpen." He showed the visitor with trembling hands what had happened. "Have I not for hours at a time tried to make the commander understand that the day before an execution no food must be given to them? But the lenient new leadership is of a different opinion. The commander’s ladies stuff the man to the gills with sweets before he is taken away. He has been nourished all his life with stinking fish and now he has to eat sweets! Even in that case I wouldn’t object, but why can’t I procure a new felt stump, as I have been requesting for months now? How can anyone take this felt, on which a hundred men in their death throes have sucked and bitten, without wanting to vomit?"

The condemned man had laid his head down again and looked out peaceably; the soldier was busy cleaning the machine with the man’s shirt. The officer went over to the visitor, who instinctively took a step backwards, but the officer took him by the hand and pulled him aside. "I would like to have a few words in confidence with you," he said, "May I?"

"Certainly," said the visitor and listened with eyes lowered.

"This procedure and this execution, which you have occasion to admire here now, have no open partisans any more in our colony. I am its only defender, and at the same time the only defender left of the heritage of the previous commander. As for any further improvements of the procedure, I cannot consider them, as I need all my energy to maintain what we already have. When the former commandant was alive, the colony was full of his adherents; I have to some degree the same power of persuasion as the former commandant, but I quite lack his force; as a result the adherents have gone into hiding - there are still a number of them but none will admit to it. If today, which is an execution day, you go into a teahouse and listen to what is being said, you will perhaps only hear ambiguous comments. Those are clearly from partisans, but they are under the orders of the present commander and in view of his present attitude towards me they are of no use. And now I ask you: because of the commander and his women should this work of a lifetime" – he indicated the machine – "be done away with? Should that be allowed to happen? Even if one is a stranger who has only been on our island for a few days? There is however no time to lose, something is being prepared against my jurisdiction, there are already meetings in the commander’s office to which I am not invited; even your present visit seems to illustrate for me the whole situation: they are cowardly and send you, a foreigner, to the front.

How the executions were different beforehand! Already a day before the execution the whole valley was filled with people; everyone came just to watch; early in the morning the commander appeared with his ladies; fanfares woke everyone up; I declared that everything was ready; the whole community – no civil servant of any importance could be absent – placed itself around the machine; this pile of cane chairs is a remnant of those days. The machine was freshly polished and gleaming, and before almost every execution I received new replacement parts. Before hundreds of eyes – all spectators were standing on the tips of their toes from there to the mound – the condemned man was laid under the harrow by the commander himself. What a common soldier must do today was my work, the president of the court, and of no one else, and it was my honour. And then the execution began! No dissonant sounds disturbed the functioning of the machine. Many no longer looked on, but lay down on the sand with closed eyes; everyone knew: justice was being done. In the silence one heard only the groans of the condemned man that filtered through the felt. Today the machine no longer manages to force out a strong groan from the condemned man, when the felt is still in position; but in those times a caustic fluid that today can no longer be used dripped out from the engraving needles. And then the sixth hour arrived! It was not possible to accept all the requests to watch from close up. The commander discretely ordered that the children should be given priority; in view of my professional obligations I remained in place; often I kneeled down with two little children in my left and right arms. How we all took in the expression of understanding from the martyred face, how our cheeks were tense at the sight of this finally attained and already passing justice! What a time that was, my friend!"

The officer had clearly forgotten who was standing before him; he had put his arms around the visitor with his head on his shoulder. The visitor was embarrassed, and looked impatiently away from the officer. The soldier had finished his cleaning task and was now pouring rice broth out of a can into the bowl. He was scarcely paying attention to the condemned man, who seemed to have quite recovered and began to lap up the broth with his tongue. The soldier pushed it away, as it was meant for some time later, but he nevertheless callously dug his own dirty hands into it and ate some of it himself right in front of the hungry man.

The officer quickly took hold of himself. "I didn’t want to upset you," he said, "I know that now it is impossible to make those times understood. Moreover, the machine is still in working order and functions for itself. It functions for its own good even when it is standing here alone in this valley. And the corpse always falls in such an incredibly graceful flight into the pit at the end, even if there are no longer as before hundreds of spectators gathered around the pit like flies. In those days we had to install a railing around the pit, that has been done away with for a long time now."

The visitor wanted to turn his face away from the officer’s and looked aimlessly around. The officer thought he was looking at the desert in the valley; he took hold of his hands, turned him towards himself to be able to look into his eyes, and questioned: "Do you see the shame of it?"

But the visitor remained silent. The officer desisted for a moment; with legs stretched apart, his hands on his hips, he stood still and stared at the ground. Then he smiled encouragingly at the visitor and said: "I was standing nearby yesterday when the commander invited you. I heard the invitation. I know the commander. I understood right away what he was aiming at with the invitation. Although he has enough power to take steps against me, he doesn’t dare to do so yet; he prefers to confront me with you, a distinguished foreigner, and your judgement. His calculations have been carefully thought out: this is only your second day on the island, you haven’t known the former commandant and his way of thinking, you are biased by your European outlook, perhaps you are an opponent of capital punishment in general and of an execution by machine in particular; in addition to that, you will see the execution taking place without official participation, sadly, with a machine damaged to some extent – would that now, all in all (so the commander thinks) not easily be enough to make you consider that my method is not proper? And if you consider that it is not proper, would you not refuse to keep silent about it (I am still referring to the way of thinking of the commander), as you have confidence in your judgement that has so often been put to the test? You have however seen the customs of many peoples and learned to respect them, and therefore you will probably not speak out against the procedure with the same energy that you would have used in your own homeland. But the commander doesn’t need that. A passing, quite offhand word would be enough. It doesn’t have to exactly reflect your convictions, as long as it seems to be in agreement with his. That he will question you cleverly, I am certain of that. And his ladies will sit around in a circle with their ears wide open; you will perhaps say something like: ’The judicial procedure is different in my country’ or ’We inform the condemned man of his sentence’ or ’We have other punishments than capital punishment’ or ’We only used torture in the Middle Ages’. Those are all remarks that are so correct that they obviously seem to you to be innocent statements that don’t refer to my procedure. But how will the commander interpret them? I can just see him, the good commander, suddenly getting up from his chair and rushing out to the veranda, I can see his ladies, how they stream after him, and then I can hear his voice – the ladies call it a voice of thunder – saying: ’A distinguished European researcher, who is accustomed to examining the judicial procedures in many different countries, has just said that our antiquated custom is inhuman. After such a judgement from such a person is it naturally no longer possible for me to tolerate these methods. As of today I order that –’ and so on. You understand, you have not said what he claims you have said, you have not called my procedure inhuman, on the contrary, in your heart you see it as most humane and worthy of humankind, and you also admire this machine – but it is too late; you do not go out onto the balcony that is so full of ladies; you want them to listen to you, you want to cry out; but a woman’s hand goes over your mouth – and I and the work of the former commander are lost."

The visitor had to suppress a smile; the problem that he had thought to be so difficult had become so simple. He said evasively: "You overestimate my influence; the commander has read my letter of introduction, he knows that I am no expert on judicial procedures. If I do express my opinion, it would be my personal opinion, no more important than that of anyone else, and in any case of less importance than that of the commander, who in this penal colony, as I have been led to believe, has very extensive powers. If his opinion of this process is as firmly established as you think, then I fear that the end of this procedure is in sight, with no need of my modest contribution."

Did the officer understand that already? No, he did not understand it yet. He briskly shook his head, looked briefly over at the condemned man and at he soldier, who flinched and left the rice alone, went closer to the visitor, and stared not at his face but vaguely at his vest, and said in a lighter tone than before: "You do not know the commander; you think that you are – if you will pardon the expression – quite harmlessly in place here between him and us others; your influence, believe me, cannot be exaggerated. I was quite happy when I heard that you alone would witness the execution. This measure of the commander was directed against me, but instead I will use it to my advantage. Undistracted by false whisperings and contemptuous looks – which they could not have avoided had there been a bigger audience – you have listened to my explanations and seen the machine, and are now about to witness the execution. Your opinion is certainly already formed; if any uncertainties remain, seeing the execution will set them aside. And now I ask you to help me against the commander!"

The visitor did not let him continue. "How can I do that," he cried out, "that is quite impossible. I can be as little use to you as I can harm him."

"You can," said the officer. The visitor was startled to see that the officer was clenching his fist. "You can," repeated the officer more insistently. "I have a plan, that must succeed. You think that your influence is not sufficient. I know that it is. But granted that you are right, is it not then all the more necessary to do everything possible to be able to continue with this whole procedure? Listen to my plan. For it to be carried out, it is above all necessary that today in the colony you use the utmost reserve about your judgement of the procedure. If you are not directly questioned about it, you must not in any case utter an opinion; your statements have to be short and vague; it should be evident that it is difficult for you to talk about it, that you feel bitter about it, that if you have to talk openly about it you begin to curse. I am not asking you to lie, in no way; you should only answer curtly something like ’yes, yes, I have seen the execution,’ or ’yes, I have heard all of the explanations.’ Only that, nothing more. As for the bitterness that people should notice, it would be enough for it not to be to the commander’s way of thinking. Of course he will completely misunderstand and interpret it in his own way. That is the basis of my plan.

Tomorrow there will be a big headquarters meeting presided by the commander, who naturally intends to make a show out of it. A gallery has been installed around the meeting room, that is always full of people. I have been summoned to take part in the deliberations, but I am extremely reluctant to do so. In any case you will be invited to participate: if you adhere to my plan, the invitation will become a pressing request. Should you however for whatever unknown reason not be invited, you must firmly ask to be allowed to attend; that you will then be authorised is certain. Then, tomorrow morning sit with the ladies in the commander’s lodge. He will for sure often verify with a glance that you are up there. After various indifferent, ridiculous commercial affairs of interest only for the members – mostly about harbour works, always harbour works – the question of the penal procedure will be raised. In case it is not brought up by the commander’s party, or not soon enough, then I will ensure that it is bought up. I will get up and make a report on today’s execution. Quite short, just the report. Such reports are not normally made there, but I shall do it anyway. The commander will thank me, as usual, with a friendly smile and then, he won’t be able to hold back, he will take advantage of the occasion. ’Just now’ he will say or something suchlike, ’a report of the execution has been made. I only want to add to this report that the distinguished researcher, who as you all know has so exceptionally honoured our colony with his visit, has witnessed this execution. And our assembly today is made all the more important by his presence. Do we not want to ask this important researcher now how he judges this execution in the old manner, and the procedure that preceded it?’ Naturally there will be applause on all sides, general agreement, and I shall be the loudest of all. The commander will now bow towards you and say: ’Then I shall ask him the question on behalf of us all.’ And now you come to the railing. Put your hands on it for all to see, otherwise the ladies will take them and play with the fingers. – And now we come to your talk. I don’t know how I shall be able to support the tension of the hours between now and then. In your speech you must not be restricted, say the truth with emphasis, lean over the railing, shout out, yes, shout out your opinion to the commander, your unshakeable conviction. But perhaps you do not want to do that, it’s not in keeping with your character, in your country people behave differently, that is true; that is also quite sufficient, don’t stand up, just say a few words, whisper them, it will be enough that the officials beneath you hear them; you don’t have to talk at all about the failed part of the execution, about the creaky wheel, the broken strap, the reused felt, no, I take all that upon myself, and believe me, if my talk is not interrupted, it will force them to their knees, they will have to acknowledge: former commander, I bow before you. – That is my plan; will you help me carry it out? But of course you want to, more than that, you must."

And the office took the visitor by both arms and looked at him straight in the face, breathing heavily. The last sentence had been shouted so loudly that even the soldier and the condemned man had looked up; in spite of not being able to understand, they both stopped eating and looked at the visitor while continuing to chew.

From the beginning there had been no doubt about the answer that he had to give; life had taught him too much to be able to hesitate now; he was basically honourable and he was not afraid. Nevertheless he hesitated an instant because of the stares of the soldier and the condemned man. Finally however he said, as he had to: "No."

The officer blinked his eyes several times, but nevertheless did not take his gaze away. "Would you like an explanation?" offered the visitor. The officer nodded silently that he would. "I am an opponent of these methods," the visitor now said, "even before you took me into your confidence – that naturally I shall not betray under any circumstances – I was already wondering if I had the right to protest against your methods and if my protest could have the slightest chances of success. It was obvious to whom I must first speak: naturally to the commander. You have made that even more clear to me, without having particularly reinforced my opinion, on the contrary, your honourable conviction touched me, although it cannot lead me astray."

The officer remained silent, turned towards the machine, took hold of one of the brass rods and then, bent somewhat backwards, looked up at the plotter, as if he was verifying that everything was in order. The soldier and the condemned man seemed to have become friendly. Difficult as it was for him to make any movements, he was so tightly fastened, the condemned man made a gesture to the soldier, who leaned over him; the man whispered something to him, and the soldier nodded in agreement.

The visitor went towards the officer and said; "You still do not know what I shall do. I shall certainly give the commander my point of view, but not in a meeting, only eye-to-eye; I shall also not stay here long enough to be able to be summoned to any meeting, as I shall be leaving early tomorrow morning or at least be embarking then."

It didn’t seem as if the officer had heard. "The procedure hasn’t convinced you either," he said to himself and smiled, like an elder smiles at a child and keeps his real thoughts hidden behind the smile.

"Then it’s time," he said finally and looked suddenly at the visitor with clear eyes that harboured a kind of request, a semblance of an appeal for participation.

"It is time for what?" asked the visitor uncomfortably, but received no reply.

"You are free," said the officer to the condemned man in his own language. He did not at first believe it. "Go on, you are free, "said the officer. For the first time the man’s face became really alive. Was it true? Was it a passing fancy of the officer’s that could be rescinded? Had the foreign visitor arranged to have him graced? What was it? His face seemed to be expressing all of this. But not for long. Whatever the reason was, he certainly wanted to be free if he was could be and he began to shake himself, as much as the harrow would allow it.

"You are going to rip the straps off," cried the officer, "be calm! We’ll open them up!" And he put himself to work with the help of the soldier, to whom he made a sign. The condemned man laughed softly and wordlessly, sometimes turning towards the officer, sometimes towards the soldier, without forgetting the visitor.

"Pull him up here," the officer ordered the soldier. That had to be done carefully because of the harrow. The condemned man already had some marks on his back from the straps as a result of his impatience.

Thereafter the officer scarcely bothered himself with him at all. He went up to the visitor, took out the little leather briefcase again, leafed through it, finally found the page that he was looking for and showed it to the visitor. "Read it," he said.

"I can’t," said the visitor, "I have already said that I can’t read these pages."

"Nevertheless, look at the page carefully," said the officer and came beside him, to read it with him. As that was of no help, he led his little finger over it from a considerable height, as if the page in no case might be touched, to help the visitor read it. The visitor made an effort, at the very least to give the officer some satisfaction, but to no avail. The officer began to spell out the text and then he read it out continuously. " ’Be just!’ – it says – now you can read it."

The visitor leaned so deeply over the page that the officer, fearing that he would touch it, moved it further away; then the visitor said nothing more, but it was obvious that he still had not been able to read anything. "It says, ’Be Just!’ " the officer said again.

"That may be," said the visitor, "I do believe that it says so there."

"Very well," said the officer, at least partially satisfied, and went up the ladder with the page; he inserted it with great care into the plotter and began what was clearly a major reorganisation of the cogworks; it was a very laborious task, he also had to manipulate very small cogwheels, and sometimes the head of the officer disappeared completely inside the plotter to control the settings precisely enough.

The visitor followed this uninterrupted work from down below; his neck became stiff and his eyes were hurting from the sunlight streaming down from the sky. The soldier and the condemned man only bothered with one another. The shirt and the trousers of the condemned man, that had been lying in the pit, were lifted up by the soldier on the point of his bayonet. The shirt was frightfully dirty, and the man washed it in the basin. When he put the shirt and trousers on, both the soldier and the condemned man burst out laughing, as they were both split all the way up in the back. Perhaps the condemned man felt himself obliged to amuse the soldier, for he turned himself around in a circle with the torn clothes in front of the soldier, who bent down and clapped himself on the knee, laughing. Nevertheless they still tried to behave correctly in the presence of the officer and the visitor.

When the officer was finally ready, he glanced over all the sections of the machine with a smile, put the covering back on the plotter that had been uncovered, climbed down, looked into the pit and then at the condemned man, seemed satisfied that he had recuperated his clothes, went over to the wash basin to clean his hands, saw too late how dirty it was, appeared to be somewhat saddened that he could no longer wash his hands, dipped them finally – this substitute did not satisfy him but he had to accept it – in the sand, stood up and began to unbutton his uniform. The two ladies’ handkerchiefs that he had stuffed behind his tie then fell into his hands. "Here are your handkerchiefs," he said and threw them to the condemned man. And to the visitor he said in explanation: "Presents from ladies."

In spite of the evident haste with which he took off the vest of his uniform and then completely undressed himself, he handled each piece of clothing with care; he even ran his fingers over the silver braids on his uniform and shook a tassel upright into place. This care was hardly compatible though with the way he threw each piece of clothing into the pit with a reluctant flick as soon as he had finished handling it. The last thing that remained was his short sword with its sling. He took the sword out of its sheath, broke it in two, then took up everything, the pieces of sword, the sheath and the sling and threw them so roughly away that they made a clanging sound down below in the pit.

Then he was standing naked there. The visitor bit his lip and said nothing. He knew full well what was about to happen, but he had no right to hinder the officer in any way. If the procedure to which the officer was so attached really was on the point of being eliminated – possibly as a consequence of the intervention of the visitor, who felt duty-bound to have come – then the officer was behaving quite correctly; the traveler would in his position not have done otherwise.

The soldier and the condemned man did not at all understand at first, for a while they had not been paying attention. The condemned man was quite overjoyed to have handkerchiefs again, but he couldn’t rejoice about it for long, for the soldier snatched them away from him with a quick, unforeseeable gesture. Then the man tried to pull the handkerchiefs out of the back of his belt where the soldier had stuck them, but the latter was watchful. They were quarrelling like this half-playfully. Only when the officer was standing completely naked did they take notice. The condemned man in particular seemed to be the most affected by the new situation. What had happened to him was now happening to the officer. Perhaps it would go to its final conclusion. The foreign visitor had probably given an order for it to be done. That was also revenge. Without having himself having had to go through it all the way, he would thus be revenged at the end. A big, silent laugh appeared on his face and did not go away.

The officer had now turned towards the machine. Although it had already been quite clear that he fully understood the machine, now it was almost overwhelming how he interacted with it and how it obeyed him. He had only approached his hand to the harrow and it rose up and sank down several times until it had reached the right level to receive him; he only had to grasp the bed at the edge and it immediately began to quiver; the felt stump rose up towards his mouth, one saw that the officer didn’t want to take it in, but the hesitation only lasted an instant, he submitted right away and it went in. Everything was ready, except that the straps hung down over the sides, but they were obviously unnecessary, as the officer did not need to be tied down. Then the condemned man noticed the loose straps and felt that the execution was not perfectly in order if the straps were not tied down; he zealously made a sign to the soldier, and they came over to attach the officer. Who already had his foot extended to push the crank that would set the plotter in motion; then he saw that the two men had arrived, and he pulled his foot back and let himself be strapped down. Now however he could not reach the starting crank; neither the soldier nor the condemned mad would be able to find it, and the visitor had firmly decided not to make a move. It was unnecessary; scarcely had the straps been put in place, the machine set to work; the bed trembled, the needles danced on the skin, the harrow swung back and forth. The visitor had already been staring at it for a while before he remembered that a wheel in the plotter should have been squeaking; but all was quiet, not the slightest hum was to be heard.

The machine literally avoided attracting attention by means of this silent functioning. The visitor looked over towards the soldier and the condemned man. The condemned man was the livelier of the two, everything about the machine interested him; at times he was bending down, at times he was leaning over it, he always had the forefinger pointing out, showing something to the soldier. The visitor found this distressing. He had decided to remain here until the end, but he couldn’t stand the view of those two for long. "Go back to your quarters," he said. The soldier was perhaps ready to do so, but the condemned man took the order as a punishment. He begged pleadingly with folded hands to be allowed to stay, and as the visitor, shaking his head, refused to give way, he even kneeled down. The visitor saw that orders were of no use and wanted to go over and push the two away. Then he heard a noise from the plotter. He looked up. Was that a cogwheel malfunctioning? But it was something else. The cover of the plotter rose slowly up and then swung open. The teeth of a cogwheel became apparent and were rising up, and soon the whole wheel appeared; it was as if some powerful force was squeezing the plotter together, so that there was no more room left for the wheel; the wheel pivoted towards the edge of the plotter and fell down, stuck upright for an instant in the sand and then fell over. But already another rose up and many followed it, large ones, small ones, scarcely distinguishable one from another they all came to the same end, it always seemed as if the plotter must in any case now be quite empty, and then a new, particularly numerous group would appear, rise up, fall down, stick in the sand and fall over. With this the condemned man quite forgot about the visitor’s order, the cogwheels completely fascinated him, he wanted to take hold of one and the soldier came along to help him, but drew his hand back fearfully, for yet another wheel came right after it that intimidated him, at least during the first phase of its fall.

The visitor for his part was troubled; the machine was evidently falling apart; its quiet functioning was an illusion; he felt that he must now attend to the officer, who could no longer take care of himself. While his attention had been taken up by the fall of the cogwheels he had neglected to observe the rest of the machine but now, after the last cogwheel of the plotter had gone down, when he looked at the harrow he had a new, even sharper surprise. The harrow was no longer writing, it was only sticking the needles in, and the bed was no longer swinging the body back and forth, but was lifting it up with a quivering motion onto the needles. The visitor wanted to intervene, if possible to bring everything to a stop; this was not the ordeal that the officer had wanted to experience, this was direct murder. He stretched out his hands. The harrow had already raised the transpierced body up over the side, as it normally only did in the twelfth hour. Blood few in a hundred streams, not mixed with water, as the water pipes had also now broken down. And then there was the final malfunction – the body did not free itself from the long needles, but hung over the pit with blood pouring out, without falling down. The harrow wanted to return to its previous position, but as it saw for itself that it wasn’t free of its burden, it remained poised over the pit.

"Help! Help!" the visitor cried to the soldier and the condemned man on the other side and took hold of the officer’s feet. He wanted to press against the feet and for the other two to take hold of the officer’s head on the other side, so that he could be slowly lifted off the needles. But now the two couldn’t make up their minds to come over, and the condemned man turned right around; the visitor had to go over to them and drag them forcibly over to the officer’s head. There he looked almost against his will at the face of the corpse. It was as it had been when he was alive: no sign of the promised redemption was discernible; the officer had not found in the machine what all the others had found there; the lips were closed tightly together, the eyes were open and seemed alive, the gaze was calm and convinced, the tip of a big steel needle pierced the forehead.

***

As the visitor, with the soldier and the condemned man behind him, came up to the first buildings in the colony, the soldier pointed to one and said: "Here is the teahouse."

On the ground floor of the building was a deep, low, cavern-like area whose walls and ceiling were blackened with smoke. It was open all along the street side. Although the teahouse was hardly different from the other buildings of the colony, that apart from the palatial construction of the commander were all very shabby, it evoked historical souvenirs of the colony’s past for the visitor and he felt the force of the bygone times. He approached closer, followed by his attendants, passing between the unoccupied tables in the street in front of the teahouse, and breathed the cool, moist air that wafted out from the interior.

"The old man is buried here," said the soldier, "a place in the graveyard was refused him. They were undecided for a time where to bury him and finally they buried him here. The officer certainly didn’t tell you about that, for naturally he was most ashamed of it. He even tried to dig the old man up at night a few times, but he was always chased away."

"Where is the grave?" asked the visitor, who couldn’t believe the soldier. Straightaway both of them, the condemned man as well as the soldier, went up in front of him and pointed with outstretched hands further away, to where the grave was supposed to be. They led the visitor up to the back wall, where men were sitting at a few tables. They were apparently harbour workers, strong men with short, shining, full black beards. All were in shirtsleeves, their shirts were torn, they were poor, humble people. As the visitor neared, a few got up and stood against the wall, looking straight at him.

"He’s a foreigner," the visitor heard in whispered tones around him, "he wants to see the grave." They pushed one of the tables aside, under which there really was a gravestone. It was a simple stone, low enough to be able to be hidden under a table. It bore an inscription in very small script, that the visitor had to go down on his knees to be able to read. The inscription was: "Here rests the old commander. His followers, who now cannot be named, have dug this grave for him and set this stone. There is a prophecy that the commander will rise up after a certain number of years and lead his followers out of this building to reconquer this colony. Believe and wait!"

After the visitor had read it and stood up, he saw a ring of men standing around him and smiling, as if they had read the inscription with him, found it amusing and wanted him to be of the same opinion. The visitor pretended not to have noticed, distributed a few coins among them, waited until the table had been pushed back on top of the gravestone, left the teahouse and went down to the harbour.

The soldier and the condemned man had found friends in the teahouse, who kept them with them. They soon had to tear themselves away, for the visitor was already in the middle of a long stairway leading down to the boat as they were running after him. Apparently they wanted at the last minute to make the visitor take them with him. While the visitor was dealing down below with the boatman about the transfer to the steamboat, the two rushed down the steps silently, not daring to cry out. But when they came down the visitor was already in the boat and the boatman had just pushed off from the dock. They could have jumped into the boat, but the visitor raised a heavily knotted rope from the bottom of the boat, threatened them with it and prevented them from jumping in.

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darkfalcon-z · 7 years

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You cannot take it back, make it undone. Chapter 4.

DBZ alternate universe fanfiction

Raditz, Gohan. Nappa

almost 5000 words, GEN, space fantasy/soft science fiction/slice of life (I know, right),

warning for child abuse, general warning for Saiyans.

Many thanks to Over8000 for proofreading

Comments are very, very welcome

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Nappa stayed a while longer. He needed to brief Raditz about how their current mission was proceeding; he also wanted to talk about the cub. He wouldn't deny he was curious and he suspected Raditz could use some brainstorming about the brat’s training.

Inquisitively Nappa looked at small, quivering creature that squatted at Raditz’s feet. The boy was clad in ridiculous, colourful garb which covered his whole body save for his head and hands, making it impossible to tell how big he was when he was crouched down. Most likely, the clothing was typical for whatever backwater little mud ball he came from. In Nappa’s opinion, it was hardly an outfit appropriate for a young warrior.

The boy barely held back tears and he reeked of fright. Nappa scowled at the disgusting behaviour the cub displayed. To think this little pitiful thing was a Saiyan! He was disappointed. Could there really be any hope for such a weak creature?

At least the cub looked up at him with fearful curiosity, but kept quiet. Was he even old enough to talk?

Gohan observed the adult Saiyans with frightened eyes in an attempt to make some sense of the situation. Everything seemed scary, especially because his surroundings were so foreign.

"What do you think?" Raditz asked Nappa.

"You need a miracle," the answer came.

"I know, right," Raditz sighed. "But tell me if you have any ideas how to keep him alive and strengthen him up."

"Is he sick?"

"What?! No! It's just, he is so fucking weak. I don't know what his parents were thinking. I asked him about it before we got here; he never got his own food, he can't tell his own health at all. Hell, from all I can tell he can't scent properly. And there is this attitude." Raditz gestured towards the cub cowering at his feet.

Nappa shrugged. "Whatever you do with him, the sooner you begin the better."

"Oh, right." Raditz kicked Gohan. "The boot camp starts NOW! Go, run to that tree and once you get to that rock over there, continue running between the two until I tell you," he ordered.

Gohan scurried away and could no longer hear the adults talking.

The discussion between the two Saiyans took a while.

When Raditz finally called Gohan back, Nappa was preparing to leave.

But before Nappa flew away, Gohan managed to hear him say: "Oh, and Raditz, you've made a sound judgment by bringing the cub back with you." Gohan didn't quite know what to make out of that.

Raditz just nodded in reply and turned towards the weary Gohan.

"Tired already?" He grabbed Gohan roughly by the collar of his changshan and put him under one arm. "We are going back to the pod," he said, and took off into the sky.

*** Both Raditz and Nappa agreed that despite the fact Saiyan cubs were expected to be warriors, the newest addition to their team was too young for a regular war (or purging) campaign. However, Vegeta would surely demand the cub be in full fighting condition as soon as possible so Gohan could join them on missions without a delay.

Vegeta himself was a prodigy. He had no patience and couldn’t understand.

It was different thing entirely to send infants out to deal with weak planets on their own, where they could adjust to the environment at their own pace and didn't have to keep up with older warriors. Of course, this was a risky trial but it was supposed to be one, so the cubs could prove their worth. And even if they failed, well, there were other brats who would have a chance to grow up and become warriors. There were always more adult Saiyans to produce even more babies to replace those that had fallen.

This system had been created to replace the long standing tradition of leaving weak cubs out in the wild to die of exposure in order to preserve resources for stronger ones, who actually had a chance for survival. Of course, if the brats proved themselves by surviving and returning they were welcomed back among their people. Honestly, they probably had a better chance on weak, foreign planets than in the hostile environment of planet Vegeta.

With only one cub to raise, this practice was unnecessary. The adults could use whatever resources they deemed necessary on him, but it also meant that they only had one chance to get it right. If they succeeded, well, that would open interesting possibilities for the future. First, they needed to figure out a plan to help the brat survive. Even infant cubs who had been sent on purging missions were better off than this boy!

Raditz was perfectly willing to push the cub into a harsh training regime, but he was also sure that going too fast would have negative consequences on the brat’s future development. He couldn’t just force the child to overextend himself without consequences. Besides, Nappa confirmed that even if they did manage to gain any short-term success, the long-term consequences of overtraining could be devastating on young, overzealous Saiyans.

Raditz didn’t think it was necessary just yet to bring his new charge up to the level expected from other low born cubs his age. Nonetheless, the brat needed to progress quickly and show promise of further growth of power in the near future. If the cub could maintain good health, it would be easier to steadily raise his power level. The long term gains would be greater than if the cub initially overtrained and showed good initial power boost, and then plateaued.

With luck and some convincing, Raditz hoped that Vegeta would accept his reasoning. It helped that Nappa agreed with him. That was a relief, because that didn’t happen much as of late.

However, if the cub didn’t have decent power he would need some skill. Unfortunately, battle skills just couldn't be fostered without sufficient power to protect the trainee from injuries. The only solution that Raditz could think of to this impossible predicament was to teach the cub how to efficiently use what little power he had.

Eventually, Raditz decided it was best to build up brat’s stamina first before starting on actual combat training. Nappa agreed this was a good idea as well. Raditz had felt it would be a good idea to introduce the cub to Power Concentration Forms and Forms of Remembrance from the beginning, but it was more important to teach the cub skill necessary for survival first. There were more urgent and practical if the cub was going to make it on his own. This planet didn't even have a moon. It could wait.

*** The cub was told to stay near the space pod and to always sleep inside of it. Raditz showed him how to open and close the pod's hatch and instructed that the inside of the craft must be always kept as clean as possible. He also explained that he had put a blockade on the controllers inside so that the cub wouldn't have to worry about accidentally messing anything up or starting the engines.

Once the sleeping arrangements had been discussed, Raditz introduced the cub to the fine art of finding nourishment in foreign terrain. He explained what to look for and the most rudimentary ways to tell if the food was safe. He supplemented the lesson with a demonstration. Raditz plucked out various plants, with their roots attached, and pointed out their physical characteristics, especially their odours. Next, he explained what they meant. Of course, this wasn't something that could be taught in one day; it took years to learn, but it should be sufficient for the cub to survive to the next day without poisoning himself.

When Raditz decided that he was done teaching survival for now, he went over the daily training regime with the cub and warned that he would know whether or not the brat followed through. That last bit was only partly true. Raditz could tell if the cub had trained or not, but he could only guess at how much he had done. But the cub did not need to know that!

*** On the next day, Raditz landed near the pod. The cub was nowhere to be seen. No problem. He could use the time to assess the brat’s activities by studying the area. It wasn't as if the cub could actually escape or get lost. It would be all too easy to find him.

Since he didn’t need to worry about his charge’s current whereabouts, Raditz looked for tracks to see what Gohan was doing and, more importantly, for signs to indicate the boy’s health. He noticed tracks that indicated the cub had performed the training exercises that he had been ordered to do. The cub, despite his meager weight, had left an imprint on the low vegetation and soft soil along with the lingering scent of Saiyan sweat .

Products of metabolism were all too easy to spot for someone with a Saiyan’s acute sense of smell. He'd need to talk to the cub about covering the traces later, but at this point it was hardly the most urgent lesson. Raditz hadn't seen any evidence of vomiting, and that was a good sign. Probably. He couldn't tell one hundred percent unless he checked in on his young charge.

He stayed closed to the ground as he proceeded with his search.

Raditz found the cub squatting near a stream - the nearest source of drinking water. The boy did not spot him until he approached close. When the child finally turned his head in Raditz’s direction and saw how close the Saiyan was, he was so startled that he almost fell forward into the stream.

Raditz laughed. "Easy there! It's just me."

The cub did not look very reassured.

Raditz crouched next to the boy. "Have you eaten?" "Yes," a tiny voice answered.

"Have you eaten enough?"

No answer.

Raditz sighed. That meant “no,” and to be honest he had expected this. It meant that the cub had been able to find some food nonetheless. At least, that was a start.

He leaned over and sniffed at the cub thoroughly. The cub looked puzzled for some reason.

"How do you feel?"

Judging by the smell, the cub must had eaten some succulent leaves, and he had dug out tubers rich in starch. It was also apparent he had eaten some kind of water molluscs. Maybe he had been looking for more just now. He also had collected small sour flowers that grew everywhere in the area and were rich in vitamins. Good! Out of these things, only the molluscs could be tricky but they were also the most valuable source of nutrition.

The smell told him that the cub had not vomited. That was a promising sign. Most likely, the cub was taking well to the foreign diet. There was always a chance the brat had not inherited the Saiyan iron stomach. And even Saiyan cubs could develop digestive issues if in new environments or under a lot of stress.

"Hungry." With some hesitation, the same small voice answered Raditz again.

"Mmm." That was as expected, and a good sign as well. "What else? Does your head hurt?"

"Yes," Gohan admitted. "Everything hurts."

It was weird to be sniffed like that. Gohan resisted the urge to move away.

"Toughen up," Raditz told him. "This is normal. We're on a planet where the gravity is stronger than on that dirt ball of yours. And you're doing training you've neglected before. But tell me next time if the pain gets worse."

Without warning, Raditz grabbed Gohan’s head and started to tousle Gohan’s hair in a surprisingly gentle manner.

"What are you doing?" Gohan felt uncomfortable with the closeness. He grimaced.

"What do you think?! Checking for the vermin that might've crawled in your hair," Raditz explained. "You need to check all the places that you can reach yourself. I mean all, like between your toes or your crotch. You aren't a newborn infant, I won't do it for you." He patiently ran his fingers through Gohan's thick strands. "Insects may carry disease. Saiyans don't get ill easily, but it's better to be safe than sorry." He turned Gohan's head to the side and peered in his ears.

Than Raditz did something even weirder and licked his forehead.

"Why did you did that?" Gohan asked, taken aback.

"To tell if you’re healthy. Haven't any of your caretakers taught you that?"

"No," Gohan answered. "Am I healthy? How does it work?" he inquired, intrigued.

Raditz let the cub go. In spite of his sudden interest, the boy showed obvious signs that he was uncomfortable with how close Raditz was. Once released, the boy immediately retreated. Still, Raditz knew he had all of the child’s attention. For his part, he wasn't surprised that the cub did not know how to self diagnose - it seemed like the people he had lived with never let him do anything for his own wellbeing - but he'd expected someone to at least take proper care of the cub's health.

"By taste," he supplied after a minute of consideration. "There are many substances in your sweat that can indicate the state of your health that you can determine by smell or taste. The same goes for other substances your body releases, and for blood. And, yes, it seems you are indeed healthy. It's individualised, though. I need to observe you for some time to be completely certain."

The cub nodded but continued to stare at him in a focused and anticipatory manner. Raditz felt it was a good moment to proceed with further explanations, since he had the cub's full attention anyway.

He left half an hour later after showing the cub how to remove insects; one had burrowed into the soft skin of the boy's forearm. Then Raditz promised to bring the boy some more food if he trained diligently.

*** Living on an alien planet sure was scary, but in many ways it was also a very fascinating experience for Gohan.

The planet had two suns, but no moon. Instead, other planets were visible in the evening sky. They looked smaller than Earth's moon, but they were much bigger than any of the stars Gohan was used to. The sky was blue, but not the same kind of blue as the sky on Earth. It was always fascinating to look up.

There were trees, but they were not as tall as those back home. There was no grass. Instead, most of the ground was covered in a carpet of moss that was encrusted with varying sorts of succulents and different kinds of blooming plants. Fortunately for him, many of those plants turned out to be edible even if they did not taste the best. He was learning from Raditz how to tell what was safe to eat, and also what was like to be left alone. Gohan observed many strange creatures; most he could describe as flightless birds, but there were also lizards and even some furry quadrupeds which could be mammals.

On some days, Gohan woke up to find the pod which served as his bed had moved during the night while he slept. He was quite startled the first time it happened, but he figured it made sense since Raditz was moving around the planet as well. It was more convenient for him to fly shorter distances to check up on Gohan.

In each new place, it was easy to find water. On the other hand, he never saw a bigger body of water than a stream and wondered if there are any lakes or seas on this planet.

It was quite fun to explore the new areas. Gohan hoped that maybe if he found some people they could help him to get away from the Saiyans, but no sign of sapient life could be detected anywhere near the places he stayed. He was afraid to go too far away from his pod and not be able to find his way back before night-time. Really, he did not know how far away or in what direction people might be. He suspected Raditz had purposefully chosen these desolate areas for his training.

Raditz warned him that dangerous predators were active during the night. He speculated that Gohan would not be able to defend himself from them. With a big grin on his face, he described in detail how Gohan would be torn to pieces if they found him, and made sure to mention that the creatures ate their prey alive. Gohan was not sure if he was lying or not. He decided not to take a chance.

The inside of his craft was safe, though. The space was cramped, but Gohan was also small; he could curl up and sleep on the seat designed for an adult with relative comfort. It was also warmer than the outside, even during the day, so he managed to get by without any blankets.

The outdoors were rather chilly. It seemed the suns did not give much warmth to the planet. Gohan rarely took off his now dirty and tattered changshan except during the most intense parts of his training.

Raditz showed up every day when he could. If he couldn’t, for some reason, Nappa dropped by to check up on him.

Neither ever stayed for long, but at least they talked to him and taught him new things about dealing with his environment. Gohan soon realised that their tips were usually quite helpful.

While he did not like either Saiyan and was afraid both of them, he liked being left all alone for so long even less. Gohan preferred when Raditz came to visit, even though he soon noticed Nappa was less likely to be in bad mood and (by extension) easily irritable. Nappa was loud, he talked a lot about how much fun to was to kill people, and he laughed about it too.

When Gohan asked Raditz if he thought killing people was fun as well, he said ‘yes’. Gohan could tell by his expression that he was happy Gohan had asked, but he did not elaborate any further. Instead he said they had little time, and before he went back to work he needed to teach Gohan a special exercise that would help Gohan concentrate his energy.

Gohan already knew that 'work' was killing people. In truth, it did not appear as if Raditz was having much fun. Mostly he seemed tired and sometimes irritated. However. Gohan did not dare to question any further.

For some reason, Raditz just seemed safer than Nappa. Maybe it was because Gohan saw more of him, or maybe because he was more focused on teaching Gohan things that were actually useful. Or maybe it was because he brought Gohan food every other day. It was not enough to fill up a Saiyan child, but it was a significant contribution to his diet nonetheless. If only Raditz didn't drop hints each time that needing help with getting your own food was somehow shameful.

At least Vegeta never came to see him. Gohan was able to find small consolation in that fact.

Whenever Raditz showed up, he looked for and picked out any insects that had started living on Gohan's head and in his hair. He also sniffed Gohan's scent and licked his forehead or wrist every time, and made other examinations too. Sometimes he asked Gohan to undress and touched his tummy or areas around his lymph nodes, or sometimes he ordered Gohan to take off his boots and inspected his feet. From time to time, he looked into Gohan's eyes and under the eyelids or checked his teeth and mouth. Once he realised Gohan didn’t actually understand what he was doing and why, he started to explain with relative patience.

Gohan figured it was the same as a doctor giving someone a routine check-up and he soon became calm about it. He still didn’t like it, but that was because he wasn’t fond of Raditz and didn’t want to be close to him, not because he was bothered by the treatment itself. Raditz also urged Gohan to conduct such examinations by himself to understand better how it was done and what was going on with his body.

Nappa was never so thorough with his examinations. He barely took the time to sniff Gohan’s scent.

Raditz examined Gohan's tail as well. In fact, it was only part of the body he actually asked permission to touch first. Gohan noticed this fact, and asked if it was wrong to touch someone’s tail without that person agreeing to it first. And the answer was that, of course, it was very wrong. Then Gohan asked if it was okay for Vegeta to touch others’ tails. He learned that Vegeta has the authority to do so as a punishment. For some reason, the question earned a him hard and painful slap in the face from Raditz.

With time, Raditz demanded that Gohan do more and more types of exercise. Forms that were meant to help him gain mastery of his energy weren't that bad. They weren't any harder than the training to increase his stamina and muscle strength, but they required more precision. The same could be said for the forms that would help Gohan ‘remember himself’, as Raditz put it. Gohan wasn't quite sure why he needed those forms - he thought he remembered himself and didn't need any help with that! Most included his tail, which Gohan was not used to employing in a conscious way because no one on Earth had such appendage. So in addition to his normal routine, he had to additionally do exercises for tail fitness and precision of its movements.

Raditz also made him practice punching and kicking. This was much less pleasant. Shadow-boxing was okay, but actually trying to break something with his hands or feet was often painful. His limbs were soon covered with scratches and bruises. Complaining only got him a painful kick between the shoulder blades. However, Raditz checked on his wounds every time he showed up and sometimes let Gohan take a break to recover. Of course while he healed, he had another long list of exercises to work on that did not involve injured body part.

*** Gohan sat still hidden in thick scrub. For some time now, he had been observing a flightless bird that must have been almost as tall as he was. The creature clawed at the dirt, presumably in search for food.

The bird fascinated Gohan. He thought it was bird, because its body plan was similar to an ostrich with very short neck, but it did not look like anything he had ever seen on Earth. Its huge, wide beak was covered with bumps and warts that gave it a rather unpleasant look. Its feathers were green and its tail feathers reminiscent of a peacock. That is, if someone pulled most feathers of its tail out and mangled the remaining few. Gohan had seen other birds like it already, although some were colored reddish-brown rather than green.

Raditz joined Gohan without making a noise. But this time Gohan wasn't startled; he caught the Saiyan’s scent before the other approached.

He couched next to Gohan but did not interrupt his observations. Instead he peered curiously from Gohan, to the bird, and back as if waiting for something to happen. After a few moments a big lizard in the bushes nearby made a noise and it scared the bird away.

"Damn, and there it went," said Raditz. "What were you doing staring at it for so long?"

"I was observing it. I like observing animals in the forest. I did it a lot back home," Gohan explained timidly.

"I see." Raditz smiled at him. This time it was actually a genuinely nice smile - an expression Gohan hadn't seen on his face very often. "You are learning their habits. Smart. It's helpful with hunting."

"I've never hunted. I don't know how to," Gohan replied. He reflected this might have been the wrong thing to tell Raditz so he added quickly: "But I can catch squid-things in the stream."

"I already know that," Raditz snorted, "but don't worry. I'll get you something to train with soon," he reassured.

*** Gohan cautiously studied his new "caretaker" whenever he showed up. Raditz didn't behave the same way people on Earth did, at least not the ones Gohan knew, even taking into account that his new guardian was far meaner and more aggressive than anyone Gohan had met before. Usually when they talked, or more likely Raditz was explaining something, he would crouch next to Gohan, but never in front and he wouldn't keep eye contact for too long. Instead, Raditz looked around and turned his head as if trying to hear better. And there was the sniffing thing. He would sniff the air from time to time, and basically sniffed anything he had picked up or something that (for whatever reason) caught his interest, no matter how awful it smelled. Gohan concluded Raditz didn’t act like a person, but more like the creatures Gohan used to observe in the forests at home.

Gohan figured out that Raditz wanted him to act like a woodland animal as well.

“Should I ask like a creature of the forest too?” Gohan inquired.

“Why d’you ask?”

“You act like that.” Gohan stated.

“I do? I grew up in a desert, though,” Raditz laughed. “Or at least that’s where I come from,” he added in more sombre tone. “But yeah, if that is what helps you understand what I expect of you, than you can think in that way.”

Mom would most likely disapprove; a little boy acting like some forest animal! What would people think! Little boys should be polite, do their homework, and brush their teeth every evening. Gohan didn't even have a toothbrush!

Finally he gathered up the courage to ask Raditz about a toothbrush. Raditz looked at him quizzically and asked what that was. Once Gohan explained that it was something used clean teeth and prevent cavities, he actually helped Gohan find a plant that could prevent growth of bacteria in the mouth if chewed and another that had fibre that could be used for flossing.

Gohan missed his Mom and Dad very much. He missed Grandpa as well and his home, but he definitely missed Mom and Dad the most. It did not help to think about it, because whenever he did he got really sad and couldn’t help crying. Whenever Raditz found him crying or even smelled the tears on Gohan he would beat the boy.

No one had ever treated Gohan in such a cruel way before. But he already knew that it was far from how cruel Saiyans could be if they wanted to. Whenever he recalled what had happened when he had been introduced to Vegeta and Nappa, he couldn't help but shiver.

Gohan did not want to believe that Dad was dead. He wished with all his heart, that someday Dad would find him, defeat the Saiyans, and take him home. Then he could be safe and live happily with his parents once again, away from all the dangers and suffering. He dreamed of getting back home every night.

But Dad never showed up.

#Gohan #Raditz #Nappa #Saiyans #dbz #You cannot take it back make it undone #dragon ball z #dragon ball #dbz fanfiction #dbz au

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sarah-bae-maas · 8 years

Text

A Court of Hearts and Darkness Chapter Thirteen

It’s been over a century since the epic and bloody war against Hybern, but a new, unprecedented horror lies in wait to threaten everything the Inner Circle holds dear.

At a mere 17, it seems that the only one who can save them is the Heir to the Night Court, Feyre and Rhysand’s daughter Eleana, but as a creature so vile promises to kill everyone she loves, she must combat the urge to succumb to the darkness herself. The key to success lies hidden within her mate, the bastard born Kaden, who is as oblivious to the bond as her Court is oblivious to the war on the horizon.

With the help of her cousin and warrior Felix, the son of the famed Nesta and Cassian, they will try to save everything they hold dear, hopefully before the darkness takes them all.

Link on Ao3 Masterlist

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve

***

-Chapter Thirteen-

“I’m telling you, Mor! This isn’t going to work. Nothing is. I am doomed to my own damned existence and this is my fate.” Eleana sighed dramatically and threw herself onto Felix’s couch.

It had been moved, just like all the other furniture in the room, against the wall so there was a clear space in the room where they could move around. Currently it was only Mor and Eleana occupying Felix’s home, and they were hoping that they could at least show Felix some amount of progress before he came home from retrieving Quathryn from Velaris.

What they were doing was the worst kind of training. Eleana could handle flying and fighting and magic and whatever else was thrown at her, but there was one thing she had never successfully done. And that was dance.

Mor was trying, to no true avail, to teach Eleana traditional Illyrian dances that she would likely need to know when she went to Kaden’s cousin’s wedding.

“Maybe if you try with your father again…”

“I did yesterday. It didn’t end well.”

The High Lord had been good about it. It wasn’t the first time he had tried to teach her to dance like an Illyrian, and it also wasn’t the first time it had ended with a broken bone.

He had tried to demonstrate with her mother, and they looked perfect doing it. When she had tried to replicate it with him, it ended with her tripping and pulling his arm so hard that his shoulder dislocated.

He had tried to hide his pain, but it was so evident that Eleana refused to dance with him again, even when he insisted that if she wait an hour he would be fine again.

Like in the way he had tried to hide his pain, she had tried to hide her disappointment. Not in him, but in herself. He had come for the day to visit her and her mother, and he’d sacrificed nearly every moment he could’ve spent with his mate trying to teach his daughter to dance. He said he didn’t mind, (“Not at all, Laya! How could I when I have such a beautiful dance partner?”) but she still felt guilty. She didn’t even know why she thought it might work. Her whole life she has been a pitiful dancer, and one spontaneous lesson with her father mere weeks before the wedding wasn’t going to change that.

As for the wedding… Eleana was still trying to conjure excuses for her overnight absence. Her mother and father had been keeping an extremely watchful eye on her since she had revealed that she was attacked by the Colloden. She had raged about it at first, furious that her mother would go as far as to watch her training sessions with Alixia, and worse dragged her along to the Autumn Court rather than let her stay in the camp alone. And her father. Oh boy, that was something. He would pop in at any moment unannounced and act more like a High Lord than a father when he spoke to her. He ordered, ordered!, her to stay in his sights while he talked to various lords and Illyrians. If he was in the camp she was to be with him. The only exception to this was if she was with her aunts and uncles. Felix was out of the question.

He claimed to just be looking out for her – after all her transition to camp had been abrupt to say the least. And he wanted to spend time with his daughter, obviously.

Eleana suspected that the true reason was that when he looked at her, he couldn’t help but see her the way she had been right after the attack.

Eleana came to realise that her being in Velaris had been for him just as much as it had been for her.

After realising that, she had eased in her attempts to get away from her parents. So when yesterday he had asked her to escort him to the forest so they could practise taming her dark magic, she had asked him to teach her how to dance instead.

His face went from grave to alight with happiness in a split second. He was excited to teach her how to dance, and any previous memories from doing so in the past escaped him.

“Azriel is a superb dancer. We can try him next! Maybe Felix will help too.” Mor offered.

“What could they do that my father couldn’t? They were all taught by my grandmother. Well, not Felix, but he has a natural penchant for dancing.”

As if the mention of his name had summoned him, Felix crashed into his house will little Quathryn giggling like a maniac on his shoulders. He had a bag in one hand and was steading her with the other. Both had flushed faces from laughter, especially the little one.

“Baby!” Mor squealed at the sight of Quathryn. She tried to snatch her from Felix’s shoulders but he wrenched her away – sending her into another fit of giggles – before Mor had the chance.

“Sorry Aunty Mor. Brother’s only. Oh, and bastards. We ran into this one on our way in.” Felix threw the bag in his hands only for it to land neatly into Kaden’s. Felix had made such a show of coming into the house that Kaden’s presence didn’t register to Eleana, but there he was standing sheepishly in the doorway.

Mor beamed at the sight of Eleana’s mate, and moved over to him to squeeze him in a hug. “Kaden! How have you been?”

He leaned back from her and returned her smile. “Quite well, thank you. And you?”

“Better now that I’ve seen your handsome face!”

Kaden just nodded and let her go. He was still next to her when he turned to face Eleana.

After their last conversation, awkwardness was to be expected. What surprised Eleana was the level of understanding they had managed to have with one another now. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him since they had talked about what happened before the Colloden attack. Hell, the first thing they did after that conversation was sit down with Felix and go over everything they had discovered and set up a plan for hours on end.

After that, she had approached him the next day to see if he still wanted her to go to the wedding with him, it was in a matter of weeks, and his response was an instantaneous ‘Of course I still want you with me.’

He gave her a cautious smile and attempted to walk over to her. He was stopped, however, by Mor gasping and pulling him back by the collar of his shirt.

“What is that on your neck?” She demanded.

Eleana couldn’t see what it was, but it sent Mor into a spiral. “Why hasn’t that healed yet? It looks like someone has tried to slit your throat!”

At those words Eleana walked over to Kaden to see what Mor was talking about.

Kaden did have a bruised and bloody line of the side of his throat, only visible once he’d turned his side to Mor.

“It happened in training. It was my own fault.” Kaden shrugged it off.

“Have you even cleaned it? You’re just letting it fester! Come here and let me fix it.”

In Mor’s mind, ‘come here,’ actually meant, ‘drag Kaden across the room, force him to sit much to his protest, and force enough healing magic into him to make his marks disappear completely.”

If Eleana didn’t know any better, she would say Mor was… fussing over him? The way she did her nieces and nephew.

“You shouldn’t let it fester like that, young man. You’ll get an infection.” She said sternly.

“I’m sorry, Lady Morrigan.”

She hugged his head, just his head, she was quite a bit smaller than him, and smacked it when she was done. “Don’t call me Morrigan. Or lady. You are a strange child, but I am quite fond of you anyway.”

“I don’t know if that would be appropriate, Lady-”

“So tiny. Must protect.” Mor clung to his head again and peppered a quick kiss to his cheek.

This was not a strange way for Mor to treat someone. A tad strange for her to treat someone like that who she isn’t related to, but Eleana can understand that Kaden has that effect on people.

“How are the dancing lessons going?” Felix observed the moved furniture and Kaden flung Quathryn’s bag down so that it landed on the couch. Felix swept Quathryn off his shoulders and set her down at his side. She reached up and took his hand in hers, and Felix bent down so she wasn’t straining so far.

“I have yet to kill anyone.” Eleana huffed.

“Why are you taking lessons?” Kaden asked.

Eleana hadn’t felt the need to mention to him that she was desperately trying to gain at least a little skill before the wedding. It would be nice – nice to be able to dance with him just once and not have to worry about stepping on his toes.

“They’re traditional Illyrian dances. I thought if maybe I just knew one, then we could dance without the threat of me accidently injuring someone.” She said quietly.

Her inability to dance had always been an insecurity of hers. She just didn’t understand how she could be so monumentally bad at something when she tried so hard at it. She once enjoyed dancing quite a bit, but had become too shy to do in in front of other people. The last time she had danced was when Kaden took her to the bonfire, which remained to be one of the best moments of her life.

Kaden smiled at her answer, and held out his hands to her. “Well show me what you’ve learnt.”

Eleana’s face flushed and she stepped back. “I don’t think that would end well. I’ll warn you, I’ve already maimed some of the most powerful fae in Prythian with my ‘skills.’”

“I have the upmost confidence in you.” He took her hands in his and guided her to the middle of their makeshift dance floor.

“Me next?” Quathryn jumped next to Felix to grab the attention of Kaden.

“It would be my honour, Lady Quathryn.” Kaden bowed and the youngling blushed and smooshed herself into Felix’s legs.

“Note to self, don’t let Archeron ladies near Kaden. They can’t control themselves.” Felix muttered under his breath.

Kaden rolled his eyes and brought Eleana in so she was close to him. It was not an abnormal distance, but it was closer than when she had been dancing with Mor.

Kaden started the dance and it took less than five seconds for Eleana to trip on his feet.

“Fuck. Shit. I’m sorry!” She blurted.

“No, no, it’s okay. Um, maybe if we try a different way of teaching you.”

She rested her head on his chest and sighed heavily. “There is nothing that can be done. Maybe I was cursed as an infant.”

Kaden laughed and smoothed back her hair. “I have another idea.”

She peered up at him and raised an eyebrow.

“I thought of it after the last time we danced.” He stepped away from her and took a fighting stance.

“What are you-”

“Respond the way you normally would.”

Then he struck.

Eleana dodged his blows, one after the other, stepping and swivelling around the room to avoid his attacks.

“Kaden.” Felix said unsmiling.

He didn’t stop, but rather sped up his attacks.

Eleana was no idiot though. He kept repeating the same attacks, so her dodges and counter moves also joined in his pattern. She was always on the defensive, not eager to go on the offensive against her mate – especially since he was a member of the Elite. This went on for twenty minutes before Kaden simply stopped mid-motion back where they had started.

“I hope you don’t usually fight like that. You’re moves are as predictable as the tide.” She clucked.

“If they’re so predictable then you won’t have trouble doing it again, will you?”

And so, she did, too many times to count. This time, however, they didn’t stop until she was breathless and her feet were stinging. The same attacks from him, the same dodges from her. Repeatedly until she could do it with her eyes closed.

“Okay, I’m sufficiently distracted and I think I know your moves better than you do. What was the point of that?” Eleana breathed.

“Do you remember every step?”

“I think it’ll turn up in my nightmares I know it so well.”

“So you think you could do it again?”

“Most definitely.”

“Well then,” Rather than attacking her when he neared, Kaden placed one hand on her waist and entwined his other with one of hers. “Do the steps again.”

Eleana stepped the way she had been, but his time she braced one of her hands on Kaden’s shoulder and squeezed his other. She had been fine when they were just fighting – that was something she had been trained her whole life to do – but now that she was dancing again her nerves came back with a vengeance.

She stepped, just like she did when he was sparring with her and… and she realised that his attacks hadn’t been coincidental or random. No, he attacked her in a way that made her step in the same places a dance would. And amazingly, mind-blowingly, she was doing it.

With every step her body became more relaxed and she let the memories take over. She closed her eyes and thought of where and what she had done when Kaden was fighting her, and her legs did the rest.

Then she stopped. And she opened her eyes. And she realised that she had just completed, without fault, a dance that she had been trying to learn for years.

Kaden was smiling broadly at her. Both his hands had moved to her shoulders and he was gripping her tightly.

“I knew you could do it. I knew it!” He beamed.

“Holy shit…” Felix gasped. “That was – Mother have mercy that was brilliant! Kaden, you sneaky shit when did you think of that?” Felix was in awe.

“I knew it wasn’t possible for you do be such a graceful fighter and yet not be able to dance. Eleana! Eleana?”

She wasn’t responding to his calls or touches – she was in shock.

She opened and closed her mouth, desperately trying to find words to express her gratitude.

“This is wonderful.” Kaden expressed. “I can’t wait until the wedding. Thank the Cauldron I’ll have you with me. Can you imagine it? The most beautiful, intelligent fae in Prythian and she’s going to be dancing. With me!” He cupped her face in his hands and rested his forehead on hers. “My best friend.” He whispered.

Eleana still couldn’t find the words, so she just pressed their cheeks together.

“Are you okay, Laya?” Mor approached the pair and laid her hand on Eleana’s head. She was smiling, but she also had traces of concern etched into her face.

Eleana nodded.

“Oh Mother. I think she’s gone into shock.” Mor put a hand over her mouth to try and stifle her smile. “I wish I could stay to see you do that again, but I have to be off to meet Az. But keep practising! Love you muchly,” She patted her head and then moved on to say farewell to Felix and Quathryn.

Eleana was content to just stand there pressed against her mate.

Felix, on the other hand, had a different idea.

“If you two are done, maybe we should do some actual work. I know it must be difficult, I, too, like to stare longingly into people’s eyes at random and sporadic moments.”

“Shove off,” Kaden winked at Felix and moved away from Eleana.

She supposed Felix was correct. They did have plans to make, big ones, and they needed to be clearly planned for their next moves to go ahead correctly.

Kaden strode over to Felix and punched him in the arm affectionately. He then dropped to his knees in front of little Quathryn. “Lady Quathryn, I believe I owe you a dance.”

She skipped into his outstretched arms and Kaden lifted her up and spun her around. He rested her on his hip and then sassily faced Felix. “I think this dance floor is inadequate for a Lady of her stature. I have a much better idea.” Kaden smile was absolutely devilish.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking but I wouldn’t if I were you,” Felix pouted.

“But milady doesn’t have wings! How are we supposed to dance to the sound of the wind if we’re not in the sky?”

Felix’s reply was interrupted by a knock at the door. He rolled his eyes and muttered something obscene under his breath before pulling it open.

They were all surprised to see two of the bastard children from the share house at the door. It was two girls, one around ten and the other was the toddler that Eleana had once seen fall into a peaceful sleep on Kaden’s lap.

“Kaesi? Why are you here? Cellia is far too young to be wondering around at this time of night.” Felix bent down and picked up the tot. He ushered Kaesi, the older of the two, into his home and shut the door behind them.

“I’m sorry, Felix. I was sent with this letter and I didn’t want to leave her behind. Aron is being mean again. He keeps trying to put pencils up my nose!”

“Who gave this?” Felix asked.

He’d had a haunted look on his face as soon as she said she had a letter. Eleana, for obvious reasons, wasn’t there when the box of her body parts was sent to her family from the Colloden. She didn’t need to ask Felix about how that horrible moment tortured him – Kaden had told her all about it in one of their letters. She knew he felt guilty, and had assured him that it wasn’t anyone’s fault – least of all his – what had happened to her. But at this point, guilt seemed to be Felix’s resting state.

“Some lord from another camp.” She answered. “Or his son. I can’t remember.”

“Good, hand it over. I’ll escort you and Cellia back once I’ve sorted it out.” He said gently.

“Oh, I’m sorry Felix, but it’s not for you.” She furrowed her eyebrows and turned to Kaden – holding out the letter to him. “He also told me to tell you he’s excited to see your guest.”

Kaden and Eleana shared a look of confusion. Kaden set Quathryn down and took the letter and pried it open. Eleana was tempted to snoop in its contents, but that would mean she is far more like her cousin than she was willing to be.

Kaden schooled his features into neutrality. Whatever the letter contained, Eleana was dying to know.

“Well?” Felix, too, was eager.

“Hm.” Was all Kaden said. “It’s serving time at the houses, you should take Kaesi and Cellia back before they miss out.”

Felix squinted his eyes at Kaden then nodded. “As you wish, my friend.”

Felix, still holding Cellia (even smaller than Quathryn), took Kaesi’s hand. “What an unexpected pleasure! Now tell me more about Aron.” He asked as he left his home with them.

Eleana waited for Kaden to say something. He sighed heavily and turned to her. “It’s from my father.” He deadpanned.

“What.”

“It’s instructions for the ceremony. He wants me, us, to meet him and my brothers beforehand at his home so we can all go together. I suspect he’s aware you’re my guest, and wants to use you to make himself look better. I’m sorry, Eleana. That was never part of our deal.”

“I don’t care, Kaden. Where you are, I am.”

“It’s different though. At the wedding, with all those people, I could’ve kept you away from them. I… Eleana I don’t want you anywhere near them. They are horrendous-”

“Kaden, stop, please.”

He was anxiously running his hands through his hair and his face had become stricken.

She approached him and pulled his hands away from his hair, instead placing them around her. “We can say no. Or we can go if you want to. I’m not afraid of your family Kaden. If anything, I’m afraid I’ll gauge out their eyes the moment I see them.”

“Eleana,”

“It is up to you what we do. But either way? I’m with you. I’m at your side. Mother be damned if I don’t get that bloody dance you promised me.” She put her arms around his neck and drew him in close. “Remember when you found me in that cave?”

“I’ll never forget.”

“You told me that I owe you a dance. But Kaden, I owe you so much more than I could ever explain. I used to have this recurring dream – night terror, really – about this Room. I would be chained, or tired somehow, and some of the things that were done to me in these dreams… It’s only ever been paled since the Colloden. I used to cry and scream. I would have to sleep between my parents at night, and father would sing me to sleep. Sometimes it was tunes from Velaris, sometimes it was just one of my books that he would sing instead of read. I’ve had this dream about this Room for as long as I can remember. Since I’ve met you… I haven’t seen the Room in months, Kaden. You brought such light to the darkness that has always been around me, and whether we go to this wedding with your brothers or if we go alone, you will continue to do so for me. Nothing bad can happen if you are with me, and I hope it is the same for you if I am there.”

“Eleana.” He said faintly.

He pulled her into a tight hug.

“This is a happy day!” She tried to convince him. “We can dance together now! Without me, you know, maiming or killing anyone by accident.”

He snickered into her hair.

“We have so many problems to deal with right now. One of which has been staring at us for the past five minutes.”

They both looked up to see Quathryn sitting patiently on the floor a few paces away – staring at them and humming.

“Oh my,” Kaden let out a single, low laugh. “My apologies, Lady Quathryn.”

She smiled at Kaden, deep dimples peaking from her cheeks, and held her hands out to him.

Kaden, never one to defy a lady, picked her up once again.

“Are you going to tell Felix what was in the letter?” Eleana asked as Kaden gently rocked the little girl from side to side.

“It’s likely he’s already read it.”

“What?”

Kaden waved his fingers at her – the empty hand that only a minute or two ago was holding the letter. “I’ve been practising my winnowing. It seems I can now move small objects small distances. Well, that or some random Illyrian just got a very random and seemingly lovingly letter.”

_____

It took an hour for Felix to settle Quathryn to sleep. Kaden had taken her flying, and it had got her so excited that she refused to sleep, even if she was clearly exhausted. She was tucked in tight to a cot that he set up next to his bed so he could keep an eye on her. Quathryn was far too precious to let out of his sight for the whole night.

Meanwhile, Kaden and Eleana cleaned up after the extravagant meal Felix had cooked for them. It had been three courses and all had been overly sweet. Especially the dessert. He had made an ice-cream cake with chocolate decorations. It was Quathryn’s favourite, and she had clapped her hands and jumped with excitement when Felix brought it out. He’d gone all the way to the Summer Court to get the ice-cream, claiming that they had the best in Prythian.

Anything for his sister.

When Felix came out he collapsed onto the now righted couch. “Let’s get this over with. I need to sleep before I report at dawn tomorrow. Ideas?”

They had all been brain-storming ideas about where to go from here now that they had evidence that something was going on. None of them knew what to do though. The only connection they had between all the strange killings was the storybook, and that was available throughout not just Prythian, but also the Mortal lands.

“I had a thought, I don’t know how useful it’ll be though.” Eleana said as she walked out of the kitchen. Kaden stayed, he was drying what she had just cleaned.

“I’ll take anything at this point.” Felix sighed.

He was lost for ideas. He usually prided himself in his ingenuity – whether it was in his baking or his fighting or any menial task he had. He had the capabilities to lead an army, his Elite alone was more powerful than some armies, the strength to fight for his loved ones, but this was something out of his depth.

“It’s nothing great, but it might be a start. When we fought the Impeath, no one believed we had gone Under the Mountain because when Mor investigated it the wards were intact. I say we go back. Now that we have more knowledge and Kaden has a better grasp on his magic, who knows what we might find? It’s where this all started, and I know I’d certainly like to know why the wards were fine after I know I damaged them.”

Felix weighed her words. She was correct – it was something they would have done ages ago if it hadn’t been for the Colloden.

“We’ll leave the day after next.”

“Why wait so long?” Kaden asked curiously from the kitchen.

“Because despite knowing how important this is, I’m also not willing to give up any of my time with Quathryn.” He answered simply.

“Fair enough.” Kaden chirped.

“It’s decided then. We’ll start at the Mountain.” Felix got up from the couch with a heave and then stretched his wings and arms out. He looked out the wide window adorning the front of his home. “I’m afraid it’s time for you to go home Eleana. Feyre will start to worry if you take much longer.”

Felix felt ashamed that he wasn’t deemed one of the people Eleana was allowed to be ‘supervised’ by. At the same time, though, he knew it was just because Rhys was so paranoid.

“I’ll walk you home.” Kaden had a dishcloth and was drying his hands as he walked into the room. He threw it on the table as he passed it and offered his arm to Eleana.

“Thank you, but I think I’ll take a quick detour to Velaris. I want to show my father the dance.”

She waved to the as she left – winnowing away and disappearing as soon as she crossed the threshold.

“I should head off anyway.” Kaden yawned. “Don’t forget it’s me who you’re doing dawn duty with.”

Felix peered at his friend. “You could just stay here the night.” He suggested.

“Are you trying to seduce me?” Kaden covered his mouth like he had just heard some scandalous gossip.

“Unfortunately for you, I’d rather not compete with the affections of my cousin. But, it’s so strange.” Felix put his hands behind his back and dawdled over to a closed door. “I just happen to have a spare room I think you’d enjoy.” This time it was Felix’s turn to scandalously cover his mouth.

Kaden snorted. “Nice try, but I’d rather your seductions. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

Kaden left, and Felix wondered how long it would take him to convince the stubborn male to just move in already.

Oh well, it was a problem for another day.

He turned to go wash up, and saw Quathryn standing at his bedroom door rubbing her eyes.

“You should be asleep,” He reminded her. She reached her arms out to him and he picked her up. He may usually be alone in his house, but for now he had the best company he could think of. “But we may as well have hot cocoa while you’re not.”

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acohad #feysand #moriel #nessian #fanfic

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kathydsalters31 · 4 years

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The Dog Mom Clothing That’ll Repel Pet Hair, Claws, and Dirt With Style

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Updated August 24, 2020 | For Dog People By Nia Martin

This post contains affiliate links. Read more here.

Table of Contents

Raise your hand if you’ve ever felt like a human lint roller when all you wanted was a simple cuddle with your favorite pet? Or how about walking away from a seemingly purrfect encounter with a cat only to find tiny holes in your favorite shirt? That’s why we’re rolling out the best dog mom clothing that can both stand up to our furry friends and also let us enjoy their company comfortably.

When it comes to physical contact with cats and dogs, the biggest and most common offender is pet hair and fur. It gets everywhere: in and on clothes, bedsheets, cars, couch cushions, your mouth. Even the chicest, put-together outfit can be rendered shabby with enough hair on it.

Luckily, there’s a bit of a trick to shopping when you have animals (and it’s better than the family size pack of lint rollers). Here is what I’ve learned:

In general, fabrics such as chiffon, silk, and satin repel hair like it’s their job. These fabrics are good for light contact with pets.

Spandex and synthetic fabrics like nylon and poly blends generally resist shedded hair well, with the added benefit of being a little more durable than the more delicate materials above which are more prone to holes and not advisable for cat moms.

Denim, denim, denim. One of the hardest-working materials in the pet-proof apparel game. Jeans, jackets, skirts: you will get your money’s worth with any of these staples in your wardrobe.

Other materials such as leather, faux-leather, and vinyl fabrics also stand up better to wear, tear, and random pouncings from paws with claws.

We’ve got some great picks for stylish, versatile clothing that’s durable and fur-resistant. So check out our picks, grab those jeans or joggers (we won’t judge your cozy pants: we kinda wrote the book on it!) and live your life, snuggles and all!

The Best Dog Mom Clothing: Lounge and Sleepwear

When in doubt, nothing beats a trusty hooded sweatshirt for your pet hangouts. This soft but durable hoodie is ready for some snuggle time with the fur babies—just brush off the evidence after (or throw it in the washer).

Shop at the Rover Store

Who needs to get fully dressed when you can look this chic? This pretty floral number is not only comfy to lounge in, but the rayon material makes it durable and fur-resistant so it’s safe for pet snuggles on the sofa or in bed.

Find on Anthropologie

This super-soft tech fabric t-shirt stands up to serious pet playtime. Plus it’s got some stretch so you and your pup can go from lounging to walking or hiking and back again. Available in seven colors, there’s also a sleeveless style and a long sleeve version.

Find on Patagonia

Another piece of dog mom clothing that helps keep the dog hair away is also a sure-fire wardrobe staple: leggings. Pull ’em on for a dog walk or your next Zoom meeting with a nice top.

Made from recycled nylon and elastane, this high-waisted pair also rocks sweat-wicking technology, very few seams, and a hidden pocket.

Shop on Everlane

Hit the dog park in the morning with these lightweight tie-dye nylon shorts (also available in other colors and patterns) and keep on sportin’ them straight to your desk or sofa. Nylon tends to hold up well against wear, so your lap cat’s claws won’t phase it and hairs just brush off.

Shop on American Eagle

Do you sleep with your animals? Same. While the snuggles are SO real, so are the layers of hair and fur you wake up to. So when you slide off into dreamland, pick a set of sleepwear, like these silky soft satin-woven rayon jammies, that’ll let the dog hair slide right off too.

Shop on Uniqlo

You can’t go wrong with this unfailing classic sweatshirt from Champion. A cotton-poly blend, this sturdy pet-ready casual comes in several different colors. Brush off hair or easily toss it in the washing machine or dryer. Find on Amazon

Pants without elastic waistbands? Who needs ’em! Joggers are some of the most versatile pants around—perfect for a good lounge sesh at home, or an inevitable grocery run when you run out of chips and coffee. Choose from several comfy earth-tone hues in sturdy, breathable fabric that’s also moisture-wicking. Also, gotta love a drawstring for extra adjustability.

Find on Gap

Made sustainably from a super smooth polyamide-elastane blend, this light but durable wardrobe staple is great for layering and moving around—like getting your daily steps in by dancing around the living room with your furry pals. Two rows of snap closures for easy adjustability and a seamless overall design make it a breeze to wear.

Shop on Cuyana

Slip it on, slip it off—and slip the pet fur right off, too! Not only is this romper super-duper comfy, but it’s a one-and-done outfit that doesn’t require a lot of thought. Made in a relaxed fit from nylon and lycra, this casual piece comes in red or black.

Find on Lululemon

Believe it or not, another viable sleepwear option when battling pet hair is a chemise. Slipping on a colorful little satin number not only makes you feel classier (or is that just me?), it also doesn’t pick up nearly as much pet dander as other materials.

Shop on Nordstrom Rack

The Best Dog Mom Clothing: Workwear and Outings

These particular pants are rumored to be pretty good at repelling dog and cat hair; while we can’t prove that per se, we can claim many Levi’s fans among the Rover crew. The rugged denim brand is known for durable, hard-wearing properties that stand up to jumping dogs, nipping puppies, and even flailing claws. These are available in a range of colors and sizes.

Find on Amazon

You can never have too many button-ups in your closet. Columbia’s high-tech fabric clothing does quadruple duty with a treated antimicrobial material that protects you against doggie germs; vented and sweat-wicking features; UPF 40; and convenient roll-up sleeves for those “get ‘er done” jobs often encountered by dog moms.

Find on Amazon

This faux leather pencil skirt with front seam and back slit is business- and party- (Zoom or otherwise) appropriate. Grab a silk or chiffon top, and this whole outfit will not only be trendy—but completely pet hair repellent as well; fur slides right off.

Find on Amazon

This tough denim jacket is good for both urban and prairie cowgirls and boys, and is a great dog mom clothing layer for casual outings. It’s also handy for fending off the fur of impromptu dog snuggles.

Shop on Urban Outfitters

Tencel, or lyocell, is a durable material made from cellulose fibers (usually trees or bamboo) and it’s great at repelling pet hair and even puncture holes from claws. Even though it’s heavier-duty, it feels great to wear and hangs nicely, too. This Amazon-brand shirtdress comes in a variety of sizes and colors; the collar and buttons make it super Zoom-call ready; throw it on over some pet-proof leggings when it’s time to go out.

Find on Amazon

This affordable raincoat is an absolute classic; it comes in different colors and is a practical, cute choice for everything from it-might-rain strolls with the pup to work. It’s made of recycled polyester and has a water-resistant finish that sheds moisture, dirt, and pet hair.

Shop on Everlane

The Best Dog Mom Clothing: Shoes and Accessories

Made from tough materials including leather, rubber, and stretchy gore straps, slide these puppies (get it?) on for your next dog park visit. Not only are they sturdy walking shoes, they’re super stylish and come in an array of hues so you can take them straight from your dog walk to your next errand.

Shop on Zappos

A standout scarf is a must-have accessory item. It can take an outfit from meh to marvelous and adds a touch of sophistication. This printed beauty is 100% silk, so it’ll easily resist clumps of pet hair, however you wear it. But beware cat moms—silk is not resistant to kitty claws.

Find on Anthropologie

Made from durable recycled canvas in several earth tone hues paired with thick rubber soling, these kicks are just the thing if you’re feeling a little sporty on your next doggy adventure. Plus, they’re machine washable, so you don’t have to worry when you’re dog drags you through that nice, big puddle.

Shop on Everlane

Good for road trips, camping, and even picnics with your dog—the bag (which comes in a variety of colors) is 100% polyester, known for hair, fur, and dirt-wicking properties.

Shop on Amazon

You know what fall and winter mean: cold temps and the elements. You’re going to want a fashionable pair of closed-toe boots that can take on rain, mud, and whatever else you and your dog encounter. We love that Blondo’s sturdy leather boots are totally waterproof, insulated, and sport a low heel so they’re versatile for all your walk, work, or errand needs.

Shop on Zappos

The must-have accessory of 2020: masks! These combine a polyester exterior from which you can easily swipe off pet hair and a comfy cotton lining; ear loops are adjustable. This set of five gives you some options for your day—there are adorable animal noses and pet doodles to complement the rest of your (hopefully) hair-free outfit.

Shop on The Rover Store

Bonus! A Few Dog Mom Clothing Items for Dudes

If you’ve seen a Carhartt jacket in person, you know how incredibly durable they are. A crumbling building couldn’t dent this jacket, let alone a rambunctious cat or dog. 100% rugged cotton and made in the USA, these coats are built tough and ready for wear, whether at the job site or playtime with the pets. (If you prefer a slimmer cut, they make them for gals, too.)

Shop on Amazon

I can’t get enough of Columbia’s patented fur-wicking—err, I mean sweat-wicking—fabric. Like the women’s long sleeve option listed earlier, the men’s style comes in colors for spring and summer outdoor activities or work that easily transition into quality hang time with the pet fam.

Shop on Amazon

Ah, denim. What can’t it do? In this case, denim may just replace the dog as a pet owner’s best friend. Sturdy and thick, scrapes and holes from little paws and teeth won’t touch ’em. Denim also doesn’t track any kind of pet hair, so you can grab those classic Levi 501s and put that tired lint roller away.

Shop on Amazon

Final Thoughts

While keeping your wardrobe free of pet hair and claw holes is an admirable life goal, the reality is that living with pets is often messy and unpredictable. On the bright side, our pets bring us so much joy it’s hard to imagine life without them, snags, tears, pet hair, and all.

However, with a few common-sense precautions and a sturdy wardrobe, you’ll be one of the best-prepared (and dressed) dog moms on the block.

Consider these cat and dog mom clothing hacks:

Keep an old fleece or sweater near the door or another handy place to cover up for serious snuggling. My editor calls hers the “falcon glove.” It’ll keep your cats from digging and clawing into your nice clothes (and your skin, too), and you won’t care how much fur gets on it.

The blanket technique: When you’re getting cozy on the couch and your furry BFF comes looking for your lap, keep a basket of old throw blankets close to cover up before your fur baby makes his or her grand entrance.