#and i ALREADY KNOW THE FATE THAT BEFELL THEM

[pillowspace]

(Just a quick ramble with major ISAT spoilers)

You know those AUs where Loop winds up getting dragged along by Siffrin to join the party in the end? And you know those AUs where another character loops instead of Siffrin?

A thought that always fascinates me when it comes to AUs where another character is looping with canon Loop as their guide is what kind of relationship Loop would have with Siffrin, and vice versa. What would meeting Loop be like for Siffrin? Like, this is very different circumstances from canon. They don't have the loops in common, and if Loop wouldn't be hiding their identity when joining the party, then there's no time for Siffrin to warm up to their company before knowing the truth.

You're leading a semi-normal life, then all of a sudden one of your friends turns out to have been trapped in a time loop, and they go, "so I don't mean to alarm you, but I've grown very attached to a version of yourself that befell the worst possible fate that you yourself very narrowly avoided without even knowing it. You'll see yourself in their habits, but what they've gone through (what YOU could have gone through with one single mistake) has changed them. Anyway, say hi :)" How unsettling is that? What would either of them feel looking each other in the eyes for the first time, when Loop had likely never enjoyed looking at Siffrin during the loops? What would be their first time navigating a conversation, about anything at all? After a couple months, what of their dynamic then? I just wonder about it sometimes. What it's like to meet your best/worst case scenario self, not having gone through any of it together, and not having to depend on each other. There's no need to act all pleasant and lie because Loop's not here to help him, and Loop's presumably already in their tired healing stage with the party member who had looped, so they're already past their most bitter stage (not to say that they aren't bitter). Loop and Siffrin just kind of... exist within the same space is all. What's that like, I'm so intensely curious about it

[syndrossi]

How would Restoration!Daemon react to his future, and that of Rhaenyra/his sons/ect? Once he accepts that he’s in the future, I’m sure he’ll immediately find the nearest history book and find out how things go for his family. Needless to say, I don’t think he’ll be very pleased with the results. I guess this ties in to his reaction to House Targaryen in general, but I feel like it would hit a bit harder than Robert’s Rebellion because he was there. He was alive and he didn’t stop it. He’d be super upset by Rhaenyra’s madness, and would probably insist that it’s just Green slanders. Anyone heard referring to the “Mad Queen” or “Maegor with Teats” in his vicinity would immediately become closely aquatinted with Dark Sister. I think Aegon’s fate would be a more complicated thing to him, since on the one hand he’d be in agony over the fact that his son ends up being afraid of dragons, but on the other he might end up being a bit resentful that the dragons died out under his son. I think he’d be proud of Viserys for holding the realm together. As for his own death, I can’t even begin to sort through all the feelings he’d have about that.

I think what would upset Daemon the most, since they're his world right now (and he's not yet married to Rhaenyra) is this utter absence of his twin sons in the histories. I don't know what he would conclude from that. They were murdered early on and omitted from the histories? But surely the intrigue of hidden princes would merit at least a mention! His marriage with Rhea is described as childless, which is not true, going off their cover story.

I have to think he'd conclude that things didn't happen the same here. He never learned of their existence, they were taken to Blackcrown and killed by Otto or some other horrible fate befell them.

Tangent: the fun thing about the Redfort twins is that the absolutely could have existed in canon! There's nothing to contradict their existence; Daemon just never "discovered" them. I mentioned this in a comment somewhere, but I like to think that they were fostered in Blackcrown and ended up in Dorne together, adventuring. Raymar married into House Dayne (hence the occasional pale-haired child), and perhaps Jon did as well! But it cheers me to think that their lines continued somewhere. Heck, Dyanna Dayne could be one of their granddaughters, perhaps from a cousin marriage between Dayne daughter x Redfort and the Dayne main line! Or there could have been a circumstances where there were no sons at all and it was a matrilineal marriage, so his children were already in the main line.

/tangent

Rhaenyra's (and Viserys's) deaths would hit him hard, as would the loss of their dragons. Learning that he had four more children, and that his sons both suffered (Aegon being a prisoner and forced to watch his mother's execution, Viserys disappearing and being taken to Essos) would also mess with him. What was he doing when all of that happened? How could he have let himself be killed when they needed him?

OTOH, I don't know how easy it will be to read a single history book of his family's reign. It'll probably be scattered accounts, with different biases, and difficult to get a clean/clear view of it. Lots of contradicting things, both because the accounts got it wrong and because he lived in an alternate timeline, might cause him to doubt a good chunk of its accuracy.

He would 100% discard the Rhaenyra stuff as slander, just as he assumes Aerys's reputation is pure slander. (I almost wonder if he thinks Aerys = his reincarnation, given that he's Rhaegar's father, though once he hears enough firsthand accounts he may reconsider.)

[justaz]

teehee au where merlin is beloved by like all of camelot and just has everyone wrapped around his finger (not that different from canon honestly) and one day arthur is on his way out on a mission from his father that merlin insisted he be on bc uther found out about his magic and merlin just wanted arthur far away from it so he didn’t have to witness it. uther knows that merlin cares deeply for arthur and was genuine in the compromise so he allowed it. after arthur is gone, uther orders the pyre to be built and merlin is burned before sundown.

since arthur’s mission was top secret (again insisted by merlin) no one knew where he was or how to send a message to him to let him know what was happening. the citadel is ROCKED bro like a lot of them are in shock and weighed down by grief (especially the guards and knights that were forced to follow their king’s orders). this was like the first time that almost the whole citadel knew who the sorcerer was and they all adored him. organizing happens rather quickly especially with the knights and guards turning a blind eye to the conspiring of high treason that’s literally happening right in front of them.

arthur meanwhile runs into either morgause or nimueh somehow idk and they tell him about the deal his father made and shows him the contract he signed and points out the line that states the deal calls for a life to be taken in exchange for a life made which makes it clear that his father knew somebody was to die for it. he pulls a quick 180° and dashes back to camelot, arriving in the middle of the night to see fires burning high as the rioting citizens scream and shout calling for justice and listing names that seem vaguely familiar but he cant place.

arthur, already hellbent on patricide, hears the fate that befell merlin and his rage is multiplied tenfold. he marches through the streets with tunnel vision until he finds his father who seems relieved to have his son back until he draws his sword against uther. arthur doesn’t argue or insist he draw his sword. arthur just lists his two people, his mother and his merlin, much like the rioting people outside are.

uther stops him: you look down on me for building a kingdom on blood, but that is what you’ll be doing if you kill me

arthur barely blinks: then i guess i really am your son

uther’s head is paraded around the city until morning

[wonderfulworldofdarklords]

Introducing content warnings for D's Journal

Hello, dear listeners! Because our upcoming episode has significantly more intense content than usual in D’s Journal, we’re planning to include a content warning for it, and we’ve decided that it’s a good practice to include content warnings for D’s Journal in general. We want to establish a few general guidelines about how they'll look.

Content warnings will be listed under the timestamps. That way it’s easy to avoid them if you don’t want spoilers, but they’re available if you need them.

Please be aware that these content warnings are only for D’s Journal, not for the out-of-character discussion in the episode; we discuss body horror in the Princess Mononoke episode, but D never encounters any of the horrible wormy boar-demons, so that one wouldn’t have had a content warning for body horror. (If you feel like we need more content warnings for the episodes, please let us know because we want everyone to feel comfortable.) That’s because D’s Journal has the potential to get a lot more bracing than the episode proper, since there’s a big difference between Tom and Rachel sitting around chatting about WandaVision and D experiencing it firsthand.

HOW THEY’LL LOOK

Content warnings are going to be divided into three rankings, based on how prominent they are in the episode: major, moderate, and minor. Explanations for each one, with mind control/memory manipulation as the example:

Major: D experiences or witnesses this firsthand, and it’s played for horror. A lot of episodes won’t have major content warnings; plenty of awful things happen in Olympus and Crescent City, for instance, but D didn’t witness them. A good rule of thumb: if it unsettles D so much that she can’t be sarcastic about it, it’s probably major.

Examples of episodes that would get a major content warning for mind control or memory manipulation:

WandaVision, of course. D spends most of the episode as Wanda’s meat puppet. 

Encanto, because even though Abuela only whammies D for a minute, she sees all the NPCs who have been whammied and is disturbed.

Toy Story. D doesn’t spend much time believing she’s a toy, but it’s thoroughly milked for horror potential.

Moderate: D experiences or witnesses it firsthand but it isn’t played for horror, or she reports on something that she heard secondhand with a level of detail.

Examples of episodes that would get a moderate content warning for mind control or memory manipulation:

Spirited Away. D loses her name and her memories, but both she and the listener know from the beginning that there’s a plan in place for her to get them back, and she doesn’t dwell on the horror of the experience. 

Home Alone. D gets a brief dose of the McElminster House’s “silver tuna” power, but shakes it off almost immediately and treats it as an annoyance rather than a violation.

Tron: D never sees any programs being rectified and doesn’t know for sure whether that fate befell the program who helped her, but it comes up frequently and unsettles her.

Minor: D mentions it in passing but doesn’t dwell on it.

Examples of episodes that would get a minor content warning for mind control or memory manipulation:

The Jungle Book. D’s guide warns her about Kaa, but they never meet him or share detailed stories about his victims.

NOTES ON SPECIFIC TRIGGERS

A few specific notes on common triggers, so you have a sense of how far they’ll go and whether you need to check for them every episode. If there’s ever an exception to these boundaries, we’ll put an announcement at the beginning of the episode.

SEXUAL HARASSMENT AND ASSAULT

For sexual harassment and assault that doesn’t involve any charm spells or love potion nonsense, D has already experienced the absolute worst that this will ever get in Beauty and the Beast, which boiled down to “Gaston got fresh in an unspecified way and continued getting fresh after I told him to buzz off, so I eldritch blasted him in the cajones.” She will never experience anything worse than that. Full stop. 

Secondhand experience with sexual harassment and assault will only come up if it’s baked into the setting, like it was in Beauty and the Beast and Hunchback of Notre Dame, and D’s going to be euphemistic about it because she doesn’t want to talk about it any more than we do. (I honestly don’t know if this is ever going to come up again, because who would it come up for except Gaston and Frollo? But just in case we get an oddball Listener’s Choice or April episode or something, there it is.)

Writing out the extended Labyrinth journal made us realize that we need a special caveat for charm spells and love potion nonsense, since D got sucked into a World Falls Down bubble and kissed Jareth while she was in there. If there’s any kind of enchantment that leads to D being in a romantic situation that isn’t 100% consensual, we’ll put a warning at the beginning of the episode, the written content warning will detail exactly what happens, and it will never go any farther than the bounds of a PG-rated podcast.

RACISM, QUEERPHOBIA, ABLEISM, AND MISOGYNY

Any racism D encounters will be fantastical. That said, there may be strong parallels to real-world marginalized groups, especially if it's part of the source material (Roma for Vistani and Travelers, immigrants for Runes, etc). If that's the case, we’ll let you know in the content warning along with the general racism warning.

Unlike some other phobias and isms, there’s no Disney property where pushing back against queerphobia is an overt theme. That means we don’t have to engage with it, so we’re not planning to do so. If we can get through this entire podcast without D having the faintest idea that anyone would care what genders anyone else identifies with or is attracted to, we’ll call it a win.

Ableism may come up, and misogyny already has, so please do check the content warnings for details if you’re concerned about those. 

ANIMAL CRUELTY

If it isn’t intrinsic to the setting or character (looking at you, Cruella), it’s only going to come up in passing, like the mention that there are no pets or livestock in Arendelle.

The exception is animals with human levels of intelligence, since they’re basically NPCs. Sorry, Iago, you’re not safer than an aarakocra just because you’re pocket-sized.

CHILD ENDANGERMENT AND DEATH

We’re parents. We check “Does the Dog Die?” for this one every time we watch a horror movie with a kid in it. When Tom runs Curse of Strahd, there are no dead kids involved with Dream Pies. If we recommend horror novels or movies to each other and don't warn each other about any dead kids first, someone's sleeping on the couch. We freaking hate it when child characters die or suffer permanent harm.

That said, there are some settings where Very Bad Things happening to children are thoroughly baked in, so it has to come up sometimes. Part of the horror of Neverland is Pan’s disregard for the Lost Boys’ safety, and it’s going to be impossible to do a horror setting of Monsters Inc., Pleasure Island, or Hocus Pocus without traumatizing or killing some child NPCs. There will be content warnings when that happens, and our utter distaste for it is a good indicator that it won’t be graphic or gratuitous. If it isn’t baked into the setting, though, it’s a safe bet that any time a child is endangered, they’re going to be rescued and come out without a scratch (like Ratigan kidnapping the kids in Great Mouse Detective).

[looneyleyle]

dwarven prince ~ kili

synopsis: at their most dire hour, four members of thorin's company run into a curious lass, one that not only saves kili's life, but changes the course of fate for all dwarves.

warnings: nothing crazy, tolkien-canon violence

word counter: 12,740 words

note: uhh i got a bit carried away with this one... my laptop is literally crashing from how long it is. it's somewhat edited but this thing is massive so it may need a few more rounds of editing later on. for now... enjoy!

third person pov

"durin save us!"

all eyes fell upon kili, his leg black as the nights o'er the mountain pass. fili and bofur hoisted up the young dwarf, desperately searching for someone, anyone to help.

as quickly as their stubby little dwarven legs could take them, they followed behind the master of laketown and his hunchbacked counselor.

"please wait! please, we need your help!" fili cried, the weight of his injured brother growing heavy upon his shoulders. the master of laketown and his counselor turned, faces all but pleased to see more of the dwarven company. "my brother is sick." fili added, searching the men for some sympathy, medicine, anything to save his kin.

"sick? i-i-is it infectious? get back! alfrid, alfrid, don't let them come any closer!" the master of laketown pled, covering his airways with a meager cloth.

"please, we need medicine." oin tried to reason.

"do i look like an apothecary?" the dwarves were taken aback at the cool apathy in alfrid's voice. "haven't we given you enough? the master's a busy man. he hasn't got time to worry about sick dwarves." each word from the man drove a dagger into their hopes and hearts. surely these weren't the men who had just given them food, mead, shelter, and weapons mere hours before? there was not a trace of care or kindheartedness in either of their looks. "be gone with you. go on, clear off." the counselor spat, escorting the master back into his abode.

the dwarves looked between each other, unable to come up with a plan. defeat befell them, not knowing what else they could do.

"over here!" a voice whispered from the nearest alleyway. oin whipped his head around, as fast as the armor atop his head allowed, searching for the owner of the voice.

"hurry, the apothecary's this way!" the voice continued. a young man's face peeked out of the shadows, but it was no matter to the dwarves. as soon as the word "apothecary" left his lips, they were halfway to him, kili's condition seeming to deteriorate by the second. the dwarves followed this stranger until, abruptly, the man stopped in front of a building along the alleyway, quickly guiding the dwarves inside.

"sister! come quick!" he yelled up the stairs, helping fili and bofur lift kili onto a table.

down the stairs came a woman of surpassing beauty, at least in eyes of the dwarves. the three dwarves would have stopped and stared had it not been for the severity of the situation of one of the sons of durin.

"dwarves?" she asked, but her tone carried no malice. she swiftly moved to kili's side, unwrapping the bloody, makeshift bindings on his leg. she handled the situation with practiced ease, not even flinching at the sight of kili's pitch black leg. inspecting the wound closely, she found the shaft of the orc arrow still lodged into his skin.

"a morgul arrow." she mused, already moving to the back of the apothecary, gathering up a mixture of herbs and pastes and the likes. "i don't know what business you fellows had with the orcs, but you must really have pissed in their mead to be pierced by such a weapon."

"aye. it seems we've done our fair share of pissing off lately." bofur nodded, the others offering various grunts of assent.

"do orcs drink mead?" bofur mumbled in confusion at the woman's turn of phrase.

"hold down his limbs. this's going to hurt." she ordered her brother and the dwarves, mixing up a sickly dark green looking paste. the longer oin stared at the paste, the more it reminded him of orc guts. she looked down at the wounded dwarf, sympathy in her eyes at the pain she knew was to come.

as soon as the paste touched kili's open wound, he thrashed about, screaming in unimaginable pain. the dwarves struggled to hold him down, the medic's brother thrown back at the dwarf's strength.

"by mahal, what have you put on him?" fili cried, pouring nearly his entire weight onto kili's right arm.

"morgul arrows are poisonous. from the looks of it, that arrow has been in him for hours. the poison is far imbued in his bloodstream. this poultice is entering the bloodstream and exterminating the poison. it's a terribly painful process, but it's his only option." she explained, gentle hands holding kili's head in order to keep him from bashing it against the table, causing any further damage.

after many long moments of thrashing to and fro, throat raw from the screaming, kili opened his eyes, staring up at the medic.

"are you an angel?" he whispered coarsely, eyes lidded from pain and drowsiness.

"no, i am not. angels you see when you are dying, and you, sweet dwarf, are not dying." she reassured him, kili only able to stare at her with immense awe before succumbing to the heaviness upon his eyelids. the dwarves jolted at this, all causing a right commotion.

"is he dead?!"

"kili, wake up!"

"pull yourself together son!"

"he is alright." the medic told the jostled dwarves, urging them to sit. "his body has just fought a nasty war. he is still very much alive and breathing, he just needs rest." the medic motioned to her brother, and he began cleaning up the supplies around them. the dwarves watched as their kin's chest crested and fell with each breath, finally able to relax.

"there are no words to describe the depth of our gratitude miss, for this we owe you our lives." oin remarked, an arm flying across his chest, beating it twice. the other two dwarves followed in suit, a fierce look in their eyes. the medic merely laughed them off, starting the clean kili's wound.

"it is no trouble to me, truly. i would do it again in a heartbeat."

"you offer us such kind words for one of mankind. we have not experienced such pure generosity in many moons." oin continued, taken aback by the medic's endless help and pure-heartedness.

"and who is to say that i am of mankind?" she asked, cleaning the paste off of kili's leg and reapplying a thin new layer. kili thrashed for but a moment before lulling back into his blissful state.

"if ye aren't of men, then what are ye?" bofur asked.

"my mother was of men. a young lass of dale. after smaug destroyed the city, she moved to laketown like the rest. a lone dwarf, displaced from erebor, ventured into the city, offering his services as a blacksmith, promising to craft the finest armor and weapons the city could imagine. no one wanted to take a chance upon a dwarf, and so they turned him away. not my mother, though. she stopped him just at the town's border and offered him lodging for the night if he could prove his skills the following morn. the rest is history after that." she explained, wrapping a clean cloth around kili's wound.

"so you're... part dwarf?" fili asked.

"aye." the dwarves sat there with mouths agape, never having heard of a dwarf and a human producing offspring. the medic's brother returned from cleaning the area, mumbling some words about retiring for the night.

"he does not look like a dwarf." bofur mused, earning a clap on the back from oin. the medic laughed at their antics.

"indeed, he is not. my father went back into erebor with a fellowship of dwarves not long after azog the defiler slayed thror. mother begged him not to, but his mind was made up. the stubbornness of dwarves, i must say." she said, shaking her head. "he... never returned. mother remarried, a man this time, and had avaldr, my half-brother."

"and what is your name, fair lady, savior of our dear kin?" fili asked, the others feeling a twinge of foolishness for not having asked earlier.

"eona."

"we cannot thank you enough, eona, truly, for saving our dearest kili." oin praised again, the three of them bowing to the woman.

"such honorable dwarves, on a quest to reclaim your homeland. i am honored to be in but a moment of this valiant quest." she bowed back. looking out the window, the absence of light was glaringly obvious. "and now, it is time that i retire. there are some spare cots underneath the table. they aren't the most comfortable, but i hope they will do for the night. i will rise with the morning sun to help tend to your friend. goodnight, noble dwarves."

unfortunately, sleep did not fall upon the dwarves, nor the entirety of laketown. as soon as eona moved upstairs, the earth and water beneath laketown shook. the dwarves took up arms immediately, looking at each other wide-eyed in fear.

"smaug."

they toppled out of the building, making their way through the alleyways until they had eyes on the lonely mountain. the sight their sore eyes landed upon chased away any thoughts of sleep they had.

a speck moved out of the mountain, seeming like nothing but a mere bird from their perspective. but they knew better. the said "speck" moved with great speed, becoming larger and larger with each beat of its terrifying wings. it was headed for laketown, there was no doubt about it.

"everyone, to the back, we have a boat there that we can use." eona called to them, heading back inside. there, avaldr and fili moved to help kili up, while eona packed up some supplies, food, and few gold coins into a nearby knapsack.

"come on brother." fili urged, kili groggily swatting away the various hands attempting to pick him up.

"i'm fine, i can walk." kili grumbled, now fully awake and reaching for the sword given to him by the master of laketown. the four of them all made their way towards the back of the house, where oin and bofur were already in the boat, hands extended to help the others in.

"come on, we gotta go!" bofur hurried, looking up to see smaug circle the town. the others were swift to file into the boat, avaldr quickly making his way to one of the oars, bofur taking the other. the group departed promptly, not wanting to end up as dragon feed. smaug dove steeply down, barely missing the tops of the tallest buildings, a fire brewing in his stomach.

the heat of the fire was immense, so terribly hot, something the people of laktown were not accustomed to. it scorched the city, and the flames that erupted made the situation very, very real. people ran, screaming, crying, hopping into boats, anything to escape. some even leapt into the water, preferring the freezing temperature of the water over the skin-melting heat of smaug's fury.

fili mumbled something, pointing up to the clock tower. looking up, the group saw the man bard, bow in hand, shooting an arrow towards smaug.

"he hit it! he hit the dragon!" kili yelled, getting the company riled up.

they were almost out of the town when it happened. a sound of destruction, a sound of something crashing into a building at great speed. when eona turned around, she watched where the clock tower once stood, smaug's massive body having already crashed through it, now rolling and thrashing madly about the town. he attempted to fly upwards, but only managed to get up a few measly flaps before he stilled. the dwarves watched as the light left smaug's terrifying eyes, the dragon falling to the ground, unmoving.

"he's dead." fili stated, shocked, as if unable to process. a smile lit up the others' faces.

"he's dead!" kili cheered, all of the dwarves clapping each others' backs and such. eona and avaldr, however, looked at the surrounding wreckage of their town. while relieved for the death of the dragon that had plagued the minds of their town since before they were born, the thought of their town being incinerated, no matter how dreary and miserable it could be at times, weighed heavy on their hearts.

it was early in the morning by the time most of the residents of laketown had reached the banks of the long lake. it was a miserable sight, the bodies of the dead floating in the water, people screaming, crying, searching for their loved ones.

eona sat off to the side, away from the crowd, staring at the lonely mountain in front of her. the dwarves took notice of this, watching with intrigue as they readied the boat avaldr had offered to them.

"she's always been entranced by the mountain." avaldr told them while steadying the boat. all but one of the dwarves turned their attention to avaldr as he spoke. "when she was a mere child, her father would tell her stories of the great halls of erebor; the wealth, the songs, the feasts. the stories were grandiose, and always came with a promise that one day, she would get to experience it all. after her father died trying to go back and reclaim erebor, she would always look to the mountain for strength. laketown has been where she has been raised, but somewhere deep down, her heart knows it belongs in erebor." he continued, looking out at his sister. "she may ask to accompany you to the mountain. to be there when it is reclaimed. she knows her way with a sword, and her skills as a healer could prove to be useful. i do not wish to force you to take her on, but please do consider it."

"consider it done." kili told avaldr, not even sparing him or the other dwarves a glance as he walked up to the lady.

"the lonely mountain. the home of our forefathers." he said, coming to sit down next to her. she did not flinch at his company, instead offering a smile at his words.

"my father spoke nothing but wondrous things about erebor. he was even willing to die to have but a chance of seeing it one last time." she told the dwarf, her eyes never leaving the mountain.

"should you like to, there's room for another on our boat. well, your boat, i mean." he offered, watching her face carefully for her reaction. her head immediately whipped towards him, face lighting up.

"do you mean it?" she asked, eyes filled with hope. kili simply nodded, trying to suppress the smile twitching at his lips. "i promise, i will not be a burden. i will be as quiet as a hobbit's fell feet if you so like it." she promised. kili laughed at this, giving her a large, warm smile.

"no need. i could listen to you talk all day." he told her, her face growing rather warm at the statement. the two sat there for a moment, a silence falling upon them as they turned back to stare up at the mountain.

"i never got to properly thank you for saving me. for that, i owe you my life." eona simply shook her head with a light smile on her face.

"truly, it was nothing."

"it wasn't nothing. not to me." another silence befell the two, this time looking at each other instead of the mountain.

"aye, let's get a move on. we're leaving." the yell from fili carried over to the two. kili jumped up, extending his hand to eona. she took it with that seemingly ever-present smile, him helping her to her feet before the two made their way over to the rest.

"lass, will you be with us on our way up the mountain?" oin asked, the others watching expectantly. eona looked over to avaldr, who gave her a nod.

"i will be following bard to look for shelter. go, this is what you've dreamt of. our paths will cross again, i have not a doubt in my mind about it." eona hugged her brother, splitting some of the food and gold in her pack with him before hopping into the boat with the others.

"welcome aboard, eona of esgaroth, to the quest to reclaim erebor." oin announced, the others all cheering.

the dwarves were of high spirits the whole way up the mountain, and eona couldn't help but be filled with hope. with smaug gone, there was nothing standing in the way of these dwarves and their homeland. once they started their trek up, eona found herself in pace with kili, who had claimed that his dud leg was what kept him from his usually quick stride. the other dwarves simply gave each other knowing looks before focusing back on their path.

the gates of erebor were nothing short of breathtaking, even with the gaping hole from smaug's wrath. they stood tall and proud against the mountain, the color fading and yet still such a brilliant emerald shade. no one spoke a word, simply admiring how far they had come, and how they were finally here, in this moment, about to enter the great halls of erebor. the treacherous journey was not for naught. the moment they stepped inside, funnily enough, was like a breath of fresh air. none of these dwarves had lived in the days before erebor was taken, but they could almost hear the sounds of their ancestors running about the great halls, the sound of hammers hitting hard metals into intricate weapons, and more.

"hello? bombur? bifur? anybody?" bofur called out into the halls. the dwarves immediately began their search for their kin. moving swiftly through the halls, running up and down various staircases, listening for any sounds of movement.

"wait!! wait!!" a familiar voice called. the voice was undoubtably that of bilbo, and the dwarves had never been more relieved to hear from that little hobbit.

"it's bilbo! he's alive!!" oin announced, the stress visibly leaving his stocky frame.

"stop stop stop!" bilbo ordered, finally running into the dwarves, not even acknowledging the additional member with them.

"you need to leave. we all need to leave." he stated matter-of-factly, worried lines etching his face. the dwarves looked at each other in confusion.

"we only just got here." bofur told him, not seeing what could possibly have the hobbit so riled up and vehement about leaving.

"i have tried talking to him, but he won't listen." bilbo told them, lowering his voice a bit and looking around in concern.

"whaddya mean laddie?" oin asked. bilbo let out an exasperated sigh.

"thorin! thorin. thorin." he repeated, getting quieter with each repetition. "he's been out there for days. he doesn't sleep. he barely eats, he's not been himself, not at all. it's this place, i think a sickness lies on it." he rushed out, still not daring to speak too loudly.

"sickness? what kind of sickness?" kili asked, pushing to the front of the group. fili, who had only half paid attention to the hobbit, had his eyes fixated on something past bilbo, face wrinkled in concentration. he stepped forward, not waiting for bilbo's answer to his brother's query. he swiftly descended the staircase, not waiting for the others, who quickly scrambled to follow.

"fili. fili. fili!" bilbo hissed, but it was too late. there, the dwarves stopped, looking out at the vast treasures in the hall, gold as far as the eye could see, in heaping piles all over. they could barely see the ground, just gold, gold, and more gold. walking slowly on the gold covered ground, mumbling to himself, was thorin, draped in ornate robes and jewelry. eona and bilbo's faces scrunched up, noticing the almost possessed look to him. the dwarves all looked down at him in shock.

"gold. gold beyond measure. beyond sorrow and grief." he spoke, finally looking up at the dwarves who had found their way back to the company. "behold: the great treasure hoard of thror!" his voiced boomed throughout the halls. he flung something high up into the air to the dwarves, fili catching the object. it was a beautiful, giant blood red jewel.

"welcome, my sister's sons, to the kingdom of erebor!"

the dwarves wasted no more time in reuniting with their brethren.

"balin!"

"kili!"

"bombur!"

the dwarves all yelled each others' names, merrily hugging and conversing about all that has happened.

"and who might you be young lass?" dwalin asked, coming up to eona. she opened her mouth to introduce herself, but was promptly cut off by kili.

"the one i owe my life to. without her, i would not be here with you all today, nor anywhere in middle earth." he told the others. they all looked at eona in awe, who was a bit flustered from all of the bolstering and attention.

"i keep telling them all, it truly was nothing! i am just a healer from laketown, part dwarf, wanting to be here, the place my father was willing to die to see one last time. my name is eona." she told them. no one said a word, until one by one, they bowed to their heads to her.

"you have saved our dear kin, we are honored to share this moment of reclaiming our homelands with you." balin told her.

after overcoming her moment of being the center of attention for the twelve dwarves, she was quickly pulled into introductions, each seemingly more enthusiastic than the last to meet her.

"come along now, give her some space." kili called out at the brothers dori and nori, who were bombarding her with a myriad of questions.

"let us show you all around, it's magnificent!" ori told the newly arrived dwarves, eager to keep wandering the great halls of the city.

the tour of the city did not last long before the group ran into thorin, who was searching through the piles of treasures. spotting the group of dwarves, he called everyone down to join him.

"won't you all lend a hand? there is far too much ground for just one to cover." he said, though every dwarf knew it was no choice they had in helping him to find the arkenstone. the moment he stepped into erebor, he officially became their king, and they would never disobey an order from their king.

and so, the company began their search, splitting up the vast hall to cover the most ground. at first, it was a bit fun for the dwarves, rifling through all of these treasures, putting on the fancy jewelry and such. however, it became tedious and tiring quickly, and the dwarves were quick to realize that this was akin to a wild goose chase.

"any sign of it?!" thorin's voice roared, eventually echoing to reach the area where eona, fili, and kili were searching.

"nothing yet." dwalin yelled back.

"nothing here." nori's voice chimed.

"keep searching!" thorin shouted, accompanied by the sounds of a frenzied throwing of clinking and clacking metals and jewels.

someone's voice said something on the opposite side of the hall, and the trio strained their ears to discern what was said and who said it, but their efforts were cut off by thorin continuing to yell.

"the arkenstone is in these halls - find it!! all of you - no one rests until it is found!" his booming voice bellowed, the walls of erebor seeming to quiver and shake at his obsession.

"has he always been like this?" eona asked the twins quietly, an unnerving sense taking over her body. the twins looked at each other, the same look of concern taking over their faces as well, shaking their heads.

"no, i'm afraid not." kili answered, looking in the direction of his manic uncle.

after hours and hours of searching, none of the dwarves had yet to stumble upon the famed arkenstone. balin reasoned with thorin that the group would continue the search another day, that they needed food and some rest for the night. some angry words were mumbled in response before thorin waved balin off, the king continuing his search. looking around at the rest of the dwarves, who had been watching the exchange intently, hoping to get an all clear, balin shrugged his shoulders, and that was all the company needed to start filing out of the hall. yawns and grumbles of hunger came from every which way, no one daring to speak until they were well out of earshot from their king.

"kili, come with me for a moment." eona told the young dwarf as they entered the great room they took refuge in. without question, he followed her to a secluded corner of the room. she gestured for him to sit up on one of the protruding ledges from the wall as she grabbed her knapsack and rummaged through it for supplies. kili tilted his head, giving her a confused look.

"i have to check on your leg. it's been a couple of days since i've taken a proper look at its progress."

"it's healing just fine, if you needed an excuse to get me alone, you could've just said so." he smirked, but brought up his leg nevertheless, pulling up his pant leg to see the wrappings around it. she laughed and rolled her eyes at his statement, beginning to unwrap the wound. it was healing quite nicely, still a few lines of black swirling out from the spot that he was shot, but nothing to be concerned about. grabbing the sickly green paste, she got ready to slather it upon the wound again.

"hold on tight to something." she warned him. instantly, he reached down to grab her spare hand that had been resting on the ledge. she smiled lightly to herself at this, sparing a quick look in her periphery at kili. she was expecting to see a cocky smirk gracing the son of durin's face, but instead, she saw him looking down at her fondly, a soft smile playing at his lips. pushing down the warmth in her chest, she lightly applied the paste to his leg, his hand gripping tight onto hers. she looked up at him fully this time, his face twinged with pain, but as quickly as it appeared it disappeared, him releasing a deep breath out from the momentary, blistering pain. having applied the new layer, she moved on to wrapping the leg, taking her time with the motion.

"so, what led you back to under the mountain?" she asked him as she worked. he hummed for a moment before answering.

"my mother is dis, thorin's sister. i was not yet born when we lost these lands, but i have heard stories of it all throughout my life, and have trained to be a skilled warrior so that, some day, i would come here, help slay the fabled smaug, and help my kin take back our homeland, and restore the throne to my uncle. my people, they have settled well into the blue mountains, but they were not meant to be there. so, when thorin called upon us to take back erebor, i packed up my things with my brother and haven't looked back since." he told eona, who was long done with wrapping up his leg. when he finished talking, she made no effort to move.

"do you miss them? the blue mountains, the other dwarves, your mother?" she asked. he rifled through his pocket for a moment before producing a small, black stone with runes on its face. he passed it to her for her to look at.

"i carry that talisman as a promise to my mother. to return." eona turned it a few times in her hand before giving it back to kili, who followed suit and turned it in his hands as he continued. "as for the blue mountains, i wouldn't say that i don't miss them, but i have always longed for adventure, and now that i'm here, i do not wish to call the blue mountains my home anymore. thorin has sent word to the dwarves around middle earth that he has taken back erebor. in time, these halls will be filled again with my people, and my purpose will have been fulfilled."

"it is quite noble that the king and princes of erebor were the ones to reclaim it." she nudged him, a smile on her face. his face mirrored her own, nudging her back a bit.

"prince. only my mother would call us that." he told her.

the two continued to talk in that little corner, their original purpose long forgotten, not even noticing as the other dwarves trickled their way out of the room as the time went by, the lonely mountain merely illuminated by the lone moon high in the sky. their laughter kept the hall lively, at least for the two of them.

"-and it took fili four years to realize that norum was, in fact, not a dwarrowdam." kili laughed, eona's jaw dropping at this, her smile so big through her laughter that her cheeks began to hurt. as their shared laughter died down, kili looked around, finally noticing that all the other dwarves had retired for the night.

"well, i shouldn't keep you up any longer. we have a long day ahead of us." kili told her, helping her down from the ledge they had shared.

"rummaging through more gold?" she asked, somewhat teasingly. kili let out an amused huff and that, not quite letting go of her hand as they walked out of the hall.

"thank you for amusing my uncle through this all. we all realize that it's crazy, i promise. the likelihood that we find the arkenstone in there is slim to none." eona nodded at this. "many think that dwarves are less intelligent than other kinds, such as the elves. i disagree. we're quite a smart breed, but we don't follow our heads, we follow our kin. if thorin is going to drive himself mad looking for this stone, we will be right there alongside him." kili explained. eona looked up at him in admiration, noticing how he smiled as he talked about his kin, the pride he felt. ever so lightly, she squeezed his hand, so light that had he not been so acutely aware of their entangled hands, he might've missed it. but he didn't, and squeezed her hand back, as soft as a feather. and it was with longing looks and endless smiles that the two parted that night.

the sun shown brightly over the lonely mountain the following days, contrasting the madness brewing inside. thorin had called off the dwarves from searching for the arkenstone, no longer trusting them. as hurtful as it was, it came as a bit of a relief to the company. they were finally able to breathe, to enjoy the halls of their forefathers, to have a sense of being home.

even though eona was not a part of the original company, she quickly found her place amongst the dwarves. they were enthralled by her customs and stories of the race of men. by day, she would teach them about medicine and healing, the games of men, and their history, and by night, she would tell them the tales her mother had told her as the sun would creep past the horizon, lulling the dwarves into peaceful sleep. eona learned a lot from the dwarves as well, and bilbo too for that matter. in return for her teachings, they would show the two their own culture, telling them of their customs, teaching them khuzdul, and sharing their own tall tales.

one night, as most of the dwarves found themselves off in the world of dreams, there was but one dwarf left not yet asleep.

"you didn't finish the story." he told her, sitting upright on his cot. eona turned to kili, giving him a small smile.

"it would be unfair of me to finish it just for you, and leave the others to imagine their own endings." she responded, making her way to leave the room of sleeping dwarves. wordlessly, the young prince followed. it was a routine the two had fallen into; if the clutches of sleep evaded them, they would wander about erebor, talking about anything and everything that came to mind.

"gloin talked about the importance of hair to dwarves today." eona started, looking cautiously at kili as they walked. he hummed, nodding at the statement, encouraging her to go on.

"my father had made similar comments, but i was much too young to remember most of what he said. i know my mother wore a braid in her hair to honor my father's dwarven culture." she continued, watching his reactions carefully. he let out a slight chuckle at her words, still simply nodding. eona took a small breath before finally asking the question that plagued her mind.

"why is it that you have no braids in your hair? most of the company does, but your hair remains loose." she inquired. kili haltered in his steps, looking contemplatively as he worked to word his response.

"i have not yet courted anyone." he stated, now with him being the one to watch her reaction. "most braids indicate that a dwarf is courting someone or has already been courted. hence the braids you see in some of my brethren, like gloin. there are few braids indicate status or are done by family, a distinction only dwarves can make. but most braids are a part of our courting rituals." he explained. eona nodded, taking this information in. kili kept his eyes upon her, waiting for more questions, but none came. the night went quietly by, the air wrought with a tension the two had yet to speak or act on.

the next morning, eona was roused by a call from thorin to meet at the gates. rubbing the sleep from her eyes and her dream skipping away to the outskirts of her mind, she followed the other dwarves out. the sun was bright, but warmth did not reach the company. something was wrong, very wrong, they could tell from the determined look on thorin's face.

intuition never fails, and the dwarves were ordered by their king to block up the entrance that smaug had broken through. rocks, rubble, any materials laying about were piled up at the entrance, some by hand, others by pulley.

"i want this fortress made safe by sunup. this mountain was hard won - i will not see it taken again!" thorin declared. kili, who had been visibly disturbed since his uncle's first orders of the day, finally spoke up.

"the people of laketown have nothing. they came to us in need. they have lost everything." he pled on their behalves. the look thorin gave kili sent a shiver down everyone's spine.

"do not tell me what they have lost. i know well enough their hardship. those who have lived through dragon fire should rejoice, they have much to be grateful for." eona sent a nervous glance towards kili, who merely shook his head and returned to his place, knowing there was no hope of talking sense into thorin. eona looked around at the rest of the dwarves, all looking utterly defeated. there had been whispers of a condition -dragon sickness- and there was no denying now that this was what plagued the mind of their king. the most frightened look was the one on bilbo, despair twisting his face.

"more stone! bring more stone to the gate!!"

soon enough, the dwarves found themselves suiting up for battle, and it almost seemed laughable to eona. the people of laketown had helped the company when they were at one of their lowest points, and yet here the dwarves were, ready to fight them, fourteen strong against not only the armies of laketown, but also of the elves. eona sat on a nearby stone, suited up but unarmed.

"aye lass, you'll be needing a weapon to get through this one." dwalin laughed, extending a sword out to her. she simply stared at it, making no move to grab it.

"she isn't fighting." fili spoke, not looking up from the blade he was sharpening.

"i refuse to fight those whom i have known as my own for the entirety of my existence." she said resolutely. "i will heal, for both sides, mind you, but not fight."

"thorin's not going to like that." oin joked.

"thorin doesn't need to know." kili glowered, a thinly veiled threat not just to oin, but to everyone in the room. they had never seen the young prince so serious and menacing before. he stared at the group for a moment longer before continuing to fill his quiver.

"none of us want this." balin muttered, a few assenting grunts coming from the dwarves around him. "but thorin is our king, and we have pledged our lives to him. call it that dwarven stubbornness, but it comes from a fierce loyalty to our own. if thorin is to go down against the likes of men and elves, then you'd better bet that the rest of us will be there alongside him, going out in a fiery, idiotic blaze." balin explained not only to the young lass, but also to bilbo, who had done nothing but twitch nervously besides the elder dwarf the entire time. there was a melancholic note to his look. they had just reclaimed erebor, and surely by the dawn after the battle commences, they would be no more.

that night, the dwarves slept in the same room for what would surely be the last time. not a tale of men or dwarves was shared, a silence enveloping the room.

"kili?" eona whispered after the snores of the other dwarves commenced. kili, who had very conspicuously moved his cot next to eona's earlier that day, let out a soft hum, letting the woman know he was listening.

"are you mad that i am not fighting for the company?" she asked, her voice barely audible. kili was quick to turn in his cot, now facing her, his eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"mad? if anything, i am extremely proud. your actions show your devotion, not only to your kind, but to your people as well. a dwarf could never be mad for such an act of loyalty." he told her, pure adoration in every look and word thrown her way. that same tension that seemed to dance and swirl between the two was stronger than ever, neither quite knowing what to do. they were not fools, they knew what this was, but on the eve of what was sure to be their end, it felt, simply put, silly. both of them were caught up in their thoughts, gazes unmoving from the other.

"i'm scared for you." eona whispered, her hands fidgeting with themselves. kili extended one arm and enveloped her hands within his own, halting their movement. he seemed, for once, at a loss for words.

"i'm scared too." was all he could muster, his hand squeezing hers. he then brought up his other arm, hand moving to open up her palms. there, he dropped a stone into her hands, but it was no ordinary stone. eona gasped.

"kili, i can't-"

"i make to you the same promise i made to my mother. to return. whether it be in this life or the next, i will find my way to you. our time has been too short for this to be the end." he told her, tears welling up in her eyes at his somber promise. all she could do was pull the talisman to her heart with one hand, and squeeze his hand with the other, an understanding passing between the two of them.

no birds chirped, nor wind rustled that morn. the dwarves awoke to a burden of dread upon their minds, bodies, and hearts. the silence continued as they put on their armor and grabbed their weapons. even the sounds of the metal of their armor clinking was muted, as if even they were somber in preparation for what was to come.

when the dwarves made their way to above the blockaded gate, their king was already there. looking out in front of the gate of erebor, legions of elves and men stood there, armed and ready to fight. there were hundreds upon hundreds of them, much too many for the thirteen dwarves to take on alone.

the next few minutes were all but a blur for eona. she vaguely registered that thorin was talking, the sickness having a vice grip on the dwarven king. even when the arkenstone was revealed to be in the possession of men, eona did not flinch. all her mind could fixate on was just how many there were out there, the fate her newfound friends would soon meet too grim for her poor heart.

she was pulled out of her thoughts from thorin shouting, coming straight at her. she was shocked, terrified even of what the king would do, but he simply brushed past her, and she quickly found she was not the one thorin's wild eyes were focused upon. it was bilbo, and she only realized this when thorin had grabbed the poor hobbit and attempted to throw him over the ledge. this got her in action, quickly moving to hold onto the hobbit. the other dwarves followed, pulling their king away from the ledge, with a few others helping eona to pull bilbo back down to the ground. as thorin fixated back on the wizard in front of him, cursing wizards and "shire rats", bofur signaled for bilbo to move away, towards a rope that eona did not know to be there before. eona helped bilbo up, a sorrowful, knowing look shared between them before bilbo took off, scaling down the gate of erebor.

time then seemed to speed up, crashing down like the waves rushing through the great river of entwash. the iron hills dwarves arrived. the battle begun. the wereworms crashing out of the hills. the orcs led by azog. it all made eona's head spin. even when her people fought, whether with orcs or others, she never saw the action. she would always be on the side, healing the injured, eyes never turned upon the fields of battle. it was all to surreal.

then, thorin retreated. looking around at the confused faces of the other dwarves, this was not part of the plan.

"thorin?" dwalin called, following after his king. the dwarves began to mumble amongst themselves.

"is this a trick?"

"where is he off to?"

"the battle's the other way lad!"

dwalin was quick to return from wherever thorin went off to, his face puzzled.

"we're to fall back, thorin's orders." he told everyone.

"what?" kili asked, completely and utterly gobsmacked.

"'fall back'?? with our brethren out there? with the orcs this near?" fili continued his brother's sentiment, enraged. balin sighed.

"he is our king. we must listen." and with slow, dragging steps, balin took one last look at the battlefield before retreating into erebor. the rest followed suit, kili, fili, gloin, oin, and eona being the last to move.

"i can't believe it. just like that? not even giving them a right good chance?" gloin grumbled, stomping into the halls. oin followed in suit, simply shaking his head. eona turned to the brothers, but their attention wasn't on erebor. instead, they stood there, looking out at the battle in front of them. when eona got close enough, she saw the devastated looks on their faces.

"we were the ones to call them to our aid, and yet we offer them none." kili let out, voice quiet.

"how can he call himself 'king' when he lets his people die." fili whispered. not able to watch the devastation any longer, he reluctantly went back into erebor.

"i understand he is sick, but this is unacceptable." kili said, turning to eona. she nodded, coming closer to hold onto the dwarf. war horns continued to blare from the orcs, each sending a new threat into the mix.

"i cannot bear it." he told her, turning away from the battlefield, letting eona guide him back inside. the two moved in a heavy silence, the cries of the battle echoing through the dwarven architecture. the rest of the company, save for thorin, was seated there, dejected. no one dared talk. they simply sat and listened. listened to the horns blare in the distance. listened to the sounds of metal swords - dwarven-made metal swords - colliding in a frantic frenzy. listened to the screams of agony of both foe and friend alike. some shut their eyes, physically pained by the stories their ears told them.

after what seems like an eternity for the antsy dwarves, thorin walked in. the dwarves immediately rose, some more quickly than others. kili was fuming, as if the smoke of smaug himself spouted from his ears.

"i will not hide behind a wall of stone while others fight our battles for us!" he yelled. thorin simply approached him. the dwarves and eona all held their breaths, terrified for thorin's next move. kili, ever the hotheaded, continued.

"it is not in my blood, thorin." he told his uncle lowly. the two stood there, toe-to-toe, the gaze kili held alit with vicious flames.

"no, it is not." thorin started. the company sat there in shock, having expected a foul response from their sick king. that is, until they truly took in his appearance. no longer was he clad in his fancy royal robes and arbor, but rather, a simple leather outfit, one that the dragon-sick king would never wear. it was, however, something that the old thorin, the thorin that the company traversed middle earth with, would wear. his sword was drawn, aching to see battle. "we are sons of durin. and durin's folk do not flee from a fight." he told his nephew, laying his hand on kili's shoulder, a smile gracing his ever-frowning lips. kili, through light tears, smiled back at his uncle. they leaned forward, foreheads touching, kili overjoyed to see his uncle back to normal. thorin then turned to the rest of the company.

"i have no right to ask this of any of you, but will you follow me, one last time?" the dwarves tried to hold back their grins, but it was for naught. immediately, the company rose, raising their weapons, ready to follow their leader - their friend - once more.

another signaling horn bellowed across the battle field. orcs and trolls alike marched forward. the ranks of elves, men, and dwarves grew ever smaller, the orc army outnumbering them by far.

then, another horn was heard. not the dreadful orc horn, but a higher-pitched one. men, elves, dwarves, orcs, trolls, hobbit, and wizard alike all looked up towards the previously silent erebor. there stood bombur, blowing his horn loud and proud. the awe of the horn was interrupted by something of equal greatness. the barricade of stones and debris guarding erebor, in the blink of an eye, was destroyed, its pieces flying every which way, some creating a makeshift bridge from the entrance to the ground.

the battlefield watched as the dwarven company, led by thorin, rushed through the gates, through the iron hills dwarves, and to the orcs, wasting not another second to spill orc blood.

"to the king!! to the king!!" dain yelled, the rest of the iron hills dwarves rejuvenated.

"to arms!" thorin yelled in khuzdul, the dwarves all around yelling, running back into battle.

eona, who had stalled for time in erebor as to not attract any attention, started to make her way through the battlefield, staying on the outskirts and surrounded by allies. she had a sword, at the persist request of kili, that she had no intentions of using. she was to heal, not to harm, hoping to avoid the orcs and trolls at all costs. she was quick to run into bilbo and the wizard she had heard all about. she gave bilbo a quick hug, glad to see the hobbit still alive and well.

"ah, and you must be the healer bilbo was telling me about." gandalf smiled, stabbing an orc through the neck that tried to attack the little reunion.

"indeed. i am eona, it is a pleasure to meet you, gandalf the grey. i have heard many a tale of your spirit." gandalf smiled at this, before turning his attention back to the battle.

"there is a med camp between the eastern wall of dale and the base of ravenhill. your skills are much needed." he told her, pointing to the camp. she nodded, giving bilbo her best wishes before making her way to the camp, dodging war-bound elves and dwarves as she passed. when she reached the edge of the camp, there was a wall of wounded warriors there, already wrapped up and standing on guard for the worse for wear inside. they parted for eona, and she wasted no time getting to work, tending to a dwarf that had been slashed in the shoulder by a morgul blade. flashbacks to kili filled her mind, to their first meeting. it felt like ages ago that they had met, as so much had transpired since. worry tugged at her heartstrings, and she tried her hardest to shake away her thoughts of where her friend was now. she poured her everything into helping as many as possible, the number of soldiers being dragged into the tent ever growing, providing a much needed distraction for her.

with the newest group of admits to the tent came news of the battle. there were whispers of dwarves on ravenhill, and eona's mind went racing. she tried to shake off the thought, finishing the wrappings on a younger soldier, but something in her knew that she was right. that kili was up there, where azog had been seen earlier. something in her urged her to go. she would be of no use in fighting, it would be irrational for her to go to one of the most dangerous of their enemies, but she knew something terribly wrong was afoot, and if she had any chance to change that fate, she would.

and so, she grabbed her sword and her pack of supplies from beside the first patient she worked on, and rushed through the blockade of wounded warriors. she was quick to scale the mountain, some unknown speed possessing her.

as she was near the top, a stray orc came out from behind a rock formation, eyes set upon her. quickly, she raised her sword, the orc following in suit. as soon as it went to strike, she haphazardly swung her sword, blocking its advances. she then jumped out of the way of its next swing, nearly falling to the ground. she made a jab at the orc again, sword meeting its foul flesh. adrenaline coursed through her body, but before she could celebrate her hit, the orc turned back to her, swinging again, not quite phased by the damage she had done. in panic mode, she moved to parry his actions, her sword near the creature's face. in a quick move of desperation, she put all of her strength and weight into a quick slash at the orc's neck. while it didn't completely decapitate the orc, it was enough, and the orc fell to the ground, black blood sullying the ground below them. the sight made her stomach drop in sickness, but she continued up nevertheless, her worry increasing as each second went by.

finally arriving at the top of ravenhill, she was quick to encounter dwalin, holding up a limp fili against himself and a wall. wordlessly, eona ran to the two, helping dwalin lower fili to the ground so she could get to work. she inspected the stab wound in his back as well as his head, which seemed to have been bashed against the stone foundations around them. he was breathing, but only just, barely any air coming in or out. she wasted not another second, grabbing various vials and containers and wrappings from her sack. dwalin stood next to them, ready to both help and fend off enemies.

"it seems as though the orc was aiming to puncture his heart, but was jerked to the side as he went to do so. the wound is also not too deep, considering its aim was likely to kill. it's not like orcs to make such mistakes.." she murmured, alternating between cleaning the wound, sewing it, and applying pressure.

she was done relatively quickly, but there was only so much she could do with such little supplies.

"there's a med camp at the base of ravenhill and the outer wall of dale. there are elven healers stationed there. he needs to be taken there, and quick." she ordered, dwalin quick to lift the prince. as he did so, eona assessed the area, not seeing what, or who, she was looking for.

"i haven't seen him lass. if it helps at all, he went that way before this mess." he told her, sympathy written all over his normally stone cold face. she thanked him quickly before running off in that direction.

after what felt like far too long, she finally saw him, a few paces away, laying unmoving on a crumbled bridge, sword lodged into his body.

eona's ears rang, vision blurring out everything besides kili. she heard a bloodcurdling scream, one of that spoke of pain, of loss, of heartbreak. it took her a second to realize it came from herself, but she had no room in her mind to care if she called enemy attention to herself. all she could think of was getting to the dwarf. upon closing the distance between them, she saw breaths. they were faint, and shallow, but there. a desperate streak of hope consumed her, dropping down next to him, scraping her knees as she threw her sack down next to her, looking for something, anything to help.

as she fumbled around, tears clouded her vision. his breaths were becoming more irregular, causing a spike of anxiety to course through her body. after messily sticking her hand into a healing balm, she pressed her hand to the area around the sword, not wanting to take it out in fears of making it worse. as she applied pressure, she leaned down, connecting her forehead with his. her tears streaked his face, breaths heavy to make up for his lack of breath.

"don't you dare leave kili." she whispered, voice cracking.

then, she felt something wrap around their bodies, like a cage. it was cold, solid, textured. she looked up to find them in the claw of a great eagle. whether this eagle was a friend or a foe, she could not find it in her to care. all that mattered was trying to keep kili alive, even though she knew in her heart only a miracle could save him, something far beyond the methods of mortal healing.

the eagle dropped the two gently onto the floor next to the med camp, where two men ran over to help carry kili into the camp. eona refused to leave, his blood coating her hands, her still applying pressure. even after he was in a cot and being tended to by elves, she refused to leave. eventually, she was grabbed by the waist and forcibly removed from kili's side. eona thrashed against the figure until she heard their voice.

"settle down lassie, give the creatures room to save him." she looked behind her to find oin. she hugged the dwarf, pouring all of her emotions into the hug. she was relieved to see the dwarf, but her mind remained on the two prices, one admittedly more than the other.

after the long hug, she quickly surveyed the area, trying to find the other prince.

"and fili? did dwalin-"

"aye. came down here just moments before you." he told her, though his voice was did not carry hope nor relief.

"is he...?"

"dunno. the elves took one good look at him and whisked him away, haven't left his side since." oin retold, nodding in the direction of a cot surrounded by elves, all focused on the patient in the bed. her heart grew heavy.

"and the others?" she asked, trying to abate her hope, preparing herself for the worst.

"dunno. haven't seen them here, can't tell if that's a good thing or not." eona nodded. not wanting to dwell on the unknown much longer, she looked around the two of them, deciding to focus on helping the wounded. she tried her hardest not to fuss over the states of the two dwarven princes, but she couldn't help but look over at the two cots every once in a while, hoping for a scrape of news, any slight improvement in condition. it seemed as if oin was doing the same, eona meeting his gaze each time he looked to check in on the princes.

hours passed, the battle long over, and yet oin and eona heard nothing of the other dwarves, nor the statuses of the princes. the elves kept a tight blockade around the two, no sympathy for neither eona nor oin as they asked for anything about the two.

then, they saw the other dwarves, all carrying a body towards erebor. gandalf and bilbo trailed behind, heads bowed in grievance. oin fell to the floor, recognizing who was perched upon their shoulders immediately. for eona, it took a few more seconds, but when she finally did, everything seemed to stop.

"thorin..." she whispered, the seemingly ever-present tears that had been flowing down her redden cheeks starting up yet again. the elves and men of the tent all turned, bowing their heads in respect after identifying the body as the fallen king of erebor.

oin returned to erebor to be with his brethren in this time of loss. eona promised to send any updates to the mountain on the remaining sons of durin's conditions. it was far into the night when nearly all of the healers, both men and elves alike, began to retire. for the first time since the battle, eona was able to see both of the dwarven princes. both were breathing, shallowly, but breathing. eona checked on fili's condition first. feeling helpless and a need to do something, she looked for anything that the elves might have missed, any minor injuries she could tend to that the elves deemed non-threatening.

after finishing cleaning some of the more minor wounds, she took up the spot next to kili, giving him the same examination that she gave his brother. after doing so, she sat back down, watching the slow, sometimes irregular rise and fall of his chest. pulling something out of her pocket, she opened the palm of kili's hand closest to her, placing his talisman in his hand before lacing her hand in his, firmly pressing the talisman between the two of them. she did not know for how long she sat there, just watching him breathe, praying to any beings out there, dwarven, human, or elvish, for the two of them to wake up.

"he was dead for a while this day, did you know?" a voice startled her, coming from the entrance of the tent. she whipped her head around to see the most regal looking elf she ever did lay her eyes upon. she could only assume this was their king. thranduil, she believed his name was, from the stories the men of laketown told while at the taverns. he moved through the tent with elegance, almost as if he was floating about.

"my healers told me. only for a few mere moments, but nevertheless, dead. passed on from this world. both of them were, actually. never have my people seen a mortal creature bring themselves back from the realm beyond middle earth." he continued, going over to observe fili. eona was speechless. dead? and they somehow came back?

"in our stories, only a being with a true reason to live, an unfulfilled destiny, if you will, can come back from the point of no return. it seems as though these sons of durin have yet a role to play in the fate of this world." he finished. with that, he finally looked eona in the eyes, only briefly, before exiting the tent, leaving eona stunned and alone with her thoughts.

as the sun rose over the great cities of dale and erebor, eona stirred. looking up, she found herself surrounded by moving bodies. in her blurred vision, she could make out the figures as elves, from their tall statures and straight, long hair. the one closest to her gave her a displeased look before returning to work on kili, who she realized she was still holding the hand of. reluctantly withdrawing her hand, as well as the talisman, she took one more look at the prince's face before moving out of the way. she turned towards fili's cot, which had only one elf there, simply rewrapping his bindings before moving on. when she took a closer look, she found his eyes open, squinted, but opened. eona all but flew over to fili, the elven healer raising an eyebrow at her movements.

"fili! fili, are you alright?" she questioned. the dwarf lazily moved his eyes to hers, and upon recognition, offered her a slight, lopsided smile.

"it'll take-" he started, before going into a fit of coughs. the elf scolded him for talking before turning to eona.

"he has suffered major injuries to his head and back, some of which causing serious damage to his mobility and cognitive functions. he is not to speak until the wound on his back has healed, and he may be disoriented and mentally stunted fr the next few days. it would be unwise to move him until them. otherwise, he is in stable condition." the elf told her before moving away to another patient. eona let out a sigh of relief.

"kili?" fili whispered, going into another bout of coughs, earning him a sharp glare from the elf, who was only at the next cot over.

"the elves are still tending to him. he is alive, but only barely so." she told him, looking over to the crowded cot. he looked crestfallen, sluggishly following her line of vision to where he knew his brother would be. fili opened his mouth again, but eona gently shut it, shaking her head.

"for once, listen to an elf. you need your strength to heal. i am to report your and kili's statuses to erebor, but will be back before nightfall." eona started to move away from fili before remembering thorin. she contemplated for a moment before turning to fili. sadness filled her eyes, and fili seemed to understand what she was trying to convey.

'who?' his lips mouthed. tears welled up, knowing the dwarf would suffer greatly from this news, but would suffer even more to find out days after.

"your uncle, thorin." she told him quietly, going back to the seat next to his cot. fili's breath caught in his throat - again, causing a flurry of coughs to escape him. his eyes welled up with tears, and eona realized she had never seen the dwarf cry before. she held his hand, not wanting to leave him with such heavy knowledge to bear alone. after a while, his tears slowed, and he nodded to her, before looking away. taking that as her sign to leave, she bowed her head to fili before making her way to erebor.

the dwarves there were happy to hear that their princes were alive, even if only barely so, though their relief failed to meet their eyes. the death of their king weighed heavy upon all of their minds and hearts, including gandalf and bilbo, who remained with the company even with the battle over and their quest completed.

a small crew of dwarves joined eona on her trek back to dale, wanting to see their princes and, admittedly, take a moment away from the intense sorrow that hung about the halls of erebor. balin, oin, and ori followed eona in silence, looking around the area that was a battlefield but a day before.

once inside of the med camp again, eona found a familiar face standing there, scanning the faces of the wounded.

"avaldr!" she yelled, running up to her brother. as soon as he heard her voice, his shoulders relaxed, swiftly turning to embrace his sister. moving back, she assessed him for injuries, and besides a few gashes and cuts, he was unscathed. the two moved to an empty corner of the camp, whispering, catching up on all that had happened since eona joined the quest for erebor. however, avaldr couldn't help but notice eona's eyes drifting to the cot of one of the dwarven princes. he gave her a teasing nudge, interrupting her retelling of thorin's return to sanity. avaldr nodded towards kili, and eona gave him a small, half-hearted nudge in return, though the humor of her action didn't quite reach her face, eyes still watching in in worry.

"he hasn't woken yet. i don't know if he ever will. the elves refuse to share anything of his condition." she told her brother somberly.

"he will rouse." avaldr promised her. she nodded, lips pursed, before avaldr took her hand in his and squeezed it, attempting to ground her. a genuine smile overcame her, just happy to see her brother again, alive.

"it seems as though we will stay in dale." avaldr said after a long moment of silence. "the people of laketown, that is." he clarified. eona nodded at this. "and i do believe you will stay in erebor?" he questioned.

"at the very least until kili wakes." she responded. avaldr gave her a knowing look.

"you will always have a place to stay in dale, should you need it." he started, looking back at the kili. "but it is clear that you have created a life in erebor. if you are waiting for some sort of permission from me to stay in erebor, though you need it not, this is it. the two are close enough to visit plenty." he told her. she smiled, leaning her head upon her brother's shoulder.

they conversed for a little while longer before avaldr left, retiring for the night. looking around, eona took note of the dwarves that came with her. oin was checking up on a few of the remaining wounded, most just needing time to heal before they can move. balin and ori, who had been by kili's side since arriving, had moved on to fili's who was awake and attempting to communicate with them, without speaking, of course. unsurprisingly, eona returned to kili's side, taking her spot next to him.

a few days passed, and kili had still yet to wake from his state. the elves said it was normal, or at least, as normal as could be after coming back from the world beyond. his injuries were healing, which the elves said would lead to a relatively pain-free body for him to return to once he comes to. fili was finally cleared to walk about and talk, but was to, under no circumstances, undergo any moderate to extensive physical exertion, per the strict healer that had been tending to him. because of the bettering state of their injuries, the two were authorized to move to the medic halls of erebor.

back at erebor, the company was preparing the city for the homage of dwarves from all parts of middle earth. each member of the company was offered permanent royal accommodations there, placed in marvelous residences of grandeur. even gandalf and bilbo, who did not have plans to stay in the great dwarven halls, each had a room in their name, should they ever return to the lonely mountain.

despite the nagging curiosity to explore the revitalized halls of erebor, eona spent most of her time in the medic ward of erebor with oin, watching the progress of kili and a few other injured dwarves, as well as doing daily check-ins on fili.

almost a week had passed since the battle, and many tribes of dwarves were set to arrive today, with a great feast in honor of thorin to take place at dusk.

while doing his check-in for the day, fili told oin and eona of the news. despite being the next in line for the throne of erebor, fili did not find himself to be fit to rule just yet, with still much to learn. dain was to act as a temporary figurehead of erebor, teaching fili as much as he could before his departure to the iron hills.

"the iron hills?" oin questioned. fili nodded.

"aye. not all dwarves wanted to return to erebor. some from memories, some from content with their new homes. when dain leaves, i will officially become the king under the mountain." fili explained.

"that's lovely." a hoarse voice chirped from the other side of the room. whipping around the three of them focused on kili, who was there, sitting up, albeit a bit hunched over, on his cot, giving them what they assumed he meant as a cheeky smile.

"kili!" they all yelled. fili was quick to take him up into a large, brotherly embrace. it had kili wincing, but he returned it with equal fervor nonetheless. eona's heart thumped wildly in her chest, unable to stop the tears of happiness from welling up in her eyes. after the two brothers finished talking, fili moved out of the way, a slight knowing smirk on his face.

it was the first time kili had seen eona's face since going off to battle, save for the fleeting images of her in his comatose state. his face softened into the purest look of adoration that eona had ever seen from anyone, human, elf, or dwarf. she moved swiftly to his side, embracing him. unlike the bone-crushing hug the brothers had, this one was fragile, as if both were worried the other would break from applying just a tad too much pressure. when she pulled back, she punched kili in the arm, the dwarf immediately moving to rub the spot she hit, an offended look overtaking his face.

"ow! what was that for?"

"don't ever do that again." she ordered, punching his arm again. kili just smiled, a wide one, full of content and the slightest hint of cheekiness.

"wouldn't dream of it princess." red in the face, eona fished through her pockets to produce the talisman kili had given to her the eve of the battle, placing it in his palm. he stared at it, shocked that she had carried it with her this whole time.

as the day went on, dwarves filed into erebor and the festivities echoed through the halls, but that mattered not to eona. she stayed there, in the med ward with kili, her telling him of the battle and comforting him through the loss of his uncle. around dinner, she helped the prince get dressed into some simple royal robes, before helping him walk to the feasting hall. despite the healing of his injuries, moving was not quite yet a feat he could do by himself, not that he minded having eona at his side at all times.

the feasting hall was truly a marvelous sight. dwarves filled up the hall, merry looks upon their faces, drinking, singing, eating, clapping, stomping. ever the rowdy crowd, dwarves were. at the appearance of one of the sons of durin, of one of their princes, the hall exploded into whoops and hollers and ecstatic cheers. kili smiled, waving to the crowds, unable to do much else without causing himself pain.

before kili even realized it, he was being tackled by someone. as quickly as the shock came from the action, came the recognition, pulling this dwarf to him tightly.

"amad." he sighed into the hug, not having seen his mother since departing upon this quest.

"kili, my son. how relieved i am to see you alive." she pulled back from the hug and examined her son. he had only been gone not even a year, she could tell her son had grown much more than he could have ever if he had stayed in the blue mountains.

a happy reunion it was, families reuniting, lovers rejoicing. joyous tales and songs of thorin filled the halls, the dwarves not dwelling on his parting, but rather, the life he lived, the accomplishments he accrued, the slaying of azog, and eventually, the greatest service he could have done to his kind, the reclaiming of their homelands. he had died fulfilling his mission.

eona was passed around like a plate of pork, every member of the company introducing her to their families, friends, lovers, and even children. while talking with his mother and brother, kili couldn't help but watch her with nothing but admiration as she interacted with his kin. his mother and brother, of course, noticed this, overjoyed for kili. once all the other dwarves had finished their introductions of eona, and she was informed of gandalf and bilbo's departure, she was swept over by another. this time, it was dis, grabbing her hand and bringing eona to sit with her family. the four spent almost the whole feast together, the two brothers telling their mother all about the half-human, half-dwarf woman they had taken on as their own. dis was absolutely charmed by the girl, happy to see her son with such a kindhearted dam.

after the festivities ended, and many of the dwarves had properly celebrated their king (with copious amounts of ale, one might add), the city of erebor retired for the night, happy to be home. kili insisted upon escorting eona to her room, even though he had been the one relying on her to be able to move about. once the two reached eona's chamber, they lingered in the doorway, not wanting to be separated from the other for even a second, not since after the battle.

"y'know, i don't think i'll be able to walk all the way back to my quarters in this state..." he trailed off, grin on his face, eyes twinkling. eona laughed at this, tugging him into her place without an ounce of hesitation.

"you cheeky dwarf." she chided, leading him to her room.

"that i am. though i am quite serious, i don't believe i can walk even a few steps without your support." he laughed. the smiles on their faces were infectious, the joy of being with each other not leaving their minds, faces, or hearts for even a second. pulling him close, eona hugged him again, reminding herself that this was real. he was here, alive, having survived the battle. his arms snaked around her, finding a comfort in her he had not expected to find in his lifetime.

"you stink." she finally said into his chest. he laughed at this, slightly pulling away from her. "if you're to stay here, you must bathe."

"don't think i can do that alone either. d'ya reckon you could help me with that too?" he asked smugly, her cheeks warming at his request. she smacked his arm for the umpteenth time that day, but led him to the washroom, on the condition that he would attempt absolutely no funny business.

after being all washed and properly dressed for the night, the two plopped down onto her bed, holding each other close, a light conversation flowing between the two. the exhaustion from all that had happened, both physical and mental, seemed to finally catch up with them. after what seemed like hours, surely an ungodly hour of the night, the two paused in their conversation, simply taking the other in.

"i thought we lost you." she whispered to him. he grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips.

"and i swear to you i will never give you such fears again." he promised. she moved her hand to his hair, hesitating for a moment, before starting to play with his hair, watching his reaction carefully. his breath hitched, watching her eyes carefully.

"you do remember...?" he trailed off, seeing the bashful smile and nod that came from the beauty in front of him. he put his forehead to hers, peppering her face with light kisses as she began to braid his hair, the start of their lives in erebor just beginning.

[valleyof-goldenlilies]

Se Zaldrizoti’ Prumia - Chapter 4: The Orange Lily Bends Its Head In Grief (Daemon Targaryen x Tyrell!Reader)

Chapter 4: The Orange Lily Bends Its Head In Grief 

The time comes for mourning, old memories and harsh truths. 

Se Zaldrīzoti' Prūmia Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | 

HOTD Masterlist | Main Masterlist | 

Warnings: Extreme slow burn, angst, mentions of Aemma’s traumatic birth scene, Y/N kinda being a headass, Daemon being an ass, Viserys hate club 

Word Count: 2.8k words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire and Blood characters, save for Y/N Tyrell, although I did expand on their characterisation, which might deviate from canon. All credit for the characters goes to George RR Martin and the showrunners of HOTD. The GIF above is also not mine, original credit to the creator is stated above. Go check them out!

A/N: I’m sorry this chapter was later than expected 😭 i got a bit sick after the concert I attended yesterday (1975 was great but goddamn the crowd was inactive asf) I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! 

wonderful dividers courtesy of @firefly-graphics​  !  

The day was beautiful. The sun hung bright and brilliant in the blue sky, and the smell of salt and sand permeated through the air, along with a slight whiff of smoke from the magnificent dragon situated at the top of the hill, its beady eyes cast upon the crowd of mourners clad in black. 

You stared numbly at the raised dais where Aemma’s embalmed body laid. Little Baelon was next to her, and you couldn’t help but wonder how Aemma would have reacted, had she known the life that had been taken from her in the hopes of letting her babe live, was now naught but sand scattered in the wind: utterly useless. 

Rhaenyra stood next to you: the both of you keeping a fair distance from Viserys. Tears were welled up in her purple eyes, but she did her best not to let them fall, attempting to maintain her calm countenance. She reminded you much of yourself when you had lost your mother, mourning, and unsure on how to express your grief. 

Daemon spoke to Rhaenyra hushedly, the both of them conversing in High Valyrian. You did not deign to translate the faint snippets of their conversation that you overheard in your head, despite your decent grasp of the tongue. You barely noticed as Rhaenyra inched forward gingerly. 

“Dracarys!” You kept your eyes fixed upon Aemma and Baelon’s funeral pyre as it was set alight.. The hot whoosh of flames fanned across your face, and everyone took a step back unconsciously to avoid the heat, but you didn’t feel anything, not as you watched the body of your dearest friend and her ill-fated son burn away to naught but ashes. 

Daemon did not know what to make of today. Grief was a stranger to him: even though he had seen the deaths of his mother, father and grandfather, the depth of the feeling eluded him. Mayhaps there was something wrong with him: given how much death there had been in the later stages of his grandsire’s reign, it was a wonder he was unfeeling at funerals. Still, he found no sense in dwelling over the dead. The dead were the dead, and sorrow would not bring them back. 

He was about to depart from the cliffs, and mount a horse back to the Red Keep, when his gaze befell upon a most strange scene. His brother, and…Y/N? 

Rhaenyra had already ridden off on Syrax back to the Dragonpit, and most of the royal retinue had already retreated back to the Red Keep, unable to stand the sweltering heat, but his brother was here, talking to Y/N, who by now, was becoming ostensibly more and more like she would rather hurl herself off the cliffs than suffer in his brother’s presence for any longer. Viserys’ expression was earnest, mournful, and any man would have softened at the pitiful state the King was in, but Y/N seemed to have none of that. He wondered just what was going on, considering how Y/N was always close with his brother. ‘At least, she was always much more jovial with my brother than with me,’ Daemon thought darkly. 

“Brother,” Viserys turned to face Daemon as you breathed out a sigh of relief, glad to no longer be the centre of Viserys’ attention anymore. Try as you may, you could not shake the lingering sensation of disgust in your gut whenever you laid eyes upon Viserys. Your mind constantly kept flashing back to that horrific scene on Aemma’s deathbed, of the incisions and the realisation of what Viserys had ordered dawning on you when he couldn’t quite meet your gaze. What affection you had for your childhood friend was slowly dispersing into rage and grief, as you struggled to reconcile the jovial and amiable man you once knew with the reality of a man who was callous enough to sacrifice his wife to gain a son. 

Startled when you felt a hand placed firmly on your shoulder, steering you away from Viserys’ bewildered form, you glanced up at Daemon, but he said nothing as the both of you walked away from the King. After a while, when you had both reached the ends of the cliffs, he finally let go of your shoulder. The both of you were silent, staring out at the blue sea, as you both awaited for the other to break the silence. 

“Why did you pull me away from the conversation?” you murmured. “I could tell how uncomfortable you looked,” Although his gaze was directed towards the bay, Daemon’s voice was soft. “You were practically begging to get out of the conversation.” “And here I thought my many years at court had made me better at veiling my emotions.” “With how long we’ve known each other, byka zaldrizes, it would be an insult to me if I couldn’t see past your facades,” Daemon remarked dryly. He began strolling along the length of the cliffs, and you quietly followed suit. 

“...thank you. I…he may be my king, but I am of the opinion that if I had to suffer in his presence any longer, I might punch him.” you admitted, gratitude and exhaustion tainting my voice. Daemon let out a soft snort, “I thought you would have learnt that assaulting a royal never does you any favours.” “You’ve known me for so long, Daemon, in the face of anger, I never did seem to possess the ability to think rationally. What’s more, I think Viserys is deserving of it.” You could feel your heart starting to pound furiously again, the scene of Aemma laying in bed, covered in blood…brutally slit open, her eyes opened wide in death and her expression of agony flashed repeatedly into your mind, making your stomach roll unpleasantly. Tears prickled at the corner of your eyes, and. you bit your lip in an attempt to stave them off, tilting your head away to obscure Daemon from the view. He said nothing, only offering you a handkerchief. You took it, dabbing at your tears lightly, trying to calm yourself by inhaling the salty scent of the sea air. 

Daemon watched her with inquisitive eyes. He had heard rumours of how close Y/N was with his sister-in-law, but with the weight of her grief becoming increasingly apparent, he finally understood the extent of their bond. His heart filled with a strange tugging sensation, but he dismissed it as just the oddity of seeing Y/N cry. In his boyhood memories, he always regarded her as this strong-willed, fierce and irritable little girl. To see her cry was…it made him feel strange. The Y/N of his boyhood seemed so contrasting from the Y/N in front of him now. He had seen Y/N’s physical changes since girlhood, and now he was witnessing the emotional changes. Uncomfortable, he fidgeted with his fingers, about to offer his condolences, but he remembered how much she hated it when he professed his grief at her mother’s passing, and stopped himself. The sight of Y/N dabbing at her tears however, became more and more excruciating for him to bear with every passing minute. He longed to do something, anything, to lighten the tension between them, but what could he say? It wasn’t like comforting his niece, with the Queen that she was serving dead, Y/N might as well have been a sailor lost at sea, with no compass. So instead, he had to bite his tongue as he waited for Y/N to snap out of it. 

You clasped the handkerchief tightly between your fingers, suddenly feeling the traces of embroidery on it. You glanced at the handkerchief, and saw a familiar pattern of lily flowers across the fabric, in your stitching. “I didn’t know you still kept it,” you turned to Daemon, surprised. “I thought you would have shredded it years ago.” “Well, it would be rude of me to intentionally ruin a gift, especially one made of a gesture of goodwill, my lady.” 

Your fingers traced the orange lilies, biting back a smile at the memory behind this handkerchief. Once, in your childhood, you had been most wroth to discover Daemon had stolen your favourite doll and ‘accidentally’ ripped it. In retaliation, you had snuck into his room one night and emptied the contents of his chamberpot on him. Aghast, your mother had ordered you to make a truce with him by sending him a gift. Reluctantly, you sewed him a handkerchief, but to add insult to injury, you didn’t embroider a noble or rare flower on it, such as roses or carnations, but rather, you had chosen lilies. Although it was considered a flower of elegance, the colour of the lilies conveyed otherwise. To put it plainly and unpleasantly, they were one gigantic “fuck you” to Daemon. You couldn’t help but snigger as you recalled his reaction to the handkerchief: his face had twisted most unpleasantly, and he’d looked downright murderous, but since Prince Baelon and your mother were in the room, he could only swallow whatever insults he wanted to churn out and grunt out his thanks, much to your triumph. 

The lilies had turned a little yellow with age, regardless, the handkerchief looked well kept. You returned the handkerchief back to him, his fingers brushing against yours in a lingering touch as he took it back. “For what it’s worth…I am truly sorry for your loss, Y/N,” Daemon offered gallantly, “I know how close you are…were…with my sister-in-law, and she was a great woman. She was always kind to me, at least.”. Normally, you would have teased him for his uncharacteristic politeness, but Aemma’s death had drained all the fight left in you. “I thank you, my Prince,” your voice was hollow. 

Your next few moments were spent in silence, as awkwardness ensued. Daemon was nigh close to throwing himself off the cliffs. He was thoroughly unaccustomed to dealing with grief. He wonders if he had made the right decision when he chose to spirit you away from Viserys. At least the royal party had departed now, but it made it all the more difficult for him to leave Y/N alone on the cliffs. 

“Do you know…what he did?” your voice was tremulous, barely a whisper, but it anchored Daemon back to reality once more. His forehead creased, he said quietly, “I’ve heard. It was…dreadful to say the least.” “Truth be told, I do not know if I could ever…bring myself to forgive his act of cruelty.” “He is your king,” Daemon said, an uncharacteristic gentleness in his voice. “And your friend of many years.” "As was Aemma, Daemon,” you said, your voice tinged with sadness. 

Wishing to broach on this topic no more, you turned your conversation to something else. “Now that he killed both his wife and heir, what do you suppose would happen to the succession now?” Daemon notes with intrigue that your tone has taken a sharper tone toward Viserys, and he couldn’t fight the small sliver of smugness he feels at your distaste. Perhaps it was childish…but he always disliked it when you spoke about Viserys with such reverence, like he could do no wrong in your eyes. 

“He still has an heir,” Daemon reminds her, “Me.” 

You scoffed slightly, “I think you’re forgetting Rhaenyra. She is the King’s only trueborn daughter.” Daemon was annoyed, “A brother’s claim triumphs over a daughter’s.” “You’ve never paid any attention to the laws of Andal succession then.” “We are Targaryens, byka zaldrizes, what regard have we for those fucking laws?” Daemon snorted, “Moreover, Rhaenyra is but a child, besieged with grief. The right choice of heir for the stability of the realm should be me.” 

“You’re just using Aemma’s death as a way to further your own ambitions,” your tone was accusatory, and Daemon wanted nothing more than to shove this infernal woman off the cliffs. Why did everyone always think the worst of him? “I can assure you, that contesting the heir to the throne is the least of your worries right now.” 

You narrowed your eyes, “And what is that supposed to mean?” Daemon let a smirk play out on his face, “Now that my sweet sister-in-law is dead, what do you suppose will happen to you?” You blinked, confused by his sudden mention of your future. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to, Daemon.” 

“You are well aware that since your tenure as lady-in-waiting to the Queen is at an end, you will most likely be sent home to the Reach, do you not?” Your voice grew annoyed, “My focus now is on mourning Aemma, she was my friend, Daemon. As for what the future holds, I do not care about that.” Daemon let out a snort of laughter, “Are you sure about that, Y/N? It might not be the wisest course of action, you know.” 

You stopped in your tracks and gave him a frosty glare, “And since when did you care about my wellbeing, Daemon?” Daemon chuckled mirthlessly, “I do not. However, since my late sister-in-law harboured a form of affection for you, however of an annoying little brat you may be, I believe it in my responsibility to give you a warning.” “I have no need for your warnings,” you said brusquely. 

Daemon leaned forward, his violet eyes gleaming with savage delight, “Perhaps you should think again then.” He drew back, circling around you as his eyes watched you like a hawk. “With the Queen dead, it would be inevitable before you are summoned back to Highgarden. Tell me, what are you to do when you are ordered to wed by your father, hmm?” 

You bit your lip, disconcerted. But it was all the answer Daemon needed to carry on. “You no longer have any reason nor power to retain your status at court,” he mused, looking down at your stiffened form. “And when it comes, your father will summon you back to Highgarden. And you shall be wedded off like a prized pig to some lord, who could be balding, old, or ill-tempered. Or all three. Who knows?” He hears your sharp intake of breath, and he could see it clearly now. Your fear for this sort of fate. 

“Whether you like it or not, you must worry for your political standing. Even if you hate to make merry with my brother, you will have to stomach it.” You finally snap, your eyes ablaze, “I will not. Why should I give a damn about my political standing anyway? Should I refuse to go home, my father will not force me. The King will not force me.” 

Daemon laughed, the sound bouncing off the cliffs. It was a rough, jagged laugh, more out of dark bemusement than of any joy. “Byka zaldrizes, it seems you’re even more of a fool than I imagined. You might have matured in terms of your visage, but I see your immaturity still shines through.” 

Hurt by his words, you could only keep silent. Your mind was racing. You didn’t want to admit it…but you could see some truth in his words. Viserys could heartlessly give the order for his wife to be cut open, he would not defend you from something as simple as marriage. He was after all, a father, and a king to boot. He would sympathise with your father’s claims of duty to your house. 

Daemon’s voice was chiding as he spoke. “There is no doubt my brother will take a new wife after this. After that, there will be a new queen in court, a shift in power. And you?” he reached out to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ears. “Will be naught but a speck in the past. The new queen might be someone you are not acquainted with, and she will surround herself with an entourage she is familiar with. One which you will not be a part of. Who will protect you from your father’s will then? Certainly not my brother, if I know him.” 

You saw the sense in his words, but a certain sort of rebellion still blazed in you. “I would never allow myself to be used by my father this way,” you said, lifting your chin defiantly. “I am a grown woman now, and I can make my choices.” 

Daemon looked down at you, something akin to pity on his face. “If that’s what you think,” Daemon’s voice was soft, “Then you are a naive fool, my lady.” Abashed by his words, you could only look down, feeling lost. It was too much for you to deal with: mourning Aemma and Baelon, your newfound disgust and fear for Viserys, and now, terror for your future. You couldn’t deal with this. Not right now, maybe not ever. You weren’t used to this sudden weight of realisation, of burden on your shoulders, and Daemon could tell. He always could. 

The two of you stewed in despondent silence, before Daemon sighed, “Come, my lady. I should escort you back to the Red Keep.” You have a great deal to think about, his violet eyes seemed to whisper to you, making you feel even more unsettled. You nodded hesitantly, and he offered you his arm, before the both of you walked back to the remaining wheelhouse in a silence that was much colder and contemplative than before. 

Taglist for Se Zaldrizoti’ Prumia: @drwho-ess @graniairish @urmomsgirlfriend1 @thelittleswanao3 @animelover18 @llovinjoonie @gracielikegrapes​ @salembridger

Daemon General Taglist: @aiyaiy​

those who are bolded are the ones that couldn’t be tagged! let me know in the comments or through this form 

and that makes chapter 4! chapter 5 should be released in around 2-3 days time! do let me know what you think in the comments! if you liked this chapter, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated 💗 thank you for reading! 

[risilence]

Hello everyone! I am still writing hahahaha I just get a bit distracted, but i promise I will go back to the other stories I've written ʕ๑╹ᴥ╹ʔ They will get completed!! Just give me some time ʕ ´•̥̥̥ω•̥̥̥`ʔ

Originally I was going to wait to post this new story, but you know I decided to add another meal to my bill. ʕ•̀ω•́ʔ✧ Because I haven't learnt my lesson! Plus I want to give back to the RahuChief nation!

So without further a-do please see the link below for the full chapter and of course the small sample. I hope you guys enjoy it ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ💕

Please Read ME!

Night's Guard

Rahu’s memories from that point on became blurry and skittish. A mixture of her own screams, of her sword plunging into bodies, being slashed and pierced, biting someone’s face, Rahu’s mind was dyed red among the endless carnage that befell her. She couldn’t accept that she had failed, that her comrades had died, that she had lost Paradeiso’s first stronghold of this war. Especially one that was constantly emphasized as a crucial boundary that was necessary to block the barbarians of the east.

Back in her present mind, Rahu laughed emptily at the collage of memories. The mental angst driving her insane as she limped away with the undeserved title of sole survivor.

For whatever reason, she had somehow lived. Only managing to escape when she was tossed head first into an open barrel and kicked out of the way by someone who no longer held a distinguished face or voice. The barrel’s speedy getaway only stopping when she collided with a tree. The barrel, having kept her safe and hidden from the enemy’s eyes, shattered on impact. The force slamming Rahu’s head against the bark and granting her the freedom to lay unconsciously within the tall thick bushes that disguised her.

When she had awoke, Rahu was greeted with the smell of crisped bodies and burnt wood. She needed time to sort herself out before she had finally regained some sense of time and place. Not wasting another second, Rahu grabbed the nearest sword loitering around and ran back to her post. Ready to join the battle again if her team hadn’t already pushed back the enemy.

Preparing to fight again, Rahu couldn’t envision her team losing. Call it absolute fate or blind devotion, Rahu had never once believed Paradeiso would be defeated at any point of the start of this war. Only to drop her weapon when she saw the aftermath of this surprised attack.

There was nothing left of her fortress nor of her comrades.

Rahu could only think of one thing to do now at the face of such a defeat.

Report back.

So, Rahu moved. She moved with no sense of direction, with no care in her steps, her eyes hollow as she pushed on by mere instinctual duty. Slipping and stumbling as her mind attacked her with flashes of the battle, of her actions, of the aftermath.

She needed to tell someone, to warn them of how advanced their enemy truly were, but something deep inside of Rahu was dead. Dead and clouding her thinking as she eventually fell off the woods edge and plunged herself into a river.

Gasping and fighting with the little strength she held, Rahu was tossed and pushed along its currents as they moved her further away from the nearest town. Her last thoughts surprisingly peaceful as she believed that such an ending was more deserved for a solider like her.

…

When Rahu opened her eyes, the first thing that overwhelmed her senses was the grand disappointment of being alive.

Dull and done, she spent an unlawful amount of time merely staring blankly up toward the ceiling. Her immobilizing state lasting for as long as it took her to identify she wasn’t a prisoner of war either. In fact, being safe and sound had forced her to finally take notice of her surroundings.

Like tuning a radio perfectly to a station, Rahu focused in. She could smell medicine herbs, she could hear the sounds of someone humming, the weight of the blanket laid upon her, the wraps around her limbs and torso pinching her still, and the patch against her right eye.

“Finally awake I see.”

And now a voice.

“You gave me quiet the shock when I went to fetch water and found you face planted in mud. You should consider yourself lucky that you ran into me. Anyone else would have robbed you or slit your throat.”

The woman was sitting to her right, her temporary blind spot, and yet Rahu didn’t have the energy to move her head. Nor could she as Rahu soon discovered that her head was being held in place by iron support brace and cast.

“Don’t move around too much. Our towns doctor took a look at you while you were unconscious and she said your skin was the only thing keeping you together,” The figure sighed as her thin fingers came to brush Rahu’s hair away from her untouched left eye, “Just how many bones were you trying to break? Trying to set a new record or something.”

Rahu opened her mouth to speak, but found herself empty with air.

“Yeah… don’t try to speak either. You really are a walking miracle.”

Rahu had so much questions, so much curiosity, and it was as if the woman who had rescued her knew it too. At last, circling around the bed to join Rahu on her left side to properly converse with the wound soldier. A warm smile on her soft lips, her grey eyes full of passion and sympathy, dark midnight hair held up in a ponytail, her body thin as her hands went to help adjust Rahu up. Sitting her up enough so she could digest.

“Here. Drink this,” The woman brought a wooden bowl of bitter tea to Rahu’s lips.

Rahu merely stared into her eyes. Her own were nothing compare to the rejuvenated life rested upon those sharp eyes of her rescuer. Rahu instinctually protected herself by tightening her lips into a thin line in refusal of the strange liquid.

“I figured it wouldn’t be so easy,” The woman brought the bowl back to herself, letting the tea rest upon her lap as the stranger clarified her intentions, “I don’t blame you. You’re a soldier of Paradeiso, correct? I recognized their armor anywhere. And don’t worry, I hid it somewhere well,” the stranger sighed, “I imagine you realized now that you’re in Syndicate.”

[oztoft]

responsibility in 'all of us are dead': a small analysis

in an uncontrolled setting, the meaning of responsibility is skewed as people latch onto the people they think that should be taking care of them. in a nation-wide scenario, it could be a politician, in a familial scenario it could be a parent and in an academic scenario it could be a teacher. these people are to be differentiated from those who need the help because they are wise, experienced and they should know what to do. but what happens when they don't?

in 'all of us are dead', all three of these responsibilities are explored as well as some others. firstly, a politician. the assemblywoman for Hyosan. she recognised on her own that in her position, it would be better to save more people than people she loved. what power did she have when it came to the masses? she could've resigned, and let the duty of comforting the citizens of Hyosan be passed on like a torch to another, but to be a leader is to take action, and in her case, it was to comfort those who had nothing left to be happy about. with no homes and no family, the people would surely turn to their 'superiors'. whether to blame or thank, some sort of recognition would be shown. and this assemblywoman knew that people would hate her, resent her for the fate that befell their lives, and still ripped up her resignation letter because she had a duty to fill. it wasn't her fault but it was still her responsibility.

secondly, the responsibility of a parent. as a mother or father, you would want to see your child grow and be healthy and strive in their lives. to be happy and to be loved and to have all this fulfilled by you. but sometimes life isn't fair and doesn't allow such ideas. byeong chan knew this all too well. his son was being bullied and he could do nothing but try and make a change. and talking with the school would have been effective if not for the corrupt principal. so he had to take matters into his own hands. byeong chan thought he was being kind to his son, but by injecting his Jonas virus into Jin su he really did live by his quote of 'instead of dying like a human, i wanted him to survive as a monster'. what monster is a bullied child? so byeong chan, instead of trying to save his child, he doomed him and allowed this unfathomable fate be given to thousands across the city. (did he not think of the parents who had the responsibility to bury their children, but could find no bodies after they were killed?) he made amends to his son's memory after he revealed the true way to eradicate the virus, but his final responsibility should've have been to Jin su, not the world.

conversely, more successful examples of a parent's responsibilities include the way the students' parents might've tried getting to the school in order to save their children after hearing of the outbreak. cheongsan's mother, who persevered through an injured leg, defying the military, and her own safety in order to try and reach her only son. (his name was the last thing on her tongue before she died). secondly, nam soju, who also sacrificed his own safety for his daughter's, barely thinking about his bullet graze wound in the journey leading up to his heroic appearance at the school. as a first responder, he had a responsibility to people regardless but even after he saved multiple lives, he could not save his own. thirdly, kim ji min's parents who drove to her school just in the hopes that they could save her (they could not save a daughter who was dead). their hopes, as well as them, were killed in an instant after getting bitten. none of these people could've ever known how bad it was going to become, yet they couldn't fight off the wired urge to save those they cherished. additionally, a duty to your child is unspoken but it's overlooked how heesu didn't initially want hers. giving birth on her own as a teenager was already a strenuous ordeal, but to abandon her baby and immediately figure out the world outside was overrun with zombies? a disaster. but eye opening to her. she could have left her child in the bathroom because it would have meant someone would find them but in an apocalyptic setting, there was no guarantee. she wanted to give her baby a least a few hours of life. and she got them more than that. her quick thinking to tie herself to the door handle whilst using her baby's crying to keep her mind intact enough to stave off the zombification for a while was commendable. 

another type of responsibility is the one park sun hwa felt regarding her students. she could've been like the dean, or the principal, or the coach. selfish, scared, cowardly people who couldn't think of any lives other than their own. she was scared but she was selfless. she was an English teacher but she addressed the whole school. she was only one person but she gave hope to her students. in an apocalyptic setting, there was no need for her to teach her students anymore. or to stay with them. but she did both because she felt her position as an adult to be protective of those younger than her. 'when you cause someone to die, living becomes meaningless'. what duty did she have to keep teaching? she did that not as their teacher but as their elder, to pass on the last possible piece of advice she could before she went on to sacrifice her safety to save a student who went against her aforementioned saying. what is her responsibility in saving a murderer who was her student prior?

[ask-the-crimson-king]

A Fate Determined

What a fall from grace.

He used to be quartered in a finely furnished cabin, with an entire library at his fingertips whenever he chose. He could find other scholars of the Great Ocean and consult them or banter with them. He could create marvelous experiments with his brothers, even if they sometimes had less than ideal results. 

Now, he was sequestered away in the dingy underbelly of a beaten -- and most likely stolen -- warship that belonged to a band of miscreants and barbarians. Fitting, he reasoned, considering what had passed.

He was armored, even though today was not to be a day of skirmishing and combat. He had long since learned the value of maintaining some level of protection, especially in times between fighting. His associates, for he was not permitted to call them cousin nor even ally, were negotiating. With whom, the sorcerer did not know, for he was told it was not his right to know.

Being a sorcerer, most would reason that he could just pluck the information he wanted from the minds of the unwilling, and they would be correct.

If his new "boss" was not a member of the dreaded XII alongside most of the members of this miserable band. Though whether he could even refer to them as members of a Legion felt dubious. The change brought about from the Siege and these few... what, centuries now? had changed them so fundamentally. They were fracturing and breaking away. Most of the Legions were.

After all, their primarchs were beginning to abandon them, and they were without direction and unity. 

His own Legion had fractured long before the others. Recent events only broke them further. 

He shakes his head to clear the thoughts. He'd rather not entertain and remember what had happened. 

For now, he needed to focus. The leader of this warband had instructed him to formulate a ritual to summon forth a greater daemon of Khorne, and-

A knock at his door stops his thoughts. 

"Hey! Sorcerer!" comes a gruff shout. Pachua. A former member of the III, usually the one sent to fetch the sorcerer since most of the others in the band could hardly stand to be near him. The sorcerer once had a fleeting vision of Pachua holding the head of the current leader, Ukwtakun, and using it as a bargaining chip. 

"Yes?" the sorcerer replied, already rising from where he had been sitting. 

"You're called to the command deck," Pachua said. 

"Any particular reason?" the sorcerer asked as he opened the door. "Am I assisting in navigation again?"

"Don't know, don't care to know," Pachua said with a snort. "I have other things to attend to." Before another word could be said, the other Astartes stalked off, the dim light from the overhead lumens reflecting the garish colors and fresh trophies he had recently adorned his armors with. With a sigh, the sorcerer quickly made his way through the ship, coming to the doors that opened to the command bridge. 

Immediately he was greeted with an unfamiliar sight. Two Terminators, painted in crimson edged in silver, barred his way. Scripture was both etched into their plate and pinned to their armor in various scrolls. He took notice of several symbols meant to ward away the creatures of the Immaterium -- unsurprising, given that these two were of the XVII. 

"Greetings," the sorcerer said to them. "Ukwtakun summoned me."

"You are the sorcerer?" one asked. 

"I am." Perhaps the XVII were not aware of the changes that had befell his Legion. He knew his cerulean and gold plate seemed strange to them. 

"He is speaking with our Apostle," said the other. 

Apostle. The sorcerer was still uncomfortable with the word.

"May I ask that he be informed of my presence, at least?" 

"We've sent word along," the Terminator said, sounding annoyed. 

A silence stretched out between the three of them. While he awaited clearance to enter, his mind wandered, as did his other senses. Despite the suppression required to avoid getting killed, he could still keenly sense the auras of those around him.

A reliable talent to help avoid taking a fist or an axe to the face. 

He thought it a hold-over from his time as part of the Atheanean Cult from before the Fall. Such designations were archaic, now, and his mastery over the arts of old was giving way to new talents and curiosities. 

Some were not as new as he let on when he was still with the Legion, but he had wanted to keep up appearances then. Part of him did find it amusing that his ambitious brother had been right, in a way. There was more to the disciplines than what the Five Cults provided. 

Soon enough, the doors opened, and the sorcerer was allowed to enter. He gave a nod of acknowledgement and respect to the two Terminators as he entered, though who he saw left him stopped in his tracks.

Standing near to the brutualized warrior that was Ukwtakun was a face the sorcerer had not seen in centuries. Scripture marched down the left side of his face, his crimson armor left unadorned aside from the occasional lines of scripture or wards that looked similar to those borne by the Terminators who had stood sentry outside. A crozius arcanum rested near his feet.

"There you are!" Ukwtakun's voice ripped him from his momentary stupor. The warrior's face was nearly bisected by a massive scar that ran from one temple to the opposite corner of his jaw. A wild swing from a Blood Angel, he had said. It nearly took his eye out. The sorcerer gave a brief bow.

"How may I-"

"I called for you hours ago," the warrior interrupted. His lips pulled into a snarl. "Where were you?"

"In study and mediatation," the sorcerer answered carefully. His eyes flicked between the berserker and his guest. The XVII Legion warrior remained stoic. The sorcerer had caught a momentary glimpse of recognition flickering across his aura, but now his was being drowned out by the ever-burning rage his current "boss" held within him. 

His answer did not sit well. 

"Looks like I have to remind you that you come when called for, sorcerer," Ukwtakun snarled. "You're only here because you're convenient, but I'm sure we could always replace you."

The sorcerer said nothing to this. It was true. They happened to find him as he was fleeing, and they could have butchered him, but did not. 

"I understand," he said meekly. 

"I don't think-"

"Is this the time for this?" 

The voice came from the Word Bearer -- the Apostle -- that Ukwtakun was dealing with. It was soft yet commanding. Both the sorcerer and the berserker looked at him. 

"You're on my ship, Book Thumper," Ukwtakun growled. "If I have to deal with an insubordin-

"And you are requiring my word to resupply at Ghalmek," the Word Bearer countered. "And, if my assumptions are correct, this is the sorcerer that you require to uphold your half of our bargain." 

Silence. Uneasy silence. Ukwtakun's aura diminished slightly under the weight of the presence the Apostle emanated. 

"I'll deal with your bookworming later," Ukwtakun spat towards the sorcerer. He nodded, already beginning to prepare himself for what was to come. If he was lucky, he would only maybe lose a limb for this. 

"So you are his psyker," the Apostle said, now focusing his attention on the sorcerer. His eyes were dark, but they were warm. Open and inviting, matching the rest of his body language. "May I have your name?"

"I-"

"Doesn't deserve it," Ukwtakun said with a snort. "Ask him your questions so I can have him dealt with."

"Fine." The Apostle sighed. "You are experienced in diabolism, yes? Have you begun experimenting with the creation of bound weaponry or armor?"

"I... Yes, somewhat," the sorcerer answered. Something was strange. He recognized this Apostle from the times before the War... didn't he recognize him? He thought he saw a flicker of recognition before, but it could have been a mistake. 

"Somewhat?" There was no malice or derision in the word.

"I have not been granted the space nor the proper supplies to enact the proper experimentation," the sorcerer answered. He flinched as he felt a flare from Ukwtakun, who had reached for his chainaxe. 

"You filthy-"

"And if you were provided such materials," the Apostle went on, one hand gripping the arm of the berserker, "you could perform such experiments and yield positive results?" 

The sorcerer hesitated. His hearts were pounding. He had not felt this much stress since-

"Are you trying to steal my sorcerer?" Ukwtakun asked, breaking away from the Apostle. 

"It is not stealing," the Apostle replied cooly. "You promised me a sorcerer who would be able to assist in the binding and creation of weapons and armors, in exchange for repair and resupply at Ghalmek so that you would not have to go through the Iron Warriors while you are working with elements of the Emperor's Children." 

Silence again. 

"We still have need for him," the berserker said. 

"It sounded to me as though you are ready to replace him." The Apostle tilted his head. "Have I misunderstood your earlier declaration of, 'you're only here because you're convenient'?"

The sorcerer found himself stunned and blinking. He stared with his mouth slightly agape at the Apostle, whom he swore gave him the smallest of smiles. Again, recognition flickered over his aura. 

He does remember!

Hope flared for the first time in ages. Could he get him away? That's what it sounded like he was trying to do. He silently pleaded with whatever powers were out there that he was successful. 

The berserker was shaking with barely suppressed rage. The two had their eyes locked on each other; one's face a rigid mask, the other keeping calm and composed. 

"Fine!" Ukwtakun said abruptly. "Take the stupid sniveling rat. So long as you can get us our stuff, you can have him."

"Gladly. I'll have word sent that we are on the way." The Apostle grabbed his crozius and put it over his shoulder, looking to the sorcerer. "Come with me. I would like to have a conversation with you in private."

"Of course," the sorcerer said, offering a bow, "but my things-"

"Please, go retrieve them," the Apostle told him. "Allow one of the Annointed to accompany you. Abdima?"

One of the Terminators by the door put a fist to his breastplate. The sorcerer offered a salute and another bow, swiftly leaving while the Apostle and Ukwtakun shared some final words. 

His mind was racing. Hope felt strange and new to him. Freedom at last from the confines of his dingy hole, freedom from the ever-present stress of existing around trigger-happy berserkers. 

Freedom to experiment and allow his talents to roam free once more. 

They made it back to his current room, and he sensed the unease radiating from his Terminator escort. It was, admittedly, a mess. Strange paraphanalia and a stack of old journals and musings crowded the room, which was truly only about as wide as two paces for an Astartes.

Human quarters, obviously. 

For the first time in an age, the sorcerer unfurled his mind beyond the tightly bound cage he had made for himself, scooped up his belongings in a telekinetic grasp, and nodded to the Terminator. If he encountered any difficulties from the band, he expected the Terminator to help diffuse any open aggression. 

As they walked back to reconvene with the Apostle and the other elements of his retinue, he dared to feel excited. Anxiety, ever-present, also flooded through him. It was not fear; it could never be. But he was uncertain. This had to be too good to be true. There was something he did not see, surely.

The thought dampened everything, even after he saw the Apostle offer him a genuinely warm smile and even as he was welcomed aboard the Word Bearer's vessel. It was called the Unitas Abyssi, and it was decorated in just the way the sorcerer had imagined any ship of the XVII would be.

Thousands of mortals moved about, offering prayers and hails as the Astartes passed by. The smell of incense burned throughout its halls. The sorcerer felt the attentions of the denizens of the Great Ocean no matter where he went. The Apostle was leading him down to his own personal chambers at the heart of the ship, the two of them accompanied by an entourage of Terminators. 

The walk was a silent one, and the Terminators had been dismissed once they made it to the Apostle's quarters. Beyond the doors lay a great central chamber which had four other rooms that split off from it. The room itself was occupied by the beginnings of a garden, with various troughs and small plants slowly breaching a surface covered in strange mulches. It smelled earthy. A few benches had been arrayed around a focal point in the center, upon which a mosaic depicting the octed star of Chaos had been placed. The Apostle sat on one of them, his back facing the far wall that stood mostly blank and bare. 

"Now that we are away from that blunt berserker," the Apostle had said, gesturing to a bench near to him. The sorcerer went and sat down. "May I have your name?"

"I..." he paused. "I am Zikar-Sin, sir."

"Zikar-Sin," he said, nodding. "I thought you seemed familiar. I am sure my introduction is unnecessary."

"So you did recognize me!"

"Of course," the Apostle said with a smile. "How could I forget the Son of Magnus who challenged me in the middle of a symposium to defend my intellectual and theological honor?"

"And how could I forget the Chaplain to whom I served secondment with who dared to call Prosperine food 'too sweet' after sampling nothing but sweets for an afternoon?"

“That I sampled at your insistence, need I remind you.”

 Zikar-Sin smiled. "It is good to see you Ans'ar."

"The feeling is mutual. I had feared for your loss after what befell Prospero," Ans'ar said. Zikar-Sin's bright expression darkened, and his eyes turned away from the Apostle. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder, and when he looked up, he saw the face of an aggrieved friend. "I am glad to learn you live."

The sorcerer did not know how to respond to that. His mind was becoming full of thoughts of what had happened, and his brain uncomfortably reminded him of the complicity of the Word Bearers in the wake of the devastation of Prospero.

It was, after all, Horus who had ordered it done. 

"I did not mean to stir up hurtful memories-"

"It's fine," Zikar-Sin said shortly. He flinched, then curled a bit into himself. "I did not mean to interrupt you."

His eyes flickered away from the Apostle. He felt him take his hand away from his shoulder. 

"Where have you been?" Ans'ar asked quietly. "How did you come to be with a group of World Eaters?"

"That is a very long story," Zikar-Sin said with a tired sigh. The Apostle snorted. 

"It is good, then, that I have a very long time to listen." He stood. "Wait here." He walked into one of the adjacent rooms. Zikar-Sin heard some light rummaging and the clinking of glass. When he returned, there was a bottle in one hand and two glasses for wine in the other. Zikar-Sin suppressed a snort of his own, but there was a definite glint of amusement in his face. Ans'ar caught it.

"What?"

"Are you going to light some candles and bring out flowers next?" Zikar-Sin asked with a chuckle. Ans'ar paused, then laughed himself. 

"Come, now. There won't be any flowers aboard this vessel for the next few weeks at least." He sat down and poured each of them a glass. Zikar-Sin recognized the vintage from its scent alone. It was sourced from Vharadesh. 

He took his glass with a small thank you. Ans'ar nodded and set the bottle down next to him.

"Now that I have cleverly socially trapped you," he said, taking a sip of his wine. "Let us hear your tale of woe."

Zikar-Sin looked down at the deep crimson of the wine inside his own glass.

He inhaled and exhaled, then took a swig of it that drained nearly half the glass. It had been far too long since he could enjoy anything with proper flavor in it. 

"Alright. Let us begin in the aftermath of Terra, and Ahriman's folly."

--

Lightning danced and surged around them all. Immense power, the likes of which had only been invoked a handful of times before, pulled at all of them. It felt as though his soul was being stretched thin and pit through a sieve. The world shook. 

He fell to his hands and knees, huffing and panting. His eyes burned. The tides of the Great Ocean beat against them all, smashing them upon unseen rocks and distant, unknown and intangible shores. It took immense strength to remember how to think and how to breathe. 

He did not know how long this sensation would last. He did not remember what happened between being on the ground and being back on his feet, potentiality boiling around him, and screaming for his brothers as their bodies and minds were turned to dust and sealed away within their armor. Sorrow and disbelief filled him; he began to draw upon the power still roiling around him when he felt it siphoned away. A greater storm was gathering in the Great Ocean. A hurricane of fury and malice, all directed and pointed towards the thing that had started this all. 

A father on his way to kill his favored son. 

In the wake of the disaster, there was despair. There was anguish. There were tears, though he would never admit it to anyone else. 

Despair fed into desperation. He hardly knows what he is thinking by the time he has everyone gathered.

Eighteen. Eighteen of his brothers, now damned into an existence of barely-sapient automata. Only three of his still-flesh brethren knows what he is about to attempt.

He prays. He hopes, so fervently, so desperately, that this will work. If it can work on them, then it can work on everyone, can't it? Surely it must!

The ritual begins. There is laughter. There is unfaltering focus. 

And it fails.

Eighteen souls are devoured. Eighteen souls are torn free and sent into the Immaterium.

And the one who conducted it all runs.

He flees, as far and as fast as he can. He even stole a ship to leave. He grabbed only what was around him at the time; nothing but a handful of grimoires and talismans, alongside the armor he wore. 

But he flees. To where, he did not know. He thinks that perhaps he will die in isolation. Or perhaps he can work on undoing his mistake, and undoing whatever had been done to the Legion-

And that is when he is found. His place of refuge boarded and searched by a band of warriors looking for things to scavenge. 

And my, what a prize he was. 

They were lost, having butchered their own mortal navigators and astropaths. They very nearly gave him the same fate before the Emperor's Child, Pachua, intervened. They needed a psyker. He was tired of floating aimlessly, he wanted to find a place of true war again. 

And so he had been abducted and forcibly recruited, acting as navigator for a band of insane berserkers. He had learned swiftly that his psychic talents had to be suppressed as far as he could, otherwise he was going to be fighting the warband each moment he was within eyesight. 

There he had remained, an exile and outcast, grieving and dreading the future of his Legion, left to fester in the underbelly of their miserable ship, until Ans'ar happened to find him.

--

Silence follows. Zikar-Sin finishes his glass of wine. 

"I knew the plight of the Thousand Sons was a difficult one," Ans'ar said, "but I also know you do not deserve such mistreatment."

"It matters little what I deserved."

The sorcerer shrugged. "Though, respectfully, I disagree. My actions led to the destruction of eighteen of my brothers. Total and complete, beyond what this... this Rubric did to them." He shakes his head, then hesitates. He removed one of his gauntlets, revealing a hand that was covered in feathering. Most of the feathering was small, and some scales had begun forming upon the segments of his fingers. Small eyes blink from between his knuckles. 

"Flesh Change?" Ans'ar asks carefully, leaning in closer. 

"Mutation from our new patron," Zikar-Sin said bitterly. "A reminder of my failures, and a reminder of the fate most likely to consume me one day. The ritual that Ahriman conducted was supposed to scour the Flesh Change from the Legion for good. It did. But it does not mean we cannot still be 'blessed'." 

The Apostle's face darkens. Most of what Zikar-Sin is speaking must surely sound like blasphemy and sacrilege to him. 

"I would like to offer you something," he says slowly. 

"Is it some escoteric item of note?" There is a small eye-roll.

"Better. I want you to formally join my Host."

Zikar-Sin raised a brow. "Was that not already the plan?"

"Not quite. I was willing to have you on in a manner similar to how Ukwtakun had you -- an auxiliary sorcerer we had on hand. But I would like to formally induct you into the Legion."

"You think I would forsake the Thousand Sons?"

"Have you not already?"

The question disarmed him. He was left blinking like a fool, his mind genuinely going blank. 

"I... suppose I have," he said slowly, his brow furrowing. 

"If you need time to think on it, then I will grant it to you. But for now I will arrange for you to be given proper rooms and a proper place for you to conduct rituals and experiments," Ans'ar said, offering more wine to him. Zikar-Sin gently declined, though the Apostle filled his own glass. "You will be given the respect and room you deserve to operate as you please. Within reason, of course, I am not going to let you take the mortal thralls and whore their lives away without purpose."

The sorcerer bit back a retort about the practices of the Word Bearers as a whole, and only gave Ans'ar a nod of acknowledgement. He handed back his empty glass and stood, sensing that their conversation was over, for now. 

"I will have Abdima show you to your new rooms. I would like to speak again in a day or so about your first experiments," Ans'ar said, affecting a more business-like tone. Zikar-Sin nodded again.

"As you wish." He paused. "How should I address you in front of the others? Surely they would take offense to an outsider calling you by your name."

"You may refer to me as Apostle, as they do." Ans'ar drank from his glass, then set the empty glasses down and stood, walking over to Zikar-Sin. He put a hand on his shoulder, then pulled him in for a quick embrace. "I mean it. I am glad to see that you are alive, old friend."

The sorcerer was caught off-guard, and awkwardly returned the gesture. "As am I to see you." The Apostle pulled back, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder before he called for his Terminators -- his Annointed, as Zikar-Sin would learn to call them -- to escort him to his new rooms.

--

More freedom took some getting used to. Being able to unfurl his mind and senses and not immediately detect murderous intent aimed directly toward his person was a good change of pace. Of course, there was always suspicion, he knew it would be foolish not to expect it. 

He was an outsider, but he would only be the first of many to join the 17th Host. 

His presence became part of the background hum of the operations of the Host. The Annointed greeted him by name after a few short weeks, as did some of the Astartes he began working a little closer with. Some were diabolists, but they had learned sorcery through means similar to that of Kor Phaeron.

Having the natural connection to the Great Ocean and the decades of experience that Zikar-Sin could provide was invaluable. 

Eventually, Ans'ar came to him with the offer again. A chance to be fully and completely repatriated into the Word Bearers. The hesitance he had from before had mostly melted by this point. 

And so, Zikar-Sin was no longer Zikar-Sin of the Thousand Sons, former adept of the Cult Athaenean of the Fifth Fellowship. He became Zikar-Sin of the 17th Host, Master of Possession, as he would remain for the next ten millennia.

[shrineofprophecy]

Serval hardly knew what befell her when she found herself in front of her parents' house with her full bags. One day, she was doing well on her analysis of the Stellaron, finding answers that no one was able to before and the next day, she was fired from her job and her research completely destroyed. Yet losing her work wasn't even the worst part. It was the fact that Cocolia, someone she loved dearly and more than anyone in the world, was the one who unexpectedly decided to turn fate on her. Everything they had done together, time they spent since their academy days, playing music on the rooftop... It was all gone.

Taking a deep breath, Serval raised her fist and nervously knocked on the door. What was she supposed to tell her parents when she hardly knew why she deserved to be in this position. All she could wish for was consolation. Something that wasn't too much to ask for, was it?

The door opened and she wanted to force a smile, to pretend that she was doing fine. That she would be fine but instead she swallowed upon seeing her outraged father. News really did spread fast...

"You dare show your face here?" The man started with a raised voice. "You should be begging the Supreme Guardian on your knees for forgiveness!"

"But father, you don't know what happened! I didn't do—"

"Does it matter? You have disgraced the Landau family!" His words stung and she could have expected it but it didn't make the pain any less. He had never approved of her ways and never complimented her for anything she had achieved. Even when she became close to Cocolia, did her tell her what to do and how to act like she was some sort of puppet. It was the only time her father was milder but she already knew his true nature.

When the man stormed back inside, Serval followed his footsteps which headed directly to her bedroom. She hardly had time to look at her worried mother, who never even dared to talk back to her husband.

"What are you doing?!" Serval cried out as she watched her father open her closet and pulled her clothes out, carelessly throwing them on the floor. Once he was done, he threw open the drawers of her cabinet and threw everything out. "Stop it! You're going to ruin—"

Grabbing his arm was a mistake when he shoved her harshly onto the ground. Before Serval could say anything, an oil lamp was thrown into her direction, making her automatically raise her arm in protection. Luckily it barely missed but it didn't reduce the shock she felt.

"Grab your stuff and get out. You have 30 minutes."

"What?" Her eyes widened and she scrambled back onto her feet, looking at him with both confusion, fear but also anger. "Where am I supposed to go? I don't have my appartment anymore and I can't find a new place immediately. You can't just throw me on the street."

"You should have thought about that before you decided to get on the Supreme Guardian's bad side." He walked past her. "I always knew you were going to be trouble one day. You're no longer a daughter of mine."

With those words, her father left the room and she stayed behind in the silence. Serval watched him in disbelief and tears streamed down her face. What hurt her wasn't the fact that she was disowned by her parents, who had never shown support or treated her and her siblings the way they deserved, but the fact that she didn't know why she deserved all of this.

Now Serval was forced to become the grown-up she had always wished to be. To make her own decisions about her own life.

But she never expected it to be like this...

[driftward]

Title: FFXIV Write 2023 - 20. Hamper Characters: Yda Hext, Thancred Waters, Urianger Augurelt, Y'shtola Rhul, Minfilia Warde Rating: Teen Summary: Thancred's very funny. Notes: Sometimes I claim to be committing crimes against words. This time, I kind of mean it.

Being a conscript for the mighty Garlean empire was both better and worse than he had anticipated it would be.

Worse, because of course it wasn't possible to imagine to what it would be like, separated from his family, thousands of malms away from his home, knowing that his obedience was the only thing keeping them safe. Having to be in someone else's home, knowing that the goal of the Empire was to make sure the same fate befell them, onward and onward, a beast hungry for sweat and blood, forever.

Better, because in practice, it was actually really boring.

A lot of drills. A lot of getting up early at hours gods could not see and frankly neither should men. And a lot of chores.

So many chores.

He was not sure what he had imagined military life to be like, but certainly, he had not imagined this. He spent much more time cleaning his weapon than using it, even more time marching around and checking on things he felt certain did not need checked, but checking them anyroad. Lots of standing around waiting for a lot of nothing to be done. Cleaning the Castrum. Cleaning his barracks. Cleaning his clothes. Cleaning his comrades' clothes, and that was the duty he had pulled today.

He sighed as he went from barracks to barracks, pushing, pulling, and otherwise cajoling along an increasingly long train of hampers, each one on some caster wheels and connected to one another through some clever coupling mechanism, and all driven by a magitek contrivance whose workings he didn't know. He didn't have to. Just had to guide it and make sure all the laundry got picked up. It wasn't hard work at all, just tedious. Just go to a barracks, find the watch, tell them why he was there, wait while the hampers were gathered, usually already full, add them to the train, and be on his way.

He was supposed to keep track of how many he had from where. But each hamper had a barracks number on it, and so long as the laundry room did their job, the laundry would be returned to the correct hampers, and whoever took them back didn't have too hard a time of it. And so he only made certain he didn't lose any, and paid little attention to how many he had, eventually just duly driving his long, smelly train into the heart of the Castrum where the laundry magitek devices were. This was where his job ended for now, and he was risking being late to his next duty. So while he sorely wished to stop and try to chat up the comely lass who greeted him - he could tell, even inside of the ugly sack cloth uniforms they all wore, that she was, if nothing else, athletic and trim - he saluted her sharply, signed off on the duty board, and went on his way.

She watched him go, her hands on her hips, not moving towards the hamper train or otherwise making an effort to do her job. Not so far away, tucked out of sight, another conscript was taking an unfortunate nap. Once the man who had delivered the hampers to her had gone, she began to whistle a merry tune loudly to herself as she walked along the train. She examined each barracks mark until she came to two in particular, and shifted the tune she was whistling, as well as building it up a good deal louder.

When the two hampers began to shift, she returned to her prior tune and volume, and turned slowly in place, keeping an eye out, as the heads of Thancred and Urianger popped up from the hampers. She kept whistling as they pulled themself free and resettled the clothes, and made their way to a corner she gestured at.

She spent some time doing her job. Or at least, some approximation of what her job should be. Once some of the autolaunderes were working, mechanical arms ducking uniforms into hot soapy water and swishing them around noisily, filling the space with steam, she found her way to her friends.

"You failed to mention how bad this job -stank-, Thancred. Or how hot it'd be in here. I'm about ready to die in this uniform."

"I'll thank you to not do any such thing," said Thancred. "Where is Papalymo?"

"Waiting by our escape hatch. You also failed to mention that that particular pipe was for waste outflow, it's full of water filthy with ceruleam! He's got words for you, you know."

"I just bet," said Thancred, dryly. "Urianger?"

Urianger had a set of heavy goggles resting on his head as he took stock of their surroundings. "I have readied mine enchantments and am ready to play my part. Mine spellworks are ready to addle the senses and delight the masses. Shouldst any pierce mine defensive auras of illusion, I shall stymie them with a dazzling display before taking mine leave."

"I can't believe this worked," said Yda, glancing around.

"Stay focused. Hasn't worked yet. Though I do hope to get the chance to tell Y'shtola I told her so. Alright. We're going in. Stick to the plan and cover us. Once you hear the alarum, get going, Urianger shouldn't be far behind. When you hear the explosions, the ruse will be up. Any questions."

"Ugh, yes. Why'd I agree to this."

"For the good of the realm," said Thancred, giving her a wink. "If I could have done it alone -"

"And I wish you wouldn't."

"-I would have."

Urianger nudged Thancred. "Come. My spellworks are intricate and delicate, and shall not hold forever."

The two nodded at Yda. "See you on the outside," she said cheerfully as Thancred seemed to almost melt into the shadows.

"A console from which I might make mine announcements?" asked Urianger, and she gestured down a hallway. "They're already all asleep that way. Do be careful."

"When am I not?" he asked.

Yda just put her hands on her hips and looked around the laundry room as her two friends disappeared to their respective tasks.

"I always get the lousy jobs," she complained.

~*~

Minfilia's face was bemused as Urianger told the ins and outs of the tale of how their little group had successfully infiltrated the Castrum. He was fully in his element, recounting the story as though it were an epic poem, telling of how he in turn bedazzled, confused, terrified, and bamboozled the castrum guards. Thancred just sat in a chair off to one side, looking terribly pleased with himself as he flipped his blade in his hand. Yda and Papalymo had already returned to the Twelveswood, but Y'shtola had stopped in to listen, and just now had her eyes squinted shut, her ears back and head down as she squeezed her nose between her thumb and forefinger.

"And verily, I tell you true, the local Garleans now surely believe their own commander mad, thanks to my clever use of glamour and misdirection," he finished with a broad grin and a bit of a bow.

Thancred spoke up. "And are blaming themselves for making a fine mess of their central routing. It'll be moons before they get it all repaired, and in the meanwhile, no trains in or out. They'll need to resort to airships. Which while their airship technology exceeds ours, they're still shy about floating their larger ones over our area. And the smaller ones just aren't as efficient as their trains."

"And you're certain that no trace of this little job of yours will be traced back to Eorzea or worse yet, to us?" asked Minfilia, drumming her fingers on the desk.

"As confident as I am in Urianger's spellworks," said Thancred.

Minfilia sat down in her chair, and sighed. "Well. Alright. I suppose the reward was worth the risk in the end. Thank you, Thancred."

"Certainly. Though now that it's done, I think our little job should have one of those colorful names the Grand Companies like to give to their big operations. You know, something memorable. Just for posterity."

Y'shtola lifted her head to give him a glare, while Minfilia just raised an eyebrow. "...go on."

"Well, a good code name should gesture vaguely in the direction of what it does... while not entirely giving the game away, of course... let me think, we've set back Imperial progress for moons... and given our methods... I'm thinking... hmn..." Thancred paused as he faked looked like he was thinking.

"Operation Hamper."

Minfilia blinked at him a few times before bursting into laughter. "Get out!" she squealed. Thancred winked at her as he stood to leave, and he glanced over in the corner.

And there was the cherry on top of a successful mission.

All those years of bard schooling were worth it for the absolutely withering look Y'shtola was giving him. He blew her a kiss, and whistled on his way out, a chuckling Urianger close behind him.

[ill-try-to-do-book-reviews]

The Cabin at the End of the World

Paul Tremblay

RATING: 🕯🕯🕯🕯🕯 (5/5)

The Cabin at the End of the World is a horrifying tale of homophobia, cultism, and perhaps even Catholic guilt. It has a slow start, but when it picks up speed, it absolutely does not stop. No matter where you are in this book, you will not figure out the ending. You will find yourself questioning if maybe this little pseudo-cult is right, and you will wonder up until the very end about who, if anyone, is going to make it out of this story alive.

SUMMARY: Seven-year-old Wen and her parents, Eric and Andrew, are vacationing at a remote cabin on a quiet New Hampshire lake. Their closest neighbors are more than two miles in either direction along a rutted dirt road.

One afternoon, as Wen catches grasshoppers in the front yard, a stranger unexpectedly appears in the driveway. Leonard is the largest man Wen has ever seen, but he is young, friendly, and he wins her over almost instantly. Leonard and Wen talk and play until Leonard abruptly apologizes and tells Wen, “None of what’s going to happen is your fault.” Three more strangers then arrive at the cabin carrying unidentifiable, menacing objects. As Wen sprints inside to warn her parents, Leonard calls out: “Your dads won’t want to let us in, Wen. But they have to. We need your help to save the world.”

Thus begins an unbearably tense, gripping tale of paranoia, sacrifice, apocalypse, and survival that escalates to a shattering conclusion, one in which the fate of a loving family and quite possibly all of humanity are entwined. The Cabin at the End of the World is a masterpiece of terror and suspense from the fantastically fertile imagination of Paul Tremblay.

MY DETAILED REVIEW (SPOILER WARNING):

This story is fucking gut-wrenching. There were times that I had to take a break from reading for my own sanity, despite how much I wanted to keep going until all of my questions were answered.

And all of your questions will not be answered. Is the apocalypse actually happening? Who fucking knows. But really, isn't that the point? It doesn't matter if the apocalypse is happening or not - because we will go on.

Normally, I'm not a reader pushed on by romance. I could normally not care less if the protagonists have somebody waiting for them back home - it just doesn't motivate me to read any faster than if I were already hooked. But Eric and Andrew's love for each other, and their love for Wen, it was a pretty big factor in my finishing of this book in 7 hours, 48 minutes. I wanted, needed, to know if their small little family would make it out alive. I couldn't bear the thought of little Wen being without one of her dads, or one of her dads being without his husband, or, gods forbid, her dads being without their daughter.

Wen's death was a gut punch. Not a wholly unexpected one, I admit, but still a heart shattering moment to know that the little girl they had fought so long and hard for had died. And, though I do regret to admit it, the fact that she died so unceremoniously.

A gruesome death befell everyone in our story, and narratively, it is rather fitting that Wen was shot, on accident, by a man who loved her and a man who lied to her and took advantage of her trust and naievity.

As much as I feel whether the apocalypse was real or not does not matter to the story, I also can't help but find myself making my own interpretations of whether or not it was. As a born Christian, now pagan, I found myself on Andrew's side for a majority of the book.

But what is all the more frightening is how I was also finding myself beginning to believe Leonard and his gang, just like Eric.

I made notes to myself throughout my reading that I was predicting Eric was going to give in and believe, at least partially out of Catholic guilt, once that second earthquake and tsunami hit. Finding myself to be partially right was vindicating, but finding that I am also susceptible to cult-like mentalities, especially on the basis of end-of-the-world, the-Rapture-is-here talk that is so engrained into my mine, was also a reminder. A reminder that no matter how sure you are of yourself, you are not immune to propaganda.

Anyways, as for whether I believe the apocalypse or not, no. I think that it was a religious nutjob who rallied other religious nutjobs. Granted, I cannot explain whether Redmond or O'Bannon was stalking Andrew or if it was n unfortunate coincidence that they were the ones at the cabin, or anything like that. There are questions I have leaving this book that I do not have enough evidence to base an idea or theory or solid answer off of.

All in all, The Cabin at the End of the World is a gut-wrenching story that had me biting my fingers in suspense from start to finish. I have a feeling it is going to be one of those books that you read once and the story sticks with you for the rest of your life. Regardless, a physical copy is in my future, because I loved this book from front to back.

[writingsoftrash]

Alice In Mechaland Chapter One, Part One: Savior At The Eleventh Hour

An. A.I Artificial Intelligence/Gigolo Joe x OC fanfiction by sarsa Masterpost of Chapters Original A/N 03/03/2020: yeah I have absolutely 0 explanation as to why I am obsessed/fixated with this movie or why I decided to write a self indulgent fic to give Joe a happy ending. (Well I say happy but it's, not totally happy WHOOPS.) I stopped questioning myself a long time ago. If, for some reason, someone out there enjoys this. well, then. I did a good job at least. will it be finished? hell if i know. like i said, totally self indulgent fic, is it mary sue? idk i don't care i wrote what i wanted to write i've written like 9k words already, and i'm gonna split what i have up into chapters! hurray! Updated A/N 7/27/24: tl;dr, crossposting the fic to tumblr. dunno if this will gain it a wider audience or not, idk. but surprisingly this self indulgent incredibly niche fic is one of my most popular fics on AO3 so why not! It's still unfinished, (and plenty more to go.) but I hope if there's any new readers - you love it as much as I love writing it. Also, due to the chapters being as long as they are - they will have to be split up into parts. Apologies for that, Tumblr is dumb. I've tried a hundred million ways to post just the (1st) chapter in its entirety and it just. won't. so, apologies!

He was sitting in the cold, (not that he could feel it of course, being that he was made of nothing more than wires and gears,) police station, idly tapping his feet against the concrete floor whilst whistling. He knew, deep down-  as many creatures did at these pivotal moments, that his life was nearing it's end, the handcuffs on his wrists harsh reminders of the inevitable fate that befell all mecha. In the back of his mind, he only wished that perhaps... David had fulfilled his purpose, and that he had helped the young mecha in his pursuit of the Blue Fairy. 

His own purpose was about to be forever extinguished. 

So Joe, also known as Gigolo Joe to the many patrons of the lover mecha, sat there, unblinking and resigned to the fact that he now knew, no matter how much he had tried to run, it would eventually catch up to him. He had escaped it once at the Flesh Fair, but fate did not slow down for mechas. It was always inching, crawling behind them, waiting to catch them and devour those who had dared to be created by man's hand. 

The door swung open, and his pristine face swiveled to look at who was entering, who would be the one to hand down his sentence (death) without a single ounce of pity or wherewithal to question the circumstances on which he had been condemned.  "And I am telling you, to release him into my custody. He's not the murderer - the police in Haddonfield have the right man locked up and with a full confession. I don't see what's so hard about this."

If he had the capacity, the desire to blink in surprise, he would have, but instead he simply cocked his head exactly nine degrees to the right, and stared blankly at the blonde-haired woman who was arguing with the police man, and despite her diminutive size was able to keep up with the burly man's steps. "Again, if you do NOT release this man-" "You mean mecha?" "...this MAN, into my custody, immediately, you are going to be so miserable with the amount of paperwork my firm's going to bury you in," she moved to stand between the officer and Joe, crossing her arms and tapping her heeled boots impatiently, and he could smell, drifting from her, the most delicious scent- and he could name the perfume instantly - Dior, he thought after briefly going through his list of common perfumes worn by women, before his eyes moved to her blonde hair. Had he not been handcuffed to the table, he swore he would have lifted a hand up to touch it gently. "Look lady, you want to be responsible for him? Fine. You're right, he hasn't murdered anyone. But he still stole-" "You'll find that my partner has already paid for the fines, next? Or can we stop this inane back and forth, and I can leave with him? Or is it your goal to be benched and investigated for gross incompetence?" The officer scoffed, looking away - disgust apparent on both his face and in his tone, "Oh begging your pardon, miss. Sorry we didn't do our due diligence over one fuckin' mecha," he moved swiftly, clearly done with the woman, taking out a set of keys and unlocking Joe's handcuffs roughly and pulling him out of the chair before pushing him over, "Here you are, one fuckbot at your service, keep him out of trouble, you mechafucker. " The police officer offered one last laugh as he left, "I'll let YOU explain to him what happened, not my fuckin problem anymore. Weirdo..."  The woman watched as he left, nostrils flared with clear annoyance, jaw clenched, clearly attempting to stop herself from saying anything incendiary to the cop. As soon as the door shut with a SLAM, she spun on her heels to face Joe - her face that once held fury and contempt for the officer, became one filled with an apologetic look, "Sorry about that, some of these guys can be real jackasses for no reason. Um-" her hand extended out to him, a shy smile crossing her face, "My names Alice Capulet, lawyer with Capulet Law Firms here in Rouge City." Joe tilted his head, taking the offered hand and shaking it, before bringing her hand to his lips to gently kiss the top of it as he maintained eye contact with the woman, "Why?" he asked simply, no other words or questions came up- just confusion settling in his wires as he was confronted with this Alice, who had just argued for his freedom so vehemently. He watched as the telltale sign of an emotional response to his hand kiss rose to her cheeks, blood coloring the skin as she flushed, pulling her hand away and rubbing it nervously with the other.  "Why what?" "Why did you save me?" he asked, "As the police offer so crudely put it, I am just... a simple 'fuckbot' though I admit, I would have preferred my actual name, and perhaps a more suitable moniker. Lover mecha, Sex worker. I am what I am, and I hold no shame... but-" he smiled, doing a small tap with his feet, and extending his hand out to her, "I am... the best at what I do, and none can take that from me. But I am... just a mecha. So, why?" A laugh was his response, as she shook her head, offering up a small smile, "...How about I answer as we get out of this place?" she asked, moving towards the door,  "You've been released into my custody, and you don't have to come with me... you're free to return to your work, if you'd like. But, if you'd like to... recharge so to speak, I've a free room in my apartment." She beckoned him forth - this Alice - holding out her hand which he took, gently into his as she led him out of the room and back out into the free world, as a free man.  Chapter One: Part I || Part II || Part III || Part IV

Masterpost

[hybrid-the-folf]

Prank Wars

TW: Cursing, mentions of death, panic attacks

Azar didn’t remember how this battle started off, but he did know that he would get Rook to pay for her transgressions. Ever since they had gotten used to being gulped by Toby, it had become a game to offer the other person up as a ‘sacrifice’. He had tied down Rook multiple times for the beast, at one point even creating an audio lure for him, while Rook had trapped him in many freezers or had let Toby know if he was chilling in any glasses of booze. Currently he was tied down on the floor with enchanted rope that he just couldn’t cut or burn through.

It seemed like no matter how hard he struggled he could not break himself out. He had tried begging Tabrix and Taggon to free him when the two cathar had passed by, but other than setting him in a less crushable place, had done nothing. Tabrix had even given him a fucking wink, showing that he knew full well the position and fate he was leaving him in. Azar had cursed after them, trying vainly to get out. He made a mental note to get them back later as well. The only thing he had to avoid was any pranks Tabrix had up his sleeve. Taggon wasn’t as into the pranks as his twin was, making him a much less threatening foe, but he would pay as much as his brother would should any pranks come his way.

As he heard the familiar thumps of that bitchs footsteps, he thrashed around in a frenzy. Today was not going to be the day for that fucker, not if he had anything to say about it. Then again that was his mentality each time, and rarely did he succeed. While Tobias kept saying that he had let him go because of a joke or he just wasn’t feeling it that day, Azar thought his skills were better than those truths. Not being able to cut through it in any other kind of way, Azar decided to bite down and chew on the rope before that damned titan got any closer.

The sight that befell Tobias as he entered the room was Azar, up on a table, tied with rope, trying to grind his teeth through it. “Huh, what happened to you? I wouldn’t do that by the way, it’s bad for your teeth.”

“Fuck you, I am getting out of these ropes no matter what! And you already know what happened to me!” Azar said through the rope.

“No, I really don’t. All I see is a tasty little snack that’s been left out for me,” the fucken cat said with a smirk, teleporting both of them into a bedroom.

“The fuck did you say?!” Azar shouted, thrashing against the binds. “I am not a fucking snack gods damn it!”

“Then why do you taste so good? Or a better question, why are you tied like an offering then?”

“I didn’t have a choice in either category. Rook was the one who did this. You should go after her, not me,” Azar said, unconvincingly.

“Nah, I don’t feel like it.”

“Why?!”

“She’s so far away and you're right here.”

“So the reason no is because you're lazy?”

“Maybe,” Tobias said, picking up the helplessly bound morsel.

“NO! Put me the hell down right now!”

“Why should I?” Tobias asked, dangling the small man over his head.

“Because I am not food!”

“You smell like food,” the fucker said after a playful sniff. “You taste like it,” he said after a long, drawn out lick. “And with those wings of yours you are at least bird-like and I am a cat, so are you really sure you're not.”

“Yea-Ye-Yes,” Azar sputtered.

“That doesn’t sound very convincing,” Tobias said, dropping him in the awaiting maw. Azar landed face first on the giant muscular tongue with a splat, getting a nice bit of drool soaking his hair and face. With a grunt, he tried to get himself off of the stupid thing, but the rope made it damn near impossible. A bit of magic and Tobias dulled his fangs a bit, not needing to puncture his poor captive, and started to gently gnaw on the body. Being as in tune with what was going on in his mouth as he was, he easily felt the feeble attempts to kick at his tongue.

He responded to this by moving him to the inside of his cheek, licking him mercilessly before rolling him back onto his teeth and continuing to gnaw. “Really?!” Azar shouted. A dip of the head downwards and a throwing of it backwards was all the answer Azar got.

He let out a yelp, not expecting the motion, but landed perfectly fine on the sponge-like appendage. Pinning Azar to the hard palate of his maw, Tobias slowly drew his tongue over the little one repeatedly. The steak-like flavor soaked into his taste buds, eliciting a purr of pleasure in response. This, combined with the fun torment he was inflicting, was his part of the fun in this endeavor, the rest being solely for his smaller companions. He gently squished his prey to the roof of the mouth as he swallowed the excess saliva.

Meanwhile, Azar did everything he could to escape, knowing it was useless, but enjoying it all the same. Growing bored of the useless fight, Azar went limp, accepting whatever ‘hell’ his titan threw at him. After a bit more tasting, he felt the appendage slip him into place easily, and relaxed as the place he was in tilted back. When the head was all the way back, the muscles near his legs tugged at him to go into that fleshy tube. All the way up to his torso was sucked in, and with another wet ‘glk’ the rest came with.

Listening to the sounds all around him, he found comfort in the heartbeat and breathing of the beast. So long as those functions continued, the being of chaos would be kept alive. It also meant that Azar would have protection against any and all threats that dared to face him. Sure it might get a bit annoying with the pranks, but it was worth it in the end. As he landed in the pool of saliva at the bottom of the chamber, he heard the titans' voices from all around him. The first few times of hearing it like this had been unnerving, but he had learned to find peace in it. After all, the humanoid cat was basically now his mech.

“You get comfortable in there, I have a few things I need to get done today.”

“What, so I’m just stuck here now?”

“Yep.”

“Screw you.”

“I love you too.”

It took until late into the night for Azar to get released. He didn't know what the big guy was up to all day, but he did know that he wanted out of that storage stomach all day…most of the day…only the very end bit. The ride up was always worse than the ride down, the throat muscles having to work harder and against gravity rather than with it. At the very least there was always a warning before the ride.

The chamber collapsed in on itself, forcing the tiny form within to rise higher and higher. As soon as the process started, it was a quick but crushing trip back to the mouth, in which Azar couldn't help but pant a little. He didn't have long for this as soon he was tipped out onto an awaiting palm, the tongue carefully covering the sharp fangs. Looking up at the looming colossus, he squirmed around in the hand, trying to cover it as much as he could in saliva. "You keep that up and I won't free you from those ropes," Tobias said with a devious grin.

"Fine," Azar huffed, going limp. A flinch couldn't be helped as a dangerously sharp claw, about as long as his ankle to his knee, lifted up the bindings and sliced clean through them. "Just relax. I'm not going to hurt you," Tobias soothed, running a digit along the little one's back.

"I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me as much as you do," Azar snipped.

"I felt you flinch."

"I can handle myself."

"If you say so, tiny," Tobias said, his usual playfulness back. "Besides, if there's an issue Tabrix will always help you though it."

"Yeah, I always wondered where you got that therapeutic side to ya. Just didn't expect it to be you'd own kid."

"Yeah, I'm proud of him. Anyway, you should get going back to your own people." With that, and a few goodbyes said between the two, Azar opened a portal to his own, smaller cathar. His rule was an odd one. A multitude of kingdoms all bowed to him as emperor over him, all being made up of different species. Whereas Tobias only had to worry about his own species, he had to worry about a number of them. Shaking his head, he looked up to see the house of his son.

There were a few people like him, powerful beings of a number of species called Altars, and those more common species with lesser magic were called Demons. While Altars appeared in the world seemingly at random, Azar was a special type, one that was made of a multitude of magic. Thus, while he was human, his son, another created altar, was a pure black cathar. The only thing that separated him from his people were the venom glands in his mouth and his tolerance to extreme heat. Still, even being from different species Azar loved him to bits.

As Star opened the door, Azar looked at him with the usual pride in his eyes. After a few drinks, Star retreated to his room, leaving his father out on the couch to think over his revenge for that damned griffon. It took awhile for everything to come into fruition as someone or another was busy with work. It was later into the evening after a few weeks when he and Rook were in Toby’s castle. Since the place was rigged to detect magic, Azar knew that was one thing he couldn’t use, at least against the cat. He’d also be going up against someone who had been in more battles than he could imagine, so something obvious was also out of the question.

The best plan was to do something directed at Rook that made it clear the intention. He decided on a can of cool whip, crafting it from his own magic. Since Rook's flavor was on the sweeter side, the topping would pair wonderfully. Using his magic to amplify his hearing, he heard the signal to get ready, Toby’s breathing pattern. This was far more recognisable than his footsteps, as for some reason when the realms collided, it decided not to give the titans booming steps. Unless one wanted that and used magic to do it, it simply wouldn’t happen.

As the breathing got closer, he summoned the cool whip, slammed his body on the button, and ran. “What was that for?!” Rook sputtered as she gave chase. When the looming figure of Tobias entered the room, Rook let out a playful groan. “Really Azar?”

“That's for being tied down last time!”

“I didn’t expect to have a game of cat and mouse tonight,” Tobias said, mostly to himself. He let out a small laugh at the sight of the whipped cream. He already knew what they wanted, but this was just too good. The two little ones didn’t respond, only trying to run to the door opposite the one Toby came out of. “Do you honestly expect to win against the God of the Cathar?”

“Just because you have God-like powers and created the cathar does not mean that we won’t win. Not even the fact that you control this entire castle will stop me. Besides, I brought you an offering!” Azar said, letting Rook catch up before picking her up and tossing her at the approaching titan.

“What the fuck!” Rook cried out as she flew through the air before being caught in a furred hand. “I'm not getting out of this one am I?”

“Thanks for the snack,” Toby called out, eyeing his prize greedily. “No Rook, you are not.” Tobias raised his hand above his head, letting his tongue extend to cover his bottom fangs, essentially creating a slide of sorts.

“Is big,” Rook said, eyeing the back of his throat with nervous excitement. She wasn’t as worried about the fangs at this point, or the merciless tongue, but it was still a strange feeling to be completely trapped from the outside world by someone so powerful, especially if the place in question was one that would usually cause harm. The closest feeling she could describe it to was being in a holy temple or ground. You felt weak, like you weren’t supposed to ever enter the area, but you also felt humbled. In this case, it was being offered a location within the temple of a person for a little while, their deepest core. The place where you could be hurt the worst, and where you could do the same, and yet no harm came to either.

“Is inviting. It growls for you,” Toby said, patting his middle and causing his own stomach to growl as he did.

“What the hell,” Rook yelped, not expecting it. Toby just laughed as he brought his tongue back out. As Rook felt the hand tip, she braced herself as she was downed like a shot. Concern for the big guy flashed through her mind as he had not slicked her down for the trip. That typically caused pain in the throat, but she was quick to remind herself of his magic. Running a finger along his throat, he felt the descent of the small griffon.

As she landed in his storage stomach he patted a hand over it, then raised his head in search for his second snack. Sure he was only supposed to have Rook, as per the rules of the game, but two were much more enjoyable. Scanning the floor, he spotted Azar near the door. He kept an eye on the miniature human (discounting the wings) as Azar crawled under the door. With a quick snap of the fingers and an opening of the mouth, he teleported the tiny body to be flying out of the door, in the air this time instead of on the ground. Azar had thought he was clear of the giant kitty as he cleared the door, but as soon as he felt himself go airborne a yelp sounded from his mouth. This fear was made worse as he saw the razor sharp teeth under him. Instinct took over as fear overpowered his thoughts. Thankful to fuck that he landed on the toungue, he quickly scrambled back toward the opening.

In his past, he had been a titan hunter. His job was to kill titans for money. This was a part of his past that he never liked thinking about, guilted nightmares still haunting his mind. But the instincts he had built up during those jobs had saved his life more than once. So as those memories came rushing to the surface, all he could see was the death and acid that laid at the back of the throat, or the mangeling that he’d get if the titan’s mouth he was in decided to start chewing.

No longer was he safe, there lied danger. Feeling the miniscule shivering and hearing the panted breaths, Toby spit the man out, cursing out an apology as he ran a finger over the little back repeatedly. Azar didn’t respond to the first few attempts at his attention, only staring at those jaws in terror. It was only when his head was forced to look up into Tobias’ eyes that he started responding. “Fuck! Just answer me god’s damn it! What’s going on?!”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it! And that wasn't even the answer to my question!” Tobias had to fight the instinctual response to curl his fingers into a fist.

“Fine. I wasn’t expecting to go flying through the air like that. When I saw your fangs under me I panicked. I know you won’t hurt me, but you're still a titan. One wrong move and I’m dead. I’ve seen too many deaths like that just because of a single action.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you like that,” Tobias said, looking away.

“You're fine,” Azar replied, slapping one of the calloused areas of the pawed hand.

“No, it’s really not.”

“Are we going to do this or not?”

“Are you sure you're ok enough to get swallowed by me?"

“Yes, I am.”

“Then prove it,” Tobias said as he put his hand against his open mouth. The tongue was rolled out before Azar like a red carpet. Silently he cursed the stupid cat for making him be the one to take the first action this time. Taking a deep breath, he crawled onto the muscle, pools of drool appearing in each place he put his weight. As soon as he was completely in, the tongue was pulled inside as well.

Small, careful licks covered his body, Tobias was still clearly worried about him. Rolling his eyes, Azar pushed against the muscle, trying to pin it under him. “Is that really all you’ve got?”

This got a reaction out of the cat as the muscle went fully into action. Though this pleased Azar, he kept trying to pin it under him. After throwing his full weight onto it multiple times, and getting viciously licked in response, Azar started getting pushed towards the back of the throat. Knowing what was going to happen next, he let his legs get swallowed down, but grabbed on tightly to the back of the tongue. No matter how much Tobias tried to swallow, he could not get his little friend down. “So that’s how you want to play this game?” he asked rhetorically before shaking his head around like a mad man.

“I’ve seen that trick before!” Azar shouted.

“How about this one?” Tobias’ tongue suddenly grew outward, retractable papillae coming out of their sheaths.

“I thought you guys didn’t have any tongue barbs!” Azar yelped. For the moment Tobias did not respond, only using the prehensile tongue to grab onto the obstruction at the back of his throat. Gulping he brought both the tongue and the little man down his throat. When he thought that he had brought them down far enough, he withdrew his tongue, leaving Azar alone. He splashed down into the small puddle of spit, accidentally landing on Rook in the process.

“I must have misspoke before. We do have them, but they are sheathed in case we ever need to groom ourselves.”

“Huh,” Azar said, readjusting his position so that Rook was lying on top of him.

“I will get you back for this,” Rook said sleepily. Azar only shook his head, knowing that when she did get him, the prank war would only continue. He was glad to play along, but he still had to give both parties a hard time when he could. As he listened to the sounds of Tobias heart, lungs, and digestive tract, as well as the slight swaying at each step the titan took, he felt himself lulled to sleep. He laughed to himself as he remembered just how much trust he had given his friend, not ashamed in any bit for it. He just couldn’t wrap his mind around why he had been given a second chance after all he had done, but those were problems to be talked out with Tabrix at a later date, not now. Now was time for rest, and with a yawn, he did just that.

[sketches--of--the--scenery]

INKTOBER 2023 "MAP"

    It is a few minutes later, and Zachary bought them a map of the entirety of Whitton district. Clock Island was divided into five district; these, in turn, were divided into counties, then into towns and the like. They found Snowflower, and from there, located Silverpaw. It was in a different county, nearing the coast. It was well over two-hundred miles.     “You can’t travel that on foot. Not safely, at least.” Zachary said. They were sitting at a park bench, John’s paws holding the map down at the table, while Zachary leaned on one arm and watched him through tired eyes. “Are you certain you’d rather not go back to your family?”     John looked ready to argue. He stared up from the map- bit his lip, and looked back down. Trying to reason a path through. But there it is, on the map, far away- clear as day. He says. “I- I can take a train. Or something.”     “With what money?”     John continued to stare at the map. Zachary suspected that, if he had had any on him, it was all gone now. John mumbled. “You… could… lend me some?”     Jeremy had asked him the same thing, and Zachary had done so, willing that his friend would succeed. And no one ever heard from him again. Who knows what fate befell him; John is so much younger, too. Zachary answered him. “I’m sorry. I can’t afford to.”     “Why not?” John answered, ears flattening on his head.     “I’ve only so much left…” Zachary shrugged listlessly. “And I do not have any work to supply me with more.”     “Get a job then!”     Zachary scoffs. “Oh. If it were so simple, I would have gotten one already.”

[badolmen]

“What do you eat then? Down here? There’s no sun.”

“There are roots. Here, let me show you.” It would be hard to follow him in the darkness, if not for the soft clatter of his hooves. The flickering torchlight makes him seem too small, too fragile - too much like an unweaned calf taken from its mother’s milk too soon.

“What happened to them?”

“Who?”

“The others. I’m not the first - and I know some have tried to…”

“This is my home. I know it well, they don’t. They got lost.” It is unsaid what fate befell them in this dark and unending prison. The Minotaur stops suddenly, and the startled hand that braces against his bare back is laid upon an old scar. He did not always escape the others unscathed.

“Sorry,” there’s the sound of movement, a too-human hand on stone. “I was just checking that we didn’t miss the turn - here.” His hands are warm as they lift another, smaller palm to the gouge in the wall. The torch light illuminates the markings, and the two different hands lingering over stone.

“How much further?”

“Not far. One more turn.” His words are truthful, the narrow passages opening to a larger cavern - the walls have been knocked down by brute force to make the small room livable.

There’s a dim pile of embers and a sooty clay pot in the center of the room. One wall has a threadbare approximation of a bed, and the other, dirt - black soil thick with the thready roots of the olive trees far, far above in the king’s garden. Water leaches from the damp soil, collected in a crude clay pan.

“Oh…it’s…” Words fail to convey the thought of Minotaur, a child too young to be on his own, living here for years. Growing up in the darkness, just scraping by, barely surviving.

“It’s nice, isn’t it? A bit cold. But the fire will warm us up quickly.” He sets the torch to the embers, handfuls of tinder gradually igniting and bringing more light to this damp, depressing abode. “Are you hungry? We can boil the roots - it’ll be easier for you to eat them that way.”

“You’ve had…guests before?”

“Or sorts. They don’t stay.” Those dark, soft, animal eyes shadow with loss as they dart back to the fire. “And they haven’t come back.”

“Oh.” Small hands take the offered clay cup. The water is earthy, Gaia’s milk run thin. “I’ll stay.” The Minotaur shakes his heavy head, tail swishing anxiously across the dusty stone floor.

“You can’t. Humans can’t survive down here, without the sun. You’ll get sick.”

Silence lapses between the two, the clay pot boiling and the pale roots growing tender in the water. When cooled and offered, they taste bitter.

“Do you know where the exit is?” It is a question asked with anxious curiosity, an undercurrent of sorrow already knowing the answer.

“No.” The fresh roots crunch between flat teeth. “I’ve looked. This maze was built to keep me and criminals sent here contained.” His furry face contorts, the expression of gentle suspicion alien on animal features. “What was your crime?”

There’s a soft sigh, fingers fidgeting with a loose thread.

“My brother was sent here. I challenged his sentence, directly. The king saw fit to send me to the same fate for daring to defy him in public.”

“Oh.” The Minotaur winces, too well acquainted with the haunting screams and pleas of the labyrinth’s victims to know one lost body from another. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I didn’t kill him.”

“I know. The king is the only one responsible for his sentence.”

“What crime did he commit, if I may ask?”

“He was born.” The words are raw, aching with fury and grief. “The gods cursed him - he was a monster.” The Minotaur huffs sympathetically.

“I understand.”

“More than most.” The tear shined eyes of the young woman gaze up at him with sad gratitude. “Thank you.”

“The food and water are the least I can offer, quite literally.”

“Thank you for being here.” The voice trembles, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I don’t know what I would have done had I been alone down here. Had I not found you.”

“Oh. Well, you’re welcome then.” The Minotaur shifts uneasily, awkwardly holding out a hand. “I’m Asterion, by the way. May I ask your name? I know you’ll leave to find the exit, but I’d like to remember you when you do.” The fragile hand that takes his has a firm and steady grip.

“My name is Ariadne, Princess of Crete.” Her eyes are sharp, clever and determined as she takes hold of his hand. In her other, she holds up a thin silver thread between her fingers.. “And I know where the exit is, little brother.”

Edit: Donate to Palestinians in Gaza

As punishment for your crimes you are thrown into the Labyrinth to be a living sacrifice to the Minotaur that lives inside. However nobody seemed to put together that since he is half bull; the Minotaur is actually a vegetarian.