#Wall Painters in castle hills

[gobboguy]

City of Berton:

History:

Nestled along the banks of the River Cleoleham, the city of Berton stood as a beacon of history and prosperity within the Kingdom of Farfield. Established centuries ago, it bore witness to numerous battles, flourishing into a vibrant center of culture and commerce. Its storied past was etched into the cobblestone streets and the timeworn walls of Fort Berton, a testament to the city's resilience against the passage of time.

Arts:

Berton was a haven for artists and craftsmen, its streets alive with the melodies of wandering minstrels and the vibrant hues of street performers. The city's theaters showcased captivating plays and timeless operas, drawing crowds from near and far. Skilled artisans filled the bustling markets, their wares ranging from delicate tapestries to meticulously crafted jewelry, capturing the essence of Farfield's artistic spirit.

Famous People:

Berton boasted a rich tapestry of renowned figures, from gifted musicians and painters to esteemed scholars. Among them was Lady Isabella Talonhart, a celebrated poet whose verses echoed through the ages, inspiring generations with her eloquence and grace.

Castle Berton:

Castle Berton, a magnificent structure of towering spires and sturdy stone walls, dominated the skyline. Serving as the seat of Farfield's power, it stood as a symbol of the kingdom's strength and unity, its grand halls echoing with the whispers of history.

Food:

The city's culinary scene was a delight for the senses, offering a plethora of delectable dishes. Berton was famed for its hearty wheat-based fare, with freshly baked bread, savory pies, and aromatic stews gracing the tables of its bustling taverns. Fresh fish from the River Cleoleham and succulent game from the nearby forests found their way into the kitchens, tantalizing the taste buds of locals and travelers alike.

Major Exports and Imports:

Berton, known as the breadbasket of Farfield, was a major exporter of wheat and grains, supplying the kingdom with sustenance. Timber from the nearby forests and exquisite textiles woven by skilled craftsmen were highly sought after. Imports included exotic spices, fine wines, and rare gemstones, enriching the city's cultural diversity.

Beautiful Sights:

The city's charm extended beyond its markets and theaters. Berton was renowned for its picturesque sights, including the mesmerizing River Cleoleham, where colorful boats floated lazily on the gentle currents. The city's skyline was adorned with spires and towers, each bearing the mark of skilled architects. One of the most breathtaking sights was the old Fort Berton, perched majestically atop a hill overlooking the city. Its weathered stone walls and crumbling turrets painted a vivid picture of the city's enduring history, inviting travelers to explore its ancient secrets and breathtaking vistas.

In the heart of Farfield, the city of Berton stood as a testament to the kingdom's legacy, its vibrant culture, rich history, and captivating beauty drawing visitors from far and wide to experience the wonders of this flourishing city.

Welcome to the transformed city of Goruk'Gath, once the proud Berton, now reshaped into an Orcish stronghold following the invasion five years ago. The vibrant tapestry of Berton's diverse culture and bustling economy has been replaced by the imposing stamp of Orcish domination.

City Transformation:

Goruk'Gath stands as a testament to Orcish conquest. The once-elegant architecture of Berton has been replaced with crude, imposing structures, each adorned with the symbols of the Orcish Warlord, Fartbringer. The streets that once echoed with the chatter of merchants and the melodies of street performers are now dominated by the heavy footfalls of Orcish patrols.

Orcish Rule:

Goruk'Gath is now governed by the corpulent and wealthy Orcish Warlord, Fartbringer. The city has become an economic powerhouse, fueled by the labor of thralls and the ruthless exploitation of the city's resources. Former citizens of Berton have been reduced to thralls, forced into heavy labor and subjected to the harsh rule of their Orcish overlords.

Fortress Thrax Doom:

The old Fort Berton, a symbol of Farfield's resistance against Orcish invaders, has been transformed into a mighty fortress known as Thrax Doom. The fortress stands as a reminder of the Orcs' last struggle in Farfield before they retreated to the safety of Cairn Doom. Its walls are adorned with trophies and symbols of Orcish victories, serving as both a military stronghold and a symbol of Orcish supremacy.

Exports and Imports:

Goruk'Gath exports weapons, armor, and enslaved thralls, making it an economic powerhouse in Farfield. The city imports precious metals, rare gems, and other resources to fuel its industrial production and to satisfy the lavish tastes of its warlord and his court.

Orcish Sights:

A particular statue in the central square honors Ionia, Queen of the Orcs, depicting her in a triumphant pose. The statue serves as a focal point for Orcish ceremonies and rituals, symbolizing the unity of the Orcish horde under her rule. The once-proud Berton, now overshadowed by the Orcish might, is a stark reminder of the city's transformation into Goruk'Gath.

The imposing statue of Ionia, the Queen of the Orcs, stands defiantly in the central square of Goruk'Gath, its presence challenging the very essence of Sidhedark. Ionia, depicted as a powerful warrior, raises a mighty sword with determination, facing northward as if daring any who would question Orcish supremacy. Despite the statue portraying a human figure, it radiates the unmistakable aura of an Orc.

Ionia's Orcish clothing, a blend of crude yet intimidating armor, is adorned with symbols of power and dominance. Her attire accentuates the fierce snarl on her face, embodying the unyielding spirit of Orcish strength and resilience. The statue's attention to detail captures the visceral nature of Orcish features, with a prominent gut and sagging breasts that defy conventional beauty standards, proudly reflecting the diversity and raw authenticity of the Orcish physique.

The eyes of the statue gleam with a ferocious intensity, echoing the unwavering determination that characterized Ionia's leadership. The raised sword symbolizes not just a weapon but a challenge, a call to arms, and a proclamation of the Orcs' right to dominance. The statue of Ionia, with its powerful posture and unapologetic representation, serves as a visual testament to the Queen's legacy and the Orcish identity that permeates every corner of Goruk'Gath.

Leader of Goruk'Gath - Warlord Fartbringer:

Warlord Fartbringer, a corpulent and wealthy Orc, leads Goruk'Gath with an iron fist. He was one of the original band of Orcs that left Orc Island with the Orc Lord Gelbeg. Fartbringer's long years of service to Gelbeg and Ionia earned him the rulership of Goruk'Gath. The city now thrives under his economic prowess, with vast riches pouring into his coffers through trade, exploitation, and the toil of countless thralls. Fartbringer's harem of wives, adorned in opulent attire, symbolizes his wealth and power. His rule is characterized by a relentless pursuit of prosperity for Goruk'Gath, securing his place as a key figure in Orcish leadership.

[smithqjohns]

4. Hollyhock (1921) - drove by the Hollywood Bowl to get here. Open to public but not on the day we went. “The house and grounds were used as the temple of the Piranha Women in 1989's Cannibal Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death… Overlooking Hollywood Boulevard to the east and presenting panoramic views west towards the Pacific Ocean, the 36-acre hilltop estate south of Griffith Park was originally slated to include multiple structures dedicated to the arts. An eventual rift between Barnsdall and architect Frank Lloyd Wright meant that only three buildings would be completed: Hollyhock House, named after Miss Barnsdall’s favorite flower, and two other structures referred to as “Residences A and B.” As the members of the first generation of California Plein-Air Painters aged and died, the membership was filled by younger professional painters… other notable members include Sir Winston Churchill…” (see pics)

5. Ennis House (1924) - We almost didn’t go see this one, especially considering what we had seen so far felt rather disappointing (at least the upkeep) - and it was getting too dark, we had had a long day, and it was past dinner time. My pics and a lot of the ones online don’t do this justice. One of the most intriguing homes I’ve ever seen in California or anywhere really. I’m actually glad we saw it at night with the lights too. A majestic castle. I highly recommend checking this out at dusk if you’re in/near L.A. “The Ennis House— not to be confused with the Pennis House- is a veritable Hollywood icon, with over 80 screen appearances. Perched atop a hill in the Los Feliz neighborhood, it is among the best residential examples of Mayan Revival architecture in the country. The Ennis House rises in stages, with over 27,000 blocks arranged across a concrete platform and buttressed by a retaining wall… The concrete—a combination of gravel, granite and sand from the site—was hand-cast in aluminum molds to create blocks measuring 16”x 16” x 3.5” that were then woven together with steel rods, giving the textile block houses their name. Due to its exoticism, the house has served as the backdrop in numerous films, commercials and tv shows including House on Haunted Hill, Day of the Locust, Mulholland Drive, The Rocketeer, Rush Hour, Twin Peaks, Westworld 2019, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Predator 2, Beverly Hills Cop II, and Blade Runner.” (see pics)

My list of Frank Lloyd Wright creations that I didn’t see this time but hopefully will one day: 1. James Daniel Derby House (2535 East Chevy Chase Drive) 2. George Sturges House and 3. The Oboler Complex

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OXNARD:

-Went to the 1901 Speakeasy at Heritage Square at night (and went by the next day for coffee). Had a delicious white wine from Oregon that is now my new favorite (see pics)

[scots-gallivanter]

SEVENTEEN

Even Naples in imagination cannot efface the quiet fertile comeliness of Penkill in reality, and when, beyond the immediate greenness, a gorgeous sunset glorifies the sea distance, one scarcely need desire aught more exquisite in this world.

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI, Letter to Anne Gilchrist (1870)

ONE OF THE ‘Ayrshire Alps’, Dersalloch Hill, is crowned by 23 wind turbines which dominate the horizon, and the ecotycoons want more, and bigger. Nearby, in irony, sits the 18th-century conservation village of Straiton, the realm of the Save Straiton for Scotland pressure group formed in 2013 to object to their being insidiously surrounded by giant turbines 50 metres higher than Blackpool Tower.

Despite the turbines, Straiton advertises itself as walking country, The village signpost even sports the slogan ‘Rambler Territory’. Like turbines or loathe them, it is worth a ramble to Lambdoughty glen and its chain of gurgling waterfalls up in the foothills. One of them, Tairlaw Linn, even features in the annals of English literature. It is here, during a day out with his friend, William Bell Scott, in the summer of 1869, that the troubled painter and poet, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, contemplated suicide. Rossetti’s wife had died of an overdose of laudanum, and he had become an alcoholic. He was prone to thought disorder and addicted to whisky and chloral hydrate (‘knockout drops’, an ingredient made famous by one Mickey Finn, a crooked saloon owner in Chicago, who drugged customers with it, and then robbed them.).

William Bell Scott recorded in his Autobiographical Notes (1830 to 1882): ‘Never shall I forget the expression of Gabriel’s face when he bent over the precipice, peering into the unfathomed water dark as ink, in which sundry waifs flew round and round like lost souls in hell.’

Rossetti had told Scott: ‘One step forward, and I am free!’ He decided not to throw himself down the burn, however, although he would try to kill himself three years later, in England. He saw people staring at him from hollowed-out walls. He heard voices and was a hypochondriac. One doctor diagnosed ‘effusion of serum on the brain’ and said he was beyond all hope. If he recovered, he would have brain damage.

Penkill Castle, ensconced in cutely wooded Penwhapple Glen, was a summer haunt for such as Scott, Rossetti, his sister Christina, and William Morris, with whose wife Jane, Rossetti was conducting an affair. Rossetti wrote the poem The Stream’s Secret at Penwhapple Burn near the castle, which was a shrine for the Pre-Raphaelite movement. During a visit to Penkill, half a mile from Dailly, Rossetti wrote sonnets in a cave named after a covenanting fugitive. Wrote Scott: ‘Here I used to find him face to the wall lying in a shallow cave that went by the name of a seventeenth-century Covenanter, Bennan’s Cave, working out with much elaboration and little inspiration.’

Rossetti tried to get Jane Morris to spend what has become known as a dirty weekend with him (his friend William, who was so close to him that Rossetti named his pet wombat after him, wasn’t invited along).

I looked for the cave along Penwhapple glen, but it seems it vanished long ago as a result of some landslide. Penkill is still there, however. Campaigners fought to ‘buy it for the nation’ in 1995 but its American owner, Elton Eckstrand, a wealthy drag racing driver and lawyer, sold it to Scots-Canadian businessman Don Brown, who then sold it to a Chile-born film producer Patrick Dromgoole.

The previous owner, Evelyn May Courtney-Boyd, a descendant of Scott’s mistress, had become involved financially with the local milkman, Willie Hume, who reputedly told her that he and his wife would feed her if they moved into the lodge. He then asked to buy it. Later they moved into the 25-bedroom castle. Paintings from the collection began to appear in Scotland’s salerooms, including The Night-Hag, which now lives in New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Art. One of them, painted by Scott, remained fastened above the mantelpiece with an inscription, ‘Move not this picture. Let it be. For love of those in effigy’.

Apparently, Hume tried to prise the painting from the wall with a poker, but he choked, and then died of angina. His wife suddenly left the castle and bought a pub, which failed. She then became a cleaner in a hospital. For the record, Penkill Castle appeared on Channel 4’s Come Dine with Me in 2011. I’ve no idea what happened to the milkman’s spouse.

[high-pressure-cleaning]

Castle Hill's Canvas Awaits: A Guide To Stellar Interior Painters

Your Castle Hill castle deserves a fresh coat of magic! But with so many interior painters, choosing the right one can feel like deciphering a Renaissance riddle. Fear not, for this guide unveils the secrets to finding a Castle Hill painter who breathes new life into your walls.

Unveiling Your Vision:

Room Refresh or Grand Renaissance? Whether it's a single room or your entire haven, understanding the scope helps find the perfect painter.

Budgeting for Beauty: Castle Hill painters cater to various budgets. Define your project and desired outcome to find the most fitting match.

Experience Paints the Picture: Seek painters with a proven track record in Castle Hill. Look for online reviews and portfolios showcasing similar interior projects in your area.

A Palette of Castle Hill Painters:

Specialty Skills: Do you crave bold accent walls or meticulous detail work? Castle Hill boasts specialists who excel in specific interior painting techniques.

Eco-Friendly Flourishes: Embrace eco-conscious living by choosing Castle Hill painters who prioritize sustainable paints and practices for a healthier home environment.

Timely Transformations: Respect for your schedule is key! Castle Hill painters known for efficient completion and clear communication throughout the project are a treasure.

Beyond the Brushstrokes:

Licensed and Insured: Ensure peace of mind by choosing a Castle Hill painter with proper licensing and insurance.

Guaranteed Grandeur: Seek painters who offer warranties or guarantees on their work, providing a safety net for any unexpected issues.

Communication is Key: A Castle Hill painter who listens attentively, clarifies your vision, and keeps you informed is a gem.

Transforming Your Castle Hill Sanctuary:

By prioritizing these factors, you'll unlock the potential for your Castle Hill interior to become a masterpiece. Don't hesitate to ask questions and gather quotes from different painters. With the right guidance, your search for the perfect Castle Hill interior painter will be a smooth and rewarding experience.

[skmpaintingservice]

Colorful Horizons: SKM Painting Sets the Standard for Excellence in Castle Hill

Embark on a journey of aesthetic brilliance with SKM Painting, the unrivaled painting service setting the standard for excellence in Castle Hill. If you're in search of more than just a paint job – an experience that elevates your surroundings – SKM Painting is your gateway to a world where every brushstroke tells a tale of innovation and craftsmanship.

Defining Excellence: The SKM Painting Advantage

Artistry Redefined:

SKM Painting is not just a service; it's Best painting service in Castle Hill. Their team of skilled painters goes beyond conventional methods, infusing creativity and artistry into every project. Your space becomes a canvas, and SKM Painting, the maestro, transforms it into a masterpiece.

Tailored Elegance for Every Space:

From cozy residences to corporate landscapes, SKM Painting tailors its services to suit the unique elegance of each space. Whether you seek a contemporary flair or a timeless aesthetic, they understand your vision and bring it to life with finesse.

Enduring Beauty with Premium Materials:

Quality is the cornerstone of SKM Painting's philosophy. Using premium paints and materials, they ensure that the beauty they create endures. Your freshly painted walls not only dazzle today but withstand the test of time, promising a lasting impression.

Personalized Innovation :Your preferences matter, and SKM Painting takes a personalized approach to every project. Through thoughtful consultations, they delve into your tastes and aspirations, infusing innovation into the process to create a space that resonates uniquely with you.

Transparent Affordability:

SKM Painting believes in transparent partnerships. With clear and competitive pricing, there are no hidden surprises. The quote you receive reflects their commitment to honesty, ensuring you get the best value for your investment.

Echoes of Delight: Testimonials Speak Volumes

Client testimonials echo the delight experienced with SKM Painting. Praise for their professionalism, attention to detail, and the ability to surpass expectations resounds, offering a glimpse into the satisfaction that awaits every client.

Ready to Unveil Your Colorful Horizon? Contact SKM Painting Today!

Your journey to a vibrant and inspiring space begins with a simple step – contact SKM Painting. Let their expertise unleash the potential of your surroundings, turning them into a testament to innovation and style. SKM Painting doesn't just paint; they redefine, reimagine, and recreate. Choose SKM Painting and embrace a world where your horizons are as colorful as your dreams.

[bluepearlpainters]

Are Professional Interior Painters Worth the Investment?

Nothing is more enticing than painting your workspace or living area to give it a new look and feel if you're going to refresh its appearance. Several factors working together determine the overall appearance of your room. But above all, choosing an Interior Painters Castle Hill firm to complete the task is crucial.

A well-painted room has a visually appealing appearance. An area that has been improperly painted appears uneven and unappealing. For this reason, spending the money to employ a qualified, insured, and licensed painting business to complete the job is worthwhile. Areas that have been painted correctly highlight the space's external or interior beauty.

Years of Experience and Understanding

Professional painting contractors, unlike handypersons, have years of experience and knowledge painting walls and ceilings that they can impart to you. They know the appropriate paint, techniques, and equipment for your area, guaranteeing the best outcomes. Additionally, expert painters provide helpful pointers and counsel on which paint will be the finest for your job and which colours will look better and last longer.

The Materials and Tools Required

Employing a painting firm also benefits the crew being at home prepared, with all the equipment and supplies needed to complete the job quickly and effectively. This covers sealants, brushes, rollers, sanding equipment, ladders, primers, and drop cloths. Superior Outcomes with Interior Painters Castle Hill When working with a professional painter, you should anticipate better quality work in the final product. Experts possess the necessary equipment, know-how, and skills to ensure your paint job appears tidy, precise, and polished. This means there won't be any streaks, drips, or uneven coverage—problems frequently arise when trying a do-it-yourself paint job.

Appropriate Surface Reading

It is essential to adequately prepare the surface before applying any paint. This may entail washing, sanding, and priming to guarantee a durable and attractive paint finish. A skilled painter will know how to prepare each surface to ensure that the paint adheres correctly and looks its best.

Increased Productivity

The task will be completed as efficiently as possible if you choose to use a professional painting service. Painters work optimally because they have all the necessary tools and equipment. Furthermore, they will give the task their attention, accelerating the painting project beyond your first expectations. Painters can handle a painting project effectively, saving clients time and effort. Because of this, hiring them is well worth the money.

Insurance

If a professional painter is licensed and insured, you won't have to worry about the project if you decide to use them. If a practitioner in the domain is certified, any potential issue may be resolved. As a result, confirm the contractor's licensing and insurance status. The Interior Painters Castle Hill will pay for any harm. That way, you may unwind when they paint your house or place of business.

Contact Info

Address: Rouse Hill NSW 2155

Phone: 0423 906 804

Email: info.bluepearlpainters@gmail.com

[steliosagapitos]

~ "Saint Helena, the oil painting on wood by Cima da Conegliano, datable to 1495 and preserved in the National Gallery of Art in Washington, is not only used by the artist to represent the mother of Emperor Constantine, celebrated on August 18 and to whom traditionally the discovery of the wood of the Cross is attributed. In fact, it is also an opportunity for the artist to paint the beautiful sixteenth-century landscape of the hills of Conegliano, where on the right the walls rise up to the castle and the church of San Leonardo. In this ascending diagonal you can see on the left the walls along the 'refosso' - 'moat', the bridge of the Madonna, the small mill on the Monticano river and the historic center, dominated by the massive castle of San Salvatore di Susegana. On the right, the walls rise up to the castle and the church of San Leonardo - patron saint of the city of Conegliano. In the foreground - when embracing the cross - the saint assumes an evident classic pose, recalling the chiasmus of Polykleitos. The red cape - cleverly arranged - accentuates the bent leg. Her dress reveals a foot that - in addition to highlighting the artist's skill in rendering the chiasmus - approaches the base of the cross in an innocent and modest manner. In addition to the red-purple cloak - a symbol of royalty - the armor on her chest recalls classical antiquity and the aegis of Minerva, goddess of wisdom. For some scholars, the evidence of her breast would recall the role of her mother. The cerulean blue gown reveals the beautiful detail on her sleeves. It is not the only insert 'in the fashion of the time': even the hairstyle follows the Venetian canons in vogue in the fifteenth century. Cima's style can be recognized in the cleanliness of the pictorial rendering and in the meticulous attention to detail. The painter is one of the most authoritative exponents of the Venetian school of the fifteenth century, and his art is affected - from time to time - by the influence of the authoritative masters, such as Giovanni Bellini, Antonio Vivarini, Vittore Carpaccio, Giorgione and Marco Palmezzano." ~

[wonderhomepaint]

Get in Touch with Wonder Home Painting for Home painting in Castle Hill. There are colour consultation, wall colour schemes and professional painters for designing interior decors. Avail Wall painters in Baulkham Hills based on certain parameters.

[scotianostra]

On 17th May 1870 David Octavius Hill, the painter and pioneering Scottish photographer, died.

David Octavius Hill was born in Perth, the son of a book publisher. He was educated at Perth Academy and the School of Design in Edinburgh. Hill was an acceptable landscape painter and illustrator (illustrating some novels for Sir Walter Scott). Always involved in the art world, he helped organize the Royal Academy of Scotland and served as secretary from its inception until his death. He was a respected artist in his time, but not one that would be recognized today had he not become involved with Robert Adamson.

David Octavius Hill was present in 1843 at the meeting of the Church of Scotland and witnessed the succession of 457 ministers to reassemble as the Free Church of Scotland. Hill was so moved he pledged to paint a portrait of all 457 ministers together. Sir David Brewster, who had studied for the clergy of the Church of Scotland was also at the meeting. He suggested the use of the Calotype as a sketching tool.

Adamson, who had opened his studio at Rock House just weeks before, entered into a joint venture with Hill to photograph all 457 men of the new Free Church of Scotland. The subjects were posed outside. One set was designed to appear indoors but was actually outdoors with furniture and drapery against a wall of the building. 

 David Octavius Hill’s 12 ft-wide Disruption Painting, widely thought to be the first time a painter based his work on photographs.  The work, which was begun in 1843 and took 23 years to complete, includes everyone involved in signing the agreement that set up the Free Church of Scotland in the 19th century.

Hill and Adamson mainly made Calotype documentary portraits that beautifully speak of their time. They photographed not only the churchmen, but also a variety of subjects: landscapes, architecture, friends and family. Their environmental portraits were among the earliest recorded, utilizing the new medium of photography. They worked together on their project for four and a half years, until Adamson’s early death in 1848.

After Adamson’s premature death at age 27, Hill temporarily abandoned photography and returned to painting. Hill became a member of the Photographic Society of Scotland in 1856 and ran a studio with Alexander McGlashan from 1861 to 1862 publishing Some Contributions Towards the Use of Photography as an Art. Hill sold the remnants of his studio with Adamson in 1869. The property on Calton Hill is now holiday accommodation. 

Hill is buried in Dean Cemetery, Edinburgh - one of the finest Victorian cemeteries in Scotland. He is portrayed in a bust sculpted by his second wife, Amelia, who is buried alongside him.

Pics are of Hill on his own and with various others, the the 42nd Gordon Highlanders, Edinburgh Castle  the Disruption Painting, the last known photograph of the man and finally his grave with the fine bust atop it. 

[bestpaintinganddecorating]

https://bestpaintinganddecorating.com.au/pressure-washing-sealed Wall Painters in castle hills-Concrete Floor Polishing in Kellyville At Best Painting and Decorating, we believe in providing our clients with the best possible experience. From the moment you contact us, we will work with you every step of the way to ensure that your project is completed on time, on budget, and to your complete satisfaction. Call us now: 0418 333 744.

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Jairsolas

Fantasy Masks AU: Chapter Six

A JSE Fanfic

*gasp* A POV change?! For the first time in this story?! How exciting! Yeah short description because I’ve had a long day as of queueing this, but basically we follow Marvin as he tries to track down the King. But instead, along the way, he meets someone new. And that’s all I have to say. Hope you enjoy :)

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The noble family Portmota lived on the edge of the Southern Moors, their castle built on the last bit of solid land before the rivers came in and flooded the south of the kingdom. Officially, their claim covered all of the Moors, but everybody knew that the Moors ran on their own, much like the mountain villages to the west and north. But the meagerness of their claim didn’t stop the family from building themselves a solid, grand castle. It sat on top of a small hill, surrounded by a thick stone wall. The castle’s multiple towers reached the sky, and were numerous to require a large staff to keep the place running for the noble family and any visitors they might have.

With such a large body of servants, it was easy to slip in unnoticed. They always accepted help, and as long as you didn’t appear troublesome, they’d immediately snatch you up and put you to work the moment you asked for a position, no interview needed. 

This was something Marvin found out first hand when he decided to infiltrate the castle in preparation for the King’s visit.

Maybe they needed help to clean up for said visit, maybe they were always like this, the result was the same either way. All Marvin had to do was show up on the grounds, dressed in ragged clothes, and he was immediately hired by the head servant. She didn’t even mind when he said he had to keep his cat nearby at all times.

Once he was inside, it only took him a few days to get a scope of things. Normally his sense of direction was terrible, but the servants were always being sent on numerous chores, so the castle’s layout quickly solidified in his mind. The cleaning and cooking was...hard, he had to admit. Unlike Jackie and Schneep, he hadn’t grown up doing chores, and taking care of things was a relatively new skill. He went to bed in the servants’ quarters exhausted. But this was a small price to pay for the opportunity that had presented itself.

He began to notice odd things about the castle. First of all, effort was put into cleaning and clearing every room in every wing, even the ones that had been sealed off so the heat wouldn’t escape into the winter air. Every candlestick was being polished, every tapestry dusted out. Why all the work? Unless...there was something big happening.

There were also a lot more people wandering around the castle. Visitors. Nobility, to be specific. An oddly high amount. Not that the nobility didn’t like to go see each other, especially for parties, but the Portmota claim was currently home to just one person: the Marquess Portmota, the eldest member of the family. Marvin knew all the other Portmotas were either traveling, or had married into other noble families and now lived with them. There were far too many visitors in the castle for one woman to entertain, even for something as important as a Longest Night celebration.

Not to mention the rumors circling through the servants’ ranks. News spread fast through this network, and soon, maids, cooks, and gardeners were muttering to each other about the King himself visiting.

Marvin tried not to get too close to any of these servants. It would just...get in the way. Sure, many of them were friendly to him, offering to share lunches or spend their breaks with him. But...no, it wouldn’t work out. It couldn’t. Besides, he didn’t need them. All he needed was his familiar, Draco.

He’d been in Portmota Castle for a week when the rumors started to buzz. The cleaning suddenly intensified, and the visitors to the keep began strutting about in their finest clothes. One night, to confirm his suspicions, he asked a laundress named Mina what was going on.

“Huh? You mean you haven’t heard? You haven’t seen?” Mina glanced about the laundry room where she was busy working. Seeing nobody else nearby, she leaned close to Marvin and whispered, “They’ve seen the King! Here!”

Marvin’s eyes widened in exaggerated surprise. “Really? Why would he be here?”

“Why would he be here? For the Longest Night celebration!” Mina chuckled. “Elders, Westley, you can be oblivious,” she said, calling him by the fake name he was going by.

“Oh. That makes sense.” Marvin glanced down at the floor. Draco was batting at a loose sleeve dangling from a laundry bin, so he quickly bent over and scooped him up before the cat could knock the whole thing over. “Who saw him? How’d they know it was the King?”

“A couple people. Teresa, Connor, Kelley. They saw a man fitting his description walking around, with the brown hair and slender build, and Teresa pointed out he was walking very purposefully. Dressed finer than all other lords who’ve come to visit.” Mina dumped some of the laundry into a washbasin as she talked. “Kelley got really close to him, too, when they were serving food in the hall. They said he had the royal green eyes.”

“Royal green. Wow.” Marvin pretended to be in awe, and made sure not to show off any of the burning anger smoldering inside him. “If he’s the King, where’s he staying? I don’t think any room here would be noble enough for him.”

Mina shrugged. “Nobody’s said yet. There are a whole bunch of new rooms made up for the visitors, hard to tell. It’s not like he’ll be hanging the royal crest on the door.” She glanced about the room again, then nudged Marvin’s shoulder with some urgency. “Oh no, Ursula is coming. Better get out of sight before she demands you stop standing around and start working.”

“Right.”

That conversation was abruptly cut short, but Marvin got a lot of information from it. Namely, that the King really was here. The detail about the royal green eyes sealed it. Yes, the royal family were once known for their distinctive shade of green eyes, but none of them had actually been born with the color in recent generations. Until the current king. Something like that wouldn’t be forgotten easily. Now the question was how to get close to him.

He spent two days trying to figure out which room the King was staying in, but in the end, the answer fell right into his lap.

It was early morning, and he was in the kitchen, kneading bread for the day. It was a task he often volunteered for; something about the kneading motion was very calming to him. Even if Draco wandered around and tried to get under the feet of every grumbling chef and baker.

With no warning, the door suddenly flew open, and a voice called, “Any of you lot free for a quick delivery?!”

Everyone looked over in unison. It was Ursula, the head servant. “Depending what the delivery is!” answered Everett, the head cook.

“We need a breakfast tray prepared quick!” Ursula demanded. “It’s urgent!”

The chefs and bakers muttered amongst themselves. “How urgent is it?” Everett asked.

Ursula huffed. “Very. One of the lady’s important guests ordered it. And we don’t wanna upset him.”

Marvin’s head shot up. Could it be...?

“Alright, don’t get your skirt twisted, Helendaugh,” Everett muttered, rolling his eyes. “We’ll make one up. But you’ll need someone else to bring it up. We’re all busy here, if you couldn’t tell.”

“No one else can bring it up! They’re all busy too! Sure, I could scout around for someone, but that’ll take too long! Do I need to repeat that he ordered it urgently? Or that we can’t upset him?”

Marvin slowly raised his hand. “Um...sir? If you give me a minute, I’ll be finished. I can do it.”

Everett gave his kneading station a once-over, then nodded, satisfied. “Alright, that’ll be just enough time to make up the tray. See, Ursula? Westley can do it, no problem.”

Judging by the tightness of her face and the way she was wringing her hands, Ursula still thought there was a problem. But she stepped back. “Okay. Westley, you’ll want to head up the central tower, all the way to the top room. Knock on the door, but don’t wait for a reply. Open it and slide the tray right in, then close it and leave.”

“I understand, ma’am.”

“Make sure you do. This is very important, for a very important guest.” Ursula took a few more steps back, right out the door. Then she shut it behind her.

Some time later, Marvin was practically running through the halls of Portmota Castle, Draco at his heels. The central tower was quite far away from the kitchens. Though...a tower room was odd. Most nobility preferred to stay in the keep itself, since towers got drafty, and walking up and down the stairs was rarely worth the view. Maybe the King was different? Eh. It didn’t really matter. The King wouldn’t be around long enough to enjoy that tower room.

Marvin stopped at the base of the central tower, breathing heavily. He quickly glanced around, but luckily, the area was clear of any servants or noble visitors. Good. He needed to be quick. He slid over to the wall and knelt down, putting the tray of food on the floor. There was a floor-length tapestry nearby, and he pulled it over his shoulders, partially hiding him from view.

Then he reached under his shirt and pulled out a pendant on a chain. A beautiful pendant, with its smooth, palm-sized emerald and silver frame looking too expensive for the rusted chain it hung from. Even though wearing it might give him away, he couldn’t bear to part from his magical focus. A wizard without a focus was like a painter without their paint. They couldn’t do anything without it.

Quickly, Marvin pressed two fingers to the surface of the emerald, which immediately started glowing. When he pulled his hand away, the glowing light stuck to his fingertips. He drew a rectangle on the ground with his fingers, leaving light behind like chalk on a board. Once the rectangle was fully formed, the middle of it faded away. Now, Marvin was looking at the inside of a small box. And inside the box were a few things. A small dagger, a bottle of brown glass, a coil of thread, a white handkerchief, and a candle. Marvin plucked the bottle out from the box. He reached for the breakfast tray—swatting Draco away in the process with a “No, not for you”—and pulled it closer. Then he unstopped the bottle, poured a few drops of the liquid inside onto all the food items, and stopped it again, putting it back inside the small box. Once the bottle was back in place, the glowing rectangle disappeared. The floor reappeared as solid stone once more, with no sign of the magical box that had just been there.

“Good,” Marvin said, grinning to himself. He pulled away the tapestry, picked up the food tray, and stood up. “Now for the most difficult part...the stairs.”

That statement was a joke—a joke for no one, really, since Draco was the only one around and he didn’t really understand human humor—but Marvin was definitely winded by the time he reached the room at the tower top. No matter how often he walked up stairs, no matter how frequently he’d done so in the past week, he still hated them. Maybe that said more about how fit he was than the design of the stairs themselves. Which made no sense, he’d spent the past few years running around the kingdom, surely he’d be more fit by now?

He was getting distracted. The room door was in front of him. Wooden. A fine door, but no more fine than literally any other door in the castle. Yet...the King was inside.

Following the instructions, Marvin knocked on the door, but didn’t wait for a reply before easing it open and setting the tray down on the floor inside. Draco almost poked his head through the gap, but Marvin pushed him back, then closed the door.

He waited for a few minutes. Expecting to hear movement inside. But there was nothing. Well...the room must have thick walls, then. With his task accomplished, Marvin turned back and headed back down the stairs, which proved much friendlier on the way down.

That poison worked quickly. By that night, they’d hear news of the King’s assassination.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

But that was not the case.

Marvin waited with anticipation, but nothing happened. There was no outcry of poison, no panic as the King’s lackeys were left unsure what to do. Things proceeded as normal. Leaving him confused. He was sure he got the dose right, and he’d made sure to poison all of the food on the tray. Hadn’t he?

The next morning, the exact same thing happened. Ursula barged into the kitchen, demanding a breakfast tray for an important guest. Everett said everyone was busy, and Ursula repeated the urgency. So, Marvin volunteered to deliver it again. Once he was alone, he took the poison from the hidden box and again dosed the food, making sure to add a bit more this time before putting the poison back and delivering the food to the top of the tower. He even had to push Draco back from the door again.

But still, nothing happened.

And when the same thing happened the next morning, Marvin was about ready to shout out “Am I going mad?!” But he didn’t, and instead played it cool. This time, Everett asked him to take the tray up ahead of time, expecting him to be able to. And of course, Marvin agreed, and secretly added even more of the poison. And of course, Draco once again tried to squeeze into the room at the top of the tower. Honestly, Marvin felt he should have more control of his familiar, but given how cats were impossible to order around under normal circumstances, he took Draco even listening to him as a plus.

When nothing happened the fourth day, Marvin began to suspect something unusual was going on. Perhaps someone tampered with the poison? No, that should be impossible. That box was buried in the ground, far away from Portmota Castle. He could only access it because of his magic. But...maybe? If he tried again today and the King still did not die, he’d try a different method.

So once more, he took the breakfast tray when offered, headed to a private area to get the poison out of the box, added yet more of it to the food, and trekked up the stairs to the room at the top of the central tower. He knocked on the door, then without waiting for a response, opened it to slide the tray inside.

And the instant the opening was big enough, Draco leaped through the gap and into the room beyond.

“Draco!” Marvin cried out, dropping the breakfast tray. Without thinking about what to do next, he threw the door open and rushed inside to scoop up his cat.

But of course, there was someone in there. Someone who’d been startled by the sudden appearance of an off-white cat, but was even more surprised to see someone run into the room after it.

Marvin skidded to a halt, looked around, and before he could even think about it, blurted out, “You’re not the King.”

The person inside slowly shook their head.

“Oh.” Marvin took a step back. Now that he wasn’t worried about his familiar jumping into the hands of the King, he gave the stranger inside a once-over.

The person—Marvin now recognized him as a man—looked a bit like the King, at a first glance. He had brown hair, as most people in the kingdom did, and was fairly thin. But he was shorter than the King was said to be, had a distinct, dark mustache, and most importantly, blue eyes. Not green. His clothes were fine, indicating nobility, but the style was a bit old fashioned. Like the black bow he wore around his neck, something that had gone out of style at least ten years ago.

Draco was sitting on a stool next to the man, looking very self-satisfied. Evidently, the strange man had started petting him right before Marvin barged in.

“Well...sorry, then,” Marvin said awkwardly.

The man smiled and shrugged. He gestured to Draco.

“Huh? Yes, sorry about him. And about barging in, I wasn’t thinking.” Marvin glanced around the room. “So...is the King going to be back soon?”

The man tilted his head, puzzled. And shook his head.

“Why do you look so confused?” Marvin took a minute to think. Then a possibility occurred to him. “Wait...is the King...not staying in these rooms?”

And the man shook his head again.

“Damn it,” Marvin whispered, barely audible. 

Honestly, looking around the room, he didn’t think this place was fit for a king, anyway. Certainly, it was noble. There were plush sofas and chairs sitting about, and a desk with a mirror and stool in the corner. The windows had thick blue curtains that one could pull over to cover the glass. And he could see two more doors, both slightly ajar and showing a bedroom and a bathroom. But...it was rather small, in all honesty. The furniture was pushed together, and the blue wallpaper looked a bit old. Not to mention it was cold, as well, with no fireplace. Marvin wished he’d thought to bring a cloak, but the one he owned was too fine, and he had to leave it behind while masquerading as a servant.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed,” Marvin said politely. “They said someone very important was ordering the breakfast trays so—wait, have you been eating that food?”

The man looked embarrassed, and shook his head again.

“No? Well it couldn’t just disappear.”

Now even more embarrassed, the man pointed towards the bathroom.

“You’ve been...dumping it in the lavatory?” Marvin realized, shocked. “Every day? Well no wonder you look so thin, then, if you’ve been skipping breakfast the whole time.” He then remembered the tray of poisoned food he’d brought, and dropped in the hallway. “Oh. But ah, might have actually been a good idea this time. I mean, the—if I’m being honest, it was all undercooked, anyway,” he lied. “And the one for today is all splattered now. Sorry.”

The stranger smiled good-naturedly. He nodded.

“Um...I’ll just leave now.” Marvin took a few steps backwards towards the door.

Hurriedly, the man shook his head, gesturing for him to stay. Meanwhile, Draco pressed his head against the man’s arm, demanding pets.

“Oh. Right. Draco, come on.”

Ears drooping, disappointed, Draco hopped off the stool and walked out the door. “Sorry about all this,” Marvin muttered, backing fully out of the room and pushing the door closed.

As it shut, he could have sworn the man inside had a very strange expression on his face. Something like disappointment and desperation mixed in one.

How...odd. Marvin hesitated, wondering if he should go back inside. But...maybe he’d misread the man’s face. That was far more likely than...whatever he just saw. Yes. He should turn his mind to more practical matters. Like where the King was actually staying, if not here. And getting someone to come up and clean the tray he’d dropped.

But as he retreated back down the stairs, he felt somehow regretful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The next day, the order for a breakfast tray came in, as usual. Marvin wasn’t sure about delivering it, but by this point, he’d volunteered enough that Everett and Ursula expected him to. After all, it was much easier to have one person do something than to constantly find someone new every day. So Marvin quietly took the tray and headed to the central tower once more. This time, he did not stop to poison the food along the way. Now that he knew the King wasn’t there, it wasn’t much use.

When he knocked on the door, it swung open before he could pull it open himself. The strange man from the day before was standing there, smiling and practically bouncing with excitement. He immediately grabbed Marvin and dragged him into the room.

“Whoa! Watch out, you’ll spill the milk!” Marvin quickly set the breakfast tray down on the nearby desk, making sure nothing had fallen off. He didn’t want to make another mess.

The strange man didn’t respond to that comment. He was kneeling on the floor, petting Draco. Much to the cat’s delight, of course. There was a lot of purring.

“Why’d you do that?” Marvin asked. “Pull me in, I mean. If you want to know if the breakfast’s good to eat this time, it is. I...um, checked. Did you just want to pet my cat?”

The man made a so-so gesture.

Marvin suddenly felt frustrated. “Why don’t you just tell me what you want?!” he snapped.

At that, the man stopped. He looked over at Marvin, then stood up. He was wearing another neck bow today, blue this time, and he silently pulled it down so that his neck was more visible. There, right in the middle of his throat, were two scars, arranged in a + shape. Clearly the result of some sort of surgery.

“Oh.” Marvin’s stomach immediately sank. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”

The man waved away his stammered apology with a small smile. It was clearly a sensitive subject, but since it was an accident, all was forgiven.

“Still, I...I’m very sorry. Ah...do you have something to write with, maybe?” Marvin suggested tentatively.

The man shook his head. He did that a lot, didn’t he?

“...nothing at all? What about in this desk?” Marvin wandered over to said desk, opening the drawers. But the man was right. There weren’t any quills or chalk to be seen. There wasn’t even any stationary, and Marvin knew that nobles were fond of keeping their own personalized paper nearby in case writing was needed. Instead, the desk’s drawers were mostly empty, only containing a few game boards and card decks.

As Marvin looked through the drawers, the man walked over to stand next to him, watching. When Marvin opened the drawer with the cards inside, he reached forward and quickly snatched up one of the decks. He turned to Marvin, grinning, and pointed at him, then at the cards.

“You...want to play cards?” Marvin asked, trying not to sound excited.

The man nodded.

“Well...I’m supposed to have chores, but why not?” Marvin grinned as well. “I have to warn you, I’m very good at Luck of the Deal.”

That only made the man smile wider. He guided Marvin over to the sofas and gestured for him to sit.

A couple hours passed before Marvin remembered he had more to do. Not just chores, but he also had to locate the King before the Longest Night celebration, after which he’d leave and return to Suilthair, the capital, and be untouchable. So Marvin hurriedly excused himself, but found himself leaving with a certain spring in his step. It had been a while since he’d sat down and played a few card games with someone. He...really missed it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the next few days, he and the man in the tower developed a routine. Marvin would take a breakfast tray up to the room, and the man would drag him inside for a few games. Cards, mostly, though they pulled out some of the board games, too. The breakfast tray would be mostly ignored, though Marvin tried to insist that the man actually eat it. The stranger was on the thin side, after all, he probably needed a meal. A bit odd to see a skinny noble, actually. They could definitely afford enough to eat. But Marvin wasn’t going to ask, in case it was sensitive, like the voice issue.

There were, however, other questions that he wasn’t afraid to ask. The first one came up on the second day of this routine. They’d finished their first game of cards—Enchanter’s Gambit, a shorter one—and Marvin had asked, slowly, “Can you tell me your name? I understand you can’t speak it, but there has to be something I can call you.”

The man paused in shuffling the cards, thinking. Then he set down the deck, stood up, and walked over into the bedroom. A few moments later, he returned, holding something. He handed it to Marvin.

“A handkerchief?” Marvin asked, turning it over in his hands.

The man pointed to one of the cloth’s corners. Marvin examined it, and saw a small design embroidered in gray thread. A rabbit, curled up and sleeping, surrounded by a circle of thorny plants. It was the sign of a noble family. But not just any family. One Marvin instantly recognized.

“That’s the Jairsolas crest,” he gasped. “But—that’s—a-are you a friend of theirs, or...?” He trailed off, not needing to finish his question. The man’s grim expression confirmed everything. “That’s...impossible,” Marvin whispered. “They’re all dead.”

More specifically, they’d been massacred. By the King and his forces.

The death of the Jairsolas family had been one of the earliest signs of how dangerous the King was. The Count and Countess Jairsolas had ruled over the small family peacefully, loved by the people of their land. When the King began demanding more warriors, when he began taking away royal funds from medicine and farming, they were one of the nobles who protested. Eventually, they refused to enact his royal decrees in their northern territory, saying they would not compromise the welfare of their people. They accused the King of swiftly becoming a tyrant. The King immediately proved them right by forcibly invading their land and killing the entire family.

And yet, even after this clearly unwarranted act, there were still nobles out there who stood by the King. There were still warriors who pledged loyalty to him and believed in his cause. There were even common people who repeated that the King was just and good, though that was usually because they were simply unaware of what was going on. The nobles and warriors, however, had no excuse. They continued to fawn over the King and happily harm innocents. It made Marvin sick just thinking about them.

“I’m...so sorry,” Marvin said quietly.

The man nodded slowly, sadness flashing in his eyes. He must’ve been a more distant relative, to survive the King’s attack. Marvin, unsure what to do, placed a hand on his arm, hoping the gesture would convey the sympathy he felt. The man patted it, and smiled a bit, indicating it was alright.

“Jairsolas is a bit cumbersome,” Marvin said slowly. “Can I call you...Jair? For short?”

The man nodded, eagerly accepting the nickname. He pointed at Marvin, raising an eyebrow.

“Me? I’m M—I’m Westley.” Marvin remembered his pseudonym just in time, and quickly changed the subject. “Want to play another round?”

For someone who couldn’t speak, Jair was very expressive, gesturing widely and exaggerating his facial movements. Marvin assumed that was necessary, to compensate for not being able to say anything. Though it was odd that there were no writing utensils or parchment in his room. That seemed like it would be helpful, and easy to acquire, too. But Marvin didn’t want to push the issue. Maybe it was just a preference. Or maybe Jair assumed Marvin, appearing to be a servant, couldn’t read much.

Despite the issues of communication, Marvin proceeded with his questions. About eight days after the first breakfast tray delivery, he got tired of Jair continually ignoring the breakfast. That was perfectly good food going to waste. “Why do you even order the trays if you don’t want to eat them?”

Jair looked up, a bit surprised to be asked this while the two of them were in the middle of a game of Fidchell. He indicated himself, then shook his head.

“You...you mean you’re not the one ordering them?” Marvin asked, confused.

Jair nodded, confirming this, and looked back down at the board, moving a piece.

“Wh—how’d you do that?!” Marvin spluttered, momentarily distracted. “I was going to move one of the warriors there—you just cut off my path!” He scanned the board. “How did you surround my king again?!”

Jair laughed silently, a breathy sound, clapping his hands in delight at winning another game.

Marvin scowled. Draco promptly jumped onto the sofa and knocked over the board, scattering the pieces. “Yea, take down that game. I’m shit at it, apparently.” He sighed, and grabbed the cat, moving him to the side. “Who’s ordering the breakfast trays, then? Can you tell them to stop? It’s enough work as it is.”

Shaking his head, Jair pointed at Marvin.

“I could find some other way to get up here.” Marvin paused, noticing Jair’s slightly uncomfortable look on his face as he went about collecting the knocked-over game pieces. “Can you...not tell them to stop?” He thought about it for a moment. “It must be someone higher ranking than you, then. That would make sense, and it would explain why they always said someone important ordered the trays. Heh. Is it the King?”

Marvin asked the question jokingly, but for a moment, Jair’s shoulders stiffened. Then he brushed off the question, laughing without sound again.

That...couldn’t be right, could it? Why would the King go out of his way to order breakfast for some random noble? And one related to the Jairsolas family, which he destroyed? It didn’t make sense. There must be some sort of lie or trickery involved. Maybe it wasn’t actually the King. Or the King didn’t know Jair’s true identity. Or Jair didn’t know what happened to the rest of the family. Something like that.

Either way, Jair was quickly putting away the Fidchell pieces and board, clearly wanting to move on. So Marvin dropped the subject for the day.

But he still needed information. The King was somewhere in the castle. Other servants had caught glimpses of him, but Marvin still hadn’t figured out where he was staying, or run into him at all. Longest Night was approaching. He was running out of time. So, he decided to ask Jair a few more questions.

“Have you seen the King around?” he asked one day over a game of Saelan checkers. “Apparently he’s in the castle for the celebration, but I haven’t seen the tail of him. Others have, though. What bad luck, huh?”

Just like the last time he brought the King up, Jair stiffened, and immediately denied anything with a shake of his head. He pointed to the board.

“Right.” Marvin moved one of the small stone balls that served as pieces, getting closer to the end goal at the other side of the board. He wasn’t too good at board games, preferring cards, but he was better at this than he was at Fidchell. “I suppose I shouldn’t assume you’d know, anyway. I was just curious. I’ve never seen him. Does he really have green eyes?”

Jair nodded, distracted by planning out his next move.

“It’s strange that none of us know what room he’s staying in. That’s why I assumed he was staying here, ha.” Marvin watched Jair’s face as he continued to talk. “Is he even staying on the castle grounds? I know it’s traditional and all, but I don’t know if anyone would stop him.”

Jair shrugged. This time, his response didn’t seem like avoiding the question, but genuinely not knowing.

“Do you...I’ve never seen you out in the castle,” Marvin realized. “Do you stay in these rooms the whole time?”

Squirming, Jair didn’t answer, instead focusing on jumping one of his pieces over two of Marvin’s, capturing the last one.

“That’s not good for you. Staying in all the time, I mean. Especially when you don’t have a fireplace here. And it looks like an old room, you’re probably breathing in dust all the time. You don’t have to go out and make conversation with others, or even go outside, but just walk around. Do you even go to the main hall for dinner?”

Jair leaned back and looked away, folding his arms.

“Oh. Sorry, I...didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Marvin said. “I was just...worried, I suppose. You don’t eat breakfast, you don’t go out, you don’t have a fireplace...it’s just...worrying. I’m...worried about...your health.”

Despite the clumsiness of Marvin’s statements, Jair looked touched. He patted Marvin’s hand and gave him a reassuring smile.

“If you’re sure you’re alright,” Marvin said reluctantly. “Try to take care of yourself, though.”

Jair placed his hand over his heart, suddenly emotional. He nodded, smiling. 

Had...no one ever said anything like that to him before? Had no one looked after him? Marvin felt something stirring deep inside his chest. A familiar ache. He’d...he’d never someone he could...well...relate to.

Marvin was supposed to ask more about the King, but he found he couldn’t go through with it today. He would try again tomorrow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The next day, Marvin arrived at the tower room a bit later than usual. It took them a bit longer to cook it today, since there was more food than the previous times. He hoped that meant Jair was planning to actually eat it, and not just feed pieces of sausage to Draco the whole time.

He knocked on the door, waited for a few moments for Jair to open, but when he didn’t appear, Marvin pulled open the door himself and walked inside. Huh. Jair wasn’t actually in the room. The bedroom and bathroom doors were closed, so maybe he was doing something in there. “Hello? I’m here,” Marvin called as he set the tray down on the desk. Something brushed against his legs, and he looked down to see Draco curling around his legs. “Hmm? What’s wrong?” Draco didn’t usually stick close to legs, not after too many occasions of people suddenly moving and tripping over him. And his tail was standing straight up, the fur all puffed out.

At that moment, the bedroom door opened, and Jair walked out. He waved at Marvin the moment he saw him.

“Tthere you are. I was wondering why you didn’t open the door.” Marvin glanced back down at Draco, still on edge, then back up. “Is everything alright?”

Jair nodded, waving away the question. He then walked straight over to the desk and started rummaging around the drawers, pausing for a moment to gesture at Marvin.

“Oh, I don’t want to do anything specific today. Maybe more cards?”

Nodding again, Jair pulled out one of the decks. While he walked over to the sofa and began shuffling, Marvin glanced around the room once more. Nothing looked out of place...what had Draco so spooked? He walked over to the window and pulled back the curtains, looking out the glass at the scenery. Clear skies ahead. On the ground below, there were...a lot of people in the surrounding open-air keep. More than he saw on the way over to the tower. That wasn’t too unusual, though. So Marvin closed the curtains again. “What were you doing?” he asked Jair.

Jair looked up at him, confused.

“I mean, you’re usually waiting for me. What was different this time?”

There was a slight pause. Then Jair shrugged. He pulled on the ends of his neck bow, tightening it, and followed it up with a so-so gesture.

“I don’t understand, what do you mean? Something about getting dressed?” Marvin asked. This whole thing felt...odd. Why did it feel odd? Was it just because Draco was still clinging to his legs?

Actually, Draco wasn’t just staying close to his legs. He was also staring at something, ears flat, a warning growl low in his throat. Marvin followed his line of sight...to the door they’d just come through. And...now that he wasn’t speaking, he could hear something underneath the sounds of shuffling cards. Faint, but growing louder.

Footsteps coming up the stairs.

Now why would someone be coming up the stairs? The only thing in the central tower were guest rooms. But most rooms were farther below, and the steps were definitely close enough to be heard. Meaning...someone was coming to this room. Why? Jair wasn’t exactly sociable. It could’ve been Ursula coming to get Marvin for chores, but...Marvin grabbed his amulet through his shirt, and his eyes lit up the smallest amount. No, he could sense more than one living person approaching. Quite a lot more, actually.

“Can I use your lavatory?” Marvin asked. He didn’t wait for Jair to nod before heading over and disappearing inside, closing the door behind him.

Just in time for the room’s entrance door to open, and for all those living people to fill the room. Accompanying the footsteps he’d heard before was the faint sound of metallic clanking, like...like chainmail. Or weapons.

Panic flooded Marvin’s mind. They’d discovered him, hadn’t they?! He had to get out of here! There was a small window in the bathroom, maybe just barely big enough to squeeze through. It was quite a drop to the keep below, but better than nothing. Marvin tried to break the glass with his fist, but only managed to crack it, so he pulled his amulet out and began to focus.

“Open up! We know you’re in there, traitor!” Bang bang bang bang bang!

“Damn!” Marvin cursed. They were knocking on the bathroom door. He didn’t have time to break the window, he needed to go through them! He whirled around—

The bathroom door slammed open, revealing three warriors wearing tunics with the royal crest. Marvin grabbed his now-glowing amulet and made a throwing motion. Light flung from his hands, hardening to stone as it hurled through the air, and three good-sized rocks hit each warrior in the chest, knocking them down. Marvin immediately bolted.

The small room was packed with other warriors, as well. Many were blocking his way to the door, armed with broad-bladed swords. Marvin threw more light to either side of him, and the warriors yelled as they tried to get out of the way of the suddenly-appearing rocks. For the ones in front, he pulled more glow from the amulet, forming it into a long, thin whip made entirely of green flame. He swung it around and many of the warriors scattered. Two stood their ground, acting quickly to pull circular shields from their backs and block the magic fire. But then Marvin was in front of them, his hands ablaze with more flame.

And then pain wrapped around his torso.

He looked down just long enough to register the black thorny vines wrapped across his chest before suddenly being yanked backwards. Pulled off his feet, he landed on his back and was dragged across the floor for some distance before suddenly stopping. He looked up and saw a face looking down at him. Unnaturally blue eyes. Pale blonde hair, stylishly curled around her face. And a few smattering of freckles, almost disappearing beneath a light layer of cosmetics. She looked as surprised to see him as he felt seeing her. “Marvin,” she said.

“Thalia,” Marvin scowled.

“I didn’t think it would be you. They said the servant’s name was Westley. Unless—you lied, didn’t you? Like you always do.”

“You’ve always been the liar.”

“No I haven’t. I’m always honest with everyone.”

“Nope. I know you haven’t told anyone about those secret visits to the mountains, have you?” Marvin laughed at Thalia’s surprised expression. “That was hard to find out, but I immediately recognized your handiwork. Burning the stone? Really? Talk about excessive.”

“Shut up,” Thalia snapped. She reached up and touched a silver-and-ruby broach pinned on her tunic. Her focus. Her eyes lit up. “I’m the one in charge now.”

“No you’re not.” Marvin grabbed his own focus, flicking the light from it up into her face. Thalia yelped as the glow turned into liquid and went into her eyes, and she lost concentration on the vine spell. Marvin shot up and looked around the room again. Now counting, there were ten warriors. One of them was holding his cat-shaped mask. Damn it! They went through his belongings and found it. He could have left it behind, but he brought it in case something happened and he needed it. Clearly that hadn’t been worth the risk.

All of the warriors were strategically blocking his ways out. The window, the door out, the doors to the bathroom and Jair’s bedroom—

Wait, Jair?! Where was he?!

Marvin didn’t have to look far. Jair was sitting in the exact spot he’d last seen him. On the sofa, having not moved a finger since the warriors and Thalia entered. His eyes were fixed downward, his hands clutching the deck of cards tightly in his lap. Marvin blinked. “Jair, what are you—”

Fog suddenly filled the room, unnaturally quickly, blinding him in seconds. Marvin whirled around, lighting up his amulet to try and see through the mist. 

Dark figures lunged out of the fog and grabbed at him. Shouting, Marvin threw the light in a circle, turning it to green flame again. Several people cried out, and the fog lifted as the fire burned through it. Marvin saw the surrounding figures of the warriors, and then someone lunged at him from behind, wrapping legs around his and pulling his hair.

He yelped. “Thalia! Get off me!”

“No, give me that focus!” Thalia demanded, clawing at the chain around his neck.

“Die in freezing!” Marvin tried to grab his amulet, but that was a bit difficult while the chain was strangling him. He had to divert effort to giving himself room to breathe. “Who jumps on someone’s back?! You’re thirty years old!”

“You’re the one acting like a child! You stole that, I recognize it!”

“It was mine, too!”

After a few moments, the combination of struggling and the weight on his back caused Marvin to fall over, bringing Thalia down with him. The moment he was down, five of the ten warriors lunged forward, pinning him. He struggled, but there were just too many. Then Thalia pulled once more on the chain holding his amulet, and it broke. She backed away, holding the amulet upward in triumph.

Out of nowhere, there was a yowling sound. Thalia screamed as a streak of off-white fur ran at her and began clawing at her leg, tearing through her trousers while spitting and hissing. Instinctively, she kicked, and the ball of fur went flying across the room.

“Draco!” Marvin cried, managing to push free of the warriors for long enough to see his cat stand up again. “No! Get out of here!”

Draco wailed, then hissed, ready to attack despite being outnumbered by eleven tall humans.

“No! Out! Run!” Marvin’s magic was quickly fading without his amulet within reach, but he had to get Draco to safety. He looked Draco in the eyes from across the room. His flickered blue for a moment, and Draco’s eyes glowed for a second in the matching shade. Marvin sent the image of a safe place to go through the connection he had with his familiar, and followed it up with instructions on how to get there.

Reluctantly, Draco turned...then bolted, weaving in between the legs of the warriors in a sudden burst of speed. Once he reached the door, an unnatural wave of strength overcame him, and he pushed it open and disappeared. The warriors cried out, but Thalia called, “Let it go! It can’t do much!” She looked down at Marvin. “Really? A cat? Why not bond with something more useful, like a dog?”

“Fuck you!” Marvin shouted, and lunged at her.

Then a warrior brought the hilt of their sword down on the back of his head, and everything went black.

[ldwritesstuff]

Fallen Kingdom

Holy Shit this blog is alive, whaaaa?????

Anyways, I was scrolling around on @ingapotejtoo‘s Blog and I saw his recent drawing of a royal portrait and the rambles of an Anon there as well and it got me a-thinkin. So here is what I came up with. I hope you enjoy. 

“Tubbo you have to hold still,” The Captain laughed. 

“But I wanna go to the garden!” the youth named Tubbo whined. 

“The painter is almost done, just wait,” The Captain beamed. 

The child fussed a bit before settling back down. Portrait day meant getting dressed up in their finest attire and standing around for hours while the painter worked to capture their image. The prince of the kingdom, still a young child, wasn’t amused by this. He would rather be out playing nations or with the bees. The good king of this land, referred to as the Captain, smiled at the boy. Sure he kept a stern face for the portrait but how can one not smile at this kid? It had been a long time since the once mighty sailor had settled down here after finding the orphan Tubbo at sea. Granted he liked to argue that Tubbo was a gift from the goddess herself, the only explanation he believed in. 

“Alright, done!” the painter said, flipping the canvas around. 

The Captain and Tubbo looked to see the fine work of art. The Captain, dressed in royal red robes with gold accents stood proud. The golden crown sat on the king's head with the diamonds shining brightly. Around the Captain's neck had red and gold jewelry and a green and gold ring on his finger. Tubbo sat next to him on a stone pedestal with a green and gold necklace to compliment the Captains own. Tubbo even had his own little blue cape to match his father’s. Tubbo beamed in the portrait compared to the stone faced Captain. 

“Another job well done,” the Captain hummed. 

“Can we go play now?” Tubbo whined, clearly done with all the sitting around. 

“Let’s go get this hung up first and then we go and play before lunch,” The Captain answered. 

Tubbo smiled at that, hopping down from the stone pedestal. The servants grabbed the painting and marched it to the ballroom. The Captain followed with Tubbo holding his hand. The palace gleamed from a recent cleaning for spring. Being inside for most of the harsh winter months drove the little prince insane, much with the rest of the palace staff along with the child. The Captain took it all in stride with how rowdy he could get sometimes. Thankfully spring came around and now Tubbo could run around the estate and play in the sunshine. 

“How does this look your highness?” the servants asked as they hung it on the wall. 

“A little to the left and should be perfect. All who come and enter the grand ballroom can see it,” the Captain proclaimed. 

“It’s pretty Captain,” Tubbo said. 

“Indeed. Now then, I think the garden awaits us? After we change out of our serious clothes” The Captain said as he ushered the little one along.

“You get to be the bad guy this time,” Tubbo chirped. 

“Alright, but i’ll win this time,” The Captain smirked. 

Happy times 

-----------

A distant memory. 

The once great king walks among the ruins of a once mighty kingdom. Houses burned to the ground, the streets overgrown. Remains of a coup surrounded the king without a crown. The Captain let out a sigh as he pushed forward. His dark brown hair slightly disheveled from the journey here. The man swore to never return, the bitter taste the sight left in his mouth. He had settled down in this hidden valley to get away from the war and fighting. But his enemies reminded him of the path he took a long time ago. 

The remains of the castle stood on the hill, abandoned and lifeless. The worn warrior climbed the steps with his sword tapping his side. This place, once held life and joy, now a sarcophagus of lifeless and haunting memories. The night when it all fell still burned in his mind. All he knew is that he failed, he failed his subjects and more importantly, he failed the ones he loved. The reason for all of this glowed softly in his inner coat pocket. He had half a mind to chuck that thing into the nearest river and never see it again. But at the same time, letting the enchanted Eye of Ender fall into anyones hands but his own would bring about a greater end. 

Inside the crumbling castle walls, he gazed upon the torn gold and red banners. The Captain blinked slowly and continued along his way. The initial anger burned into a numbness that has lasted him years to today. At one point, he ended up in the ballroom and gazed upon a torn painting. The Captain’s face slashed out and the prince torn to shreds. He reached out, his hand brushing the remains of the canvas. They were happy, everyone was, and now many long gone. How alone the Captain is in these lands. 

The man made his way around the empty palace, everything destroyed and a bitter reminder of a different life. His room long gone, a fire had raged through there during the night of the attack. The prince’s room had been ransacked but he dared not to go in there, far too painful for him even to this day. So he continued, up and down the halls, searching for something and yet nothing. 

At one point The Captain found himself on the balcony, the one where he dived from after being cornered. How he got there in the first place, the memories all too vivid. 

There was an explosion, the little hand that was in his own disappeared. The Captain looked back to see rubble and fire. The people, no, monsters, who started this all began to swarm. A hot rage filled the Captain as he tried to push passed them, to get to his son, a chance to save him. But the attackers pushed back just as hard as he swung his sword. The Captain never cries, not for anyone. But the tears that flowed from his eyes as he screamed with every swing couldn’t be held back. 

He was out for blood. He wanted them to pay for getting his son killed, for invading his kingdom. But they were too strong and he was forced back. The Captain found himself cornered on the balcony. He saw the kingdom burning, the screams of his subjects rang out in his ears.  

“Give us the Eye of Ender and you might live,” one shadow hissed. 

“You attacked my people, burned my kingdom and killed my son, give me one reason why I shouldn't destroy it now?” The Captain growled. 

The people hissed in fury. Why should The Captain care? He lost everything all in one night. No, they won't take from him anymore. If they wanted this trinket so badly, they’d have to go through him now. After all, he had nothing left to lose. 

The Captain climbed onto the railing as they pushed forward. 

“Give it to us,” they hissed. 

The Captain smirked, a broken smirk. He looked at the people, the fire glowing in his eyes, any life void from them now. 

“Tell your master you have failed, long live the king,” The Captain said. 

The crownless king looked at them, gave them a two fingered salute and then fell backwards. Their cries of fury didn’t reach the Captain as the wind whistled past him, falling down, down, down. A few tears fell from his eyes as he plummeted to the ground. 

But the stop at the end wasn’t one he was expecting. The river that ran at the base of the castle caught the Captain and swept him away. The Eye of Ender, the curse that caused all of this, hummed and glowed in his pocket. 

The Captain took a deep breath in, giving his head a shake. He didn’t realize how tightly he gripped the old railing until the pain registered with him. His hand now slightly red, burned a little. Someday, someday he would take revenge but even after that, what is the point? Everyone is gone. His son is dead and his subjects either dead or scattered. No, this kingdom would remain in ruins, a reminder of dark forces and a once thriving place. The Captain turned away from the balcony and back into the castle.

Back at the entrance, his foot hit something. He looked down to see an old crown with the diamonds in it dulled from the dust. The night his kingdom fell is the night where he lost his crown and swore to never put it back on. The Captain didn’t deserve it. But he did pick it up and stashed it away in his coat. Maybe he still had an inkling of hope that things could return to normal. But those hopes dashed when he looked at the destroyed throne. 

“Never again,” he muttered and left the palace.

[unholyhelbig]

Title: Chapter Nine of Artifice- The Pirates Pub

Summary: In the year 1915, the infamous painter Beca Mitchell is commissioned by one of the richest men in America to capture the essence of his wife, Chloe Beale.

[A/N: @lilhan this one is for you!]

The water curved nicely against the setting sun, its bright white light creating a warm slice of heaven. There was a hint of salt in the air, one that tore at Beca’s throat hungrily. She listened to the fisherman, the clink of their knives as they pushed them past reflective scales and pulpy guts.

She had gotten away from the Beale Manor, with its stretching ivy and deep Spanish roots. She was no prisoner, not of Chloe or of Garret alike. But the walls were gated and the scenery was tired. Her skin buzzed being this close to the sea.

Stacie was adamant that she stay within the compound. A certain edge of fear leaked through every word, even though her stare was directed towards the blade of a knife coming down hard and fast on the vegetation cultivated from the garden.

She figured it dangerous for any woman to wander the streets of the island by themselves, even in broad daylight. It was a simple stop for a trade industry washed in deceit and thievery. The men pulling crabbing traps onto the shore were rough and bruised. Hairy and deemed as beasts.

But this had been Beca Mitchell’s element all along; she craved the feeling of unease that came with the sea. More than anything, she craved something stronger than the bitter wine that she had consumed at the kitchen table a few nights previous. It made her feel filmy, even after hours of steeping in cream-colored bathwater.

A few cafes rested against the long stretch of sun-bleached wood. They had pulled their chalk signs in as soon as the star hit high noon. The day grew darker and the last of the hard-working men pulled their bounty in and headed towards Moon Dodge’s- the only place bellowing shanties and spilling hot light onto the docks each time the door swung open.

Beca was drawn to this place. She found herself walking with her shoulders drawn back. No one gave her a second glance when she stepped over the threshold. There was a deep scent of clove and greasy meat fresh off the bone. Men shouted and laughed and bellowed. They grinned as they threw hands of cards and scooped coins to their heavy chests.

A woman pressed down hard on the keys of a piano, but the music was barely heard. She hit a few sour chords and no one complained as she pulled a sloshing mug, frothy with yeast and foam, to her lips. The red pigment left a rim around the basin.

Beca breathed in deep and made her way to the bar. She took a seat at the very end, palming a mix of hardened corn nuts and dried berries. She figured a tooth would be mixed in, but she shoved it past her lips without a second thought.

“Aye, if you get a disease from that mess, you canny go after us for it.” A gruff man behind the split counter grinned stupidly, Welsh accent thick and hot “What can I get for ya?”

“Anything you have,” She relented.

He seemed to like that answer; someone who was complacent compared to the high-stakes travelers that often frequented here. A mug of ale sloshed in front of her and dripped down the sides before collecting at its base. The liquor worked its ways into the cracks of the counter. She didn’t give it much time to fester, she took four even gulps until her throat burned.

“Do my eyes deceive me delicately?” There was a throaty laugh from behind her, charming and stout.

The young painter turned around, not letting her feet hit the sticky floor. It took a few moments for her eyes to drink in the sight of Emily Junk. Captain Emily Junk by the looks of it. Her white collar was soaked in blood and a long scar ran down her cheek in a pink line too crooked for comfort.

Her smile was vast and a sword hung to the tip of her leather boots, fastened to her belt. There was blood on that too, but Beca was still more than sure that it could slice skin as if it were a fine paper canvas.

“They don’t,” Beca beamed at the familiar face.

When she hugged Emily she got a healthy lung full of chewing tobacco, decaying flesh, and ocean water. She was the epitome of life on the sea as a pirate, a successful one at that. She waged that every single man and woman in here could have been a part of her crew- and if they weren’t, they were in danger of becoming so.

She gripped the woman tight, melting into her touch. Beca didn’t know if it had something to do with the familiarity of the girl, or the memories they once shared. But a few looked on as if seeing their leader display in any type of genuine affection was startling as it was sparse.

“Missed me that much, aye?” Emily said, pulling away, but keeping her hands on the painters' shoulders “You could have written.”

“And where would I have written to? The depths of the ocean as if a siren would personally hand-deliver it to a sea captain? Te sorprendería cuántas veces lo he intentado”

Emily threatened to roll her eyes before draping her arm around Beca’s shoulder and ushering her back towards her seat at the bar. This time she wasn’t alone, and the gruff man wordlessly catered to them but setting down two more mugs of copper.

“Never thought I would see you again,” Emily took a long sip “After the docks in Barcelona I figured you a famous, posh painter.”

“I’ve had my fair share of adventures. They happened to lead me to the island.”

“The island where the lord of trade himself calls home? Perched in his castle along with the beauties and treasures of life. I hear it’s right decorated up there, even for a man impossible to please.”

Beca nodded and took a long drink, running her thumb over the side of the glass, pressing hard enough to cut into tender skin. It didn’t, and she thought about her next words very carefully. “I work for him”

Emily frowned “Under him, or for him?”

“For him, under his wife,” Beca said.

“Huh... Under her, or under her?”

Beca didn’t want to fluster at the question, but she did and Emily noticed. Her cheeks blistered with color and she was hoping it had something to do with the alcohol in her unkempt system but they both knew that it didn’t. Chloe Beale had a reputation, and it had clearly hit the open waters as it had the dark taverns.

“People talk, is all” Emily scrambled to fill the silence. “I knew Garrett Beale would go after you at some hand or another. He’s a lavish man, creating a whole island just for trade of the stolen. It works in my favor, but it won’t in his, not forever.”

Beca drew in a breath “what are you implying?”

“I’m not implying anything that hasn’t already been said.”

“Ah,” Beca didn’t know how to respond so she finished off her drink and grabbed her started to stand from the stool, the crew around them were starting to get louder and smoke thicker. It was time to leave, she decided, full of ale and queasy from heat.

Emily grabbed her wrist and Beca reveled in the touch for a simple moment. It was cold and delicate, much too gentle for a pirate of her caliber. But in the end, she was still that farm girl who had sneaked onto the same ship that Beca had eight years ago.

“I’m going to say something that isn’t implied, Beca Mitchell, and I will say it strictly for the sake of our friendship.” Emily’s dark eyes were suddenly hard “You need to leave the Manor on the Hill before it’s too late. Because when the time comes, I cannot protect you, and I most certainly cannot spare her.”

[quillandink333]

Sunrise

BotW Link X Zelda

Rating: M

Word Count: 4.5k

WARNINGS: suggestive themes, implied sex

Summary: Ten long years after her return to the land of the living, the queen of Hyrule takes her first steps out of her comfort zone with her groom’s hand in hers.

Masterlist

“Tighter.”

I suffered through my struggle to breathe as my lady’s maid tightened my corset to its limits. This was for an occasion that would occur once and never again. If ever had there been a time when I’d needed to look my absolute best, it was now.

My eyes constantly kept returning to the clock on the wall. There was only one hour left before the ceremony was scheduled to commence. I wasn’t even at the Temple of Time, and yet I already felt close to fainting. I looked in the mirror, and I still had the waist width of an obese hynox. “Honestly, can’t you make it any tighter?” I snapped.

“Your Majesty, please try to remain calm,” pleaded one of my maids. I nodded; she was right. I was really letting my stress get the best of me. “My deepest apologies if I’m speaking out of line, but, ehm...I feel it necessary to mention something that your lover spoke to us about.”

When had Link possibly found the time to seek out my own group of personal attendants to tell them something? “Not at all. Go on.”

“Yes. He told us to put your comfort at the highest priority rather than your appearance. He said, quote, ‘Today means more to us than any other day of our lives up until now, so it’s imperative that her memory of it is not plagued by discomfort.’ He was quite insistent about it, I tell you.”

My heart fluttered. It was just like him to go out of his way like that for my sake. I swallowed my pride. “Very well.”

“Would you like me to loosen your corset then?”

“Yes, please,” I heaved. “Thank you.”

I’d recently been blessed with the rare opportunity to be freed from my royal responsibilities for a few days. This was something that only happened for me once or perhaps twice a year. Luckier still, Link had managed to secure a week-long leave from his duties as general of the Calamity Defence Brigade in conjunction with my time off. Since it had been ages since we’d had the chance, we decided to go on a proper adventure like we’d used to in the days when our kingdom had still been in its early stages of restoration. I suggested we spend our few days of freedom in Kakariko Village to pay a long overdue visit to our old friends who lived there, and he proposed that we set out on a hiking trip as well just to make things more exciting and to get outside for a change.

However, I‘d neglected to discern that ‘hiking trip,’ in Linkish, translated to ‘long and arduous climb up a near vertical mountain range.’ It was now an hour or so past midnight, and the two of us were making our way up the side of the cliff just south of Lanayru Road. As one might expect from someone who’s spent roughly the last half decade cooped up in the castle and filling out scroll after scroll of political documents, I was remarkably out of shape. My partner, however, was just as full of energy as he’d been in those olden days, scrambling up the rocky hills with ease. Even by the time we’d reached a level where he was able to stand and walk, I was still trudging along on all fours, barely able to carry my own weight. The gracious gentleman he was, he offered to carry me on his back for a ways when he saw what a sad state I was in.

Not long after I’d recovered strength enough to walk on my own, I started to feel a chill in the air. It was already quite cold to begin with on account of the high altitude, but now my snowquill tunic was beginning to fail me. I stiffened, watching my breath come out in billowing puffs of fog. With Link just a few steps ahead, he looked over his shoulder and came to a stop, nearly causing me to walk straight into him. He smiled mysteriously.

I turned in the direction he faced and spotted the cause of the sudden drop in temperature. In the distance, but steadily drawing nearer, was none other than the spirit Naydra. My eyes probably looked like they were ready to pop out of my skull in that moment.

Before I could fully grasp the situation, he’d already begun retrieving his paraglider from his bag, which he’d propped up against one of the monumental stone pillars dotting the hillside. “Hold onto me.” He held his hand out, holding both handles of the glider in the other. The dragon of ice and snow continued her rapid approach. “Zelda, quickly!” I rushed to his side. He hooked his arm around my waist, and I clung to him tightly by his shoulders.

“Link, are you sure this—ahh!”

A biting gust of wind came our way, and then the feeling of solid earth beneath my feet vanished.

I cried out in terror as he and I were swept upward. I’d used a paraglider before—I even had one of my own—but I’d never considered the thought of sharing one with another. And yet, to my surprise, we were still alive. I summoned the courage to open my eyes, and the moment I did, I was mesmerized.

Naydra was gliding around the two of us, encapsulating us in a vortex created by her flowing, river-like body that shined in a brilliant array of colours the likes of which I’d never beheld up close before. Silently, I gazed up at Link, whose cheeks were coral-coloured from the cold and whose locks danced about his face in the breeze. He wore the serene expression of one who’d had many a chance to experience this sort of thing, but was still just as awestruck as he’d been the first time. Despite the arctic winds nipping at me constantly through my clothes, feeling his arm around my waist holding me fast to his familiar frame filled me to the brim with a tangible sense of warmth and safety.

Naydra guided us with her winds to the top of the stone pillar, and I relaxed at the feeling of the ground beneath me, which was covered in iridescent blue flowers of all different kinds. The spirit of wisdom looked at us with respect in her ancient eyes. Link’s arm stroked up and down my back passively, still wrapped around my waist. Her icy breath touched my face gently and gracefully before she turned and disappeared into the sky.

“Zelda...?”

I turned around in his hold and bumped noses with him on accident, making us both crack a smile. I hadn’t quite finished laughing when he cupped my face and touched his lips to mine. Our embrace lasted an age. A symphony of strings had burst into song deep within my heart. It almost felt like we’d left the ground again as the sound of the wind caressing the flora flew into my ears.

When we parted, he touched his forehead softly to my own. I mirrored his blissful smile, whispering an, “I love you,” and laying my palm over his hand which rested against my cheek.

“I love you,” he echoed. Behind him, the sky was awash with tears of the Goddesses. Down below, the lights of the village shined just as brilliantly. I no longer felt any hint of the cold.

Link let go of me and knelt down on one knee. He then reached into his pouch and pulled out a small box, which he opened to reveal a ring. My hand flew up to my parted lips.

“Will you be my wife?”

My eyes became damp with tears. Of course, there was only one answer.

“Yes.”

Six tireless months of preparation had passed, and the ceremony was now underway. My whole body was more tense than the string of a bow. After an eternity of holding my breath as I waited outside in my carriage, watching the parade of participants walk one by one through the temple doors, my moment had arrived. I made my way up to the looming Doors of Time, and I peered in to see a grand sanctuary decked from one end to the other with stunning floral decor courtesy of Magda, a lovely lady Link had introduced me to with a passion for gardening and flower arrangement. At the far end on either side of the Goddess statue were our bridesmaids and groomsmen all standing in a row. At Her feet stood the priest and, in front of him, my soon-to-be husband whose jaw had dropped to the floor at the sight of me in my full regalia.

I tried my best to keep breathing normally whilst I took in the vast number of attendees filling up the main floor and the gallery through my peripheral vision. They were all trusted friends of ours, of course. However, my level of acquaintanceship with them did not change the fact that most were important figures of society who had high expectations of me, the queen of Hyrule. It was with this in mind that I held my head high, staying vehemently focused on my posture and the way I put each foot in front of the other as I walked down the carpeted aisle.

I held my bouquet in one hand and lifted the skirt of my dress with the other as I ascended the stairs leading to the altar, my train trailing gracefully behind me. I took my place beside Link and turned to face him, allowing him to remove my veil. It was subtle, but I’d without a doubt caught his lips forming the word, “Breathtaking.” I wanted to comment on how he looked equally as stunning in his regal, ivory attire accented by the various bits of gold decorating him from head to toe, but I’d save that for later.

At this time, the priest opened with the customary “Dearly Beloved” speech. I spotted the blur of court painter Pikango’s brush out of the corner of my eye. Although photographs were commonplace nowadays, I’d requested that he do a small-scale portrait of the ceremony with the reason being simply that Link and I were fond of his paintings.

Once the priest’s heartwarming introduction had reached its end, he looked to us and requested that we declare our vows to one and other. We’d worked out ahead of time that Link would go first. Yet if I could have predicted the true depth and authenticity of the words that were about to pass his lips, I would have taken the lead, for his vows would set the standard for my own far, far above what I could possibly meet.

“My dear Zelda,” he began in earnest,

“I still often find myself looking back on the days when I knew nothing but the sweet sound of your voice. In those days that I spent scouring the land for little scraps of my life from one hundred and ten years ago, the thought of seeing your face with my own eyes and hearing your voice with my own ears was what gave me comfort during sleepless nights. I may never regain most of my memories of our past relationship, but that no longer bothers me, because since then, I have made countless precious memories with you that I will cherish for the rest of my life. Like the time we spent living in our little house in Hateno Village, where every morning I would make us breakfast while you’d try and think up new ways to use me as a test subject for your research.”

This earned a collective chuckle from the audience and put a crooked smile on my face as I tried not to laugh.

“Although I said, ‘Yes,’ when you first asked if I still loved you despite everything, I didn’t realize just how many things about you that I would later discover and fall in love with one by one: your brilliant mind, your kind and affectionate heart, and the true depth of your inextinguishable passion, just to name a few. These past years that I’ve spent by your side are what have shaped me into the man standing before you now. My hope for the future, as well as my promise to you, is that we will continue to set out on new adventures and forge new memories together for the rest of our days as husband and wife.”

To say his words had hit me straight in the heart would be an arrant understatement. It was all I could do to hold myself back from prematurely tossing my bouquet over my shoulder and kissing him to death right then and there. Instead, however, I retained my composure and proceeded to recite what I had prepared.

“Link,

“As you may have noticed, we are surrounded by silent princess flowers, a once rare breed that hadn’t yet found a place to thrive amongst civilization a century ago, but has now flourished into a prospering species that can be seen from every window in this beautiful kingdom of ours. Now, since I know you’re already renowned for your role as the hero of Hyrule, I’ll talk about something a little more personal between you and me. And that something is that you’re not just a hero to Hyrule, but even more so to me. For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve never once left my side willfully and I’ve always been able to rely on you in times of need. It’s thanks solely to your undying support over the years that my dream of taking a fallen nation and rebuilding it into something greater than ever before has since blossomed into reality.”

It was around then when I looked up to see tears forming in his eyes. He nodded curtly, urging me to continue.

“I promise to be there for you whenever you’re being too hard on yourself, and to turn to you for guidance when I do the same. I promise to remind you, when you lose sight of who you are, that you are perfect in every way no matter how many doubts you may have. I promise to always make time to spend with you, and to respect your need to be alone at times. And above all, I promise to you absolute love and trust, for although today marks the start to the rest of our lives together, I know it will not be enough time to spend with you.”

Link’s face was fixed in a sentimental smile that mirrored my own. He’d managed to hold back his tears, but it was clear to see how moved he was. Glancing around the room, I realized he and I weren’t the only ones who had gotten emotional.

With that, the time came for us to exchange rings and join hands.

“Link, please place Zelda’s ring on her fourth finger.” I raised my hand out, and he held it with the utmost care while he slipped the ring onto my extended finger. “Do you, Link, take Zelda to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in the good times and the bad, treating her as your equal for as long as you both shall live?”

He never took his eyes off me as he gave his answer. “I do.”

“Zelda, please place Link’s ring on his fourth finger.” I did as instructed, glad to hear the priest drop the honourifics for the occasion like I’d asked. Link’s ring fit perfectly on his slim, calloused finger as I put it on for him. “Do you, Zelda, take Link to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in the good times and the bad, treating him as your equal for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.”

“Very good.” The priest closed his tome and placed it under his arm. “With that, by the power vested in me by the Goddess Hylia, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may seal your vows with a kiss.”

Of course, we couldn’t just stay in our current positions and have a light, chaste kiss—absolutely not.

Link just had to set fire to all established formalities by sweeping me off my feet and dipping me almost to the point where I was parallel with the floor. Only then did he dive in for the kiss. Roaring applause ensued. Flower petals showered down from above. In the midst of all the excitement, I could’ve sworn I heard a stifled chuckle before someone mumbled the word, “‘Seal,’” under their breath.

During the procession following the ceremony, my subjects—soon to be our subjects—were all lined up along the route to the castle, waiting to get a glimpse of the newlywed royal couple in their specially fashioned horse-drawn carriage. Upon arriving at our destination, the butterflies in my stomach began fluttering up a storm when I noticed the throngs of people that had gathered. For years, I’d hesitated announcing our relationship to the public for fear of their disapproval. But seeing their smiling faces and hearing their joyous cheers from the balcony filled me with hope. On top of that, the proud smile worn by my husband as he waved to the crowd from beside me was infectious.

The reception was spectacular, which only made it all the more terrifying. For the whole of the afternoon, the castle grounds were open to the lucky winners of a raffle that people from all over the world had been given the opportunity to participate in. To kick it off, Link and I each gave a brief speech encouraging guests to make merry and celebrate to their hearts’ content. From then on, the great hall was alive with music coupled by the din of friendly conversation, and every so often, the names and titles of new arrivals would be announced from the main entrance.

My aversion to large social gatherings like this was no secret to Link. If not for royal traditions, we both would’ve preferred to have a nice, simple wedding in the countryside and to keep our invitations limited to a select few of our closest friends. Even so, he would not accept my perfectly appropriate inclination to simply preside over the festivities from my throne. Instead, when people were beginning to partner up in the middle of the ballroom, he dragged me down one of the soaring flights of stairs by force straight into the heart of the crowd. Everything came to an abrupt halt. My stomach sank. Link, clearly pleased as punch to be the centre of attention, bowed and offered me his hand as if to say, “May I have this dance?”

Given that all eyes were now glued to us, I was left with no choice but to digress and take his hand. The moment he drew me closer and placed his other hand on my waist, the orchestra raised their instruments and began playing, which prompted the dancers to begin dancing. The tumult of twirling and sidestepping and switching of partners that then ensued had my head spinning.

At some point when Link and I were back in each other’s arms amidst the whirlpool of dancers, we’d gravitated toward the rim of the ballroom floor where a few steps led up to an expanse of tables and chairs beyond which stood a doorway leading outside. My partner was looking around the room with intent. I glanced over my shoulder to see whatever he had seen, but I was swept off to the side as soon as my head was turned.

Half of me was filled with relief to be away from prying eyes as I followed him to Hylia knew where. The other half was filled with doubt that our absence would go unnoticed for long. And the second half was prevailing over the first. He didn’t answer any of my continuous demands to know just where he was taking me. All he did was continue along on his happy-go-lucky way. Perhaps even he didn’t know where he was going.

We hadn’t gotten far when we’d reached a small pavilion overlooking the castle gardens. He turned to face me with a worrying glint in his eye. “Wait, what are you doing?” He gripped my shoulders. “Link—”

Before I could get another word out, he backed me up into the banister and began slowly ravishing my mouth. I gave into him, my fingers weaving themselves into his modestly groomed locks out of habit. He drew away sooner than I’d anticipated, and my eyes fluttered open.

“Kissing my wife,” he finally answered, flashing that charming smile of his. My shoulders shook a little in laughter as I pulled him in for another kiss. He crooned happily, taking me by the waist. His hands roamed across the bodice of my gown, feeling every little intricacy embroidered onto its surface. “I must say,” he muttered, “I couldn’t have imagined something that‘d make you look so gorgeous.”

“Well, you really have the tailors to thank for all this,” I blushed, playing with the pleats of my elegant skirt. “I’m quite pleased with their work myself.”

“While it looks magnificent on you, darling,” he began, running a finger under where it scooped up and cupped my breasts, “I am looking forward to seeing you take it off later this evening.”

I pushed him away gently. “Stop it. Someone could hear—ah!” He grabbed my behind through my dress, without warning.

“Sorry,” he lied, snickering. “I just can’t help myself around you.” He gave me a quick kiss to the temple. I glowered at him, praying he’d get the message that this wasn’t funny to me anymore, but he paid no mind as he bent down and started hiking my skirt up my leg. My face burned as hot as the touch of his fingertips trailing up the skin of my thigh. I looked around frantically for anyone we might’ve been in plain sight of.

“Link,” I whined, “for the love of the Goddesses—”

“Hey, does anyone see the newlyweds about?” He and I both froze at Prince Sidon’s jolly and boisterous tones booming all the way from the great hall. “I figure it’s about time to roll out some old Hyrulian traditions!”

The next thing I knew, I was sat on a big throne that had been set up in the dead centre of the ballroom, and my groom was kneeling at my feet with an utterly victorious smirk on his face. Kass and the other musicians had stopped playing. All of the guests—every single one as well as some staff members—had gathered in front of us. I cursed Sidon under my breath, making Link’s grin grow wider. Everyone was cheering and whistling like they were watching the semiannual shield surfing tournament. I laughed halfheartedly, feeling humiliation sinking in.

With no hesitation, Link raised my right leg over his shoulder and ducked his head under my dress. I didn’t have time to react before I felt him nip gently at my inner thigh. I jumped, biting back a yelp. The audience hollered out in excitement. The ten seconds or so that it then took him to take my garter between his teeth and inch it along the length of my leg seemed like a century. When he emerged, he looked up at me with a sultry gaze that made my blood boil.

With the garter still in his mouth, he stood up and tossed it over his shoulder like a dog with a stick. This did me in. I erupted into uncontrollable bouts of laughter, and Link and the rest of the audience followed suit. Regrettably I was too hysterical to notice who had caught it.

The rest of the reception went on without a hitch. Immediately following Link’s grandiose display of shamelessness, I performed the long-awaited throwing of the bouquet. This time I remembered to take note of the catcher; it was none other than Impa’s granddaughter, Paya, whose complexion had taken on a shade similar to that of her Sheikah facial markings. After that, there were one or two more traditions that needed to be taken care of, such as the cutting of the cake. Link and I had to be given a ladder to stand on in order for us to be able to reach the top tier. Even so, the amount of effort needed was befitting of the delectable prize waiting for me at the end. My lovely husband even offered to feed me the fruits and berries off of his slice, and who would I have been to decline his generosity?

A short while later, I was out on the dance floor again. Compared to before, I was feeling a great deal more relaxed as I mingled with the the many, many partygoers.

Then I heard the thunderous crack of an explosion.

I looked out through the great hall’s lofty windows and witnessed the shimmering hues of fireworks painting the night sky. My plans for them had completely slipped my mind. By the time they’d begun, many people had already made their way outside. I scanned the room for Link and, upon spotting him, asked my current dance partner to excuse me and made my way over to him. Then he followed me to the balcony where we’d enjoy the show for as long as it would last, until the clock struck midnight and the celebration was drawn to a close.

The night had already progressed into the small hours of morning when my husband and I had made it back to our shared quarters. Our lavish ensembles were folded neatly away inside a box in our wardrobe, probably never to be worn again. I’d never revelled so much in the sensation of lying down on my bed and feeling all the tension in my body melt away. What a day it had been.

“I love you.” Link’s voice was low and warm as his fingertips combed delicately through the roots of my hair.

“I love you too,” I smiled, idly tracing each of the scars littering his chest one by one. “Be honest. How long did it take you to write those vows?”

He donned a prideful grin, saying, “Made them up on the spot.”

“I said, ‘Be honest,’” I giggled, giving him a light shove.

“I am! It’s the truth!” And yet his ear-to-ear grin did little to back up his claim.

“Really?” I gave him an incredulous look, which he challenged with a raise of his brow. “Well, I, for one, wrote out draft after draft and spent hours of my precious time memorizing and rehearsing them.”

“I figured as much,” he chided into my neck. A chill raced through my blanketed body followed by another bubbly laugh.

I rolled my eyes. “If you are telling the truth and you really did improvise that whole thing, then...I admit, I’m impressed.”

“Am I not brilliant?”

“Oh, yes,” I smiled, craning my neck to kiss his jawline. Then with a slight yawn as I laid my head back down on his shoulder, “Absolutely.”

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