#and he walks and looks with such reproach and discontent that you would feel them even if you were not sensitive to his emotions

[darlingpwease]

LAN WANGJI, who is very persistent in conducting a secret wedding to the point that it really becomes difficult for you to resist him, because if he wants, then he gets, and the fact that you refuse over and over again only strengthens his resolve and makes him resent your refusals

VS

lan qiren, whom you definitely don't want to deal with, because you are a member of the Gusu Lan sect and you know that LAN WANGJI will easily spill the fact that you are married, while lan qiren is already looking suspiciously in your direction, rather trying to find signs that LAN WANGJI is not head over heels in love with you than the other way around

[whereflowersbloom]

Shadows and thorns

Part I

The ‘Princess of thorns’ they usually call her, among other names, cursed child, witch. Some said born with the gift, others the curse. The promise of a witch had been sacred for a long time. Ages before her birth, but unfortunately it comes with a high price. Her innocent mother suffered the consequences. Her dying mother weakly lifted her head to look at her, for the first and last time, a stormy night. The Queen closed her eyes, content, exhaled her last breath as the baby girl let out her first cries. Her wailing resonating through the empty halls. Born with unnatural powers, a girl with soft silver white hair, big stunning violet eyes, shinning like jewels, pale skin almost transparent and a gentle heart. Growing fast, possessing incomparable beauty, showing surprising powers that needed to be groomed with care. The people of her land utterly devastated by the loss of their last Queen. Fearing the cause. Her. Afraid of the uncertainty, no sovereign, the birth of a cursed child, with tremendous powers. A witch. Her people talked. She must be hidden from the other Kingdoms, the rest of the world they decided. Forced into isolation. She spent her days secluded, in her own castle, learning everything she could about plants, and the arts of magic, devouring every book she gets her hands on. Accompanied by the animals, they do not fear her powers. And the exception of a few servants and her guardian.

She’s the sole and last daughter of Azarath. Her nation was relatively small and poor compared to others. Nothing like Nanda Parbat which was vast, rich and extensive. Now she would be traded away to secure her territory. At the age of 16 years old, John Constantine declares she’s to be married to Wallace West, nephew of the King of a Kingdom not too far from her own. The King Bartholomew had no children, so he declared Wallace his heir. Her guardian assured her, the young man was a brave and powerful warrior. He was capable of protecting her, and her powers would remain a secret to the rest of the world. He’d guard her as his queen. Constantine gave her his word.

But will he love me? A silent question her heart whispered, full of thirst for deep affection. Unlikely. Her mind answered.

Constantine meant well, she knew it. It was such a sweet and empty promise. A bittersweet kiss of destiny. She smiled faintly and thanked her guardian for staying by her side all those years. She tried to find comfort in the idea of freedom.

~~~

“You asked for me, Grandfather?” The prince asked firmly with his deep voice as he entered the throne room. He was wearing his gold and green armor, the colors of the house of Al Ghul. He looked up at the king whose wild eyes seemed to scatter, looking for something in every corner of the grand room.

Ra’s Al Ghul scorned down at his grandson and spoke heartlessly, his expression showing disdain. “I did. Your safeguards should have informed you the banquet and tournament will be held in a month.”

The prince clenched his fists in frustration and annoyance. He did not wish for this. However, fighting his grandfather on this would lead to punishment. He subdued his discontent, wearing a neutral mask. “Very well.”

Ra’s eyed his grandson suspiciously, he wasn’t showing resistance anymore. “Heed my warning boy, you will choose a suitable bride by the end of this tournaments or I’ll do it myself. If you weren’t my only heir, I’d remove you from succession.” The prince narrowed his eyes, getting the message.

He inclined his head, showing respect to his grandfather and king. “I understand.” He wondered what his ancestors would think of the cruel monster ruling the empire they had build, the whole Nanda Parbat nation called King. There wouldn’t be need to take such drastic measures, he’d find a bride at the banquet and then he’d remove his grandfather as king. It was the only hope to save his people. Avoid the war his grandfather had planned.

“Do what is expected and do not bring shame upon the Al Ghul name, boy or I’ll have you killed.” His grandfather threatened anger reflected in his eyes. “GET OUT OF MY SIGHT NOW.” The king barked.

Damian Al Ghul bowed, not saying a single word,striding from the room, before his grandfather came up with new ways to torture him. His safeguard and spy master following, falling behind him like a shadow. Richard.

To the rest of the kingdom this tournament was the king’s way of boasting the wealth of their house, choosing a bride for the dutiful prince. To Damian and his loyal followers it was the first step in becoming the new monarch the land urgently needed, establishing his line.

A wife was all he required. Love wasn’t necessary.

~~~

Nanda Parbat was far from what she imagined it would be, larger, deep in the mountains, there were some charred ruins of epic proportions, each of its five main towers reaching into the sky. It possessed an ancient beauty. The castle was alive with activity, servants rushing past with bolts of cloth and platters of different kind of foods. Shadows as they called their assassins, sprinting back and forth with curved pieces of steel in their grip, royalty from other nations, high lords and ladies strolling the grounds, admiring the wondrous city carved into sandstone.

There she had met her betrothed, Wallace West from The Westlands. He was everything she had heard about him, rumors from commoners. Wallace was muscular and strong, with reddish locks and sparkling green eyes, he moved with the confidence of a man who knew he was the best sword in the capital, smiled at her as if he expected her to be impressed by it. Other ladies would describe him as charismatic and charming. Not her though.

Rhachel did not feel her heart hammer in her chest when she was in her future husband’s presence. She did not feel her palms sweat or heat rise to her rosy cheeks. She did not feel a ball of nerves ladies speak about, or desire and want pool in her stomach. She did not want to launch herself in his strong arms and stay there. She did not wish to engage in a conversation with him that lasted more than five minutes.

In her mind she’d gladly marry a commoner if she was in love with him. No seconds thoughts. If it meant it was her choice. Unfortunately, her duty consisted of being the wife of a prince. A queen to give him one or two heirs. That was her role to play from the moment she was born or so she had been told. She longed for freedom. Would she ever belong to herself? The wildness of her soul suffocated by the chains of her obligations screamed for release.

“You’ve been neglecting your soon to be husband.” Her guardian chastised her. “This alliance with Westlands is very important. A matter of survival.” Constantine hissed before he lowered his voice to a whisper. She felt like a mare sold to the highest bidder. She reminder herself she was doing it for her nation.

“I understand you wished for love. But it’s your duty. Azarath needs it. You may grow to like him.” John spoke directly, looking her straight in the eye. He rested a comforting hand on her bare shoulder. A gesture intended to give her hope. But I won’t, she gulped down those words that wanted to come out. She knows. Whatever he was willing to provide, he could give to her. It wouldn’t quench her heart and spirit.

With her fists clenched tightly, her blood boiling in her veins so hot it burned, a knot started to form in her throat, yet she refused to let a single teardrop leave her eyes. She was the last daughter of Azarath. She felt both anger and sadness started building up in her chest. She held her tongue. She couldn’t lose control here.

“So I have the rest of eternity to speak with him.” She says bitterly, over the muttering of the other visitors.

Rhachel saw members of the safeguard walking nearby, a man richly decorated in black and green standing in front of them, guards shadowing him, a massive sword to match his height on his hip. Midnight dark hair, olive skin and emerald eyes instantly caught her attention.

“Who is that?” Rhachel asked, fire and curiosity sparking in her eyes, pointing to the man.

Constantine snickered, pushing her hand down discreetly. “That, dearest Rae is Prince Damian Al Ghul.” Giving her a reproachful glance.

It was her first time seeing the Prince, if only she could get closer for a better look but a crowd of astonished nobles had gathered around, making it almost impossible. “I heard this tournament was a ploy for The Prince to find a bride.” She said quietly, eyes still fixed on Prince Damian, who was kissing the hand of a noble she recognized, Donna, the Amazonian princess. The epitome of a lady. She focused on the Al Ghul heir again.

She had only heard good things of the Crown Prince, Prince Damian was said to be everything the folk stories described: tall, imposing, brave and mysterious. A true maiden’s dream. He was said to be well read, chivalrous, a great swordsman, never lost a single match, loved by the commoners and nobles equally.

Her governess had taught her about all the noble families, the most important kingdoms, the lineages, everything she required to know. She read about the Al Ghul, they were said to have cursed assassins blood in their veins, with a large army of cold-blooded Assassins, called Shadows.

The moment she laid her amethyst eyes on Prince Damian she found him too beautiful. Rhachel could not imagine cursed blood or shadows being associated with him. She felt a strong and magnetic pull towards him. Questions running through her mind, if the rumors were true, if he was everything he appeared to be. Who was the real Damian Al Ghul? She shook her head, repelling those impermissible thoughts invading her. “I need some fresh air.” She let know to Constantine before leaving the palace.

~~~

The night was completely clear. The light of the moon gushed down onto Nanda Parbat and illuminated everything in such a romantic way Rhachel could not help but give a little sigh. It was so different from Azarath. Things looked entirely different in moonlight. She felt like a breath of fresh air had been blown across her caged soul. She wore her feelings upon her shoulders, carrying the weight of her duties and past. For a moment she wanted nothing but forget all about it.

Once out of the castle, she headed toward the royal stables. She looked around until she found her horse and smiled instantly. “I’m sure the stableboy will have a nice apple for you, Melchior.” she said, patting her horse’s neck and looking into his big dark red eyes. Melchior has been a gift from John after her twelfth name day. He had become her constant companion. “Maybe I can convince him to give you two apples. What do you say, my friend?” The white stallion nuzzled at her neck. “I see you’ve missed me. Two it is.”

One of the stable boys had mentioned her that buried deep in the trees there was a stream and that the banks were soft and clear enough for a horse to get up to full pace uninterrupted. Perhaps she could explore the unknown territory with Melchior tomorrow. “What do you say, want to go ride tomorrow?” Melchior exhales a deep fluttering breath through his nostrils. “I’ll make sure they give you enough apples.” Rachel promises, encouraging him. The horse seemed to sense her mood lifting and snorted in anticipation. She loved the white stallion, riding him. It gave her a sense of freedom. He’s the only one who understands she told herself.

She was running her fingers through Melchior’s hair when she hears the horse next to her own, nickering to her, as if it were calling her, seeking her attention. She looked at him, studying the beautiful creature. It was an elegant black stallion, huge, an Arabian purebred, dark as night with shinning amber eyes. Magnificent. “Hello, maybe you want some apples, too?” Rhachel smiled warmly at him. She reached out to touch him, slowly, carefully, showing him she meant no harm. The dark stallion lowers his head, allowing her to touch him. She rubbed his long neck gently. He seemed to be enjoying it. “What is your name?” She asked the horse as it were to answer her.

“I must admit I’m impressed. Goliath does not allow strangers to touch him. I’d even dare say he’s taken a liking to you.” A deep voice announced from behind her, startling her. Promply the princess whirled around to see Damian Al Ghul standing there in all his finery, watching her with an amused expression as she petted the horse and talked to it.

So first part of new AU 🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️🙈🙈🙈

What do you think about it? Questions, suggestions, open to anything.

@ravenfan1242 it’s here

[another-snape-story]

Always On My Mind

Chapter XII

Snape thought about you more than he should, more than he considered to be appropriate, but there was nothing he could do to resist that uncontrollable attraction he's grown to feel towards you. Being a loner his whole life, probably for the first time in many years, he found comfort in someone's company – your company. Afraid to admit the fact, Snape gave absurd excuses to explain the feeling that expanded his chest every time he saw you, realizing perfectly well, however, how pointless it was to deny the obvious. His typical mistrust in people, which escalated now, on the eve of return of Him-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and initial desire to find out if there was any kind of threat for school or its students in your intentions when you applied for the position of Hogwarts Professor a few months ago, played a cruel trick on the man, drawing his interest – and later his heart – to a woman, who started meaning for him more than a colleague should. It wasn't right, Snape thought, and this thought made him sad. His obligations in current circumstances – that's what he had to focus on. Moreover, who on earth would want to have him close? Nobody would accept him, he knew it; and his skeletons would always drag him back into the dusty cupboard, where no room was left for joy or even hope – only darkness and emptiness. Pulled himself together, he carried on, still remaining kind to you but trying to keep a certain distance. 

Nothing has changed in his appearance – he's always looked brooding actually. Neither did you notice any change in his attitude. You shared smiles seeing each other in school corridors, had long conversations in the staff room, which led you deep into the night and brought slight headache in the morning due to the lack of sleep. Sometimes you invited him to your office for a cup of tea, but that black armchair in cold Potions classroom seemed more appealing anyway, and Snape, being aware of this, prepared wool plaid blanket for you every time he expected you to pay him a visit, pretending it's always been there.  Although it didn't surprise you any longer, your heart grew a size – you knew he cared for you, and were eminently grateful for his attention. Nevertheless, you still were afraid to say or do something, that Snape might dislike or – what frightened you even more – something, that might push him away – his serious look always kept you alert. He never seemed fully relaxed, therefore you couldn't do it either. Sometimes though, you could notice his features soften in response to your random phrase or look, reflecting his true attitude towards your personality, which – despite all his feigned indifference – seemed like a promising sign of inevitable warming in your relationship.

“Professor Sprout's been too busy with pumpkins for Halloween recently, so today it's me delivering this,” you slumped a box of an impressive size on Snape's desk. You carried it through the whole castle and were happy to finally get rid of this heavy load.

“I thought it was Hagrid who took care of pumpkins,” Snape opened the lid, examining the box content. “It's always been his exclusive privilege.”

“He’s been struggling with gourd aphids for two weeks now,” you explained without showing much concern. “I added some extra item,” your eye excitedly dived in the depth of the box as your finger pointed into it.

“Snargaluff,” Snape spotted surplus jar with green pulsating pod enchanted to always stay fresh. It took him no effort to identify it at once. Perfect, almost twice bigger than prevalent, it glistened in the daylight.

“I just thought you wouldn’t mind having it in your storages,” you looked up at him to make sure he was pleased.

“Merlin, I hope its thorned vines didn’t hurt you,” he frowned worriedly, trying to get a better view of your hands – he wasn’t going to grab you, no matter how bad he itched to.

You pursed your lips to suppress a smile which threatened to give out your embarrassment which suddenly took over you, and drove your eyes away for a second. Not the kind of reaction you’ve expected, but seeing this fleeting transformation on his stone face, usually stingy for expressing any kind of emotion, felt so surprisingly flattering.

“Who do you think I am?” you grouched with discontent in a joky manner.

“If you only saw his pleading eyes – Hagrid’s – when he begged for help, poor thing!” you giggled kindheartedly, changing the topic. “It’s so weird seeing a man of his size almost crying over damaged pumpkins!”

“Never got why they can’t just conjure them,” Snape shook his head disapprovingly. “Minerva could’ve given those little dunderheads some additional practice in Transfiguration.”

“Let them do what they want,” you sighed, “unless you’re not involved, of course.”

“Instead of avoiding unwanted job, better create favorable circumstances that increase the chances of not doing it. Otherwise it’d be too late to keep away.”

“You’re a clever guy, Professor Snape,” you teased him, walking around his desk. “And how often do you make people think what is advantageous to you?”

“Some-times,” he responded stretching the word, as slowly as his glance followed you. “For instance, I let you think for a while I didn’t notice that bandage under your sleeve.” His eyes narrowed, while he stared at you with reproach. “As you’ve just mentioned,” his tone gained cold notes, “I’m a clever guy, indeed.”

“Not that clever to presume I would lie about a scratch from Snargaluff,” you approached him, smiling softly.

“What is it then?” ashamed of making quick – and therefore false – conclusion, Snape blinked confusedly.

“It has to do with the seed you’ve given me,” you clarified proudly, “but it’s a surprise!”

“How did you… What?”

“The seed defends itself, when… Well. I can’t tell you now. Will you be patient, until…”

“Until it kills you?” Snape grunted and you laughed.

“I hope it won’t go that far!”

“Let me have a look,” he stretched out his hand, expecting you’d give him yours. But you just squeezed his palm as a token of gratitude and let go.

“It’s fine, Poppy was so nice to provide me with everything I needed. It’s no more a matter of concern.”

Snape hated surprises. Never had he ever had one to his liking – all surprises he’s encountered happened to be of an unpleasant kind. Neither did this one promise to be enjoyable. What on Earth you had on your mind? And why you found it so exciting putting yourself in danger?

“I got to go now,” you announced not without regret. “Just dropped in for a minute…”

“…and stayed for half an hour,” Snape smiled warmly.

“As usual,” you chuckled. “Sorry for taking your time again.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you’d take some more,” he thought, and said in a more formal tone, “thank you for Snargaluff. It’s exceptionally good.”

“Just good?” you portrayed disappointment.

“I said exceptionally good! Okay, it’s outstanding,” he smirked.

“Outstanding,” you declaimed, savoring the word. “Outstanding sounds much better!”

You swiftly disappeared behind the door, leaving your fellow Professor smile pensively, unwilling to let lighthearted image of yours out of his mind.

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Tag: @diaryofafan17 @yul-is-sparkling @fullmoonshadowwrites @forthehonourof @mayumikurosake @redrehab @space-helen @fluffymadamina nadiigh @theworldisugly-22 ​ @lukaerith-morningstar ​ @sighsinkhuzdul ​ @67-chevy-baby @rustypotatospork @aquila-leo ​ @dandyrua @majusketch @fancygirl61 @writingmi @s00nhi @pinkininja @shizuethedragon

[asgardianthot]

Hunting Season (sambucky) – Part 3

Series Masterlist

A/N: I know I promised this update over a week ago, and I’m sorry it took so long:/ I’ve felt really down for the past few days, I’m having a hard time with online classes and with my lack of serotonin lol. This was not my greatest week and I suspect it’s got to do with the quarantine. I know a lot of us are having a hard time coping with everything and it can be very stressful and draining. We’re all struggling to find the energy to do what we love, and *not* seizing our free time to create or be productive can make us feel very frustrated or disappointed – I just want you to know it’s okay to seize your free time to just rest, even if you haven’t done anything exhausting per se. Emotional draining is part of the global situation, and you have every right to simply exist. People are dying or losing loved ones – I think existing is more than enough right now.

Words: 3106

Summary: A shitty guy has entered the chat. You know who.

Bedtime had come, and Sam followed Bucky to their assigned room. It was, apparently, the one he had been using ever since he and Rebecca were old enough to stop sharing bunk beds. When Rumlow came into the picture, the family allowed the jolly couple to share the queen-sized bed. Hence, that was the set-up for Sam and Bucky.

"Yeah, I forgot to mention." Bucky apologized as they shut the door behind them.

The entire house seemed to have gone silent at that time of the night, making them feel like they should speak in a lower tone than usual.

"It's fine." Sam brushed it off while he kicked off his shoes near the door.

"Nah, man, I can sleep on the divan." Bucky shook his head, "I'll go get some blankets."

The last thing he wanted was to put Sam in any more uncomfortable situations. He was already in the most uncomfortable position anyone could ask of their friend, and Bucky felt guilty every single second of their stay, which had only lasted for less than a day so far.

"Dude, it's fine." Sam insisted, "Not like we've never shared a bed before."

Although they effectively had spent a number of after-parties in the same bed or the same couch, this setup felt a lot more intimate, somehow. Maybe it was the silk sheets, or the elegant shade of white which adorned the room, or the dim nightstand lights that made it all feel so cozy. Maybe it had to do with the fact that that's how boyfriends sleep, and them having to pretend to have that dynamic. Still, Sam wouldn't agree to Bucky's solution.

"Yeah, but it's seven nights." Bucky reminded him with a wince.

"If I get tired of you I'll send your ass to the divan." Sam ended the topic with that, stretching his arms to communicate his deep need of going to bed already, "I just wanna get some sleep, it's been a long* day."

Bucky snorted, "I told you." He smirked as he opened his bag to find his pajamas.

Sam sat on the edge of the bed. He had, in fact, agreed to this insanity. Clues and riddles and family drama and money*. He was there to help his best friend through a tough time, and that was his primary concern, but if he ever got too tired of the Barnes' crap, he could always remember the gold at the end of the rainbow. He let a loud sigh, almost like he was finally dropping off the weight of the 'boyfriend' act, and allowing himself to look exhausted. He dramatically dropped to the bed on his back.

"Two millions, right?" he raised an eyebrow at Bucky.

The appellee nodded, "Two millions."

-

Day 2

One of the many responsibilities the Barnes family had was continuously being good guests, which meant inviting relatives and neighbors and co-workers to spend a day or two in the lake house. Most of them had their own vacation residence nearby, or were vacation-buddies who could hop on their boats and grab lunch with the Barnes. Only a few guests would actually join the house accommodations and spend time with them. It was the case of a friend of Nana, one of Colin's co-workers, Aunt Ida's new boyfriend and distant cousin who would be spending the night, according to what Winnifred said during breakfast.

Sam had a hard time processing the fact that they had all that extra room for futile acquaintances; in fact, he very subtly lashed out at Bucky for allowing his family to set their staff in small bedrooms behind the kitchen when he had such luxuries. Bucky, head hanging low at the empty breakfast table, explained that even if he had Sam's revolutionary momentum and eloquence, his parents would never listen. 'I'm actually the last person who could change their entitled, outdated mentality', was the exact finishing sentence.

Sam once again got that sour reminder that he had to portray something for Bucky's parents. He had to pretend to be okay with the way Winnifred spoke to the maid through hand gestures instead of polite words. He had to pretend to act like he knew what the hell those big New York impresarios were talking about during the first tray of appetizers. Hell, he didn't even know that appetizers came in successions and that those successions were called 'trays', until now.

Most importantly, and at the moment Sam was standing in that big yard with freshly cut grass and a lake view, he had to pretend to belong. He had to walk among senior citizens with more money than they could spend in the few years they had left, young folk who looked like they had too much access to their daddy's bank accounts, and women who spoke exactly like Winnifred, as if different tones or voice inflexions belonged to a lesser class. Sam had to meet them all, and he had to act like he didn't feel as foreign as he'd ever felt.

"You're a saint, Sam." Bucky sneaked up on him and spoke in his ear, standing behind the lost man, "You can stop greeting wealthy dinosaurs now."

Sam realized he had done more than what was asked of him, and so, he dropped his shoulders in retreat. He turned around and gifted Bucky one tired smile.

"You okay?" the latter grabbed his shoulder tenderly, with concern, "This was too much, wasn't it? You should've called in sick like I-"

"I'm not traumatized by rich people, Bucky." Sam rolled his eyes, "I'm dating you, 'member?"

The verb caught Barnes by surprise, until he immediately remembered he meant the farce they were putting up for the family. However, during that millisecond of doubt, it felt like Sam was implying something with a double meaning that Bucky wasn't entirely sure disturbed him. In other words, he felt like Sam was flirting, but obviously, he was quickly reminded of the situation.

"I was just thinking what my mama would have said in a place like this." Sam confessed with a soft laughing tone.

The image was pretty funny. In the few times Bucky had spent time with Darlene, he was overly captivated by her strong personality. She was so caring, just like her son, but patience and subtlety weren't her strong suit.

"She would have been so... justifiably rude to all of them." Bucky dared to guess.

Sam chuckled, "Yeah."

"Would've ruined the mood for everybody." Bucky joined in the loud laughter.

The two were still smiling to themselves when Bucky's mom and Rebecca approached them, both holding cocktails in their hand.

"Whatcha talking about, lovebirds?" Rebecca teased them.

As much as she knew she couldn't raise the curtain to their farce, out of love for her brother, but also because engaging in a hassle like that one would take her out. That didn’t mean she couldn’t make this the most annoying family holiday Bucky had ever had.

"Mind your business." He replied dryly.

"James." The sibling’s mother reprimanded Bucky’s rudeness.”

"I was just messing around, ma’am." Sam jumped in his defense, effectively stopping the potential fight. "I'm not used to so much... elegance."

"You mean all these old and dull people in fancy clothes?" the woman suggested her own disappointment regarding her guests, and nodding happily when she noticed Sam’s surprised grin. "Trust me, lots of us have a hard time adjusting to them."

"Some of us think we shouldn't adjust, but the other way around." Rebecca reproached, which earned her a single head tilt from her less confrontational mother.

Wilson took the opportunity to be the lovable, polite boyfriend, "Are you having trouble with these men too, Ms. Barnes?" he asked with a gracious smile that accentuated his cheekbones.

"I wouldn't call it trouble." She, expectedly, diminished her statement to avoid being interpreted as discontent.

Rebecca gave up on the eye-rolling to start using an annoyed, distant glare. As much as she had always been closest to her mother than Bucky ever had been, their ways of dealing with their life and other people were very different, along with their worldviews.

"They're bigots, big surprise." The young woman used a rude sarcastic tone, yet got no reaction from her Winnifred, who was now decided in de-aggravating the topic of conversation.

"Our friends tend to be on the conservative side.” She said before waving her hand in her own defense, “Don't get me wrong, I'm no liberal."

Bucky snorted, "No one was thinking that, mom."

Sam merely pressed his lips together in order to stop a smirk from becoming too visible.

"But lots of them are very behind time.” Winnifred continued nonetheless, “Treating their wives like housemaids, interrupting me..."

The irony was so palpable, all three younger characters could barely conceal their own personalized expressions, which varied from shock to laughter, because Winnifred Barnes treated her housemaids like lesser humans and interrupted everyone. Sam gave Rebecca a look, which she replied with a nod that implied ‘I know’. She then drew a zip line across her mouth for him to drop it.

It had also been Winnifred herself who stood by George when Rebecca went to a Women's March with her friends and the married couple believed it to be 'too dangerous' because who knows what kind of people can be in a march! Giving credit where credit was due, however, Winnifred had her daughter's back when a family friend grabbed her butt in her sixteenth birthday, and Rebecca, being the strongly voiced person that she’s always been, let everyone know ‘what kind of perverts his father hung out with’.

"Yes, they’re keen on the rich male supremacy around here.” Rebecca sighed, unable to keep listening to her mom pretend to know what she was talking about, and willing to change the subject to go back to bullying her brother, “It's a bummer. So, guys..."

"Oh." Winnifred suddenly said, fixating her eyes on something in particular, past her company.

"What?"

The three followed Winnifred’s view and found a man most of them recognized perfectly. The dark hair gelled back, the expensive but tasteless clothes, and the way he stood his ground like he owned it. It was a look that had once enamored Bucky, but it seemed more like a horrible nightmare right now.

As soon as Sam noticed James’ breath hitch and his face freeze, Sam knew that it was Brock Rumlow. He had only seen the devil through social media pictures, and he wasn’t very recognizable from afar, but the reaction it brought Bucky was hard to miss.

Apparently, Rebecca was even more upset than Sam about the man’s presence.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" she let out with deep rage.

"Rebecca!" her mother prioritized the lady’s manners over the downright astonishing situation.

Rebecca ignored it, "Who invited him?" she whisper-shouted.

"I believe it was your uncle Teddy.” As soon as the woman realized everyone’s stare in reaction to her nonchalant way of speaking, she placed a hand on her son’s arm, “He didn't know, James. What was he supposed to do? Un-invite him?"

"I'm lost. Why is he here?" Sam cut in.

"Oh, don’t worry about him, Samuel!” She gave him a very inappropriate smile for the occasion, “He's a family friend. His father and George are business buddies."

Sam realized he had missed a big part of the information. He knew Bucky had met Rumlow through family contacts, and that they have known of each other’s existence for a couple of years before they actually got to know each other. What he had no idea of, was the close relationship between the Barnes and Rumlow fathers. Had he known, he would have expected the ex-boyfriend to show up, but judging by his fake boyfriend’s state, Bucky wasn’t expecting it either. Probably because he was underestimating Brock’s maliciousness and hoping he wouldn’t invade his space.

Sam spoke directly to Bucky, using a calming tone, "You wanna go somewhere else?" he offered an out.

Unfortunately, before Bucky could reply, Rumlow saw him and began walking directly to him.

Bucky took a sharp breath, "Too late now."

Nobody said a word until Brock joined them.

"Ma'am.” He politely nodded in Winnifred’s direction, then turned to his former partner with a false smile, “James. Care for a walk?"

Bucky knew he was speaking a lot more formally than usual, because Winnifred was there. Care for a walk was just a fancy way of spitting out ‘let’s talk’, and Bucky despised that offer with every fiber of his being, but he wasn’t able to respond. His tongue was tied. He clenched his jaw, feeling powerless, and was rescued by Sam, who extended his hand.

"Samuel Wilson.” He gave Brock a big, play-pretend grin, “And you are...?"

It wasn’t a surprise that Rumlow was being rude, as he had been ignoring Sam and Rebecca’s presence like they weren’t even there.

"Brock Rumlow." He shook the man’s hand.

When Sam dropped his hand away from Rumlow’s, he took Bucky’s in his, as a painfully obvious demonstration of their romantic involvement. Brock lowered his eyes towards the intertwined fingers and bit the inside of his cheek, before nodding with a partially amused expression on his face.

"I take it you're..." Brock tempted, earning an affirmative look from Sam, "And I take it you know who I am."

Wilson tilted his head, "You just told me, you're Brock."

"This doesn't have to be awkward.” The unwelcome man smiled, glancing at Winnifred to make sure she approved of his manners, but even she kept looking away, “We both know James and I-"

"Look, Brock.” Wilson cut him off, “Nobody here really cares. Do you care, love?" He asked Bucky.

Bucky couldn’t help but smirk at Sam’s successful act, "Irrelevant." He agreed.

"Unless... it matters to you, Brock.” Sam frowned sadly, putting up the most condescending act he had ever pulled, “In that case, I'm sorry if this is painful."

If looks could talk, Rumlow’s would have stated a very easy ‘fuck you’.

"We'll see ourselves out, actually. Nice to meet you." He said, then turned away.

Bucky gifted his ex a fake host smile, "Have a good one."

As soon as the couple went back inside the house, Bucky let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He murmured grateful words as the noise of the gathering outside became muffled, and Sam squeezed his hand, which he was still holding. As a matter of fact, they didn’t let go of each other for a while.

-

"I brought us some food." Sam announced when he reached the top of the stairs.

Bucky had hid himself in the small living room which welcomed guests to the second floor. He was sitting on the couch, watching crappy TV, avoiding the large amount of people talking downstairs.

"You sneaked lunch up here?" He asked with surprise.

"Yes, Bucky, I stole two plates of crab risotto and an apple sorbet.” Sam mocked his naivety with sarcasm, “I made sandwiches in the kitchen, you doofus."

Bucky usually felt less than Sam at many things. Sam was smarter, he was resilient, he was hardworking and he was happier than him, most of the times. Seeing Sam in his messed up world only fomented that, because Sam was a fish out the water among the Barnes and their guests, and still, he glowed brighter. He was better than anyone Bucky had grown up with, and certainly better than himself. That’s why Sam had probably asked the kitchen staff if he could bother them for a second while he made two sandwiches, and he probably talked to them the entire time, and he probably let them speak longer than he did because he didn’t want to seem rude.

Bucky just knew that’s what he had done, while, if he were by himself, he probably would have skipped lunch and snacked on leftovers later, when no one was looking.

"What did I do to deserve you?" he sighed, receiving the plate Sam had prepared him.

The appreciation made Sam feel fuzzy. As much as he loved helping Bucky because he was his best friend, he never wanted Bucky to depend on his help. And yet, this time, he liked the idea of being needed by him.

He shook off the idea and sat on the couch, "That's a good question."

"I think God sent you when he saw how shitty everyone else in my life is."

Wilson laughed, shifting closer to Bucky’s and taking a big bite of his sandwich.

"Becca ain't so bad.” He remarked with his mouth full, “She comes around eventually."

"Yeah, she does." James agreed, thinking of how protective the young woman had become as soon as she saw the man who hurt her brother.

"You ever get tired of getting all your parents' shit when you watch her get away with stuff?"

Bucky shrugged. "I'd do anything for her. And they already see me a certain way, might as well protect her from that."

Wilson smiled to him, a warm sensation taking over his chest, "You're really good to her."

As much as Barnes wanted to take the compliment, the exchange had become too intimate, and if there was one thing Bucky had been rejecting during the whole boyfriend act, was intimacy between them. He feared he might get confused.

"You trying to pamper me, Wilson?" he bumped Sam’s shoulder playfully.

The latter rolled his eyes, and they went back to the TV show on screen while they ate. A few minutes later, something was twirling around Sam’s head so heavily, that he had to speak out.

"Hey, uh... A bit of- a really foggy bit of what I said when I was blacked out might have come back to me." He told Bucky, avoiding eye-contact.

James knew exactly what that was. Sam had just seen Rumlow for the first time, which brought back a very specific part of the conversation they both had, but only Bucky remembered.

"You remembered shitting on Brock?" he raised an eyebrow, amused.

"I mean, I'm not sure, but I bet I didn't have anything nice to say about him."

"Nothing you hadn't said before." Bucky lied.

Sam most certainly had said some things about the ex-boyfriend that he had been keeping to himself, and only had the guts to let out while blackout drunk.

They sat back and switched the channels, finding a better movie to watch, ignoring the lunch party completely. Eventually, Bucky found himself laying on Sam's chest, sort of sided, but he was too comfortable to move away.

[laurelsofhighever]

The Falcon and the Rose ch. 67 - The War Dog in the Slips

Chapter Rating: Teen Chapter Warnings: None Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland, Cailan/Anora (background) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fereldan Civil War AU - No Blight, Romance, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Fereldan Culture and Customs, Cousland Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Read on AO3

-------

This letter is written on fine paper, in a steady if slightly scrawling hand, pressed with the seal of a rose in burgundy wax.

 Twelfth day of Wintermarch, 9:33 Dragon

Dear Cailan,

Rosslyn agreed to marry me! She said yes, can you believe it? I know Brantis says personal matters should come after business in official correspondence, but this is important. She’s going to be my wife. I know I didn’t tell you I planned to ask her, or really ask permission, and I’m sorry for that. Everything after the battle was so muddled. To be honest when I did the words sort of slipped out without me really thinking about them, but I know you’ll be happy for me – us. There’s an us now.

Fergus has agreed to the match, to make it official as the head of her household, although Rosslyn said she would have challenged him to a duel if he’d refused, and of course after all the excitement died down she just had to go and be clever and point out there would need to be a wedding if I really wanted her to be my wife.

Since I do (very much) that’s part of the reason for this letter – neither of us know how to plan a wedding. The last one either of us attended was yours, and of course we didn’t have any hand in the arrangements. Rosslyn (my wife-to-be!) has been quiet about it, but I know she feels a bit out of her depth and misses the experience her parents might have shared with her, but we would both be honoured if you and Anora would lend your wisdom. She is writing a similar request to her grandparents in the Storm islands, and – she’s just smiled at me and now I’ve completely lost my train of thought. I never thought I’d be so lucky.

In any case, we should be with you in Denerim within two weeks, though our departure from Highever may be delayed for a few more days. R is worried about her brother’s condition, even though Enchanter Amell has agreed to stay behind and continue as his healer, and she herself is recovering only slowly from her injuries – slower than she would like, anyway. She has resumed training since you left, and is determined as I’ve ever seen her. Despite the strain, she’s insistent on learning the use of her left hand for more than just shieldwork. I understand why, but she keeps accusing me of clucking over her like a broody hen. I would have thought I’d merit something a little more impressive, like a dragon, or maybe a griffin. When I say that it makes her laugh, at least, so it isn’t all bad.

But I cannot take up an entire letter talking only about my betrothed(!) when the report of your victory in Denerim lies on the desk in front of me. We hope all is well, and that casualties have been minimal. We have also received news of unrest in Amaranthine, from both the banns and the people, which I hope won’t cause too much of a delay in us joining you, but aid has to be brought to the freeholders and sedition routed before it really takes root. One day, we’ll have a year where the entire country isn’t at its own throat – won’t that be nice.

Your brother,

Alistair

PS, She knows about the book. I’ll say no more and only mentioned this much because otherwise you’ll ask and then she’ll ask why I’m blushing and then I’ll have to tell her. Just know I’m happier than I thought possible, and that your advice is something I don’t know how to repay.

--

Cailan’s grip on the letter warped the paper as he scanned it a second time, the carefree betrayal of happiness turning a sour feeling in his stomach. His thoughts were unworthy of him, but shadows had preyed on his mind since the battle at Highever, twisting even the most innocent of gestures into cynical attacks, and it took effort not to perceive every line as a slight. He ought to be happy for Alistair, that his brother and Rosslyn had found contentment together, but the snide hollow in his mind that had been gaining a louder and louder voice in recent days pricked at the fragile walls he tried to build around his charity. Would it really be too far a stretch to believe the letter a veiled crow of triumph, his half-brother gloating that he had won the affection of the woman who rallied armies around her with a mere word and whose smile lit her face like the first grace of morning? To think of the queen she would have made…

She blamed him for what happened to her, he knew. He had been too paralysed by the strange terror that had come over him to run to her aid before the walls of Castle Cousland, and that shameful hesitation had almost cost her life. The sudden still on the battlefield haunted him. The shriek of pierced metal and the silence that followed chased him through his nightmares every time he closed his eyes, mocking him, goading him with the lack that everyone had seen in him since he took the throne. Maric would not have hesitated so; the great rebel king who had saved Ferelden would have rushed to put himself before the blade, would have won the heart of the fair maiden, would have halted Loghain’s descent into madness before it even began and thereby spared his subjects the chaos of war.

And Alistair – his brother was a proven warrior, amiable and respected. What had Rosslyn seen in him that she had not seen in the king himself? The pair of them must laugh at him, whispering secrets and plans in their bower as they held each other close. They had stood against Eamon, and won the trust of the Storm Islands – how short a leap it would be, with the other deals they must have made in Orzammar, and the Bannorn, and across the Waking Sea, for them to supplant him. When they reached Denerim, the people would cheer them as deserving heroes and the court would fawn over them while he looked on and was forced to smile even as they drove the dagger into his back.

One of the logs in the fire cracked and fell into two pieces. As the sparks vanished up the chimney, Cailan rubbed a hand down the side of his face and deliberately folded the letter from Alistair before laying it aside on the desk. He was sleeping poorly, and the fatigue made him restless, suspicious. On some days, even Anora turned into an enemy, one whose movements he tracked down to the wine she poured for him, so that he might discover any hint she still took her father’s side and only waited to overthrow him. In those moments, he dreaded that Rosslyn had told the queen of the half-baked plan to divorce her, and any protest from the more valiant part of himself was smothered by the knowledge that the Gwaren soldiers paroled at Highever had sworn their loyalty to his wife, and not to him.

“The people are starving, the nobles discontented, and sleep will not come for me,” he grunted, reaching for the decanter of brandy he had set on the table next to him. “I suffer nothing more.” The lies slipped away more easily with drink, and the fog that settled over him was preferable to the chase of dreams through his mind, the swirls of green smoke and voices calling out in reproach.

Next to him, an elderly mabari with milky eyes and a grey mask of fur around her muzzle lifted her head to whine at him.

“I know, Biscuit. I should know better than to disturb your naps with my malaising.” He reached down to stroke her head as she dropped it on his lap. “Any insight you can give me into Loghain’s plans would be helpful.”

There was the truly disturbing part. Rosslyn’s bartered blood mage had revealed that Erimond had planned to open a gateway to the Fade using the bloodshed at Highever, and whether or not Loghain had been party to the full plan, only luck had turned the battle’s purpose before the ritual was completed. All intelligence now pointed to a search for an equally powerful source of entropic energy. Regardless of whether Erimond found it, the threat to Ferelden now went beyond mundane civil war.

Biscuit whined again, and added her paw to Cailan’s knee, looking up with the same imploring, white-rimmed gaze she had first used on him as a pup when he had walked through the kennels on his twentieth birthday. The door to the study opened and he caught the smell of lavender and orange flowers, Anora’s winter perfume, and the tap of her shoes on the floorboards. Tail wagging, the dog creaked to her feet and limped over to ask for attention from the newcomer.

“What do you have there?” the queen asked as she bent to scratch between Biscuit’s shoulders. Her gaze swept over the accounts and reports organised on his desk, the ones he had been perusing when his thoughts took their dark turn. At first, she had been surprised that he applied himself voluntarily to bureaucracy, had been snide about Rosslyn’s apparent ability to train him to paperwork when his own wife could not, but in the time since arriving in Denerim, she had offered only help. He pushed away the thought that she was just waiting for him to prove himself incompetent and offered her a smile.

“It’s a letter from Alistair,” he said. “My brother has asked Lady Rosslyn to marry him, and she has accepted.”

She nodded. “They deserve some happiness after all of this – her especially. It is a shame her parents are not here to marry them out of her own house.”

“A greater shame that they were murdered,” he replied.

Anora pursed her lips, deciding whether to rise to the bait, but straightened her shoulders after a moment and crossed the room to lay yet more papers onto his desk.

“I came to bring you the scout reports from the Southron Hills,” she told him. “Though I hope you will not linger as late tonight as you did yesterday. You need your rest, and Ferelden needs it too.”

Meeting the pale blue gaze, Cailan slumped. His wife stood with the same neutral poise that had so fascinated him growing up, her hands folded in front of her and every golden hair on her head perfectly set in place, waiting for him to respond. And he was being unworthy, as sulky as he ever was as a teenager realising his life would never truly be just his alone. The events of the past year were not her fault; Loghain had used them both to further his own ambitions.

“Forgive me.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am suffering a lack of sleep, now I think on it.”

The narrow shoulders, held so stiff and straight, relaxed slightly. “I worry for you.”

“Have dinner with me tonight,” he suggested, conviction settling the tremor in his voice. “We can… talk.”

“I am at my husband’s disposal, of course,” she answered, the smile she turned on him guarded, but genuine in the way it brought a crease to the corners of her eyes.

“Good. That’s – good.”

The past could not be undone, but nor could he step forward with despair keeping pace like a hound at his heels. Unless he fixed the problems that had led to war in the first place, he might find himself sitting in the very same position at some point in the not-so-distant future, presiding over a divided court with bodies towering on both sides. It was not just a habit for paperwork Rosslyn had drilled into him over the months on campaign; her wisdom haunted him. One who cannot keep the peace has not yet won it.

[chain-unchained]

October 12 - Part 1

The thing about fall, especially in the valley, was that the weather tended to be unpredictable. In the span of an hour, it could go from being pleasantly sunny, to an icy downpour, to overcast, then back to dazzling sun. It wasn’t so bad if you happened to be inside where it was warm and dry; if you were unlucky enough to be out and about when the weather began to change, though…

“Wow, it’s really coming down out there.” Emily commented from the couch in the living room of the house she shared with Haley, pulling back the curtains on the window to watch the rain come down in heavy sheets. “That’s just fall in the valley for you. It’s too bad it’s so cold out, I wouldn’t mind a thunderstorm.”

“I would.” Haley shot her sister a scathing look from the crafting nook they’d set up in a corner of the kitchen. “Humidity makes my hair frizz, so that’s a hard pass from me.”

“Aw, come on.” Emily shifted to rest her arms on the back of the couch, content to watch the raindrops race one another down the window. “You don’t enjoy them even a little? The sound of the rain on the roof is so peaceful…”

“Would you can it? I’m trying to do something here.” There was a good deal of pent up exasperation behind Haley’s voice; giving Emily another reproachful look, she turned her attention back to the infernal sewing machine sitting before her. “This outfit’s gotta turn out perfect, or else I can kiss that full ride scholarship good-bye.”

Emily hid the smile that came onto her face; she was used to dealing with Haley’s standoffish behavior, so it was nothing new for her to be told off like that. She knew the reason why her sister was so on edge as well, so she didn’t mind acquiescing and just quietly enjoying the storm. “…. Hm?”

She sat up a little and pulled the curtains back more as movement outside caught her eye; there, running down the street towards the Cindersap forest, was the farmer boy, holding his bag up over his head to try and fend off the icy rain.

“What?” Haley glanced up briefly as Emily got up from the couch. “Oh Yoba, don’t tell me you spotted another bird. We’re not keeping it.”

Without giving an answer, Emily hastily traipsed over to the door and threw it open. “Ashe!” She called as the petite farmer jogged past. “Here, come inside before you catch a chill!”

Ashe practically skidded to a stop on the slick pavement. “A-Are you sure?” He asked, looking a bit hesitant as he hugged himself to try and keep warm.

Nodding her head, Emily stepped aside while holding the door open; after a moment, Ashe jogged over, trying not to brush against her with his sopping wet clothes as he crossed the threshold into the house. “Th-thank you so much, Emily.”

“Hey, what are neighbors for?” Emily gave him a friendly smile as she shut the door behind them. “I’ll grab some towels and get some hot tea going, that should help warm you back up.”

It took a few minutes to brew the tea, but before long Ashe was bundled up on the couch, his nearly numb hands clutching at a cup of strong peppermint tea. “Sorry for getting your couch all wet.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’ll dry, won’t it? Anyway, you stay right here until the rain lets up, and then you march yourself right back home and take a hot bath so you don’t catch a cold.”

As Emily passed the crafting nook to go back into the kitchen, Haley snorted quietly. “That’s not even a real thing.” She grumbled, trying to focus on her work again. Every few seconds she’d glance around the sewing machine into the living room to sneak a look at Ashe, who was quietly sipping away at his tea. He was awful small for a farmer, and for a boy for that matter. Pretty sure he was about the same size as someone like Abigail, even…

Shifting to be able to look out the window, Ashe idly drummed his fingertips against the cup. ‘I hope the rain’s not too cold for the crops…’ He thought anxiously, his brow furrowed in concern at the idea of it. The pumpkins weren’t long from ripe, which was good since Spirits’ Eve was fast approaching. With any luck, he’d be able to let Jas pick out her pumpkin before opening the fields to the public..

“Hey.”

Jumping a little, Ashe turned to look at Haley, who had come to stand before him. “H-Hello, Haley.” He greeted slowly. He and Haley hadn’t really had any interaction since he moved to Pelican Town; she was always either absorbed into something like photography, or content to just ignore his dirt-covered self any time they passed.

Haley folded her arms over her chest as she gave him a hard look. “… Take off your clothes.”

The sudden demand made Ashe’s face turn a deep shade of crimson, and nearly made him spill the tea all over himself. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself, I’m not saying to get naked.” Haley scoffed with a shake of her head. “Look, you don’t want to catch a cold or whatever by staying in those wet clothes of yours, right?”

“N-No, but…” Ashe was more confused than uncomfortable at this point. “I don’t… have anything else to change into…?”

“Oh, my Yoba—” Frustrated, Haley practically shoved some dry clothes into his face. “Are you really that dense? The bathroom’s through that door there,” she pointed, “so quit asking stupid questions and go put these on!”

“Y-Yes ma’am!” Not wanting to be scolded again, Ashe hastily set the tea on the coffee table and disappeared into the bathroom. It felt incredibly awkward to him, first being invited into their home when he didn’t know either of them very well and now changing in their bathroom into…. “Um, Haley?”

“Whaaaat?” Haley’s impatient voice snapped from the other side of the door.

“Are you sure these are the clothes you meant to give me--?”

“YES! Just put them on already!”  

Hearing her sister’s exasperation, Emily stepped out from the kitchen to see her waiting impatiently by the bathroom. “What are you up to?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“… Yes, actually, that’s why I asked.”

“Well, if Farmer Dork here would hurry it up, you could see.” Haley drummed her fingertips against her arm; she was never a patient girl, and it was really grinding her gears that Ashe was taking his sweet time to change.

After almost a minute, the door unlocked and began to open—“Finally,” Haley huffed—and a very meek Ashe stepped into view; no longer was he wearing the overalls and bright orange turtleneck. Emily’s jaw dropped a little at the sight of him, clad in a lilac-colored t-shirt type top hanging baggily over a long sleeved white dress shirt. Instead of pants, a pair of charcoal shorts—also baggy and oversized for his small frame—covered the upper parts of his legs, while clean white leggings pulled halfway up his thighs covered most of the rest. He looked like… a totally different person, and quite an uncomfortable, embarrassed one at that.

“Hrm….” Haley grabbed his arm and pulled him to stand in the middle of the living room, taking her time to walk circles around him and examine him from every angle; more than once she would stop, tug on a piece of the fabric, make a noise of discontent, and then resume her circular march. Out of nowhere, she let out a frustrated yell. “Yoba, this won’t win the scholarship!”

“Scholarship?” Confused, Ashe looked to her, then to Emily, who gave him a sympathetic smile and a shrug of her shoulders.

“Haley’s trying to get into a fashion design academy in Zuzu City.” She explained simply. “But it’s a pretty expensive school to get into, so she’s trying to win a full ride scholarship.”

“Yeah, and I can kiss those hopes good-bye if this is the best that I can come up with!” Haley yanked on Ashe’s sleeve, obsessing over every flaw in the fabric. “Ugh, I worked so hard on this too!”

“Is it really that bad?” Ashe looked down at himself; sure, these weren’t clothes that he would ever pick out for himself or wear while working on the farm, but they weren’t awful. “If you made these yourself, then that’s really impressive.”

Haley gave him a hard look. “… Of course you would say that. You wear denim overalls every day.” She grumbled, roughly letting go of his arm and looking away with a frustrated pout. “…. Thanks, though. I guess they don’t look so bad when you’re wearing them.”

Another idea struck her, and she whipped around to face Ashe again with her eyes glinting. “I know. I’m sure to design something amazing if I’ve got someone to model outfits on! C’mon, you’ll do that for me, right?”

“Haley, don’t be selfish.” Emily stepped in between the two and shook her head. “Ashe doesn’t have time to be a dress up doll for you.”

“Actually…. I don’t mind.”

Surprised, Emily looked over her shoulder to Ashe. “Are you sure? You don’t have to play along with her, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” Ashe nodded his head slowly. “But I want to. I think it’s wonderful that Haley wants to go to a school like that. And I want to help her. If that means that I have to dress up every so often, that’s okay.”

Rather than being elated, Haley couldn’t help but feel a little muted. She had kind of expected Ashe to just play along begrudgingly, and she’d been okay with that, but hearing him so willing to help her like that made her feel just the littlest bit of guilt. She hadn’t expected him to be so… nice.

“You’re really kind of a pushover, aren’t you?” She asked a few minutes later, as she was busy taking Ashe’s measurements; now that she had a willing participant, she needed them so that the next outfit prototype wouldn’t hang like a burlap sack on him. “I bet you don’t even know what the word ‘no’ is.”

“I do!” Ashe insisted meekly. “I just… don’t say it very often. Besides, I really do want to help you. I didn’t know that you had such a wonderful dream. But… why ask me, specifically? Why not ask someone like Emily, or Abigail, or Penny?”

“Are you kidding?” Haley crouched down to take Ashe’s leg measurements. “Like they’d ever agree to help me. I know nobody in town likes me very much. You’re pretty much the only person that would put up with me besides Emily. And there’s no way that Emily would wear anything I made, even just to model it.”

“I-I see….”

“Geez, you’re such a twig!” Making a note of his measurement, she jotted it down on the notebook by her feet. “How does someone who works on a farm have such skinny arms and legs? I’m actually kind of jealous…”

Ashe’s cheeks tinted a bit pink at the comment; to be honest, he was embarrassed about how small he was. It wasn’t like he didn’t try to put on weight, because he did. “If you don’t mind me asking… what made you want to study fashion design?”

“Well,” Haley picked up the notebook and straightened up to set it by the table where her sketchpad was, “I don’t know if you’ve realized it, but I’m not exactly the most petite person on the planet. Alex likes to tell me I’m thicc with 2 c’s, whatever that means. And it’s really frustrating sometimes to find clothes that are cute or sexy or just nice for bigger girls—if you’ve got a butt, or a big chest, or a thick waist or thighs, then there’s not much selection for you, and it’s usually fugly as hell on top of being expensive.” She sighed and leaned against the table as she folded her arms across her chest again, a frustrated frown on her face. “So I got to thinking that if no one out there is making stuff for plus sized people, then I would. And not just for the bigger girls, either—I want to make a line of clothing that caters to all shapes and sizes and gender identities. It doesn’t matter who you are, what you identify as or what your body is—” she suddenly struck a determined and triumphant pose, a fire practically burning in her eyes, “you should be able to wear nice clothes like everyone else!”

Her sudden outburst of passion caught Ashe quite off-guard. They were both strangers to one another, so he really had no idea that she had such ambition.

“So yeah.” Haley leaned back against the table again. “Of course, the fact that filling a gap in the market would bring in loads of money is a nice bonus, but more than anything, helping people feel good about themselves is my main goal. And even though I’m mostly aiming towards plus sized women,” she gave Ashe the faintest of smiles, “I appreciate that you’re helping me out here. But I’m blaming you if I don’t get into this academy, you got that?”

“Right…” Ashe half laughed at the idle threat.

“Alright then.” Glancing out the window, Haley saw that the rain had all but stopped. “Oh hey, the rain’s let up. You probably should get out of here before it picks up again.”

“Ah, really?” Ashe looked outside as well, relieved that he would be able to get home. “I’ll go change real quick—”

“Go ahead and keep those clothes, by the way.” She added as he moved towards the bathroom. “They’re nowhere near good enough to get a scholarship with, and I’m never going to wear them. Actually, do me a favor and wear them around for awhile. I want to at least see how they hold up under wear and tear.”

“You… want me to wear this around town?” Ashe looked down at himself again, his face turning red just imagining being seen by other people—let alone Shane.

“Yup. You got a problem with that?”

Catching the ‘look’ that Haley was giving him, Ashe decided it wasn’t worth the battle. “N-No, no problem.”

“Good. Now get going.” Considering their little ‘appointment’ done, Haley sat herself at the design desk and opened up her sketchpad to a blank page. It was back to square one, but she had numbers and points of references this time.

Sighing internally—he really was a giant pushover, wasn’t he?—Ashe got his wet clothes out of the bathroom and began to the front door. “Oh, before you go!” Emily called, catching his attention as she traipsed out of the kitchen with an old umbrella in hand. “I knew we had one sitting in one of our closets, so I dug it out for you. Wouldn’t want you to get caught out in the rain again, now would we?”

“Ah, thank you!” Grateful, Ashe accepted the umbrella. “I’ll make sure to return it.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that. Keep it! It’s not like we ever use it anyway.” Emily gave him a smile and a wave. “Be careful on your way home, alright?”

“I will.” Ashe clutched the umbrella against his chest and bowed his head to her. “Thank you again!”

As Emily shut the front door, Haley leaned over to watch Ashe disappear down the road through the window. “You know…” She began slowly, resting her chin on her hand as she sat back and picked up her pencil. “He’s not anything like I thought he would be.”

“What did you think he’d be like?” Emily picked up the empty tea cup from the coffee table and took it into the kitchen.

“I dunno… like you, probably. Super weird and hippie-dippie. I didn’t expect this… puffball pushover.” Tapping the tip of her pencil against the pad, Haley had a contemplative look on her face. “And what’s with that ‘I want to help you’ stuff he was spouting?”

“That’s just how Ashe is.” Emily rinsed the cup out in the sink and came to stand next to her sister’s desk. “He’s just a genuinely caring person. How else do you think he and Shane ended up together?”

“I guess.” Haley looked down to the blank page before her. “… Hey, go and get my laptop for me. I need to look up some inspo.” It was time to fill that blank page up with a fresh design.

As Ashe moved from the town proper to the boundaries of the Cindersap forest, he sneezed into his elbow; despite having been warmed up in their house, he still felt a chill deep in his bones. ‘Maybe I should have an early night tonight…’

[korizar-shademyst]

Miasma (A Glimpse)

(( CW: Abuse to minor ))

Istera always made sure she had the upper hand. It was a heaving daily dose of ritualistic training, nutrition balance and historical studies that filled the majority of Korizar’s young days, guided by a maternal iron fist that was unrelenting in its strict manner. With his father stationed at a post for three of the four weeks per month, everything fell on her (a retired arms master) to see their child raised in the fashion she saw most fitting to become a worthy citizen of Quel’thalas.

This morning was no different, torn from his bed at far too early an hour to be decent for most, taking a rapid cold shower to startle himself into functioning (as well as diminish the morning’s physical frustration in his lower half, an impediment with his current state of puberty), dressing and breaking his fast as quickly as possible. It would be a short trip to market, both Istera and her assistant Daeli walking a few paces ahead of him as they discussed the political climate and current law. He only half listened, neither topic very interesting to him, focusing instead on the warmth of the rising sun and the various passersby. The closer they got, the more people who were joining them on the road, his mother none the wiser as she stayed locked in conversation with her companion. Being far more of a crowd watcher, his crystal blue eyes darted from body to body, noticing everything from the cut of their garments down to the body language they held when with another.

“Good morning, Korizar,” a voice chimed up soft and demure, nearly sending him stumbling into the dirt from surprise. His head twisted around to find a pretty girl perhaps a few years older just a footfall behind, her chestnut brown hair pinned back from her face but rolling in loose curls over her petite shoulders. She was dressed in a thin tucked blouse and royal blue skirt, the former of which hugged her in all the best ways without being too revealing. He felt his cheeks flush and cast his eyes down, adopting a crooked smile. “Hello.” He recalled the spattering of freckles over her nose and knew what family she hailed from, but couldn’t remember a time when they had actually interacted or where she would have learned his first name. “Korizar Thelanos!”

Oh, that was how. With a fleeting look back over his shoulder to her that was rich with regret, he trotted up in line with Istera and clasped his hands behind his back, a soldier’s stance that adopting usually got him some credit. He could feel the heat of her glare on the side of his face, knowing better than to look over. The rest of their outing was spent right there, at her side in silence, observing plainly as the two women picked their fruits, vegetables and meats for the next few days. The smell of rolls from the bakery had him salivating but asking would be a futile attempt, so he resigned himself to only the whiffs of sweet dough. It was always the same.

Their lunch, once home, passed without much fanfare (as it typically did) though today Istera was rather keen on drilling him on his lessons in between bites of his sandwich and garden salad. Making it through a recounting of the siege at Blackrock successfully, he cleared the table of their various dishes, got them properly washed and dried and then changed into his sparring clothes for an afternoon of combat training. He was just tying his dark hair back when Istera snapped out for him to stop dawdling, rushing out into the open area behind their back door where the multitudes of dummies and equipment were forever at the ready.

Try as he might to focus through their polearm session, he kept getting clipped every time he allowed his mind to wander to the sapphire eyes and dotted skin of the girl’s face in his mind which only made Istera more furious with each failure. One particular instance nicked him strong along the ribs, tearing his shirt and welling up a few drops of blood; he hissed even as she chided him for lacking any drive to do well, rubbing the sticky substance between the pads of his fingers.

He met her worn face then, reading the disappointment and malice in the navy glowing orbs right to the slight downturned lips. It set his brain on fire in that moment, frustrated beyond reproach with the constant pressure and discontent. Unleashing a battle cry, he set into a series of blows that she met turn for turn, always a step ahead and never relenting even for the sake of his self-confidence. It wasn’t until a masculine voice rang out over the air that she faltered, a grievous misstep that he decided to follow through on even though it was not the most sportsmanlike conduct. Screw it, this was war, right? She hit the grass with a loud exclamation of protest, his upper body heaving with exertion as he stared down at her in triumph for a few seconds.

It wasn’t until the thud of plate boots sounded out in heavy clunks through the yard that he realized his mistake. His father, Lorivel Lightmyst, offered his wife a hand before Kori could even think to move to do the same, shifting his helmet in his armored hand as he looked his only son over with a careful contemplation. “You did what must be done, hmm?” That was the only sentence he received, though he was almost sure there was a glint of pride in his father’s eyes as the pair walked back into the house talking of the current War efforts, leaving him there to polish the weapons before tending to his rather superficial wound.

The evenings were his small reprieve, in the hours after dinner when he was left alone to read, draw or play an instrument. Tonight he had chosen his guitar, sitting on the window ledge staring out at the expanse of dark emerald grass as he plucked out chords and melodies that came to mind as he let his mind wander. It wasn’t until he was bent over putting it away in its case on the floor that he heard the crack, a searing jolt through his spine turning his limbs momentarily to mush as the weapon licked at his bare back.

“How dare you make a fool of me in front of Lorivel, you cheating little shit!” His palms pressed against the wall as he endured another lash, knowing the sensation of splitting skin well enough but never able to control the way he yelped as it hit. She continued berating him as she punished him, from the training to the tender lady who he had taken pause upon to greet, digging his nails to bleeding along the thick wooden wall of his bedroom.

Korizar was left to huddle in shock, as he always was after such treatment, a washcloth carelessly thrown his way as she slammed the door closed as if it would be of some use to him. Breath hitching in his chest from pain and rage, he got himself to his feet on shaky legs and opened the journal that sat on his bedside table, flipping through the pages until he reached one that only had little slashes of lines on it like a prisoner counting days locked away inside a cell. He tore at it and crumpled it up with an angry growl, beginning on a blank sheet with a single stroke of his quill. Tonight, it has begun. Dinner had been the start of something altogether different for this family. Poisoning might be considered a “woman’s tool”, but it was a beacon of Light for him and he had certainly put it to good use. It wouldn’t work quickly, no, but he had plenty of time. Little by little, he’d get back at her...at them both. He’d find a tiny piece of freedom at the bottom of every small vial.

Little did he know, the scourge would finish the job before he ever could. No foresight, all feeling. A taste of Shade in the Light.

[arianaofimladris]

Tears, part 2

Second image from after Nirnaeth

First can be found here: http://arianaofimladris.tumblr.com/post/173488615967/tears

The aftermath of the battle

 He needed a moment to wake, stiff after sleeping in a weird pose. He was sitting in a hollow and there was a root pinning into his back. He had sat there next to Maglor for the rest of the night, after he had helped Amras clean his wounds. The singer was trying to sleep only to wake up in panic, so finally Maedhros moved so that his brother was leaning against his chest. Only then had Maglor fallen in a restless sleep, immobilizing the eldest son of Feanor. It seemed he had not moved since then.

Maedhros froze as he realised what was amiss. Maglor was quiet... His heart almost jumped from his chest and the shiver had nothing to do with the morning chill. Kano...

He was almost dizzy when, after a moment of dumb staring, he noticed that his brother’s chest was raising and falling lightly. Only the whizz was gone, the breathing sounded better.

“Don’t get up just yet,” said Celegorm. “Let him sleep.”

Maedhros glanced up, pleasantly surprised to see him on his feet. HIs brother was walking and though his movements were careful, he didn’t look too bad. Amras, along with a few others, was preparing stretchers for the wounded.

“I can’t wake Moryo,” muttered Celegorm grimly. “I’ll give him a moment.”

Maedhros glanced at Caranthir, then met Curufin’s gaze. So they were still there...

“Nelyo? What else has happened?” Maglor’s quiet question took him by surprise. “What is it that I don’t know? Your fea is screaming in grief,” he winced.

Right. Maedhros let his guard down for a moment when he sighed in relief, seeing that all of his brothers survived the night. He forgot how sensitive Maglor was in those matters.

He explained without hesitation. A part of him was grateful he could talk about it with the brother he had feared for the whole night. The presence of Maglor’s mind, as well as his weight on his chest, somehow reminded Maedhros that he had not yet lost everyone dear to him.

Maglor moaned softly, propped himself and sat up with effort. He reached with his good hand for a knife at his brother’s belt.

“What are you doing?” Maedhros creased his eyebrows, following the unsteady movements of the wounded.

“I have seen you do that many times.” The singer tossed his braid over his shoulder and grabbed the end with his teeth. Only then did Maedhros realise what he was about to do.

“I am usually stronger than you are now,” he remarked, taking the knife away with no effort.

His younger brother tried to grab his hand, but the sudden movement made him lose his breath. For a while he fought with coughing, but when he calmed, he looked at Maedhros with plea.

“Nelyo,” he whispered. “Don’t deny me that, not when even my voice fails me.”

Maedhros could not refuse. He grabbed the knife and cut his black braid directly by the skin.

xxx

“They’re not far,” spoke Maglor quietly. His eyes were closed as he communicated with Alcarino from time to time and led Maedhros.

His eldest brother was grateful for that. He had not even thought of trying to reach the healer with his mind, as this way of communication was almost closed to him. Even after so many years he could not bring himself to trust enough to open his mind. But Maglor, vigilant, though weak, had thought about checking if anyone from their equipage had survived. He got in touch with Alcarino, who too was running away east from the desolation, leading what he had managed to save from their wagons with supplies. Whatever he had, the remains of the army were looking forward to joining of the two companies, even if it meant seeing just a few more familiar faces. And the healer, they were in desperate need of a healer and Alcarino was respected by all of them.

Maglor led them flawlessly. At the sight of the wagons the elves quickened their pace, eager to see the familiar faces.

Maedhros found the characteristic silhouette of the healer bustling around the camp. Alcarino looked at them grimly as they stopped with no particular order, and the commander noticed his torn and bloodied sleeve.

“I never said I’m good at it,” said Alcarino calmly, pointing slightly at Maedhros’s sword. He managed to find a warm smile as he greeted him with a firm grasp.

“You have no idea how glad I am to see you. And it’s good to know you’re not completely defenceless.”

“They insisted.” Alcarino shrugged. He had one of his long, precise knives by his belt. “Though I don’t think I would use it.”

The party did not wait for orders. The elves spread, searching for place to rest. Some of them almost fell on the ground where they stood, some helped the wounded, some gave the horses to their less tired companions.

“Hold on, Kano, I’m getting off,” warned Celegorm and as he made sure his brother grabbed the saddle with his good hand, he dismounted carefully. Maedhros approached them to secure the singer.

“You don’t have to carry me, I can walk,” whispered Maglor, clenching his fingers to keep himself upright.

“I can see you can’t.” Maedhros pointed out, raising his arms to embrace his brother.

“Nelyafinwe, wait,” Alcarino stopped him. “I don’t want to see you carrying  anything heavier than a bowl before you show me that arm.”

Maedhros looked like he was about to object, but he just sighed and nodded. Amras replaced him to take care of Maglor, as the eldest son of Feanor went with the healer to point the most gravely wounded.

“Didn’t you hear Alcarino?” snorted Maglor with reproach, probably seeing only the red hair of his brother.

“Look who you talk to,” retorted Amras tiredly and carefully took him off the saddle.

xxx

Alcarino had no time to count how many elves Maedhros had managed to lead from the slaughter. Suddenly he had far too many wounded to tend to and many of them required his immediate attention. Even with the help of the other healer and his young apprentice he had to decide fast and hope he would not make a fatal mistake. He was grateful for the scouting parties who collected all the herbs they could find. They were in desperate need of medicines because even those who were not seriously wounded looked ill and feverish, hardly any eyes shone brightly. Most of the Noldor and Sindar stared numbly and not many forced a shadow of smile in thanks. Alcarino did not mind, focusing only on cleaning and sewing wounds and resetting broken bones.

Among the survivors Maedhros was one of the few who did not sit or lie down when they stopped. He walked with Alcarino, pointing the most gravely wounded and demanding information from the elves that remained by the wagons before the battle. He showed no discontent nor did he scold anyone, though the Noldo reporting to him seemed to have expected that. Only later did Maedhros sit by Curufin and Celegorm and let the latter unfasten the arm guard at his wounded arm.

Alcarino reached Maglor as Amras was trying in vain to make him drink some broth. The hot meal, though there was not much of it, cheered some elves at least a bit. As Alcarino had learned from one who tended to the wounded, they had not eaten anything but travel bread they had found in the bags of the survived horses. The broth was meant for the wounded, but Alcarino ordered to refuse it to no one. Maglor, however, was one of those too hurt and exhausted to force down more than a few sips.

Seeing the healer, Amras removed the mug and moved away. Alcarino tended to the wounded, forcing him to answer some questions so that Maglor would not fall asleep in the middle. His state suggested some inner damage, but the wounded hardly reacted to his treatments, muttering some responses to Alcarino’s questions. Only resetting his improperly set arm broke the singer’s apathy, but what drew the healer’s attention was the fact that Amras did not react, hearing his brother’s moans.

“Amras? What’s wrong?” asked the healer, and from the way the redhead jerked he gathered he must have been already falling asleep.

“Nothing, Alcarino,” sighed Amras and looked up. “Just a few scratches, nothing to worry about.”

Not really convinced, the healer reached for his swollen cheek, but Amras moved away before he could touch him.

“Pityo?”

The youngest son of Feanor shook his head and winced painfully. He sighed resignedly.

“Nothing, Alcarino,” he repeated. “I’m just hungry, I cannot eat.” He brushed his dirty fingers against his cheek.

Alcarino did not let him escape for the second time. He made sure no bones were broken, deaf to Amras’s hissing; he did not have the luxury of caring for his patients’ comfort as well, when somebody’s life could be at stake. He carefully put some ointment on the bruise, then glanced at the mug Amras was still holding.

“Drink it.”

“That’s for Kano...” Amras glanced at his brother, sitting leaned against a wheel of the wagon.

“Drink,” whispered Maglor without opening his eyes. “Don’t want...”

“I don’t think Makalaure will have more,” remarked Alcarino calmly, doing his best to hide his own despair. He needed medicines and shelter to save some of the wounded, but the warriors needed a healer who knew what he was doing and who would not surrender to the grief. “Drink, Pityo. It will pass.” Fortunately, he did not need to worry about Amras and he would be grateful for his help, but in order to do so, the youngest son of Feanor needed his strength. Many of the wounded were still waiting for help; the healer had no time for rest.

 I can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariana_El/works

Most of my stories are transiated from Polish, If you spot anything wrong, feel free to tell me, I will gladly correct any mistakes.

[araitsume]

Patriarchs and Prophets, pp. 603-615: Chapter (59) The First King of Israel

This chapter is based on 1 Samuel 8 to 12.

The government of Israel was administered in the name and by the authority of God. The work of Moses, of the seventy elders, of the rulers and judges, was simply to enforce the laws that God had given; they had no authority to legislate for the nation. This was, and continued to be, the condition of Israel's existence as a nation. From age to age men inspired by God were sent to instruct the people and to direct in the enforcement of the laws.

The Lord foresaw that Israel would desire a king, but He did not consent to a change in the principles upon which the state was founded. The king was to be the vicegerent of the Most High. God was to be recognized as the Head of the nation, and His law was to be enforced as the supreme law of the land. [See Appendix, note 8.]

When the Israelites first settled in Canaan they acknowledged the principles of the theocracy, and the nation prospered under the rule of Joshua. But increase of population and intercourse with other nations brought a change. The people adopted many of the customs of their heathen neighbors and thus sacrificed to a great degree their own peculiar, holy character. Gradually they lost their reverence for God and ceased to prize the honor of being His chosen people. Attracted by the pomp and display of heathen monarchs, they tired of their own simplicity. Jealousy and envy sprang up between the tribes. Internal dissensions made them weak; they were continually exposed to the invasion of their heathen foes, and the people were coming to believe that in order to maintain their standing among the nations, the tribes must be united under a strong central government. As they departed from obedience to God's law, they desired to be freed from the rule of their divine Sovereign; and thus the demand for a monarchy became widespread throughout Israel.

Since the days of Joshua the government had never been conducted with so great wisdom and success as under Samuel's administration. Divinely invested with the threefold office of judge, prophet, and priest, he had labored with untiring and disinterested zeal for the welfare of his people, and the nation had prospered under his wise control. Order had been restored, and godliness promoted, and the spirit of discontent was checked for the time. But with advancing years the prophet was forced to share with others the cares of government, and he appointed his two sons to act as his assistants. While Samuel continued the duties of his office at Ramah, the young men were stationed at Beersheba, to administer justice among the people near the southern border of the land.

It was with the full assent of the nation that Samuel had appointed his sons to office, but they did not prove themselves worthy of their father's choice. The Lord had, through Moses, given special directions to His people that the rulers of Israel should judge righteously, deal justly with the widow and the fatherless, and receive no bribes. But the sons of Samuel “turned aside after lucre, and took bribes, and perverted judgment.” The sons of the prophet had not heeded the precepts which he had sought to impress upon their minds. They had not copied the pure, unselfish life of their father. The warning given to Eli had not exerted the influence upon the mind of Samuel that it should have done. He had been to some extent too indulgent with his sons, and the result was apparent in their character and life.

The injustice of these judges caused much dissatisfaction, and a pretext was thus furnished for urging the change that had long been secretly desired. “All the elders of Israel gathered themselves together, and came to Samuel unto Ramah, and said unto him, Behold, thou art old, and thy sons walk not in thy ways: now make us a king to judge us like all the nations.” The cases of abuse among the people had not been referred to Samuel. Had the evil course of his sons been known to him, he would have removed them without delay; but this was not what the petitioners desired. Samuel saw that their real motive was discontent and pride, and that their demand was the result of a deliberate and determined purpose. No complaint had been made against Samuel. All acknowledged the integrity and wisdom of his administration; but the aged prophet looked upon the request as a censure upon himself, and a direct effort to set him aside. He did not, however, reveal his feelings; he uttered no reproach, but carried the matter to the Lord in prayer and sought counsel from Him alone.

And the Lord said unto Samuel: “Hearken unto the voice of the people in all that they say unto thee: for they have not rejected thee, but they have rejected Me, that I should not reign over them. According to all the works which they have done since the day that I brought them up out of Egypt even unto this day, wherewith they have forsaken Me, and served other gods, so do they also unto thee.” The prophet was reproved for grieving at the conduct of the people toward himself as an individual. They had not manifested disrespect for him, but for the authority of God, who had appointed the rulers of His people. Those who despise and reject the faithful servant of God show contempt, not merely for the man, but for the Master who sent him. It is God's words, His reproofs and counsel, that are set at nought; it is His authority that is rejected.

The days of Israel's greatest prosperity had been those in which they acknowledged Jehovah as their King—when the laws and the government which He had established were regarded as superior to those of all other nations. Moses had declared to Israel concerning the commandments of the Lord: “This is your wisdom and your understanding in the sight of the nations, which shall hear all these statutes, and say, Surely this great nation is a wise and understanding people.” Deuteronomy 4:6. But by departing from God's law the Hebrews had failed to become the people that God desired to make them, and then all the evils which were the result of their own sin and folly they charged upon the government of God. So completely had they become blinded by sin.

The Lord had, through His prophets, foretold that Israel would be governed by a king; but it does not follow that this form of government was best for them or according to His will. He permitted the people to follow their own choice, because they refused to be guided by His counsel. Hosea declares that God gave them a king in His anger. Hosea 13:11. When men choose to have their own way, without seeking counsel from God, or in opposition to His revealed will, He often grants their desires, in order that, through the bitter experience that follows, they may be led to realize their folly and to repent of their sin. Human pride and wisdom will prove a dangerous guide. That which the heart desires contrary to the will of God will in the end be found a curse rather than a blessing.

God desired His people to look to Him alone as their Law-giver and their Source of strength. Feeling their dependence upon God, they would be constantly drawn nearer to Him. They would become elevated and ennobled, fitted for the high destiny to which He had called them as His chosen people. But when a man was placed upon the throne, it would tend to turn the minds of the people from God. They would trust more to human strength, and less to divine power, and the errors of their king would lead them into sin and separate the nation from God.

Samuel was instructed to grant the request of the people, but to warn them of the Lord's disapproval, and also make known what would be the result of their course. “And Samuel told all the words of the Lord unto the people that asked of him a king.” He faithfully set before them the burdens that would be laid upon them, and showed the contrast between such a state of oppression and their present comparatively free and prosperous condition. Their king would imitate the pomp and luxury of other monarchs, to support which, grievous exactions upon their persons and property would be necessary. The goodliest of their young men he would require for his service. They would be made charioteers and horsemen and runners before him. They must fill the ranks of his army, and they would be required to till his fields, to reap his harvests, and to manufacture implements of war for his service. The daughters of Israel would be for confectioners and bakers for the royal household. To support his kingly state he would seize upon the best of their lands, bestowed upon the people by Jehovah Himself. The most valuable of their servants also, and of their cattle, he would take, and “put them to his work.” Besides all this, the king would require a tenth of all their income, the profits of their labor, or the products of the soil. “Ye shall be his servants,” concluded the prophet. “And ye shall cry out in that day because of your king which ye shall have chosen you; and the Lord will not hear you in that day.” However burdensome its exactions should be found, when once a monarchy was established, they could not set it aside at pleasure.

But the people returned the answer, “Nay; but we will have a king over us; that we also may be like all the nations; and that our king may judge us, and go out before us, and fight our battles.”

“Like all the nations.” The Israelites did not realize that to be in this respect unlike other nations was a special privilege and blessing. God had separated the Israelites from every other people, to make them His own peculiar treasure. But they, disregarding this high honor, eagerly desired to imitate the example of the heathen! And still the longing to conform to worldly practices and customs exists among the professed people of God. As they depart from the Lord they become ambitious for the gains and honors of the world. Christians are constantly seeking to imitate the practices of those who worship the god of this world. Many urge that by uniting with worldlings and conforming to their customs they might exert a stronger influence over the ungodly. But all who pursue this course thereby separate from the Source of their strength. Becoming the friends of the world, they are the enemies of God. For the sake of earthly distinction they sacrifice the unspeakable honor to which God has called them, of showing forth the praises of Him who hath called us out of darkness into His marvelous light. 1 Peter 2:9.

With deep sadness Samuel listened to the words of the people; but the Lord said unto him, “Hearken unto their voice, and make them a king.” The prophet had done his duty. He had faithfully presented the warning, and it had been rejected. With a heavy heart he dismissed the people, and himself departed to prepare for the great change in the government.

Samuel's life of purity and unselfish devotion was a perpetual rebuke both to self-serving priests and elders and to the proud, sensual congregation of Israel. Although he assumed no pomp and made no display, his labors bore the signet of Heaven. He was honored by the world's Redeemer, under whose guidance he ruled the Hebrew nation. But the people had become weary of his piety and devotion; they despised his humble authority and rejected him for a man who should rule them as a king.

In the character of Samuel we see reflected the likeness of Christ. It was the purity of our Saviour's life that provoked the wrath of Satan. That life was the light of the world, and revealed the hidden depravity in the hearts of men. It was the holiness of Christ that stirred up against Him the fiercest passions of falsehearted professors of godliness. Christ came not with the wealth and honors of earth, yet the works which He wrought showed Him to possess power greater than that of any human prince. The Jews looked for the Messiah to break the oppressor's yoke, yet they cherished the sins that had bound it upon their necks. Had Christ cloaked their sins and applauded their piety, they would have accepted Him as their king; but they would not bear His fearless rebuke of their vices. The loveliness of a character in which benevolence, purity, and holiness reigned supreme, which entertained no hatred except for sin, they despised. Thus it has been in every age of the world. The light from heaven brings condemnation on all who refuse to walk in it. When rebuked by the example of those who hate sin, hypocrites will become agents of Satan to harass and persecute the faithful. “All that will live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution.” 2 Timothy 3:12.

Though a monarchical form of government for Israel had been foretold in prophecy, God had reserved to Himself the right to choose their king. The Hebrews so far respected the authority of God as to leave the selection entirely to Him. The choice fell upon Saul, a son of Kish, of the tribe of Benjamin.

The personal qualities of the future monarch were such as to gratify that pride of heart which prompted the desire for a king. “There was not among the children of Israel a goodlier person than he.” 1 Samuel 9:2. Of noble and dignified bearing, in the prime of life, comely and tall, he appeared like one born to command. Yet with these external attractions, Saul was destitute of those higher qualities that constitute true wisdom. He had not in youth learned to control his rash, impetuous passions; he had never felt the renewing power of divine grace.

Saul was the son of a powerful and wealthy chief, yet in accordance with the simplicity of the times he was engaged with his father in the humble duties of a husbandman. Some of his father's animals having strayed upon the mountains, Saul went with a servant to seek for them. For three days they searched in vain, when, as they were not far from Ramah, [See Appendix, note 9.] the home of Samuel, the servant proposed that they should inquire of the prophet concerning the missing property. “I have here at hand the fourth part of a shekel of silver,” he said: “that will I give to the man of God, to tell us our way.” This was in accordance with the custom of the times. A person approaching a superior in rank or office made him a small present, as an expression of respect.

As they drew near to the city they met some young maidens who had come out to draw water, and inquired of them for the seer. In reply they were told that a religious service was about to take place, that the prophet had already arrived, there was to be an offering upon “the high place,” and after that a sacrificial feast. A great change had taken place under Samuel's administration. When the call of God first came to him the services of the sanctuary were held in contempt. “Men abhorred the offering of the Lord.” 1 Samuel 2:17. But the worship of God was now maintained throughout the land, and the people manifested an interest in religious services. There being no ministration in the tabernacle, sacrifices were for the time offered elsewhere; and the cities of the priests and Levites, where the people resorted for instruction, were chosen for this purpose. The highest points in these cities were usually selected as the place of sacrifice, and hence were called “the high places.”

At the gate of the city Saul was met by the prophet himself. God had revealed to Samuel that at that time the chosen king of Israel would present himself before him. As they now stood face to face, the Lord said to Samuel, “Behold the man whom I spake to thee of! this same shall reign over My people.”

To the request of Saul, “Tell me, I pray thee, where the seer's house is,” Samuel replied, “I am the seer.” Assuring him also that the lost animals had been found, he urged him to tarry and attend the feast, at the same time giving some intimation of the great destiny before him: “On whom is all the desire of Israel? Is it not on thee, and on all thy father's house?” The listener's heart thrilled at the prophet's words. He could not but perceive something of their significance, for the demand for a king had become a matter of absorbing interest to the whole nation. Yet with modest self-depreciation Saul replied, “Am not I a Benjamite, of the smallest of the tribes of Israel? and my family the least of all the families of the tribe of Benjamin? wherefore then speakest thou so to me?”

Samuel conducted the stranger to the place of assembly, where the principal men of the town were gathered. Among them, at the prophet's direction, the place of honor was given to Saul, and at the feast the choicest portion was set before him. The services over, Samuel took his guest to his own home, and there upon the housetop he communed with him, setting forth the great principles on which the government of Israel had been established, and thus seeking to prepare him, in some measure, for his high station.

When Saul departed, early next morning, the prophet went forth with him. Having passed through the town, he directed the servant to go forward. Then he bade Saul stand still to receive a message sent him from God. “Then Samuel took a vial of oil, and poured it upon his head, and kissed him, and said, Is it not because Jehovah hath anointed thee to be captain over His inheritance?” As evidence that this was done by divine authority, he foretold the incidents that would occur on the homeward journey and assured Saul that he would be qualified by the Spirit of God for the station awaiting him. “The Spirit of Jehovah will come upon thee,” said the prophet, and thou “shalt be turned into another man. And let it be, when these signs are come unto thee, that thou do as occasion serve thee; for God is with thee.”

As Saul went on his way, all came to pass as the prophet had said. Near the border of Benjamin he was informed that the lost animals had been found. In the plain of Tabor he met three men who were going to worship God at Bethel. One of them carried three kids for sacrifice, another three loaves of bread, and the third a bottle of wine, for the sacrificial feast. They gave Saul the usual salutation and also presented him with two of the three loaves of bread. At Gibeah, his own city, a band of prophets returning from “the high place” were singing the praise of God to the music of the pipe and the harp, the psaltery and the tabret. As Saul approached them the Spirit of the Lord came upon him also, and he joined in their song of praise, and prophesied with them. He spoke with so great fluency and wisdom, and joined so earnestly in the service, that those who had known him exclaimed in astonishment, “What is this that is come unto the son of Kish? Is Saul also among the prophets?”

As Saul united with the prophets in their worship, a great change was wrought in him by the Holy Spirit. The light of divine purity and holiness shone in upon the darkness of the natural heart. He saw himself as he was before God. He saw the beauty of holiness. He was now called to begin the warfare against sin and Satan, and he was made to feel that in this conflict his strength must come wholly from God. The plan of salvation, which had before seemed dim and uncertain, was opened to his understanding. The Lord endowed him with courage and wisdom for his high station. He revealed to him the Source of strength and grace, and enlightened his understanding as to the divine claims and his own duty.

The anointing of Saul as king had not been made known to the nation. The choice of God was to be publicly manifested by lot. For this purpose Samuel convoked the people at Mizpeh. Prayer was offered for divine guidance; then followed the solemn ceremony of casting the lot. In silence the assembled multitude awaited the issue. The tribe, the family, and the household were successively designated, and then Saul, the son of Kish, was pointed out as the individual chosen. But Saul was not in the assembly. Burdened with a sense of the great responsibility about to fall upon him, he had secretly withdrawn. He was brought back to the congregation, who observed with pride and satisfaction that he was of kingly bearing and noble form, being “higher than any of the people from his shoulders and upward.” Even Samuel, when presenting him to the assembly, exclaimed, “See ye him whom the Lord hath chosen, that there is none like him among all the people?” And in response arose from the vast throng one long, loud shout of joy, “God save the king!”

Samuel then set before the people “the manner of the kingdom,” stating the principles upon which the monarchial government was based, and by which it should be controlled. The king was not to be an absolute monarch, but was to hold his power in subjection to the will of the Most High. This address was recorded in a book, wherein were set forth the prerogatives of the prince and the rights and privileges of the people. Though the nation had despised Samuel's warning, the faithful prophet, while forced to yield to their desires, still endeavored, as far as possible, to guard their liberties.

While the people in general were ready to acknowledge Saul as their king, there was a large party in opposition. For a monarch to be chosen from Benjamin, the smallest of the tribes of Israel—and that to the neglect of both Judah and Ephraim, the largest and most powerful—was a slight which they could not brook. They refused to profess allegiance to Saul or to bring him the customary presents. Those who had been most urgent in their demand for a king were the very ones that refused to accept with gratitude the man of God's appointment. The members of each faction had their favorite, whom they wished to see placed on the throne, and several among the leaders had desired the honor for themselves. Envy and jealousy burned in the hearts of many. The efforts of pride and ambition had resulted in disappointment and discontent.

In this condition of affairs Saul did not see fit to assume the royal dignity. Leaving Samuel to administer the government as formerly, he returned to Gibeah. He was honorably escorted thither by a company, who, seeing the divine choice in his selection, were determined to sustain him. But he made no attempt to maintain by force his right to the throne. In his home among the uplands of Benjamin he quietly occupied himself in the duties of a husbandman, leaving the establishment of his authority entirely to God.

Soon after Saul's appointment the Ammonites, under their king, Nahash, invaded the territory of the tribes east of Jordan and threatened the city of Jabesh-gilead. The inhabitants tried to secure terms of peace by offering to become tributary to the Ammonites. To this the cruel king would not consent but on condition that he might put out the right eye of every one of them, thus making them abiding witnesses to his power.

The people of the besieged city begged a respite of seven days. To this the Ammonites consented, thinking thus to heighten the honor of their expected triumph. Messengers were at once dispatched from Jabesh, to seek help from the tribes west of Jordan. They carried the tidings to Gibeah, creating widespread terror. Saul, returning at night from following the oxen in the field, heard the loud wail that told of some great calamity. He said, “What aileth the people that they weep?” When the shameful story was repeated, all his dormant powers were roused. “The Spirit of God came upon Saul.... And he took a yoke of oxen, and hewed them in pieces, and sent them throughout all the coasts of Israel by the hands of messengers, saying, Whosoever cometh not forth after Saul and after Samuel, so shall it be done unto his oxen.”

Three hundred and thirty thousand men gathered on the plain of Bezek, under the command of Saul. Messengers were immediately sent to the besieged city with the assurance that they might expect help on the morrow, the very day on which they were to submit to the Ammonites. By a rapid night march Saul and his army crossed the Jordan and arrived before Jabesh in “the morning watch.” Like Gideon, dividing his force into three companies, he fell upon the Ammonite camp at that early hour, when, not suspecting danger, they were least secure. In the panic that followed they were routed with great slaughter. And “they which remained were scattered, so that two of them were not left together.”

The promptness and bravery of Saul, as well as the generalship shown in the successful conduct of so large a force, were qualities which the people of Israel had desired in a monarch, that they might be able to cope with other nations. They now greeted him as their king, attributing the honor of the victory to human agencies and forgetting that without God's special blessing all their efforts would have been in vain. In their enthusiasm some proposed to put to death those who had at first refused to acknowledge the authority of Saul. But the king interfered, saying, “There shall not a man be put to death this day: for today the Lord hath wrought salvation in Israel.” Here Saul gave evidence of the change that had taken place in his character. Instead of taking honor to himself, he gave the glory to God. Instead of showing a desire for revenge, he manifested a spirit of compassion and forgiveness. This is unmistakable evidence that the grace of God dwells in the heart.

Samuel now proposed that a national assembly should be convoked at Gilgal, that the kingdom might there be publicly confirmed to Saul. It was done; “and there they sacrificed sacrifices of peace offerings before the Lord; and there Saul and all the men of Israel rejoiced greatly.”

Gilgal had been the place of Israel's first encampment in the Promised Land. It was here that Joshua, by divine direction, set up the pillar of twelve stones to commemorate the miraculous passage of the Jordan. Here circumcision had been renewed. Here they had kept the first Passover after the sin at Kadesh and the desert sojourn. Here the manna ceased. Here the Captain of the Lord's host had revealed Himself as chief in command of the armies of Israel. From this place they marched to the overthrow of Jericho and the conquest of Ai. Here Achan met the penalty of his sin, and here was made that treaty with the Gibeonites which punished Israel's neglect to ask counsel of God. Upon this plain, linked with so many thrilling associations, stood Samuel and Saul; and when the shouts of welcome to the king had died away, the aged prophet gave his parting words as ruler of the nation.

“Behold,” he said, “I have hearkened unto your voice in all that ye said unto me, and have made a king over you. And now, behold, the king walketh before you: and I am old and gray-headed; ... and I have walked before you from my childhood unto this day. Behold, here I am: witness against me before the Lord, and before His anointed: whose ox have I taken? or whose ass have I taken? or whom have I defrauded? whom have I oppressed? or of whose hand have I received any bribe to blind mine eyes therewith? and I will restore it you.”

With one voice the people answered, “Thou hast not defrauded us, nor oppressed us, neither hast thou taken ought of any man's hand.”

Samuel was not seeking merely to justify his own course. He had previously set forth the principles that should govern both the king and the people, and he desired to add to his words the weight of his own example. From childhood he had been connected with the work of God, and during his long life one object had been ever before him—the glory of God and the highest good of Israel.

Before there could be any hope of prosperity for Israel they must be led to repentance before God. In consequence of sin they had lost their faith in God and their discernment of His power and wisdom to rule the nation—lost their confidence in His ability to vindicate His cause. Before they could find true peace they must be led to see and confess the very sin of which they had been guilty. They had declared the object of the demand for a king to be, “That our king may judge us, and go out before us, and fight our battles.” Samuel recounted the history of Israel, from the day when God brought them from Egypt. Jehovah, the King of kings, had gone out before them and had fought their battles. Often their sins had sold them into the power of their enemies, but no sooner did they turn from their evil ways than God's mercy raised up a deliverer. The Lord sent Gideon and Barak, and “Jephthah, and Samuel, and delivered you out of the hand of your enemies on every side, and ye dwelt safe.” Yet when threatened with danger they had declared, “A king shall reign over us,” when, said the prophet, “Jehovah your God was your King.”

“Now therefore,” continued Samuel, “stand and see this great thing, which the Lord will do before your eyes. Is it not wheat harvest today? I will call unto the Lord, and He shall send thunder and rain; that ye may perceive and see that your wickedness is great, which ye have done in the sight of the Lord, in asking you a king. So Samuel called unto the Lord; and the Lord sent thunder and rain that day.” At the time of wheat harvest, in May and June, no rain fell in the East. The sky was cloudless, and the air serene and mild. So violent a storm at this season filled all hearts with fear. In humiliation the people now confessed their sin—the very sin of which they had been guilty: “Pray for thy servants unto the Lord thy God, that we die not: for we have added unto all our sins this evil, to ask us a king.”

Samuel did not leave the people in a state of discouragement, for this would have prevented all effort for a better life. Satan would lead them to look upon God as severe and unforgiving, and they would thus be exposed to manifold temptations. God is merciful and forgiving, ever desiring to show favor to His people when they will obey His voice. “Fear not,” was the message of God by His servant: “ye have done all this wickedness: yet turn not aside from following the Lord, but serve the Lord with all your heart; and turn ye not aside: for then should ye go after vain things, which cannot profit nor deliver; for they are vain. For the Lord will not forsake His people.”

Samuel said nothing of the slight which had been put upon himself; he uttered no reproach for the ingratitude with which Israel had repaid his lifelong devotion; but he assured them of his unceasing interest for them: “God forbid that I should sin against the Lord in ceasing to pray for you: but I will teach you the good and the right way: only fear the Lord, and serve Him in truth with all your heart: for consider how great things He hath done for you. But if ye shall still do wickedly, ye shall be consumed, both ye and your king.”

[sassyhazelowl]

Option B has been launched. I’d like to give a shout out to both @everybodys-chains & @lucylaneeffect for being terrible and supportive influences about things I really have no business writing. And also @the-archangel-of-zeref for pointing out the fact I have no idea what the fuck is actually going on in canon and all the bits I got wrong. All the bits that are still wrong are now me purposefully sticking my middle finger up at canon and choosing to ignore my education.

Disclaimer: Lots of middle fingers towards canon. Some shade may be thrown at certain popular characters. In the process of attempting to make them likable protagonists instead of walking plot devices, great liberties have been taken with cardboard characters with no consistent canon characterization. I might fuck this up but you’ll live. It has yet to be beta’d but I’m going to cram it down my friend’s throat because if she’s forcing me to beta her SessKag drivel, she owes me.

Also, yes, this is divergent canon where The Christina arrives 10 minutes early and ruins part of the canon timeline and the plot, hurrah! Blame Blue Pegasus for being awesome.

Prologue

“It’s got quite the view.”

She swept by without any acknowledgement of the view or the speaker, tilting her head down towards the wizen old man tottering along a half pace ahead with a spriness that belied his age. If she stared hard enough, she could just make out the outline of Ursa Major on that liver spotted pate. Casting a glance up at her because he felt her heavy gaze, he spoke with enthusiasm, quick to monopolize on the good point, “Yes, yes! You have very good taste indeed. When the harbor is clear you can see all the way across the bay to our sister town!”

“Hmm,” was the moody response as she realized she was one skin discoloration away from completing the bear’s face.

“Our town is known for its fresh air and fresh seafood,” he babbled on nervously, picking up on her discontent but not sure why. Did she know about the foundation problems? The sandfleas that invaded in the peak of summer for those few miserable weeks? Or had to come on too strong while she was enjoying said view, even though her mahogany eyes had been train elsewhere? “Very relaxed for those who wish to retire…”

Now that was entirely the wrong thing to say, and he froze, gray, watery eyes comically wide below peppered brows and mouth falling open in a hasty apology. He was too slow, far too slow, because the woman’s younger companion, who had been leaning against the rail burst into laughter.

“Your age is showing!”

The sigh she’d been holding in, so polite and proper it was smothering, burst out then, startling them both, and she mustered a bland smile for the man trying to sell her the property.

“Thank you, sir. I will certainly consider the… view. It is a lovely town but I am not sure it’s quite--” her eyes cut to the left sharply and the smile wavered at the edges as she took in the view for the first time; it was really was magnificent and she finished her decline regretfully, “What I am searching for.”

The man’s face fell into a mass of disappointed wrinkles at her gentle rebuff but he didn’t spring along or follow when she turned to leave. Unfortunately, the other woman did. And that, right there, was the problem. Sadly, changing location wouldn’t solve it.

The footfalls behind her weren’t a skip but they held a childish quality to them nonetheless. If she didn’t know better, she’d expect someone much different. It was that hesitant patter-pattering that had grown so familiar she didn’t know if she could remember a time recently she hadn’t heard it, even before the outcome of the trial. After all, since that fateful moment their eyes met across the battlefield, she felt a string being tied tight, very much like a noose actually when she paused to think about it.

“Again Anna?” It was less of a complaint and more of a curious question. Surprisingly, the other woman seemed wholly content simply to have the Celestial Wizard within sight. It was a fit of mild hilarity waiting to happen the moment someone from the Council came to check up on her ward only to find that Anna could barely slip away to the bathroom alone. Just who was the prison warden here again?

“It’s not right,” she mumbled, more to herself than her shadow. The footsteps skittered and stumbled a bit, this being the first time Anna had ever bothered to respond to the stream of comments, complaints and observations since the two had left Magnolia.

“I suppose,” was the hummed reply, much too thoughtful to be a child, but said with the same sort of flippant innocence, “The salt in the air would utterly ruin my hair in any case.”

Anna grunted at the assumption the sea wind was an inconvenience the woman and nearly whirled on her heel to take the blasted property; the grunt was a crass and unladylike sound, entirely inappropriate for civilized company. Fortunately, the only company she’d been keeping for the past few weeks was the current one, and Irene was far from civilized, Anna had found out.

“No one asked you to come along,” the Celestial Wizard pointed out, proud of the fact it was level and fair not snippy and petty. She was supposed to be locked up in the hotel room after all but making her stay put was impossible, and Anna had realized it was easier just to keep a personal eye on her.

But it was seriously getting on her nerves, and it seemed silly to keep up the charade of a noblewoman, of a learned woman, of one who was beyond reproach, but she’d been doing it for so long, she wasn’t sure how to stop. She wasn’t even sure if she could stop. Maybe that persona was all there was left to Anna -- proper manners, empty airs and graying blonde hair befitting a proper matriarch. The title she should have and would have held over her grand and sprawling estate four hundred years in the past.

Of course, there was dear Lucy now, she supposed. And her beloved Dragon Slayers as well.

But neither made up for what she’d chosen to sacrifice. The life and children and husband and sprawling clan she’d forsaken to save the future. It weighed on her. Those memories, that forfeited life she’d been born to have.

“I have to,” Irene replied immediately, seriously, “I promised.”

Well, she’s already broken her own rule about not speaking, so she might as well indulge her curiosity a bit, “To whom?”

“You.”

Regret was the feeling that came to mind when Anna considered it. Not regret for saving Irene’s life, never that. Nor regret for bring her aboard The Christina while rescuing young Wendy from Acnologia’s wrath… if they had been just five or ten minutes later, there wouldn’t have been anything left of the young Dragon Slayer to rescue. Nor Irene either for that matter, given what Miss Scarlet had said later, a cold look to her and not a shred of sympathy.

Anna was not surprised to learn about their blood relations; after all, family fostered the deepest bonds of love, and therefore, too, the deepest bonds of loathing as well.

But she was definitely regretting not slipping out of town in the middle of the night. And the permanent limp from her shattered and magically regenerated hip that made her slow enough that the recovering witch could keep pace. Most noteworthy, she regretted breaking her self-imposed vow of silence, and she promised this would be the first and last time she’d slip. If she were patient and mature, she could weather the next few months as mandated by the court with little stress or effort, and then she would be entirely free.

In the meantime, Anna mustn't encourage her.

She wanted to know as little as possible about the other woman. Truly, after all she’d done, was a little peace and solitude too much to ask for? Let her spend her last years alone with a cat and a garden and copious amounts of high quality tea.

Somewhere with an unaltered view of the stars.

“Perhaps you should try the mountains.”

Perhaps you should mind your own business, Anna’s snotty inner-voice snapped back irritable but she kept mum.

A wistful tone entered the other woman’s voice as she added uncharastically poetic and somber, “With thick pines all around and the mountain side filled with moonlight. So bright, so beautiful.”

A memory misty with age, tugged on Anna then, of a similar scene up in much younger mountains full of newly matured evergreens untouched by man’s saw and a cliffside no mere human could reach easily. How the crisp night’s air was more a biting chill on her exposed legs as they dangled carelessly over the edge, confident she was safe despite the lethal drop. Snug in a cocoon of heavy fur blankets, her back slumped comfortably against a firm surface. The heat being radiated was warm enough to tempt her to peel back the blankets, and the gentle lull of the motion behind her was rocking her to sleep, eyelids fighting the inevitable. She was up here to observe the stars without interference but it’d been a mere half hour and she was already losing the fight with slumber, all the stress and worries of the project having worn her down into a shell. It was so… quiet here… so safe and peaceful… so unspoilt by war. It was hard not to flinch when the tail flew up, swift and accurate, but it merely landed beneath Anna’s legs, drawing them up off the ledge and curling around her. A snout nudged her in apology from behind, knocking into her shoulder so hard she jolted and laughed ruefully. Crimson entered her vision as the a large horned head curled around, tucking her in, large bioluminescent eye already closed and breath deepening, and Anna smiled, settling back to look up at the stars, safe in the dragon’s claws…

Jolting back into the present, she took a long moment to smell the bay and listen to the screams of the circling gulls and stare across the sapphire blue waves dotted with cheerful fishing boats. It was lovely, anyone’s dream.

But it was just not… right.

Instead she pulled out a map, peering over it with intense scrutiny, before sighing and crumpling it up violently. In her annoyance, she forgot herself. Again.

“Your Universe One is a menace.”

If she was expecting an apology, which she wasn’t, she would have been disappointed. Irene shrugged her shoulders then, lip jutted out in a tiny bit of a pout, and replied as she sagged against the rail a bit to stand up straight, “I was planning to return it as it was… but Erza broke my magical container. Such a horrible little child, that one. I didn’t have enough magic to put it all back. Anna? Anna, surely you understand! I did give it a good try… most of it went back… all the important places in any case.”

Anna mentally questioned what she considered important but kept her mouth pressed firmly shut. Her lips were starting to burn from the pressure and her throat tickled. She’d spent decades shutting up and it was becoming a difficult and impossible thing to do, she was finding out, now that she was free to speak with nothing but her own sensibilities to hold her tongue.

Whatever. What was the point in silence now? If she was stuck with this other woman, she may as well use it to her own advantage and speak her mind fully. It’d be cathartic. 

Puffing up, she got ready to give Irene a piece of her mind about using magic irresponsibly, which was completely useless now but relevant and probably counted towards her community service of rehabilitation if she gave a lecture about magical mindfulness, when Irene cut her off with a careless motion.

“Besides, my magic is all gone now. All of it.” A hint of remorse had crept into her tone, although Anna suspected she just felt sorry for herself more than anything for having her wicked deed punished. The look on her face didn’t look particularly repentant nor sorry though, eyes hard with thinly concealed fury and mouth set in a wobbly smirk that refused to settle. Bitterness. Resentment. “After all, they made sure to render their conquered helpless and then claim compassion and mercy while releasing them to the wolves.” The smirk curled into a bit of a snarl thing, flashing an actual sharp canine fang that was most certainly not that of a full human, and her pupils turned to cat-like slits, “But magic does not a dragon make, and I await the day they learn this lesson the hard way.”

Paling a bit, all annoyance flushed away, all of Erza’s warning echoing in her head, Anna cleared her throat then, skin still prickling and crawling at the snap of dangerous crackling fury. Swallowing a bit, refusing to look ruffled, it was a rough reminder that this woman was not simply a childish shadow but an ex-Spriggan as well.

“Why don’t we try the mountains then?” she offered once she could get the words past her tight throat and Irene’s countenance cleared immediately as she clapped her hands a bit with delight, “You said ‘we’ Anna!”

“Yes, yes I did. Now come along. If we hurry, I am sure we can catch the next train before nightfall.” 

As expected, the patter-pattering started up immediately, but somehow with a bit more... pep? Anna felt a certain kind of doom settling but fought it off.

What was the worse that could happen anyway?