#and a long forgotten lonely cairn of stones

[handfuloftime]

Oops.

(The Illustrated London News, 24 April 1852)

[greatlakes-gothic]

i'm in my northwest passage era

(elusive and mysterious, cause of death to many)

[alexandramrobertson]

An Annotated Northwest Passage

Are you a Due South fan? Do you wonder about all the references in Stan Rogers’ song “Northwest Passage”? Sure you do! So here are your annotated lyrics!

Ah, for just one time I would take the Northwest Passage To find the hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea Tracing one warm line through a land so wild and savage And make a Northwest Passage to the sea

In 1845, Captain John Franklin’s expedition set out from England to find the Northwest Passage: a sea route from Europe to Asia via the Arctic. His ships were trapped in ice and all aboard died.

You probably knew that, but did you know that the Beaufort Sea is the part of the Arctic Ocean that lies north of the Yukon and Alaska, at the western end of the Passage?

Westward from the Davis Strait 'tis there 'twas said to lie The sea route to the Orient for which so many died Seeking gold and glory, leaving weathered, broken bones And a long-forgotten lonely cairn of stones

Davis Strait lies between Greenland and Baffin Island, south of Baffin Bay. Franklin sailed through it into Baffin Bay and then north of Baffin Island into the Passage.

The “cairn of stones” likely refers to the cairn on King William Island where Franklin’s crew placed the Victory Point note. The only written record of the lost expedition, it was depicted in The Terror TV show.

Three centuries thereafter, I take passage overland In the footsteps of brave Kelsey, where his Sea of Flowers began Watching cities rise before me, then behind me sink again This tardiest explorer, driving hard across the plain

Henry Kelsey was a 17th century fur trader working for the Hudson's Bay Company. He was likely the first European to visit the present day prairie provinces of Saskatchewan and Alberta.

I have no idea where "Sea of Flowers" came from, but it's a lovely way to describe the prairies.

Canada’s Great Plains are incredibly flat. Cities really do appear to rise up and sink as you cross them, due to the curvature of the earth.

And through the night, behind the wheel, the mileage clicking west I think upon Mackenzie, David Thompson and the rest Who cracked the mountain ramparts and did show a path for me To race the roaring Fraser to the sea

Alexander Mackenzie, David Thompson, and Simon Fraser were all explorers who travelled what is now Western Canada. They were all instrumental in finding routes through the mountains to the sea - routes we still drive today!

Mackenzie completed the first recorded transcontinental crossing north of Mexico in 1793, 12 years before Lewis & Clark. When he arrived in what is now Bella Coola, BC, he wrote an inscription on a rock that said he came "from Canada by land".

Thompson mapped almost 5 million square kilometres of western North America. He found routes through the Rocky Mountains and was the first European to travel the entire length of the Columbia River.

Fraser was in charge of the North West Company's fur trading operations west of the Rockies.

And they all had rivers named after them!

The Mackenzie River flows north from Great Slave Lake to the Beaufort Sea. The Mackenzie has the second largest drainage basin of any river in North America. You've probably never heard of it, but it flows right past Inuvik.

The Thompson River flows through the valleys and canyons of southern British Columbia to Lytton, where it meets with...

The Fraser River! The longest river in British Columbia meets the ocean just south of Vancouver, where it forms an enormous delta. Though it seems placid, if you travel upstream beyond the city you'll find a turbulent - well, roaring - canyon. If you drive the Trans-Canada Highway to Vancouver, you'll travel through the Fraser Canyon.

How then am I so different from the first men through this way? Like them, I left a settled life, I threw it all away To seek a Northwest Passage at the call of many men To find there but the road back home again

While Franklin lost his life, Kelsey, Mackenzie, Thompson, and Fraser all survived their journeys. They all returned to a "settled life" after their adventure. They went home, wherever that happened to be.

[thiefbird]

In a late celebration of Fitzbones Day, have the lyrics to the arrangement of The Northwest Passage I'm gonna record this weekend!

All credit to Stan Rogers for the song, this is just a little act of love for the archaeologists, historians, and countless other professionals who work on the Terror, Erebus, and walkout sites! I've left the first chorus and verse entirely unaltered, my work follows <3

Ah, for just one time I would take the Northwest Passage To find the hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea Tracing one warm line through a land so wide and savage And make a Northwest Passage to the sea Westward from the Davis Strait 'tis there 'twas said to lie The sea route to the Orient for which so many died Seeking gold and glory, leaving weathered, broken bones And a long-forgotten lonely cairn of stones Ah, so many times they had tried the Northwest Passage To look for Sir John Franklin frozen in the Arctic Sea Tracing one worn line through a land by cold so ravaged Til they found a Northwest Passage through the sea Betrayed by their country, eating rotten food of lead Franklin's men left frozen ships, took to the land instead They began the walk out south to where Backs Fish River wells Six hundred miles not crossed ere each man fell Oh, time after time they have searched the Northwest Passage To find the men of Franklin lost before the Beaufort Sea Marked out line by line through a land so often scavenged To learn about the lives that once had been James Fitzjames fell early, sharing in his men's cold fates Not far from his own ship lost on King William Island's straits He laid for years unburied, knife marks cutting to the bone As all his men died slowly far from home Ah, again in time they did search the Northwest Passage Where Erebus and Terror sank far from the Beaufort Sea Listening this time to the long ignoréd message Of those who'd seen them sink into the sea Aglooka led men southward in hopes they could be found By Netsilik or trappers steady heading homeward bound He and many others lie waiting to be named One final pointless frozen English shame Till the end of time they might sail the Northwest Passage Hand in hand with Franklin enduring on the Arctic Sea Walk their endless line through a land that gently ravaged Their eternal southern passage from the sea Ah, one final time I will take the Northwest Passage And think on nameless men still reaching for the Beaufort Sea Trace their ghostly lines through a land we've left so damaged One mourning quiet passage to the sea

Also shout-out to @onefellsloop for the extremely funny suggestion to have the JFJ verse end

He laid for years thereafter, in his snowy resting place / Some hella awkward bite marks on his face…’

and making me snort water out my nose and almost onto a guitar

[andrew-rannells-mustache]

long-forgotten, lonely cairn of stones | The Terror x Stan Rogers - my playlist for @terrortracks Day 2: single artist or band

Some songs by Stan Rogers that remind me of the Terror, track list/key lyrics + honorable mentions below the cut :-)

1. Northwest Passage

“seeking gold and glory,

leaving weathered, broken bones

and a long-forgotten, lonely cairn of stones”

2. Take it From Day to Day

“no stranger, I, to the touch of steel

or the honest fear any man can feel

but I long for dust under my heels

and a pocket full of pay”

3. Make and Break Harbour

“in make and break harbour

the boats are so few

too many are pulled up and rotten

most houses stand empty

old nets hung to dry,

are blown away, lost, and forgotten”

4. Giant

“the wind’s in the north,

there be new moon tonight

but we have no circle to dance in it’s sight

so light a torch, bring the bottle,

and build the fire bright

the giant will rise with the moon”

5. The Puddler’s Tale

“there is a sign beside the gate

‘eleven days since a man lay dying’

now every shift brings fear and hate

and shaken men in terror crying”

6. Maid on the Shore

“there is a young maiden, she lives all alone

she lives all alone on the shore-o

there’s nothing she can find

to comfort her mind

but to roam all alone on the shore shore shore

but to roam all alone on the shore”

7. Half of a Heart

“that one behind you, on the padded velvet throne

don’t turn around! you’ve seen that kind before

wolves hang around here

and they hunt the woods alone

waiting for hearts

to wander through the door”

8. The Last Watch

“they brought me here to watch her in the boneyard

just two old wrecks to spend the night alone

it’s dark inside this evil place

clouds on the moon hide her disgrace

this whiskey hides my own”

Honorable Mentions

Canol Road - This song gives me such Hickey vibes (probably becuase it’s about a guy running away after murdering someone lol) but it ultimately didn’t fit The Vibes so! Snip snip!

The Jeannie C. - I like the refrain of “I will go to sea no more” because it fits Crozier but I think The Last Watch fits him better + it calls back to his “this ship knows everything about me” line so that won out (also just to clarify, the “her” mentioned in The Last Watch’s lyrics is a ship, not an actual woman lol)

White Squall - I love this song and some of the lyrics fit but sadly it just wasn’t Terror-y enough to get a spot, what can you do ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

*(Also if anyone reading this wants to check out Stan Rogers’ stuff but isn’t a fan of slower songs/ballads (which is like. 90% of this playlist) I suggest Acadian Saturday Night or Flowers of Bermuda, they’re two of my favorites! :-) )

[acheronist]

Starvation Cove by Ted Johnson

Ah, for just one time I would take the Northwest Passage

To find the hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea;

Tracing one warm line through a land so wild and savage

And make a Northwest Passage to the sea.

Westward from the Davis Strait ’tis there ’twas said to lie

The sea route to the Orient for which so many died;

Seeking gold and glory, leaving weathered, broken bones

And a long-forgotten lonely cairn of stones.

First of all in love + delighted by the idea of getting poetry recs thru asks this fucking rocks

Second of all, this is …. interesting….. 🧐 most of the poetry i’ve read about the franklin expedition always has weird overtones of like…..british imperialism was fine 💔 they didn’t do anything wrong and suffered so much 💔 which i think is a bit insane actually. Because that’s a very crucial point of why they suffered in the first place….. like they really didn’t need to do all that for the sake of the imperialism and colonization…. It leaves a bad aftertaste in my mouth anyways

wanted to check out this ted johnson fellow tho for context of who was writing this one?

& FUCCCKKK i just got so distracted from the poetry analysis i’m so jealous of this guy actually

[arcanigenum]

Westward from the Davis Strait, tis there 'twas said to lie The sea route to the Orient, for which so many died Seeking gold and glory, leaving weathered, broken bones And a long-forgotten lonely cairn of stones

[eoin-mcgonigal]

if someone had told me two months ago that a song about the northway passage and its sentence "and a long forgotten, lonely cairn of stones" will make me burst into tears in the future, i'd ask that same person to admit me to a mental hospital because future me is clearly sick .

anyway this song makes me cry lmao thanks amc the terror

[a-krogan-skald-and-bearsark]

Men who want to die in the Polar Night should instead head for the Northwest Passage. It's westward from the Davis Strait, and it is tradition to leave weathered broken bones, and a long-forgotten lonely cairn of stones.

girls go to college to get more knowledge. men go to svalbard to die in the polar night.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dungeon: King Ternshal’s Cairn 

The crash of waves, the cry of gulls, the lure of secrets held beneath ancient stones. 

Setup: There’s just something about a crumbling ruin that calls to those with an adventurous spirit, something ineffable that speaks to our inherent curiosity and draws us into the dark. Generations of brave souls have taken up the torch and explored such foreboding edifices, for no other reason than they were there to be explored. 

The Cairn is one such place, a lonely heap of rubble on a desperate spit of land that was once the mighty fortress of a terrible raider king. As the stories go, King Ternshal claimed that his fleet was so mighty it gave him dominion over the sea itself, which rightly angered the local deity of the depths who brought a great wave down to smash the king’s fleet and bury him alive under the stones of his mighty fortress. 

Adventure Hooks: 

Fisherfolk up and down the coast still tell of Ternshal’s folly, especially on stormy nights when they mutter that the old king must be cursing in his grave, once again invoking the seagod’s ire. The party might hear of such tales while waylayid on such a night in a cozy seaside tavern, enjoying the yarns of travelers and old sailors while they warm themselves by the fire. The tale will likely spin out of control, while folks add in stories about the vaults of treasure buried along with the plunderer king, or the curse of drowning that’s said to follow anyone who disturbs the ruins. 

While exploring the upper reaches of the Cairn, the party is ambushed by the wight of a mad treasure hunter wielding the raider king’s ax and jealously guarding the secrets of the ancient fortress. For its part, the ax is quite bored of crumbling chambers and damp ruins, and decides to side with the party during the ensuing fight. Now in possession of an easily distracted magical weapon, the party must find a way to keep their new acquisition occupied lest it go stir up trouble for them. 

There’s said to be a hermit who lives in the caste’s ruins, a holywoman possessed of uncanny insights and a mouthpiece for the gods. Some claim that she’s the ghost of Ternshal’s queen, but when the party encounter her, they’ll discover that she’s quite alive, if addled in the way that hermits often are. Thinking that she lives in a grand palace, the dwarven woman will offer the party a lunatic’s hospitality, interspersed with flashes of divine providence and  precognition. 

Challenges & Complications: 

The echoes of the sea-god’s wrath pervade the cliffs surrounding the Cairn, drawing in storms and bone crushing waves to harry any form of exploration. A party could expect to cross a thin land bridge under driving rain, escape lower chambers as they flood in sequence with the tides, or have to defend against attackers while maneuvering over rainslick battlements. 

Though her name is long forgotten, the hermit of the cairn was once a powerful wizard who took upon herself the burden of guarding a dangerous artifact: the mummified remains of a mage consumed by parasitic nightmares. Warry of the corpse’s psychic contagion, and fearful that destroying it would unleash the nightmares upon the world, the hermit hoped to use the isolated ruins as an arcane midden, preventing its exposure to waking minds while sure that her own psychic defences would hold.  They didn’t, and now centuries on the remnants of her learned life are scattered around the levels of Ternshal’s cairn, just waiting for the party to stumble into them. 

[annecoulmanross]

For the @theterrorbingo​ square “I serve at your command” – a song based heavily on “Northwest Passage” by Stan Rogers. Inspired by the Franklin Rescue Expeditions and those who searched for the remains of Franklin’s crew in the years 1847-1859, this adaptation is called “For Just One Man.”

(Forgive the scrappy voice recording, I don’t own a real microphone, and I haven’t sung in a while.)

1848 – Sir James Clark Ross, on board Enterprise

Ah, for just one man I would seek the Northwest Passage: To find my dear friend Crozier reaching hopeful out to me Tracing one warm line through the ice we’d learned to challenge When together we had sailed the Arctic seas.

In our bright and merry youthful days we’d seen these seas before And in my heart I’d wondered if we’d never see them more When my Ann told me to stay behind, we watched him sail away That hardiest explorer, Francis left that fateful day.

1849 – Dr. Robert Goodsir, on board Advice

Ah, for just one man I would seek the Northwest Passage: To find my brother Harry reaching ‘cross the sea to me Tracing one warm line through the waves than ‘neath us vanish Where he sought to know the answers of the deep.

And through the night we’ve sailed thus far to an unfamiliar world I think on Rae and Richardson and wonder what they’ve heard They say that men yet live out here but I can’t imagine how In all this ice, I see nothing living now

1850 – Sir John Ross, on board Felix

Ah, for just one man I would seek the Northwest Passage: To find the hand of Franklin reaching for the Beaufort Sea Tracing one warm line through a land so wide and savage I’m to bring the Lady’s husband back with me.

How then am I so different from the first men through this way? And now amongst the ice, like them, I’ve wandered all astray. I came to find a captain, at the Lady Franklin’s call Now I’m not sure I’ll make it back at all.

1857 – Sir Francis Leopold McClintock, on board Fox

Ah, those poor lost souls who had sought the Northwest Passage We have found the hands of sailors reaching out in silent grief Tracing all their lives through a land they could not manage When all the winter’s ice consumed the sea.

Upon the bare King William’s Land, ’tis there ’tis said to lie The tombs of those brave officers and many men who died; Seeking gold and glory, leaving weathered, broken bones And a long-forgotten lonely cairn of stones.

+

Ah, for one last time we will face the Northwest Passage To find the hand of England reaching out in reckless greed; We trace one long line through a tale so sad and savage For those who sought the Passage to the sea.

[ana-landen-rdr2]

Seeking gold and glory,

Leaving weathered, broken bones

And a long-forgotten lonely cairn of stones

[music-addiction-disorder]

UNLEASH THE ARCHERS Explorer’s EP (2019) Napalm Records Vancouver / British Columbia / Canada

NORTHWEST PASSAGE

Ah, for just one time I would take the Northwest Passage To find the hand of Franklin Reaching for the Beaufort Sea Tracing one warm line Through a land so wild and savage And make a Northwest Passage to the sea

Westward from the Davis Strait 'Tis there 'twas said to lie The sea route to the Orient For which so many died Seeking gold and glory Leaving weathered, broken bones And a long-forgotten lonely cairn of stones

Ah, for just one time I would take the Northwest Passage To find the hand of Franklin Reaching for the Beaufort Sea Tracing one warm line Through a land so wild and savage And make a Northwest Passage to the sea

Three centuries thereafter I take passage overland In the footsteps of brave Kelso Where his 'sea of flowers' began Watching cities rise before me Then behind me sink again This tardiest explorer Driving hard across the plain

Ah, for just one time I would take the Northwest Passage To find the hand of Franklin Reaching for the Beaufort Sea Tracing one warm line Through a land so wild and savage And make a Northwest Passage to the sea

And through the night, behind the wheel The mileage clicking west I think upon Mackenzie David Thompson and the rest Who cracked the mountain ramparts And did show a path for me To race the roaring Fraser to the sea

Ah, for just one time I would take the Northwest Passage To find the hand of Franklin Reaching for the Beaufort Sea Tracing one warm line Through a land so wild and savage And make a Northwest Passage to the sea

How then am I so different From the first men through this way? Like them, I left a settled life I threw it all away To seek a Northwest Passage At the call of many men To find there but the road back home again

Ah, for just one time I would take the Northwest Passage To find the hand of Franklin Reaching for the Beaufort Sea Tracing one warm line Through a land so wild and savage And make a Northwest Passage to the sea

Ah, for just one time I would take the Northwest Passage To find the hand of Franklin Reaching for the Beaufort Sea Tracing one warm line Through a land so wild and savage And make a Northwest Passage to the sea

Band: Brittney Slayes - Vocals Scott Buchanan - Drums Grant Truesdell - Guitar / Vocals Andrew Kingsley - Guitar / Vocals

UNLEASH THE ARCHERS on “Northwest Passage”: “This song means a lot to us as a band, we like to put it on during those long drives on tour and it always brings us right back home.  We originally recorded it to be a bonus track for our last full length album Apex, but we loved the track so much we knew it needed special treatment.  We held on to it for a bit and eventually decided to release it as its own 7" vinyl EP with another Canadian cover song as the B side.  The song “Northwest Passage” is all about touring through Canada, which Stan Rogers did a lot, and how it equates to being an explorer looking for the passage all those years ago.  It really hits home with us, we've toured through Canada too many times to count, so we know just how Stan was feeling.  That's where the name of the EP came from too; every time we hit the road on tour it's like we too become Explorers, with the great big unknown stretching out before us.”

- necro69mancer -

[hungry-hobbits]

∞∞∞

;3c

Northwest Passage - Stan Rogers

Seeking gold and glory, leaving weathered, broken bonesAnd a long-forgotten lonely cairn of stones.

Things We Lost In The Fire - Bastille

The future's in our hands and we willNever be the same again

Anna Sun - WALK THE MOON

We're gonna rattle this ghost townThis house is falling apart

[wishiwasntstillhere]

bitterburn: awful work

i’m writing an atla bitterblue!au, called bitterburn. this chapter is “awful work.” basic premise: ba sing se never falls, ozai is semi-banished and drags his family out to sea, the southern water tribe flees north to escape genocide and katara gets kidnapped along the way, so sokka goes after her. this part is set a little after sokka frees her, after they’ve escaped and found shelter in hama’s home for some time.

CW: death, funeral

...

Sokka wakes up with a start. He always does, these days. The first thing he does is check for Katara. She’s there in the other bed, her back turned. She’s there, and his boomerang is in his hand, and they are safe in Hama’s home.

He breathes out.

Sunlight streams through the window––he gawks. It’s almost noon.

“Hey Katara, wake up.” He nudges her. “It’s almost midday.”

She rolls over slowly and opens her eyes. “Midday? That’s awfully late.”

“Yeah, I’m surprised Hama didn’t come wake us up. Think she decided to give us a break or something?” He doubts it, but the corner of his mouth quirks anyway.

Katara sits up, movements sluggish. “I hope she’s alright,” she says. But she doesn’t move more than that, despite how she looks at the door. Her eyes aren’t right.

Alarm bell, is that you?

“You’re awfully tired,” he remarks, in an offhand kind of way. His eyes are probing. Bags under her eyes, weird bruise on her arm––was that there before? Dong, dong, dong. Warning. Sister in danger. Dong, dong, dong.

“Full moon last night,” she says. “I didn’t sleep well, that’s all.”

Rolling out of bed, he gets to his feet. “We should go check on Hama,” says Sokka. He doesn’t bother watching her this time. No point, as long as she’s lying to his face.

“Yeah, okay,” says Katara, quiet.

-

At Hama’s door, Katara stills. Nothing seems wrong, but Sokka finds himself reaching for his boomerang anyway. 

“Katara, what’s wrong?” he asks, trying to be patient.

“Nothing.” He waits.

She doesn’t say anything else.

Nothing, huh?

Teeth gritted, he opens the door. Hama’s in bed, eyes closed in peaceful slumber. 

No, he realizes. Her chest is not rising. His steps stutter to a halt.

“She must’ve died in her sleep,” Katara says. Her voice shakes.

Shock courses through him, stiffening his muscles. “Did- did you know? Is that why you-?”

His sister stumbles back for a moment, eyes wide. “I didn’t- I-” Something in her eyes changes, and she lowers her arms, face downturned. “I knew she had died. I just… didn’t know what to do.”

He swipes at his eyes, furiously. Hama wasn’t Gran-Gran, but she was close. Sokka bites his lip, feeling another swell of hopelessness, another wave of sorrow-fury crash through him. Another guardian down.

But Katara needs him, and Hama needs to be buried. He sucks in a deep breath.

“Okay. Well. We need to…” What do they need to do?

How are they going to live? They can’t depend on Hama, they can’t depend on the inn anymore. He turns away from the body, looks at Katara.

First things first.

“I’m going to dig a hole. Can you-” He wishes he did not have ask this of her. They’ve buried enough family. “Can you prepare her body?”

Mute, she nods.

They get to work.

-

Digging is lonely work. It’s hot work. It’s awful work.

Sokka throws himself into the rhythm of it. The shovel cuts the dirt. Chht. He heaves it away. Thump.

He needs to figure out what they’re going to do next. Chht. What they’re going to do afterward. Thump.

Maybe they can sell the inn, get some coin. Chht. And then where? Thump.

They had planned to go up North, before. Chht. He had hoped Hama would be able to help. Thump.

But it’s not the first time they’ve made the journey by themselves. Chht. They can do it again. Thump.

Someone wanders into his line of sight. Old Man Ding peers at him curiously. Chht. This is sure to be good. Thump.

“Noticed you weren’t here on Market Day. Things alright up in the inn?”

Sokka pauses, wiping his brow. “Our great aunt passed away last night.”

Ding’s brow furrows. “Ah, but she was so young! Oh, last night was the full moon––she didn’t wander off, did she?”

One of Sokka’s brain gears does a funny little creeeeak.

The full moon…

“No, sir,” he says, looking at the shallow hole he has so far.

“Ah,” says Ding, scratching his head awkwardly. “Should’ve known, that’s what all the digging was for.” His face droops into solemnity as he addresses Sokka again. “I’m sorry, young man. Please carry my condolences to your sister. Do you have incense?”

Ah, shoot. “No,” says Sokka, wary. “Or at least, I’m not sure where Hama keeps- kept it. She usually got it out.” He hopes that passes.

“Ah, then you’ll be needing some for the funeral. I’ll see if I can secure any for you, get it back here tonight. Have you no white clothes?”

“No,” says Sokka again. White is for mourning, he knows that much… “We didn’t expect to- We didn’t expect to stay so long, or for her to-”

The old man nods. “Well, that’s just bad luck. Shouldn’t be wearing red, anyhow. Don’t forget to hang some white on your door, let people know. Don’t want any customers coming in while you’ve a body in the house still.”

He fumbles, an artless “Oh right, I forgot- that. Thank you.” Old Man Ding walks away.

In his haste to make sure Hama received the proper rites, he’d forgotten where they were. Would the funeral be suspicious? Would their departure be reported? What does a Fire Nation funeral even look like, anyway?

He gets back to work. Chht. Thump.

They need to bury Hama. And then sell the inn, and then leave. As quick as possible. It’ll be a real shame if they can’t get a good price for the inn, but Sokka feels a large sense of urgency in their departure. 

Chht. Thump.

A whisper of cloth. He looks up.

“I’m done,” says Katara. She looks wrung out.

He casts a glance down at the hole. “I’m almost there.” He feels the hours piled on him in dirt and sweat and longs for a bath. “Listen, Old Man Ding came by. He’s going to bring incense later tonight. I don’t know… I don’t know if he’s going to stay to watch, so whatever you want to do before then, Water Tribe stuff... probably- try and do it before.”

“Oh,” she says, but it’s like there’s not enough air in the word. He doesn’t need to look up to know there are tears in her eyes again. Yeah.

He wishes they were allowed to keep just one thing.

Katara has hung the white by the time Ding comes back, and he hands them the incense. Sokka looks at it blankly for a moment, trying to fathom how this is supposed to go, and doesn’t even grab it. In the end it’s Katara that moves, bowing with the flame in her hands and thanking him hoarsely. 

Luck, ironically, is on their side for once. Ding bows back, and leaves them to the burial.

They wrapped her in a sheet, the closest thing they had to the skins and furs she would have been wrapped in at the Pole. Together, they lower her into the shallow hole at the base of the tree.

There are words meant to fill the space, here. But Sokka is too young to have learned all the chief’s duties. All the funerals he’s attended were for kin.

“She was… the last of the Southern Waterbenders,” says Katara.

“May her next life be peaceful,” he prays. 

Sokka casts the first mound of dirt, then Katara.

It’s silent work, filling the grave again. Easier than before, and harder. When it’s done there’s nothing left to show but a dark, uneven patch of earth.

Katara lays Hama’s comb at the head of the grave. “I know we can’t leave it, but…”

Sokka nods. Earlier he had amassed a pile of stones, so they take each one and lay them down over and around the come. A tiny cairn for a silent burial.

They’re not sure exactly what to do about the incense. They settle for lighting the incense and letting it smoke from a small pot in front of the cairn, like what they’ve seen in passing at shrines. The smoke has a heavy smell to it.

On the short walk back to the inn, Sokka puts his arm around his sister. She shudders, sniffles, and breaks away to make them dinner. He gives her her space.

The night is long. 

He listens to his sister weep, wide awake. He listens to the house creak, the wind whistling.

Moonlight brushes their window screen. It’s waning. Does she feel it? Had Hama felt it as strongly as his sister seemed to?

Last night was the full moon––she didn’t wander off, did she?

Full moon last night. I didn’t sleep well.

She must’ve died in her sleep.

He wonders.

[courtorderedcake]

Hallow : ch I - CSSNS 2019

Thank you for reading this, it's my baby that I have written over and over for two years now.

Countless people have given me advice, changed my way of thinking, changed the way these characters think, and given me love and support. It has been a labor of love and terror, as I have been unwilling to let myself publish this out of fear of reception. What if people hate what I have loved so long?

What if people dislike the characters I've watched grow in my own words, from two flawed characters in their own right, to two flawed characters who know their strengths and use them? Will anyone understand the idea of two unlikely and hopeless people in the worst circumstances coming together? Will the choices they make over all make sense in the greater story?

Without the people I have had cheering me on, I don't know how I could have gotten to a point where I could have asked those questions.

So this is for you, my loves. Kmomof4 for being an unending supply of positivity, even when I wanted to give up all together.

UltraLuckyCatND, for being the best, most patient, understanding, detective of context without context, punctuation machine level efficient Beta a lady could ask for. Your commentary was like waking up to Christmas presents, especially when you liked my curse words.

Shireness, Bleebug, Clockadile, Svenja, ResidentofSB, Salem, Doodle, Sherlockwhovian, K-Whump, and Hollye for always answering my off the wall questions with very little detail perfectly, and with no judgment.

To the newcomers to the Fandom who I may (definitely) stalk, and who unknowingly made me realize that this pairing can go to space, infinity, and beyond. That means you Satellites, Prof, Cyn, and Raines.

To the many others who I Tag, message, who have sent me kind words about Riptide or my Horticulture problem, those who read my crack fic(s) and didn't blacklist me from CS events, those who know I will go to bat for them, and that I know will go to bat for me, and those I know will hate this with every fiber of their being but be unwilling to say so outside of private spaces that collect dust in their stagnation.

I present, Hallow.

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"The Goblin King was prepared to host the Darkness, stealing Fae women away to their corrupted lands underneath the ground as concubines. The Darkness chose another in his stead, but not before this selected vessel enacted a devastating attack in its vengeance, revealing its hatred & rage. The battle was a lesson the old kings had forgotten; never underestimate an opponent.

Many more lives were lost as they razed over any who dared defy The Goblin King's will. Only the pure love of our rulers united in matrimony, breaking the Vorpal Dagger, sealed the darkness and the Goblin menace away. The light flourished under their fair rule, and the queen bore a child as pure as moon beams, swan feathers, and starlight. They lived happily ever after, and shall be written in history as Heroes for All Time."

This is the history Princess Emma memorizes from the day she is born, paraded about and presented only with the highest protection. The palace is a cage she wishes to escape, desperately. Not careful what wishes she made, Emma discovers history is written by the victors - The Dark One has an entirely different version of the events that took place.

Rated E for explicit themes, Mature situations, and Fae fuckery.

Read on AO3 here.

Ch 1 / ??

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It started when Emma was young and mostly alone. There were very few other children in the Royal Court, let alone the palace lands. Emma had no siblings or cousins to play with either as Fae birth was rare and arduous. She had her parents when they weren’t busy appeasing some Duchy or Lord and Lady, those in the court who tolerated her, or the staff when they weren’t busy with their duties, but it wasn’t enough. Emma felt as though no one really gave her any real one-on-one attention, and with no need for a nanny (the ones nannies they had tried and she drove to madness as proof positive) in the confines of the palace, Emma roamed from room to room and hallway to hallway in search of anything to do or anyone to be with.

  Her parents loved her fiercely and she grew up knowing this; the times they spent together were wonderful. She especially loved holidays and the spare moments where her mother conjured her namesake snowflakes, or her father whistled at elk to come closer to nibble apples. Her father thrived in the sunny plains, wildflowers and crops bending to hear his whispers, winds obeying his laughing commands. Her mother preferred moonlight on branches covered in silver ice, blue birds in spring singing while red birds in winter cracked seeds in their beaks, the way water moved in gurgling streams, and the coziness of a nap in root hollows. Palace life kept them away from their special places more as Emma grew. 

  The palace of the Fae was the grandest in all the realms, or so she had read. Most of the structures were newly built after the Great War , but some pieces had been brought through a portal from the mortal realm, their stunning beauty remarkable. The palace itself was huge, sections unused but for celebrations happening only every few centuries. The main palace consisted of the kitchens, the Royal suites, the courtier suites, dining areas, library, music room, receiving rooms, the grand halls, and servants quarters. She found refuge in the kitchens occasionally, their excellent cook Granny allowing Emma to help, or on some days play with her granddaughter Ruby. They had originally played tag and made mud cakes, but Ruby's grandmother had been in such a snit after, that she punished Ruby with forbidding her to play like that again. They instead played dolls or made bead necklaces, but Granny kept a watchful eye, usually making Ruby work instead. 

  Granny said she was strict because their friendship wasn't properly sanctioned, although she had petitioned. The King and Queen had written they were to be away a few more weeks, so it was unsurprising. Promising to be careful, Granny eased off slightly, and Emma looked forward to those few hours each week as she wandered lonely halls. 

  It was in one of the older sections of the palace that she found him during her weekly wandering.

  He always answered her, no matter the time of day or night, and most importantly he was kind. He had a wiseness in his voice that as a child was soothing, as he happily watched her play with dolls or spin a hoop. 

  When she began her schooling, she read to him in passing moments. 

  “And thus, the Goblin horde released a great evil that corrupted their land and sought a host. The Goblin King was… was… Pre…” She faltered on the word. 

  “Prepared. The Goblin King was prepared,” he corrected. 

  “Thank you! The Goblin King was prepared to host the Darkness, stealing Fae women away to their corrupted lands underneath the ground as concubines. The Darkness chose another in his stead, but not before this selected vessel enacted a devastating attack in its vengeance, revealing its hatred and rage. The battle was a lesson the old kings had forgotten; never underestimate an opponent. The Fae Navy was culled, all but a few regiments surviving. We honor those lost to The Dark Massacre on Gray Day." Emma felt her throat tighten at the thought of the dreary holiday and its muted muslin gowns. They sat in silence for a whole day, lighting candles as those who had lost someone made their pilgrimage. Liam made a soft tutting noise when she didn't continue after a long moment. 

  "It was no matter, for the Goblin King had a special blade to command the Darkness, the Vorpal blade. Many more lives were lost as they razed over any who dared defy The Goblin King's will. Only the pure love of our rulers united in matrimony, breaking the Vorpal Dagger, sealed the darkness and the Goblin menace away. The light flourished under their fair rule, and the queen bore a child as pure as moon beams, swan feathers, and starlight. They lived happily ever after, and shall be written in history as Heroes for All Time. Long live the Fae dil N'lans Court, long live The King and Queen dil N'lans.”

  “Lovely job Emma!” her painting whispered. 

  The name plaque below revealed his name. ‘CAPTAIN LIAM JONES, FAMILY BLACKWATER, IN MEMORIAM’ she read, tracing her fingers on the raised golden letters. He had been in the Fae Navy, the same that had their sails on display in a tapestry room. The same Navy that had sacrificed everything, her lessons making sure to remind her. She dutifully laid flowers and folded banners across stone cairns when she was trotted out at Navy remembrance events with some understanding. Death and the wars seemed to be such abstract thoughts, never having experienced them but in her studies. In fact, Emma wasn’t sure what memoriam meant in its entirety. Having a vague idea of someone being gone was the only thing she had to compare, but when she asked Liam, he told her not to worry. She trusted him and followed his advice. 

  As she grew into a woman, Emma learned what it meant, and understood his reluctance - and her own subconscious'. The painting that had been her closest confidante and holder of all her precious secrets (for example when she had stolen a plate of cinnamon pastries meant for a Lord, eating them all high up in a tower) was just that. A painting. A painting of a man that had been a captain in the Great War, until he had perished in the Dark Massacre. There was no real Liam - just an imaginary friend that kept her company until time passed and she could truly take her place among the court. 

  This realization did not stop her visits nor his wise voice in her head. She visited as often if not more than before, bitterness from stretched days of being told how to sit just so, or how to cover her glare when a noble acted like a pretentious ass in her presence seeped into her conversations. He soothed her loneliness as it leaked further into her life, and she would not part with him. 

  She told Liam about her parents. 

  How she couldn’t leave the palace without a royal escort, a dozen men accompanying her to pick a bouquet as their horses trampled the meadow, destroying the flowers. Or how she snuck down to a grotto and swam, sometimes in just a slip for the thrill of the indecency. Emma longed for any of the village children as playmates, but her royal duties, courses, and “proper decorum” (as her mother would say) kept her from any sort of real connections. Her books, all of the tales of the realms and the old world weren't enough anymore without being able to see outside of the palace, but any talk of change was ended in heated argument. She knew nothing but the safety of her palace, but how could she dare opine, and to who? Not for lack of trying or arguing - King David passed down his courage, and Queen Snow had passed down her stubbornness. Emma heard their remarks of what a combination it was every quarrel. 

  While some of the other young ladies of the court had taken suitors or begun courting, Emma was sure the result of any such thing happening to her would cause her father to go truly mad. King David had almost caused interrealm diplomatic incidents in trade with his attitudes towards certain sons of Lords that had looked at Emma too long.

  She told Liam about her tutors. 

  Ruby, a woman beyond skilled in tracking was easily her first real, and royally approved, friend. The Queen herself had allowed the girl further privileges in the palace, placing Ruby in the same decorum classes as Emma, much to Granny's delight and Ruby's dismay. Ruby made do by skipping them, a feat that Emma could never attempt. Ruby's talents were wasted on sewing, curtsies, or dancing; her quick wit and ridiculous half true stories leaving her as cunning as a wolf. She easily talked King David into letting her have a tutor position teaching Emma about snares, edible plants, and tracking game or predators. Afterwards, Granny would bake Emma and Ruby treats with their foraged items, with extra to stow around for the Court. 

  Emma adored her tutors August, a wood elf who specialized in History, and Jefferson, a pixie that taught the Arts. They had come together to the court after being married during war time and were easy to feel safe with. Jefferson could sing well enough to rival Queen Snow herself, and August gazed at him in constant adoration. While Emma studied her history quietly, August would make small wooden flowers or other creations that she would find in the music room the next day, lying on the piano or near the harpsichord. Jefferson’s prized possession was a broken and battered violin August had carved for him in the old world, the wood from the same tree as their small cabin. It was the only thing he took when they fled. 

  There was Graham, a Fae that didn’t hail from any court that Emma knew of. Although, for a princess, or any woman of the court for that matter, it was rare to use a sword, The King and Queen demanded it. Graham was easy pickings next to her father. Her father had hired him to teach her sword play, but had since made no qualms about regretting it for various reasons. Emma was sure it was due to Graham's gaze beginning to linger too long on her lips. 

  Liam had heard about her various refusals to court anyone due to her father, but when Graham brought Emma flowers at the beginning of a lesson and her father saw, he heard her rant about Graham's idiocy for hours. Now, the King stood sentry over every lesson, watching Graham sweat from swordplay with the addition of knowing that any slight flirting could end with him having to search for another job with one less arm. Emma hated that her father watched them.

  The newest member of the court was a renowned bowsmith, one Mr. Locksley, hired by the Queen to teach Emma and fuel her passion for archery. Emma had never really felt a use for it, but dutifully accepted another task to fill the hours of her days - particularly if that task was avoiding her tutor of magickal arts, decorum, and deception. Regina.

  She studied magical forces for harm with Regina, decorum, potion making, alchemy, lying, seductive disarmament (it was all in the cleavage, lewdly enough), state secrets, cryptography, political history, strategy, and trained herself against poisoning. Regina was one of her favorites to complain about. 

  “She hates me, Liam. She makes it her mission to make me feel stupid. I can’t tell you how much we go over the same things, about how my parents united the realms with their marriage, how the realms are all connected but for one, and how the Goblins are banished until their next appeal,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “How many times do I have to hear the stories about brides getting stolen or my parents sealing the Darkness? I’m the proof they were successful, that the Darkness and Goblins are sealed away! Every appeal the Goblins have made has been either a disaster or violent. Sometimes both. Nothing is going to change.”

  “Never bet against things changing, Emma,” Liam spoke in his low voice as she sat next to his painting, blowing blonde hair from her face. 

  “Now you sound like her,” Emma pouted.

l

“Good. She’s teaching you something. Education is important and so is knowing your history. Our history.” He emphasized the last words, and Emma felt a pit in her stomach. 

  “I hate that you’re right.” 

  “You wouldn’t come here and sit with me if you liked me being wrong.” She could hear a smirk in his tone, though his portrait always showed him with the same determined grimace.

  Sometimes Emma asked him about his life, on which he mostly stayed silent, his few answers vague.

  “What were you like?” she'd whispered by candlelight as snow fell one evening.

  “I loved my family and my land,” he told her, in an even reply.

  She sighed, annoyed. “Yes, but I mean, were you a good man? A good leader? Did you deserve the love you were given?”

  He was silent for a time, before speaking slowly as if with great thought.

  “Emma, you'll learn this one day. Being good is subjective. What one man may think is good, another will see as monstrous. A good man can fall into darkness, someone steeped in the farthest trenches of evil can find the strength to redeem themselves. I believe I was good.” He paused, sighing lightly. “And no man can ever tell you if he deserved the love he received. Only the one who gives it willingly can.”

  *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

    It was bright outside as Emma walked barefoot in the grass. Ahead of her, Graham stood as stars fell from the sunlit sky like diamonds. 

  Graham offered her a bouquet as he had last autumn, filled with buttercups, lavender, tulips, baby’s breath, cone flowers, and daffodils. His hands had lingered, warm and rough, as he stepped closer to her form. Her breath caught and her heart beat faster than any swordplay could bring. He’d looked at her lips, but this time her father hadn’t taken the crook of her arm to pull her away. This time, he stepped in closer, a hand cupping her chin as he led her to his lips and -

  A hard smack of a book against her head pulled her out of her dream.

  “Princess Emma.” Regina’s clipped tones were unmistakably irritated, even more so than usual. “Since you are so keen on paying attention, I suppose you’ve memorized the realms and their unique histories regarding our own?”

  Emma sighed. No luck, she was still with Regina, still trying to fend off her parents’ worry as the Goblin appeal moved closer. 

  “I’m sorry Regina.”

  “You should be. The King and Queen have been up for days now preparing for the upcoming appeal, and the judgement of the realms. Do you think anyone but you are taking having Goblins in our realm lightly? Or that having the Royalty of the United Realms here will be easy?” She glowered at Emma, and Emma squirmed in her chair. 

  “No I don’t, but I am ready to finally be apart of something more -”

  “Princess, this meeting is more important than you will ever know. The outcome of this will change everything for you. You've been too young for the last three, and this one is more important than ever.” Regina smacked the book down on Emma’s table. “Recite.”

  “And thusly, the accord was struck. The Darkness sealed in the old palace. The Goblins may appeal their desire for peace every 250 years in the service of a fully seated council. Regardless of the appeal’s outcome, trade will continue between realms, and the Goblin kingdom will present Dwarves with the iron they need to forge what Fae cannot, to mine Pixie Dust crystals for the Fae realms.” Emma recited from memory. She winced at the thought of iron. She couldn’t imagine how painful the burns would be, and envied Dwarves for their ability to work with it.

  Regina smiled. “Good. Continue.” She paced, opening a fan to provide a breeze for herself. The Baroque style was her favorite to wear, deep cut necklines and a fan her go to wardrobe choice any time visitors were in the palace. 

  “This trade must occur, or the Forge of Seven will cease to enchant the tools to extract dust and Pixie dust will be unable to be cultivated for the stability of the realms portals, shields, and wards,” she intoned. 

  “And?” Regina asked, extending her fan. 

  “Which in turn could let the Darkness, hidden somewhere in the realms free, destroy the realms, or allow banished Fae in, creating turmoil in the face of thousands of years of peace.” Emma finished, and looked up, still indifferent. 

  “Alright. Now off to your music lesson. You’ll be playing for guests in the Blue Parlor.” Regina’s face had gone back to its normal dour expression and she shooed Emma off.

  Emma hated visitors, never knowing when she would run into a dignitary, ambassador, or royal who expected her to hold conversation; or, as she was now, never knowing when she would be forced to entertain. Her parents’ worries had become an itch under her skin. No one believed she was ready for the Appeal. Admittedly, her decorum was… at best, icy. None of the Royals or courtiers were terribly interesting, content to discuss trade or gossip. Whenever possible, she bucked formality and toed the line with rules she thought were preposterous. Rituals and traditions she found unfavorable were done robotically and with constant sarcasm or little joy. Her reputation as a beautiful and quiet princess was paired with warnings of her lethal verbiage, and unwavering disdain for the older laws in Fae culture, leaving her circle of courtiers almost entirely closed. Those that sought her favor were quickly shot down, and those that persisted played on the razor-sharp edge of the Princess's amusement. Emma wanted more. 

  She still visited Liam, even with the visitors milling around. His wing was dusted and set up for the lower courtiers who would not arrive until the appeal was in motion, which made it relatively safe. They wouldn’t be here for another few days. 

  “See this?” she said, pointing to a picture in the book she found in the library. She showed him a picture of a bear. “They’re tiny in the old land and they can’t talk well. Have you been there? Or to any of the other realms?”

  He didn’t answer, only made a humming noise of amusement.

  “I just… I want to see everything.” She closed the book, tracing its peeling leather binding. “Liam, can I tell you something?”

  “Of course.”

  She sighed, letting her head knock back against the stone. “I don’t want to rule.”

  “It’s your duty, it isn’t a matter of want,” he said after a moment. He almost sounded wistful. 

  “I know, but…” She looked up at the frame of his painting, trying to pretend that for just a moment the expectation of her birthright wasn’t a duty. “I just wish I’d had a chance to see anything. To do anything. To change things, and not sit rigidly until someone decides I can take my place in step with the set tread. I am going to be three thousand years old before I’ve even been kissed at this rate.” She thunked her head against the stone again. “I just want to know what the world has to offer before ruling it.”

  “The world outside these walls isn’t everything. It’s good and bad, and a lot of in between.” His words were slow, and tired sounding. “Not everything is always going to be this way, no matter how much things seem to stay the same. Even you. Change can sneak up on you in an instant, Princess. You may find in time, the throne seems less like a cage and more like its own pair of wings.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” She gathered up her books, heading back to her chambers. “I’ll see you after the appeal.”

  She didn’t hear a reply.

  *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

    “Emma!” Her mother sounded so surprised to see her, having only spoken in passing for weeks now. “Oh, Emma, you look beautiful.” 

  Emma sighed, the white dress beautiful on her frame. She fidgeted, and heard the seamstress hiss before a pin poked her thigh.

  “Ow!”

  “Sorry, Highness. Just, please stop moving -”

    Emma huffed, uncomfortable. The appeal was starting soon and today had been a blur of misery. Her mother had managed to take time to see her here, and soon they’d walk to join her father in a greeting line. They’d greet the realms in order, lastly welcoming the Goblin envoy to their appeal, beginning the proceedings. This was the most important event she would have to attend at her station, her role heavy on her mind. All day she’d been puffed and preened, Regina had quizzed her for hours as she endured an ungodly amount of undergarments tied onto her. 

  “There. You look stunning, Highness.” 

  Emma looked in the mirror, and surveyed herself. Her hair was long and curled, white flowers and baby’s breath braided in a complex style along her crown, pieces pulled in loose waves that traveled down her back. The dress was fitted, the sharp square cut of the neckline made softer by the long lace sleeves falling about her wrists and a flare at the waist where layers upon layers of lace had been placed over traditional formal skirts. An over corset in the same white lace, pulled far too tight for her liking, finished the dress along with a train that fell behind which was only slightly less annoying. 

  It was another reminder that it was for no one. She was a naive, protected princess who would have a match picked for her one day. Emma sighed. 

  “Emma, you look radiant. Just beautiful,” her mother gushed, helping her off the seamstress’s pedestal. Emma's satin slippers made no noise on the stone floor. Another reminder that she was barely here at all, an ornament in an ongoing display. 

  “Thanks.” She took a step, and to only further her annoyance, realized she’d have to hold up her skirts as she walked if she wasn’t to trip down a set of stairs. Emma huffed, but when her mother's head snapped up, she hid it behind a cough. 

  “Are you ready for this?” Snow asked her, eyes gentle. Emma nodded, all emotions buried deep. ”Good. You’ll be fine.” She led Emma down the hallway, her father joining on her other elbow with a small, tired smile. It didn’t reach his eyes.

  “There you are,” he whispered. “The two most beautiful women in all the realms.” Emma couldn't help the blush that crept up her cheeks, even if it was only her father saying it for kindness. She'd always been closer to him and his sunny disposition, finding comfort in his dismissal of the Royal Court’s norms. Lately, he chafed at her brisk dismissals, requests for freedom, and soured attitude regarding her duties; but today, it had been made abundantly clear, was about peace. 

  He held the rigid posture and thin lipped smile that the weight his title demanded. Emma looked down at her slippers. The beading caught the light as they stepped into the chamber where a procession of their courtiers awaited. Everyone was dressed in their most garish finery, most chatting quietly amongst themselves. August and Jefferson were quarreling over if they looked too matched, August assuring his jittery husband that they looked fine and shooting a wink towards Emma. 

  Ruby was talking animatedly with the others her age, telling tales as she often did to spook the courtiers. 

  “Watch the Goblins… they'll take you as a bride if you aren't careful! They make you drink their blood and you get married in the dark all alone, no one to hear your -”

  “Screams!” Graham jumped from behind them, causing several shrieks while he and Ruby laughed. Emma felt a flare of jealousy, not realizing Ruby and Graham had grown so close. It wasn't surprising, her docket had been full of late, and they were allowed more free time. They were allowed fun, and rendezvous, no chaperone or appointments to keep. Taking a breath, jealousy joined the other feelings that were neatly bottled away within and concealed. 

  Regina stood apart, giving orders to several servants with Granny, confirming finishing touches and coordinating various tasks to solve anything that had gone amiss. Emma watched in bemusement as her archery instructor Locksley tried to gain a moment of her time to give her a rose for her hair, only to be ignored. He'd gone to tap her on the shoulder, only to have her scowling form round on him.

  Emma didn't hear their conversation, but giggled, her parents both shooting her a look. She stifled it quickly.

  With a clearing of her throat, Snow called the court to order.

  “To another peaceful Appeal, and to the realms!” Snow proclaimed.  

  The court echoed her, their voices carrying as they led the procession to the meeting hall, where royalty and representatives were arriving.

  There, guards on either side of the archway leading to the Receiving Hall and Grand Reception beat their staves to grab attention. The hall hushed into quiet anticipation. The Receiving Hall steps had been decorated with a plush purple runner, covered in luminous dust and moon flower petals, white flamed chandeliers making the polished marble floor gleam like bone in contrast. As her parents were announced, Emma swallowed the stone in her stomach as she stepped forward when her turn arrived. 

  “Princess Emma Swan N’Lan.” After a pause for bows, the guards used their staves to make three more echoing beats. “All may rise, and proceed to greet the Royal family.”

  The procession that made its way to them was led first by their close kin, other Fae that held themselves to the Royal family's rule. Wood and Dark Fae greeted Emma with excitement, the latter in silvery clothes and kohl, the former in soft silk the color of autumn leaves. Pixies joined them shortly after, the rainbow of colors in their clothing shimmering only when hit by the light, reminding Emma of a beetle’s shell. 

  The Dwarves came next, short and full of pride, jewels and ribbon braided through their long beards or coiffed hair. Many of them offered rings or jewelry to Emma or her mother, but protocol dictated she must decline as to not show favor, much to her dismay. Her mother wore a Dwarf fashioned tiara, and snuck in rings or jewels regardless of perception, but she showed favor to most - on the surface, at least. 

  Their other close kin, the Elves, followed after. Tall, prideful, and very reclusive, they kept to themselves in a strict caste system. Emma had heard her father bemoan their interactions, calling them snobby and boring. Emma only thought they were beautiful, even without the ability to bend magic without a wand or channeling tool. They also could have children easier, which led to being reclusive in the first place, and the restrictive caste system leading to strong, ‘pure’ genes. Emma found that less beautiful, often decrying it to Regina in heated debate. 

  The elementals that followed next were thin, tall, robed Fae, in a rainbow of colors and swathed in a myriad of shimmering auras that corresponded with their element. Shape-shifters, they were a delight to the eye to behold. Dark brown or moss-green elementals stood tall as trees, root and vines or wildflowers climbing their skinny limbs. The few silver or albino wore halos of moon flower on antlers, glowing faintly under the chandeliers. A few simply looked human, wearing court finery that was barely distinguishable between Emma's own. 

  Their queen came last, a tall Hol blessed with the ancient curse of elemental enlightening, followed by her attendees that carried the same heavy gift. Snow had told Emma many times that it was these touched souls that had granted Emma her light magic, as it was written in their culture that her birth heralded a cosmic shift in balance after the war. They were a neutral party, never fighting unless the balance of the world had leaned, seeing all that could be and all that wasn't at once. Many of them traveled through time and the pocket realms to maintain the magic there, and prevent passage with unsanctioned portals or magic. Whatever side the scale tipped to in the end, they would find itself an ally in the Elementals. 

  In an absurd twist, one of the younger of the Elementals had been appointed to Emma for a small amount of time. He had measured her magic, disconcerting at first due to his brilliance and his shifted appearance of a young child. Named Henry, the Elemental turned out to be mischievous, making plans with code names, and reviving Emma's love of pranks. After she was chastised soundly for 'Operation Cricket', the Duke terrified to open his closet to retrieve his trousers, their friendship had been mitigated. They had been cordial, but Regina had loved having a child (even just in appearance) around the palace again, and took over separating them from each other. For to short a while it was like having a sibling. Henry had chosen another form since then, no longer a child but a man. He gave a sly wave and Emma winked at him. 

  The Seafolk (Sirens, Naiads, Mermaids and Nymphs) followed after, many wearing charms that allowed them to walk on land or suspending themselves in water. Emma shook hands with a curious crimson haired Mermaid princess encased in salt water, King David watching them amusedly as he spoke to the King of the Seafolk. The Anisapi tensed, but said nothing in that regard. There had been a long fight between the two races over the treatment of a race cast out by the war. Regina made it clear that Emma should know as little as possible about the entire sordid debacle, as not to ever show favor to either the Anisapi or the Seafolk. Any excuse to escape a lesson seemed good enough. 

  The procession finally ended, the court taking a reception with the different realms as they awaited the Goblins. Emma felt exhausted, her cheeks aching from the fake smile she had been wearing. An Anisapi approached her, a tall monkey with golden fur and large brown eyes in a dark emerald waistcoat. He spoke for several minutes during which she nodded politely and enthusiastically, until his paw had found its way into her hair, and his reedy voice had lowered. 

  An Anisapi female hurried over, another monkey with green ribbons braided in her reddish, bristling fur. She pulled the Lord away with multiple apologies and platitudes, and Emma composed herself. Anisapi were rarely so forward. Being primarily Fae and animal, they were trickster spirits yes, but not to their kin. Their Vizier, Pann, lounged on a chaise in his velveteen emerald vest coat, his goat haunches twitching as one of his satyr attendant boys fed him grapes. He gave Emma a saucy wink before pouring wine down his throat. 

  Emma marched over his way, shooting glares at giggling fans and satyrs that Pann kept in his clutch, their self placed moniker of Lost Boys disconcerting at almost a millennia old. The court whispered rumors about him being a treatise breaker, but her parents had never caught him and had only pleasant dealings to speak of. Many still swore that he broke their laws with flagrant disregard, returning to the human world with impunity. Some even said he had a realm of his own, a terrible lair of horrors beyond imagination, called ‘Neverland’.

  Emma was unfrightened. The Anisapi leader, Heston, was a wise and honorable Anisapi; one of the last true forest Gods of the old world. He was ancient, but very brave and incredibly strong, a boar the color of a thundercloud, tusks long and unforgivingly sharp. Pann stood no chance against him, even with deceit and trickery. 

  “Do you mind Pann? Drinking before we begin seems -”

  Pann snorted, arrogantly and without conceit. His snide tone reminded her of the trail a slug left, sticking to her skin like autumn leaves after rainfall. “Princess, I know you'd normally be in bed by now with a glass of milk, but wine is how some of us get these droll events over with. It's not like we can ritualistically disembowel a human anymore for fun.”

  When her eyes widened and she gasped, he let out a loud guffaw echoed by his tittering following. 

  “Oh, Emma. Do calm down, we never did that at political events.” When Emma let out an indignant sniff, and whirled to turn away from him, she heard his snide reply call from behind her. “That was only on the solstices, darling.” More laughs came from behind her. 

  Stomping away, Emma retreated to a window to get away from the growing din of the excited crowd. She gazed out a window, waiting for the Goblins to appear at the castle gates. The sound of a throat clearing caught her attention, and she turned to look at a scaled man, green and gold mottled pale skin, topped with a shaggy head of brown hair mixed with eagle feathers. The Goblin, or half Goblin, had one brown eye and one reptilian gold, his teeth and nails sharp. Emma stood taller. 

  “I'm so sorry, good sir. I was unaware the Goblins had arrived and I beg pardon.” Emma curtsied, bending low. The man chuckled throatily. 

  “You must be Princess Emma. Your beauty becomes you, a truly beautiful woman and Fae." Emma blushed, the compliment so direct and forward, but within convention. The Goblin was well mannered, and it caught her unaware. 

  "I am, yes." Raising her head, she gave her hand for him to kiss, surprised by the delicate way he held it. His palms were a mix of soft and scaled smoothness, a long claw scraping along her wrist sending a chill across her skin. Emma pulled away harshly, his eyes narrowing in a way that made her feel increasingly uncomfortable. "Who do I have the pleasure of addressing, with and without such formality?" 

  "I am Prince Nil of the Goblins, it is my pleasure to see you ripe. I have heard that we are both kindred spirits who push at formality and it's bindings. Is this true, beautiful one?” He gave a small bow, his words and the way he leered made Emma's skin crawl. His tongue flicked out, long and shinily wet, unmistakably forked as he licked his lips with not only far too much suggestion and luridness. Emma took a step back in spite of herself. 

  “I'd have you remember yourself, my Prince. It is… It is unbecoming for me to listen to or respond to such lewd language even given as a token of flattery. I beg of you to be less coarse.” Focusing with all she could muster of Regina's teachings, she glared pure ice. 

  “Ah, but it is me who must beg in your court.” He pinned her to the glass, his breath hot against her skin. Dragging a nail down from her ear to her neck, he grinned lavisciously. “In my own kingdom, I would not. I'd have you without treatise, without meetings, without conversations over diplomacy. Goblins take what they want. Formality has no place in true law.” 

  “Luckily for the both of us then, that I have a voice here to say no. I would keep my diplomacy and any other manner of dignity.” Emma ducked out from under his arm, eyes steely. “Good day, Pri-”

  He snarled, harshly pulling her arm and yanking it with violent force. Emma let out a yelp but his hand clapped on her mouth as he pulled her head back by her hair. 

  “You do not dismiss me, you pompous Fae wench. I dismiss you. You are beneath me, a tool for a greater cause. I dismiss you, and in the underground, bitches like you have no voice." She bit at his hand, and the hiss that escaped his serpent mouth not in pain but something darker. Emma struggled, but his long fingers pushed against her tongue sharply, the sharp movements making her gag. "You are such a prize, my golden treasure, I will have you as mine."

  Nil's breath was hot on her neck, withdrawing his fingers alshe took a gasp of air as he wiped them on her bodice, groping there, her embarrassment and rage at his lewdness finally snapping her out of surprise. 

  "Let go of me, you weasel swallowing, ill mannered, swine tongued -" Emma punched and kicked, his hand falling from her hair as she pushed Nil away. He caught her arm in mid blow, twisting to spin her into him, his front against her back so that she had to feel his body. He smelled like mildew, soil, garlic, and Emma gagged again. 

  The prince chuckled at her reaction, rubbing against her in a rolling motion that pushed him against her in ways left for a marriage bed. "We take them, just like we take our women, and that goes without questioning. Remember that Princess. I have a feeling you'll find it ever so important in your formalities .”

  All etiquette fled her mind as she fought, trying to get away from the nightmarish creature. With an ungrateful twist, he wrenched her back further, grinding his pelvis against her lewdly before throwing her to the ground. Emma hissed up at his face, but Ruby and Graham interrupted them as the Goblin prince turned away, happily striding back to the party. Ruby ran to Emma's side, immediately worried. 

  “Emma, are you alright?” Ruby whispered, and Graham looked her over before glaring in the direction of the Goblin. 

  “Emma, did he -” Graham started, but Emma pushed herself up and shook her head with her best regal smile. 

  “I'm fine. Go back to the party, I'll speak with my parents about this. Don't worry, and no mention of this, it'll be fine.” Emma watched the two exchange worried glances, but they bowed and made their way back to the party with a few quick looks back. Emma let her face fall, chewing her lip. So much for everything going smoothly. 

  Hurrying to talk to her parents, she could hear their raised voices from the council chambers far before she entered, the council in place early by a quarter hour at least. Something was very wrong as a heated discussion was taking place. 

  “Absolutely not, Gold. We haven't considered it for various reasons, and feel maybe in the next couple centuries -”

  “You're acting as if it will be a choice when it's clearly a demonstration of unity, strength, and power, bringing the realms together finally -”

  An Elf spoke, “If that is the case, all kingdoms and realms should have claim, and a chance to give their dowry, not just you,” she cleaned her fingernails, bored. “Although it is a beneficial union.”

  “My daughter has a choice in this!” her father hissed, and a few nobles laughed before realizing that it was not a joke. “She is a grown woman, and has made it clear she is not ready for -”

  “I'm not ready for what?” Emma said, fury set in her resolved face. She walked towards her empty seat, her mother looking at her warningly, and her father looking ashamed and apologetic. “I believe that at last time I checked, I did have my own voice,” shooting a perfunctory glare at those who had laughed, she continued, “and I definitely have the power of choice.”

  Her father sighed and started to speak before the Goblin cut him off, his voice registering as the man her father had called Gold. Rumplestiltskin Gold of the Gold bloodline, King of the Goblins. 

  “Princess Emma, my son and I have requested your hand in marriage to unite our kingdoms.” He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes and looked unnatural on his face. Emma stared at him, the taste of unsaid truths pouring off of him. This was not an ally. Something was wrong. “My son is taken with you, and begs of me to modernize. We -”

  “Your son accosted me earlier, Your Majesty.” Gasps went around the table, the nobles shifting uncomfortably. Emma heard a dulled bang from far off, but ignored her parents exchange of looks. “And I am not some trophy to be won or pet to be caged. I am afraid that I will be declining your offer, even with the well deserved belief of modernization raised. I may be an outspoken critic of the way we go about our traditions, laws, and rituals, but I am also an outspoken critic of throwing them and decency out the window.”

  “Well.” The scaled man slumped his shoulders and looked down, greasy strands of his stringy hair covering his face. “That is bad news then. I'm sorry to hear it.”

  Snow moved subtly and slowly in Emma's peripheral as her father tensed. The Goblin King began to laugh, a strange giggling thing that shook his shoulders. Emma took a step back as he looked up, eyes full of impish glee and a true, sharp toothed smile on his face. 

  “I thought we might be able to do things the easy way, Dearie.” He cocked his head with that too large reptilian grin, and chaos rained down on the room. Powder exploded in different shades, guards leapt up while magic shot past from hands, wands, staves and who knew what else. Emma was transfixed until her mother yanked her through a wall panel and into a dark corridor. 

  “Mom, what -”

  “Emma, hush. Listen, we're under attack and I… They're targeting you, alright? It isn't safe for us here. It's not safe for you.” Pushing open a loose tile, they dropped into a small closet as Snow raised a finger to her lips. Moving the tile back into place, she slid another panel open revealing more stairs that they used in haste. Catching their breath, Snow caressed Emma's cheek. “I need you to be braver than you've ever been, and more cunning than ever before. Your life depends on it; everyone's lives depend on it.” 

  They moved through the walls, her mother sometimes stopping to peer through a portrait as Goblins flooded the palace, iron weapons in hand. Other times her mother would open a passage for them to run through into another path, full of winding tunnels, spiraling staircases, and peepholes Emma had never known about, circling deep into the castle's depths. 

  They eventually reached a latched door that dropped into a crawlspace, both dropping down before coming up to stand in a windowless room the size of a larder. A small box rested on a lone shelf, and The Queen held it gingerly. Opening the lid, she pulled out a silver chain with a jagged piece of steel at its end, putting it over Emma's head where it lay coolly against her warm skin. Emma examined it carefully, noting the pointed end looked like either a sword tip or an arrowhead. 

  “Mom, What is this? Where are we going -”

  “There's so much I don't have time to explain, and so much we tried to protect you from, Emma. I regret it now, but we don't have time to get into that either.” Her mother was crying, digging at the tiles on the floor that revealed a deep, dark, stairwell into rock hewn walls. “That's a piece of an ancient blade, the Vorpal blade, used to control the Darkness that tried to destroy everything in all worlds. It wanted, no, wants to cover everything in shadow, in pitch, and your father and I destroyed the blade with our love… and you. You're the purest light this world has ever known. With this shard, the Darkness cannot hurt you. We’ve kept you away from everything to keep it so, and now you are the only one who can fix what we couldn't.”

  “I don't understand, what do I need to fix? What do I have to do?” Emma whispered. Her mother looked at her pleadingly as the wall in front of them began to shake. 

  “The Darkness had taken a vessel, and we… We decided that it deserved a chance, just like the Goblins. Your father and I tried, but it… He… He can't be redeemed, he can't see beyond his revenge. He's too dangerous, too dangerous to ever let out, until now. You have to seek his help, and not fall for his tricks, his offered deals, or his diversions, and then destroy him. You were born to destroy the Darkness and save us.”

  The wall cracked, splintering. Her mother kissed her forehead and guided her down the stairs in front of her, pushing Emma into the murk of what lay below. 

  “I still don't know what -”

  “I'm sorry, Emma. You are so strong, and so powerful. We are so proud of you, and believe in you. You are our daughter, our goodness, and love, and everything we've ever dreamed of you being. Go. Go and be safe.”

  Letting go of Emma and pushing the tiles back in place, Emma called for her mother but stopped when she heard the outer wall splinter as her mother screamed. 

  “Snow… I tried -” Her father's voice, ending in a gurgling wet rasp. 

  “Quiet now, King David. Wouldn't want me to cut out your charming larynx in front of your wife, all because you were trying to play hero.” Gold’s voice, laughter mixing with his son's who was somewhere nearby. 

  “Don't hurt him. Please. You have our willingness to comply with whatever demands you make,” Snow said calmly. “I just ask you to please, let my husband and daughter go.”

  “Your daughter? She's with you, you had her with you -”

  “We lost each other when we came across some guards,” Snow raised her voice, convincingly selling the tale of her missing daughter. “She was supposed to hide. I told her to hide, and I would -”

  “My concern involves finding your daughter, and the missing piece of the Vorpal blade I have in my possession. Find the princess. I want a true unification of the realms to begin as soon as possible, and everyone will suffer until I get my way,” Gold seethed. Emma held her breath as she heard footsteps move away. Quietly, she moved down the dark stairs into the damp underbelly of the caves to see what awaited her below her home.