#a son to his father. a daughters body belongs to her father. the common folk belong to the nobles… ughhh

[throwawayasoiafaccount]

if westeros was created to reflect our modern society instead of being loosely based off of western medieval society, then i think people would understand that these political marriages are for alliances, not love, and would agree that the modern lower class sentiments towards marriage are simply not applicable to these arrangements and both bride and groom cannot and should not expect love from their partner.

if our story occurred in a modern westeros very similar to our own modern society, then a lot of the obstacles our characters face would not happen because, simply put, modern society benefits from equality.

as an example, i am quite (100%) certain that the introduction of gender equality and other modern values and advancements to westeros would only be beneficial to rhaegar and elia, which means that this ideology benefits westerosi society on an individual level.

so, in this modern westeros au, if rhaegar and elia still married for a political alliance, and then had two children like they did in asoiaf, they could then peacefully divorce and write out a contract that secures both rhaenys and aegons inheritances. if lyanna and rhaegar met and fell in love while rhaegar and elia were married then the misunderstanding that sparked a war would never have happened. why? because lyanna would have a say in who she marries in this modern au. also, elia would have possibly been seeing others as well. why? because this was a political marriage and love shouldn’t be expected, so why would anyone be concerned about either party finding love outside of their marriage? plus modern westeros would have dna testing so there’s no reason to question the paternity of their children.

also, if elia had a child with someone else (in this hypothetical scenario, perhaps her lover died) and rhaegar decided to claim that child as his own while knowing that he’s not the real father in order to give this child a better life, then this wouldn’t be a problem either. why? because rhaegar’s in the know. (i’m only bringing this up bc of the rhaenyra and laenor situation. guys… laenor is perfectly aware that biologically those kids aren’t his, yet he still claimed them and loved them bc he and rhaenyra had an agreement. i do not understand why real ppl are even concerned about jace, luke, and joffs parentage. in the eyes of the law those boys are legally laenors.)

however, since asoiaf isn’t based off of our modern society and is instead a society riddled with misogyny, xenophobia and other social issues without the progress and advancements that we in the 21st century have benefited from, i will concede one thing to these antis who harp on and on about how selfish rhaenyra and rhaegar were for loving someone who wasn’t their spouse and for having a child(ren) out of wedlock.

because yes, rhaegar and lyanna’s love can be considered an act of selfishness, and rhaenyra loving harwin and having children with him can also be considered selfish.

but guess what? love in general is a very selfish state of being. you are prioritizing your partner and your desires over everything and everyone else in your life.

one of the greatest love stories of all time, romeo and juliet, is a tale of two selfish lovers who seek to be together despite the immense hatred between their families. selfless and dutiful children would never love an enemy. and yet, despite romeo and juliet’s love story ending in tragedy, no one would ever argue that these two lovers were in the wrong for simply trying to be together even though their love caused their families great grief. why? because the feud between the Montagues and the Capulets was stupid. and the story ends with the characters agreeing that this feud went on for long enough and acknowledging the fact that this petty feud between the families was the cause of their misery and the tragedy that befell them.

though the circumstances of all three love stories are different, it’s undeniable that these lovers were selfish for prioritizing their own desires over their duties to their houses.

to end this little spiel, i’d like to mention that the reason i first brought up a modern au was to remind people that the only reason rhaelya and rhaenyra’s relationship with harwin can be so decisively called selfish is because these characters live in westeros. and westeros is a fucked up society rooted in systematic oppression, violence, and abuse and other forms of exploitation in order to further the agenda of the powerful despite the harm it causes. any modern comforts and progressive ideas hinder the control the patriarchs have over their families and put a name to the bigotry expressed against these unconventional relationships. so yes, their love is selfish because being unconventional in such a backwards society is a recipe for disaster, especially since both of these relationships hinge on a woman deciding to take control of her sexual autonomy, which is a big no no in westeros since a woman’s body only belongs to her father and husband. so yes, these love stories are selfish because these characters are prioritizing themselves in a society that benefits from them losing their autonomy and harms them and their loved ones when they try to take back their autonomy.

to finish off, the reason i brought up the tragic love story of romeo and juliet is to remind people that even though rhaegar and lyanna’s love was selfish, other characters still need to be held accountable for their actions that helped to escalate this misunderstanding into a tragedy that consumed all of westeros.

[fenrisvlfr]

･･ᚹᛖᛚᚲᛟᛗᛁᚾ･･ the norns foretold your coming: “( laufey nál ), ( she ) will be called,” they said. you are an ( 800 ) year old ( thursar ), and are said to look like ( noomi rapace ). rumor has it you hail from ( jötunheim ), and serve as ( queen of jötunheim & niflheim ). they say you are ( fierce & commanding ), but also ( severe & resentful ). may the allfather guide your steps.

( laufey ) would describe ( herself ) as a ( winter ) person and would identify as an ( intj-a ). ( her ) birthday is ( december 12th ), making ( her ) star sign ( sagittarius ) and ( her ) celtic animal sign the ( hawk ). ( her ) biggest pet peeve is ( disorder and messiness ), and ( her ) theme song is ( seven nation army by skáld ). finally, ( her ) primary goal is to ( find a solution that will allow the thursar and jötnar to live together in harmony ).

Make way for the queen, babes! Child number 2 is my HBIC, Laufey. TWs for mentions of war and death.

Character File (coming soon)

Muse Page

Navigation (for tags)

BASICS

Name: Laufey Nál of the Mimiringr

Age: 800

Birthdate: December 12th

Species: Thursar

Realm: Jötunheim

Sexuality: Bisexual

Occupation: Queen of Jötunheim and Niflheim

Positive traits: Fierce, commanding, persuasive

Negative traits: Severe, resentful, discontented

SUMMARY

Laufey is the sovereign of House Mimir, one of the Thursar’s most powerful noble families, and is a direct descendent of Mimir himself. At a young age, she distinguished herself from her peers by being a vocal proponent against the decadence and indifference of the Thursar, challenging everything from their taboo against inter-house marriage to their negligence of the common folk. This made her many enemies, but gained her just as many allies, particularly one Farbauti of House Bergelmir. In him, Laufey found her perfect match: the one man who could meet her mind, body, and soul, and respect all of those in her. Their relationship only operated in secret, for the ruling oligarchy would have upended itself in fury at their flouting tradition, but it was the happiest time of her life and she didn’t care.

That changed somewhat when she found herself pregnant with Farbauti’s child. Under the cover of the Aesir-Vanir War, she and Farbauti were able to sneak away to live with Skrymir Utgarda and his wife Gnissa. There, she gave birth to Loki, and for a while, the two couples did their best to raise him in secret. But Loki’s magical talents were too much for Laufey and Farbauti to handle themselves, nor could they risk bringing him back to court. Though it pained them both, Laufey and Farbauti agreed that it would be best for them all if Loki remained with Skrymir and Gnissa, and the pair were more than happy to raise him as their own.

To help herself recover from this loss, Laufey threw herself into court life. She quickly rose to the top of the oligarchy, and with support from multiple houses growing behind her, she was able to enact some small but important changes. She wasn’t, however, able to stop the massacre at Tree’s Hall, nor the invasion by the Eldjötnar in Jötunheim. And no matter how she fought, she could not convince the other noble houses to enter the war on behalf of their brethren to the south. As refugees flooded Niflheim and starvation for both Thursar and Jötnar alike seemed imminent, Laufey called on Farbauti to help her with a proposal to the Jötunn king Mysingr... one which changed the future of both realms forever.

In exchange for the Thursars’ help against the Eldjötnar, Mysingr would have to give up his crown and unite the two realms of Jötunheim and Niflheim permanently. And with the deal struck, Laufey lead her people into battle again and again for the safety of the Earthly Realms. She fought Surtur himself at the base of Yggdrasil, and helped create the magics which bound the Elds in Muspelheim forever. And then she returned to Jötunheim, victorious, and was handed the crown of the combined kingdoms by the unanimous vote of her peers.

That was the single most tragic day of her life. And though she will never admit it out loud to a single soul, she wishes daily that she could turn back time and refuse. Refuse the crown, the throne, the responsibility, all of it. But she can’t, and instead lives with regret buried deep inside her, poisoning her heart until it hardened into something unrecognizable. She is the Queen now. She has a husband and two children, all of whom she loves in her way. She has two realms to rule, though one is all but abandoned and the other is slowly dying. She has thousands of people relying on her to do the right thing for all of them. She must be stronger than steel at all times, and never let weakness show.

So she masks the sad look in her eye whenever she sees Farbauti, her loyal General and the only one her heart has ever truly belonged to. She hides her discontent at every appearance in court and in public. She does her best to show her own stunted kind of love to her husband and children, praying that it’s enough for them to know that she really does care.

And in a bid to save all her people, she has arranged a meeting with the King of Midgard, hoping that they can come to some kind of arrangement for food or land or supplies... anything that will help the jötnar recover and flourish.

For more details, please see her Character File linked above!

WANTED CONNECTIONS

Farbauti!! Father of Loki and love of her life, also a skeleton bio!! I will cry if someone brings him in, I’ve been waiting for years :’)

Her Court Sorcerer Skrymir and his lovely wife Gnissa, both of whom are lifelong friends. Oh, and who also raised her secret son Loki nbd.

The two former princesses of Jötunheim, Frenja and Menja. Daughters of the late king Mysingr, who Laufey has very complicated relationships to!

Her chamberlain, a close friend of the Royal Family who runs their household (a WC!)

Rival nobles from the many Thursar and Jötnar houses! She’s a divisive figure, and sometimes she finds more allies among the Jötnar nobility than among her own people.

Casual acquaintances—she meets a lot of people and doesn’t really have time for “friends”, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t need them!

Anything at all really! Gimme all the plots

[hellzeldagirlsfanfic]

Cost of the Throne - Chapter 1

[Pervious] * [Next]

Court had been running for two hours and nothing had been done.

The (E/C) eyes of ten years old girl stared hopelessly at the nobles of north and west land, who had been explaining to King Harald that the drought that rocked the area for the last two years had reduced the barley crops and to half what t normally was. But the king didn’t concerned that one of the kingdom’S main export will be less for the next year.

"Will there be enough for us and Mallet?" the king asked.

Lord Albers, who was speaking on behalf of all of the Lords of north and west responded.

"We believe so my king but there won’t a lot left over to sell to the countries," he explained.

(Y/N) could understand what Lord Albers was hinting that. Quebel sold their alcohol to Mallet at the half of what it was worth whilst the rest of got sold normal price. If most of the stock had to be sold Mallet it meant that Lords won’t as much money as they normally would.  (Y/N) didn’t care about Lord’s money problems they had enough money to support themselves for a decade it was the common folk she worried about. Knowing the Lords they would most likely raise the taxes to make up for their losses. That would make life even harder for them it was already.

It’s not like the common folks had easy to begin with. The drought had affected most of the agriculture centres, causing some crops to fail and nobility to take all the food they want.

The girl had already heard the gossip from the ladies of the court that the death toll had reached a hundred. Not to mentions the mine riots from earlier in the year which also result in about a hundred deaths. (Some say it was actually two hundred deaths).

"Good," the king replied, not moving an inch. "The alcohol that leftover can be sold at double the price," he ordered.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Lord Albers bowed after receiving the advice.

He filtered back into the sea of greedy and power-hungry nobles.

Court contained for another hour and a half with nobles telling King Harald their problems, like demon attacks on the people, the common folks demanding action to be took against the demons, food shortages, some help to be provided for drought and a long list of trouble that harm mostly the common people. With the king looking utterly broad and interested in the affairs of his people.

"If the peasants can’t defend themselves then someone stronger will take their place," the king cruelly stated.

(Y/N) gripped her mother’s dress tighter than she already was. `How could he be so heartless?` she thought. `It is those peasants who make you wealthy, who clean your clothes and bedding, cook you your feasts and lay down their lives for you,` she continued to angry think.

Her thoughts were stopped when a gentle hand rested on top of her head.

The girl looked up to see a pair of (E/C) eyes looking down at her. Her mother, Lady Guinevere Lous Lovelace, smiled sadly at her understanding angry.

Guinevere was the most beautiful woman at court. Her stunning (H/C) hair was always held up in an elegant hairstyle. Her dresses were gorgeous, suiting her figure and were the brightest of colours that compliment her skin and made her eyes stand out.

Most importantly, she was the king’s favourite mistress. And (Y/N)’s father.

Yes, (Y/N) was a royal bastard. Which the king acknowledged, giving her the surname Croft.

No one knew why the king acknowledged his bastard it probably on a whim.

So life for (Y/N) wasn’t easy. She was bullied by noble children that would get physical. Noblewomen would say horrible things about her mother and her in front of her. Not to mention the Queen wanted her dead and encourage her sons ((Y/N)’s half brother) to abuse her.

Finally court finished for the day. Soon as the king, queen and the princes left the throne room, the court began to talk as they also exited the throne.

(Y/N) felt a hand appeared on her head. It was lager then her mother’s hand and much more warm. The girl looked up to be greeted by the smiling face of Lord Oswin Lee Valles, her mother’s best friend and the one and only lover.

Oswin removed his hand from the brunette’s head after a couple of pats.

"Very thing will be fine," Oswin reassured. "I’m sure that the people will be fine. The rain will come soon," he smiled, always the optimistic.

But Guinevere was a pessimist and knowing the king on a personal level could guess what his response to things are.

"I’m not sure about," Guinevere mumbled. "But the people will suffer and it will most likely end in riots," She predictive.

Oswin grimed whilst (Y/N) started sadly at the floor.

The trio walked out of throne room they a group of noble ladies gossiping between them.

"Did you hear what those stupid peasants are saying?" One woman sneered.

"What?" Another asked in returned.

"They’re saying that the droughts are a curse from the gods for betraying Fortuna," The first woman snorted.

Women all laughed at the comment.

"They are really so stupid," one laughed.

"Ending our alliance with Fortuna was the best thing to happen to Quebel," Another said. "We are much richer now and don’t have to waste it useless war and our families don’t have to lay lives down for the," she added.

`We’re only riches because you work common people’s families to death,` the girl bitterly thought.

The brunette shook her head to get rid of the horrible thoughts. She then put on a happy façade. With a big smile, (Y/N) looked up at Oswin.

"Would you like to join me and mother for lunch at the gazebo?" She asked.

One of the many gifts that the king had given to Guinevere was a stone gazebo belonging to the king’s grandmother. The gazebo had been abandon after the queen’s untimely death. Guinevere often escapes there with her daughter. Not many people adventure down to that area of the garden since it had a lot of monuments from the old kingdom (like the stone gazebo). So mother and daughter spent many happy summers together at eh gazebo.

The man gave the girl an apologetic smile.

"I’m sorry but I’ve got some work to attend to," Oswin told her.

(Y/N) nodded understanding that the kingdom’s highest rank architect and man in charge of looking after all royal building, along with being the family head of Valles who owned the largest fleet of merchant ships in Quebel, might be a bit busy.

(Y/N) took her mother’s hand so she could begin to lead them to the gardens.

"Lady Lovelace," a voice addressed Guinevere.

(Y/N)’s heart down-dropped. The voice belonged to one of the king’s personal servants. He stood off to the side of Guinevere dressed smartly only paying attention to brunette woman.

"His Majesty wishes for your presence," the servant said.

The young girl let go of her mother’s hand then back up until she was Lord Valles` side. It didn’t matter that (Y/N) hadn’t spent any time with her mother in three months (The time during court didn’t count as they just stood silently). Even if Guinevere had promised earlier in the week that they would have lunch today if the king request (demand) her presence, she must go.

Guinevere to face her daughter to gave her a sad smile.

"Sorry, my flower but I must go," she apologised.

The woman bent down to kiss her daughter’s forehead then she left, following after the servant sent to retrieve her.

(E/C) eyes watch as her mother disappeared down the long hallway as she tried to fight back tears. The girl took a couple of breaths to stopped the tears spilling from her eyes.

Murmured and hush whispered started up from the nobles that were still left outside the throne room.

Oswin glance at each noble which quite them. He places a hand on her shoulder.

"I think I can make some time to have lunch," he said, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"Thank you," (Y/N) whispered then gave the man a big smile.

Oswin guided the child out to the garden, down the overgrown pathway to the gazebo.

Guinevere had pay gardener to make the area around the gazebo look nice. The gardener had planted roses brushes around the gazebo.

(Y/N) enjoys a sunny lunch with Oswin. (Her father figure).

After lunch, (Y/N) went to her lessons. The king had pay for her lessons as she turned five, one of his wimps. He ordered that she etiquette, dancing, literacy and poetry, a bit of politics and Malletine culture and tradition. And that fact she didn’t learn about Quebelian culture, history and tradition greatly worried Guinevere but she reassured it was nothing.

Each day (Y/N) for three hours she would learn one of the topics. Today was Malletine culture.

Now her lesson had finished for the day she had nothing to do for the three to four hours until dinner. So, she was wandering through the vast hallways until she could think of something to do.

(Y/N) stopped at a painting that nearly stretches the whole wall. It depicting the unification of clans of Quebel and the battle against Mundus` first attack on the nation that would become Quebel.

The girl was so absorbed in the painting, she didn’t notice three sets of steps approaching her.

"Hey look, brothers!" A male voice yelled down the hallway. "It’s the little bastard!"

(Y/N)’s body froze up when she heard the voice. It belongs to one of her older brothers. It was Theodore, the second eldest of brothers and leader of the triplet princes. Theodore’s triplet brothers Tristian and Timothy closely following behind him.

The fear that had frozen her body up a moment ago melt away and she tried to flee as quickly as she could. There was a tug at her ankle sending the child tumbling down to the ground. Arrogant laughter left the three fourteen-year-olds.

"Awww, did the little bastard fall over," Timothy mocked with his index finger waving in the air. Hinting that he used his magic to trip her up.

(Y/N) looked over her shoulder to glance at the princes. Theodore in the middle of the group (as normal) with Tristian lending on his shoulder. Timothy stood slight in front of his older brothers wagging his index around with a triumphant smirk across his face.

The girl scrambled up to runway from her tormentors. But there was a painful tug at hair. She dragged to where her half-brothers were standing. She pulled into the centre of the boys.

"Where do you think you’re going little bitch!" Tristian growled.

Tristian must of the one holding her since she could only see Theodore and Timothy. She could see the hatred and disgust in their emerald green eyes looking down at her. (Y/N) didn’t know why they hated her so much though it might be due to their mother, the Queen.

Queen Diana was a jealous, childish and greedy woman. She came from an wealth and powerful Quebelian family, Mcbeths. She was spoilt from the moment she was born. Having the finest food, clothing, jewellery and makeup without lifting a finger. Diana had become arrogant after she married and became queen, she demands only the finest of items and would beat servants if she didn’t get what she wanted. The queen saw herself as the most beautiful (she was average at best) and all-powerful (she wasn’t). Diana never had the king’s favour as Harald found his queen annoying, making him seeking out the company other women. Diana needed to be centre of attention in court, so when someone like Guinevere who was actually beautiful, elegant, smart and threatens her `power`.

They also might hate her because their father paid attention. When I mean paid attention I mean he actually acknowledged her existence, unlike his triplet sons. Like twins and other triplets, only one was planned. Theodore was only born because the king’s adviser said that the king should have spare if something would happen to the crown prince.

More pain shoots through her head as Tristian started to swing her head side to side.

(Y/N) had learnt the hard way that crying and showing any sign of pain.

Then there was a sharp pain across one of her cheeks. The sting was a familiar presence on her body, one of her brothers had just punched her.

"Hey!" Theodore shouted. "Listen to us when we’re talking, bastard!" he yelled furiously.

(Y/N) wanted to answer back but that would lead even more pain and all of the princes being furious.

The blows continue on with the other boys joining in the abuse and (Y/N) let it happen. She hopes they would get bored quickly and some else to do.

"What do three of you think you’re doing?" A stern voice came calling down the hallway.

(Y/N) lifted her head from where it had fallen when Tristian threw her to the ground. Her (E/C) eyes landed on the looming figure of the Crown Prince of the kingdom of Quebel, Henry William Claude Rose-Griffiths.

The Crown Prince was known for his poker face and strict personality. He was risen by nannies and not his mother like his brothers. Harald had order the best education in Quebel which mainly focus on military, ruling and politics. The twenty-one-year-old was had a brilliant mind allowing him to win many wars from his father which lead him to become General of Quebel army and navy.

Henry’s cold emerald green eyes stared at his brothers as walked down the hallway to them.

The triple immediately stopped beating their younger half-sister as their older brother marched down to them.

"Do I need to repeat myself?" Henry ordered, staring at the triple unimpressed.

"We’re reminding the bastard of her place," Tristian stuttered out.

The unimpressed stay on Henry’s face as Tristian’s answered his question during this (Y/N) had slowly gotten up, using the wall near her for support.

"Reminding her of her place," The Crown Prince repeats the phase that Tristian said, missing out he swear word since swearing was beneath him. "You three are pathetic," he stated. "Those in power don’t go around reminding the people beneath. Your mere presence should put them," Henry told him.

The young girl knew what the oldest prince was talking about. His own presence demands respects from the people around whilst the king’s presence fills the room was terror and power. But the triple princes` presence was blearily noticeable, (Y/N) was only scared of them because they beat her up.

(Y/N) slowly moved away from the princes during their conversation. But the time Henry was finished belittle the triple she manages to slip around the corner before one of them notice she had escaped.

Dashing down the hall around the corner (Y/N) then came to a stopped at door a in the hallway. The extravagant craved door frame told her it was one of the lounges use to entertain dignitary.

"Where did she go!?" She heard Theodore scream from down the hall.

Panic filled her body again. So she quickly pushed open the door and rush through to ornamental fireplace. Her (E/C) eyes skimmed a crossed the obsidian mantelpiece decorated with gold accents. Her eyes darted right to left then up and down, scanning inch of the fireplace for something.

"Come on, come on, come on," She mumble repeatedly to herself as she heard triples` angry voice coming closer to the lounge she was in.

Then she finds what she was looking for, a tiny craving hidden behind one of the golden swirls. (Y/N)’s hand shot into the slit of her dress to grab a tiny tile. The tile was on a piece of string with a relief that matched the craving on the fireplace.

The girl quickly slotted the tile onto the craving. After a pain-staking moment for a sound of something click followed by a heavy groaning of something moving. The brunette moved back from the fireplace, taking the tile with her. She had stepped back to see the back of the fire area slide the rest of up. A smile of relief across (Y/N)’s face before she darted into the hidden entrance and closing it behind her.

(Y/N) stayed behind the wall for a moment clam down her panicking heart. During that time the triple princes had been in the lounge, continually yelling insults and cursing her whilst they search the room for her.

(Y/N) made an unpleasant hum before she walked through the small tunnel until the floor started to descend down. At the bottom of the stairs, the tunnel grew larger and made it easier for (Y/N) to walk through. The girl stopped once she had gotten quite far into dark tunnels. (Y/N) held her hand in front of her. With a deep breath, summoned the magic power deep within her to bring fore her bronze lantern. The lantern was already lit went it entered her grasp, revealing the large tunnel system that lay hidden underneath the palace.

The Cedar Labyrinth stretching the whole area of Cedarroot Palace with some stretching further than the palace.

The tunnel system was built alongside the construct of the palace. The labyrinth was built as an escape route if the palace was ever attacked, which had never had since Quebel had a strong army.

The tunnels were carved out of the rocks underneath the palace then was reinforced stone and decorated with white marble floors, tiles, columns and arches. Beautiful even if it had been forgotten for centuries. Dirty, dust and cobwebs had taken over the tunnels.

Mostly everyone had forgotten, mostly everyone.

The Valles family had never forgotten about their second greatest treasure – Cedarroot Palace being the first. The Valles had kept a detailed map of the Cedar Labyrinth which had been pass down generation to generation. Since Oswin was family head, he had given a copy of the map to (Y/N) so she could escape from her brothers and everyone who wanted to hurt her.

(Y/N) pulled said map out from of her pouches from under her dress. Oswin had also enchanted the map for (Y/N) so she wouldn’t get lost in the labyrinth and would always know a way out.

Thou at the moment (Y/N) didn’t know where she wanted to go. So she stood there in the dark a dirty tunnel with cheeks puffed up with air trying to think what she could do.

After a while of staring at the map, an idea finally popped into her head. An evil grin spread across her face. She would put flowers on her grandfather’s monument.

The monument was built and finish just before the previous king’s death and Harald had never given an order to tear it down but it was an unspoken rule that you should never visit the monument since Harald hated his father. From what (Y/N) could gather her grandfather was a kind-hearted man which made him weak in her father’s eyes. So once in a while, she would put flowers on the monument to watch everyone panic but only once in a while not to upset the king too much, or it would end badly for someone.

(Y/N) scanned the map once again to see which route would be the best to take to the garden that the monument hosted in. There many paths she could take but the best path would take her to pass the king’s office which he would most likely be there that moment. The king would definitely sense her if wasn’t extremely carefully but she would risk it because she didn’t want to walk so far for a little prank.

With the map and lantern, (Y/N) guided herself through the labyrinth until she got to the king’s office. Once she had gotten close to the office she slows down so she could focus on controlling concealing her presence s she walked passed.

(Y/N) slowly walked the stairs leading up to the king’s office, she could hear loud voices coming down from the passage. The girl stopped to listen to what it was saying but it muffled for her to hear. Curious got the better of her and she claimed the steps to the small hallway behind the hidden door. Here she could the loud voices better.

"But Your Majesty, if these droughts do continues the people will riot like it’s Prildo Ira. You must at least have some kind of plan to deal with the riots?" an advisor asked, stress laced heavily in his voice.

"Kill those who are rioting,"

Those words silence the room then filling it with a suffocating atmosphere. Even thou she couldn’t see the faces of advisors and one else in the room she knew their faces had gone pale with the look of horror spread across them.

"How would you achieve this, father?" Henry requested.

(Y/N) could tell by her brother’s tone that he only wanted to know what sic plan he was thinking of.

"Use the army," Harald said if he was stating something that was obvious. "Or I ask Mundus to send over some demons to deal with them," he added on as a second thought.

The silence continued on for a moment longer before someone coughed, probably the head advisor.

"Well then let’s get on to the topic that’s been the courts` mind, (Y/N)," the head advisor said.

Said girl’s heart missed a beat when she heard her own name.

`Me? Why do they want to talk about me?` her panic mind thought.

"What about her?" Harald asked uninterestedly.

"Many people are wondering what planning on doing with her," an advisor stated. "You are spending a lot of money on her so people are curious. Even Lady Lovelace doesn’t know and that Lord Valles has been trying to find out,"

(Y/N) could hear the disgust when the advisor talks about Oswin. No one in the king’s council like him as he embodied every about the old kingdom that they hated. But Oswin was powerful with mage which that could be only compared to the king’s.

`I shouldn’t be listening to this! I’m going to hear something bad`

"She going to be a gift to Mundus,"

The world seemed to stop for the ten year old.

`What…?`

A gift.

Her father was going to give to Mundus.

"Ahhh… I see. A concubine, that be a perfect role for her," another advisor mutter.

"Yes, it certainly would," the king agreed. "She’s the living image of her mother, the most beautiful woman in this land. I’m sure in a couple of years she will follow her mother’s path and become as beautiful as her, then I’ll give her to Mundus. If he doesn’t want her, one of you can have her,"

It was horrible. The worst thing she would hear she would in all of her life. Her own father is talking about her like she was a dog or a horse.

(Y/N) dropped her lantern and not waiting to hear the commotion that would follow from the office, she ran.

She ran as fast as her small body could take her. She ran as far as she could away from that room until she collided with the wall of the labyrinth.

An eerily silence wit the labyrinth’s air about the young girl. The girl pulled herself to her knees. She stays still for a moment before letting everything out.

The first tear slowly falls from her (E/C) eyes then another until they quickly one after the other. She a let out a heartbreaking cry. All the years of abuse, suffering and trying to be strong were all let out.    NO one was there to comfort her in the dark, dirty and lonely labyrinth.

She cried for the longest time she could remember.

`I need to leave,`

That’s the only thing she could think of when she couldn’t cry anymore.

`I’m not going to be some monster’s gift!` she bitterly thought.

"But how…?"

                                                            ***

The moon had risen for the night. Most of the palace had gone to bed but Oswin was still wide awake as he had documents to review. Reading by candlelight, Oswin read through the mountain of minutes from the different meeting that he couldn’t attend that day.

Oswin sat in his quarters’ lounge in the palace. He had just re-stock the fire warming up the room and giving the room a comfortable atmosphere. And with a glass of rum to help him relax, Oswin felt peaceful.

A series of loud knocks interrupted Oswin’s comfortable atmosphere.

Oswin knew who was at the door. There was only one person who would knock on his door like that, at this time of night.

So he immediately jumped up from his seat and rushed to the door. Stood there was Guinevere, looking with a panic look in her (E/C) eyes.

"Guin, what’s wrong?" he asked, letting her into his quarters.

"It’s (Y/N)," Guinevere said, worry laced through her voice. Oswin could tell she was on the vague of breaking down even though her voice was steady. "I can’t find her anywhere," she stated. "Ii and the maids have looked everywhere for her. I had Lu even wake up Lady Santoro to see if she attend lessons today, which she did," Guinevere told him as she paced back and for. "It’s not like her to miss dinner or not return to our quarters for bed,"

"Guinevere," Oswin called her name. He put his hands on her shoulders to stop her pacing. "I’m sure everything fine," he reassured her. He noticed tears swilling in her (E/C) eyes, so he moved to cup the cheeks of his best friend and only love. "I’ll find her. I think might know where she is. And I’m sure that she’s fallen asleep," he said.

Guinevere nodded her head to Oswin’s words knowing she could always rely on him.

The two of them stepped away from each other. Oswin went to grab his coat as Guinevere walked to the door.

When Oswin exited the room his friend was waiting for him.

He gave Guinevere one last nod of reassuring before they parted ways. Him heading to the nearest entrance to Cedar Labyrinth whist Guinevere absent-mindedly walked back to her living quarters back in the King’s Tower.

Once down in the labyrinth Oswin made his way to Lone Tower.

The Lone Tower was built along with palace and labyrinth as a prison for royalty if they had committed any crimes against the king or the kingdom. But the tower had long been abandoned at corner of the palace’s grounds. The only way to access the tower was through the labyrinth.

Oswin knew this is where (Y/N) would be. It was far away from the palace for no one to find her but not far enough for her to escape the palace its self.

Once at the Lone Tower, Oswin pushed open the door with a horrible groan. Even if the after a couple of centuries of abandonment the tower still looked grand. There was no expense was spared in decorating the royal prison. Gold leaf, ebony wood furniture and jewels everywhere but it was all covered in dust and cobwebs.

The man walked up the stairs to the top floor of the tower. There, on the top floor was Jannette, hugging her knees to her chest with her forehead resting on top her knees. Oswin hadn’t seen her like this since she was a toddler.

"(Y/N)," Oswin called out to the girl.

She didn’t move, she stayed in that position. Oswin moved toward her, kneeling by her side. He reached out for her, taking her face into his hands. He saw that normally sparkling (E/C) eyes were now dull and lifeless.

"(Y/N)!" Oswin gasped. "What’s wrong?" he asked.

There was a brief moment of silence before she gave an answer.

"He’s going to sell me,"

"What?" Oswin stuttered.

"He’s going to sell em to Mundus!" (Y/N) cried. "He’s going to give me to that monster like a piece of meat!"

Oswin was shocked at (Y/N)’s out bust but when he realises what she had said, angry fill his blood.

How dare Harald use her as a tool. That man didn’t give his own daughter the time of day. The only time that the king had inactive with (Y/N) was a week after she was born to acknowledge and give her her surname. After that, there was no inactivation, no birthday wishes or seasonal greeting.

Harald might act all-powerful and mighty at court but in the presence of Mundus, he became a little bitch. He would give Demon Emperor presents to stay in his good books.

"I don’t live anymore!" (Y/N) cried.

She didn’t want to continued living knowing that her fate was to be given away to a monster. Oswin couldn’t have it either.

Even if hurt Guinevere he would help (Y/N) leave this country.

Oswin moved to hug the young girl.

"(Y/N)," he whispered. "I’ll get you out of this country,"

(Y/N) stays still in the hug for a moment before she returns it. Oswin picked her up. (Y/N) buried her face into Oswin’s neck, he kissed her head.

"Let’s return to the palace now, " Oswin whispered again. "Your mother is worried sick about you," he told her.

"We can’t tell her about our plan," (Y/N) said.

"No, we can’t. Though your mother would never tell anyone but someone would notice her change in behave and investigate," Oswin said.he

(Y/N) quietly hummed as Oswin carried her out of the tower and back to the palace. When he reached Guinevere’s quarters he knocked on the door.

One of Guinevere’s maids opens the door. Her eyes open wide when she saw Oswin carrying (Y/N) in his arms. She quickly ushers him in.

Guinevere came rushing out of her once she was informed that Oswin had returned with her daughter.

"Is she alright?" the woman asked.

"She fine now but she heard something that upset her greatly," Oswin told her as he handed over the sleeping child to her mother.

Guinevere pulled a face of concerned.

"Did she tell you what she heard?" she asked.

Oswin shook his head.

"Unfortunately not," he replied.

The adults stood there, quietly letting their thoughts run wild.

"You should return to your chambers before someone catches you her," Guinevere said.

Oswin nodded his head in agreement then left the room.

Guinevere readjusted her daughter so she could place a kiss on the sleeping girl’s head. The woman then took her daughter to her bed-chamber. The maids helped undress the young girl into her nightwear for her mother so she could tuck her into bed.

Guinevere pulled the sheets up to (Y/N)’s chin.

"Good night my flower. I will always love and protect," She whispered as placed another kiss on her forehand.

Guinevere then quietly exiting the room.

                                                        ***

A month had passed since the incident and Oswin hadn’t come up with any sort of plan to help (Y/N) escape from Quebel.

From her part, (Y/N) continued on like nothing had happened. Continuing to going to her lessons, behaving her best as normal and trying to stay out of trouble best as he could.

Though it seems that tonight she wanted an update as came to his office. Her large (E/C) stared at him from the other side of his desk.

"May I help you, (Y/N)?" Oswin asked.

"Do you think I could become a doctor in my new life?" she asked in return.

Oswin was surprised by the girl’s question. In Quebel only man could become doctors, women were discouraged from taking up any jobs.

"Why do want to be a doctor?" Oswin asked.

"I want to help people," (Y/N) stated. "I was reading this book from outside the kingdom," she started. "It`s about a female doctor who goes off the find a cure for a disease. She helps many people on the way to find the cure,"

Oswin listens to what the girl was saying. During her talk, he was reminded of an old acquaintance. He did mentions that a lot of places were in search of doctor it, they didn’t care what the gender or wealth.

"I might have an idea. Come back to me next week," He told her.

For that week Oswin got in connect with his acquaintance to arrange a way for (Y/N) to leave the country. The acquaintance told Oswin that the perfect place for the girl to hide was Prildo Ira.

Prildo Ira was a former kingdom that was loosely held together by the fact their still held some kind of loyalty to the former kingdom. Or it could be the fact that all the vulnerable land was taken when the royal family was assassinated and what was left stay together out of spite.

It was a rough country where the black market thrives but the everyday people live happily. It`s a good place for anyone to hide, it would be perfect for (Y/N).

So by the end of the week, Oswin had a plan for (Y/N) which she agreed to.

So the night after (Y/N) agreed to the plan, her and Oswin were walking through Cedar Labyrinth to the capital’s docks. Both of them dressed in hooded cloaks and normal peasant clothing.

To say that (Y/N) was nervous was an understatement. The young girl had never left the palace’s grounds in her life, so to leave the country altogether without her mother was petrifying but it was for a better future.

The two of them exited the labyrinth into the dock’s sewers then up the ladder to the dock.

The docks were mostly deserted apart from a lone light at the other end of docks.

"Captain Marsh?" Oswin asked.

"Yes," The Captain replied.

Oswin moved his hood back a bit to reveal his face to the Captain. The Captain gasp when saw he younger man.

"Lord Valles!" The Captain gasped loudly.

Oswin and (Y/N) shushed the older man.

"A-Are you the one that asked me here?" Marsh asked.

"I am," He confirmed. "I would like you to transport this young lady to Prildo Ira. Once at Prildo Ira’s docks a man called Fino will ask you `if the donkey is beyond the bayou` you must answer `Of course that’s where the demon isn’t`," He explained.

"Anything M`Lord. Valles family has done more for my crew and their families then any country or king," The Captain said as took the girl into his care.

"You’re too kind Captain Marsh," Oswin awkwardly laughed. "My family just wants to help your fellow countrymen," he told the old captain. His pale purple eyes turned to the (E/C) one of (Y/N)."Goodbye (Y/N). I hope your new life is happy, prosperous and find someone to love," he gave those parting words to her and placing a kiss on her forehead.

"Goodbye father," she said, failing to hold back the tears forming in her eyes. "Thank you for everything,"

Oswin held back the tears forming his eyes.

Then two of parted ways.

Oswin returning to Cedarroot Palace as Captain Marsh guided (Y/N) to his ship.

Once on deck, (Y/N) took one more look back on her home country before proceeding onwards to her new life.

[arckhaic]

                                   “ hold my hand / it’s a long way down to the                                      bottom of the river.” 

the story of king arthur as told by the river. | see, the river requires a high price for its magic. a boy is born in the midst of a war where the river have learned a taste for blood & the need to carry out its will. it requires a champion. a hero. a savior.    —  a king. | ♛ |  listen. / the full story beneath the read more. 

BOTTOM OF THE RIVER / delta ray | uther has died. long live the king. the river requires a high price for its magic. a boy is born in the midst of a war where the river have learned a taste for blood & the need to carry out its will. it requires a champion. a hero. a savior.

IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE / hozier | arthur is brought out to the woods & left there to be tricked by the spirits and the sounds of these woods and the river within who claim him as their own. he finds a weapon. he finds strength. he finds a power inside of him he never knew. he does not remember what he gave away.

COME AWAY TO THE WATER / glen hansard | guinevere is brought to the court of this king & his river & her hand is promised. she is too young. too new. the mud beneath her feet knows her heart more than her king ever will.

FLESH AND BLOOD / the waifs | of the folk, of the blood, morgan le fay has what belongs to her taken away — the land of her fathers, the land of her mothers, the land of her bones. cast out by a man who seeks to call himself king, a man chosen by the rivers, she begins to make a plan that ensures what is hers will one day belong to her again.

RIVER / bishop briggs | trouble begins to brew as lancelot rolls into town.

GLORY / jamine n common | lancelot has dirtied hands and a bloodstained sword in his hands and he swears fealty to this king of the water, this king of the wood. he swears his heart as well — he comes in on the words of the others willing to overlook the dead and grieving he leaves behind.

BLOOD ON MY NAME / the brothers bright | arthur begins to wage his war in the name of the woods, the river, and the mud that gave him his name. sword in his hand, he carves that name into those the river deems enemy. the ground beneath him turns red and he crowns himself king with it.

MARKED MAN / mieka pauley | morgan le fay — daughter of blood, daughter of flesh — knows that name of blood and she knows what is hers. she will reset this balance that arthur has upset, she will protect what is hers. she warns her brother that his death is foretold and it will be by her hand.

DANGEROUS / royal deluxe | mordred rolls into town and begins to make trouble.

NEW BLOOD / zayde wølf | mordred — made of the rivers, made of the blood, made to fulfil a threat — begins to speak with the same tongue the serpent of old used. imagine these woods without a king having carved his name out with blood. isn’t backwater deliverance just another word for a drowning?

AIN’T NO DEVIL / andrea wasse | lancelot and guinevere — brought together out of their aching want to be seen by a king who only holds the heartbeat of the river in the middle of the night — feel the eyes of court on them and mordred behind all of them.

NFWMB / hozier | lancelot makes a promise to her.

KINGDOM COME / the civil wars | guinevere refuses to leave — but begs lancelot to go.

MURDEROUS MIND / dolly wright | the rivers have begun to turn.

BAD BLOOD / welshley arms | mordred reveals his true heritage.

GOD’S GONNA CUT YOU DOWN / johnny cash | arthur swears on the river in both their veins that he will cut mordred down if he dares to try.

TOUGH JUSTICE / blues saraceno | mordred tries. a battle begins. there are no words, just the rain overhead as the riverbeds begin to swell.

BURY ME FACE DOWN / grandson | mordred will choose his own death. a spear in his chest, he shoves it through and moves to spill that blood on arthur’s hands. he will die a king — he will die a threat. it was all he was made to be. there is no forgiveness to be found in these waters. there is no forgiveness for him. this is his fate. this is all he has and no one will take that from him.  

GRAVES / whiskey shivers | sword is drawn against sword, the rivers flood and glut themselves with blood. perhaps this is what it wanted, perhaps this was the true intention. you can never truly trust the dark, still waters as the saying goes. 

LEAD ME HOME / jamies n commons | arthur is dying — he begins to recount his life.

COME JOIN THE MURDER / the white buffalo | it is believed by some that arthur’s soul was transformed into a raven after his death.

BROKEN CROWN / mumford & sons | morgan le fay finds her brother dying on the ground & they have words.

LONG TIME TRAVELLER / the wailin’ jennys | arthur is dead. long live the king. 

DOWN TO THE RIVER TO PRAY / alison krauss | on a boat, they send his body away in hopes that the river will one day return him to them during their time of great need. that is — if the river decides to give him back. his bones will settle to the silt, the waters will wash over him, from mud he came and to mud he will return. 

[korkrunchcereal]

One Eyed Jack

They came in small groups. Jackwell Thornbrow watched them slowly trickle in in their two’s and threes, travelling in such minute numbers to avoid suspicion. Over an hour he had watched through his one good eye as they entered the basement beneath The Prancing Strider. The inn, belonging to the Salas family, had ‘generously’ hosted Jackwell’s gatherings, and in return Jackwell helped the Salas family. It was a partnership born of mutual interest; power and the elimination of the Indaris family.

The inn was not spacious, but it was cozy. The basement however was less so, for it was damp and filled with the inn’s supplies. It was however safe, for men loyal to Jackwell watched for those loyal to house Indaris. Every revolution had its start, and so Jackwell found his here. So the people came; the impoverished by the various houses schemes and the commoners who felt betrayed by the nobility.

All came because Jackwell had put out a call. The world was under dire threat by demons once again. The people of Quel’thalas suffered for years due to the machinations of demons, and even still their malignant taint had a hold. The nobility, so caught up in their grand schemes, cared not for the lives of the people. House Indaris was greatest among them, so Jackwell united them under a common cause.

The Unbidden.

Under the cover of darkness the people came, until there was a good thirty individuals within the basement. Though they were cramped, they did not care. This was the flock of Jackwell, united for the common good of the people. For too long they found themselves ensnared by the political webs of their lords. The nobility did not care. Silvermoon did not care. Jackwell however, he had cared. Jackwell eyed them all, in their commoner’s clothes. His gaze wandered up to the final individual who came down the stairs, spotting his lieutenant Daryc make his way to the floor. Anyone that was coming was here; good. Jackwell cleared his throat, silencing the small crowd before he spoke.

“My brothers and sisters; thank you for coming.” He waved his hands outwards to those assembled, giving a toothy smile that unfortunately lacked several teeth. “In the night you came, answering my call for brave sons and daughters of Quel’thalas. You have all come here for your own different reasons…reasons we stand united in. The nobility trample over us like we are nothing more than dirt. We, who farm their crops and provide them food, drink and goods! And what do they do!”

“Nothing!”

“Kill us!” A chorus of cries sounded out, each a different response all leading to the answer that the nobility are against the commoners. Jackwell waved his hands to silence the crowd, and once it quieted down to murmurs he continued.

“And chief among them is House Indaris! For centuries our families toiled to serve the gluttony of Arcannon. His thanks? A litany of bloodshed. A list of families made bankrupt. His crimes against the common people and his exploitation was allowed by the nobility we all serve. Our petitions? Ignored. Our cries? ‘Unwarranted’.”

“What of his son!” Someone from the crowd shouted.

“Aurelian is the bitter seed of a bad fruit. I remember the day he was born, just like that of his elder brother. We all had hope he had somehow escaped the greed of house Indaris. We had all thought Aurelian and his brother would become more than their father, and oh how wrong we were. Neither brother cared for the common people, Aurelian especially.”

“And now he killed his brother!” A woman stated. The crowd grew loud with argument, Jackwell letting it continue for a moment before releasing a shrill, piercing whistle that quieted the assembly down.

“We do not know if he killed his brother, only that he’s unwell and hasn’t been seen. I would not however put it past Aurelian to murder his siblings. He is a vain, tyrannical and petty man. Did you all know I once served the house? Yes, I did. I was an Indaris soldier. I served Arcannon, and I served the brothers.”

“What happened?!”

“War happened! We all remember the Scourge’s invasion, and how our lands burned. Not even the vaunted Gilded Lands was spared. Only by the great sacrifice of our people did we survive and keep the Crescent Hills free of the Scourge’s taint. I lost my eye, I…” he paused, as if mustering the strength for the next sentence. “I lost my family to the Undead. Did you know what House Indaris did as thanks for my sacrifice?”

“Nothing!” Someone answered. Jackwell shook his head, bringing murmurs of confusion.

“Worse. When Aurelian and Caledon took power after their father’s death, they got rid of me. For years I sacrificed my body, mind and soul for them and they removed myself and dozens more. They left us without pension, without pay and without hope.”

“Kill them all!”

“Ring the purple blood’s necks!” Again, Jackwell raised his hands to calm the crowd.

“I was forced to beg, to scrounge and yes to commit crimes. I am not proud of what I had to do, my friends. In this dark hole, I saw no escape. Yet in this imprisonment I saw much. I saw more with one eye than I had ever seen with two the injustice of the world. Every nobleman I robbed I turned into a stepping stone, until I pulled myself out of that black pit of despair. We have all been there, have we not my friends?” One man in the front, grey of hair and grizzled of features, nodded. Jackwell saw the man was nearly leaping out of his own skin to speak. “Brother, you wish to say something?”

“Aye, I do.” The old man’s voice was hoarse, his back bent and his hands hidden in his long sleeves.

“What is your name, my friend?”

“Luthor.”

“Please, speak.”

“For centuries I served house Indaris as a servant. None were as loyal to their master as I, I tell you. Light, I had even waited on the young Aurelian when he was a child. In the wake of the scourge invasion however, times were tough as we all know. I was unable to provide fully for my wife, and our son had died in the attack. So I stole a loaf of bread; just a single loaf. The guards caught me and brought me to Arcannon. I pleaded my case, told him why I did it and how I had served loyally. Do you know what his young son, who I had seen grow up said? Dismissal.”

“And what happened then.”

“Dismissed as I was, I couldn’t do nothin’ to provide. I was too old to fight, too old to labor in the fields. I begged for coins and scraps, pleaded my case to Silvermoon. They laughed in my face. My wife…” he paused, shaking. “My wife died of illness because we couldn’t afford a healer. Her death is wholly on House Indaris!” Roars of anger sounded out, along with comforting hands by those nearby.

“Kill em all!”

“Death!” That singular word picked up above the others, becoming a chant.

“My friends! My friends! We cannot kill Lord Indaris…not yet. Every day however the Unbidden grows. Soon we shall be a threat that not even Silvermoon can ignore, but for now we continue our work. While we suffer, House Indaris dares to host a masquerade ball for the nobility. He does this to placate the nobles, but he throws away gold when there is a far more dire threat.”

“What of the regent!” A woman cried out. All eyes turned on her. “She’s one of us; a nobody. She answered my daughter’s petition about a suitor that spurned her. She made sure my daughter was paid by the merchant’s who tried to swindle her away.” Murmurs of agreement rose up in support of Calithielwen.

“The regent can only do so much. It is true she aids us more than her betrothed ever has, but sooner than later Aurelian will take full control of the house again. We cannot wait for a change that will never happen. If she truly stands with the common people, she will aid us when the time comes. If not, then she is no better than the nobility.”

“What do we do now, then?”

“Let the Unbidden continue to grow and continue to hurt House Indaris where it hurts. I know many were unhappy when we burned down the blacksmith’s shop some weeks past. Many of you wonder, if we are after the nobility than why do we attack our own?” He paused at that, letting the silence hang in the air for a moment. “They are not our own. Hasarel had been paid a fortune for years by Aurelian. I had approached him on aiding our cause, and he turned me away. Said there was nothing to be found amid the commoners.”

“Traitor!”

“Yes, and so that is why his shop burned and why we have robbed others. Everything we do is to weaken house Indaris. Bleed their coffers dry, and they will not have the support to stand against us. We will be masters of our own destiny! Beholden and bidden to no one save ourselves. Demons invade our world, and in the wake of apocalypse we must cling to one another in order to survive. We cannot rely on the nobility, for they will and have abandoned us. Listen my friends and remember. We are Unbidden!”

A chorus of cheers filled the basement, threatening to carry above into the inn. Jackwell smiled, raising his hands high, and extending them to his sides. He let their cheers fill his ears, his heart beaming with pride. The common folk would have their vengeance against the nobility. In truth, he had not cared for the Unbidden at first. When he was approached months ago by a stranger, he nearly turned the man away. He was an oily man, slick of ebon hair and slick of tongue.

Jackwell was glad he had not.

“Go, my friends. Return to your homes. I will send word for our next course of actions. Trust not the nobility, for they care not for you. Trust in your brothers and sisters to the left and right of you, for they are the blood of the common man.” Jackwell watched them disperse, once more in their small groups to avoid suspicion. A small amount to be sure, but this was one inn in one town across the Crescent Hills.

As the basement emptied, Jackwell felt a strange chill run up his spine. The hair on the back of his neck rose as the walls became pitch black. He knew what was coming, closing his eye. Seconds past, Jackwell opening his eye to look at the lone man in the room. His hair was oily, looking as greasy as fried fish. Jackwell felt a strange uneasiness whenever he looked at the man, as if there was a dreadful aura around him.

“Ah Jackwell, that was a rousing speech.”

“So you heard it all.” Jackwell grunted as he stepped down from the pedestal he had been standing on, taking a step towards the man.

“I did. It really stirred their hearts, you know. They truly believe in your cause, Jackwell. Who would have thought that ‘One Eyed’ Jack could be a man of the people?”

“Why are you here.” He had never learned the stranger’s name, only his intentions. Even those he had questioned, though so far the stranger had come through.

“My benefactor wished to pass along a message. More of the minor nobles are turning against Aurelian, even as the greater houses laud him for the upcoming ball. However, everyone of any importance will be there…including the Arrowmere family.”

“And?”

“The Arrowmere’s are the biggest supporters of House Indaris within Rivervale. The Salas family, however, is not. We need to get them in power within Rivervale, so the Unbidden have freer rein to act. While they are at the ball, have your men burn down their estate.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Burn their home to the ground. My benefactor is already working on supplying you with more black powder. We will weaken them until the coup de grace wipes out the family. I’m sure you will have no problem with that.”

“Hmf.” Jackwell crossed his arms, eyeing the man. “I’ll get it done, don’t worry. Tell your benefactor however I want a meeting.”

“Very well. I am sure they will speak once the Arrowmere’s are gone. Any other questions?”

“No.”

“Then I bid you adieu, Jack. The ball is in a week’s time. That should give a man of your talents plenty of time to prepare.” The room darkened again, Jackwell being forced to close his eye as a bright, blinding flash suddenly appeared. When he opened his eye again, the man was gone, leaving Jackwell alone to ponder how in the world he was going to burn down the largest estate in Rivervale.

 “As far as I was aware, the Unbidden were not planning anything. At that point, I was still convinced they were nothing more than a nuisance.” Balasar simply stared at Aurelian, before sighing and shaking his head.

“Right. So what happened after Volcanius, leading up to the Ball.”

“I returned home and got everything sorted. I had rice wine from Pandaria shipped in, food from across the world and all manner of decoration applied to the Castle’s ballroom. There was no robberies or arsons during the week.”

“Anything else?”

“Oh, yes. I made sure Sare’wen was presentable. Light knows I couldn’t have my guest of honor show up to a prestigious event in commoner’s clothes. Oh that would have been the death of me!” Aurelian placed a hand dramatically over his forehead, before continuing. “So I had an outfit tailored for her.”

“I’m sure all of this costed a small fortune.”

“Oh yes, it did. But it was an Indaris ball, and I was not aware then how my coffers would suffer in the weeks and months after.”

“So that week you planned the ball, ensured your guest was presentable as you say, and that’s it?”

“Yes. For once it was a week where something wasn’t trying to kill me.”

“So what next?”

“Next of course was the ball…”

[collectorofstarstuff-blog]

Maria and the Kelpie [The Ancient, Dead]

The people of the Gliphen lived in a private menagerie for the birds and beasts of the Ancients to view. They had neat rows of houses and orderly streets. They had a marketplace for their clay pots and produce to live and trade homes. Their wall was small and their gates ornate. And standing above it all with an outdated sort of pomp was its castle, a thing that glowed under the daytime sun and glittered as bright as the golden stars of night. It was within its aurous walls that the people who governed the other people in the little menagerie were born, lived, and died, all in a brilliant and whimsical flash of their golden suns. 

Most of these people would never cross path with an animal in their long lives. Maybe a handful of those that do will ever cross paths with an Ancient. And fewer still (just one, in fact) would find their paths so inexorably intertwined with an Ancient that they would be within touching distance.

And that Ancient was already dead. Almost.

Ancients just didn’t leave their forests or their Nightplains, not to break through the gates of a human city. They despised the mortal things, and the feeling was mutual. They certainly didn’t seek little boys, out for morning adventures near lakes.

‘Morning’ was for nobles. The ‘day’ was for kings and queens and rightly so. It was their perfect, glowing suns that banished the dark of night, that hid the common stars of their subjects. But Leo’s parents thought that pretty arrogant. So their son found that pretty arrogant as well. He would make the ‘day’ for Leo too. Besides, his sleeping pills just tasted like raw grain, crunchy and unpleasant. If he was going to crunch his teeth on something, he’d rather it be the reeds down by the lake, making whistles.

Because ‘night’ was for working. ‘Dark’ was for farming, for trading goods, for chatter and play. ‘Night’ was for lanterns, for loud noise while the kings and queens slept. ‘Night’ was for astronomers to study the skies, to keep an eye on every single star that belonged to the common folk.

No one would see little Leo’s star in the middle of the day, while the noble suns were about. He was in the clear. But just to be sure, he peeked up past the outcrop of his roof. Yes, there were the twin suns of Queen Etienne and her daughter Leanna, circling one another in a slow, hypnotic gait. Once, he had very nearly spied them in the eyepiece of his father’s telescope before he was snatched away. They had almost won then, almost blinded him were it not for his mama and papa. But he was the one winning now, sneaking out, hidden beneath their powerful rays. If he couldn’t see the sky through a telescope during the day, the astronomer couldn’t either, so she wouldn’t see his tiny little star. He blinked quickly as though taking a photograph, then fled from his porch like it might consume him.

The only thing that ever kept Leo in the house was sleep. The whole house was his bed and sleeping pills were the straps that stored him in it. And otherwise the only time he might be found near the house was at the telescope. The ‘most-expensive-thing-we-own’ was the only thing that kept him around his parents’ house. He didn’t like the farmers’ fields, he didn’t like the marketplace, and he wasn’t allowed in the temples or the palace.

He had to move slowly at first. Waking up from sleep was like dredging yourself up from the bottom of a swamp--not only bewildering, but dangerous. He knew of some people that could never find themselves in the night again, and had watched as their stars flickered and faded and died.

But Leo knew most people found the rest enjoyable and would complain throughout the night that they couldn’t wait for dawn. He also knew these people had pinprick stars and cared little for anything but rest and drink and gossip. They were destined only for work. He was a kid, and he didn’t think about farming or trading. His work was still play and he took it very seriously.

Out the gate from the little city he slipped, thin enough not to mess with the locks and bolts, happy enough not to fear the warnings of his elders. Young enough not to see too far ahead.

He gathered his handmade whistles at the lake, one, two, and made it to five before he heard it breathing. Too young, too young to know what danger meant. Too curious to take flight. Too proud to think himself fearful.

And that’s where he found the dead Ancient.

The grass was broken and blackened. But when Leo touched it, it came away sticky and smelled sweet. No fire could have made it this way. It was thicker than sap and tasted like melted candy strings. He would not have put it to his tongue if he knew it was blood.

The teeth almost closed on his ankle before he saw them. But blessed quick, he was from the path of its jaws, half-hidden in the reeds and earthy water. It was as if someone pushed the clouds away from his eyes, for it moved no more in defense, only seemed to come into view the harder he stared.  Its body was as green as the grass, but where it touched the water, it seemed to vanish, to become the water, so Leo saw no legs. Even without them, the animal was immense. With his eyes, he traced what part of its form he could see, blinking furiously so he could remember its shape.

Its form still made some sense, so he could guess, even at his age, where its belly was. But part of it was missing, shredded, ripped open. Ripped open from within. He couldn’t look too long at that part. His only fear now was that no creature could live with such a broken body. He looked it in the eyes with that one fear.

It was weakening, starting to give up. Leo stared back hard, as though by sheer will he could convince its life to return. After some unblinking time, the beast not only gave up on him, it gave up entirely. With a pitiful snort, it looked away. What harm could a little human boy do it now?

Leo looked again into the injury, his compassion gobbling up his nausea. He knew there was nothing that could be done now. Even if his father were awake, his treatments were limited to cuts, scrapes, the occasional childbirth. There was so much black ooze, he couldn’t see the green underbelly anymore, it poured and poured. If only it had been night, he could look up into the beast’s star for the story of how long it might live. But it was day, and the stars were invisible, his father was asleep, everyone was asleep, and nothing save a huge explosion would wake them.

Leo wasn’t thinking of a huge explosion at the moment, despite most children thinking of things that are loud and exciting, so he couldn’t possibly have predicted that one might occur just then.

But it did.

Leo reached out and touched the beast, and that’s when there was a huge explosion.

Of course, he didn’t hear it. No one would hear it for several days but at that moment, he fell back, screaming anyway. Because he didn’t have to hear it to see it. He didn’t have to hear it because he felt it.

He was it and he was smart enough to know it.

The screaming eventually stopped, but he wasn’t sure how he made it happen. He was on his back in the drying blood, looking up at his star. It was falling. Falling towards him. Even in the daylight, he could see it now. It was swelling and eating up the sky as it burned towards him, leaving a trail behind of boiling air. Leo knew he would die. He felt the star roaring into him, it reverberated through his very skin. As his heart slammed into his ribs, the star pulsed bigger and brighter until he finally decided it was okay to die. Then his heart slowed, and his star stopped falling, and he fell right asleep without any pills at all.

All Queen Etienne saw from that point as she passed a palace window was a violent light. She was too high in the castle to hear a little boy screaming all the way from the forest apart from the city. She mistakenly thought that something must’ve happened to her daughter’s sun and sent a guard for her at once. The Queen never left the window, peering into the yellow sky to see what caused the disturbance. But the sky was so blinding she couldn’t even tell what direction it came from.

To her great relief and annoyance, her daughter Leanna came beside her, as pleasant and pinch-faced as usual.

“What do you want? I was eating breakfast.” Though their stars seemed a synchronous dance, the dance of this particular mother and daughter was always less amicable.

“I believe that either we are under attack or you need to mind your  manners.”

“Under attack?” The princess’ eyes could light a match they were so bright. She joined her mother at the window. “How do you know?”

The sky dimmed, and there, above the lake, was the sudden star. A third star in the morning, a third royal sun, bigger than both of theirs combined.

It is well known that the first thing Leo said to his fiancée was, “I touched a dead beast.” He meant no harm in it. He found it really fascinating, having never seen an animal before and knowing most people certainly wouldn’t get a chance to touch one.

As expected, the princess’ nose shriveled and her voice shriveled, indignant. “Were you its hunter?”

“No.”

“Then why should that interest me?”

The thought of killing that beautiful beast made Leo’s stomach shrivel like Leana’s nose. And knowing that the princess would have been more interested in him if he had killed it made Leo’s stomach give its contents back through his mouth all over the marble floor. But the horrible thought wasn’t acting alone, its accomplice might have been the star-dampener placed on the boy. It tends to make only the smallest stars feel nothing, and so of course made Leo very sick. He no longer had the tiny star of a commoner, after all. But still, the princess was as appealing to him as the vomit he threw next to her.

Hardly surprising anyone, the princess let out a little shriek, and cried that a guard carry her far away from him. As her irritating voice left the room, Leo began cheerfully wondering how to go about learning to throw up on command. If he had known that she was his fiancée at that point, it may not have been very difficult.

But no one knew at that point. Because just then, he was a suspect.

[lazydaisygurl]

Frasers. A Family.

I had some messy ideas about the apostle spoons from season 2 that Jamie gives Claire/Faith, and tied them together into this messy fanfic. This is my first attempt at fanfic. I am itching to put it somewhere - even if it never gets read by a single soul - so here it is. Also, theres a load of *book spoilers* in here so if your eyes are wandering over this, you have been warned. If someone is reading this, thank you, from the bottom of my wee heart. 

I was brushing my hair after the day's work, taking account of our room as I did so, when my eyes found a box I knew wasn't there the night before… A box I thought I knew. I couldn’t recall how, or when I had last seen it, or what it held, or why I was so sure that I had seen it before, it looked so… familiar. I stopped my brushing, and that got Jamie's attention. Funny how marriage teaches you how much can be communicated through your partner's silence and stillness as much, if not more than their voice and actions. He stood up from the reading chair in the corner of our room and there was something odd in the look of his face, I couldn’t quite place the emotion it portrayed.

"We have Jenny to thank for yon wee box. She couldna bear the thought of leaving Scotland wi nothing.. Nothing to remember," he paused, and I could see how it pained him to know Scotland was behind him too, possibly forever, "but bringing something of Ian's hurt too much, so she packed this instead." My brain was catching up to what he was saying, the way he said it, and how his eyes changed from longing for a place to longing for a person. It was then that I knew what the box held. 

A little uneasily, I opened the box, the crushed velvet still the brilliant maroon-magenta it was, like the color of a fresh picked radish, some parts lighter than others. The spoons shone in the candle light, bright brilliant silver as they has all those years ago. Apostle spoons, a christening gift for our first daughter. I put my glasses on and picked one up and instantly I was back in France - empty, and alone. I don’t know how long I stood there, not really there, feeling the pain France left me with, and the life France stole from me. I was brought back to the here and now when Jamie came close behind me, I could feel the heat of his body warming me, almost from the inside out. It was him who healed me, made me whole after, in our togetherness. He bent closer, his copper curls brushing my shoulder as he said, "Saint Peter," followed by his distinctive Scottish grunt, halfway between a laugh and an agreement. To what, I'm not sure. I made a mental note to ask him who bloody Saint Peter was, later though.

I turned to him to see that his slanted eyes were measuring my emotions, but also showing me some of his, and how it burdened him after all this time, too. "We wouldn't have Fergus, you know?" I whispered. "If we never went."

"Aye," his face broke slowly into a half smile, "Fergus."

"He still belongs with you… and with me," I meant it. Fergus was like a son to me, he had been from the day I first knew him.

"Aye, he does," Jamie spoke so softly I thought I imagined it. A time later he said, "and plenty o other folk."

I set the spoon back in its spot, and counted the rest. Eleven. There was still an indention in the velvet where the twelfth spoon should have been, like the box remembered its loss too. Number twelve never left our hearts, but it was physically not with us, much like the daughter of ours it represented. I took a deep breath, and he wrapped his arms around my waist. I pointed to the spoon I'd just put down and said "One for Bree," then pointed to the one next to it, "And one for Fergus." 

He made that hmp noise again, and picked up where I left off "Marsali too eh?" nodding his chin at the third spoon.

"And Joan," I knew Jamie appreciated my recognition of his stepdaughter. Saying this brought on a twinge of… jealousy? To remember he was there for Joan in her younger years and not for Bree, I thought - no I knew - I was well over that, but the heart doesn’t forget easily. 

That feeling quickly faded when Jamie said, "Rodger Mac," with a very distinct tone of longing for his son in law, they were more like friends, companions bound by horrific experiences, happy ones too. He was a son to the both of us.

I thought for a bit, staring at spoon number six, swaying in his arms, "Willie," I said, and it came out as more of an exhale than a word, but he heard me just fine. His son, my stepson at one brief point in my life, I guess that still applied. I turned my head to the side to look at him, and the love was so clear in his eyes. 

He squeezed me tighter for a beat, "Well Sassenach, that’s an awful lot of barins. Recon we should add wee Ian to yon list." Ian, who left home to find adventure with Jamie. Ian, who sacrificed himself to Indians for the sake of Rodger. Ian, who we watched grow into the man he is today, all Scot under his tribal tattoos. He belonged with us too.

"Yes, Ian and Rachel," I could feel him nodding in agreement as I was thinking of the lesson I had given Rachel on martial activities. "Oh and Dottie!" She was the one who asked for the lesson after all. Sometime before their weddings, neither Rachel nor Dottie had their mothers with them - one dead and the other a sea away - so that left me to educate them on human sexuality. Since then, a kinship bloomed between us, the female kind of friendship where being shy is not a thing and seeking advice was common, in things to do with men and otherwise. Yes. I was a sort of mother to them - however unholy.

"Ye think so?" Jamie's eyebrows were pulled together in question at the mention of Dottie, "Well, she did learn a great lot from ye in the army tents, and I'm rather fond of a lassie who isna afraid to ask questions." And questions she asked.

He looked a little uneasy before he murmmered the last name I expected him to, "Malva Christie… Another lass unafraid to learn about yer wee herbs and knives."

"I- I… Suppose so," I was startled that he would even consider her, but began remembering her eagerness to learn, and help, and listen to me work. Yes. Malva Christie was a student of mine, a lost soul but she had no living mother in the time that I knew her. So that made her mine. And what is mine is Jamie's. It touched me that Jamie could see how much I had enjoyed Malva, and that he didn't let the messy end to her life and subsequent reprocussions of it on our lives get in the way of recognizing my relationship with her. "Okay, that makes eleven."

Hmp. "Denny," Jamie said with finality, "he saved your life Mo chridhe, without him ye wouldna be here, and I think ye taught him a bit in the way of healing, no?"

My heart was so full I thought it might pop. "Yes, Denny will do." He was the first doctor I had come across in this time that I would trust with my life - and I had to, I did. In him, I found a colleague who I rather enjoyed surprising with my creative ways at medicine. He always listened, and trusted me, even when I told him to pack my surgical wound with cheese. There was a boyish aura to him, and in being a sort of teacher to him, I could see how I would be a maternal figure to him.

"Well Sassenach," Jamie said while turning me to face him, "That makes twelve. They may no all have my blood, but they have me. My protection, a place to stay on a cold night, what's left o my riches, someone to listen, someone to help…"

"They have your love," I placed my hand over his heart, stopping his monologue. It was true.

"Aye, and yours," Jamie put his hand over my heart. He leaned close so that our foreheads touched. "We have a family Claire, we built this, ye ken?" there was a glow to him, to know that twelve people, at some point in their lives looked to Jamie as their father figure, or to me as a mother. The part of him that yearned to be a father for so many years felt fulfilled, I knew that to be true.

I kissed him, wordlessly thanking him for making a family with me, for me. I had never dreamed of a life like this - so full of people I cared for, so full of people that were… Mine. Ours. I was still kissing him, and smiled into the kiss as I felt rather than heard a hum deep in his throat. I pulled away, grinning into the face of the man that gave me so much.

 "Family. I like the sound of that," I really did. "But you know I'd be happy with just you."

"Good thing Sassenach," he spoke into my ear, grazed it with his teeth, then kissed his way to the knot at the top of my shift, "as its just the two of us tonight."

The two of us became one, for the three hundred thousandth time in my life. Or so it felt that way. When we were done, he rolled us sideways so that we faced each other laying on the bed, my legs still wrapped around him, and he still inside of me. I didn't mind when he did this, but he usually only did so when he needed some sort of emotional balm. I stroked his back, the scars that marked him, the weight of him was so heavy on my leg under him, but I wasn't about to complain. He kissed me while we were still connected, still one, and held me for some time before slipping out and rolling onto his back. I laid on my back too and was rubbing my leg, trying to get some life back into it.

I could feel the pins and needles sensation slowly fading with the free rush of blood through my veins as Jamie asked, "Sassenach?"

"Mmm?" I shifted onto my side, propped up on my elbow to get a better look at him.

"Ye think we can still do… er.. Hmp," his ears were pink, and the flush was creeping over his chest and face as well. My mind went to the more elaborate Karma Sutra positions we had - in our younger years - been able to do, but age changes things, and there were a few that didn’t feel quite right anymore. But I was certain he was sated from our roll in the sheets just minutes ago, I could feel his seed slick between thighs. So no, he probably wasn't asking if we could try an old trick again. He cleared his throat before asking, "Do ye think we can still be like this… that we can… lie wi each other when we go to heaven?"

I thought for a moment, of Jesus H Roosevelt Christ and his take on the marital bed. It floored me that Jamie could still be so innocent, so pure. I took at shot at levity, "I think that we should be allowed to. If not, the, er… Other place sounds just as nice."

He laughed first, and I quickly joined. "I would follow ye to Judas himself, mo chridhe, so long as I could still fill ye with my cock, and hear yer wee noises. I can take ye to the edge, fling you over it and to see ye so bonnie and open to me and me alone… I dinna ken why but to see you so, to know that it was me who made you so, it makes everything better. Nothing hurts when I'm loving ye."

Not a bad way to live for eternity, I thought. He pulled me closer, my head now on his chest and his buried in my hair. We laid there in silence for a while, hands lazily exploring, then I remembered Saint Peter "Remind me again who Saint Peter was?"

"Mhm. Patron of fishermen." Thoughtfully he added, "he is no known for that ye ken, but for what the Lord asked him, O ye of little faith, why did you doubt?" My heart squeezed. "Ye doubted ye could have any barins at all Sassenach… and look at ye now, twelve of yer own."

"Twelve of our own."

[long-way-down-rp-archive]

Winnifred “Fred” Torres

True Name: No Face Claim: Michelle Rodriguez Nickname and Aliases: “Fred.” “Winner” to her adoptive father, Luis Torres. Date of Birth: Unknown. She celebrates April 10th, 1990 the day Luis Torres found an infant on his ailing mentor’s doorstep, as her birthday. Apparent Age: 20’s Actual Age: Unknown. Likely 27-29. Gender: Cis Female. Kind: Shifter - Born Wolf Occupation: Courier Distinguishing Marks: Tattoos: A geometric black band around her right bicep. A Catholic cross on the nape of her neck (a gift from Luis, to protect her in her travels). Appendectomy scar. In wolf form: grey and white markings, dark rings around her eyes.

Personality: She’s solitary and very intensely private and guarded and trusts neither easily nor quickly. She can be prickly and snarky – but her sly sense of humor can also be surprisingly gentle. She’s kind but cynical. Around those she truly loves and trusts, she’s all clumsy affection and goofiness. She doesn’t get truly angry easily, but when she does it’s an ice cold and dangerous anger. She has a history of depression but she’s on an anti-depressant that works well for her – still prone to melancholy, though only those very close to her see it.

History:

Fred doesn’t think much about her past. Or the future. She lets the wind whistle past her and turns her music up and floats and for whole sections of highway she lives only in that precise moment in time. That’s what she likes about the Red Nights, about the vagabond life.

It’s not that her past is unhappy. She’d deck anybody who either tried to psychoanalyze her – she’s not against therapy, she’s done some herself, would recommend it to lots of folks, she’s just against smug bastards who think pontificating a few clichés and poking at someone’s sore spots without their consent means they know shit – or tried to suggest that Luis didn’t do a damn good job raising her. And he did, he really did. She didn’t have an auspicious start on life that’s for sure. Whatever happened, it must have been bad, for a cub – less than a year old, Luis’d always estimated – to end up lost and alone, no pack, no home, until she ended up on Luis’ mentor’s doorstep. But from the moment Luis picked her up she’s been warm and safe and loved.

If she were different kind of person she might get maudlin about those early years. Running just a little bit wild all over the property that’d become Luis’, watching him work, helpin’ and learning beside him. Luis’d had a whole slew of little brothers and sisters, had all the practice he needed and the patient, indulgent but reliable, fair-minded and gentle temperament to be a damn near perfect father. A terrible cook, and it’s a wonder Fred never got scurvy living off so much canned baked beans but hey, nobody’s perfect and Fred’s not in a position to diss anybody else’s cooking. Besides, she still likes canned baked beans.

Still, it’s just the two of them, really. And that’s not a proper pack. Oh, there’s Luis’ mentor, and Fred’s got only fond memories of the old man, but she’s also only got one or two memories of him ‘cause he died not all that long after she arrived. There’s the rest of the Nashville pack, sure, but they’re spread out. One of her only memories of Luis’ mentor is of him telling her stories of how it used to be – before his time even – of how many of them there were, how close they all were. But now, after the Cull, everyone lives far apart and though there’s the canine kinship between them all when they get together at The Back Forty or pass on the street, it’s fleeting.

There’s Luis’ big, warm, generous family. Now that’s a pack, alright. Abuelo and Abeula and so many Tias and Tios and primos for her. But they all live in Texas. And they don’t know why their son has settled so far away. And when Luis takes her to visit them for Easter and Christmas they welcome her like family – but, there’s still the edge of having to be careful around them, the weight of the secret between them.

And there’s the Red Nights. For as long as she can remember, those beautiful bikes and a handful of familiar faces have been riding in and out of her life. They were always family too, Luis’ brethren – even the ones that hardly spoke, or the ones that she didn’t speak the same language as -- but they were family that never stayed. Didn’t mean they weren’t family, but still.

For a long while though, Luis and her, that was enough. But then there was school. Nothing like being forced into close proximity with so many people you had nothing in common with to make you feel lonely. And it wasn’t just the wolf that felt the isolation and alienation. She was a weirdo, right enough. Her shyness was mistaken for stuckupitness. Her strange sly sense of humour for rudeness. Her clumsy affection was too transparent, too lacking in cool. At first she at least could run wild on the playground with the boys, shouting and jumping and playing basketball and feeling the thrill of being in her body bouncing off the energy of others solidly in their bodies. But then puberty hit, and hit a bit early, and suddenly there were lines that she hadn’t realized existed. She couldn’t be one of the boys anymore, but the girls didn’t exactly want her either. And she was definitely too short for basketball. Human or wolf, she just didn’t quite fit in. “Just haven’t found your pack, yet,” Luis’d say, “that’s all.” “It’ll happen. Just be patient.” And she’d tried to be.

She’d escaped into books, found kindred spirits between the pages and an even more powerful yearning for that kind of connection in the real world. Fantasy and science fiction were her favourites at first but then Luis gave her poetry. Gloria E. Anzaldua and Cherrie Moraga. Older women, with powerful voices that filled her up and kept her going.

She was smart, and lucky enough to have teachers who recognized it and encouraged her. Luis was so proud that she’d be the first of his family to pursue higher education. And for half a moment there, in the sunshine and sparkle of Stanford University, she’d thought all her lonely teenage dreams had come true, that she’d found her pack. Everyone was so verbally whip-smart, so willing to tangle words and ideas with her. And she fell in love. She’d never let herself even have half a decent crush all through high school, too keenly aware that these weren’t the right people for her, but here she let herself hope otherwise and she let herself be vulnerable. She let herself realize what she suddenly knew Luis must have realized a long time earlier – all those sapphic lady poets? No, not a coincidence – and in that bliss of letting herself be this new word, “bisexual,” she fell hard and fast for the girl who taught it to her.

And for a while it was heaven. But it was a heaven at least half manufactured, all Fred’s hopes and dreams projected onto people she didn’t really know. As the second year started, Fred started to come out of the haze of new infatuation, started to feel uncertainty creeping in. Started to realize that here too there were things she couldn’t talk about, things she couldn’t be – it’s just that they were different ones than the ones back in high school. She could be intellectual here, she could be queer, she could be witty and sparkling, but… somehow she never talked about being here on a full scholarship, didn’t let her friends or even her lover see her budgeting everything, never spoke Spanish. Things she couldn’t precisely put her finger on. And of course, she kept the wolf leashed and muzzled and hidden. Still, when Emma, beautiful elegant Emma, got down on one knee… Fred said “yes” and she meant it, but she knew she had to tell Emma who and what she really was. And first, she took her home. And in the warm messy kitchen of her childhood home, the fantasy well and truly dissolved.

It wasn’t that Emma did anything wrong, but in a flash Fred saw Emma seeing her home, seeing her father, and saw the flicker of white, upper-middle-class judgements on her face. Fred tried to tell herself that it was her own fears talking, that she was projecting, but then when Luis went to get them coffee, bustling about so proud and happy for his daughter, Emma whispered, “Your dad’s kinda scary, huh?” and Fred knew. That she’d made a mistake bringing her here. But also, that she could have made worse mistakes.

It was supposed to be a short visit, but when Emma went to join her family in Cape Cod, Fred stayed. And stayed. Emma stopped calling and messaging, eventually. Luis didn’t push her, didn’t ask questions she didn’t want to answer, not until September came and went and the school started calling. Then he sat her down and told her that whatever she needed to do, he’d support her. Asked her what she wanted. Laid out options, carefully, keeping his voice neutral so she’d know he wasn’t going to pressure her one way or the other. She could transfer. She could take a break. She could quit altogether. She could work with him, he’d always be glad of his right hand girl. Fred couldn’t give him an answer, not then. And not for a while after, but Luis was patient. Eventually, when Fred was still sleeping most of the days away and starting to lose weight, he saw that she needed more than patience. Got her some good help.

By spring-time Fred still had a sadness clinging to her but she was reading and eating again, she was getting her balance back. Taking a lot of long midnight rides, helping out in the garage, hanging out at The Back Forty. When the Red Nights rolled in, it was only natural that she’d roll out with them. And it’s been good for her. As good a path as any for somebody who’s never quite belonged in any one place. Maybe she’ll never find the understanding, the kind of pack, she craves. Maybe nobody but Luis will ever know her and see her, all the mixed up jumbled pieces of her. But with the Red Nights, with her brethren of the road, she’s found acceptance.

On the road Fred’s free to be whoever she wants to be that particular day and unconstrained by the expectations and lenses through which others view her. They’re all misfits too and they don’t judge and maybe they don’t fully see her, but they don’t try to change her to fit what partial image of her they do see. They don’t understand her, but they understand what it is to not be understood. And they let her be. And that acceptance is as close to a pack as she thinks she’ll ever find. It’s good enough. Except for when it ain’t. But then she goes home to Luis or she reads poetry that sings in her soul and has a cry, or sheds her human skin and goes running flat out under the moon until it all fades away and she wakes up clean and strong.

Family: 

Luis Torres, adoptive father, 67.  Sexuality and Relationship Status: Bisexual. Currently determinedly single/casual relationships only. Other Ties: The Red Nights MC. The folks of The Back Forty.

Likes: Kids, even and maybe especially difficult ones, and animals – oh she’s got Luis’ soft spot for strays, alright. The quiet and solitude of the woods. Contrarily, also the noise and easy comradery of dive bars and truck stop diners. Poetry and literature .Her one true love, Lilah, her 1997 Harley Davidson Electraglide Classic, a gift from Luis and the Red Nights before she left for university. Dislikes: The stifling strictures of suburban America and the people of her home town who all believe they know her. Snobbery. Greed. Incompetence. Hobbies: None, really. Unless the spinning of elaborate lies to the folks she meets on the road; a harmless game she plays -- mostly with herself, though she’ll laugh over the most outrageous ones with her brethren of the road or with Luis -- counts. Skills: Mechanics. Martial arts. Medical Conditions: Depression. Lactose intolerance. Current Financial Status: Far more secure than a casual observer might think. She’s thrifty and has few possessions, but she’s got a significant chunk saved in the bank. Her two years in university was entirely paid for by scholarships and she makes a good, if unreliable, income, running for the Red Nights. Places: Torres’ Garage. The Back Forty. Cheatham WMA. Pets: None.

Known Magic: Shifting. Magical Items: Fred might try to claim that Lilah has her own magic, but it’s not that kind of magic.

Rumors: Fred keeps a low profile, but in certain circles she’d be known as a fast and discrete courier for – whatever you might want moved. Anyone who’s dealt with her will tell you she’s decidedly not somebody to mess with and some will remark that she’s got a strange sense of humour.

Writing Sample:

It’s not like she’s actually moving back home. Sure, maybe this time she’s staying a little longer. Long enough to bring Lilah in out of the rain and park her in an unused corner of the garage. Fred tries not to think about the fact that this corner is clear and unused, when everywhere else the clutter and chaos blooms – tries not to ask herself if it was clear here last time she came ‘round or if Luis’ cleared it out for her. If he’s asking her to stay, with that silent clear space just big enough for her bike.

She’s just hanging about a little longer, that’s all, having a longer visit. She could use a vacation. Some time with the old man. That’s what Fred tells herself, but she still feels the old highschool fear of being stuck here clamp in her gut. There’s another stronger fear though, that took up residence there when she felt Luis’ hands trembling in hers, and it’s forcing the old fear out of house and home. “It’s nothing,” he’d said, but he’d smiled so kindly at her, that she’d known it for a lie, immediately. Funny, she’d always remembered him being a scarily good liar. But she’d just nodded, “Okay, Luis,” and let it drop. Or seemed to anyway. That night she’d gotten up and prowled around. Not like she didn’t do that often enough do that. It always seemed to her to be one of the things that was most often different between the bitten and the born. She never could sleep through the night, nights were full of something raw and invigorating. While Luis slept like one of his saints, flat on his back with his hands clasped on his chest. It’d freaked her out, when she was a kid; he looked like he was dead. No, she’s not gonna think like that.

She pokes through what Luis calls his “inbox” – just a wine box, cut down so it’s a shallow tray for paperwork to accumulate in. On the top there’s two checks from garage customers. Sizeable amounts and he’s not even bothered to cash ‘em. She snorts. Stirs a finger around through the papers until something catches her eye and her breath. It’s an envelope from TriStar Southern Hills Medical Center. There’s nothing in it. Her jaw tightens. So. Something is wrong and she’s gonna have to wrestle it out of him. That’ll take some doing. And some time.

Fine. It’ll be her birthday soon. Why not celebrate with Luis? Not that it’s actually her birthday. Who knows when that is, but the day that Luis Torres – home for a little while, taking a break from the Red Nights, to look after a mentor who’d broken a hip – had opened his mentor’s front door and found a baby that he’d named Winnifred, after one of his favourite saints, is good enough a birthday for Fred.

That’s why, really, when Fred opens the front door the morning of her birthday, she thinks it’s a joke. It’s just too much of an echo. A baby on the doorstep. Well, a big man with a tired face and a warm smile standing on the stoop with a baby in his arms. A foundling. Oh, she just knows it. Sure. Sure. Here she is, home for her birthday, and she’s greeted by a foundling on the doorstep, just like Luis all those years ago. ¡Dios! she’s even holding Luis’ favourite coffee mug in her hand, the one he was holding when he found her. Nope. She crosses her arms and gives the man a little bit of a smirk and a little bit of a glower. “Oh, chupa mi pito,” she says, “Very funny. I s’pose Luis put you up to this?” She turns a little and hollers down the hallway, “Luuuuuiis! Your hiiilarious birthday prank is here. Should I invite him in?” She turns and looks the man up and down – “And hey, if he’s one of your set up attempts, I might not even object.” She grins, a little sharp toothed maybe, but not entirely nastily.