#and even now that shows (the reverance folks give her; the way people Fear her the way they would fear an angry deity.

[saintvampe]

ugh ugh (thinking abt this woman)

[aquadestinyswriting]

A Circle None can Break- Part Twelve

Summary: Selene and Edwin have a small heart-to-heart before heading down to the Hammer and Anvil's barroom to drown their collective sorrows, Firetome finds out an interesting tidbit that will help his own schemes and all the dwarves of Fangthane have noticed that the mountain's unhappy about something as it won't stop tremoring.

Words: 2,487

Warnings: None that I can tell. Enjoy the shippy fluff that's in here.

Notes: I am very pleased to have found out what motivates Firetome to do what he does in Fangthane's Folly and the Anvil's Fall. in the meantime, I need to go give Edwin a hug

tags: @druidx, @strosmkai-rum, @homesteadchronicles, @warriorbookworm, @odysseywritings, @sparrow-orion-writes, @blind-the-winds, @writeblrsupport, @writeblrcafe

Firetome drummed his fingers on the desk impatiently. It had been hours since he’d sent young Gurrisdottir off to the Archives to find those records for him. True, it the records he was after were probably highly restricted, but surely the Archivers would be happy to help her once she showed them the note he’d given her. 

A Shaper? Here, in Fangthane? Either Kherillim had seen fit to Bless a different family due to the apparent doom that was coming for the world, or his was not the only family left in the mount with a connection to the Purged. He would know for certain either way if the girl would just hurry up with those records already!

Firetome’s mind spun with the possibilities. While Gruksdottir had clearly been raised Moradhir, was her family simply low-lying Throffites like his own? If so, then perhaps they could be convinced to join him and his fellows in unseating the Heretical Goldseeker line for good. The High Inquisitor seethed at the old memory that bubbled up to the surface:

“But Da, if Moradin’s not even really from Titan, why do we even have to worship him?” the beardlet protested. He yelped as his father swiftly clipped him around the ear,

“Hold yer wheesth, lad!” the older dwarf hissed, “D’ye want to be taken away, like yer uncle was?” Skarld’s eyes went wide with pain and fear and he fervently shook his head. His father nodded in satisfaction, “Then don’t go around saying such things where folk can hear. All you need to ken is that Moradin overthrew the Goddess that created us and the king and his family agree with Him.”

While Firetome now knew his father had greatly simplified the matter, the fact yet remained that the royal family were responsible for allowing an Outsider God into the midst of the people of Fangthane, no matter how much they now insisted that Throff was still just as revered as their supposed Dwarf Father. He was startled out of his thoughts as the door to his office swung open,

“I finally got the records ye asked for, yer Eminence.” Gurrisdottir’s voice called from the doorway, “I’m sorry it took so long, I had to spend an hour arguing with one of the Archivers, and it took them an age to find the one you were after.” The younger dwarf frowned as she placed the slates onto the desk in front of Firetome, but said nothing as she waited for permission to leave. Firetome smiled at her,

“Thank you very much for getting this for me, Birghe.” he said in his most fatherly tone, “Please don’t worry about it taking so long. Ordinarily I’d ask Vera to get these for me, but she’s out on a training exercise. I’ll have a word with the Archivers and see that this sort of nonsense doesn’t happen again.” The sandy-haired Acolyte bowed deeply,

“Thank you, sir. Do you need anything else?” she asked. Firetome shook his head,

“No, thank you, Birghe, you’re free to return to your duties.” he said, “Please pass on my apologies to Sister Imraksdottir for keeping you away for so long.” He gave the younger woman another indulgent smile as she bowed again, then walked out of his study. The smile dropped from his face the moment she closed the door behind her,

“I suppose I’d better keep an eye. I don’t need Ragnarsson questioning why I’m even after these.” he muttered, sliding the protective slate to one side and peering at the family tree that was now laid out before him. The High Inquisitor’s eyes slid up from the bottom, tracing the line from Gruksdottir herself until he noticed a name familiar to him from his grandfather’s stories,

“Well now. I wonder how long the Church was going to keep that little tidbit under wraps.” he murmured, stroking his beard as he stared at the dotted line that had been crossed through between ‘Merewin Stonespeaker’ and ‘Ragnar Goldseeker’. “Looks like I need to ask the Record Keepers some questions.” Smiling to himself, Firetome pulled out a drawer and picked up the winged eye necklace from it,

“If all goes to plan, then Fangthane will be ours by the end of the year, my Lord. Then we can finally oust the Usurper Gods from this world for good and reinstate the Natural Order.” The necklace grew warm in his hands,

Firetome’s smile fell, what a disappointment. He nodded,

Well done. However, do not rely on the help of the Shaper girl. She has been too corrupted by the Usurper to be useful to our cause. Be careful around her.

“Of course, my Lord.” he murmured, gently placing the necklace back in the drawer and locking it. He glanced back at the Record on his desk. Well, if nothing else, he had evidence that King Jotunn’s decree hadn’t entirely wiped out the Redhammer heritage from Fangthane. Oh what a delight it would be to throw that in His Majesty’s, and the Church’s faces. Satisfied, Firetome returned to the paperwork he’d abandoned upon getting the news about Gruksdottir, feeling much better about his chances.

Edwin grimaced as he watched Selene throw her belongings into her personal Bag of Holding,

"I'm so sorry that I couldn't help any more." He sighed, "Will you be alright to make it back to Toreguarde alone?" He asked. Selene huffed out a stressed sigh,

"Getting back is the easy bit." She said, her voice strained, "The hard bit is going to be telling everyone else that there's nothing I can do about the Seal, aside from hoping for yet another Divine Intervention. At least I've got time to organise a full evacuation for when…" she trailed off, shaking her head and gulping down her emotions. 

Edwin his fingers over his brow. Selene didn't need to finish her sentence. He knew full well what would be coming the minute the Seal failed entirely. Gods damn it all, why was king Storri being so damned stubborn? The cleric felt the floor under his feet vibrate, a low dangerous growl emanating from the earth below. While he was no devotee of Moradin or Throff, he'd lived in Fangthane long enough to know what such a thing portended. He cautiously laid a hand on Selene's shoulder, his heart squeezing painfully at her dejected slump,

"While His Majesty is being unreasonably stubborn, I believe that his mind can, and will, be changed." He said softly, "Don't give up entirely. Not yet." He said, his voice soft. Selene leaned back into the touch, shuddering out another sigh. She looked up at him with a small, fragile smile,

"I'll try." She said, "If he does, can you let me know? I'd rather know if I need to call off any evacuation efforts than take the risk that he won't, or will leave it until the last possible moment." Edwin nodded,

"Of course I will." He said, squeezing his old friend's shoulder. Selene leaned her head against the cleric, briefly closing her eyes,

"Thank you." She murmured. Edwin resisted the sudden urge to kiss the woman's forehead. Where had that even come from? He settled for hugging her instead,

"No matter what happens, I will be here any time you need me." He told her, "Even if you get told I'm busy, keep insisting. I'm not leaving you to face this alone." The cleric's resolve hardened as Selene nodded. He couldn't, and wouldn't, allow disaster to befall anyone else. He'd already failed Alexis and Fai. He wasn't going to fail Selene. Edwin felt oddly disappointed when Selene finally broke the hug,

"Sorry, I should be getting on with this." She said with a half-hearted chuckle, "Don't want His Royal Pain In The Ass sending over his kingsguard to kick me out." Edwin shook his head to clear it,

"I seem to recall you saying he was giving you another day." He pointed out, "At least stay until morning, Snorri and Gruk are going to be right upset if you leave without saying goodbye properly." His heart skipped when Selene snorted, looked back at him and smiled,

"I suppose it would be a bit rude to up and leave without having a few pints for the road." She agreed, "Let me just make sure I've got everything, then we can head down to the bar."  

Archlector Vanskleig sighed as he felt the floor under his feet vibrate violently. While he was of a mind to march up to the palace to give the young king of Fangthane what for following his little tantrum at the meeting earlier that day, the wrath the mountain was channelling was not Moradin's. It was Throff's. The elderly dwarf settled into his armchair and picked out another biscuit from the box next to him, dipping it into his tea to soften it. Best to leave Her to it, he decided, he could help deal with the cleanup after.

Half the mountain was abuzz with rumours that the elemental of Fangthane was getting restless as the tremors continued throughout the afternoon. The landlord of the Elemental's Crack spent most of that time making sure that everything in the pub was utterly secured and couldn't fall off if the Elemental did decide to go for a walkabout. 

Gruk frowned as he felt the floor under his feet vibrate again. Despite his father having been a Stonespeaker –one of the best of his generation – the ability had skipped a generation, leaving the smith unable to figure out what in the Pit was going on with the mountain he called home. It didn’t help that the one family member who could hadn’t felt like coming to her uncle’s pub for almost a month. Snorri placed Gruk’s stein in front of him, breaking the younger man out of his reverie,

“What’s on your mind, wean?” The elder Ironforge asked, sitting down heavily in the seat next to Gruk. Gruk snorted,

“I wish ye’d stop calling me that. I’m not even the youngest one.” he protested.Snorri chuckled,

“Well, if Ufgi showed up more often, I wouldn’t need to.” he pointed out, “So, I’ll ask again, what’s on yer mind?” Gruk looked at his older brother incredulously,

“Aside from my youngest daughter stressing herself out to the hells and back, the fact that we ken that, unless she gets out there to help, that we’re gonna have another Demon War on our hands and now the mountain’s complaining about something and neither of us can tell what in the Pit’s wrong with it?” he replied, ticking off each issue on his fingers. Snorri shrugged,

“Well, I think I can help with the last one.” he said, “Word in the vein from the Stonespeakers that’ve turned up here rather than risking the Crack is that summat’s gone and upset it. They can’t say what because, apparently, it’s talking nonsense and no one can figure it out, but that seems to be the general gist.” Gruk scoffed,

“Da probably would’ve figured it out hours ago.” he said bitterly, “Knowing our luck it’s because that damn Seal’s already given way.” 

“Given I haven’t had any panicked Scrys sent to my personal mirror in the last hour or so, I very much doubt it.” Selene’s voice stated from behind the two dwarven men. Snorri grinned at her,

“Well, that’s a relief, but it still doesn’t answer the question of what the hells is up with the mountain.” The ex-slayer’s face fell when he noticed the pack lying at Selene’s feet, “Ye’re leaving already?” he asked. Edwin grimaced as he joined the group at the table, two pint glasses already in his hands,

“His Majesty has decided that he’s had enough of our visitor and is giving her until tomorrow to pack up and get out.” he sighed, placing the glasses on the table. Gruk’s frown deepened further,

“What, did ye insult his honour or summat?” he asked. Selene shrugged and necked half her pint before answering,

“He started it.” she replied shortly. Snorri slowly got up and sent his brother a look,

“I’ll go get Reggie to deal with the bar tonight.” he said, “I’ll be right back.” Gruk cocked his head as he returned his attention to the Grand Magus and the Abouna,

“What even happened?” he asked, already dreading the answer as the vibrations in the floor became stronger. Selene downed the rest of her pint, huffed a stressed sigh and spent the next ten minutes informing the increasingly outraged smith of what had transpired in her meeting, quietly leaving out the location of the God Clay at Edwin’s suggestion.

“So, in summary, I’m free to go get the godsdamned clay if I feel like it, but His Majesty will be damned if he’s going to actually help.” she finished. The whole pub had stopped to listen into the wizard’s rant the moment it had started, after all such rants were normally extremely entertaining. This one, however, had not been. Right as voices started to rise in protest, the floor jerked violently once, then fell still, causing the voices to die almost immediately. Edwin, who had been leaning on the table, shaking his head as he listened to Selene’s rant, shot upright, jolted from his thoughts as a shock of divine power rippled through the magical weave. A dozen other dwarves followed suit seconds after, most of them lower level clerics and paladins of various faiths. Selene, looked around the room, frowning as she felt a smaller ripple in the weave,

“What was that?” she asked, a pit of dread building in her stomach. Edwin shook his head,

“I’m… not sure.” he admitted, pulling out his Holy Symbol and muttering a prayer to it. He sighed in relief when Galana immediately answered his call, a soothing river of warmth filing him from head to toe.

My sister’s taking care of things.

Edwin blinked. It was rare for Galana to give him any direct messages, especially one as short and straightforward (yet still frustratingly vague) as that. He shrugged at the perplexed look Selene was giving him,

“Apparently Throff’s taking care of matters.” he said, “I’ve no idea how.” he added as Selene opened her mouth. The wizard grimaced,

“Well, at least it’s something.” she grumbled. She glanced over to Gruk, who was frowning into his stein, “You alright there Gruk?” she asked.

Gruk peered into his beer as though it held any answers to the questions that now ran through his mind. He was no cleric- he hadn’t once felt the Call like Meredith had, and he had never had any inclination to get involved with the divine in any way, shape or form-and yet he knew he’d felt something at the same time as all the clerics and paladins had. His stomach twisted uncomfortably right as the doors of the Hammer and Anvil were slammed open.

[lillywillow]

For Heart or For Country

Summary: “You’re in line to be the next ruler of your kingdom. But first, you must marry the young ruler of your worst enemy. Would you risk all of your happiness for the sake of stopping a war? Or will you find true love in the town’s pub?”

 Word Count: 3089

 Pairings: Natasha x gender neutral Reader/ gender neutral Loki X Reader (arranged)

 Warnings: Seductive Nat, arranged marriage

Written for @caplanbuckybarnes ‘s writing challenge. Go check out her amazing works!

From the moment you were born, you were destined to take over from your father. You spent countless hours in lessons learning how to be ruler of the kingdom, been taught everything from politics to art, sword fighting to etiquette. Long story short, everything you needed to take the throne and face the challenges that came with wearing the crown.

 For years, the kingdom had been at war but recently there was at last a chance for peace but it came with a cost... an arranged marriage. You weren’t so sure about it but if it meant your people being safe, you would sacrifice your own happiness.

 Ever since your father had made the announcement of your impending wedding, it had consumed your every thought. You hadn’t even met your betrothed and, yet, you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with them. You had watched the older servants with their spouses and to be honest with yourself it melted your heart. Even your father was a kind and gentle person when it came to your mother. With any luck, the person you were going to marry would be kind to you.

 Deciding you needed a distraction; you put on a disguise and managed to sneak out of the palace. Sure you could have gotten drunk in your room but where was the fun in that? You had crept out on a few occasions so you knew that the townsfolk knew how to party compared to those stuffy nobles.

From the moment you stepped inside the tavern named The Nest, the atmosphere was abuzz with excitement. The walls were decorated with purple fabric hangings, crossbows, longbows, arrows and other archery items. A taxidermy hawk was perched above the door, its eyes ever watching. A one eyed dog ran about the patrons, getting pats from some of them and cleaning up pieces of dropped food. People were dancing, singing and drinking, some leaning on each other for support as they swayed. To any other noble, the scene may have looked chaotic but to you, it only looked like fun.

 With a grin, you made your way over to the bar and took a seat. Still taking in your surroundings, you barely noticed when the sandy haired bartender stood in front of you.

 “What can I get you?”

 “Oh! Um...” You tried to think of something that would not give away your identity as a noble. The man raised an eyebrow at you.

 “Hey, Clint! Two boilermakers over here,” another patron called.

 The man whom you now know as Clint poured them the drinks and turned back to you.

 “So?”

 “I’ll have... o-one of those,” you said, making a feeble attempt to pound your fist on the counter in an attempt to fit in.

 Clint tilted his head and gave you a curious look.

 “Alright...”

 Clint made the boilermaker and placed it in front of you. Thanking him, you took a swig of the drink and felt instant misgivings about it as the alcohol burned not only your throat but your ears and the very pit of your stomach. Clint laughed as you coughed and spluttered.

 “You’re not from around here, are you?”

 “You... might say that,” you mumbled, wiping your mouth.

 “You picked the right night to come. Nat’s doing a show.”

 “Nat?”

 “Wow, you really aren’t from around here if you don’t know Natasha. Just watch,” he advised, nodding his head over to the stage.

 The stage was well lit and crowed around the edges by men and women who were eagerly waiting for whoever was about to appear from behind the purple curtains.

 Music began and a foot decorated with a silver anklet emerged. The audience cheered loudly as the woman behind her curtain slowly began to reveal herself. She wore a black piece of fabric around her upper body, twisted just a little in the centre of her chest. The bottom of her costume was made up of a red fabric front and back which started out solid but faded to transparent as it went down and held together by delicate chains. Silver cuffs adorned her upper arms and wrists. Her lips were painted sinfully crimson. Sparkly onyx hairpins held her red curls in place. She was absolutely stunning.

 The woman slowly began to sway her hips to the music, arms and feet poised. It was almost hypnotic in the way she moved. As the beat picked up, so did her dancing. One of the men near the front of the stage started to get a little carried away and tried to climb up.

 Fearing for the safety of the dancer, you tensed and shifted to help her but Clint placed a hand on your shoulder.

 “Easy. Nat can handle herself around these drunk idiots.”

 You watched as Nat placed her foot on the man’s cheek before kicking him off the stage. The crowd jeered and laughed at the man, some pouring their drinks on him. Despite the interruption, Nat continued her performance.

 Her face was calm and collected, never faltering, as the audience got more and more rowdy.

 Nat ended her performance by kneeling and giving a graceful bow. The throng of people got even more riled up as she headed back behind the curtain and before you knew it, a fight broke out. You could only sit on your barstool and laugh as the place erupted into bedlam. As a noble, the most you had ever witnessed people scuffle as a heated argument that never went beyond words and even then they never used the language you heard flying around the room. Sure, there was the battlefield but once again that was an entirely different situation.

 However, your humour was soon cut short as the royal guards walked in to break up the fight. You felt your heart sink to the bottom of your stomach.

 “You hiding from those guys?” Clint asked, not even fazed by the mayhem around him.

 “S-sorta...”

 Clint jumped over the bar and prompted you to follow him. You weren’t entirely sure what made you decide to trust a total stranger nonetheless, you followed his lead. As he walked along, he dodged all fists, tankards and bottles that flew his way. You did your best but still caught the occasional projectile to your body, taking great care not to let any hit your face lest there be questions tomorrow.

 He stopped to look around before opening a panel in the back wall, just big enough for you to squeeze out.

 “Follow the tunnel until the end. That’ll take you to the backstreets. Be fast. The guards will start patrolling the minute they break things up here. Just make sure you close the exit on the other side.” With that, Clint pushed you through the gap and closed the panel behind you.

 Just as he said, you followed the tunnel until the end, closing the door behind you and made your way through the backstreets until you had made it all the way home, fortunately without incident.

 As you got ready for bed that night, you couldn’t stop thinking about Nat. She was just so beautiful... Could this be just a crush? You had to know for certain.

...

 The following night, you once again crept out of the palace and back to The Nest and sat at the bar. The place was busy but nowhere near as packed as it was last night.

 “I see the guards failed to catch you,” Clint commented, making his way over to you.

 “Yeah... um... is Nat dancing again tonight by any chance?”

 Clint gave you a sly look.

 “She’s not dancing but she is working. Hey, Nat!”

 Your heart began to race as the red head walked over to you. Tonight she was wearing a black, off-the-shoulder dress with a red belt around her waist. Even outside of her dancing costume she was beautiful.

 “What?”

 “This is the one I was telling you about.”

 You felt panic seize in your chest. They were talking about you? What in the world could they have possibly been saying? Nat looked you up and down, carefully examining you before glancing over at Clint who gave an approving nod.

 “Let’s dance...”

 Before you could protest, Nat grabbed your hand and dragged you onto the dance floor. It was no surprise to you that she was just as graceful on her feet as she had been on stage. As you danced with her, you could feel her brushing her hands over your hips and waist. You found yourself surrendering to her touch. At the end of the song, Nat wrapped her arms around your shoulders and pressed her lips to your ear.

 “Tell me... what is a noble doing in a place like this?”

 You completely froze.

 “Wh-what makes you think...?”

 “Everything. From the way you dance, to your posture and your speech. So, answer my question.”

 “Is... is there somewhere private we can talk?”

 Nat lead you to the backroom after checking the coast was clear.

 “Now talk...”

 With a sigh, you removed your hood, showing her your face.

 “The heir to the throne,” she whispered reverently.

 You put your hood back on and looked down.

 “You should get out of here. Folks in these parts don’t take kindly to nobles, especially members of the royal family. What are you doing here anyway?”

 “I... I wanted to experience as much freedom as I could before I get married...”

 “So one last fling before finally settling down. How sweet.” Her voice positively dripped venom as she spoke.

 “It’s not like that!”

 “Then tell me what it is like...”

 With a sigh, you looked out the tiny window on the back wall that let in a sliver of moonlight.

 “Ever since I was young, I dreamed of having a perfect wedding with the perfect person I would spend the rest of my life with... but with this war, I’m to marry one of the children of the opposing kingdom as a token of peace... I don’t know what kind of person they are. If they’re good, maybe we could work together to fix some of the broken parts of the city and of course, I would help in their kingdom too but if they’re not a good person, well...”

 Nat was quiet for a few moments before finally speaking.

 “I really hate it when Clint is right,” she sighed.

 You turned to look at her.

 “Clint?”

 “You see, Clint has this innate sense of finding the good in people and helping them out. He helped me a few years back...”

 You held her hand, encouraging her to continue.

 “I was in a really bad place... did some really bad things... Clint helped me get out of it. Got me a job, a home... even made me partner. I owe a lot to him...”

 You couldn’t help but feel a small pang of jealousy for the man even though you knew it was completely irrational.

 “So you and he are...?”

 Nat shook her head.

 “We tried it once but it didn’t work out. We’re better off as friends.”

 You couldn’t help but feel a tiny sense of relief.

 “I would like to get to know you better... for however I have until my impending marriage. That is if you’ll let me.”

 “What about after?”

 “I’ll try and see you if I can... and if not; you can be my one who got away.”

 “That was... really cheesy,” she laughed.

 “I guess it was... but what do you say?”

 “On one condition; don’t make any promises you can’t or don’t intend to keep. I’ve been through enough of that in my lifetime.”

 “It’s a deal.”

...

 Over the next few weeks, you got to know Nat quite well. You knew everything about her and she knew everything about you and not just as future sovereign but as a person. Eventually the time came when the feuding royal family came to your kingdom, bringing with them your spouse to be.

 They introduced you to the youngest member of the family named Loki. Loki was about your age and attractive enough but in the short time you spent with Natasha, your heart purely belonged to her. Your respective fathers left you alone to bond, catching daggers in their backs from the glares from both you and Loki as they left.

 “They certainly can be civil when they want to be,” Loki sneered.

 “You got that right...”

 “You don’t really want to be married to me do you?”

 You thought carefully about how to answer.

 “I don’t even know you... but how else can we stop this war?”

 “I have been doing research on my end. If we can pool our resources, perhaps we can find how it began and how we can stop it. Shall we?”

 Loki offered a slender hand which you took.

 “We shall.”

...

 In the time leading up to your wedding, you and Loki spent every minute of the day together. To anyone else, it looked like a couple bonding and getting to know each other before your upcoming nuptials. To you and Loki, it was a mission; one to find out the truth and put an end to the war.

 Your nights were spent with Nat, talking about Loki and what else you could do to stop the fighting. There was one night you had crept in after seeing Nat and Loki had caught you and you thought for sure you were done for but instead, Loki covered for you. Loki was fully supportive of your relationship with Natasha and encouraged you to pursue her once this whole thing had blown over.

 Eventually it came time when your wedding was fast approaching. The night before the big event, you were of course with Natasha, wanting to spend as long as you could with each other before whatever happened tomorrow.

 “I promise you Nat, we will be together...”

 Nat teared up and shook her head.

 “Remember the deal you made, Y/N. You said you wouldn’t make promises you couldn’t keep...”

 “But I intend to keep this one...”

 “Just go!”

 Nat turned away so you couldn’t see her cry. You gently turned her back to you and kissed her softly. She kissed back, holding you tight as if she didn’t want to let you go. Eventually you had to break for air.

 “If... if this really is our last night together... then let’s make a memory that will last a lifetime...”

 With that, you kissed her again, this time with all the love and passion you could muster. It may have seemed scandalous to spend the night before your wedding with another but you wouldn’t give Nat away for the world.

...

 The following morning, you and Loki had set your plan into motion. The wedding started out like any other with guests arriving and people all taking their places. Your heart was hammering against your ribs and blood roared in your ears as the ceremony began. Loki remained calm and collected, keeping cool until the right moment.

 “If anyone has any objections as to why these two should not wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

 “We object,” both you and Loki said in unison. The whole room erupted into shock. Instantly, both Odin and your father rounded on the pair of you, absolutely seething.

 “Silence!” Loki snarled. The room fell quiet.

 “Now, the whole point of this wedding was to stop this ridiculous war. A war that was started over a futile reason...”

 Both you and Loki went to where you had hidden two ancient artefacts; one from your history and one from Asgard’s.

 “Many years ago, our kingdom was accused of taking this,” you said, holding the item up high.

 “But they were wrong. We had our own the whole time,” Loki stated, holding up the other.

 “Our two kingdoms went to war when they should have been joining forces as we were once centuries ago...”

 The pair of you combined the two items to show they fitted perfectly together.

 “We should be united once more. Let us put a stop to the fighting once and for all!”

 The gathering all cheered and rejoiced at the prospect of peace. Your fathers sat there sullenly while their wives attempted to gently comfort them. Loki gently turned to you.

 “Isn’t there someone you want to see?”

 With Loki’s blessing, you ran out of the church.

...

 Nat had been drowning her sorrows at The Nest. She had known this day was long coming but it didn’t stop the ache she felt in her heart from losing you to another. Clint did his best to try and comfort her but it wasn’t enough. She didn’t even look up when her name was called but eventually Clint did catch her attention.

 “What?!” she hissed. Clint pointed behind her to where you were standing still in your wedding clothes.

 “Y/N? What are you-” You cut her off with a kiss.

 “Loki and I did it. We were able to restore peace and we didn’t even have to get married. We can be together now...”

 “But I’m just a common barmaid. You’re going to take over the throne...”

 “And when I do, I can make whatever rule I want and marry whoever I want. I want to marry you one day Natasha... that is if you’ll have me...”

 “I...” Nat looked over to Clint who smiled and nodded. “Yes...”

...

 Over the next few weeks, you worked in tandem with Nat to fix the rough parts of the city, just as you had told her. There was a lot of gossip surrounding your relationship but neither of you cared. You had also made a point to stay in touch with Loki to find out how things were going in Asgard.

 After so many years of war, it was nice to finally see some happiness. Maybe in time, there would be a royal wedding after all. A real one out of love that was formed between two hearts that truly cared for one another.

[agentrouka-blog]

Can you please give your opinion on Dany n missendei relationship in books? It's much more complicated than show n both characters are young.

So, Missandei. I don’t think about her a LOT but there was a connection to a theme that struck me when I compared her to the Stark sisters and it points to a relationship that is, let’s say, very different from what the tv show chose to do.

Long. Many quotes.

Preface: The talking bird – a lady’s armor – “Valar Morghulis”

I am always specifically reminded of Missandei when I read this Sansa passage.

Sansa could not bear the sight of him, he frightened her so, yet she had been raised in all the ways of courtesy. A true lady would not notice his face, she told herself. “You rode gallantly today, Ser Sandor,” she made herself say.

(…)

He was mocking her, she realized. “No one could withstand him,” she managed at last, proud of herself. It was no lie.

Sandor Clegane stopped suddenly in the middle of a dark and empty field. She had no choice but to stop beside him. "Some septa trained you well. You're like one of those birds from the Summer Isles, aren't you? A pretty little talking bird, repeating all the pretty little words they taught you to recite."  (AGOT; Sansa II)

A bird from the Summer Isles, repeating words.

The concept of courtesy is a lady’s armor is tied to the idea of the talking bird. (Leaving out the obvious talking raven at the Wall for this, because I don’t see Missandei tied to the magical arc. I see her tied to the political one.)

The phrase “courtesy is a lady’s armor” shows up four times:

Sansa felt that she ought to say something. What was it that Septa Mordane used to tell her? A lady's armor is courtesy, that was it. She donned her armor and said, "I'm sorry my lady mother took you captive, my lord." (ACOK, Sansa I)

and

Sansa felt dizzy; one instant her head was full of dreams of Loras, and the next they had all been snatched away. Willas? Willas? "I," she said stupidly. Courtesy is a lady's armor. You must not offend them, be careful what you say. "I do not know Ser Willas. I have never had the pleasure, my lady. Is he . . . is he as great a knight as his brothers?" (ASOS, Sansa I)

and 

“How old are you, Sansa?” asked Tyrion, after a moment. “Thirteen,” she said, “when the moon turns.” “Gods have mercy.” The dwarf took another swallow of wine. “Well, talk won’t make you older. Shall we get on with this, my lady? If it please you?” “It will please me to please my lord husband.” That seemed to anger him. “You hide behind courtesy as if it were a castle wall.” “Courtesy is a lady’s armor,” Sansa said. Her septa had always told her that. “I am your husband. You can take off your armor now.” “And my clothing?” “That too.” He waved his wine cup at her. “My lord father has commanded me to consummate this marriage.” (ASOS, Sansa III)

and 

A lady's armor is her courtesy. Alayne could feel the blood rushing to her face. No tears, she prayed. Please, please, I must not cry. "As you wish, ser. And now if you will excuse me, Littlefinger's bastard must find her lord father and let him know that you have come, so we can begin the tourney on the morrow." And may your horse stumble, Harry the Heir, so you fall on your stupid head in your first tilt. She showed the Waynwoods a stone face as they blurted out awkward apologies for their companion. When they were done she turned and fled.  (TWOW, Alayne)

So here we have a theme that ties the talking bird to something you were taught by a mentor, to lying, flattering, evading offense in a situation of powerlessness. To evading harm by hiding your true emotions.  

So keep that theme of the lady’s armor in mind before we get to Missandei herself.

But there is another pattern of repeated words, and another Stark Sister with clear parallels to Missandei.

"As well ask what good is life, what good is death? If the day comes when you would find me again, give that coin to any man from Braavos, and say these words to him—valar morghulis."

"Valar morghulis," Arya repeated. It wasn't hard. Her fingers closed tight over the coin. Across the yard, she could hear men dying. "Please don't go, Jaqen."

"Jaqen is as dead as Arry," he said sadly, "and I have promises to keep. Valar morghulis, Arya Stark. Say it again."

"Valar morghulis," she said once more, and the stranger in Jaqen's clothes bowed to her and stalked off through the darkness, cloak swirling. She was alone with the dead men. They deserved to die, Arya told herself, remembering all those Ser Amory Lorch had killed at the holdfast by the lake.

The cellars under Kingspyre were empty when she returned to her bed of straw. She whispered her names to her pillow, and when she was done she added, "Valar morghulis," in a small soft voice, wondering what it meant. (ACOK, Arya IX)

Words by a mentor. The phrase becomes a mantra, it is repeatedly tied to her revenge name list and Jaqen’s iron coin and being unafraid. But she never learns what it means until Braavos. She is merely repeating the words, devoid of meaning. Parroting, the same way Sandor accuses Sansa of doing. But like with Sansa, the action serves to strengthen her.

"Valar morghulis," she told the old gods of the north. She liked how the words sounded when she said them.  (ACOK, Arya X)

And..

She was only ten, a skinny girl on a stolen horse with a dark forest ahead of her and men behind who would gladly cut off her feet. Yet somehow she felt calmer than she ever had in Harrenhal. The rain had washed the guard's blood off her fingers, she wore a sword across her back, wolves were prowling through the dark like lean grey shadows, and Arya Stark was unafraid. Fear cuts deeper than swords, she whispered under her breath, the words that Syrio Forel had taught her, and Jaqen's words too, valar morghulis. (ASOS, Arya I)

And..

The captain turned it over and blinked at it, then looked at her again. "This . . . how . . . ?"

Jaqen said to say the words too. Arya crossed her arms against her chest. "Valar morghulis," she said, as loud as if she'd known what it meant.  (ASOS, Arya XIII)

In Braavos, Arya begins to learn Braavosi, a variant of Valyrian. She becomes a multi-lingual servant in the House of Black and White, tasked with becoming no one, but always secretly being Arya Stark inside. A different kind of armor, a different kind of flying creature. Always playing a role.

Not Randomly:

Archmaester Ebrose, who has made a study of all known accounts of the affliction, believes that it is spread by the butterflies that the Peaceful People revere. For this reason, the disease is oft called butterfly fever. Some believe the fever is carried only by one particular sort of butterfly (a large black-and-white variety with wings as big as a man's hand is favored by Ebrose), but this remains conjecture.

Whether the butterflies of Naath are true handmaids of the Lord of Harmony, or no more than common insects like their cousins in the Seven Kingdoms, it may well be that the Naathi are not wrong in regarding them as guardians. (The World of Ice and Fire – Beyond the Free Cities: Naath)

So we have a connection to a lovely but deadly creature of black and white and Naath. A handmaid. A guardian. Let us keep that in mind, also.

Now let us look at Dany and Missandei directly.

This is how Missandei is introduced to us in ASOS, Daenerys II, when she negotiates for the Unsullied.

“Tell the Westerosi whore to lower her eyes,” the slaver Kraznys mo Nakloz complained to the slave girl who spoke for him. “I deal in meat, not metal. The bronze is not for sale. Tell her to look at the soldiers. Even the dim purple eyes of a sunset savage can see how magnificent my creatures are, surely.”

Kraznys’s High Valyrian was twisted and thickened by the characteristic growl of Ghis, and flavored here and there with words of slaver argot. Dany understood him well enough, but she smiled and looked blankly at the slave girl, as if wondering what he might have said.

“The Good Master Kraznys asks, are they not magnificent?” The girl spoke the Common Tongue well, for one who had never been to Westeros. No older than ten, she had the round flat face, dusky skin, and golden eyes of Naath. The Peaceful People, her folk were called. All agreed that they made the best slaves.

“They might be adequate to my needs,” Dany answered. It had been Ser Jorah’s suggestion that she speak only Dothraki and the Common Tongue while in Astapor. My bear is more clever than he looks. “Tell me of their training.”

“The Westerosi woman is pleased with them, but speaks no praise, to keep the price down,” the translator told her master. “She wishes to know how they were trained.”

Missandei of Naath, a pretty bird from the Summer Isles, repeating the words they tell her. But she, too, does more than that. She translates and manipulates at the same time, conveying intentions, hiding discourtesy. A diplomat, wrapped in lady’s armor. A girl of ten. With eyes as golden as Nymeria’s. She is, and the text doesn’t emphasize this enough, extremely intelligent. She doesn’t know Dany but she is able to read her reasonably well, while translating literally and figuratively, simultaneously. She is basically playing a Game of Faces, reading, translating, lying, repeating… She is basically a character that connects Arya and Sansa on the concept of lying and truth.

 His girl conveyed the essence of his speech, more politely. (…)

“Tell her how pretty the pyramids are at night,” the slaver growled. “Tell her I will lick honey off her breasts, or allow her to lick honey off mine if she prefers.”

“Astapor is most beautiful at dusk, Your Grace,” said the slave girl. “The Good Masters light silk lanterns on every terrace, so all the pyramids glow with colored lights. Pleasure barges ply the Worm, playing soft music and calling at the little islands for food and wine and other delights.”

Missandei is a poet. She also echoes another poet.

She pictured the two of them sitting together in a garden with puppies in their laps, or listening to a singer strum upon a lute while they floated down the Mander on a pleasure barge. If I give him sons, he may come to love me. She would name them Eddard and Brandon and Rickon, and raise them all to be as valiant as Ser Loras. And to hate Lannisters, too. In Sansa's dreams, her children looked just like the brothers she had lost. Sometimes there was even a girl who looked like Arya. (ASOS, Sansa II)

Brothers and dreams. Let us keep that in mind, as well.

In ASOS, Daenerys III, Dany acquires the Unsullied at the “price” of a dragon, and gets Missandei tossed in as a bonus.

“Done,” the slave girl translated, “and done, and done, eight times done.”

“The Unsullied will learn your savage tongue quick enough,” added Kraznys mo Nakloz, when all the arrangements had been made, “but until such time you will need a slave to speak to them. Take this one as our gift to you, a token of a bargain well struck.”

“I shall,” said Dany.

The slave girl rendered his words to her, and hers to him. If she had feelings about being given for a token, she took care not to let them show. (…)

 Dany turned away from him, to the slave girl standing meekly beside her litter. “Do you have a name, or must you draw a new one every day from some barrel?”

“That is only for Unsullied,” the girl said. Then she realized the question had been asked in High Valyrian. Her eyes went wide. “Oh.”

“Your name is Oh?”

“No. Your Grace, forgive this one her outburst. Your slave’s name is Missandei, but …”

“Missandei is no longer a slave. I free you, from this instant. Come ride with me in the litter, I wish to talk.” Rakharo helped them in, and Dany drew the curtains shut against the dust and heat. “If you stay with me you will serve as one of my handmaids,” she said as they set off. “I shall keep you by my side to speak for me as you spoke for Kraznys. But you may leave my service whenever you choose, if you have father or mother you would sooner return to.”

“This one will stay,” the girl said. “This one … I … there is no place for me to go. This … I will serve you, gladly.”

"I can give you freedom, but not safety," Dany warned. "I have a world to cross and wars to fight. You may go hungry. You may grow sick. You may be killed."

"Valar morghulis," said Missandei, in High Valyrian.

"All men must die," Dany agreed, "but not for a long while, we may pray." She leaned back on the pillows and took the girl's hand. (ASOS, Daenerys III)

 Does she have a name. Still careful to guard her words. She will speak for Dany like she did for Kraznys. (Dany = Kraznys.) She has no other place to go.  Valar morghulis.

Honestly, I wonder if Missandei truly did not know that Dany could speak Valyrian, or if the wide eyes and “Oh!” reaction were an act. 

Have two Arya parallels:

"You are," he said, "but the House of Black and White is no place for Arya, of House Stark."

"Please," she said. "I have no place to go." (AFFC, Arya I)

We know how deeply genuine Arya’s devotion to the Faceless Men is…

And bilingual fun.

She said a silent Prayer to the god of many faces, slipped out of her alcove, and flounced up to the guardsmen. Mercy, Mercy, Mercy. "My lords," she said, "do you speak Braavosi? Oh, please, tell me you do." The two guardsmen exchanged a look. "What's this Thing going on about?" the older one asked. "Who is she?" "One of the mummers," said the pretty one. He pushed his fair hair back off his brow and smiled at her. "Sorry, sweetling, we don't speak your gibble-gabble." Fuss and feathers, Mercy thought, they only know the Common Tongue. That was no good. Give it up or go ahead. She could not give it up. She wanted him so bad. "I know your tongue, a little," she lied, with Mercy's sweetest smile. "You are lords of Westeros, my friend said." (TWOW, Mercy)

Dany uses the chance to grill Missandei on the loyalty of the Unsullied.

“If I did resell them, how would I know they could not be used against me?” Dany asked pointedly. “Would they do that? Fight against me, even do me harm?”

“If their master commanded. They do not question, Your Grace. All the questions have been culled from them. They obey.” She looked troubled. “When you are … when you are done with them … Your Grace might command them to fall upon their swords.”

“And even that, they would do?”

“Yes.” Missandei’s voice had grown soft. “Your Grace.”

Dany squeezed her hand. “You would sooner I did not ask it of them, though. Why is that? Why do you care?”

“This one does not … I … Your Grace …”

“Tell me.”

The girl lowered her eyes. “Three of them were my brothers once, Your Grace.”

Then I hope your brothers are as brave and clever as you. (ASOS, Daenerys III)

What other reason does Missandei have to not want to leave? Because she has THREE brothers within the ranks of the Unsullied.  Brothers who have been harmed, twisted, enslaved. Brothers she may want to guard, like the butterflies of Naath.

From the moment we meet her, and certainly after she is handed over to Dany, Missandei serves as a tie to the human suffering on Display with the Unsullied. She explains the gruesome “training". She reveals having brothers among them when faced with the possibility that Dany might order their suicide. 

But she also serves to comfort Dany numerous times in a way that Irri (her “not a sex slave”) cannot.

She sings.

The hours crept by on turtle feet. Even after Jhiqui rubbed the knots from her shoulders, Dany was too restless for sleep. Missandei offered to sing her a lullaby of the Peaceful People, but Dany shook her head. “Bring me Arstan,” she said. (ASOS, Daenerys IV)

She tells her stories of her home.

Do all gods feel so lonely? Some must, surely. Missandei had told her of the Lord of Harmony, worshiped by the Peaceful People of Naath; he was the only true god, her little scribe said, the god who always was and always would be, who made the moon and stars and earth, and all the creatures that dwelt upon them. Poor Lord of Harmony. Dany pitied him. It must be terrible to be alone for all time, attended by hordes of butterfly women you could make or unmake at a word. (ASOS, Daenerys VI)

 Who else serves a “one true God”? Arya, with the many-faced god. With his servants in black-and-white. Dany hears a lot about the culture of the Peaceful People from Missandei. She seems to find it relaxing. 

“Are there many flies on Naath, Missandei?”

“On Naath there are butterflies,” the scribe responded in the Common Tongue. “More wine?”

“No. I must hold court soon.” Dany had grown very fond of Missandei. The little scribe with the big golden eyes was wise beyond her years. She is brave as well. She had to be, to survive the life she’s lived. One day she hoped to see this fabled isle of Naath. Missandei said the Peaceful People made music instead of war. They did not kill, not even animals; they ate only fruit and never flesh. The butterfly spirits sacred to their Lord of Harmony protected their isle against those who would do them harm. Many conquerors had sailed on Naath to blood their swords, only to sicken and die. The butterflies do not help them when the slave ships come raiding, though. “I am going to take you home one day, Missandei,” Dany promised. If I had made the same promise to Jorah, would he still have sold me? “I swear it.”

“This one is content to stay with you, Your Grace. Naath will be there, always. You are good to this—to me.”

“And you to me.” Dany took the girl by the hand. “Come help me dress.” (ASOS, Daenerys VI)

 I think Dany is projecting a lot onto Missandei. Her longing for home, for childhood. For loyalty. And yet…

Daario and Ben Plumm, Grey Worm, Irri, Jhiqui, Missandei … as she looked at them Dany found herself wondering which of them would betray her next. (ASOS, Daenerys VI)

And here Missandei witnesses an interesting turn of events.

Dany thought a moment. “Any man who wishes to sell himself into slavery may do so. Or woman.” She raised a hand. “But they may not sell their children, nor a man his wife.”

“In Astapor the city took a tenth part of the price, each time a slave changed hands,” Missandei told her.

“We’ll do the same,” Dany decided. Wars were won with gold as much as swords. “A tenth part. In gold or silver coin, or ivory. Meereen has no need of saffron, cloves, or zorse hides.” (ASOS, Daenerys VI)

Instead of eradicating slave trade, Dany allows it to wobble back into existence, because she had no better plan. Curiously, Missandei seems to support, even enable this. She turns Dany’s attention toward the Astapori practice. Why? That is.. seriously odd, for a former slave who is supposedly enarmored with Dany’s anti-slavery crucade, and thus loyal to her.

Missandei remains gentle, caring, ever so attentive. As Dany struggles with ruling Meereen, Missandei is there to hold her hand.

She was Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, khaleesi and queen, Mother of Dragons, slayer of warlocks, breaker of chains, and there was no one in the world that she could trust.

“Your Grace?” Missandei stood at her elbow wrapped in a bedrobe, wooden sandals on her feet. “I woke, and saw that you were gone. Did you sleep well? What are you looking at?”

“My city,” said Dany. “I was looking for a house with a red door, but by night all the doors are black.”

“A red door?” Missandei was puzzled. “What house is this?”

“No house. It does not matter.” Dany took the younger girl by the hand. “Never lie to me, Missandei. Never betray me.”

“I never would,” Missandei promised. “Look, dawn comes.”

The sky had turned a cobalt blue from the horizon to the zenith, and behind the line of low hills to the east a glow could be seen, pale gold and oyster pink. Dany held Missandei’s hand as they watched the sun come up. (ASOS, Daenerys VI)

 Dany promises to take her home, Missandei promises to never betray her. Or “promises”? She now knows that Dany is certainly concerned with fear of betrayal. Yet her gentle presence allows Dany to refocus when she was tempted to leave Meereen behind.

“There is nothing to stay for,” said Brown Ben Plumm.

“Your Grace, the slavers brought their doom on themselves,” said Daario Naharis.

“You have brought freedom as well,” Missandei pointed out.

“Freedom to starve?” asked Dany sharply. “Freedom to die? Am I a dragon, or a harpy?” Am I mad? Do I have the taint? (ASOS, Daenerys VI)

Dany ends ASOS choosing to stay, to rule.

Of course, the deterioration of Meereen has a devastating personal effect on Missandei. Her brother is murdered.

She could hear the soft sounds of sobs. “Who is that weeping?”

“Your slave Missandei.” Jhiqui had a taper in her hand.

“My servant. I have no slaves.” Dany did not understand. “Why does she weep?”

“For him who was her brother,” Irri told her. (ADWD, Daenerys II)

(Subtext: Irri sees no difference between Missandei and a slave. Dany does not understand. She does not really comprehend how to MAKE it different.)

Mossador. Dany made a fist. Missandei and her brothers had been taken from their home on Naath by raiders from the Basilisk Isles and sold into slavery in Astapor. Young as she was, Missandei had shown such a gift for tongues that the Good Masters had made a scribe of her. Mossador and Marselen had not been so fortunate. They had been gelded and made into Unsullied. (ADWD, Daenerys II)

I wonder what happened to the third brother? Has he died by this point, as well?

Dany decides to employ torture to investigate the murder of Missandei’s brother and others by the Sons of the Harpy. The torture of a suspect’s innocent daughters, to be exact. Another step toward villainy.

When she returned to her rooms atop the pyramid, she found Missandei crying softly on her pallet, trying as best she could to muffle the sound of her sobs. “Come sleep with me,” she told the little scribe. “Dawn will not come for hours yet.”

“Your Grace is kind to this one.” Missandei slipped under the sheets. “He was a good brother.”

Dany wrapped her arms about the girl. “Tell me of him.”

“He taught me how to climb a tree when we were little. He could catch fish with his hands. Once I found him sleeping in our garden with a hundred butterflies crawling over him. He looked so beautiful that morning, this one … I mean, I loved him.” (ADWD, Daenerys II)

Mossador sounds a lot like Bran. Climbing, fishing.

Compare the images:

The night the bird had come from Winterfell, Eddard Stark had taken the girls to the castle godswood, an acre of elm and alder and black cottonwood overlooking the river. The heart tree there was a great oak, its ancient limbs overgrown with smokeberry vines; they knelt before it to offer their thanksgiving, as if it had been a weirwood. Sansa drifted to sleep as the moon rose, Arya several hours later, curling up in the grass under Ned's cloak. All through the dark hours he kept his vigil alone. When dawn broke over the city, the dark red blooms of dragon's breath surrounded the girls where they lay. "I dreamed of Bran," Sansa had whispered to him. "I saw him smiling."

"He was going to be a knight," Arya was saying now. "A knight of the Kingsguard. Can he still be a knight?" (AGOT, Eddard V)

Asleep in the godswood like Mossador had been in the garden. Surrounded by dragon’s breath flowers like he had been covered by butterflies. Two sisters thinking of their brother, terribly harmed. Where Bran survived, Mossador did not.

“As he loved you.” Dany stroked the girl’s hair. “Say the word, my sweet, and I will send you from this awful place. I will find a ship somehow and send you home. To Naath.”

“I would sooner stay with you. On Naath I’d be afraid. What if the slavers came again? I feel safe when I’m with you.”

Safe. The word made Dany’s eyes fill up with tears. “I want to keep you safe.”

Missandei was only a child. With her, she felt as if she could be a child too. “No one ever kept me safe when I was little. Well, Ser Willem did, but then he died, and Viserys … I want to protect you but … it is so hard. To be strong. I don’t always know what I should do. I must know, though. I am all they have. I am the queen … the … the …”

“… mother,” whispered Missandei.

“Mother to dragons.” Dany shivered.

“No. Mother to us all.” Missandei hugged her tighter. “Your Grace should sleep. Dawn will be here soon, and court.”

“We’ll both sleep, and dream of sweeter days. Close your eyes.” When she did, Dany kissed her eyelids and made her giggle.

 And reading this, I just realized that there is a clear parallel to someone else: Taena Merryweather. Where Irri parallels the sexual abuse aspect, Missandei parallels the “sweet confidant” aspect of her relationship with Cersei. Sharing a bed, telling stories, secrets. We know how loyal Taena was to Cersei. 

Missandei just lost her brother whom she loved enough to weep copiously for, yet she ends up comforting Dany, the exchange becomes about Dany. This reads sweet and mutual, but IS IT REALLY when you keep that turn of the conversation in mind?

Dany keeps projecting onto Missandei, and I think Missandei knows. I think Missandei is very aware of this and using it to stay afloat. Not because she is evil but because she is simply trying to survive and do anything he can to try and keep in contact with her brothers, to protect them. Her connection to Dany is the best way to do that.

 Missandei keeps witnessing Dany’s lower points:

When Daenerys returned to her pyramid, sore of limb and sick of heart, she found Missandei reading some old scroll whilst Irri and Jhiqui argued about Rakharo. “You are too skinny for him,” Jhiqui was saying. “You are almost a boy. Rakharo does not bed with boys. This is known.” Irri bristled back. “It is known that you are almost a cow. Rakharo does not bed with cows.”

“Rakharo is blood of my blood. His life belongs to me, not you,” Dany told the two of them. (ADWD, Daenerys VI)

Interestingly, she is also reading “old scrolls”. Educating herself.

Dany remains happily intrusive in her command over her “handmaiden’s” bodies. It accompanies a very strange exchange between them.

A cool wind was blowing on her terrace. Dany sighed with pleasure as she slipped into the waters of her pool. At her command, Missandei stripped off her clothes and climbed in after her. “This one heard the Astapori scratching at the walls last night,” the little scribe said as she was washing Dany’s back.

Irri and Jhiqui exchanged a look. “No one was scratching,” said Jhiqui.

“Scratching … how could they scratch?”

“With their hands,” said Missandei. “The bricks are old and crumbling. They are trying to claw their way into the city.”

“This would take them many years,” said Irri. “The walls are very thick. This is known.”

“It is known,” agreed Jhiqui.

“I dream of them as well.” Dany took Missandei’s hand. “The camp is a good half-mile from the city, my sweetling. No one was scratching at the walls.”

“Your Grace knows best,” said Missandei. (ADWD, Daenerys VI)

 It is not the Astapori scratching.

For a moment he saw only the blackened arches of the bricks above, scorched by dragonflame. A trickle of ash caught his eye, betraying movement. Something pale, half-hidden, stirring. He's made himself a cave, the prince realized. A burrow in the brick. The foundations of the Great Pyramid of Meereen were massive and thick to support the weight of the huge structure overhead; even the interior walls were three times thicker than any castle's curtain walls. But Viserion had dug himself a hole in them with flame and claw, a hole big enough to sleep in. (ADWD, The Dragontamer)

So Missandei is hearing the warning signs the others are missing.

Dany is trying, but the true cost of ruling – the abdication of one’s most personal choices toward the benefit of the many - chafes hard. Interestingly, Missandei is unusually outspoken on the subject. Downright testing the waters of her influence on the friendship track.

 “Your Grace needs more than wine to break her fast. You are such a tiny thing, and you will surely need your strength today.”

That made Daenerys laugh, coming from a girl so small. She relied so much on the little scribe that she oft forgot that Missandei had only turned eleven. They shared the food together on her terrace. As Dany nibbled on an olive, the Naathi girl gazed at her with eyes like molten gold and said, “It is not too late to tell them that you have decided not to wed.”

It is, though, the queen thought, sadly. “Hizdahr’s blood is ancient and noble. Our joining will join my freedmen to his people. When we become as one, so will our city.”

“Your Grace does not love the noble Hizdahr. This one thinks you would sooner have another for your husband.”

I must not think of Daario today. “A queen loves where she must, not where she will.”

Her appetite had left her. “Take this food away,” she told Missandei. “It is time I bathed.” (ADWD, Daenerys VII)

 Eyes like molten gold. Molten gold, a golden crown that men shall tremble to behold. Ominous.

I wonder what Missandei’s endgame here is. Why does she oppose the marriage? Why did she propose the slave sale tax?

 Dany relies on Missandei emotionally. But Missandei seems to pull back, now that Dany did marry Hizdahr.

Dany flinched. “Who is there?”

“Only Missandei.” The Naathi scribe moved closer to the bed. “This one heard you crying.”

“Crying? I was not crying. Why would I cry? I have my peace, I have my king, I have everything a queen might wish for. You had a bad dream, that was all.”

“As you say, Your Grace.” She bowed and made to go.

“Stay,” said Dany. “I do not wish to be alone.”

“His Grace is with you,” Missandei pointed out.

“His Grace is dreaming, but I cannot sleep. On the morrow I must bathe in blood. The price of peace.” She smiled wanly and patted the bed. “Come. Sit. Talk with me.”

“If it please you.” Missandei sat down beside her. “What shall we talk of?”

“Home,” said Dany. “Naath. Butterflies and brothers. Tell me of the things that make you happy, the things that make you giggle, all your sweetest memories. Remind me that there is still good in the world.”

Missandei did her best. She was still talking when Dany finally fell to sleep, to dream queer, half-formed dreams of smoke and fire.

The morning came too soon. (ADWD, Daenerys VIII)

 Missandei did not correct herself when she used “this one”, like she used to before. She does not enthusiastically agree to stay with her. “If it please you” is a phrase used with monarchs like Joffrey, Cersei, Stannis. Dany used it on Viserys, to placate him. 

Missandei becomes even more openly critical just before the fighting pits open.

“Even if the pits must open, must Your Grace go yourself?” asked Missandei as she was washing the queen’s hair.

“Half of Meereen will be there to see me, gentle heart.”

“Your Grace,” said Missandei, “this one begs leave to say that half of Meereen will be there to watch men bleed and die.”

She is not wrong, the queen knew, but it makes no matter. (ADWD, Daenerys IX)

Once again, no correction on the “this one”. She doesn’t bother anymore. Still she makes a last-ditch effort to use her emotional influence on Dany. To no avail. Why does she not want Dany to go? Is it the principle of the thing? Is it to subvert the union? Is it because she knows something is going to happen? Does she Need Dany on a particular path? 

 Just before she leaves for the fighting pits, Dany has her last interaction with Missandei.

Missandei reemerged. “Your Grace. The king bids you join him when you are dressed. And Prince Quentyn has come with his Dornish Men. They beg a word, if that should please you.”

Little about this day shall please me. “Some other day.” (ADWD, Daenerys IX)

That’s it. Brushed off. Missandei stays behind. Dany goes to the pit.

Next we see her is in ADWD, The Queensguard. She is mostly unsupervised, alone.

The royal apartments were still and silent. Hizdahr had not taken up residence there, preferring to establish his own suite of rooms deep in the heart of the Great Pyramid, where massive brick walls surrounded him on all sides. Mezzara, Miklaz, Qezza, and the rest of the queen’s young cupbearers—hostages in truth, but both Selmy and the queen had become so fond of them that it was hard for him to think of them that way—had gone with the king, whilst Irri and Jhiqui departed with the other Dothraki. Only Missandei remained, a forlorn little ghost haunting the queen’s chambers at the apex of the pyramid. (ADWD, The Queensguard)

Dany and Selmy can forget that the kids are hostages. But Theon shows us that they never forget what they are. Irri and Jhiqui remain Dothraki. And Missandei? What IS she up to?

We gain a few more insights on her interactions in Meereen.

“She might be flying home,” he told himself, aloud.

“No,” murmured a soft voice behind him. “She would not do that, ser. She would not go home without us.”

Ser Barristan turned. “Missandei. Child. How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long. This one is sorry if she has disturbed you.” She hesitated. “Skahaz mo Kandaq wishes words with you.”

“The Shavepate? You spoke with him?” That was rash, rash. The enmity ran deep between Shakaz and the king, and the girl was clever enough to know that. Skahaz had been outspoken in his opposition to the queen’s marriage, a fact Hizdahr had not forgotten. “Is he here? In the pyramid?”

“When he wishes. He comes and goes, ser.”

Yes. He would. “Who told you he wants words with me?”

“A Brazen Beast. He wore an owl mask.”

 Like Arya as a cupbearer, Missandei is both visible and invisible and has the opportunity to fade into the background but also make contact with numerous people while she had Dany’s ear, hypothetically. We certainly know that Missandei disapproved of Hizdahr, as well. Also, she is sneaky and can listen to conversations. We know she reads scrolls. Her outward appearance remains that of a loyal believer.

Selmy immediately decides to make use of that ability.

The worst were those who played the game of thrones. “Can you find this owl again?” he asked Missandei.

“This one can try, ser.”

“Tell him I will speak with … with our friend … after dark, by the stables.” The pyramid’s main doors were closed and barred at sunset. The stables would be quiet at that hour. “Make certain it is the same owl.” It would not serve to have the wrong Brazen Beast hear of this.

“This one understands.” Missandei turned as if to go, then paused a moment and said, “It is said that the Yunkai’i have ringed the city all about with scorpions, to loose iron bolts into the sky should Drogon return.”

Ser Barristan had heard that too. “It is no simple thing to slay a dragon in the sky. In Westeros, many tried to bring down Aegon and his sisters. None succeeded.”

Missandei nodded. It was hard to tell if she was reassured. “Do you think that they will find her, ser? The grasslands are so vast, and dragons leave no tracks across the sky.”

“Aggo and Rakharo are blood of her blood … and who knows the Dothraki sea better than Dothraki?” He squeezed her shoulder. “They will find her if she can be found.” If she still lives. There were other khals who prowled the grass, horselords with khalasars whose riders numbered in the tens of thousands. But the girl did not need to hear that. “You love her well, I know. I swear, I shall keep her safe.”

The words seemed to give the girl some comfort. Words are wind, though, Ser Barristan thought. How can I protect the queen when I am not with her?

 Look at her tickling dragon-killing information out of Selmy while appearing very concerned for Dany.

Afterward, back at the apex of the pyramid, Ser Barristan found Missandei amongst piles of scrolls and books, reading. “Stay here tonight, child,” he told her. “Whatever happens, whatever you see or hear, do not leave the queen’s chambers.”

“This one hears,” the girl said. “If she may ask—”

“Best not.” Ser Barristan stepped out alone onto the terrace gardens. I am not made for this, he reflected as he looked out over the sprawling city. The pyramids were waking, one by one, lanterns and torches flickering to life as shadows gathered in the streets below. Plots, ploys, whispers, lies, secrets within secrets, and somehow I have become part of them. (ADWD, The Kingbreaker)

 Again, reading scrolls and books. Again fishing for information. (Understandably, but also probably not innocently.)

 Next, she is caring for Quentyn Martell on his deathbed.

Missandei sat at the bedside. She had been with the prince night and day, tending to such needs as he could express, giving him water and milk of the poppy when he was strong enough to drink, listening to the few tortured words he gasped out from time to time, reading to him when he fell quiet, sleeping in her chair beside him. (ADWD, The Queen’s Hand)

So she is undaunted in the face of death and physical atrocity, much like Arya. Giving comfort to the infirm not unlike Sansa with Sweetrobin.

She assumes the role of confidant for Selmy, as well. Seamless.

The tiny Naathi scribe looked up at his approach. “Honored ser. The prince is beyond pain now. His Dornish gods have taken him home. See? He smiles.”

How can you tell? He has no lips. It would have been kinder if the dragons had devoured him. That at least would have been quick. This … Fire is a hideous way to die. Small wonder half the hells are made of flame. “Cover him.”

Missandei pulled the coverlet over the prince’s face. “What will be done with him, ser? He is so very far from home.”

“I’ll see that he’s returned to Dorne.” But how? As ashes? That would require more fire, and Ser Barristan could not stomach that. We’ll need to strip the flesh from his bones. Beetles, not boiling. The silent sisters would have seen to it at home, but this was Slaver’s Bay. The nearest silent sister was ten thousand leagues away. “You should go sleep now, child. In your own bed.”

“If this one may be so bold, ser, you should do the same. You do not sleep the whole night through.”

Not for many years, child. Not since the Trident. Grand Maester Pycelle had once told him that old men do not need as much sleep as the young, but it was more than that. He had reached that age when he was loath to close his eyes, for fear that he might never open them again. Other men might wish to die in bed asleep, but that was no death for a knight of the Kingsguard.

“The nights are too long,” he told Missandei, “and there is much and more to do, always. Here, as in the Seven Kingdoms. But you have done enough for now, child. Go and rest.” And if the gods are good, you will not dream of dragons. (The Queen’s Hand)

Child he calls her, and yet…

“Ransom,” said Ser Barristan. “Each man’s weight in gold.”

“The Wise Masters do not need our gold, ser,” said Marselen. “They are richer than your Westerosi lords, every one.”

“Their sellswords will want the gold, though. What are the hostages to them? If the Yunkishmen refuse, it will drive a blade between them and their hirelings.” Or so I hope. It had been Missandei who suggested the ploy to him. He would never have thought of such a thing himself. In King’s Landing, bribes had been Littlefinger’s domain, whilst Lord Varys had the task of fostering division amongst the crown’s enemies. His own duties had been more straightforward. Eleven years of age, yet Missandei is as clever as half the men at this table and wiser than all of them. (The Queen’s Hand)

 He takes political advice from the eleven-year-old translator. And he never stops to wonder what else she might be up to. Missandei is no sweet, innocent follower. Missandei is brilliant. She is a patient player. And she hides it so well.

 In Dany’s mind, Missandei remains ever her loyal handmaiden.

 Jhiqui and Irri would be waiting atop her pyramid back in Meereen, she told herself.

Her sweet scribe Missandei as well, and all her little pages. They would bring her food, and she could bathe in the pool beneath the persimmon tree. It would be good to feel clean again. Dany did not need a glass to know that she was filthy. (ADWD, Daenerys X)

and

As the world darkened, Dany settled in and closed her eyes, but sleep refused to come. The night was cold, the ground hard, her belly empty. She found herself thinking of Meereen, of Daario, her love, and Hizdahr, her husband, of Irri and Jhiqui and sweet Missandei, Ser Barristan and Reznak and Skahaz Shavepate. Do they fear me dead? I flew off on a dragon’s back. Will they think he ate me? (ADWD, Daenerys X)

Does she want her alive or dead? And what path does she want her to follow? Missandei’s specific goals are a mystery to me.

But I am loving this.

That relationship is one giant cauldron bubbling away. A big sign saying “Watch this Space”. I am excited for this. Considering the parallels to the Stark sisters, especially Arya, but also to Taena Merryweather, I am fairly certain Missandei is going to betray Dany and play a role in at least a significant setback for her. I do NOT think that Missandei genuinely cares for Dany. The details of her aims are fuzzy to me, but I suspect it’s going to prioritize her brothers.

Considering she was the last to care for Quentyn, I would be especially excited if she somehow came into contact with Dorne, especially Arianne and Aegon, before the end.

 So yeah, those are my thoughts on that relationship.

[yodawgiherd]

You Were Never Truly Gone ch.9

>>>Read on AO3<<<

This chapter was... difficult to write after the full ending, and I will put deeper reasoning in the end note. Anyway, I hope that you will like it, it's basically plot only ^^

“I’m not going to marry the Shogun because I will be one.”

Those words were supposed to mean something, but they just hopped around inside Kiyomi’s mind before flying out, leaving nothing behind. They just didn’t make sense, put together like this.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I will be Shogun.”

“No, you will marry the Shogun you…”

“No, I will be the Shogun.”

There was no spark in Mikasa’s eyes as she spoke, no hidden smile, but it was so absurd that Kiyomi burst out laughing anyway.

“That has to be the worst joke I have ever heard, lady Mikasa. Now…”, she tried standing up, the chair scraping the floor, “let us go before…”

“Sit.”, this time it was from Eren, and she found herself seated before Kiyomi even realized why, “Mikasa is not finished.”

“She is, obviously, she is simply making fun of me.”

Slowly and surely, the raven shook her head.

“I am not.”

“You are joking, you have to be,”, Kiyomi rambled, “all you ever wanted was a quiet and peaceful life, right? I can… I can give it to you, I can give you that solitude you want…”

She half-raised her hand, almost reaching over the table.

“You never asked to be special, you never wanted that burden on your shoulders. I understand and I will help – all you must do is follow the plan and you can have everything you ever asked for. Please, stop this nonsense.”

Mikasa’s eyes didn’t budge, meeting Kiyomi’s pleading ones without flinching. Her hand holding onto Eren’s tightened a bit, but other than that she remained still, as her lips formed the word the old woman feared.

“No.”

“B-But…”

“Listen, I know that you mean well for me, that all you want is for your country to be stable in this ruined world. You are right in almost everything you said, but realize that as the world changed during the war, so did I.”

Mikasa’s voice was not very loud but it carried a commanding tone, one filled with the inner strength Kiyomi admired.

“Do I want a quiet and peaceful life with those I love? Yes. But that is no longer an option.”

“It is if you…”

“Let me finish.”, again, even when interrupting her Mikasa didn’t raise her voice, “Please.”

Seeing that the old woman backed down, the raven continued.

“I have lived my whole childhood behind walls, believing that we are the only human society left. Then, as a teenager, I fought the titans who I believed to be the true enemy of humanity. As an adult, I was told that it was all wrong.”

Behind her, Eren shifted a bit but didn’t say anything, leaving Mikasa in charge.

“You can’t blame me that all I wanted was a safe and stable home, a place at peace. But the world is hellbent on preventing me from having it, in a different way than before but still a valid one. Even if I and Eren hid, even if we ran from it all, the best possible scenario is a delay in the destruction – with the course Paradis is on, it will end up destroyed. I don’t care if it’s a hundred years from now, I don’t care if it's two hundred, I don’t care if it’s a thousand years. In my life, in our life, I want to make it a place that is open and peaceful with the world, not an island marked for destruction. Because if we can’t make it safe for our children and grandchildren, then what did we fight for in the first place?”

Her fingers squeezed Eren’s between them.

“You are right that I would still prefer to have a quiet life somewhere, but I am prepared to sacrifice that solitude in order to have that dream. After all, I realized that home is not a place for me anymore.”, she tilted her head a bit to the side, a tiny smile mirroring that one on Eren’s lips, “It is something I can take with me, anywhere in the world.”

For whatever reason, Kiyomi had a feeling that Mikasa wasn’t talking about the goat.

“Look, that is a nice speech and all, but why would they ever accept you as a Shogun? It makes no sense.”

“Hizuru fell to ruin while it relied on itself – granted, it was mostly caused by the rumbling but your council did little to unite the country. I will bring an outsider perspective, a new and open book that represents Hizuru in its post-war world. Still, without anyone supporting me I would say that you are correct and I have no chance, but I will have a very strong ally on my side.”, once again, the grey gaze speared the old woman in place, “You.”

“No, you are crazy.”, Kiyomi was shaking her head, “I will not support you in this insanity.”

“You don’t really have a choice.”

“I... I don’t have a choice? Me?”, fed up with this, Kiyomi’s fist slammed the table, “You don’t realize that we are in my country now, and I control what happens with you. The Faceless outside? They are sworn to the Shogun but you are not one yet – if I order them to take you they will do so without a second of hesitation.”

She leaned over the table, fuming.

“I can have you locked up in a second, both of you. Sure, your will might be strong but I can take my sweet time breaking you and…”

“You could when I came here,”, Mikasa interrupted her, “But not anymore.”

“… What are you talking about?”

“The parade. All the people who saw me, both here and the harbor, happy and alive and going of my own free will. What do you think they will do if the hero you brought from beyond the sea, the Shogun’s descendant and the last link to his bloodline, will disappear?”

So this was why Mikasa wanted one… this was why she, being usually a very reserved person, insisted on being paraded through the city. This was why….

“You never told the public about your plans, did you?”, the raven went on, “The ruling council knows, but not the ordinary folk – you were preparing this bid for new Shogun and his foreign wife in secret. So, simply exchange it for my scenario – young and motivated ruler, coming from a horrible was she was a hero of. Scarred by her past but ready to be the one we need in these trying times.”

Mikasa was right too, Kiyomi realized to her horror, the situation in Hizuru was on the knife’s edge already, and if the one bargaining chip she brought suddenly went missing that would be enough to boil it over the point of no return. The peasants would storm the very gates of the palace, just to save the blood of the revered Shogun.

“They won’t accept it…”, Kiyomi muttered in her slump, “They will never let you be their ruler.”

“Maybe, but do you realize all the power you could keep? I don’t understand ruling, I am a simple soldier, I would need the council’s help. I would need your help too, Kiyomi.”

Mikasa saw it, saw the tiny flash of greed in the old woman’s eyes, and that’s when she knew that she got her hooked.

“My help?”

“But of course, all the pains and responsibilities… I would very much appreciate it if you were there to help me carry them.”

Power, so much power that could be squeezed out of this situation. A young, inexperienced woman thrust into a role she didn’t understand. She, an old and skilled schemer. Together, they could be unstoppable.

Was it such a risk to Kiyomi herself? If the council went fully against Mikasa she would bow out to save her face – sure, she would lose some credibility and reputation, but it wouldn’t be too bad. If she went carefully about this, she could express her support of Mikasa’s claim without sticking her neck out for her.

So, then…

“I am willing to give it a try.”, she let out slowly, weighing every single word, “However, if everyone turns on you I will not go down with your plan. You have to understand that the chance of the council going with your proposal is minuscule at best, and if they decide that you will marry instead then I won’t be able to stop them.”

A tiny light of hope flashed in Mikasa’s chest.

“That’s all I ask for,”, the replied curtly, “I believe that I can convince them.”

“Remains to be seen.”, standing up for like the third time today, Kiyomi stretched her back with a pop, “Shall we go then?”

“One more thing.”, jerking her thumb towards Eren, Mikasa gave her an apologetic smile, “Do you have a spare Faceless uniform around?”

“……..”

“Well?”

“You want to bring him to the meeting?”

“The Faceless never remove their masks, you said it yourself.”

“Sure, but…”

“I know that you dislike Eren, but he and I are a package deal, I thought that I made that clear.”

“How do you think that the rest of the Faceless guard will react if you just jam your lover between them?”

“I figured that they won’t question it if the order comes from someone as high ranked as you.”, Mikasa had the audacity to blink at her, “Was I wrong?”

Where did this woman come from? Last Kiyomi remembered Mikasa Ackerman was a quiet and timid woman so shocked by her revelation that she couldn’t even speak correctly. This sudden change…

No, it wasn’t sudden at all. Kiyomi remembered this Mikasa too, she showed during the battles and fights, when the goal wasn’t to speak but to fly around and knock skulls together. This goddess in a human form found a way to project her sureness from the battlefield to her everyday life and looking at the man behind her Kiyomi could guess why.

It took her years and an apocalypse nipping at her heels, but Mikasa was a way more adult version of herself now. In a way it made Kiyomi happy because seeing her reach the full potential was amazing, on the other hand it complicated her own schemes. This Mikasa wouldn’t let herself be led around.

“No, I think that I can arrange it.”, pushing herself away from the table, Kiyomi made her way out of the room but not before shooting a last look at the pair.

Impressive.

It was also smart because no one would question a Faceless accompanying the future shogun’s wife -if anything they would congratulate her on integrating into their society so quickly.

The Faceless guard was trained in a lot of ways – fighting, protecting, dying for their master, and most of all not questioning orders. Normally they only took those from a Shogun, but because there was none Kiyomi, as a member of the ruling council, effectively commanded them. Finding a uniform for Eren “Aaron” wasn’t difficult, and soon Kiyomi was waiting outside of the room while Mikasa helped him change.

“There,”, she pulled the last strap tight, “That should be good.”

“Hmm, I hope that it will be enough.”, Eren’s fingers brushed over the mask, “Me getting recognized…”

“… is not going to happen.”, Mikasa finished for him, “Now stop worrying and give me a good luck kiss so we can go, I’m sure that Kiyomi is tearing her hair out by now.”

It was supposed to be just a peck but she wasn’t satisfied with that. Her hands circled Eren’s shoulders while one found its way to the thick of his hair, pushing his face down to meet her height. And then it was teeth, tongue, and everything until she pulled back, a blush dusting her cheeks now.

“There, now I think that I’m ready.”

Grinning, Eren fastened the mask in place, making sure that all his features were hidden from view.

“Shall we?”

Kiyomi’s scowl grew from anxious to disgusted when she saw Mikasa’s red face, very quickly connecting the dots and realizing what took them so long. For once she didn’t comment on it, only motioning for them to follow and taking the lead.

The chambers they were looking for were in the palace, but with the sheer magnitude of the building it was quite a journey. One that got interrupted, by a man that walked up to them with wide eyes and a surprised expression all over his youthful face.

“Mikasa? Lady Ackerman? Is that you?”

“Do I know you?”

“Not yet, but I hope that we will get to know each other soon.”, a cocksure laugh, “Lady Azumabito, would you do the honors?”

There was a badly concealed pained expression on Kiyomi’s face as she gestured towards the man.

“This is Daigo Sawamura, heir to the Sawamura clan and one of the most influential men in Hizuru.”, a short nod towards Mikasa, “Your future husband.”

He was…. young, about Mikasa’s age, with a pleasant face and trained manners. Someone who was born to wealth and raised in it, would probably die in it too. This man never had to fight for his life, never had to starve or scavenge on the streets for the smallest scraps of food. He might be nice, as Kiyomi claimed back on the ship, but almost instantly from meeting him Mikasa could say that life with him would be unbearable to her. Their worlds were miles and miles apart, and she had a feeling that no amount of time spent together would bridge that gap.

Now then, there was no need to be rude.

“O-Oh.”, Mikasa’s eyes ticked from left to right, “I.. Uhm.. nice to meet you?”

Behind her, Eren let out a long breath from behind the Faceless mask. Jealousy was not a new emotion for him, and having it from someone who was introduced as the “future husband” of his lover was understandable. Then again, he couldn’t act on it, since he was… well…

Dead. Or at least supposed to be.

Unphased by her embarrassment and ignorant of Eren’s internal struggle, Daigo took a step forward.

“I’ll admit, I was doubtful when lady Azumabito described your beauty to me, especially considering that you were a soldier your whole life, but now I see how wrong and stupid I was. She didn’t overplay your beauty, she didn’t give it justice instead”, with a practiced and elegant movement, he kissed Mikasa’s hand before straightening with a tight and easy smile on his lips, “Consider me smitten by your uttermost perfection.”

In a way Kiyomi enjoyed the way Eren’s hand tightened, shaking dangerously close to where his sword was. But having Daigo cut down by a “Faceless” would do nothing but throw whatever plans she or Mikasa had out of the window. So, Kiyomi did the smart thing and stepped in.

“I am very sorry, but we are expected by the council.”

“Of course, don’t let me keep you.”, he winked at them, “I was told to meet you there, but I simply couldn’t wait to see you for myself. I heard so much about you, lady Mikasa, all about the barbaric society that you were raised in, all about the heroic deeds you’ve done in the war - I must say that I admire you, you are a hero.”

“T-Thank you.”

“And seeing you now, I do hope that you won’t be offended when I say that our children will be perfect, beautiful, and will indeed save Hizuru. Me and you, our dynasty will lead this country to a glorious future, and it will start by our marriage that I’m already looking forward to.”, he leaned even closer, whispering but they all heard the words anyway, ”Especially the wedding night, my dear fiancé.”

God damn it Daigo.

“That is very kind, but we have to go now.”, pushing herself physically between the smitten noble and Mikasa who was one bad touch from showing him what personal space meant, Kiyomi forcefully separated them, “Excuse us.”

Pulling the girl behind herself and hearing the footsteps of Eren, who luckily didn’t stay behind to gut Daigo, Kiyomi retreated to a safe distance before letting go of Mikasa’s hand. She turned to the girl, fists on her hips.

“How close were you to punching him?”, she asked.

“Very.”

A chuckle from Eren, followed by a muffled “Nice.”

No matter how old he got, Eren Yeager would apparently remain a suicidal blockhead. Attacking a noble in the palace was nothing but trouble.

“I can assure you that decking him would have done a disservice to whatever you are planning.”, Kiyomi deadpanned.

“Then I’m glad you were there with me.”, Mikasa latched on, “See? You are already guiding me, it will only get better once you can instruct me when I’m Shogun.”

Stroking her ego, huh? Well played.

“We should get going, the council is not known for its patience.”

Crossing one corridor and the next, Kiyomi slowly but surely led them towards the ruling chambers. Each and everyone was holding their breath – Kiyomi in her nervousness, Mikasa while she was reciting what to say in her mind, and Eren because his eyes kept going left and right and searching for a possible escape route if the plan went haywire.

With last few steps they were at their destination, a large door guarded by two men in ceremonial armor. Upon seeing Kiyomi they both saluted and were ready to open the entrance on her command.

“You ready?”, the old woman asked Mikasa, getting a shaky nod in return.

Eren wanted to hug her back then, stroke her hair and tell her that everything will be fine, but such an act would break whatever illusion he was hiding behind. Steeling himself against the mushy feelings in his chest, he remained still with back straight, the perfect image of a well-trained guardsman.

After a few more deep breaths Mikasa’s next nod became firm again, and Kiyomi deemed her ready to face the council. With a mumbled order to the men, the door creaked open and the trio stepped in, ready to lay their cards on the table.

[empresspeacock]

Find the White Wolf Pt. 1

Summary: Geralt goes missing and you’re determined to be the one who finds him and brings him home

Pairing: Geralt x Reader

Warnings: Violence, language, slow burn? smut

A/N: I have only watched the show on Netflix, I have never played any of the games or read any of the books. If I break canon, that’s why. Plot based on my imagination, so you do not have to watch the show to enjoy.

Link to Part 2  Link to Part 3  Link to Part 4

Word Count: 1540

It had been what, five, six weeks since you first started looking for Geralt of Rivia? And you were hoping that your latest lead wasn't another dead end. While he was greatly revered for his monster fighting skill, he was also greatly feared by townsfolk. You couldn't ask just anyone if they had seen him in a while, and even if they had seen him and told you what he was doing in their town, no one ever seemed to know where he was headed next.

Geralt was first noticed as missing a few months ago, and given how elusive he normally is, it's quite possible he's been missing longer than that. Other members of his guild were the first one's to realize. They hadn't crossed paths with him in so long that it finally became unusual. Even the prostitutes that he frequented hadn't seen him in a while. Many hoped he wasn't dead. Few who had the privilege to see him fight, or better yet fight beside him, believed he could even be killed. But yet, his long disappearance still worried people.

That's where you came in. You come from a long family line of skilled trackers and this was your first major assignment. Sure, you've looked for other important people before, even by yourself, but usually they were just in the next town or so over or hidden away in their country house trying to evade their responsibilities or just sleeping with their lover. This one was different. This one was difficult, even for the most experienced of your family members. Finding a witcher or a sorcerer always was. Finally, a real challenge.

You approached the mountains that someone said they thought they had seen Geralt heading in the approximate direction of. Maybe someone else along the way had seem him passing by? It wasn't much to go off of, but it was better than nothing. The man was especially difficult to track. He never left evidence of making a fire, he never even left evidence that he had used the restroom. It's part of the Witcher training to leave no trace, to leave nature as it was, but he was especially meticulous. In the distance, you could see a castle coming into view. Great! Maybe someone saw Geralt while they were standing watch. Better yet, maybe he stopped there to rest and mentioned where he was heading off to.

As you got closer, immediately you could tell something was very different from this castle. Almost like something was off honestly. There were no signs of any weathering on the stones. Was this castle brand new? That couldn't be the case. But the person you talked to made no mention of a castle, which seems odd considering how unique this castle is. Maybe the nearby folk don't realize other castles don't look like this. But he should have mentioned a castle nonetheless. The castle looked spotless. You felt a tingling sensation as you began to cross the bridge over the moat. Were your spidey senses tingling?? But as quickly as the tingling started, it went away. You looked down into the moat to see if there were any creatures in there to guard the waters. They were murky, but you didn't notice anything offhand. Except- wait just a minute. There wasn't even moss on the walls where it met the waters. Something is definitely suspicious about this castle.

You stop halfway on the bridge to reconsider knocking on the gates. If you got into some trouble, would you be able to get yourself out of it? Is the moat deep enough for you to jump off the wall into relative safety? Did Geralt possibly notice this strange castle and decide to go inside to investigate? Against your better judgement, you continue across the bridge. Anyone watching you from inside has definitely seen you at this point, so you'd might as well keep going.

The gates are made of finely polished warm, dark wood, which is hardly a surprise at this point. They clearly never get attacked by even so much as an insect. You dismount from your horse and bang the knocker twice. A small window opens up.

"State your business" a gruff female voice said. 

"I'm travelling to Redania and I grew weary. I was hoping you would be willing to let me stay a night or two and then let me be on my way. I'm willing to pay a small fee if necessary," you quickly say. Not entirely a lie, if this castle or the mountains don't work out, you may try finding some witchers in Redania and asking them if they've seen Geralt.

"Very well," the voice said, and the gates began to open. Hardly even a creak came from them. Something is definitely off about this castle. You got back on your horse and rode inside.

If the outside was surprisingly clean, the inside was even more of a shock. Sparkling white marble floors and white stone walls. A beautiful five tiered fountain in the middle of the plaza and crystal chandeliers of different sizes. You couldn't help but gawk at the beauty. How had you never heard of this castle before? Surely everyone would know about it from far and wide, even if it was simply for the fact the walls were spotless on the outside.

A tall, gorgeous woman in a light pink chiffon dress approached you and you quickly dismounted out of respect. Her hair was perfectly coiffed without a single hair out of place, flawless makeup, and long beautiful nails. If you wanted to see what Aphrodite looked like, this woman was probably the closest to her.

"Thank you for your hospitality, m'lady," you say while making a slight bow.

"Oh don't thank me yet, I haven't even helped you!" she purred in her silky, sultry voice. "Tell me, what have you heard about the Castle of Rosodonia?”

You stood up straight and tried to look at her, but it was very difficult. Her eyes sparkled like the finest jewels in all the land and her lips were the perfect shape. You looked at her nose instead to try to maintain a semblance of eye contact. "To be honest, I have never even heard of this castle, much to my surprise. It is beautiful!”

"Mm-yes, we try to maintain a high standard of quality here. You might not have heard of it because we generally serve the elite of the surrounding areas.”

"Oh." you murmured. You had a decent amount of money on you, but certainly not enough to stay in a castle that only serves high-rollers.

"Don't worry about any charges for now, we've been wanting to get a contact into your family for a while now. We'd like to show you a selection of what we offer here in hopes that you will tell family members about us," she cooed. It was so clearly a sales pitch, but the way her voice sounded, you couldn't help but want to say yes. She mentioned getting a contact into your family? What the heck does that mean?

"What exactly do you mean by my family?" you venture. 

"That crest on your necklace, surely that means you are a member of the y/n family?”

"Oh, well yes, but-”

"Purrrrfect" she interrupted. "Now, what kind of drink would you like while I explain the Castle of Rosodonia?" She flashed a smile that was pleasant, but also meant business. Another pretty woman, a handmaiden perhaps, took your horse and the head mistress took your hand and led you to an area with plush low couches. "Your best ale is fine with me," you managed to say.

At some point you need to get a hold of yourself and stop being so easily persuaded by this woman. Sure, she's one of the most stunning women you've ever seen, but you have a mission to complete. You have to find Geralt. Could he have also been charmed by this woman to stay in the castle? If he did, was he unable to leave because this woman trapped him? Or did he simply know better than to knock onto the doors of mysteriously beautiful castles that you have never heard of before. You should not trust the ale this woman gives you.

"My name is Mera of Rosodonia. I am the duchess so to speak. Here we serve the finest food and drink, as well as entertainment of many kinds. Tell me, I know you are weary from your journey, but would you like a companion during your stay here?”

"Uhhhhh, a companion?”

"Yes, male or female?"

Aha, bingo. That's why they only serve the elite. This place is a fancy whore house. You're shocked that they offer male companions though, most places only offer female companions. "Can you show me the male companions please?" Normally you wouldn't do something like this, but if you don't have to pay since Mera said so, you'd might as well enjoy your stay while you're here. Maybe they'll even have someone that matches your type.

"Certainly!" Mera gestured to someone and they ran off. You take a cautious sip of the ale and settle in to enjoy yourself.

[gothrip]

The Beldame Short

The Beldame and The Unicorn   3/25-26/2020

In the beginning magic didn't truly exist. Sure there where soothsayers and cunning folk, but there never was true magic. No creatures of lore, no mysterious forces, nor fae or trolls. The clsoest to magic that was practiced were the Elven peoples with their spiritual connections to nature and the odd rituals they performed. Then, suddenly, as if by an unseen explosion. Magic. Pure and uncontrolled. It ran through the world with reckless abandon, bringing nature to life and changing the beings that came in contact with it. Strange things began to pop up and create chaos where ever they went. The Elven people, respecting nature, feared and revered this new spirit. Was it natural? Was it helpful? Why did their realm set such a force free? There had to be a way to stop it. And stop it they did; For a short time. Magic is as magic does after all. Control is not a word it knows. Studying and planning, rituals of truth and vision, with so many sleepless nights observing and experimenting they found it. What exactly.... was it? I’m not sure, all who were present refuse to speak of it, But they stopped the magic. With a ritual of grand effort they hid it away from the world, not to be seen in the same way ever again.

Now that the history lesson is over lets get to the actual story bit! You see after the magic stopped creating a new. For 16 years it had laid silent, sleeping. A slumbering giant of unknown power. Until one day a girl, ordinary in every way, became lost in the woods. Her home was lost. Chaos erupted in her village, people changing into creatures grotesque and cruel. She had no time to grab her shoes, not even to change from her night gown. She walked through the woods as far as her sore feet would take her. The sounds of the chaos becoming ever softer. The sky was bright, the moon was full and beaming like a wise old creature observing the night. The forest had an unearthly glow to it. The fog rolling across the ground had an odd pulse to it like distant lightning playing amongst the clouds. Still she walked. The calls of creatures that claimed the night as their home echoed. She did not stop. Then there before her, as the mist unfurled itself, a pond. The trees parted and the moonlight shone down on its gentle still surfaces. The creatures hushed like an audience before a show. Come here. The reflection of the moon still and bright seemed to sing. Walk right in, it will be ok. The water still as ever, dark as the night reflected in it with stars glittering about. She thought a moment, looked around to see if that voice was anyone around. It must surely be a trap. A goblin that had followed her and decided to trick her into capture. No? Is it just me? She glanced around unsure of her surroundings. I guess, It is just a pond after all. What harm could come of it? Not entirely sure why, she picked up the bottom of her night gown to the height of her knees and waded in. There in the center of the pond the moon lured her in closer. Sinking to her waist at the deepest, right before the moons reflection. Silence. No more voice, no movement in the water apart from the ripples made as she waded in. Looking around and growing impatient “What am I supposed to do?” The tone she heard in her own voice made her jump. She did not realize how quiet it had become. How silly, hearing voices, alone standing in a pond. Everyone is gone. Her emotions boiled in her stomach rising like steam in her chest. Fat sobs letting out the feelings of the night came in bubbles that couldn’t be controlled as her feelings churned. Her tears fell to the water and the moon rippled in excitement. That is what she was supposed to do. She stilled her sobs and turned to leave, wet and defeated. Two round and deeply blue little eyes looked up at her from the reflection of the moon. A little body, silvery and bright like the moon, shakily stood up and immediately sank into the water. It splashed about, frightened, but didn’t make a sound. A foal? How did that happen! She grabbed onto it’s wiggley little body and pulled it from the water. She sat on the shore line and watched it try to stand. It’s shaky and thin little legs struggled, it looked more like a deer than a foal at times. So odd. What was the most odd was its forehead. Upon it sat a soft blue star that glew in rhythm like a heart. And from the center of that was an icicle. A fragile little horn, slightly clear and reciprocating the glow of the star. “One horn?” It blinked up at her, it’s back legs finally upright but the front stuck on the knees. It leaned in close to her face where she sat near it on the shore and licked her with it's soft tongue. Ew. “Einhorn I shall call you, for now. But I shall give you a proper name when I’m of right mind.” She stood from the shore. A glance made at the reflection, then to the moon itself. “We have to find somewhere for the night, it is becoming late and I'm so tired” She turned going farther into the woods to search for a shelter, her new companion toddling along behind her.

You know, I heard she is still out there. Out in the woods, her companion never far behind. When magic created life, it was inhuman, it didn’t know how to behave or feel. Chaos reigned and the excitement of change and creation ruled. But in the possession of this girl came order, intelligent creatures, ones that made the choice to be good, ones that made the choice of being bad. Her second and third creations were the Fae and the Brownies. Living alone she needed help, and serve her they did. She made them to be like people so they could reproduce and help others in the world. The fourth creatures were made for protection, dragons, griffins, and sphinx. They guarded her part of the forests. They too could reproduce and go out into the land, the only mistake made was their intelligence. Some made they choice of evil, still protection, but of greed and their own gain. The final creatures she made were of beauty, she had finally settled in her new home and wished to have beautiful creatures inhabiting her gardens. There are far too many for me to list here so imagine what you will. She did other things with her magic too, it came naturally to her. Protection, concealment, healing, she controlled the elements even. None can achieve what she has done. Not even close. They have tried, but can only possess a fraction of her power. Trinkets to catch the magic that escaped their imprisonment so long ago, that is how we get witches, magicians, sorcerers, and the like. They sit mighty on their thrones, having lured in and captured her creatures. Using crafted devices to control magic to their will. Little do they know, her creatures, her magic, it will all come back to her aide and leave them barren. And what does she do with all her power? Sit on mounds of riches? Control nations and the mightiest of lords? I would think not, perhaps she sits in her garden. Reading a book of poems, her unicorns head resting on her lap. Concealed. Hidden away. No goblins, no humans, or elves to come and bother her anymore.

[hyannah]

Anon Archives vol. 4 (right?)

full res: x I miss him too. He was the first of the cast I ever designed and without him, there would simply be no TBoA. Rest assured there will be no shortage of him in the comic :) I understand that the concept of Wolfe with facial hair will be like marmite for most of you, but it’s probably something that you should prepare for regardless! Wolfe no longer has use of his hands due to extensive nerve damage and he has to get imaginative with ways to keep his grip on things - but some tools, like razors - are simply impossible for him to use anymore due to his tremors. Before the gang comes together he will be looking quite worse for wear. 

full res: x She calls him “Marty” :) Her mother called him that so it makes him happy. He’s not her father but he loves her as one would. He was the one who delivered her as a baby, though during the process there were complications. She broke her leg on the way out and though Martin was able to treat her, it caused her to walk with a slight limp growing up. Teaching her to dance wasn't just Martin's idea of physiotherapy but his way of showing her how dearly he cared for her. Music and dance are our good doctor's love languages, you see. He will have Twinkletoes refer to him as “Sir” when he reprimands her, but due to some of Martin’s own issues growing up, he hates disciplining children. If he absolutely must, it’s firm but merciful, and under no circumstances would he ever raise his hand to them.

full res: x Michael Graves is one of three of Ashwick’s Senior Wardens, the other being Hunter Gerhardt and an as of now unannounced third. Wardens are the town’s law enforcers who work directly under the church’s orders. Neither entirely police nor militia, they’re a bit of both. Wardens patrol the streets at night and make sure no one is out after Curfew. Wardens are simultaneously feared and revered amongst the deeply religious townsfolk who view them as God-sent, but no one strikes pure terror into their hearts quite like Graves. While Hunter is known for being terrifying but sometimes merciful, Graves holds no such reputation. If gunshots are heard in the night or blood stains the cobblestones in the morning, townfolk know to keep their mouths shut and heads down.

Thank you so much! I still have some demons to battle but I want to get better, and your support means the world.

Thank you! I kinda wanna die when I look at that piece. Damian deserved better than my art in that funky phase and I will capture his true beauty one day.

LOL Bloodborne has been a huuuuge visual influence on me over the last few years. Expect to see some similarities I'm sure.

Thank you ;.; I used Paint Tool Sai religiously but I've unfortunately fallen out of love with it in the last year in favour of Clip Studio Paint. I would highly recommend CSP and since it comes with a one-month free trial you'd be missing out not to give it a go. I occasionally use Photoshop for some final touches but not enough to say it's worth paying that silly subscription fee for. Lately, I've been using Procreate on my iPad. It was one hell of an investment (😔💸) but it was worth it - the iPad feels great to draw on.

Thank you! Yes, definitely expect that. There are a few timeskips in canon and I have outfit changes planned.

Wolfe can sometimes be seen circling a bed or chair a few times before sitting/lying down not unlike a dog would. Rose cannot - and I truly mean this - fathom numbers. To say she is bad at math would be a terrible understatement. Martin needs a few shots of whiskey a day to keep him going but he never seems inebriated so it’s impossible to tell (unless you’re Hunter). Hunter is so tall that churches are the only buildings he doesn’t have to duck to get in to and he Riker Sits everywhere. Gloria is a little superstitious, and Graves is a cigarette smoker. Twinkletoes likes pigeons.

I would certainly recommend it! If drawing inspires you, give it a shot! Though whether or not I recommend going to school for it is a more complicated question. The good thing about pursuing a career in art is that at the end of the day your work ethic and portfolio are your best friends. Having degrees and connections will help in the industry for sure (and why I DO recommend art courses for people who have the money and want to experience student life), but if you're a poor kid that can't shell out the dough for art school or if you studied a different field, or if college didn't/isn't working out for you, it's not the end of the road. You can build your career on your own terms if you're driven enough.

Hm, let's see. I think Wolfe and Gloria would appreciate some sweet treats! Hunter rarely eats anything that isn't meat, and Rose has lived on the road most of her life so campfire food is what she's used to. She's the kind of person you'd see eat something horrifying like uncooked beans straight from the tin. Gloria appreciates her guilty pleasures and Wolfe recalls her sharing taffy with him as a little boy. But those memories are hazy now, and he's long since forgotten the taste.

Oh jeez, that would mean the world to me! As for the dialogue, it’s probably a bit of both honestly haha.

Hunter: 43, Wolfe: 23, Gloria: 41, Martin: 45, Rose: 19, Graves: 38. Some of you may recall Hunter being younger but I had to make a few timeline adjustments. Otherwise, everyone has remained the same.

Oh, well, it just might be! Wolfe is used to carrying the frail and sickly through the Charnels, but human touch in that regard is alien to him.

You're right about one thing, Ashwick is certainly in the title! I'm pretty close to revealing it so hopefully you won't be stumped for too long. I can reveal however, if I haven't already (and I think I may have, I haven't read the previous Anon Archives in years), that TBoA was going to be called Memento Mori.

He raises an amused brow at your sentiment but if you're under 35 you're all toddlers and babies to him. Plus he can't go 5 minutes without thinking about his wife so it's safe to say he’s settled down.

Haha, yeah! All of the above. Though it goes both ways. Hunter’s antics drive the poor man up the wall for sure but Hunter will be the first to tell you that doc is a force of nature too when he’s got to be. They’ve known each other for decades. They’ve taken bullets and bruises and stabs wounds for one another. Martin makes sure Hunter doesn’t get himself killed (at least he did before Malignancy took that off the table) and Hunter makes sure Martin doesn’t work himself to death. Gloria just wonders why they both have to be so damn dramatic.

1. Rose's candles simulate artificial sunlight and can temporarily vanquish Spectres from the area at night until the wick runs out. These are especially useful to the common folk who may be suffering from seeing their dead loved ones night after night. Her special coloured candles are different, though. They block a Malignant from being able to possess their Host's body and thus allow the Host to keep control of themselves when night falls. You'll learn more about the ins-and-outs of this mechanic in the comic.

2. I can't share that! You'll just have to wait and find out. Though it is a wonder how someone as formidable and self-disciplined as Hunter could fall prey to a Malignant's manipulation … I suppose even men like Father Gerhardt have been vulnerable at one point in their lives, huh?

It’s private, sorry :( It was a kind gesture from a fan who wanted to show their appreciation but it quickly got a little out of hand and very inappropriate. I’m good friends now with the few who did join so it’s not so bad and we have a good laugh, but it’s given me a small taste of “Fandom” on a grander scale and it was enough for me to realise it makes me pretty uncomfortable to be in the middle of it. I love being able to communicate with you all but I don’t love being in awkward situations so much. I might try again in the future, we’ll see.

Malignancy is unpredictable and what happens to one Host won't necessarily happen to the other!

ohohohoh who knowsssssss ;D

Nope, she’s Hunter’s danger noodle gal.

Yes, I love them!!!! I recall checking them out after you sent this message quite some time ago. I had heard a few of their songs before but I've been listening to them regularly ever since. I appreciate the recommendation since music is a really big thing for me.

Oh thank you very much! They're my own characters yes :) I first created them when I was 16 for a college project. One day I would like to share that with you all because it's come a long way. The comic is in development. Thank you all for your questions, I think that’s most of them. If you don’t see your ask in here it’s because it was asked already, I got a similar question and took a screenshot of that instead, it was too inappropriate, I can’t reveal the information yet, or I simply didn’t see it. As always if you’re looking for more prompt responses please message me off anon so I can reply privately since I respond to most anons in bulk!

[apveng]

Team Danvers! Forever!

Here is the seventh and final part of my story. The first part, Khao-Shuh, is here. Second part, Why Do You Need Supergirl, Anyways?, is here. The third, She Is Not Kara, Damn It, is here. Fourth, Kara oh Kara is here. The fifth part of my story, The World’s Worst Pretender, is here. The sixth part, Partners in Crime, is here.

Hope everyone is doing okay.

***************************************************************************

“How on Earth did you find a half Kryptonian, half human child?” Kara was gazing at the said child, fast asleep, as she asked the question. She had had a midnight hankering for watching Hope sleep, so here they were, in the kid’s room, watching her sleep.

Kara’s expression, a mix of reverence and affection, was a treat to watch.

“You should ask your mother that question.” At Kara’s questioning look, she explained. “Some exile decided to come here and have a fling. Hope is the result, abandoned to her fate after her human father died.”

At Kara’s guilty look, she reached over and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Hey! I didn’t mean it is your fault. But, Argo should be paying attention to what their people are doing now that they have re-established connections with the rest of the universe. Not every Kryptonian is like you and your cousin, and blue and yellow sun planets are at risk.”

“You are right. I will talk to mom when I see her. It is also probably something rest of the planets should think about.” Kara looked determined, as only Kara could. Alex smiled at the set of the chin.

Sensing an opening, she changed the subject. “Okay. But, don’t you want to know why I named her Hope?”

Blue eyes lit up at the question. “Of course, I do.” Kara gently tucked a few curls off to Hope’s side and then looked back at Alex. “Why did you name her hope?”

“As I told Kelly at the time, because I hoped that you would come back some day. And, it’d be very silly for both of you to be named Kara. Especially since, as I blurted out then, I didn’t like the convention of naming mother and daughter the same name.”

“Alex!” Kara exclaimed and then, as Hope shifted in her sleep, murmuring, dropped her voice. “I am sorry. I had no idea.”

Alex smiled at the guilty look directed her way. “Don’t be sorry. It was never your fault. I just didn’t realise until then what you meant for me. Turns out, Kelly had her suspicions. Needless to say, that was pretty much the end of our relationship.” She paused and smirked. “And the start of years-long therapy for me.”

Kara still looked guilty. As if she could have done anything about how Alex felt.

Shaking her head, Alex grabbed Kara’s arm and tugged her towards herself. “You know what I am saying, Kar? Kelly has known about my feelings for you for some time now. She may not have been okay with it when we were together, but it is now, to use Kelly’s own phrase, water under the bridge. There is nothing for you to worry about on her account.”

Kara stayed where she was, reminding Alex, rather forcefully, that she was a Kryptonian. “Are you sure?”

“A hundred percent.” This time when she pulled, Kara came to her arms, though she was still chewing her lips.

Adorably so, might she add.

Why though?

“Alex, I don’t think we should tell Kelly before tomorrow’s league meeting.”

Ah!

“Of course, we can’t. Though, I’d be really glad when Kelly and Jaya would stop looking at me as if I have lost my mind.” Hope was shifting again. Taking it as cue that the gaze-adorably-at-daughter session should be brought to a close, Alex nodded at the door.

Back in their bedroom, Alex pulled Kara to herself. “What I mean is, you don’t have to fear Kelly’s reaction whenever we tell her. Okay?”

Kara smiled. “Okay. As long everything goes okay tomorrow, she will know anyways.”

Alex grimaced. She didn’t want that. But, that was applicable for all of their friends, and J’onn and M’gann’s reasoning was sound, so she couldn’t protest either.

Kara touched Alex’s cheek. “I am sorry, I am causing you so much trouble, Alex.”

Alex shook her head and smiled up at Kara. “You need to stop blaming yourself. This is our decision, and it is for everybody’s good. Whatever flak we get, we face together. Alright?”

Kara smiled her brilliant smile. “Alright.”

And, the discussion ended there. They had to, after all, prepare for tomorrow.

*********************************************************************************

“Nonsense. I know her. There is no way she has been replaced by a double.” That was Kelly’s voice raised in protest.

“I know this is difficult to take in, Kelly.” J’onn said, his voice sympathetic. “But, what Lena says is also right. We can’t be sure about the tests when we can’t be sure about the person who developed the test. And, remember, I have known her since she was a teenager. Think back. Have you noticed no change in her behaviour the past couple of weeks?”

That was cue for her entrance. Alex tapped on the door before letting herself in.

At her entry, the people around the room fell silent. At least, this time she knew what it was about.

There were far more people in the room than there were at the past League meetings, strangers making up most of the new. A good thing J’onn’s gift was never far from her.

“Oh! Look at that. You people actually care whether I am in the room or not.” Alex noted sarcastically, as she took her seat beside Kelly.

Kelly avoided her eyes. As did Barry, Sara, and Nia.

Ouch!

Clark and Lois gave her a grave nod, which could mean anything. Either that they believed Lena or that they didn’t. Brainy eyed her steadily as if he could get into her head and discern whether she was a Martian or not. Andrea and William smiled while Kate nodded.

Not too bad. At least, some people still believed in her. It didn’t matter that a couple of those believed because they were warned in advance.

“Wait a minute.” Kara, her Kara, raised her voice so that everyone was looking at her.

“Just because Lena says it is so, doesn’t mean we have to believe her.” She turned to Ja’all. “How do we know you aren’t the infiltrator? For all we know, you may be just trying to get Dr. Danvers out of the way. We would need to test you too.”

Ja’all smirked.

Oh! He was good. Alex would give him that.

“You can use both Dr. Danvers’ tests and the tests Luthor Corp developed. Let us see if any additional White Martians are here. Then, we can take all our DNAs and get the matter resolved.” He nodded at the strangers. “That is why I brought my entire team. We can get the tests done in a matter of hours.”

Alex stood up, causing everyone on the table—except Ja’all and his people—to straighten and be on their guard.

“So, let me get this straight. You folks now believe that, me,” She pointed at herself, “I am the infiltrator? Really? Based on this woman’s say so?” She stepped back from the table and turned towards Kelly. “You too Kelly? You have known me for how many years now?” Before Kelly could answer, she turned to J’onn. “J’onn. You can’t believe this too?”

J’onn met her eyes steadily. “You have blocked your mind to us, Alex. We have to factor every possibility into account.”

“Lena is agreeing to the tests, Alex. If you are Alex, you should have no problem taking them as well, right?” Lois raised an eyebrow at her.

For a minute, Alex believed her herself. Damn! She should have been the undercover agent.

“There is one problem though. What is the guarantee that the Luthor tests even work?” Alex argued. The more time they wasted the better.

“You can test them here, and it will show you the exact number of White Martians in this building. Two. If there is more than two, that means we have an infiltrator here, yes?” He turned to M’gann. “It is a good thing you didn’t bring your force here, or we would have had a delay.”

“While we are arguing, they do need to show the invaders that the planet is protected.” M’gann returned.

“Bullshit!” Alex turned to Ja’all. “The tests could be made to show an additional Martian, just to cast suspicion on everyone.”

And, so they argued, round and round and round, some taking Alex’s side, some taking Ja’all-Lena’s, Kara switching back and forth as if she couldn’t decide.

An hour into the interminable arguments, Alex’s mobile buzzed. After surreptitiously taking a look at it, she threw up her hands. “Al right! I am tired of the debate. Let us do both the tests. Let me see what L-corp has got.” She paused and then looked at everyone. “I didn’t bring my test though, so I will have to go and fetch it. You guys can do your test while I am gone.”

“Oh no! You are not going anywhere.” Lois retorted instantly.

“You have to agree Alex, it looks a tad suspicious for you to ask this.” Clark added. “How about I go and get your test? I can prove easily that I am a Kryptonian, so no tests needed.” He turned and directed a heat vision at the wall, setting off all sorts of alarms. When he was done, the alarms were still ringing, footsteps could be heard running outside, and there was an ‘I love Lois’ on the wall.

It took Barry and Sara a while to get the alarms deactivated and the security calmed. Clark looked suitably chagrined. “Sorry. I didn’t know they were going to do that.”

“Dad! You would know if you had paid attention to the building’s security like Uncle Barry always does.” That was Jon of course.

“And, did you have to write that message?” Jordan mumbled.

The boys were there as part of their training. At least, that is what Clark must have said when he brought them in. At 19, they could serve as defence for the humans and backups. Though hopefully, they wouldn’t be needed. Right now, they looked less superheroes, more embarrassed teens.

Alex hoped that girls weren’t as given to challenging their parents as boys were. Or, she was looking at a world of pain, ten years from now.

Oh! Who was she kidding? Of course, Hope will challenge every last one of them until they would all be begging for mercy. Probably even the boys.

Clark laughed. “Hey, it was our anniversary yesterday. I had to give your mother a gift.” Lois grinned and blew him a kiss.

Ja’all raised her hand, well his hand, to draw everybody’s attention. “Now, that we know Clark Kent is indeed Superman, can we have him go and get Dr. Danvers’ tests? Then, we can finally put all this behind us.”

Clark nodded at her and left, while Ja’all directed his team to set up his tests. It didn’t take long for the test to scan the area and flash the number. 03. One for M’gann, one for Kara who was supposed to be S’lynn, and one for whoever was the infiltrator.

How convenient.

“Just so you don’t keep doubting me, I can go first with the personal test.” Ja’all said as he looked around the room.

“What is the point?” Alex retorted. “Everyone here knows that your test will be calibrated to show you as human. How about we wait for Clark to come back?” She looked towards the window, assuming an anxious expression. “Where is he?”

“How about we start with the rest of the people?” J’onn asked his tone, mollifying. “All of us have to be tested. It is not as if humans have any other way to show they aren’t humans. And, how will I show that I am a Green Martian?”

Kelly looked up. “Wait? Can’t you just join with Alex and do that thing you do? Alex told me that she has a device that allows you to join minds. That way you can test both her and you. Then, you can test Lena as well.”

Damn! They had nearly gotten away with it.

She had forgotten Kelly knew about her artefact.

There was a brief moment of silence as everyone stood frozen. And then, there was mayhem as Kara and J’onn quickly gathered everyone vulnerable and got them to safety, while M’gann activated the security systems again to ensure Ja’all and team didn’t run.

Alex stepped back, so that, for the moment, she wasn’t in the way.

William and Kelly were too confused to put up much of a fight. Barry was by Iris side and took her to safety without anyone interfering.

By the time the blurs settled, the humans—all except Alex and Lois—were out of the way. Credit to Ja’all’s training that instead of immediately turning into their true forms and fighting, the White Martian infiltrators just decided to form up. Or, may be, it showed his desperation. If they failed here, the mission was done.

The Heroes remaining—Arcata, Nia, Sara, Kate, Jon and Jordan—formed up and stood back to back in the centre of the room.

“What is going on here?” Ja’all asked. “Surely, we shouldn’t decide anything before the tests are done? For all we know, J’onn, M’gann and the others may all be imposters who teamed up to infiltrate our planet.”

Desperation then.

“If that is the case then your tests are not working. They showed only three White Martians.” Alex pointed out.

That was it. It became clear even to the White Martians that the hiding was over. As Alex watched, they changed and grew in size making the heroes step back.

She hoped Lois had pressed her watch to call Clark. The wait was over.

*********************************************************************************

“I hate alien attacks. Especially flying alien attacks.” Sara said as they watched the flyers duke it out on the skies. Kara, Clark, J’onn and M’gann had returned as had some of the rebels including S’lynn, with more and more turning up as the time passed. They were fighting the invaders in the skies.

Alex smiled at her. “I feel your pain.” She nodded towards the ceiling. “But, there is something we can do.”

At Sara’s questioning look, Alex directed her to a few harpoon throwers that the DEO had developed in the past few years. They allowed you to target flying targets. The advantage was that they just decapitated the target, provided they were alien and not human. Before their morning adventures, Alex and Kara, with J’onn and M’gann’s help, had set them up. They hadn’t wanted to leave anything to chance.

Given the numbers and the scarcity of resources needed, the machines wouldn’t have worked against 1000 or 10000 White Martians, but a few dozen or so was not difficult. With, Barry, Kate, Nia and Andrea joining in, they made quick work of any White Martian that dared to stray away from the main fight.

It didn’t have the exhilaration of putting on a suit and going up there, but as far as Alex was concerned, it was necessary work.

Kara was up there fighting. She was watching Kara’s back.

They just complemented each other, Kara and her. And, that for her, was the most important thing.

**********************************************************************************

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me Kara was, well, Kara.” Kelly exclaimed.

The fight was over, the hostile White Martians were all safely constrained at the DEO and the League members had left after welcoming Kara and promising to catch up.

The National City folks—Alex, Kara, and the rest of the gang including Andrea and William and of course Jaya—had gathered at their place to recap the evening. And, officially welcome Kara.

It was late and after much haggling, they had managed to put Hope to bed, so Alex had to contend with just adults. And, thank God for that. She didn’t know how she would have explained the whole story to their five-year-old.

Alex raised her arm in response to Kelly’s question. “I told you. J’onn and M’gann asked me to keep quiet.” She pointed at them. “Ask them.”

J’onn smiled. “We thought it best if nobody had to worry about their friends until the last moment.”

“We did worry quite a lot about Hope though. And, Alex.” Jaya pointed out with a frown.

“I am so sorry about that.” Kara replied immediately, looking contrite. She went over to Jaya, took her hands in her own, and squeezed them. “But, Hope herself at least doesn’t know there was anyone else in the mix. She is okay.”

Very few people could remain irritated at Kara Danvers for any length of time. As Kara turned on her charm, it didn’t take long for Jaya and even Kelly to give in and smile.

“So, Lena was the infiltrator the whole time?” Nia called from her corner, where she was cuddling with Brainy.

“Ja’all was. He captured Lena a few months back so that he could use the incredible resources that L Corp had.” Kara looked at Alex. “We got her out by the way. All of them. S’lynn and our squads were incredible.”

S’lynn dipped her head at the complement. “It was not difficult. The planning and keeping Ja’all and his people away had been the difficult part. And, you guys did everything there. Especially you both, Kara, Dr. Danvers.”

Kara, by dropping hints, had convinced Ja’all that he could get Alex out of the way and stop the tests by directing suspicion at her. Since she hadn’t directly been responsible for his plan, she was also free to do just the opposite at the meeting, creating more confusion and chaos.

That allowed Alex, ably assisted by Clark and Lois, to keep them on the backfoot almost until the rescue effort was complete. Though only Clark Kent would have thought of using “I love Lois” as a distraction. She hoped Kara wouldn’t take the wrong lessons from him.

Or, may be she did. But, not right now.

“And, there it is.” Nia waved her hand, a beam on her face. “Team Danvers. Always working to perfection.”

“And, saving our planet.” J’onn added with a smile.

Nia raised her glass. “To Team Danvers. They should come with a warning.” She paused and grinned widely. “For anyone who dare threaten our planet.”

All of their friends joined in. “To Team Danvers.”

“We have missed you Kara.” Andrea said as the cheers died down. “Yes, even I. Despite stealing your boyfriend since you left.” William, sitting on her chair’s arm, grinned. “I am no longer her boyfriend but your husband, Andrea. Don’t be so quick to fob me off on her.”

“Oh, I am not. I was just describing the lay of the land to Kara.” Andrea retorted, with a smile at Kara.

“Noted.” Kara returned the smile.

“As have I.” Kelly said quietly from beside Jaya. “I know you have your doubts.” She raised her hand as Kara tried to protest. “I know you, Kara. May be not as well as Alex, but well enough. But, I have missed you. You were my friend before I ever met Alex, remember.”

“I remember.” Kara said softly. “And, thank you.” She looked around. “I have missed all of you too. You have no idea, how much.”

“Are you going back?” Brainy asked after a brief silence. “Because if not, I have to make changes at the DEO for you and” he looked at Alex. “I assume Director Danvers.”

Kara looked at Alex first and then at M’gann and S’lynn.

For a minute, Alex’s heart trembled as she wondered at the hesitation in Kara’s eyes. Kara wouldn’t want to go back, would she? What if she felt obliged to return? To help the rebels?

Something of her fear must have shown in Alex’s eyes because Kara took Alex’s hand in hers, squeezed it, and held it close, before turning back to Brainy. “I am staying. I am not sure I’d be joining the DEO. There is time to make plans. And…” she waited for cheers from the humans to die down before turning to M’gann and S’lynn. “I will always come if you ever need anything. And, even if you won’t, I will keep visiting. And, bring J’onn along.”

“We would expect nothing less from you.” M’gann assured her.

“And, if you don’t come, we will come and drag you to Mars for a visit.” S’lynn added with a rare display of non-soldierly conduct and affection.

Alex’s heart returned to normal speed. She smiled at Kara and got a brilliant smile in return.

Looked like she had Kara back. Forever.

And as far as Alex was concerned, that was all that mattered.

**********************************************************************************

There you are. And they lived happily ever after. The End. Thank you for reading. 😊

Also, I know that certain details in the past couple of episodes changes some things. However, no reason they wouldn’t have changed back since then. 5 years is a long time.

Oh, and apologies to fans of Sara Lance and others. Even Clark and Lois. I don’t watch any of the other shows, so I may have got their characterisation (any little I showed) wrong.

Be well folks. And get through safely to the madness—both of conservatism and covid—that has gripped over world to the other end.

PS: I wouldn’t be me, if I didn’t add a note for open borders, given all the talk about infiltrators. ^|^

Presence of threatening elements is not an argument for tightening our borders (just like presence of rapists and gropers is not an argument for keeping women confined to homes) and being horrible to immigrants. It is an argument for better social structures, community action for education and acceptance and preparation to manage security in a humane way.

Oh and I should also say that, I am against incarceration, but I have no idea how to manage that. I am sure many someones far wiser than me, with more experience, are already thinking about that. Both Immigration restriction and incarceration are things that should be thought about and in a staggered manner phased out. May be in a few decades, but that should be the plan.

Sorry again, middle of the road friends who disagree with me.

Let us say, that the White Martians got therapy, and were sent safely back to Mars. Some time in future, when the idea (not the people) of supremacy was eradicated, let us imagine Earth goes on to establish friendly relations and movements with Mars as well.

[tsushimanoonryo]

Character Solidifying part 1

Broke this up into two parts because it was so long.

1. How does your character think of their father? What do they hate and love about him? What influence - literal or imagined - did the father have?

He loved his father. Jin’s mother died when he was very young, so his father was all he had. However, Jin wasn’t much older when he died as well, being killed right in front of him. Because of this, Jin has immense feelings of guilt whenever he thinks of his father. He feels like he could have prevented his death (although he was still a child when this happened). He worries his father’s spirit is ashamed of the way he behaved, so he tries his best to be a better man and a brave fighter. He knows he won’t get the chance to save his father’s life again, but he can save other people.

2. Their mother? How do they think of her? What do they hate? Love? What influence - literal or imagined - did the mother have?

He was very young when she died, so he doesn’t really remember his mother at all. He knows his father must have loved her very much, as he never remarried after her death. And he remained close with his wife’s brother, Jin’s uncle Shimura. Jin has feelings of fondness toward the idea of his mother, but nothing particularly overwhelming.

3. Brothers, sisters? Who do they like? Why? What do they despise about their siblings?

Jin is an only child.

4. What type of discipline was your character subjected to at home? Strict? Lenient?

Very loving, but very strict discipline. It was drilled into Jin that, as a samurai, he was to be held to a higher standard than most everyone else. He had to do extra training, extra reading, extra everything. However, everyone was a little more forgiving of his mistakes, considering both of his parents died while he was young. He wasn’t babied, but he wasn’t punished severely like he otherwise might have been.

5. Were they overprotected as a child? Sheltered?

No. Jin saw the way the world truly was at a very young age. He was forced to become the head of his clan as a teen and had to mature fast. His uncle provided him safety and guidance, but did not protect him from the harsh realities around him. Rather, he helped Jin put them into context so that he might be better prepared to face the world around him.

6. Did they feel rejection or affection as a child?

Affection. He was the nephew of the jito who was widowed and had no other children. He was his son in everything but name, and everyone treated him accordingly. He was well-liked among the servants because of his genial nature, and other nobles liked him as well for showing maturity and skill on the battlefield at such a young age.

7. What was the economic status of their family?

Rich as hell. He was the son of a samurai clan leader and nephew (and unofficially adopted son) of the lord of all of Tsushima. Jin didn’t want for many physical things growing up.

8. How does your character feel about religion?

He follows the beliefs of Shintoism. He believes in the gods and goddesses of Japan, but especially reveres Inari, the deity of rice, prosperity, and foxes. He also ascribes to Buddhism, but he isn’t super devout. He’s more culturally Buddhist than anything. He really feels a true spiritual connection with Shintoism, though.

9. What about political beliefs?

He used to have complete faith in the Shogun and his samurai, but he’s recently soured on them. He isn’t so far gone that he thinks the entire system should be overthrown, but he definitely thinks the Shogun and his men need to reprioritize. You can’t rule if all your subjects are dead.

10. Is your character street-smart, book-smart, intelligent, intellectual, slow-witted?

Jin had more schooling than most boys his age growing up. He’s very book smart and intelligent. However, he wouldn’t consider himself an intellectual. He knows enough to be clever and enough to be a brilliant strategist, but he couldn’t hold his own among scholars. 

11. How do they see themselves: as smart, as intelligent, uneducated?

He is intelligent and he knows it. However, Jin is not so arrogant as to think he can’t learn something from someone else. He also realizes there are numerous different kinds of intelligences. For instance, he knows Yuna is uneducated, but she is sharp, clever, and knows much more about survival than Jin does. Just because a person doesn’t have a formal education does not mean Jin will write them off or act like he’s better than them.

12. How does their education and intelligence – or lack thereof - reflect in their speech pattern, vocabulary, and pronunciations?

Jin is meticulous about his speech. He is polite and extremely aware of the rules of decorum. He will always try to treat everyone with respect, even people who are from stations far below him. He thinks it is extremely rude not to give this level of respect to everyone by default. However, if a person treats him or anyone else with disrespect or betrayal, he will be less cordial and downright cold to them. He will not be deferential if he feels a person has proven that they are unworthy of it.

13. Did they like school? Teachers? Schoolmates?

He liked some aspects of his schooling. Anything involving physical training he liked. He didn’t love the more abstract learning (strategy), but he understands how it has helped him as he matured. He didn’t really have any school mates. He did martial training with Ryuzo a bit and Ryuzo was his dearest friend and closest companion. 

14. Were they involved at school? Sports? Clubs? Debate? Were they unconnected?

In his Yakuza verse, he participated in sports clubs: Kendo, Kyudo, and Baseball. That was it.

15. Did they graduate? High-School? College? Do they have a PHD? A GED?

In his Yakuza verse, he graduated high school, but had no further schooling. He shadowed his uncle as he dealt with the business of running a mob family and learned from that.

16. What does your character do for a living? How do they see their profession? What do they like about it? Dislike?

In his main verse, he was a samurai. When that was taken away from him, he became a folk hero and a legend. He’s sort of a Robin Hood, except instead of stealing, he kills Mongol invaders. He wishes he didn’t have to do this, as he much preferred the comforts of his old life. However, he enjoys the freedom that being The Ghost entails. He likes not having to follow any rule except his own. In his yakuza verse, he’s a yakuza lieutenant for the Shimura crime family. He’s on his way to be heir to his uncle’s syndicate. He doesn’t love it. He knows he’s extremely good at what he does, but he doesn’t have the heart for it. But he does it because he loves his uncle and wants to show him how much he appreciates being raised as his son.

17. Did they travel? Where? Why? When?

Jin has traveled all over the island of Tsushima in his efforts to liberate the island. Before he was The Ghost, he basically just traveled around to his uncle’s summer and winter estates, his uncle’s hunting camp, his own estate and home village, and Kamakura (once) to pay homage to the Shogun.

18. What did they find abroad, and what did they remember?

When he visited the mainland, he realized just how insular Tsushima was. And he found that he liked it, although he never told his uncle that. He liked that they weren’t under the thumb of the Shogun like the other jito and samurai were, simply because there was a body of water between them.

19. What were your character’s deepest disillusions? In life? What are they now?

Jin learned from a young age that life wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. A lot of young men think they can do anything, that they are invincible, but Jin never felt that. He had a lot of survivor’s guilt after the death of his father which colored his outlook on life. He felt like he wasn’t quite worthy of being a samurai because he showed fear, and he struggled with that growing up. However, now he feels the opposite. Since meeting Yuna, he has realigned his priorities. He still feels guilt about a lot of things in his past, but he understands that survival is paramount. Now he is disillusioned with the samurai as a whole and their rigidity when it comes to following their code.

20. What were the most deeply impressive political or social, national or international, events that they experienced?

The First Mongol Invasion of Japan in 1274. We haven’t seen it yet, but he also lived through the Second Mongol Invasion of Japan in 1281. 

21. What are your character’s manners like? What is their type of hero? Whom do they hate?

Jin is extremely polite and very aware of how he comes off to people. Previously, his heroes were brave warriors who overcame impossible odds in battle. Now, however, his heroes are the everyday man, the unsung heroes who use their wits and compassion to survive no matter what. He tries his best to fulfill those ideals and so he can be the hero his island wants him to be. He hates people who are selfish and are blind to tradition. There’s a difference between being polite and respectful and being obtuse.

22. Who are their friends? Lovers? ‘Type’ or ‘ideal’ partner?

Jin is not a samurai and not The Ghost, but a person who is struggling every day to do the right thing. His friends are the same. They each have their own struggle, but they are striving every day to use their own skills and talents to do the right thing. It might not be the traditional path, nor might it be a respectable path, but it’s the right one. His ideal partner is the same. They are strong in who they are and will go against the grain, even if everyone else is against them. They are also quick witted, capable, and brave.

23. What do they want from a partner? What do they think and feel of sex?

He wants a partner he can trust with his life and understands the obligations he feels to give himself to the people of his island. His partner is going to have to be okay with sharing him. Also, he likes sex and wishes he had more of it. But it’s not a priority.

24. What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually?

He’ll go from survivor camp to survivor camp, temple town to temple town, village to village making sure the people of Tsushima are doing okay, looking for any news of the Mongols and any way he can help the common people. He feels responsible for their wellbeing since Lord Shimura and the samurai failed them. As a result, he’s really only close to about 6 people. To the rest, he’s a silent shadow caring for them from afar.

25. What are their hobbies and interests?

Poetry and music. He used to enjoy going to the theater, in the before times. He’s also a very good horseman. 

[chronicbatfictioner]

Exchanges and Compromises - Chapter 8

The Birds of Prey's Lair

The 'Birds of Prey' was actually Dinah's idea for a name, once they recruited another costumed vigilante called Starling. Tim had initially thought that Selina - Catwoman - would object for obvious reasons. She didn't.

"The best covert, isn't it? Who'da thunk a  Cat -woman would be associated with  birds ?" she had remarked. "Or a Huntress." she went on to turn and glare at the Huntress - a.k.a. Helena Bertinelli - whom Barbara had just recruited as well.

She had a point, Tim thought. And now they even have a 'Lair'. Not a 'nest', because that would've associated them with the Court of Owls, and that wouldn't have been nice.

Tim knew better than to take the Talon guy to the Birds' actual Lair, and thus brought him to Oracle's special site - the very one she had used to trap him, a long, long time ago. The very one where she and Tim had made a deal.

"Oracle," Tim called. "I've brought a guest - another... Bird of Prey, I think." he cringed inwardly at the cheesiness of his own words.

"Touché," Oracle commented. "Both washers and dryers are working fine, Stray. Help yourself and wash off. I can smell you from here."

Tim scowled at the camera. Barbara would have been all the way away in Burnley, safely out of smelling range of the safehouse. "Fiiine, but..." he looked at the Talon; the man he knew to be Dick Grayson. "I'm not sure anything of mine would fit him."

"You're not the only one of the male persuasion who'd been there, you know," Oracle quipped. "Talon, There are some adult male clothes behind the third panel. Help yourself. They're new."

"Barbara..?" Talon suddenly said.

Tim nearly tripped on air as he was starting to walk away.

Talon took off his mask and glared right to where the CCTV camera was hidden - and not toward the Oracle head projection on the opposite end of the camera. "This kid.. he called me by my name. I'm... I was wondering if... I was a kid, too, back then. You were there with your cop dad, and I was saying I wanted to be a cop if this whole thing didn't work out. I was... you had red hair tied in a ponytail with a short green ribbon and I thought you were... I'm Dick Grayson." he sputtered.

Oracle was silent, only the projection of the digital head on the screen indicated that Barbara has not disconnected. "Dick Grayson," she remarked after a few tense moments. "My god... in the flesh. I knew you were alive. I saw those flowers at the Graysons' graves..."

A drop of tear slid down Dick's cheek. "Every year. I couldn't... I have to put them there. I have to remember, Barbara. You made me remember..." Oracle was silent again as Dick spoke. He then pulled out something from his belt, in a move that nearly made Tim leap a few yards away. Hey, it could've been a bomb or something!

But he immediately recognized the small cylindrical item he had on the palm of his hand. "He did this... I took it from him."

"That's a film canister - an old-school photography film," Tim commented.

"Yes, Stray, I'm aware. Take it, please, and treat it as evidence." Barbara instructed. "You killed the Red Helmet guy," she added her conclusion.

"No, I didn't! He was alive when I left him! I took the camera and the film, but I didn't kill him!" Dick protested, yet didn't object when Tim took the film canister out of his hand. "I swear, on my mother's grave, that I was not the one who sliced his neck. We... there are a lot of us. I don't know who did it."

Barbara was quiet again for a good long time. "I shall check the evidence. In the meantime, while Stray is convinced you don't need to be contained, I would appreciate it if you don't get out from there."

"Yes," Dick replied. Docilely.

Tim glared.

This was  The  Talon of the Court of Owls - feared by wrongdoings and underworld of Gotham for his swift and quick retaliation. A face-to-face with him could mean only one thing: you've screwed up nine ways to Monday - sideways. The Talon heeded no man, no money, no vices; to achieve his objective. And his objective would mostly be eliminating most heinous criminals using means that are... incredulously just as heinous. Tim has heard of The Talon castrating a rapist right outside the window of the victim; disemboweling robbers until they got acquainted with their intestines; and the 'best' of all: garroting a perpetrator while said perp was hanging upside down.

He belonged to the Court of Owls, the  enforcer  of the Court's law. And Court's law mandated him to be beyond law enforcement. The Court of Owls itself, thought to be a mere legend, has shown itself in the past few years as a formidable force of Gotham. It boasted its membership as 'those who built Gotham' and was not referring to Gotham's rich folks. Even Barbara was still not sure if they were on the side of the law or otherwise.

Yet his denial when he said he didn't kill the Red-Helmet guy was...  seemed  sincere - at least to Tim. Also, there's the thing about taking an oath over one's mother... Tim's own mother might have been less than perfect, compared to the description of a 'standard' nuclear-family mom; but he took her presence and existence seriously and reverently. If she hadn't existed,  he  wouldn't exist. Taking an oath over her grave would imply that said oath held even more importance than she did.

Still hesitating, Tim lead Dick to the washing machine - a special washing machine that would be able to wash armors. "You can... line up your armor in there and it'll wash it for you," he told Dick. "I'm keeping my goggles on me for now, I hope you don't mind."

"You already know my name," Dick smiled ruefully at him as he started to shed his armor, dumping the weapons on the floor. "Thank you... I guess. For remembering."

"I was there..." Tim finally said, after both their costumes lined up in the washer. "Showers' this way." he prompted.

"You were there, what?" Dick asked once they both started their respective showers. In separate stalls, really, because Barbara is an over-preparer and realized that once she has more than one team member, she would have to give a damn about this thing called  privacy . Even if the shower area actually a wide-open chamber filled with stalls and is not gender-designated.

"I was there... the day your parents were... killed," Tim replied. "I... we-- my parents and I - took a photo with your family. But we couldn't go in for the show because my dad had forgotten his wallet. But you showed me your quadruple somersaults from the ground..." he knew he was rambling, and might be revealing his identity a bit too much. Yet his logic said that as the star of the circus, Dick Grayson and his parents would have had numerous families with little kids wanting to take a photo with them. "I saw you... years later. I didn't see what you were doing, but I saw the quadruple somersaults... I realized that it was you because of what your dad said back then; that no one but the Graysons has mastered the quadruple somersaults." he added carefully, skipping the fact that he had actually - accidentally or by providence, assuming that there was a god that actually liked Tim - videotaped  the somersaults.

"Oh, that's... a little less dramatic than I expected." Dick chuckled as his shower stopped. "Your name was Tim, isn't it? You were the youngest of the ones who converged to watch me, I think. I've only shown the somersaults once outside the Big Top. I even remembered your dad - Jack, wasn't it? - when he tapped his pockets and realized he didn't have his wallet. Your  really  disappointed face was why I did it."

Tim wanted the earth to open up and swallow him right there and then. He cringed and quickly dried himself off, and as he stepped out of the stall with the towels around his waist, he found Dick was waiting outside in a similar fashion. "You remembered..." he remarked, trying to steer his eyes away from the visible scars crisscrossing Dick's torso.

"Oh yeah. I remember everything that happened that day. I remember my dad whispered to my mom if he should just let you and your parents go in without a ticket, but she said we all needed the money. I remember thinking your dad was really mean for taking his kid to a circus only to walk around... That was why I did the jump." he said, accepting the clothes Tim handed him. "Besides, it would've been a good promo - there was quite a crowd around us, remember?"

Tim smiled sheepishly. "No, I don't remember that. I was looking at you."

"You have an eidetic memory, don't you?"

Tim shrugged and took off his goggles. "Not really. I just... kind of remember things of no significance and forget things that are actually important. Like my social security, you know?" he grinned.

Dick snorted. "I don't know if I still have social security or not..." he trailed off, followed by a fairly long awkward silence.

"What happened, Dick?" Tim asked carefully. "Why are you a soldier in an organization that kills people?"

Dick's eyes looked sad, and Tim realized that in spite of them being blue, Dick's eyes were of a different shade of blue than his own. "It's a long story, Timmy," he replied. "I hope dear Oracle allowed you to bring pizza into here."

[katzuyas]

so here it is, my friends, the collab with the amazing @ichiiichka for @viktuurifluffbang! make sure to check out the fic AND the art, and spread the love! ❤️

He arrives in a barrage of rose petals that whip around the wings of the dragon that span overhead much like rose petals themselves: rounded and layered, and rose hued. Victor has to close his eyes and lift his arms to protect his face from the slashing attack of what's supposed to be a symbol of love, and almost falls on his butt when the ground trembles as the dragon lands heavily a little ways from him.

Only when the shaking stops and the blizzard of petals slows down to gentle caress against his skin, does he look up into an unfamiliar face: that of an adult Stoneheart Dragon, who looks at him like he's a far more curious thing than the new surroundings must be. Victor, a lover of all breeds, looks back without fear, since he knows that however imposing Aura dragons might look, they will never harm another being. There are dragons who could pose danger to humans even now when they have learned to live together, but Aura dragons are farthest of such disposition. They are sweet, loving and the most friendly of the dragons known to wizard folk. Even the Stoneheart, Ire, and Scorn dragons, whose names bring nothing but negative impressions, in truth are just as lovely as the rest of them.

So, content in his safety, Victor rakes his appreciative gaze over the beautiful snout of the dragon, before taking him in wholly: it's long, bent horns, the massive body touched by stonescale, and finally the short, supple tail, which languidly swings here and fro, bringing red with it wherever it lingers. It truly is a magnificent beast, Victor has to admit.

Amidst it all, though, one thing catches him off guard. The red of the fire pouches at the sides of the dragon's jaws and over its chest is so vivid that Victor needs to blink for a moment to get used to the colour. In fact, all the red on the dragon's body is that same vibrant red: possibly the red from the potions that the old wizard Mort accidentally fed to the first dragon of this kind. The colour is bright, almost blinding in a way, but the true beauty hides within those cheeks: red, flaming, so ready to burst with fire. They look like rubies under direct sunlight, and they're stunning.

Victor's hand itches to touch one of them, and he is sure they'll be warm. Hot even, maybe. Yet the glare of the dragon's eyes stays on him so attentively that he hesitates to move. Before he can decide on whether or not to approach it, he becomes distracted again. This time not by any dragon, which is unusual in and of itself, but by Katsuki Yuri, who effortlessly slides off the back of his Stoneheart and hops down the powerful leg all the way to the ground.

They should look silly and clumsy, those little hops he takes, but there is something in the way Katsuki Yuri moves that instantly captures Victor's attention. It demands it, in truth. And Victor, Victor gives it before he even truly knows it.

Now, Victor has never been too interested in people. He has long since preferred dragons over those of his own kind, but within seconds of catching a glimpse of Katsuki Yuri, he's unequivocally charmed by him. Even more so, when he finally sees the face of the man who seems to possess more grace in his body than the whole of Yubileyny put together – and oh, what a face it is!

"Hello," Katsuki Yuri says on an exhale that makes his cheeks delightfully puffy. There are rose petals in his dark hair, too, Victor takes notice, and his heart does as well: it trembles oddly in his chest as he stands there, mute. "My name is Yuuri, Yuuri Katsuki. Mrs. Baranovskaya should be expecting us? We're here for a co-op breeding for this event?"

It is hard to look away from the lips that speak these words, but Victor does. And then he ends up staring again, because above them are those soft, plush cheeks touched by a blush from the harsh winds of the ride, and further above those – once Victor startles himself out of his reverence – are the loveliest eyes Victor has ever seen: brown and warm, and bewitching him with sweetness.

It's as he gets lost in them that Victor absolutely gives up all pretence of normalcy.

"Hello, Yuuri!" he greets with a smile, mindful to pronounce the name exactly the way Yuuri did.

Even if his heart is beating out of his chest at his own boldness, he reaches for Yuuri's hand and bows over it to leave a fleeting kiss to his knuckles. The blush that has been adoring Yuuri's face is far darker once Victor looks up and, truly, Victor can tell that his own face must also be stained with his excitement. But that, that matters little as long as he gets to bask in Yuuri's beauty.

"Welcome to Yubileyny! I'm Victor Nikiforov, and I've been tasked with guiding you around. We're delighted to have you here," Victor says. He peers over Yuuri at the Stoneheart dragon, to whom he nods as well. "Both of you."

"Thanks," Yuuri squeaks and pulls back his hand. Victor mourns the loss, but it seems that Yuuri hasn't taken any offence in his actions, when he asks: "If it's no trouble we would like to have a day to settle in before we start breeding. Raths has come a long way, so I think the odds will be against us if we try to force it when he's tired."

Victor nods eagerly, because isn't that just the perfect excuse for him to stay with Yuuri longer?

"Good thinking," he says. "How about I show you both to the habitat for... Raths, was it?  And then I will take you to the inn, so you can rest as well. Travelling on dragonback can't be too comfortable for such a long time."

"That would be nice. Thank you."  

Yuuri's voice is as pleasant to listen to as his face is to look at, and Victor wouldn't mind hearing more of it. Yuuri, however, doesn't seem too generous with his words. He falls silent after that, but that is more than alright. Victor suddenly has a lot to say, and so he fills the silence with endless chatter in hopes of eliciting another reply from Yuuri's sweet lips.

"Your Stoneheart looks really impressive. Lilia really knows how to choose the best, I'll give her that." He smiles when Yuuri's face scrunches up like he wants to protest. "Don't be modest. You can't deny your skill when they are as obvious as a level eight Stoneheart dragon in the first week of the event."

"It was just luck," Yuuri insists, battling a flush that Victor wishes he could capture and keep close to his heart forever.

"And don't they say that luck is a part of your skill set for this job?" Victor winks. "I know a great breeder when I see one, Yuuri. Trust me, if you can't trust yourself."

Yuuri says nothing to that, but the way his eyes flutter shut at the praise… oh.

Victor doesn't remember ever feeling this way. Something so strange has happened to him the moment he saw this man, he can't even explain it. It's impossible to put in words, and it's impossible to define in feelings either. It's just…

Victor has had his fair share of flings here and there, fleeting romances that never lasted longer than a few months. He knows the signs of attraction by now. This, however, is nothing like that at all. This, this feels like… oddly enough, this feels like he's smitten already, and it's ridiculous, no? They've only just met.

And yet, as Victor leads Yuuri down the pathways of the Aura island and rose petals float around them, he can tell that this meeting and the time they will spend together is special.

"We have a few habitats around here that can take Raths, but do you have any preference?" he asks, just to have something to talk about. "We can put him with other Auras, or we can put him alone, depending on how he behaves with other dragons."

"I think he'd like to be with others," Yuuri says, looking back at the dragon, who has been patiently padding behind them. The small, fond smile that lights up Yuuri's face renders Victor absolutely awed. "We are quite unlike each other in that department."

"Ah," Victor clears his throat and offers a smile of his own. "Not a people's person, are you? I can relate. I'm much more a dragon's person, if you know what I mean."

Yuuri laughs, a sweet little sound that makes Victor's skin tingle all over.

"I do know what you mean, and I agree. Dragons are so much easier to be around."

Smiling, Victor looks at Yuuri, and finds his eyes already on him. Yuuri's cheeks colour at having been caught, but after briefly looking away, he turns his gaze back on Victor as if he is just as drawn to him as Victor has found himself charmed in return.

"I have a feeling we'll get along quite well, don't you think?" Victor says, heart full of this strange lightness that only warms over further when Yuuri offers a tiny: "I have a feeling you might be right."

And, truly, Victor doesn't know what is the name of the thing he feels, but he feels it anyway – and it's soft like the rose petals he brushes from Yuuri's hair with a dazzling smile.

read more on ao3

[anoutlandishfanfic]

Metamorphosis: Chapter 19. The Search.

HUZZAH!! The next chapter of Metamorphosis is HERE!!

Extra special thanks to @thefraserwitch for making sense of my nonsensical ramblings and @diversemediums for being my spectacular mama resource. I couldn’t do this without you guys, you’re the best and my saving grace.

You can find previous chapters here on my master list, or over here on AO3.

Mid November, 1743; Lallybroch.

“What are ye doin’, lass?”

Murtagh’s voice held more concern than consternation as he made his way towards me in the dim stable. I didn’t — couldn’t — look at him as I hoisted the saddle blanket onto the mare’s back, knowing that if I did, if I saw the fear he was trying to hide in his eyes, I would cry… or worse, lose my resolve.

“What does it look like?” I huffed as I turned my attention to the heavy saddle, “I’m coming with you.”

He was at my side before I managed to get it anywhere near the horse. A guttural Gaelic expletive left his lips and I forfeited the heavy tack to him, but made no move to surrender my position near the mare’s flank. I crossed my arms against chest, my gaze withering as he set down the saddle and turned to back me.

“Ye’ll no’ be riding with me,” he insisted with a dismissive shake of his head.

I knew better than to ask him why not, for there were a thousand and one reasons for me to stay behind while he forged ahead. I’d thought of each and every one, every horrible scenario playing out in my mind since he’d arrived with battered Ian in tow and still came to the same conclusion.

I was going to find my husband... with or without Murtagh’s approval.

My chest heaved as I stared him down. He met my gaze without so much as a twitch, but the crack and timbre of his voice betrayed his true feelings.

“Ye’ll stay here… where Jenny can tend to ye, where ye are safe,” his shoulders hunched with huge weight of the situation, his breathing labored as he tried to talk me down. “Wha’ happens to the bairns if ye fall, lass? ‘Tis a long way down and no guarantee of a bush or heather to land on.”

“I won’t fall.”

He snorted, “And if ye do?”

“I’ve fallen a good deal farther and they’re still here,” I grimly stated and shivered slightly, for the chilling nightmare I’d had while within the depths of the Thieves Hole had become a frequent visitor in the weeks since my imprisonment, each repetition more frightening than the last.

My comment tore down Murtagh’s mask of resolute strength and his hands shot out, gripping my upper arms as moisture sprang to his eyes, “I canna risk it, a nighean. Please… will ye no’ stay here?”

I shook my head, opening my mouth to protest, but he cut me off.

“I give you my word, Claire,” he vowed, desperate for me to stay behind. “I will find him and bring him back to you.”

“I don’t doubt it for a moment, but in what condition?” I spat, even as my voice cracked. “They flogged Jamie within an inch of his life the last time you broke him out of prison and I can’t imagine they’ll do anything less to him this time!”

The image of a hangman’s noose around my husband’s neck knocked the air from my lungs and I felt very much like I was going to be sick. My head spun as I lifted my hands to my face. A shudder ran through me in a desperate attempt rid myself of the sudden vision of Jamie swinging from the scaffold at Fort William. I felt my legs give way beneath me and my crippling fears swallowed me whole as the floodgates opened, a sob bursting forth from my lips unchecked.

Murtagh caught me just before I hit the ground, pulling me to him in an awkward embrace as my tears flowed freely. I’d been bolstered by Jenny’s strength and carried by my own stubborn determination, but the quiet darkness of the stable had been my undoing. I knew that, on their own, my tears would solve nothing… but I also knew that I wouldn’t solve anything if I didn’t allow myself to cry… here in the stillness, protected by the arms of the man my husband trusted above all others.

Working together, we could -- and would -- save Jamie.

We had to.

..

Two weeks later; Somewhere in the Highlands.

“Thank ye, Mistress,” the young boy nodded to me, going so far as to bend forward from the waist in a slight bow.

While I understood their appreciation, the almost reverence the village folk gave in the last few hamlets we’d traveled through was beginning to grow wearisome. I hadn’t even treated the lad’s wound yet and here he was acting as though I’d cured him of leprosy with a touch of my hand. Most of this was Murtaugh’s doing, I knew, and yet if it meant word spread more quickly or even made me more identifiable to Jamie, I would go along with the harmless charade.

Placebo pebbles, I’d mentally dubbed them when Murtagh explained his idea at the start of our journey. Highlanders were equal parts superstitious and religious and Murtaugh's plan was to capitalize on both. He told me of a folkloric woman, a sort of witch who was able to see the motivations of men and women alike, who could strike an evil-doer down with a single look. He thought he could use the structure of La Dame Blanche, as she was called, to create a Holy Mother-like figure who could see the future and give protection or healing with the aid of a stone. The rumors of a pregnant Sassenach wandering about the countryside telling fortunes and healing the sick using magic rocks was sure to make it to Jamie, wherever he was hiding. I only hoped he’d hear of us before they tried me for witchcraft a second time or even for heresy.

I offered the boy my best attempt at a smile, gesturing him to come closer as I placed the small pouch of stones into a more visible part of my work space.

“Does it hurt much?” I nodded to the bandage on his right hand.

“Och, nae,” he bluffed as he extended it to me. “Jus’ it gets in the way a wee bit, now an’ then.”

I carefully unwrapped it and noticed a little girl standing near a tree about fifty yards from us. She had her eyes trained on the boy, yet made no move to come any closer as I examined him. The two shared similar cheekbone structures, a smattering of freckles, and glittering brown eyes.   

“Your sister?” I inclined my head, trying to distract him as the last layer of his bandage slowly peeled away. He nodded bravely, but I caught the wince he tried to hide as he averted his gaze to where she stood.

“What’s her name?”

“Flora, Mistress.” His voice changed, rising in timbre as his discomfort grew and I began to examine what revealed to be a minor burn.

It had already begun to heal and was relatively clean, needing only minimal cleaning before my application of a basic salve and a fresh bandage, but I took my time with him. For once, there wasn’t a flock of people hovering about my skirts waiting to be treated, and I made the effort to do the extra things Murtagh had suggested.

Use just enough Gaidhlig to make them think ye have it.

Give them every reason to believe ye can do a great deal more than what yer doin’...  an’ tha’ the wee stones will do the rest o’ the healin’ for ye.

I kept my eyes on my work, but watched the boy out the corner of my eye as I began to slip in the phrases I’d been carefully taught, “And yours, a bhalaich?”

His head lifted in surprise to look at me, eyes wide with reverent awe and answered softly, “Michael.”

I nodded and reached for my medicine box, taking out the vial of salve I needed and a roll of fresh bandage. I set both down beside the small, leather pouch of stones before I looked at him again and found him unabashedly staring at me. My cheeks warmed, but I didn’t shirk from his gaze as I began to clean the wound.

Michael flinched as I cleared a bit of debris and dropped his eyes, staring the items table. I could see his mind working, but he didn’t speak. The cogs and wheels of his brain turned over each one until he came to the leather pouch. His mouth dropped open in excitement, then shut just as quickly as he tried to contain himself. He shifted from foot to foot uneasily and I knew this was the very result Murtagh had hoped for.

Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, here we go again.

“Would you like one, Michael?” I coaxed.

Murtagh would chuffed to know that I hadn’t needed to explain the purpose of the stones with this patient. The rumors had reached this village far ahead of us and done the work for me.

My patient’s brows drew together in concern, “I dinna have anything to give ye... and ye’ve already mended my arm. I canna ask for a wee stone besides.”

“Then a gift for your sister, perhaps?”

Michael’s smile threatened to stretch right off his face as he nodded, turning to beckon the child to his side. I caught the little girl’s nervous glance between her brother and I and smiled at her in encouragement. With a final look to Michael, she stepped out from behind the tree and ran to his side, burying her face in the back of his green coat.

“Hallo, a nighean,” I murmured and finished off applying the salve, wiping my hands on my apron.

The little girl’s arms wrapped around her brother’s waist and held on for dear life. He coaxed her in Gaelic, resulting in her peering around him, but not budging so much as an inch. Michael’s tone changed and she reluctantly let go, sidestepping to reveal a dirty blue dress and smudged face. My heart melted as she grabbed for her brother’s free hand, anchoring herself to him as she tried to decide if I was friend or foe.

I reached for the pouch and loosened the drawstring. Not looking at Flora as she studied me, I, in turn, examined its contents and made a great show of selecting which one I wanted to give her. I did have quite a few options thanks to a good deal of forethought, but it really made no matter which I chose, for they were all plain, benign, everyday rocks.

I eventually selected a small, white pebble that was near the top as I tried to focus on the task before me, but — as if the brother and sister’s presence called out in greeting to them — the lives within me stirred. They turned and prodded until I, in turn, had to move to appease them. I shifted uncomfortably on my hard, wooden seat and tried to nudge one, encouraging them to remove their heel from between my ribs.

Would they be brother and sister like these cherubs? Would I have a daughter and a son? One to favor me and the other Jamie?

A small, warm hand gently covered mine and I looked up in surprise to see Flora lean in towards me, a quiet lullaby tumbling from her lips. I couldn’t understand the words, but I didn’t need to. Her soft melody possessed an almost hypnotic charm, an intonation of the purest intent, a blessing from one child’s heart to another. The baby moved their foot and the both of them stilled, as if they could hear her song and were listening intently.

I held my breath as she finished, giving my hand a pat with her final, sustained note. My throat constricted as her wide, innocent eyes met mine and she gave me a shy smile. Tears burned at the back of my eyes as I gave her one in return, lifting my right hand to cup her face. I tucked a tangled strand of hair behind her ear and her smile grew, making her brown eyes dance.

“May our Heavenly Father keep you safe, my child.”

This time I truly meant the phrase Murtaugh had taught me, though I’d uttered them to nearly every patient I had treated, and my spirit echoed it, petitioning for the both of them to be safe and well in the name of our Lord.

Flora turned her face into my palm and kissed it, then moved my hand to rest where it had been on top of the curve of my abdomen. I opened my left hand and offered her the stone, adding my own hasty benediction, my brain scrambling for the words.

“May Christ Our Lord be your solid rock and cornerstone… May He cradle you in the palm of His hand and shelter you under His feathers… from this day on and forever more.”

The sweet child accepted my token and then crossed herself before stepping back to her brother’s side. I blinked rapidly in a vain attempt to keep my tears at bay as my mind scrambled to remember what the hell I was doing before I had descended into complete sentimentality.

Bandage him, you bloody sot, I chastised myself and reached for the roll of cloth.

My fingers set about their business, pure reputation having made them deft and capable of doing the work without a connected or coherent mental direction. My tongue was thick in my mouth, my lips suddenly felt clumsy as I tried to spit out the basic care instructions that he would need.

“Keep it dry,” I muttered, adding, “and change the bandage daily.”

Michael’s head bobbed enthusiastically, “Aye, Màthair. I will.”

The bandage now fastened off and talisman administered, the children simply stood and beamed at me, waiting for dismissal or further instruction.

“Right then,” I swallowed hard. “Off you go.”

With a parting wave, they flounced off and disappeared into the village’s market.

God go with you, dear ones.

…

Another week later.

The chill from the cave’s damp, stone floor was beginning to seep through the sheepskin beneath me. I shifted, pulling my woolen blanket up and over my shoulders, but it didn’t help… the cold and dark disquiet of the night still found me. My eyelids and every muscle in my body burned with fatigue, yet my mind refused to stop churning. It’s machinations kept me forever suspended in wakeful agony.

“Canna sleep?”

A short puff of air left my nose in frustration as I tried to ease the ache in my hip and lower back, as well as in response to Murtagh’s observation.

“Of course not,” I muttered in answer.

How could I sleep when I knew we’d been unsuccessful?

When we’d paraded through every village, hamlet, and croft and had no more information on Jamie’s whereabouts than when we’d left Lallybroch over three weeks ago?

I felt Murtagh’s gaze upon me and looked across the fire to find him studying me intently.

“What is it?” I raised a brow in slight annoyance

He’d grown more accustomed to my condition as both our journey and I progressed, but he was still more than a bit tongue tied about the whole matter. I didn’t know if it was due to the century and culture in which he lived, or if it was simply from lack of exposure, having never had a wife of his own. Either way, the fact that he had questions was evident and I often had to drag them out of him.

“Are the bairns troublin’ ye?” His brows furrowed in concern as he added, “Wi’ their movin’?”

I shook my head, “I think they’re asleep.”

This surprised the Scot and he absently stroked his chin in thought, a motion that amused me as I realized my hand closely echoed his, although it was hidden from his sight beneath my blanket.

“They don't always sleep when I do,” I explained, even while wishing they did, “but they do sleep.”

“When they wake…” he searched for the right words, “a bit like ye’ve swallowed fish, aye?”

“More like a small hippo,” I grumbled, wistfully remembering the days when the movements within me could have been something akin to the brush of a fish’s tail, instead of the hooves on fire they resembled of late.

“A wha’?”

“It’s a… it looks something like a pig,” I started, my gaze lifting to the dark, stone ceiling above me as I tried to conjure up the image of the beast. One had nearly capsized our boat when I was in Cairo with Uncle Lamb and — though I’d only been eleven or twelve at the time — it was certainly an experience that stuck with me.

I heard his astonished murmured acknowledgement as he shifted his mental image from something the size of a loaf of bread to a decent sized farm animal and grinned to myself as I added, “Except it’s bigger than a horse.”

His guttural reaction was incoherent to my Sassenach ears, but the shock, disbelief, and then reverent awe was crystal clear. Murtagh didn’t quite know how to change the subject and we both let a heavy silence fall.

It was now well into December, making me officially in my sixth month of pregnancy. The babies were growing rapidly and so, in turn, was I. It felt as though they were already running out of room… though I knew we still had a long three months to go.

The blessing of living on the road was that I hadn’t seen my reflection since we’d left Lallybroch. I firmly held onto that mental image of my figure, not wanting to think of what I looked like now, nor how big I’d be come the month of March. The fit of my skirts was evidence enough of how I was changing on an almost daily basis and I half wondered if the age old tradition of confinement was so that heavily expectant mothers could get away with wearing nothing but their shift all day… but come to that, I wasn’t sure if even my shift would fit for much longer.

“Ye’ll return to Lallybroch in the morn,” my companion’s command interrupted my wandering thoughts.

I stiffened, my head snapping to the side to search for him in the dark.

“No,” I responded simply.

I hadn’t the energy or the words to plead my case just now, but giving up on my husband was not an option and neither was returning home to Jenny empty handed. I would not go back to Lallybroch without Jamie at my side.

The dim light of the fire threw deep shadows across Murtagh’s face as he insisted again, “Ye’ll go, Claire.”

“I won’t,’ I countered, my temper flaring and swallowing my fatigue as I pushed myself up onto one elbow. “He is my husband.”

He rose one brow as if taunting me, his silent ‘do ye no’ think I ken that’ ringing loud and clear in my ears and I swallowed hard in a desperate attempt to keep my tears at bay.

“You can’t possibly know how it feels!”

Murtagh rose suddenly and strode to the mouth of the cave as he burst, “An’ ye’re the only one to lose someone ye loved, then?!”

The sky was clear and the moon shone bright tonight, silhouetting his hunched shoulders, usually so proud and stalwart.  

“I lost someone too,” he murmured, his voice betraying the deep, churning waters that flowed beneath an always unbroken surface.

“‘Twas at a MacKenzie gathering, many years ago… she was a canty lassie, bonnie as the day is long… but she had another suitor. So, I thought to prove myself to her, to be the kind of man she desired… During the hunt, I alone killed the wounded boar with nothing but my dagger… The MacKenzie was so impressed by the deed, he gave me the tusks… I had them made into bracelets… and gave them to her as a wedding gift.”

The bracelets.

Jenny had given them to me the morning Murtagh and Ian had returned and they’d been in my pocket ever since, a talisman of my own to keep Jamie’s presence with me. I pushed myself the rest of the way up, my hands patting at my skirts to find them.

“It was you,” I whispered as my fingers wrapped around the curved ivory, warm from being against my body.

Murtagh turned and I staggered to my feet, closing the distance between us as I held them out to him. He was at my side long before I made it to where he’d been standing and his hands shook as he took the bracelets, bringing them to his lips as his eyes slid shut. He swayed slightly and it was my turn to place a steadying hand on his arm, .

“Ye think ye’re the only one who loves Jamie?” Murtagh murmured after a moment, the silver light of the moon making his damp cheeks shine bright as he finally looked at me. I found my own pain echoed in his eyes, multiplied tenfold.

“He is a son to me, a nighean.”

I nodded, knowing that I couldn’t possibly form accurate words to convey the acheings of my heart… the overwhelming and soul crushing realization that he did, indeed, know how I felt and he’d been carrying the weight of it around for decades.

My hand gripped his arm and he pulled me to him, supporting me as I cried. His hand lifted to gently cradle the back of my head as I sobbed into his shoulder, my tears flowing free for the first time since we’d left Lallybroch.

The doubt crept in as I let go of my facade, making me ask, “What’s going to happen to me… to us, if he’s… if Jamie is...”

“If the lad is truly gone,” Murtagh choked out, his embrace tightening, “I vow to protect ye and the bairns for the rest of my life… just as I swore to Ellen to protect Jamie.”

[drink-n-watch]

I’ve never spoken about this before but did you guys know that Crow is the one that adds in all the links in these posts? Even when I’m the one hosting, Crow just goes through my paragraphs and adds all the relevant links without ever being asked and without ever even mentioning anything. He just sort of naturally does it. To help me out and give you all a better experience. Some people are like that. They gravitate towards helping whenever they can in any way they can. If the rest of us are lucky enough, we can meet someone like that. There’s a name for it…

Thank you Crow, I do appreciate these little things. I’m sorry it took me so long to say something.

You’re most welcome! I don’t even notice I’m doing it anymore; it’s kinda automatic. In the back of my mind, I worried that I was taking liberties with your text, which wasn’t at all what I intended to do! Glad it came across in the right spirit!

Oh, I’m bold, there will be spoilers, etc…

  I’m writing this before Crow reads it but I bet he’s gonna hem and haw and play it down. Of course he is. He isn’t the sort to hoard credit. And he’ll find some excuse to blow it off, like say that I must be in a particularly good mood. And maybe I am, ‘cause this was a fantastic episode! Doesn’t change that I really appreciate what Crow does.

So, do I send the small, unmarked bills to the same address as usual? You were even more kind than usual, so I feel like I should include a bonus or something…

  One thing I appreciate is when a series has some reverence for its own lore and history. This is why I love subtle throwbacks. Like the opening scene of this episode which recalled the first moments of the series. Just that already had me in a happy place. But when I saw that Froppy and Uraraka were in fact fighting and holding their own, well I just cheered.

It was fantastic to see the ladies front and center like that. And kicking behind at it! The scene was a short opening tag but it gave me all I needed. The action was fluid and fun to watch. The girls were efficient, powerful and worked very well together. And their mentor, Ryuko, who was on screen for less than a minute, somehow manage to come off as one of the best hero mentors in the series. She gave encouragement and tangible practical advice that was easy to follow and understand. Plus she let the students do the actual work but made sure everything was under control. I am impressed by this agency! One of the best pro heroes, possibly aside from Eraserhead, I’ve seen so far!

It was great to see Froppy and Uraraka again! Froppy was her usual cool, efficient self, and even though she was nervous, Urakaka showed how far she’s come in her training too. 

I’d read some Tweets where fans were talking about Ryuko, and I tried not to pay attention because I didn’t want any spoilers. I came away with a vague idea that we should expect great things from her. Based on everything you noticed about how she handled herself and the students that were her responsibility, I think I see signs of greatness.

Or tragedy. They could be setting up a non-core cast member who we grow to love. Just before her final encounter with Overhaul. Seriously, the more I see of that guy, the more worried I become on behalf of our heroes…

That was a lot of text about the little scene before the opening credits. This episode wasn’t about the girls. And normally I might think that’s too bad. The fact that I don’t should clue you in on how this post is about to go.

If you remember, 3 1-A students had been contacted by members of the Big Three. Tsuyu and Uraraka by Neijire (who seems delightful) and Kirishima was contacted by the usually reserved Tamaki. It seemed odd from the start for someone so introverted as to feel the need to constantly hide his face to reach out to someone, and someone as loud and boisterous as Kirishima at that. Only it wasn’t, because as it turns out, Tamaki is smarter than me… But we’ll get back to that.

Tamaki is currently under the tutelage of pro hero and Totoro lookalike, Fat Gum, and he has enlisted Kirishima to join the agency. And what a time to be a professional hero! Behind the scenes Overhaul and Shigaraki seem about ready to strike a deal.

Watching these two together was chilling, but what struck me most was just how calm Shigaraki was. I thought the loss of All for One would have broken him, but it doesn’t even seem to have phased him. In fact he sounded more confident and mature than ever before. I have a feeling that’s a very bad thing…

I think his earlier encounter with Overhaul affected him quite a lot. I got the sense he actually felt responsible for the survivors like Himiko and Mr. Compress. Instead of hurling himself in a despairing fury, he’s regrouped and has begun to exert some self control. As you said, that’s a very bad thing!

In order to secure his place in this wild new world and protect his assets (I have a feeling this guy doesn’t really have allies), Overhaul has devised a plan which would let people considerably boost the power of their own quirks for a short period and also render other incapable of using their quirks for some time. Both through the use of drugs. A devious plan indeed. Super strengthened villains against powerless heroes. I guess we’re about to find out if the quirk makes the man.

Or woman!

But at least the heroes know about this plan now. Now that Fat Gum, Kirishima and Tamaki have been confronted by it. In their first actual chance to work as a trio, our heroes easily catch a group of villains trying to escape after a robbery. Well Fat catches most of them and Tamaki takes care of the one that manages to get through. It’s a very smooth operation, both heroes are obviously quite skilled.

Everything should have ended there. Bright headlines the next day and Kirishima feeling a little bummed he didn’t get to do anything. That was all it should have been really. It was dumb stupid lack of luck that made it so that one of Overhaul’s minions, some guy so far down the line that Overhaul’s probably never even herad of him, happened to be in the crowd of onlookers. Just some guy frustrated by his lack of power, bitter at the display of skill right in front of him, and possessing the one thing that could destroy that power, at least for now. A gun capable of shooting drug capsules. And one manages to hit Tamaki straight on. Of course there are two more Heroes there and Kirishima immediately jumps in to avoid Tamaki getting hit again. Kirishima’s hardening skills makes him ideal as a human shield and the second capsule bounces off him without having the chance to inject anything. This is when I started realizing Tamaki was smarter than me. Kirishima really is a hero, wouldn’t you say?

Yeah, and we see that in all its awesome glory in a few moments. He moved almost like Izuku, before he even received his Quirk, had moved to protect Bakugou. It’s not something he did to look good. It’s something he did simply because of who he is.

At this point the situation isn’t quite clear. The first batch of villains have been handed off to the police. The gunman has run off and Kirishima took to the chase. Tamaki seems unhurt so Fat is about to follow the other two but suddenly it becomes apparent that the boy can’t summon his quirk. It just won’t work.

I’ll give it to Tamaki, he was upset, of course, but he really reacted calmly all things considered. I must say, I like Tamaki a lot. The cast needed an Eeyore to even it out!

Not only that, but did you notice that Fat Gum listened to him instead of continuing to speed off? I’m really glad we got to meet both Fat Gum and Ryuko this episode. They seem like the middle class of heroes — people trying to live up to their calling and pass on their wisdom to the young ‘uns. Just good folk!

It will be nice to have someone like Tamaki to balance the relentless (and sometimes exhausting!) positivity from Izuku and even Mirio and Neijire (or maybe especially those last two!). 

The focus changes to Kirishima and this minor villain. He’s just some guy with a weak quirk who saw his team of villains get taken down without being able to do anything. He’s a bad guy, for sure. He’s also just a guy who wants to help his friends and needs to get stronger to do so but doesn’t know how. His fears, and frustration perfectly echo those of every UA student. And Kirishima is a big softie, so his sympathies get immediately engaged.

But there’s a job to do and a confrontation to win, and villains don’t play fair — what would be the point? When Kirishima obviously has the upper hand, the other guy (I should really look up his name – I couldn’t find it; even in the Fandom Wiki, the closest think I could find was a page about Trigger, the drug) decides to play his trump card and injects himself with something that immediately makes him way stronger.

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen Utena, Crow, but seeing that guy with all the blades through him really reminded me of the symbolic imagery in that show.

It was impressive. Even more impressive with that it cut into Kirishima! I admired how calm he remained, even as the blades were cutting into him. His calm under pressure it going to serve him well!

So this is it. Big decision time. The proper thing for a student hero with no real practical experience would be to fall back and get reinforcements. That sounds reasonable. But there are bystanders around and this guy doesn’t look like he’s about to go peacefully anywhere…

I always liked Kirishima. I like nice guys and he was a bright smiley good natured type. I figured that’s why I liked him. Also I like redheads. That wasn’t it, though. I was a bit slow to pick up on it but, Tamaki knew all along. There are a few general types of heroes in My Hero Academia. The cool and reasoned ones like Eraserhead and Tamaki, the efficient result oriented, slightly power hungry ones like Endeavor and Bakugo, the practical ones like Uraraka and Froppy; and then there are the optimistic idealist dorks like Mirio, All-Might, Deku and… Kirishima.

This kid is a hero to the core and it’s completely unrelated to his ego or circumstances. He’s just an uncomplicated straightforward good guy. The type I scold for their lack of foresight and roll my eyes at their single mindedness; and hold in my heart relieved that there are still heroes out there. Determinators are not a particularly interesting character archetype but I don’t hate them. Not at all. I always liked Kirishima, this little sequence, made me admire him.

He not only stayed put to actively protect the bystanders. He tailored his attack to attract the villain’s blades! Sure, he had just powered up and was reasonably sure the blades couldn’t skewer him, but only for another 30 or 40 seconds. And he had no way to know for sure that his strength was enough. Yes, he was so dedicated to protecting everyone he just did it. 

Did you notice the minor flashback we got? The one where he drew inspiration to charge “forward like a horse?” To me, it was the most astonishing thing I saw in this episode, and it ranks right up there in the whole series.

It was Bakugou! He actually inspired someone! I was absolutely astounded.

You what? The very few instances of Bakugo we’ve seen have been mostly positive. His presence also seems to have calmed down Deku  and spur on Todoroki. I wonder if the writers are trying to make a tiny character rehabilitation.

Kirishima manages to hold his own but it takes pretty much everything he’s got. At the very end, Fat manages to catch up and cut off the bad guy’s escape. It was an exhausting fight but a very enlightening one. Not only did Kirishima get a chance to figure out what type of hero he wants to be, but it also got everyone a little closer to figuring out the villain’s plan. But is it already too late?

The first step to thwarting a trap is to be aware of the trap… I think I learned that in Dune.

During those last moments of the evening, Kirishima and Tamaki get to chat a bit. Tamaki clearly tells Kirishima how much he reminds him of Mirio. I don’t think Kirishima caught on though. It’s a nice compliment for sure, but coming from Tamaki it takes on a whole new meaning. Tamaki idolizes Mirio and considers him an example of what a hero should be. He didn’t randomly pick some loud first year to help with their internship, he chose someone who he thought worthy. And he is saying as much. Even if Kiri might not understand it just yet. I hope these two can partner up for a while. They make a good odd couple.

They’ve certainly learned that they can rely on each other. There’s nothing like a dangerous fight to learn someone’s character!

This whole quirk nullifying storyline has a lot of very personal implications for Deku. On the one hand he is potential the most experienced and best placed person to fight without a quirk, having grown up quirkless. On the other, gaining One for All is possibly the most important defining moment in his life, and losing it again might break the boy. Either way, it would make sense that having his quirk locked up would hit Deku drastically differently than anyone else. Man! I can’t wait to find out which way he goes!

I’m betting this is how it’d go: His emotional devastation would almost overwhelm him, even as his tactical mind was working out alternate solutions. Plus, there’s that burning desire in his very soul to be a hero. He charged that blob that was attacking Bakugou, after all! He’d end up being less effective but really well organized — while being depressed about it.

I know I was subtle about it but this was my favorite episode so far. I am pumped! What did you think Crow?

I thought it would be hard to beat the exhiliation I felt during Izuku and Mario’s confrontation with Eri and Overhaul, but you know what? Kirishima’s fight was vintage My Hero Academia. Not only that, but seeing some of my other favorite characters back in action was a joy. Outstanding episode over all.

I’m also dying to see what Ryuko’s power is! 

me too

My Hero Academia s4 ep68 – I Want to Be Strong I’ve never spoken about this before but did you guys know that Crow is the one that adds in all the links in these posts?

[saimonsoon]

The Good People

“We are the Good People, we do not stand for injustice and we do not stand for madness. The Revolution is an ancient disease of the mind that plagues the lesser peoples. Those who live lives of debauchery in the Four Cities and elsewhere have brought this plague upon themselves. In such a case, they must suffer its cleansing fire.”

For twelve centuries, the Good People had lived and worked upon the Rise. Marked with uneven hills and gullies, the grassy, raised plateau dominated most of southern Rise Province. The land was fertile, allowing for sufficient agriculture. Amidst the small hamlets and towns dotted between its hills, small farms fed the stable populace and exported the rest.

There were no cities on the Rise: the Good People were a simple, hardworking folk with little need for extravagance. They trusted only themselves and took a long time to warm to strangers. The few outsiders who lived amongst the Good had to learn their customs and slowly earn their trust. It often took years.

The Good People revered the castle and accepted only one true leader, the Lady of the Mill who had been in power for five centuries.

All settlements upon the Rise were connected by ancient roads built during the Age of Maw. Every one of these roads wound through its hills and gullies, up to the highest point on the plateau. Perched upon this point was the Mill: an astounding marvel of structural engineering that no modern architect could replicate. Older than even the first Heartland Republic, the vast and ancient castle served as the administrative capitol for the entire province, including the Pipelands to the north.

The Good People revered the castle and accepted only one true leader, the Lady of the Mill who had been in power for five centuries. To them, she was ancient, wise and just. It was she who would travel every couple of decades to Millwall and choose a Mouthpiece to impart the Lady’s wisdom, to continue steering the Good towards the Light of Murak.

History taught that a great, impenetrable wall once surrounded the Mill. Sentry Towers had once stood at regular intervals along that wall, overlooking the land. All of those towers and the wall itself were now gone. The only remains were the crumbling pile of bricks that ran straight through the town of Millwall, with the last remaining Sentry Tower dominating the town centre. It was in this town and in that very tower, several kilometres south of the Mill, that Goodwoman Lubecca Stone kept her office.

Goodwoman Stone had served as the Lady’s Mouthpiece and trusted leader of the Good People for over thirty years. She was the trusted Representative of the Lady and the sole individual who determined which strangers were worthy enough to live amongst the Good.  

As their leader, Goodwoman Stone listened to her people. Like her, they strove to live in the Light of Murak. Like her, the Good People diligently performed their daily duties and congregated weekly in their churches all across the Rise. Goodwoman Stone travelled regularly to as many towns and villages as she could, to walk amongst her people and listen to their concerns, their hopes, their fears.

Concerns in particular had grown in recent times. The Goodwoman had spent many months travelling from one town to the next, listening to the crimes and atrocities that had been committed against younger members of the community. Some, to the Goodwoman’s disgust, were little more than children.

Many believed the culprit a Piper. A depraved, debauched tribesman from the Pipelands. A few Pipers did indeed live amongst them, but it was difficult to believe it could be any one of those. Goodwoman Stone had vetted each and every one of those who had chosen to settle on the Rise.

Over those harrowing months, several witnesses came before the Seven Justices at Millwall Courthouse and presented their evidence. It wasn’t long after that the culprit, a tribesman indeed, was dragged before them. Not long after, the accused was found guilty and sentenced.

                                        *                      *                      *

Early spring on the Rise brought intense warmth in the sun and bone-chilling cold in the shade. Despite the dappling of grey clouds in the sky, beams of light danced upon the surface of Lake Pontage. With rolling hills in the distance and tall willows by the water’s edge, it painted an idyllic picture. During the spring and summer, families would take time away from their duties to enjoy their leisure hours.

“What makes this even more unforgivable is that you committed these atrocities against children.“

Today, however, leisure had been forbidden. Goodwoman Stone had declared a Day of Work. The lakeside would be used only for one purpose: to deliver justice for the many who had been damaged or destroyed by the depraved tribesman, Jiiluu Ksashk.

Several meters from the lakeside was a large barrel, constructed for this occasion. Filled with water, the top was completely sealed off save for a small wooden hole. Out of that hole poked a head: thick black hair tied into a ponytail, a goatee, pointed ears, a hooked nose and light-purple skin.

Seven Justices in their black robes stood in a semi-circle around the barrel. Their blue eyes met the beady-black of the condemned man, expressions betraying nothing of the thoughts that swam behind their faces. The only others present at Lake Pontage were the crows, whose caws echoed chillingly on the wind.

The sound of hoofs indicated the arrival of the Chief Goodwoman. Dressed in her usual black attire, Lubecca Stone approached the scene. The Justices made a parting in their semicircle to let her through, silently observing her as she walked closer towards the condemned. When she stopped, the Goodwoman raised her spider-black eyes to meet those of the accused. Her face imitated the expressionless gaze of the gathered Justices. The prisoner returned the same. The only sound was the occasional caw of a crow.

“Piper Jiiluu Ksashk,” the Goodwoman’s voice rose, “you have been accused of horrific, heinous crimes. Crimes against the Province, the State, the Republic and the Lady. Your wrongdoings have caused untold misery and heartache. Your surviving victims will spend the rest of their lives recovering and healing the wounds you have inflicted upon them.

“What makes this even more unforgivable is that you committed these atrocities against children. You, Piper Ksashk, have therefore been sentenced to death in the time-honoured Good tradition. From this point onwards, you shall spend each hour for a day and a night contemplating the evils you have committed.”

“During that time, your flesh will slowly be consumed by the sodfish until you are dead. We shall continue to live, to work and to pray. It is our hope that as your life wanes, you will see the error of your ways. We pray that you will repent, so that your soul may be brought into the light.”

A small, impish grin formed on the Piper’s face. He licked his dark purple lips with a thin, almost snake-like tongue. His eyes narrowed, face forming into a greedy, cold expression that would have chilled a lesser person to their core. Lubecca Stone was not, however, any kind of lesser person. She was unperturbed and it showed.

“I do not worship your gods, Goodwoman,” the Piper rasped in a whistling accent.

“We have but one god,” Goodwoman Stone reminded the tribesman, “and we do not expect you to pray or to lament to ours. Nor do we ask you to seek its forgiveness. Your crimes were not against our god: they were against the very children you brutalized. Now, your final moments will be between you and your deities.”

The Piper scoffed, “What little you know of us, ignorant Goodwoman! Our nation has never had a god – not one! We do not worship, we do not grovel before stone men and lick their feet, asking for pitiful forgiveness! We are the people of the air, the mountains and the field. We commune and dance with nature, we are one with the insects and the creatures of the shrub…”

A high-pitched, whistling noise filled the air as the Goodwoman switched to the Piper’s language. For the first time, Jiiluu’s expression changed to one of utter shock and disbelief. The Seven Justices stirred, not in surprise but with unease. They listened as Goodwoman Stone quoted, word for word, the core spiritual tenets of the Piper tribes to the condemned prisoner.

Silence hung once more, interspersed with crow calls.

“You and your kind are invaders,” Jiiluu accused, “the Dark Masters came to the Rise and your vile, lily-white ancestors followed suite. When that happened, our nation was already old. Our children ran free and naked among the hills! Before you came with your stone houses and your Book of Laws, our proud nation dominated the north of this pitiful country you call the ‘Heartland’!”

“It was you, your laws and your mechanisms that drove us to seek sanctuary in our ancestral home, amidst the songs of the Peace Pipes. The Pipers have been crushed under your imperialist boot and your gawking countrymen travel with their monstrous trains to gawk at our lands and our tents, to call us savages…”

“That is no excuse for rape or murder,” Goodwoman Stone responded, “you have committed injustices upon the Rise and against the Good People. You are being punished in accordance with the Good interpretation of Unspeakable Law. Your fate, Piper Ksashk, is sealed. Now, only a few hours stand between you and eternity. We do not and will not relish your slow, agonizing death. We will instead praise the day that your soul returns to join the song of the mountains. Today, we rid the world of a great evil and bring maybe a little solace to those who have suffered at your hands. We give you only one gift and that is contemplation through pain.”

A barrage of whistling and hissing sounds exploded from the Piper’s mouth. Goodwoman Stone ignored the obscene Pipsh swearwords as Justice Maune walked up and began to tie the gag.

In truth, Piper Ksashk would feel only minimal pain. Before being dunked into the barrel, a doctor had administered the drug, evensip. The condemned Piper would feel only slight discomfort as the sodfish wrapped their toothless mouths around segments of his flesh and, very slowly, sucked it off the bones.

The punishment would last for hours. Even as the Piper’s blood seeped into the water, the brain would stay alive, conscious. Evensip had that miraculous effect: the condemned’s senses would be on full alert. It was likely that he would descend into madness before long as the drug often served to rapidly deteriorate rational thought. His lungs would probably stay intact for a while as the sodfish feasted upon his juicy outer flesh, so it was likely that his screams would echo throughout the hills for a day and a night.

“May eternal rest be granted unto him,” Goodwoman Stone intoned, before making the Sign of the Ankh. The Piper responded with muffled threats.

“It is done,” the Seven Justices chimed, “Murak carry his soul to the mountains.”

Turning her back on the Piper, Goodwoman Stone walked away as two of the Justices marched towards the barrel. They would stand guard beside the prisoner, chanting passages from the Book of Lamentations until he was dead. Her part in the execution was done.

The Goodwoman’s horse-drawn carriage stood waiting for her. She climbed into it with Justice Maune following in suit. Pale-skinned and fair-haired like most Good People, Maune had lost a lot of weight in recent weeks. This had been on purpose: overindulgence was a sin amongst them and Maune had stopped himself well enough in time.

“I see your routine is working out well, Justice,” Goodwoman Stone said as the whip cracked and the carriage’s wheels set in motion, “I commend you for that.”

“No commendation required, Goodwoman Stone. I seek only to live the Good life.”

“Indeed,” Stone replied, “and suffer the same.”

The carriage plodded slowly down the ancient road back towards Millwall. A day of paperwork in the ancient Sentry Tower stretched before her. It had been nice to get out in the sun and take in some fresh air. Tomorrow, she would go down to the lake for several hours of contemplation. By then, leisurely activities would’ve been resumed.

“Goodwoman Stone,” Maune said, “I must ask about the sodfish. We have not carried out an execution for at least twenty years. Not since you decreed it permissible only for the gravest of sins. What, pray, will be the fate of the sodfish? We surely cannot throw them back into the lake. What if one were to be caught and eaten? Should it be consumed, the individual will commit the sin of cannibalism without know. Their soul would be tarnished… forever.”

“You make a fair point, Justice,” Stone replied, “upon my order, the fish will be taken back to Millwall once the Piper is dead. I have arranged for them to be slaughtered in the Old Way. We will set their carcases alight upon a pyre in the town square, before St. Fatima’s.” The Justice nodded gravely, “I should hope, Goodwoman, that this is the end of all this evil. We cannot fall into the wicked ways of the east.”

Stone looked at him. “To what, pray tell, are you referring, Justice?”

“The… The east,” Justice Maune stuttered, “the newspapers tell of many executions and growing unrest among the populace of the Four Cities… We… We cannot afford an Upflaring…” “Do not listen to stories from the east,” Stone warned him, “and listen not to flights of fancy, however tempting they may be. If the Revolution is indeed upon them, it will never spread this far. It never has and it never will. Not while I remain the Lady’s Mouthpiece.”

“But do you not think that the Good will start to wonder…”

“The Good People will wonder, and more importantly, do, as I say,” Stone cautioned, “they will go no further. No blood will be spilled on the Rise without due cause. Should you doubt that, Justice Maune, then I believe you may be faltering in your faith. In which case, I would sincerely question your office.”

The Justice opened his mouth, closed it again.

“We are the Good People,” Stone reminded him, “we do not stand for injustice and we do not stand for madness. The Revolution is an ancient disease of the mind that plagues the lesser peoples. Those who live lives of debauchery in the Four Cities and elsewhere have brought this plague upon themselves. In that case, they must suffer its cleansing fire. The glory of the Revolution is that it is self-cleansing: it weeds out the weaker minds and brings them to the guillotine. I, however, weed out the weaker minds in a more civilized manner. That is exile.”

She gazed at the silent Maune. The Justice fidgeted to the sound of hoofs clip-clopping against the road.

“Do I make myself clear, Justice?”

“As ice,” he replied.

[douxreviews]

Game of Thrones - ‘The Last of the Starks’ Review

"We may have defeated them, but there's still us to contend with."

Previously, I'd written reviews for a couple of different episodes centered around epic battles. In this case, I felt fortunate to be reviewing an episode that's all about the aftermath of an epic battle, as well as a prelude for the next one.

Because I really couldn't decide how I felt about the sudden end to the White Walkers, the Long Night and the Great War until I saw how they planned to go forward. I'm still not sure how I feel about it, but I do know that -- as rushed as The Last of the Starks was -- there is a lot here that I quite enjoyed. At the very least, taking the zombies and ice demons out at the midway point leaves plenty of room to further explore the joys and pains of these awesome characters as they face an uncertain future.

Celebration of Life

The episode's opening is very bittersweet. We start with the somber mass funeral of those who died defending Winterfell from the Army of the Dead, and neatly segue into a joyous victory feast in the castle's great hall. These people just overcame death incarnate, and quickly realize there is much to celebrate. This leads to some beautiful moments.

Dany surprises everyone by singling out Gendry, son of her lifelong nemesis, and legitimizing him as a full-fledged Baratheon. I especially loved that Davos began the cheers for him, it's a nice vindication of his undying loyalty to the family.

Tormund once again attempts to woo Brienne of Tarth, but this time gets soundly cock-blocked by Jaime Lannister. Watching Tormund tearfully relate this tragedy to the uncaring Hound before shacking up with some horny northern girl was hilarious. Which gives us the scene between Sansa and Sandor Clegane, a reunion I had been waiting for.

Although not quite as intimate as it is in the books, theirs is still a significant connection; he helped inspire her strength, and she helped inspire his chivalry. It was nice to see Sansa gain the Hound's respect, and it's always nice to see this hard man's softer, more vulnerable side.

And we finally see Jaime and Brienne become a thing. That love scene was so cleverly adorable in its execution, these two misfits struggling to approach the act of consummating their feelings toward each other. Brienne's awkward stiffness as she finds herself in a mutually romantic situation for the first time in her life, and Jaime's even more awkward attempt at flirting after a lifetime of ignoring all other women in favor of his twin sister. Very well handled.

Of course, there are still a couple of episodes left and they can't be full of nothing but our favorite characters happily prospering. As Littlefinger previously addressed, and as Tyrion reaffirms here, defeating the mythical White Walkers and saving the world means everyone must now deal with that world and each other.

Moments of Truth

Daenerys is quick to recognize this as well. The celebration only reminds her that she is still a stranger in her own homeland, that Jon Snow is the heroic leader people revere, and that his claim to the throne is stronger than hers regardless of whatever her destiny truly is. Emilia Clarke's performance shines here in a way I haven't seen for a couple of seasons now. This is because for the most part we only see her wearing Dany's queenly mask of superiority, mostly cool but occasionally smoldering. Whereas now we are seeing Dany in a state of palpable desperation.

The scene between her and Jon really brings their circumstances down to earth quite dramatically. They are in love and want to be together, but the truth of Jon's origin threatens to tear them apart and the realm along with them. Dany begs Jon not to reveal his secret identity to anyone else, but he feels compelled to tell Sansa and Arya because they are his family.

I'm disappointed that we don't see Sansa and Arya's immediate reactions to the truth, but their choices later on are just as telling.

Sansa chooses to betray Jon's trust by spilling the beans to Tyrion, hoping to erode Dany's power in favor of Jon. This would almost certainly guarantee an Iron Throne controlled by the Starks.

Arya chooses to join the Hound on a suicide mission to King's Landing, which is a bit more ambiguous. Is she questioning her own existence after learning Jon's secret and refusing Gendry's proposal, finally accepting that she wasn't born to be a subservient sister or wife but an instrument of death? Or is she risking her life in order to protect Jon, who she will always love as her brother, no matter where he came from?

Either way, it seems like a lot of carnage could have been avoided if Arya had just offered to go south and single-handedly assassinate Cersei for Jon and Dany.

The R+L=J revelation also leads to a few great scenes between Tyrion and Varys. Tyrion is clearly distressed, but Varys (rather hypocritically) begins suggesting that they should kick Dany to the curb and put Jon on the Iron Throne. It's been so long since we've seen the serious side to this duo. Now it seems Varys is poised to betray the queen he marked as a savior, in the name of the people. Meaning he's probably got dragonfire in his future. Or maybe not. The way their last conversation ends, you get the feeling that Tyrion's plea for Varys not to threaten Dany is more of a warning. Tyrion did start off his relationship with Varys by threatening to kill him for potentially endangering a woman he cared about.

For once, Tyrion is the character who's really hard to read. He seems to know Jon is a more ideal choice, but he can't bring himself to consider betraying Dany. He fears Dany's potential for madness and destruction, but he also genuinely believes in her potential for greatness.

I still think Tyrion's loyalty to Dany goes beyond just finding a ruler worth sticking with. Part of me thinks he's got some repressed romantic feelings toward her, and another part of me thinks he views her as the sister Cersei never was. Which likely makes the fact that they are at war with Cersei all the more complicated, since Tyrion just can't bring himself to give up on her.

Despite the whacky Stark kids, the legendary warriors and the various schemers and pretenders to the throne, the story really does seem to center around our three main outsiders, Jon, Daenerys and Tyrion. And I think Tyrion is drinking so much because he understands that he is caught in the middle and has the burden of deciding all of their fates and doesn't know the right choice. He is finally beginning to see the long shadow he is casting.

And despite Jon's stubborn optimism that everyone can get along, even he seems indecisive and adrift. He claims to not want the throne or the crown or even his "true" identity, but his departure from Winterfell shows us that he's still leaving behind everything that's been a core part of who he is: the North, the Free Folk, his friends and family, he even asks Tormund to bring his direwolf Ghost beyond the Wall. Whether he knows it or not, he is being drawn toward the Iron Throne, his supposed destiny. But his scenes in this episode drive the point home that he will always be Jon Snow at heart, not Aegon Targaryen VI. His connection to the Starks, the North, the First Men (hell, maybe even the Old Gods) is clearly much stronger than the blood of the dragon running through his veins.

Death of Dragons

And to drive this point home, immediately after Jon leaves Ghost behind, his dragon Rhaegal winds up dead.

Yes, "The Last War" quickly goes wrong for Dany as Euron Greyjoy lays an ambush at Dragonstone, destroying the rest of the Targaryen fleet and capturing Missandei in addition to killing one of her dragons with new souped up scorpions.

It's both frustrating and amazing that Cersei has been allowed to turn the tables like this, though forgivable in that it's largely a result of other people. Euron's unpredictable nature and talent for raising hell is key to her strength, Jaime's theft of the Tyrell wealth is the only reason she could afford the Golden Company, and she likely wouldn't have gotten this far if a crazy resourceful bastard like Qyburn hadn't been backing her up. Gold, cruelty and fool's luck have subsequently left her in a position where she is more dominant than a woman who had previously dominated almost half a continent.

Dealing with an enemy as maddeningly chaotic and power hungry as Cersei is doing the opposite of what Tyrion wants by provoking Dany to be just as bad or worse in her quest for victory. That Tyrion continues to delude himself into thinking Cersei is "not a monster" because she "loved her children" still annoys me. You could argue that he's trying to reason with her simply to avoid any more bloodshed, but Tyrion should be smart enough to know by now that appealing to Cersei's humanity and rationality is hopeless. Which Cersei proves by having the Mountain decapitate Missandei, spitting on Dany's last bit of mercy. Our dragon queen has never been closer to giving the order to "burn them all" than she is now.

Missandei's resolute final words -- "Dracarys", which calls back to the moment she went from enslaved translator to royal herald when Dany began her revolution in Slaver's Bay -- might give us some hope for sweet revenge and catharsis, but I imagine the end result will be more difficult to reconcile. King's Landing is a powderkeg just waiting to go off. I mean, we've got the combined Stark and Targaryen forces about to do battle with the combined Lannisters, Ironborn and Golden Company sellswords, Dany unleashing her wrath on dragonback while Cersei uses the populace of King's Landing as a shield, the Hound facing off against the Mountain, Arya coming to kill Cersei and Jaime possibly on his way to do the same (more on that below), there's a good chance Cersei will use wildfire again to give her more of an edge, all on top of Tyrion and Varys butting heads as they toy with Jon and Dany's lives in the game of thrones.

If The Long Night was any indication, we'll likely see most of this resolved in the next episode after much senseless violence. However, unless everyone ends up killing each other, that still leaves a bunch of other unanswered questions. Will our heroes Jon and Dany come to terms with who they are? How does Tyrion go on after the downfall of his dysfunctional family? Can the Stark children ever come back from the tragedies and horrors that have defined their lives? Is what's left of Westeros going to survive the long winter? How long will this winter be? Why are the seasons so long anyway? If the realm does survive, will it and its people learn from this devastation and evolve, or forget and doom themselves to repeat history over and over? What exactly is the Prince That Was Promised, or the Lord of Light? Where does any of this magic come from? Does Bronn get his fancy castle? Was the Three-Eyed Bran the bad guy all along? Will the gallant cat Ser Pounce ever return?

I guess I'll find out, one way or another. Hard to believe this show's almost over.

Schemes & Plots:

* The funeral scene got to me. Guess I just wasn't ready to see characters like Jorah, Theon or Dolorous Edd get laid to rest.

* I love how Podrick casually sets up a threesome in the background as Sansa talks to Sandor.

* Bronn gets a scene with Jaime and Tyrion that, while fun, is basically a retread of most other scenes between these characters. Which pretty much boils down to this: "You fuckers owe me a castle!" I know it's a cute way of illustrating that Bronn would rather not kill the Lannister bros, but realistically he should have cut his losses a long time ago.

* Varys mentions that the "new Prince of Dorne" has declared for Daenerys. Whoever this is, I doubt we'll ever see him. Guess the show chose to forget that Oberyn Martell had eight daughters, which would leave five still alive after the demise of the loathsome Sand Snakes.

* Gilly is pregnant with Sam's baby. Big surprise, they're gonna name it Jon if it's a boy.

* Not long after the Jaime/Brienne ship sets sail, it capsizes when Jaime learns that Cersei is gaining the advantage over Dany. He then apparently abandons his chance at honor, love and peace to go back to Cersei, breaking Brienne's heart. Or so it would seem. I think Jaime is really going back to put an end to Cersei himself, and simply played the villain to keep Brienne from following him to almost certain death. Jaime states the unforgivable things he's done for Cersei as if to affirm that he is just like her, but I think this is him owning up to the fact that loving Cersei made him into a monster, something he doesn't want to be. In this light, Jaime killing Cersei would be as poetic as Tyrion killing Tywin; their struggle to please these hateful tyrants enslaved them both, forcing them to compromise their principles and accept lives of humiliation and scorn. A missing sword hand isn't Jaime's greatest handicap no more than dwarfism was Tyrion's. It's Cersei. She's a chain he needs to break free from.

* Watching Jaime struggle to unbutton his tunic or ready his horse makes me think of all the other one-handed difficulties he must have dealt with during his solo journey north.

* I still really hate that there's no snow in King's Landing. After all the talk about how "Winter is Coming", winter has had far less representation than I imagined.

* Tyrion's parlay with Qyburn reminded me of the deleted scene from The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King where the heroes meet the Mouth of Sauron.

* We see the way this world's history repeats itself through Gendry. House Baratheon was originally founded by a man said to have been Aegon the Conqueror's bastard brother, and they are once again made rulers of the Stormlands by another Targaryen conqueror. It's taken even further when an overjoyed Gendry asks Arya to be his wife and gets rejected, just like his father Robert was rejected by Lyanna Stark. The Baratheons are typically very gifted individuals, but they are woefully unlucky when it comes to love and family.

* Speaking of history repeating, it turns out Cersei really is manipulating Euron the same way she manipulated King Robert, tricking him into believing that her Lannister incest baby is his Greyjoy heir to the throne.

* Rhaegal died at Dragonstone after being unceremoniously impaled by three javelins and sinking into the waters. This was similar to his namesake, Rhaegar Targaryen, the Prince of Dragonstone who was unceremoniously defeated and died in the waters of the Trident.

* Still not enough Ghost.

Quotes:

Sandor Clegane: Used to be you couldn't look at me. Sansa Stark: That was a long time ago. I've seen much worse than you since then. Sandor: Yes, I've heard. Heard you were broken in. Heard you were broken in rough. Sansa: And he got what he deserved. I gave it to him. Sandor: How? Sansa: Hounds. Sandor: (chuckles) ... You've changed, little bird.

Jaime Lannister: You know the first thing I learned about the North? I hate the fucking North. Brienne of Tarth: It grows on you. Jaime: I don't want things growing on me.

Daenerys Targaryen: (to Jon) I saw the way they looked at you. I know that look. So many people have looked at me that way, but never here. Never on this side of the sea.

Jon Snow: If you only trust the people you grow up with, you won't make many allies. Arya Stark: That's alright. I don't need many allies.

Tormund Giantsbane: (to Jon) You've got the north in you. The real north.

Sandor Clegane: (to Arya) Must've felt good, sticking your knife in that horned fucker.

Varys: How many others know? Tyrion: Including us? Eight. Varys: Then it's not a secret anymore. It's information.

Varys: You know our queen better than I do. Do you think she wants to share the throne? She doesn't like to have her authority questioned-- Tyrion: Something she has in common with every monarch who ever lived. Varys: I worry about her state of mind. Tyrion: We're advisors to the queen. Worrying about her state of mind is our job... We still have to take King's Landing. Maybe Cersei will win and kill us all. That would solve all our problems.

Euron Greyjoy: She's coming for you. Cersei Lannister: Of course, she is. Keep the gates open. If she wants to take the castle she'll have to murder thousands of innocent people first. So much for the Breaker of Chains.

Daenerys: They should know who to blame when the sky falls down upon them. Damn.

Varys: I have served tyrants most of my life. They all talk about destiny. Tyrion: She's a girl who walked into a fire with three stones and walked out with three dragons. How could she not believe in destiny?

Though I'm not crazy about the direction these last few seasons have gone in, it was an absolute pleasure to be able to write reviews for this show. Game of Thrones is truly phenomenal. It'll be a shame not to have it to look forward to anymore. Three and a half out of five Starbucks coffee cups.

Logan Cox