#after the Traveler was restored she allowed her Ghost to heal the flesh.

[blackwaxidol]

the scar Valin has on his jaw from when Drone had a muscle tremour shaving his face... the jagged black line along Drone's left palm where her blade cut into her silicone flesh so deeply it bounced off her titanium metacarpus.

[nocerealmilk]

Harrow the Ninth Timeline + Synopsis + AtN Predictions

Ok So I know I wasn’t the only one really confused after reading HtN, so when I reread it I made a bunch of notes so I could try to piece together the timeline! Here’s what I got, it’s as accurate as I could make it.

The universe is dominated by the force that is called the Cohort at the behest of the Necrolord prime AKA John AKA God AKA the Emperor, a man who resurrected all of our solar system to use “thanergy” (dead stuff energy) instead of “thalergy” (alive stuff energy). For unknown reasons, instead of just living in the galaxy, the Cohort overtakes planets by “flipping” them from thalergetic into thanergetic, allowing the arrival of necromancy. This is achieved by front line Cohort non-necromantic soldiers indiscriminately killing enough of the creatures on said planets that the Cohort necromancers can then use that energy to perform necromancy which causes the planet to die, releasing thanergetic material that can then be used for necromancy. It should also be mentioned interstellar travel is apparently only easily achievable for regular people by obelisk, which is a structure that must be bathed in fresh blood daily. They are, basically, super evil. 

They are at war with Blood of Eden, a rebellion insurgency of people who want to cleanse the universe of necromancy, which was (ambiguously?) created at some point by God and then betrayed him.

 Wake, the previous leader of Blood of Eden, was sent by Mercymorn and Augustine, who had betrayed God to work with BoE, to the Ninth House to take samples and look for signs of life within the locked tomb, which contains The Body (AKA A.L., Annabel Lee, or Alecto), God’s cavalier. Because the locked tomb is only accessible by God’s genetic material, Mercy gains God’s genetic material via menage e trois, and uses it to make foetal dummies, which all die, leading to Wake carrying God’s genetic child to term. 

Gideon the First, Lyctor, is sent to intercept her - he does not and betrays god, Because both him (Gideon) and his lyctor (Pyrrha), who both share Gideon’s body, were both separately having an affair with Wake, and believed the child to be theirs. Wake crashed to the Ninth and died, but the baby lived; as Wake died she said “Gideon”, so the child was named Gideon, although she was referring to Gideon the Firsts name when she said it. (Note: I don’t believe it is ever mentioned what happened before Wake came crashing to the Ninth, only that she was intercepted by Gideon1, who failed to kill her.) 

Wake’s hatred of necromancy is so strong that her ghost remains a revenant, haunting first her old bones, then haunting a two-handed blade, which the child of hers and God’s, Gideon9, the Ninth raises wields and loves. 

When Gideon9 and Harrow are 10 years old, they get into a fight - it’s important to note that Harrow says specifically that Gideon9’s skin was under her fingernails, because she is able to bypass the wards that only God (or a genetically similar being) can access. Harrow looks inside of The Locked Tomb and sees Alecto’s body, who she both falls in love with, and is haunted by her via auditory and visual hallucination.

8 years later, Gideon9 and Harrow go to Canaan house, all of the events of GtN happen. Gideon9 dies and something (which I will speculate on later) happens in the time between. 

Harrow the Ninth starts with Harrow not remembering Gideon’s existence, having made a debt to Ianthe to compartmentalize her memories of Gideon so as to avoid truly absorbing her soul. (Harrow does not remember this either). It is important to note that Harrow feels none of the rapid healing benefits of lyctorship, although her soul/body is a void like other lyctors. 

The body of Gideon was not recovered, neither were the living Coronabeth, Camilla, or Judith, who ended up with Blood of Eden (It is easy to extrapolate that Gideon’s body is probably also currently in possession of BoE).

 In the meantime, Wake’s soul haunts the two handed sword Harrow possesses, which her past, cognizant self has told her to never let leave her side, and not allow it to come in contact with flesh. (Harrow’s past self is evidently aware of the sword’s haunting; she also is aware the revenant wishes to leave the sword, and apparently that was not intended) During a moment of sleepwalking or possession, Harrow stabs the sword into the body of the dead lyctor Cytherea, whom the ghost of Wake leaves the sword and possesses the body of. 

Later, Harrow is on a faraway planet, murdering it, when Camilla Hect and the other two who survived Canaan show up in a spaceship. Harrow’s letter to herself tells her to seal Judith Deuteros’ mouth shut, which she does just as Judith attempts to tell her someone has betrayed God and that she is a “prisoner of war”. She also successfully restores part of Palamedes Sextus’s body, creating an articulated hand for his soul to possess. Important to note, Gideon9 is not there, alive or dead. 

In the meantime, in the River, which is basically a limbo-type place souls go after they die, and also where alive people can go if they know how, Harrow has been reliving an incorrect version of the events of GtN within her mind, using the trapped ghosts of those who died to re-enact the story. The story, however, goes haywire when The Sleeper, AKA the ghost of Wake, attempts to kill Harrow (and the others) in this dream-bubble esque world. Wake’s ghost changes the parameters of the story, causing Canaan to fall apart, be plunged into freezing cold, blood raining from the sky etc. Abigail Pent, a spirit caller who is also a ghost now, helps Harrow’s memories return and then awakens the Sleeper/Wake.

 In the real world, Harrow has been fatally stabbed by Mercymorn, who attempted to kill her because she didn’t want Harrow to go insane and suffer as a resurrection beast, the soul of one of the nine originally resurrected planets, approaches them. Instead, Harrow’s memories are restored and she is trapped within the simulation she created, fighting Wake’s ghost, while Gideon’s soul is able to overtake her body.

 Shortly before this, Harrow’s visual hallucination of The Body AKA Alecto vanished.

 Gideon9, in Harrow’s body, is able to fight off the heralds of the resurrection beast easily, and has wicked regeneration powers - her thumb grows back entirely within seconds, something that was directly stated to not be possible for normal lyctors. Mercymorn and Augustine have a big reaction to seeing Gideon9’s eye color inside of Harrow’s body. 

Gideon9 and Ianthe find God, Mercymorn, Augustine, Gideon1, and a tied up Wake-possessed Cytherea having a discussion. Mercymorn and Augustine confront God about Gideon’s yellow eyes, which God does not have but Alecto has. The only possible way Gideon9 could have yellow eyes like Alecto is not because she is the child of Alecto, but because she is the child of God, and Alecto is God’s cavalier, whose eyes were perfectly swapped with God’s, and Gideon9 is God’s daughter. Previously God told the Lyctors that to become immortal they had to kill and absorb the soul of their cavaliers, but since Alecto/The Body was still alive after the eye swap that took place before they all met, it was apparently a lie and perfect Lyctorship was possible the entire time (in which both parties absorb and share the combined power of their souls, resulting in a reversal of their eyes, and remain living). 

Wake tells God that Mercymorn, Gideon1 and Augustine betrayed him and had had prior contact with her. Mercymorn also, importantly, notes that when she checked Gideon’s body at Canaan house she neglected to open her eyes, implying that Mercymorn was at Canaan house and worked with BoE to ferry Corona, Camilla, Judith, and Gideon9 out of Canaan.

 Mercymorn explodes God. Augustine and Mercymorn express a hope for the death of necromancy in the future. 

God somehow rematerializes (will get into my theory on that later), and explodes Mercymorn back, who does not rematerialize, because she is dead. God admits the resurrection beasts cannot kill him, and he lied to their faces for 10,000 years.

 God offers to spare Gideon9, Gideon1, Ianthe, and Augustine. Augustine instead plunges the entirety of the space station into the bottom of the River, attempting to throw God and the rest of them into the stoma, which is basically just Hell or Nothingness. Augustine and God fight; Gideon1 tells Gideon9 (still in Harrow’s body) that Gideon1 actually died, and who is taking through Gideon1’s body is his necromancer Pyrrha, whose soul was compartmentalized similar to how Gideon9’s was. Ianthe chooses to push Augustine into Hell and save God, which is very evil of her.

 Gideon9 decides she would rather try to save Harrow’s body and brave the river, a futile act. In her last moments, Gideon9 sees light, and then sees the face of Alecto leaning over her saying to perform chest compressions despite her shattered chest (Which, I believe, is Gideon’s soul returning to her own body)

 At the same time, Harrow has defeated the sleeper and everyone has left the dream bubble except her and Dulcinea. The bubble is falling apart. Dulcinea tells her something left intentionally ambiguous to the reader, which leads to Harrow popping the bubble. In Harrow’s last moments she walks into a coffin that has Gideon’s sword and spicy magazines inside of it, and falls asleep with a smile on her face. Important to note it specifically says this happened in a “faraway place”. This is happening, I believe, in tandem with Gideon seeing that final vision. 

The epilogue describes an unknown character with unusual healing powers (most likely in the body of Gideon), living in a faraway land (Harrow is also there, possibly?), who is given bones and a sword but does not understand what to do with either of them, and Camilla Hect is there, but her eyes are gray, the color Palamedes’ eyes are described to be. The narrator notes their specific love for those eyes.

Ok now ~predictions~ which I mostly wanted to put here to look at later when the new book comes out.

Dulcinea is the character that we see in the epilogue. Honestly, I’m not completely sure; I think Harrow or Gideon both could love Pal’s eyes, they did care about him, but it feels kind of like a weird thing to point out unless it was relevant. If it was Alecto, like i’ve seen some speculation on, why would she comment about the eyes of someone she doesn’t know? Dulcinea also alludes to an understanding of perfect lyctorship in HtN: “Goodbye, Palamedes my first strand, Goodbye Camila, my second...One cord was overpowered, two cords could defend themselves, but three were not broken by the living or the dead”...One by itself was very strong, two could defend (as a cavalier defends their necro in the river), and three were not broken by the living or the dead (essentially, true immortality with invulnerability). This, and the board in the Lyctor room at Canaan in GtN also describes the pinboard as having numerous clusters of three pins. (Granted it is not stated completely what perfect lyctorship between three people would entail, or if the pinboard in GtN was alluding specifically to lyctorship.)

I don’t think Harrow is in Harrow’s body right now, if she is, I don’t think she is lucid. Harrow also states “There’s a difference between saving a shred of dance card, and saving the last dance” Dulcinea gave Harrow the information that crawling into that coffin, whatever it means, would allow Gideon to survive. That is what she wants above everything else, I think knowing that is the only way Harrow would be content at the last and go without fighting.

Harrow planned the entire thing. I actually do think this is possible. I don’t think Harrow does anything irrationally. I think she erased her memories knowing that it would cause her to forget a plan she made at Canaan with the others, agreeing to go with Ianthe to the First. She did specifically give instructions to her future self to seal Judith Deuteros’ mouth shut, to stop Deuteros from giving her the information required to stop the attempt on God’s life. My personal prediction here is that Harrow always meant to reconvene with BoE at the end, and Wake’s revenant leaving the sword and Mercymorn’s failure to kill god compromised all of that.

Harrow and Gideon are currently occupying Gideon’s body together, but neither of them are at the wheel.

Alecto is not dead, and maybe never was dead. I know she is literally called The Body and is described as being dead. However, I don’t think she’s in a state of death she can’t come back from. I believe that “perfect” lyctorship involves one body being able to remotely protect the other, hence why God reformed from complete paste and Alecto is who Gideon sees. I think God being dead would involve somehow killing the both of them, or killing one and then stopping the other from reforming while you kill the other.

Alecto is not human, she’s a robot or alien? She is referred to as a monster most of the time, and originally had the black and white eyes of God.

God’s three person Lyctorship is him, Samael and/or Anastasia and Alecto. Still not totally sold on 3 person lyctorship being the goal, but I think if it is the case that’s it. I know Gideon says Alecto’s voice is “wrong twiceover”, which is what made me think it was two people, and neither were Alecto.

I don’t think Alecto is the main character of the third book. I think Gideon will still be the speaking character, but I think Alecto will be the pivotal character.

The Cohort is bad actually. I think it’s one of those things where it seems glamorous because the main characters are brainwashed a bit. I mean as far as I can tell, it’s outrightly stated in the text that the Cohort murders innocents and overtakes planets. Real Empire vibes!!

BoE is also bad actually. I think we’ll learn Cohort bad, then BoE good, then BoE bad as a twist at the end, that they have some kind of hidden agenda or something like that.

Corona kills Ianthe. Most people just suspect this because of the whole Cainabeth and Abelle placeholder names and I’m also in this camp. I think Ianthe is pretty morally gray so I don’t necessarily think she will end up being killed because she’s straight up a villain, but I think she will be killed.

Harrow comes face to face with Alecto

Necromancy goes byebye, God is Kill

[woodsmokeandwords]

"The hours after English magic had been restored, duly restored - he still marvelled at the concept - were strangely mundane. Mr Childermass, his face still bleeding, had ridden off in a great hurry and returned hours later, quiet and wan with the look of a man trying to remember something that kept slipping away." Segundus has questions, Childermass has an wound that needs tending to. I shan't pretend this is anything other than indulgently trope-y. My first foray into writing JS&MN fic after years in the fandom Read on AO3 above or keep reading below

The hours after English magic had been restored, duly restored - he still marvelled at the concept - were strangely mundane. Mr Childermass, his face still bleeding, had ridden off in a great hurry and returned hours later, quiet and wan with the look of a man trying to remember something that kept slipping away. With him came the somehow even more bedraggled Vinculus, throat covered in bruises that no one could look at for very long. But before they had returned, a hundred questions tripping in at their heels like wind blown autumn leaves, the house had been... normal. More normal than it had been for months. With the faerie’s enchantment lifted the shifting, labyrinthine passageways of Starecross had ceased their slow merger with the Other Lands and become once more confusing in a reliably mortal way. The overpowering press of faerie magic had ebbed away like the tide and in its place Segundus had sat quietly with what he gradually began to appreciate as the comforting presence of His Own Magic. If he concentrated he could still feel the spell tingling in his fingertips, akin to the last traces of pins and needles. Lady Pole had been fussed over by the cook and the maid and was now settled in the parlour with a stack of paper and pen and ink, furiously committing her experiences in thrall to the faerie to paper. Segundus had not asked what she intended to do with this record of her mistreatment at the hands of Norrell, she might send it to the Prime Minister, or to The Times, or both and be completely justified, in his opinion. He did not need to know, all of England would know soon enough. The lady had been silenced long enough and one did not need to be particularly attentive to see that her anger was as a storm that has long since been sighted on the horizon breaking at last. Whilst Lady Pole seemed to brim with energy, Segundus found that he was sorely lacking in it. The tingling in his fingers was accompanied by a slight tremor, as though after strenuous activity, although he had performed none. Except the magic. Childermass’ words continued to ring in his head - Do The Magic - over and over. Well, he had done it and now they would have to see. He sat at the quiet kitchen table and watched the sun begin to slip down the sky. First to meet the trees on the distant hills, their bare winter branches like spidery writing against the pale February sky, and then to glare at him from between their twisted trunks and finally to wink at him from behind the crests of the hills until its comforting warmth disappeared from the kitchen and he was left with the glow from the hearth at his back and a cooling cup of tea sheltering between his tingling hands. 
 -

A great banging pulls him from his reveries. He has lost track of the hour, the sun is fully set and his tea is cold and only half drunk. The banging comes again and slowly he realises that it is the front door.

-

The door wrenches open and reveals Mr Segundus, who blinks at him from the gloom of the entrance hall. Childermass steps forward into the scant light escaping past Mr Segundus and out into the night. Vinculus, half leaning into him, half propped against the porch, comes with him like flotsam. “We had not expected you back, Mr Childermass?” “They are gone.” He hears himself reply, and adds “Strange and Mr Norrell.” belatedly realising this might need some explanation. “Gone? Gone where?” his large brown eyes are full of questions and sincerity. “I do not know.” Childermass sighs and gestures passed Segundus into the hall. It is at this moment that Segundus seems to take in Vinculus’ near-prone form and his manners catch up with his curiosity. “Please, do come in!” He says, stepping aside to allow them entry. “I put Brewer in your stables, I hope you don’t mind?” “No, no, of course not. Mr Childermass, what happened?” Childermass heaves Vinculus onto the settle in the hallway and looks away as the man slumps back in his seat and his hands wander towards the cruel bruising on his throat. He meets Segundus’ gaze and almost as one their eyes travel down to the blood soaking the cuff on his left wrist. “Many things. More than I think I can remember presently.” “How do you mean?” Segundus’ careful examination of him transfers from his wrist to his face, to the cut on his cheek that is somehow no longer a cut. “I cannot yet say...”

Mr Segundus was too polite a host to badger him with the questions Childermass could see he was brimming with. At least not straight away. And so he is settled in one of the empty guest rooms, Vinculus installed in another, and left to himself. The maid brings in a steaming pitcher of water and a bowl and is followed by the footman with his saddlebags, he nods his thanks as they leave the room. For some time he stands, caught in a web of indecision, unable to do anything but stare at the worn leather of the saddlebags that contain his possessions. He is a frugal man, he has never had many things, let alone an attachment to them, but in this moment it seems important to him that he has them with him. Some record of his life in physical form. He had watched Hurtfew vanish. Swept out of existence in a whirl of darkness and stars and with it a significant part of England’s magical future. Regardless of what Vinculus believed.

As if dazed he strips off his greatcoat, jacket and waistcoat. His reflection in the small mirror above the dresser is pallid against the gory mess of his shirt. He had thought he had caught the blood from his face but in actuality it has soaked into his neckcloth and the collar and shoulder of his shirt. He begins to remove them and set them aside, he’ll scrub the blood out later, he does not have the luxury of many shirts, but stops with it clutched in his hands as he catches sight of the cuts he had made to his forearm. Unlike his face they have not healed without explanation and the few King’s letters he had managed stand out raw and angry against the pale skin of his arm. Bloody fool Had he really thought to carve The Book into his own flesh? Looking at the poor job he’d done he is relieved he had dismissed the idea. Childermass splashes his face with water, then uses his ruined neckcloth to wipe the dried blood from his skin and goes to fetch his spare shirt from his bags. Back in front of the mirror the glisten of water on top of the scar on his cheek catches his attention and he leans in the better to see it. Healed, perfectly. As if it were years old and not mere hours. How? He brushes his fingers across it and in that touch feels the ghost of another, there is something... parental in it? And he remembers black hair but he cannot now be sure if he is remembering something from that afternoon or the shade of his mother, some scrap of half forgotten memory from his childhood. However it was done, it is fortunate. Lascelle’s knife had been sharp and it had cut deep, there is not a doctor or barber-surgeon around for miles who could have repaired his face so neatly.

A clock somewhere in the house chimes and he takes a breath, as if he has been underwater. It shudders into his lungs. He takes another. And then one more. Careful not to jostle his forearm and restart the bleeding he dons his clean shirt and his waistcoat, he has nothing with which to bind the evidence of his foolishness on the moor and so will have to prevail once again on Mr Segundus’ hospitality. 

-

 Segundus for want of company had returned to the kitchen. He’d had soup from luncheon, some hot toast and a pot of tea sent up to Vinculus after Mr Childermass’ back had disappeared up the stairs and suddenly without an immediate purpose he had felt melancholy. He kept returning to the words Childermass had spoken on the doorstep; they are gone. But where had they gone? Were they coming back? How were they to go on without the foremost magicians of the land? What was to be done? They were questions that he sensed were without answers, or at least not simple answers at any rate. 
Sarah was finishing the washing up in the corner and the clatter of crockery and pans was a welcome, grounding racket for his mind which felt like it might be on the verge of flying away, spiralling up into the aether like a sparrow in flight. 

 “Oh, sir- Mr Segundus?” he glances over his shoulder and sees Sarah, drying her wet hands on her apron, looking between him and the doorway. Standing at the top of the two steps down into the kitchen is Childermass. He is in his shirtsleeves, with the left sleeve rolled up exposing the raw skin of his forearm, bearing strangely shaped wounds that stand out grotesquely from his pale skin. And he is pale, more so than he ever usually is, there is a sunken, defeated look in his eyes that makes something in Segundus’ chest ache. They have never been close, they have never even been on good terms. Any potential for acquaintanceship would have withered under the oppressive knowledge of who Childermass served, even if Segundus had contemplated such a connexion. The scant few times they had met he had been under the distinct impression that he was on the back foot and forces outside of his control had manoeuvred them into position, whether that force was Norrell, English magic, fate or simply Childermass’ own mysterious machinations Segundus could never have said. 
“Thank you, Sarah. Please feel free to go to bed, the washing up can be finished in the morning.” he does not take his eyes off of Childermass as he speaks, in his periphery the girl executes a clumsy curtsy and walks quickly towards the door, head down. Childermass steps backwards to let her pass and she awkwardly half-nods-half-curtsies to him too. 

Segundus watches as the blank expression on his face is replaced by something faintly bemused as he descends the steps onto the flagstone floor of the kitchen. It is gone again however when he looks up and their eyes meet over the large table. 
“She is rather new.” Segundus says to break the silence, Childermass nods once. 
 “I’m sorry to trouble you, Mr Segundus but have you anything with which I might bind this?” He gestures vaguely to his wounded arm and Segundus makes himself look away from his eyes for the fist time in minutes. 
 “I- Oh. Oh yes, of course. Just one moment.” He half turns, trying to remember where they keep the cloth set aside for exactly this purpose, hesitates and then, “please, have a seat. I’ll be back in a moment.” He pulls out the chair he had been sitting in a little further and hurries off to fetch the bandages. 
 They keep a box of neatly trimmed strips of linen in the upstairs landing closet. He remembers distinctly when Stephen Black had quietly informed him that Lady Pole had once been in the habit of hurting herself and Segundus had that very afternoon sent into town for two yards of linen and had sat up that evening cutting it into strips and rolling them himself. Whilst he is there he fetches a clean cloth and then brings his bundle of supplies back down to the kitchen. Childermass is sitting at the table examining his arm with care, he glances up when Segundus sets the roll of bandages and the cloth down on the table. 
“How did it happen, Mr Childermass? It is a strange injury.” he asks as he goes to the dresser and retrieves a clean bowl, fills it with a little cold water and places it on the table next to the bandages. 
“You will think me a fool, sir, but I did it myself.” Segundus halts only for a moment in the act of placing the kettle on the hook over the fire. 
“If you did such a thing, I suspect there was a very good reason for it.”
 “There was, although it proved needless in the end. A good thing, for no matter your tactfulness, it was indeed foolish.” He looks towards where the kettle hangs above the flames in the grate, “you will not have seen in the dark but Vinculus… Vinculus is very special. He- Did you ever hear of the Book of the Raven King, sir?” 
“Only vague allusions to it in theoretical texts, nothing tangible.” Childermass nods, seemingly to himself, at this. “I do not know how it came to be but Vinculus is that book. It is written on his skin, has been since his birth and today he insists that he is changed. That he does not say what he said before.”
 “What?” Segundus cannot help his stunned reaction. He drops into one of the other chairs at the table.
 “Just so… When I found him on the moor he was hanged. I… I had to cut him down and as I laid him on the earth I saw it there on his skin, in a strange alphabet. Having no ink or paper I could not think of a way to replicate it and in a moment of foolishness thought to cut it into my own skin.” Childermass is looking down again at the marks on his arm, large and jagged and surely no approximation for the words he says cover Vinculus’ own skin. 
 “Mr Childermass-” he gasps and covers his mouth.
 “Now you see, foolishness.”
 “But,” he says collecting himself, “how can it be that Vinculus was hanged when he is currently upstairs eating toast?”
 “I cannot account for it, sir. If I understood it at all I would tell you.” he shakes his head again and wipes a hand over his face momentarily covering his eyes. It is then that the kettle starts to boil so Segundus gets up and removes it from the fire, pouring a little of the hot water into the bowl and the rest into his teapot from earlier. He pulls out the chair next to Childermass and sits down in it before spooning an extra helping of leaves into the pot. 
 “May I see your arm, Mr Childermass?” he asks and Childermass twists in his chair and offers out his left arm. The cuts are fairly shallow and mercifully clean of any dirt but the curving letters Childermass tried to replicate have cruel edges and it looks painful. Segundus very gently takes the proffered arm and dipping his cloth into the bowl of warm water ever so lightly draws it across the wounds. He squeezes it slightly and lets the water drip onto them before wiping away the excess. He continues for some time and is surprised when Childermass speaks. 
“I appreciate this, Mr Segundus.” Childermass sounds awkward and slightly gruffer than usual, Segundus feels himself colour and is glad he has an excuse not to look up. It is a long moment before he can think of a proper response. 
“Please, think nothing of it. I would be a poor sort of colleague not to offer my help.”
 “Colleague?”
 “Are we not both magicians now, sir?” Segundus sets his cloth aside and reaches for the bandages. 
 “I suppose we are.” Childermass says and shifts a little in his seat. They are quiet for some time as Segundus winds the bandage around Childermass arm and ties off the end. When he has done this he stands and fetches a clean cup and saucer from the dresser and fills it with tea before setting it in front of Childermass. 
“I had not thought to find you here.” Childermass says, glancing between Segundus and the cup of tea that has been placed in front of him. “In the kitchen? It is not befitting of a gentleman, I know, but I like to sit here to think.”
 “Your staff do not mind?” 
 “There is not such a vast amount of difference between them and myself, Mr Childermass. I have been a bachelor for many years and until recently… Well, you are aware that I was not a man of means. I still am not, were it not for the kindness of Mrs Lennox I would not be in the position I am currently in.” he busies himself with fetching a plate and cutting two slices of bread which he then sets about toasting. 
“There are not a great many gentleman who would bandage the arm of a servant, or make him tea.” Childermass says quietly and Segundus hums noncommittally. 
“No, I suppose not but I do not mind being unlike them if it means that I helped a person in need.” he finishes toasting the bread at that moment and almost as if to reinforce his stance on helpfulness sets it down on the plate beside Childermass’ tea. “We have some fresh butter in the pantry, and cheese? Or perhaps honey?” he asks. 
 “Just butter is fine, thank you, Mr Segundus.”

 - 

 He has been watching the gentleman bustle about the kitchen making tea and toasting bread and now he watches as Mr Segundus fetches the butter dish from the pantry for him with a sense of surreal detachment. He is very conscious of the fact that he has been a thorn in this man’s side for ten years and yet has found nothing but kindness under his roof this evening.
 “Here you are.” Segundus says, returning with the butter and resuming his seat at the table. His chair is still close from when he was bandaging Childermass’ arm, he seems to realise this halfway through sitting down and rises again to nudge it backwards slightly. 
 “My thanks.” Childermass manages. 

He is almost grateful for the overwhelming weariness that sets in as he eats his toast, it falls over him like a quilt, blanketing many of the concerns that have been rattling around in his head since he saw Vinculus hanging from the twisted branches of the hawthorn tree. A grim tableau against the windswept, desolate moor. Mr Segundus does not seem to mind the silence, his is a comforting presence as he carefully sips his tea and stares at a knot in the wood of the table. 
 “Who else knows about Vinculus?” he asks quietly, surprising Childermass. 
“No one. My master knew he had a book, Vinculus boasted of it to him many years ago, but Mr Norrell never saw it, I searched for it to no end for some time.”
 “You mentioned- You said earlier that- that they are gone, Mr Strange and Mr Norrell. What did you mean?” Mr Segundus is looking at him, his large brown eyes full of questions again. Childermass sighs and leans back in his chair. 
 “We rode from the tree to Hurtfew and found it vanished. I left as Mr Strange arrived with his pillar of night that we have heard so much about in the last weeks and when I returned with Vinculus it was simply as if the Abbey had been cut out of the countryside.”
 “But how?”
 “I am not certain, it was as if it had been unpicked and the space either side of where it was stitched back together, edge to edge. Vinculus said it was the King’s doing. His spell spinning out to its natural end.”
 “I do not think I understand.” Segundus frowns down at his hands, clasped in his lap like a schoolboy. 
 “I am sorry, sir. I’m afraid I am doing a bad job of explaining anything tonight.” 
“No, it is I who should apologise, you are exhausted and I am plying you with questions. Please, Mr Childermass, answer no more of them and go and get some sleep. We can talk more on the morrow.” Segundus looks up then and smiles apologetically at him. 
 “I’m much obliged to you for your kindness this evening, sir. I will do my best to set everything out clearly in the morning, two heads are better than one as they say and two magicians are sure to have more success than one alone also.” 
“Goodnight, Mr Childermass”


 - 

In the bright, winter sunshine drenching the dining table the following morning Childermass does his best to explain to Mr Segundus and to an imperiously inquisitive Lady Pole exactly what he had seen first upon the moor and then later at Hurtfew. Neither of them have much more insight into the matter than he himself does but Lady Pole does have a few choice words on the subject of unreliable, meddling magicians, present company only somewhat excluded. 
In the days that follow, when the letters trickle in and reports of the disappearance of not just Hurtfew but of the houses at Ashfair, Hanover Square and Soho Square begin to surface, Mr Segundus and Childermass do their best to respond to them together. Careful not to say too much to their associates and acquaintances, mindful of events progressing too quickly. 

Some two weeks later Sir Walter arrives to meet with Lady Pole and the two magicians absent themselves to the far reaches of the garden when the ensuing shouting match between the couple proves too loud for them to pretend they are giving them any privacy from the next room. 
 “I think I shall go to York soon.” Childermass says, watching a snowflake settle on the leaf of a holly bush. 
 “You will go through with it then? Call a meeting of the York Society?"
 “I will, it is time they knew.” 
“They will wish to meddle.”
 “Let them, unlike Her Ladyship I am of the opinion that some good can come of meddlesome magicians. After all, without your intervention things may be very different.” Childermass drags his eyes away from the holly bush and watches the pink flush on Mr Segundus’ cheeks that was already present from the chill air deepen considerably. 
“There are some days that I wonder what would have happened if I had not asked the question.” Mr Segundus replies, a little wistfully. 
 “Do not wonder, Mr Segundus. In fact,” he says, a winding path unfurling before him in his minds eye, “I think I should like you to be at this meeting and ask another question.”

 The end

[les8ean]

i'm not familiar with any of your ocs! but i would love to hear about them! are there any that can do magic/have some sort of supernatural abilities? or are just really, REALLY good at what they do (art, music, etc)?

well I have a million different AUs for all my OCs sdkgjhkfshg but my main magicky OCs are Alyren and Nova

picrew used

Alyren is a high-elf mage, mastering in restoration. she grew up in Shimmerene with parents who were diplomats. they very much followed the Aldmeri culture of needing everything to be perfect, and The Best™️. They pushed Alyren to be a mage, and everything she did as a child was to get their approval and affection (which didn’t come often). One day when she was 9 she decided to do something to really impress them. She found a spell tome for a powerful fire spell, and spent hours practising it, trying to make it work, trying to make it perfect. But she fucked it up. the spell raged out of control and burned her body extremely badly. she lost her left arm (where she’d been focusing the spell) and had the left side of her face badly burned (the burns are bigger than than they are in that pic, but not many picrews have options for burns scars so i did what i could sgjhkfjh). Her parents found her before the fire killed her, and put it out, but Alyren had been extremely badly scarred. she turned to her parents, whimpering for help. they looked at her, then each other. they threw a blanket over her, and grabbed her, running out of the city in the dead of night and deep into the forest. They abandoned Alyren in the forest, scared and scarred. They called her hulkynd. Alyren wandered through the woods as best she could, trying to find her way, half blind. but eventually she collapsed, and accepted that she was going to die here. and with her being hulkynd now? she thought she deserved itIt surprised her when she woke up, in a bed, her wounds covered in ointment and bandages. the bed was rattling, and through a small window nearby she could see trees going by. she was in a caravan. she sat up, and saw an argonian woman sitting at a table nearby.Alyren had been saved by some travelling mage’s guild scholars, who had been given exclusive access to the summerset isles for their studying (Alyren was born before the second era, when the Isles were opened to outsiders). they’d found Alyren collapsed on the side of the road, and had picked her up.after that, they took Alyren back to Black Marsh with them, to their guild hall. they got Alyren a prosthetic arm, and had their best healers help her with the pain and scarring. It took Alyren a long time to learn to love herself again. in a lot of different ways. her appearance. her being hulkynd. her failure at that spell. her being trans (although being around argonians when she came out, it was much easier for her than it might have been back in summerset). 

Alyren never used fire magic again, instead mastering in Restoration (tho she of course dabbled in the other schools. Alteration in particular fascinated her). She had a natural talent for magic of all types, being the top of most of her classes. as she got older, people told her it was a waste of her talent for her to choose to master in restoration (it’s not a very well respected school (*cough cough* Colette Marence *cough cough*)). this just made her more spiteful to be better at Restoration magic.while Alyren learned not to live for perfection and the approval of others, she still somewhat wanted to prove to others that Restoration was not the useless school of magic that others saw it as. it could be a dangerous, powerful tool in the right hands. most people only saw the school of restoration as healing magic, but it was so much more.(this is gonna get kinda gross here and also probably not lore friendly becuase this is all just my personal speculation on the possibilities of the school of restoration, so feel free to skip this is you want, i just hate that restoration is always seen as weak and shitty) you see, above everything else, the school of restoration was about inspiring growth. who's to say that you should stop the growth once the broken bone is healed? you could continue the growth , make the bone thicker and stronger, or perhaps have it grow in shards, piercing through the muscle and flesh or even the vital organs if you choose the right bones. you could flesh upon flesh, weighing a person down, incapacitating them. you could grow more red blood cells, more blood, drowning a person in it. with strong and complex enough restoration magic, you may be able to regrow an entire body simply from a severed finger. and the growth doesn't need to be limited to a person. it could apply to any living thing. plants, insects, animals, the smallest bacteria.  really, Alyren couldn't help but think, Necromancy and Restoration were simply two sides of the same coin. (okay gross stuff over it’s safe to read again now) she thought that earning a title as a professional teacher of restoration in the Arcane University might give her the respect and approval she would never admit she still craved.

When she was in her 40s, Alyren was invited to join the Psijic Order for her incredible skill in magic and her amazing discoveries regarding restoration. Here, Alyren thought she might finally have her skill recognized, and not have to constantly try to prove Restoration’s worth to others anymore.....NOPE. if anything, things got worse. she knew her peers made fun of her mastery behind her back. her books and notes would be stolen. people would make a point of loudly talking about the usefulness of healing potions while she was in the room. But she put up with it. not every psijic looked down on restoration, and she found herself befriending those that respected it. Artaeum’s halls held more knowledge than she could ever have imagined, and she wasn’t going to let that opportunity pass her by . the collection of ancient tomes and dangerous artifacts fascinated her, and she made every day count.

But she couldn’t stay there. it wasn’t only the other psijic’s view of restoration that drove her away. it was the way they looked down on everyone back on Tamriel. their refusal to use the knowledge they had to make the lives of everyone else better. the policy of not getting involved in anything in Tamriel, wars or plagues or even end-of-the-world scenarios. they would only get involved if it benefited them (I.E, the Eye of Magnus). Alyren couldn’t stand it.So, after nearly 60 years, Alyren fled. she enchanted a bag of holding, and filled it with as many artifacts and books and relics she could. She made a pendant that would hide her soul-signature from other Psijics (Psijic’s have their soul-signature edited to allow them to get to Artaeum, which is essentially in another dimension). and she ran, to live with an old friend. an immortal khajiit named Junnaya (it’s a long story). Junnaya and Alyren had been friends since Junnaya was just a child (again, long story) and Alyren was like a big sister to her.

these days, Alyren lives with Junnaya at her home, a manor hidden deep in the mountains between Cyrodiil and Skyrim. Junnaya has her own reasons to hide, and already had the manor’s location hidden behind many magical barriers to stop anyone finding it, so adding one more to hide Alyren wasn’t difficult. the two are close friends, and often antagonize each other in the way only best friends can. Alyren continues her study of Restoration (and the things she stole from Artaeum >:3c), and uses what she knows to help those in need.

picrew used

Nova can see ghosts! he’s been able to since he was born. it has something to do with his unusual eye colour.as a child, his mums would joke about him having imaginary friends, when really he was talking to the many spirits that were around. it wasn’t until he was 8 that he realised no one else could see what he could see. since then, he’s been filling journal after journal with everything he’s learned about how ghosts and spirits work, where they come from, how they pass on (this post is already long enough so........ i won’t get into the unreasonably long ghost lore i have written specifically for this singular OC..................)