#also the burden does get a little lighter already the moment he lies his eyes on pran on the rooftop

[airenyah]

it's the way pat carries a very heavy burden from the music shop scene onwards and it only really gets lifted when pran kisses him back

[petalsofelrondir]

You Misunderstood, My Lord! (Elrondir)

@sunaddicted suggested the prompt of elrond teaching lindir how to use the sword and here it is! 

i also posted it on AO3 here

Summary: Elrond means to teach Lindir in the art of sword fighting so that he may better protect himself. Lindir has a sort of surprise for him but it was Lord Elrond's fault anyways.

“My Lord Elrond?” Lindir asked, curious and confused but mostly frazzled at having Lord Elrond actually throw something at him. Lindir had only just barely managed to catch the pile of fabric that Lord Elrond had tossed at him.  

“Change quickly Lindir, I need you with me today.” Elrond said, already dressed in a dark purple tunic over trousers and boots, different from his usual regal attires of lengthy robes.

Lindir doesn’t know if he should ask, it isn’t out of the norm for Lindir to shadow his lord the entire day but Lord Elrond has never asked him to change into what he can see in his hands is outdoor activity attire. He opts not to and just changes out of his sleep clothes quietly. He trusts that Lord Elrond will instruct him on their activities for the day during breakfast.

Elrond smiles, pleased to be able to see Lindir in a long tunic and trousers as his lover doesn’t often dress lightly during his duties. He understands that propriety and station should be observed but Lindir just seemingly doesn’t ever do things that require him in active wear. All Elrond ever sees Lindir wear is either the heavy layers of finely made robes or a light sleeping gown.

But that wasn’t the point of today, merely an added bonus.

Lindir automatically leans towards Lord Elrond for a kiss before they leave their room as were their norm now, then he happily walks beside him towards the dining hall. Lord Elrond doesn’t bring up their itinerary for the day and Lindir thought it would be rude to interrupt their conversation with the question so he keeps quiet about it, he’ll find out soon enough anyways, if Lord Elrond doesn’t see fit to warn him of anything, despite knowing how anxious he gets, it shouldn’t be too much trouble.

Lindir feels trepidation creep up on him when he suspects where they are headed to as Lord Elrond leads him along through the hallways. He thinks back to a particular conversation he had with Lord Elrond about him and swords and bows and horses and leaving Imladris. He had told Lord Elrond back then that he didn’t like leaving the safety of Imladris because the roads outside were dangerous. Lord Elrond probably had took it to mean he didn’t know how to protect himself, looking at him anyone would think so too so he didn’t blame him too much, and told him the others would protect him. Lindir then told him he didn’t like feeling like a burden and had looked at his lover with wide teary eyes, because he knew how affected Elrond was by him and he wasn’t afraid to use it when he wanted him to drop a topic. It worked.

Or at least he thought it did, but looking at the direction of their route he was starting to doubt his conclusion.

Lindir was fretting in his mind that maybe he should say something but he didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t even exactly sure what they were going to be doing asides that it was going to take place on the training grounds. He sighs and gives up, resigned to whatever Lord Elrond was going to subject him to.

“Come now Lindir, if I were to be your own personal instructor surely it wouldn’t be too bad?” Lord Elrond finally speaks when they walk out of the walkway onto the packed ground of the training field.

Lindir laughs nervously, “My Lord I do not think this is a good idea.” God how does he even bring it up? He doubts he can embarrass Lord Elrond but he’d like to maintain that he wouldn’t ever lie to him.

“It will be fine Lindir, I will be gentle.” Elrond chuckles. “Firstly though we stretch ere any strenuous activity.”

Lindir sighs but does as his lord bids.

When Elrond is satisfied with their warm up he gestured for a servant at the side who was holding onto the practice swords to bring them to him, he hands one of it to Lindir who’s looking increasingly flushed and like he wants to bolt if he weren’t so obeying of his lord.

Lindir takes the sword nervously, his hand naturally swinging it around to grip it firmly. It was lighter than anything he was used to, even for a blunted practice sword. Lord Elrond must have taken into account how little he’s seen of Lindir actually going out of his way to condition his body.

Lord Elrond goes on to talk about the most basic ways to cut an opponent and ways to block, “Though I believe you are light-footed and it would be much more advantageous to dodge than to withstand the blow with a block.” He instructs as he shows Lindir how the block versus dodging it would look like. His instructions goes on for quite a while and Lindir dutifully stands there and listens while nodding at the appropriate times because he’s come too far now he doesn’t know how to break it to Lord Elrond.

When Lord Elrond finishes speaking and tells him to stand in stance as he had taught him earlier Lindir figures it was now or never to speak up, “Lord Elrond I really must-”

“No more words my dear, action speaks louder than words.” Lord Elrond cuts into his words and goes into his own stance, exaggerated probably for the benefit of Lindir. “I will bring the sword down and you only need to block, I will not go too hard.” He reassures Lindir again.

Lindir gulps visibly and gives up with a sigh, he shifts his feet accordingly and holds his sword with both hands lowered to just beside his hips in the middle position. He falls easily into it. “Alright.”

Elrond gives Lindir another encouraging smile before he focuses and brings his sword down in a strike, not too heavy but hard enough that if Lindir doesn’t put strength into his block he would be pushed back. What he doesn’t expect is for Lindir’s face to cool into a seriousness that he’s only seen when someone gets him particularly angry, which was quite rare. One second he’s marvelling at Lindir’s serious face that was coming at him, which at the back of his mind he’s thinking that’s not what Lindir was supposed to be doing considering he was only supposed to raise his sword to block, and the next their swords are in a bind. Lindir’s left hand has grasped his own and while he’s still thinking about what Lindir has done wrong in their little demonstration his practice sword is twisted out of his hand and in Lindir’s.

To say he was stunned was an understatement.

Lindir merely looks at him sheepishly with both swords in hand. Lindir knows that if Lord Elrond had been prepared he definitely wouldn’t have been able to disarm him but he was clearly in the mindset of going easy on Lindir and hadn’t even prepared himself for anything but Lindir hurting himself by some miraculous accident in such a simple exercise.

“Lindir?” Is all Elrond can ask in his shock. Did his lovely meek assistant who didn’t know how to defend himself just manoeuvre his sword right out of his hands?

Lindir can see that Lord Elrond is shocked still, which was a rare sight considering how old and experienced he was that nothing much came as a shock anymore. Lindir shrugs in mock nonchalance, “I was going to tell you my lord but you said actions speak louder than words.” Normally he would have been appalled at his own cheek but being able to shock Lord Elrond was making him all types of brave.

It takes a moment before Elrond stands up straight again and just laughs. Oh what a mistake he has done, to make assumptions and think that Lindir was talking about how he didn’t know how to defend himself when he was merely commenting on the dangers of outside Imladris. He prided himself in never underestimating his opponents but it seems that in the closeness that he held Lindir he had done just that, underestimating his lovely assistant who always spoke softly and sang so sweetly.

Lindir is relieved to see Lord Elrond burst out in laughter instead of anger at having been lied to. He chuckles along with him in his relief.

“I have to ask why though, that you do not wish to travel outside of Imadris if you are able to protect yourself well enough?” Elrond asks once he’s past the mirth and his previous intentions of having Lindir travel with him outside of Imladris returned.

“I just… do not like to fight. I would if need be though I would wish not to.” Lindir explains with a wince, it sounds like he’s shirking off duties of protecting their borders but he really just disliked fighting, the blood and violence really puts him off.

Elrond nods in understanding, Lindir’s gentle nature can be seen by anyone who ever bothers to look, clear as day, it makes sense that such clashing violence wouldn’t be favoured by him. He walks closer to take the practice swords off Lindir’s hands and tosses them to the floor carelessly, they weren’t made with quality in mind anyways only durability. “That is just as well then my dear, I will not force you to do something you have no care for.”

Lindir smiles in clear relief, “Thank you.”

Elrond returns the smile and can’t resist but tease even as he speaks, “Come then my strong warrior, seeing you handling a sword well has kindled some of my other interests.”

Lindir’s smile turns sour as his face flushes deep shades of red, “My Lord Elrond!” He chastised even as he eagerly followed his laughing lover out of the training yard nonetheless.

here’s a link to the move i used https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WN61zOADcss

i have like zero knowledge of swordplay so yes

[midnight-in-town]

Triskaidekaphobia

A little piece focusing on the day Vincent was born, although the story won’t exactly be focusing on him. As for the title, I will explain at the end, in order not to spoil the story. :3

Dedicated to all the great people who contributed to Vincent’s birthday! :D Thank you !! 

Also please forgive me for the crappy writing, I haven’t written anything in two whole years. It was initially supposed to be a small thing and then it became this thing and... I have no idea what happened there. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[AO3] [FFnet]

Happy birthday Vincent, even if this little story is completely depressing! I tried my best :3

The boy is two weeks early, or so she tells him afterwards. Actually he is eleven days early, according to what he remembers the doctor said months ago, but he supposes that rectifying this is useless. It is not like he is supposed to keep up with the details of Lady Phantomhive’s pregnancy. To do so would imply improper… conclusions, even if she is alone in her chambers right now.  

“Are you… fine?”

Lady Claudia rolls her eyes upon hearing this, a gesture that she mastered long ago as she found it was the easiest way to convey her annoyance to many ridiculous questions.“I gave birth a few hours ago, do you really need me to describe you how tired I feel? I know men are not likely to ever experiment giving birth to a whole human being, but coming from you, it is rather surprising that you even asked.”

Oh. Well, cranky she is, not that she does not have a good reason to be. As she said, only women are privy to the mysteries of nativity and he does not want to particularly bother her on such a day. Or on any day whatsoever when she does not rise to the bait. Changing tactics, he asks, “How is the boy then?”

Lying comfortably against her pillows, Lady Phantomhive deigns smiling at his question this time, but it is a smile that surprises him because he has never seen it before. It seems softer, as if she lost her edge with her usual sharpness. Fair enough though, he can understand that the birth of her son, her heir, would probably change a few things within her but the boy is only a few hours old, to his dismay. Nativity really is privy to women, no, mothers, only…

“The midwives say that he seems to be a strong infant, they are not particularly worried.”

He smiles a little smile of his own at this, for she seems content and proud of her son already, even if all he does is breathing, but he knows that even she cannot hide her own little worry. Infants are weak after all, and she would be none but a fool if she were to believe that her son did not have his own battle to fight, even at the dawn of his life. And Lady Claudia Phantomhive is not a fool, otherwise he knows he would not have fallen so deeply in love with her. Speaking of love…

“And where might Earl Phantomhive be, when his dear wife is giving birth to his son? I might have arrived unannounced and unseen -by the way, your servants are still terrible at catching sight of me- but I have yet to catch any glances of him.”

“Oh, please shush,” she half laughs mockingly, her eyes betraying how tired she feels, “why would you care to ask after my husband? You never care about anything that concerns him.”

“I do not most of the time indeed, but I like to think that I do not misjudge him and I always imagined that he would want to be here to witness the birth of his first child.”

“Our first child, please. The boy is my heir first and foremost and besides, he was early. My husband will be back from Germany in two days.”

“That will certainly be a big surprise for your husband.”

“Well, as much as it was to me when I realized that the little fellow wanted to join this world a little earlier than expected.”

He has to pause in their friendly banter at this. Earlier than expected, that is indeed the case. He might not be a woman but he knows enough to understand that children are the ones to choose their birth date, so proposing to the Lady that she should have maybe tried refraining her son’s precocious envy to discover the world would have been a little too bold, even for him.

Still, that bothers him, if just because the boy, all innocent and unaware of things as he is with only a few hours to his life, really did not choose the best date to join the strange world that he is bound to inherit one day, when... He shudders at the thought and stops himself from letting his mind wander too far. One never knew what to expect on such a day, so better not to trigger any unwanted consequences. Lady Claudia just gave birth after all, so she, like her son, is not safe yet. Especially on such a day.

“Are you alright? You seem concerned and that is quite the rare sight with you.”

Ah, of course she would notice. They know each other quite well after all, enough so that she would not mind whenever he is jealous of her husband, gently or mockingly chiding him even, whenever he is too possessive of her or despising of the man sharing her surname. Most of the time it is when he simply cannot help himself though, but after all the man, her husband, is so dull. He is appreciative of many humans really, but the dull kind is just the worst, especially when one of them is married and sleeping with the beautiful, clever, bitter and mocking Lady that he loves.

Shaking off the eerie thoughts with a shrug, he says, “I was just wondering inwardly… I suppose that naming the boy will have to wait until after your husband is back?”

Claudia raises her eyebrows at that and he knows he failed at diverting her attention from what is actually bothering him. They know each other too well, after all. “I was not aware that you cared so much about my son’s name, considering that you are always trying to conceal yours.” Taking his hand in hers, she stares in a way that is uniquely hers even though her eyes are way less impressive than his and even though his barely see anything anymore. “So, why not tell me what really seems to be the matter?”

He audibly sighs at that, more because he does not want to bother her rather than because she is too skilled at reading through him, and her grip on his hand tightens in response. However it is not a comforting gesture but a warning not to lie. Lady Phantomhive might have been fond of him as she would say sometimes, but her patience was not legendary and he cannot expect her to try better when she just gave birth. Besides, truth always suits him the best, as she liked to say.

“Your son is born on a Friday the thirteenth and I am… less than fond of that fact.”

Fortunately she does not laugh but blinks in surprise a few times when she understands. He cannot blame her for not realizing sooner, all a busy day that it was for her, especially when he is rather sure that she would not have found any significance to the date, had she noticed in the first place. 

Moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue, a gesture akin to others clearing their throat to dismiss a small moment of discomfort, she speaks with a soft voice: “Now that is unexpected. I would have never taken you for a superstitious man when you are busy with corpses all day long. Should I be scared if you are?”

Heh. It is because he knows her that he can understand that she is not mocking him, not in the slightest, although the chances of her being scared at this instant are probably rather low. But even if she had mocked him, he would not have cared, for, as much as he loves her, some secrets are his burden and his only; things that he convinced himself that she would not be able to understand. …Unless it is him simply being scared that their relationship just would not be the same anymore, were she to know.

No matter, in this instant the burden is heavier to carry than ever since the day he fell in love with her because, really, how to explain to a mortal Lady who just gave birth to her long-awaited heir that superstition is an easy thing to succumb to, once one experienced the consequences of giving up on their own life? After all, suicide is a prohibited sacrilege as it always was religiously described, just like the superstitious story fueling the distrust for days like this one on which she just gave birth to her precious son and heir.

“Cedric?”

There it is again, the impatient tone in her voice. He has to smile at this -was she just never tired enough to let go?- and his heart feels a little lighter. Sometimes he feels so old when she seems so young, but he should learn to treasure occasions like this one more, especially when her husband is miles away from her and none of her servants is bothering them at the moment.

Getting up from the side of the bed where he was sitting on until now but not letting go of her hand, he leans a little to lay a kiss on her forehead. “Pardon me, my Lady. I shan’t bother you with superstition on a day like this one. You deserve to rest.”

She swats him away as one would a fly. “And I do not believe that I deserve to be lied at, especially on such a day.”

Sitting down by her side again, he smiles as she squints. He dislikes lying as much as she does, but really, there is no good in telling her now. He already knows that she is fighting everyday against her own family curse, fierce and combative always, so now it is his turn to be as brave as her and swallow down every worry that he cannot add to her already too heavy burden. If the boy was born strong, surely he would remain so his whole life.

“It is nothing, my love,” he lulls her as he kisses her forehead once more, “just outdated old wives’ tales, unfit even as a mere distraction.”

She swats him again, but less energetically than the first time and he has to retract his thought about her never succumbing to tiredness. “Since you do not want to tell me about you surprisingly being superstitious, will finding my son a strong and suitable name be enough to reassure you about the date of his birth?”

At this, he has to chuckle. “With your husband’s tastes, I have to admit that I am afraid of how it will turn out.”

“What are you even saying? My husband has good tastes, he married me.”

“I know. I envy him every day.”

“Oh, do shut up. And come closer.”

That he can comply with. Still holding her hand, he moves over and settles next to her against her pillows, while she allows her head to rest on his shoulder for a few minutes. That is when he knows that something bothers her, as she rarely is this affectionate, and he loathes himself to think that it might be his fault.

“I wonder… what kind of mother I will be.”

“Surely a lovely one.” He fears his answer might be too automatic for her taste, but his own parents are too far away in his memories to really think about anything else to say.

“Stop joking. My own mother… was not a particularly decent role model, as you might remember.”

Oh, right. The previous Lady Phantomhive did not make for a good maternal figure indeed. Despising her only daughter for being her husband’s heir because she could not give birth to a living son had driven her mad over the years and she had passed away just before her daughter’s wedding. He holds her tighter upon remembering, as he knows she always considered it yet another proof that her family blood got cursed long ago. …Unless it is to ignore the nagging feeling that the boy’s life might not be as happy as it could be because he chose to come to life on such an unlucky day.

Still, even with every curse displaying their shadow over them, they stay together like this for a long time, him holding her, her head on his shoulder as she slowly seems to fall asleep and her husband still miles away but every second closer to coming home, to her and their new born son.

It is only later, when she seems to be sound asleep, that he leaves her side. Walking silently in the corridors of her manor and making sure that he could not be seen by any mortal eyes, he heads towards the nursery, a little away from her chambers down the hallway. Inside, the boy is sleeping just like his mother, Claudia’s aging wet nurse reading a book and keeping watch in an armchair next to the crib.

Reassured that the infant seems to be fine, he leaves the room to go back to Lady Phantomhive’s bedroom, leaning again to say his farewells and laying the ghost of a kiss on her lips. “With you as his mother, the boy is sure to grow healthy, clever and prideful. But I will watch over him if I have to, for you my love, and you will see that everything will turn out to be fine.”

Yes, because even a death God blinded by love has the right to be optimistic sometimes.

***

Lady Claudia Phantomhive dies on a July the thirteenth, one of these wretched Fridays that he fears and loathes so much, his dead heart torn open in pieces, just like the rest of her. It has been long since her husband died too, which makes her son and his sister cursed orphans on this wretched day, the boy unable to cry because hatred is all he can feel while the girl cannot stop because of her sorrow.

The funerals, though organized by him as it always was his job, happen in a blur as he watches so many people he never met before crying over the loss of a woman that they thought they knew. His thoughts are pitch black as he stares at her coffin, so many joyful memories that he cannot even remember anymore, because even though his eyes are dead, the thought of her mutilated body is something that he cannot unsee.

He always made for a harsh believer, he thinks, and he is paying expensively for it once more.

Time it took the most of me And left me with no key To unlock the chest of remedy.

Mother, the pain ain't hurting me But the love that I feel When you hold me near

…Gave up on his life and became a slave to make up for this sacrilege.

The hopes were high The choirs were vast Now my dreams are left to live through you

Red Sun rising Drown without inhaling Within, the dark holds hard

…Made light of a curse and it destroyed everything he held dear.

Passion tide An angel by my side But no Christ to end this war To deliver my soul from the sword

Hope has shown me a scenery Paradise poetry With first snow I'll be gone.

What a pity, now it is all over, he thinks as he crosses eyes with the future Earl Phantomhive.

The hopes were high The choirs were vast Now my dreams are left to live through you

…Or is it…? The boy would inherit his mother’s title soon and surely the curse that goes along with it. An ally would probably be useful.

Red Sun rising Drown without inhaling Within, the dark holds hard Red Sun rising Curtain falling Higher than hope my cure lies

“Hello.” The boy in front of him smiles a few months later in his shop, offering his hand to shake. “I believe we have met before.”

He is not his mother but…

I promised, he realizes. Long ago, I did.

He smiles for the first time since the funerals as he takes the hand that the young Earl is extending.

***

In the end, nothing is ever acquired for good in life. Or death, for that matter.

Thank you for reading! :D I know I’m not a great author but I just wanted to thank everyone!

Triskaidekaphobia is the fear of 13 and also commonly used to describe one’s fear of Fridays the 13th, although other names for this phobia are Paraskevidekatriaphobia and Friggatriskaidekaphobia

I found the title nice because Vincent was canonically born on one and his mom, Claudia, died on one so... poor UT... T_T

The lyrics at the end are from Higher than Hope by Nightwish, I always found that it was fitting for UT’s conflicted history with the Phantomhive family.