#and seek my companions for our weary journey*

[rimurufan18]

Chapter 11: Humans

(authors note: no sex this chapter, it'll come in with the next one ;) PS: I know the timeline is wack)

Part 1: Hot Springs. Robin

Waking to the gentle warmth of the morning sun streaming through the window, I find myself enveloped in Rimuru's comforting embrace, his rhythmic breathing lulling me back to consciousness. With a tender smile, I press a soft kiss to his cheek before extricating myself from his arms, the sensation of his warmth lingering as I rise to start the day.

As I make my way through our humble abode, a sense of anticipation prickles at my senses, a subtle shift in the air heralding the arrival of Shizu's companions. Stepping outside, I'm greeted by the bustling activity of our town, the familiar faces of Yohm and his party drawing my attention.

Approaching the trio with a sense of pride swelling within me, I sidle up beside them, a confident stance belying the excitement thrumming beneath the surface. "Welcome back, guys," I greet them warmly, my hands planted firmly on my hips as I survey their weary but determined visages, a testament to the progress we've made since their last visit.

Gobuta, ever the efficient aide, scurries off with a giant spider in tow, destined for Shuna's culinary expertise. With a silent exchange of thoughts, I entrust him with the task of attending to Yohm and his companions, a gesture of implicit trust in his capabilities.

"Robin? Is that really you?" Eren's voice cuts through the air, his eyes scanning me with a mix of surprise and admiration.

"Looking sharp, Robin," Kaval chimes in, his gaze appraising as he takes in my appearance.

Before the conversation can veer off course, Guido interjects, a hint of impatience tinging his tone. "Let's stay focused, shall we? We're here for a reason."

Arching an eyebrow in feigned curiosity, I redirect the conversation. "So, what brings you to our humble abode?" I inquire, masking my amusement beneath a façade of mild interest.

Guido sighs, the weight of their purpose evident in his expression. "We've come to seek audience with Rimuru," he explains, his gaze flickering to me briefly.

"And what about me?" I interject playfully, delivering a light punch to his chest. "Rimuru might be catching some extra Z's. How about I get you settled in? The hot springs are calling after your journey."

Fuze's cautious gaze lingers on me, a hint of skepticism coloring his scrutiny. "So, you're a slime then?" he remarks, his curiosity piqued.

With a mischievous grin, I beckon them to follow, my form shifting effortlessly as I lead the way to the soothing embrace of the hot springs. With a graceful leap, I transform into my slime form, the anticipation palpable as I guide them towards their destination.

As they immerse themselves in the rejuvenating waters, a collective sigh of relief escapes their lips, the tension of their journey melting away with each passing moment. Drifting lazily on the surface, I turn my attention to Fuze, the tranquility of the surroundings lending a serene air to our conversation.

"So, you wished to speak with Rimuru?" I inquire, my voice carrying softly over the gentle lapping of the water.

Fuze nods, his demeanor shifting slightly as he gathers his thoughts. "Regarding the recent orc lord incident... Are we to be wary of your intentions?" he ventures cautiously, his eyes betraying a hint of apprehension.

With a reassuring smile, I extend a calming presence, the faint ripple of magicules dancing upon the water's surface. "While we may not be entirely passive, rest assured that we seek only peace. Treat us with respect, and we shall extend the same courtesy in return," I assure him, the weight of my words punctuated by the subtle shift in the atmosphere.

Relieved, Fuze reclines back into the warm embrace of the water, a tentative smile gracing his features. "Thank you for clarifying," he murmurs gratefully, the tension dissipating with each passing moment.

Before our conversation can delve further, the soft sound of footsteps heralds Rimuru's arrival, a tray of steaming tea in hand. "Good morning, everyone," he greets cheerfully, his gaze alighting upon me with fondness as he joins us in the tranquil waters.

I chuckle softly, my slime form morphing into a makeshift bowl that envelops Rimuru from below. "Good morning, my little cutie," I murmur affectionately, squeezing him tightly within my slime embrace while the others watch on, their expressions a mixture of amusement and confusion. "Oh, by the way, Rimuru and I are an item," I announce gleefully, our combined forms floating serenely on the surface of the hot spring.

The collective gasp that follows echoes through the hot spring, the men's incredulous shouts drawing the attention of the women on the opposite side.

"What's all the commotion?" Erin's voice carries over the walls, her curiosity piqued by the sudden outburst.

"Seems like Rimuru and Robin are a thing!" Kaval's voice booms over the barrier, eliciting a chorus of delighted squeals from the other side.

Rimuru's slime flushes a deeper shade of blue as he addresses me, his embarrassment evident in the subtle shift of his form. "Maybe next time, break the news with a bit more finesse," he suggests sheepishly.

I shrug nonchalantly, squeezing him affectionately. "Eh, it was bound to come out eventually," I reply, my tone light-hearted despite his embarrassment.

Before the conversation can stray further, Fuze interjects, steering us back on track. "About the orc lord incident, did you two really defeat it?" he queries, his gaze flickering between Rimuru and me.

"Yeah, though I may have gotten a bit reckless," I admit sheepishly, a hint of embarrassment coloring my tone.

Rimuru interjects, his voice gentle but firm. "No, Robin played a crucial role in the battle. We should credit a human champion and highlight Tempest's support in equipping them," he suggests diplomatically, his gaze meeting Fuze's.

Fuze considers the proposal, his hand stroking his chin thoughtfully before nodding in agreement. "A mutually beneficial arrangement indeed," he concedes, a spark of enthusiasm igniting in his eyes.

"Speaking of plans, Rimuru, we can't forget about finding Shizu's students in Engracia," I remind him, playfully poking his slime form with my own.

He giggles at the gesture, clearing his throat before responding. "Right, we'll need to head to Engracia soon. Any advice?" he asks, turning to Fuze for guidance.

Fuze, unfazed by our antics, offers practical advice. "You'll need adventurer's licenses to bypass the screening at Engracia's gates. Just swing by Blumond and register with the guild. I'll ensure the test is fair for you," he assures Rimuru, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

Rimuru nods in understanding, mentally noting the task ahead. "Got it. I'll need some time to prepare before we depart. Oh, and let's schedule a meeting with Yohm. He might make a good champion," he suggests, his mind already racing with plans.

Fuze nods in agreement, stepping out of the hot spring to dry off and dress. "Sounds like a plan. I'll wait for you at the city hall," he declares before taking his leave.

Part 2: Meeting With Yohm. Robin

After luxuriating in the hot spring, we emerge in our human forms, stealing a private moment for a tender kiss before setting off for city hall. The brightness in our expressions reflects the unspoken bond between us as we intertwine our fingers and walk side by side. We acknowledge the citizens with warm waves as we stroll, my head resting on Rimuru's shoulder, cherishing the closeness.

As we approach the imposing white building, our demeanor shifts to one of business. Inside, before stepping into the meeting room, I steal a glance at Rimuru, unable to resist teasing him. "You're always so adorable, you know that," I whisper with a playful smile.

He blushes and protests, his attempt at denial only adding to his charm. "You're cute too!" he retorts before correcting himself, flustered. I can't help but laugh softly at his adorable antics.

"Sure, sure, keep telling yourself that," I tease, sticking out my tongue before leading the way into the room.

Inside, Rimuru takes the lead, addressing Fuze and Yohm with a sense of authority. "As you know, the orc lord has been dealt with. Now, we must discuss our next steps." He proposes the idea of a human champion, backed by Tempest, to solidify our relations with humans.

I playfully interject from behind Rimuru. "You're the boss, cutie," I tease, enjoying his exasperated reaction.

Turning to the matter at hand, Rimuru queries, "Any suggestions for the role?"

Fuze hesitates, opting for caution. "Perhaps we need more time to consider."

Seizing the opportunity, I offer my suggestion. "Yohm could be a great candidate," I propose, causing him to startle in his seat at the unexpected mention of his name.

"Me?" Yohm's confusion is palpable. "But why?"

"You're a natural leader," I explain, "and with some training from Tempest, you could become even stronger. Hakuro can whip you into shape," I add with a mischievous grin.

Yohm looks bewildered by my suggestion, prompting a chuckle from Rimuru. "What's with that look?" he asks, amused by Yohm's reaction.

Rimuru bows his head respectfully. "It was an honor knowing you," he acknowledges with genuine sincerity.

I can't help but giggle at his response. "Get ready to be transformed into a whole new person. Hope you enjoy the ride," I tease, a mischievous glint in my eyes.

Hakuro materializes as if on cue, seizing Rimuru with a firm grip. "A new student, huh? Hope you're sturdy," he remarks, his tone laced with a hint of challenge, before vanishing into the shadows with Yohm in tow.

"Well, I suppose he doesn't have much of a choice. We accept," Fuze concedes with a resigned sigh. "Just make sure he survives the training."

"I can't make any promises," I quip with a smirk, taking my seat with a casual air. "Say, would it be alright if we borrow Erin and her party for a bit? We could use their guidance to Blumond for the licenses."

"Of course, they could use some gear upgrades anyway. And if that's all for the meeting, I have matters to attend to back in Blumond," Fuze replies, rising from his chair.

"Yeah, I think we're done here. Yohm will be in good hands, and their gear will be top-notch by the time you see them again. Safe travels," I bid farewell as Fuze exits the room.

Turning to Rimuru with a playful grin, I make a request. "Hey, Rimuru, can you carry me now?"

He sighs, but with a fond smile, he scoops me up as I transform into a slime. "You know I can't resist you, my dear," he murmurs, holding me close as we begin to walk, my consciousness slipping away as I drift off to sleep in his comforting embrace.

Part 3: Feast. Rimuru

With Robin nestled in my arms, I can't help but smile, running my fingers gently over her slime as we walk together. The aroma of something delicious draws my attention, and I follow my nose to find a crowd of monsters gathered around a massive spider being cooked. I locate an empty table and settle down, Robin comfortably perched on my lap. The chatter of the monsters fades into the background as I lose myself in the mesmerizing patterns within Robin's slime, resembling golden, glittering stars against the dark backdrop.

Suddenly, a plate is placed before me, breaking my trance. "Here you go, Lord Rimuru!" chirps Shion cheerfully, leaning in close with a curious glint in her eye. "What are you looking at?" she asks, leaning even closer, her ample cleavage on display.

"Just admiring Robin," I reply, struggling to maintain eye contact and hoping she'll give me some space. "You can go ahead and get your own food now," I suggest, subtly hinting for her to step back.

"Oh, alright, sir. Let me know if you need anything else," she says with a smile before retreating to get her own meal.

I sigh with relief and lean back slightly, continuing to pet Robin's slime as I watch the monsters around us enjoy their food. I take a bite of the spider meat, savoring its crab-like flavor with a creamy texture and a hint of sweetness. "This is incredible," I murmur to myself, the taste sending shivers of pleasure down my spine. A few nearby citizens chuckle softly at my reaction.

"Thank you for the compliment on my cooking, Lord Rimuru," Shuna's voice comes from behind me.

"Oh, it's always a pleasure, Shuna. Your cooking never disappoints," I reply with a grateful smile, though inwardly feeling a slight twinge of embarrassment at being observed so closely, even by my own subordinates and citizens.

As the feast stretches on longer than anticipated, a flash of blond hair catches my eye, drawing my attention to Erin. With a silent signal to Robin, I leave her at our table and make my way over to Erin, gently tugging on her sleeve to get her attention.

"Hey, Erin. Would you mind staying for a couple of days? We'd like to get you guys some new gear, and I'd appreciate your guidance to Blumond," I ask, hoping it's not too much to request.

She turns to me, a warm smile spreading across her face. "Of course, Rimuru. I'll let the others know," she assures me before heading off to join the feast.

Satisfied with her response, I return to our table, scooping up Robin and carrying her back to our house. Settling into bed, I cradle her slime gently against my chest, feeling a sense of contentment wash over me after the satisfying meal. As fatigue sets in, I find myself drifting off, my gaze fixed on the mesmerizing patterns within Robin's slime. With a soft sigh, I embrace her closely, surrendering to the embrace of sleep.

Part 4: The Morning Before Departure. Robin

As I awaken, I'm greeted by the sight of Rimuru's adorable face mere inches from mine. A surge of affection floods through me as I admire his endearing features, marveling at his charm. With a soft smile, I shift into my human form, wrapping my arms around his petite frame, relishing the feel of his soft blue hair between my fingers. His warm breath against my neck sends a shiver down my spine, filling me with warmth and contentment.

Gently pressing a kiss to his forehead, I pull him close to my chest, basking in the intimacy of the moment. "I love you," I murmur softly, my heart swelling with affection as I gaze down at him. Reluctantly slipping out of his embrace, I dress myself in a simple cloak and black attire, eager for the day ahead, hoping we'll visit the adventurers guild.

Stepping outside, I'm greeted by the serene beauty of the morning. The dew-kissed grass sparkles in the soft light, while a gentle breeze plays with my hair, and the only sounds are the chirping of birds and the rustling of trees. A sense of tranquility washes over me, bringing both a smile to my lips and a tear to my eye.

As the rest of our companions begin to stir, disrupting the peace of the morning, I find solace in the quiet moments. Seating myself on the stump where Rimuru once named all the goblins, I watch the sunrise, lost in its beauty as our friends emerge from their homes.

"Good morning, Lady Robin," Gobuta greets me as he heads towards the training grounds.

"Morning. Try not to overdo it in training," I jest, a playful smile tugging at my lips.

"Come on, you know I'm tougher than I look," he retorts, flexing his non-existent muscles with a grin before continuing on his way.

I let out a soft chuckle. "Sure thing, buddy. Break a leg," I quip, waving him off with a smile before returning my gaze to the rising sun, soaking in its warmth for a few more moments until Geld approaches.

"Hey there, Junior," I greet him with a playful nickname, a smile dancing on my lips.

"Good morning, my lady. How's your day shaping up?" he inquires, a hint of warmth in his tone.

"It's going splendidly, thanks for asking. And how are you and the other orcs faring?" I inquire, genuinely interested.

Geld straightens up with pride evident in his demeanor. "Things are progressing smoothly. Construction is going well," he replies, glowing with satisfaction.

"Good to hear. Keep up the great work," I encourage him with a bright smile.

"Will do, my lady," he responds before heading off to attend to his tasks.

Before I can fully immerse myself in the peaceful morning, I'm interrupted by a familiar red oni approaching from behind.

"Hey, Lady Robin. How's it going?" he asks with a friendly tone.

"Just gearing up to get an adventurer's license with Rimuru," I reply with a smile.

"But aren't you supposed to be human to get one of those?" he questions, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

I raise an eyebrow, feigning offense. "I look human enough, don't I?" I retort with a playful smirk.

He hesitates for a moment before responding, "Well, you do have a youthful appearance, and, uh... you're not exactly... endowed in certain areas," he explains, a touch of nervousness creeping into his tone.

I feel a twinge of annoyance at his comment. "How about you stick to calling me beautiful, and I'll stick to not ripping your head off?" I reply with a half-joking yet menacing tone, emphasizing my point.

"You know what, I think I should get going," Benimaru announces, taking a step back.

I let out an evil laugh as Benimaru starts to back away, then bursts into a sprint, disappearing around a corner. Suddenly, I yelp in surprise as Rimuru sneaks up behind me.

He looks at me with a pout. "Why did you leave the bed? I wanted to snuggle you when I woke up," he complains, forcefully lifting me up.

Blushing at his sudden boldness, I brush some hair out of my face, feeling flustered. "I wanted to, but the sun was about to rise, and I wanted to watch it," I explain, offering an excuse.

"Not buying it. You're coming with me so we can cuddle before Erin's party wakes up," he insists, carrying me back to our house and closing the door behind us, before laying on top of me on the bed.

"Y-you're being awfully forward... what's going on?" I stammer, trying to hide my flustered state.

"Good question. All I know is that I want you," he admits, softly kissing my neck.

Blushing, I try to suppress any sounds as he kisses me, wrapping my arms and legs around him, pulling him close. "Well... I want you too," I confess, hoping he'll act on his desire.

"Good," he murmurs, smiling, before kissing my cheek once more, wrapping his arms around me tightly. His face flushes bright red as he kisses along my neck and jaw, teasingly doing nothing about our clothes, yet continuing to embrace me gently as he showers me with kisses.

"You know, Rimuru, you're so adorable when you're forward with me," I tease, hoping to convey my desire for him.

"S-shut up, l'm not cute," he stammers, flustered by my words, his confidence wavering.

I sigh, holding him close against me, reveling in the scent of his soft blue hair as it brushes against my face and neck. Despite his embarrassment, he remains pressed against me, seeking comfort in our closeness.

Our moment of intimacy is interrupted by a knock on the door. As we both scramble to compose ourselves and stand up, Erin peers inside.

"Hey... um... you two ready to go yet?" she asks, sensing the awkwardness in the air.

"Yeah, just give us like 2 minutes, okay?" | reply, blushing softly, wishing I had more time alone with Rimuru to explore my desires.

"Okay, see you soon," Erin says before leaving our house.

With the door locked, I push Rimuru against the wall, unable to resist the urge to express my longing for him. "I can't wait to have you all to myself when we get back," I whisper, before kissing him deeply on the lips. I gently bite his lip before pulling back slightly, asserting my possessiveness. "You're mine," | declare, a hint of possessive desire in my voice.

"Y-yes, ma'am," he stammers, his cheeks flushing crimson. He leans in to kiss me gently on the cheek before reluctantly pulling away and heading towards the door. "You can have me once we get back from Blumond," he stammers, clearly flustered.

I can't help but giggle at his adorable reaction, reaching out to boop his nose playfully. "I'm holding you to that, cutie," I tease, planting a soft kiss on his nose before happily making my way outside.

Part 5: Road To Blumond. Robin

I step outside, my smile radiant as I approach Erin's party. "Give Rimuru a minute; I left him very flustered," I admit with a playful giggle.

"Yeah, I assumed as much," Erin responds with a sigh. "You guys are very cute together, but geez, you're way too overly lovey-dovey," she remarks bluntly.

I deflate slightly, realizing I may have been too outward with my affection. "Oh... I didn't realize it was so much of an issue," I murmur, feeling a pang of guilt.

"Don't get me wrong, it's adorable and all, but you're totally rubbing it in other people's faces," Erin explains gently, her hand resting on my head. "It's okay, though. As long as you two love each other, then who cares?"

I feel a mix of relief and remorse. "No, no, it's not okay. I'm sorry for doing that to you. It's just... I'm just so deeply in love with him that I can't help but swoon whenever I see him," I confess, my voice tinged with sincerity.

"It's okay. Just tone it down, okay, girl?" Erin reassures me.

"I'll sure try," I promise with a soft sigh.

Just then, Rimuru arrives, looking visibly happy. "Hey, guys! Are you ready to go now?" he exclaims, his smile infectious.

"Yep, we're all good. Let's head out," Erin responds, waving for him to join us. I follow suit, a smile returning to my lips as we begin our journey.

As we walk, I decide to strike up a conversation with Rimuru. "So, Rimuru, what do you want to do when we first get our adventuring license?" I ask, my gaze filled with curiosity and affection.

"I don't know, isn't it kind of just a means to an end?" Rimuru questions, his tone contemplative.

"What, no! I wanna go on an adventure and get some gold!" I exclaim, excitement evident in my voice.

"You're basically made of gold," Rimuru points out casually.

"Yeah, and? You're not gonna sell me, are you?" I tease, raising an eyebrow playfully.

Rimuru chuckles, hoping to keep the mood light. "No comment," he replies, a hint of jest in his voice.

"Sell me, and you won't have a girlfriend," I declare triumphantly, crossing my arms.

"True, true. But if I sell you, I'd also probably have a lot of gold. I could just hire a new girlfriend," Rimuru teases back, a mischievous glint in his eye.

My expression falters slightly, a hint of concern creeping in. "You'd better be joking," I say, my voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Of course I'm joking. I wouldn't sell you for the world," Rimuru reassures me, chuckling at my reaction.

I pout playfully. "You're lucky you're so cute," I tease.

"I-I'm not cute! Shut up about that!" Rimuru protests, his cheeks flushing as he hides his face in his shirt, flustered by the compliment.

Giggling, I pat his head affectionately before we continue walking. Eventually, we reach the edge of Blumond. Rimuru dons his mask, and I conceal my aura as we approach the receptionist desk. I can't help but giggle as Rimuru struggles to see over the counter, prompting me to lift him up so he can reach.

"Th-thank you, Robin," Rimuru stammers, his cheeks turning a soft shade of pink. He then grabs an application form and begins filling it out, his focus on the task at hand.

The receptionist giggles softly. “Looks like we have a Shizu fan here. Aren't you a little young to be an adventurer, little girl?” she asks, amusement evident in her voice.

Rimuru shakes his head. “Nope, and I want to take the test today, please.” He clicks the pen to close it and hands her the sheet with determination.

"I'm applying too!" I chime in, grabbing an application and swiftly starting to fill it out. I decide to omit most of my skills, only listing my proficiency in armor manipulation, as it's the most relevant for the test.

The receptionist raises an eyebrow. “Are you her sister?”

"Sure am, miss," I reply, trying to play it off as casually as possible, hoping to divert any suspicions about our relationship.

"Well, isn't that just swell," she comments in a caring and slightly motherly tone. "I think you'll have to start at the lowest rank, though, little girls."

Rimuru interjects confidently. “Nope, we're very strong. Give us the test to rank up. We want to determine our strength.”

The receptionist looks skeptical. “Hmm, are you sure you can handle it?”

“We're both much stronger than we look, ma'am. Trust us,” I assure her, echoing Rimuru's confidence.

"Yeah, I'm totally swole!" Rimuru adds with a grin, attempting to flex his non-existent muscles.

"Sis, no... Just no," I sigh, shaking my head in embarrassment.

The receptionist nods, considering our words. “I'll go get the proctor for the test. Just wait right here, please,” she says before heading off to find him.

I take a seat, adjusting my clothing to ensure I look presentable. As usual, I don the reaper outfit, feeling a surge of confidence in my appearance. With my scythe strapped securely to my back, I can't help but feel like the epitome of coolness. However, my thoughts are interrupted when the test proctor emerges, hobbling along on a peg leg. I can't recall encountering him in the anime, which piques my curiosity.

"Hello," he greets us, glancing at our applications. "Robin and Mr. Rimuru, I'll be conducting your test today. Head to the training ground, and I'll assess your skills. Be prepared for a challenge," he adds nonchalantly, showing little reaction to our unconventional appearance.

I exchange a shrug with Rimuru before leading the way to the training ground. As I step onto the field, the proctor wastes no time initiating the test. "First up, hound dog," he commands.

With practiced ease, I swiftly dispatch the creature, demonstrating my proficiency without breaking a sweat. The proctor's expression remains impassive as he moves on to the next challenge. "Dark goblin," he calls out.

Before the creature can even take a single step, I eliminate it effortlessly, maintaining my focus and composure. Despite my flawless performance, the proctor's frustration becomes palpable as he summons a lesser demon in a fit of rage.

My eyes widen slightly as I dodge and roll out of the way, narrowly avoiding the demon's swooping attack. With quick reflexes, I slash upward, aiming to strike the creature, but my blow misses its mark, leaving me momentarily puzzled by the unexpected turn of events.

Reacting instinctively, I coat my scythe in my aura, channeling additional power into my weapon. To my surprise, the enhanced strike effortlessly slices the demon in half, its blood dripping off my blade.

I instinctively take a drop of the demon's blood, hoping to absorb its powers, before turning back to the proctor, who looks utterly mortified. Meanwhile, Fuze stands nearby, glaring daggers at the man.

"Um, did I pass?" | inquire tentatively, though Fuze's grumbling response leaves me uncertain.

"Sure, you did, Robin," Fuze finally responds, his tone strained. "Let's discuss this inside."

"Of course, sir," I reply promptly, gesturing for Rimuru to follow as we head indoors to address the aftermath of the unexpected outcome.

[rookie-icarus]

Whoso List to Hunt

***

Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,

But as for me, hélas, I may no more.

The vain travail hath wearied me so sore,

I am of them that farthest cometh behind.

Yet may I by no means my wearied mind

Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore

Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,

Sithens in a net I seek to hold the wind.

Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,

As well as I may spend his time in vain.

And graven with diamonds in letters plain

There is written, her fair neck round about:

Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,

And wild for to hold, though I seem tame.

— Sir Thomas Wyatt

***

Before The Beginning, much work was put into each detail of the universe, each universe. But for now, we will focus on this one. In this quadrant. On our planet. Plans and plans and plans. (Though you know what they say about plans and God.)

Heaven is a vast, endless space of possibility and when one needs a door, it opens. Right now, an angel stands in front of a door. His door. The angel belongs to the choir of Virtues. He takes on the appearance of a pale youth with black hair like the sea at midnight, and blue eyes like the sea at noon. He is being given his first solo assignment. This will be his studio.

The Virtue is beautiful. He is as quiet as the breeze. He is as gentle as the moss.

Neither of these things exist yet, but he will invent them. Virtues have been assigned the elements. The environment of the new Earth.

Nature. Natura. Birth.

The angel steps through the door.

***

He begins. The angel sits down on the- what shall we call this? It is hard, solid, and foundational. The word feels like that. Guttural, stuck in the throat.

Grr. Grr.

Rest, the ability to let go of tension. A hum and breath.

Grr. Grou.

Ground.

The angel smiles, briefly. Ground. He is sitting on the ground.

Dirt follows. The smell is an itch. The taste is a resistance. He wants to stop the itch. He wants to feel it flow. What is the antithesis of below? 

Above.

Droplets hit his beautiful face. Cold. Invigorating. 

Rrr. Rraaa. 

Rain.

The rain and the dirt mix and make mud. He smiles and scoops up a small bit. Feet dirty, robes streaked, black soil in his hands, he rubs it on his cheek, down his neck and across his collarbone with an open palm. He is suddenly aware of his teeth, his skin, the swell of the- what is this feeling?

Wild.

***

There is now a forest. The angel has made the ground, the rain, the peat, the moss, the seedlings and the grubs. The mycelium, and the beetle, and the fern. The boulder and the stream. The great pine trees that block out the sky and sun. The rolling thunder clouds that house the rain. All fitting in and encouraging the journey of the other. The gentle rain falls and the trees grow. The sun moves and takes back the rain. The rain falls again.

Harmony.

His forest goes on for miles. Alone, unseen, he runs barefoot and naked through the trees as fast as he can. He composes the howl. He never wants to leave. He has all of eternity and he wants it to be here.

***

The Archangels applaud him. This is excellent work, this forest. He may move on to assist another team. The Virtue hesitates. Protests. He claims he is not done yet. It can be made better. Give him more time. They allow him back into his studio. His forest. His secret.

***

He looks up from his back at a sky settled with blue and gray clouds, the color borrowed from his eyes. The cool breeze sneaks through his dark hair, the wind borrowed from his breath. He wishes for a companion to bask in the green. Green. That was his too.

But not one of them, outside the door. No, he wants a companion who could understand what he has become.

The angel thinks of the softness in his chest. He thinks of the sounds of the forest. He thinks soft, soft, soft. Like him.

The brown hare bounds up next to him. It is soft, soft, soft.

He settles the hare on his chest, pets her long ears. Looks in her eyes. He loves her.

But it is not enough. He is not just soft, but now wild. He is more than he was made for. He is more than what God made him. It is a blasphemy, but also a truth. 

He stands and looks to the tree line and there, on the hill, is her.  He knows her name like he knows his own. Cervidae.

Her color is like the brown-red clay found at the shoreline he stands on now. Her hooves are made like the bark and stone. Spots down her back, white, like his wings.

She turns her head. His turns in the same direction.

They run.

***

On the moss of the forest floor they lay. 

She breathes hard, exhausted from the run. He has no need for it but he wants to know. He breathes too. In, out, stinging pain in the lungs he does not need but wants. A stitch in the side he does not need to feel but embraces. 

His left arm is curled under his head, on his side, his right reaches out to stroke her back, her shoulder. To feel each rib under skin that shapes in his hand and falls back into place when he lets go. The pelt is the softest thing he’s ever known.

Time has not been invented yet, so he stays there with her for a stretch of forever. Gazing. His Cervidae. His creation. The angel now knows what it’s like to be God. To be the creator and the creation at once.

I Am.

***

The Archangels grow impatient. They need him in another department and this is taking too long. But there is no sense in not using the brilliant ecosystem that he has prototyped. They let other Virtues go through the door. If he will not work with the team, they will bring the team to him.

***

The angel is contemplating a centipede. Watching closely as it curves and crawls up the trunk of the tree. He reaches a finger to touch. It strikes with its venomous forelegs. He draws his hand back.

Then he hears it.

Dozens of feet in pursuit. He hears his song of the howl, now a symphony placed in the throats of others.

A new feeling. A word he does not have to consider longer than a moment.

Danger.

He runs toward the howls. Time has just been invented because he must beat it to his destination. He falls, cuts his foot on a sharp stone. A river of red. A new sensation he has no name for nor wants to name. But he knows. Pain.

The red is in his vision now. It pumps through his veins. He screams and tears out the stone from the ground, clutching it he continues toward the sounds of barks, yipping, and baying. 

He arrives. The other Virtues stand in a circle around the fallen doe. Watching the wolves tear her flesh from bone without emotion. Observing as a medical student would observe a surgery in an operating theater. He sees the red.

They call it blood. They call it hunt. They call it hunger.

They look at the blood covering his foot. It is an obscene thing to take a corporeal form without need.

You have been here among the animals too long. You have done well. Come, let us bring you back.

As they lead him through the door he lets the black of his hair fade into the stone still clutched in his hand. Later, he will fashion it into a ring that he will call mourning.

***

There is a Great War.

All angels, regardless of side, have been given a body. This is to feel pain. This is to bleed. This is to give weight to the battle. It is not obscene.

His hair is silver now since the moment they took his door and rolled it up like a scroll, with everything he had created inside. It was placed on a shelf of blueprints somewhere in the infinite space of God’s kingdom. The Great Project, the Great Plan, put on hold for now.

He finds and steals it back, just for a moment. He enters his door and walks the path to find his hind. She is there. The ants have made good work of the meat left by the wolves. She is now gleaming white in the moonlight. He knows this word now, he did not invent it. Bone. 

He falls to his knees and takes the femur, the humerus, the tibia and fibula. He lays them down and begins to work at fashioning them together, sculpting a new form. He finally places them on his head.

The antlers are fierce and sharp, and violent in the next day’s battle. He is a loathsome thing to behold. He takes his rain and pelts it against the opposing regiment to blind them. He takes his breath and molds it into a gale. He takes his wild and packs the atoms together into lightning.

He calls it tempest.

***

He had forgotten his name long before the war. Now, in the pit, the demon sits and tries to name the final thing he will ever name. Tries to remember from before.

The soft.

The wild.

The spotted coat under his hand on the forest floor.

The word comes.

Fur.

Fur.

Find me on A03

—

On the origin of this idea:

I was incredibly curious about the deer detail in Furfur's costume and found while looking at demonology wiki that he takes on the form of a Peryton. Then I read "Furfur causes love between a man and a woman, creates storms, tempests, thunder, lightning, and teaches on secret and divine things."

I originally thought of a story of Furfur in the forest, but realized the Great War happened before The Begining. So I combined that with the canon that angels made the blueprints to carry out creation.

Finally, I saw this beautiful artwork from @Elizamaru and based Furfur's appearance on it.

It's a pebble to throw in the sea of Aziraphale and Crowley fics, but I am happy with the result and hope you enjoyed it too.

[ch4singchase]

THE BALLAD OF MOTHS, ch. 3 | SNIPPET

When I opened my eyes, I found myself in the backseat of my mom's car—an old black Impala that carried the lingering aroma of spilled coffee. The rhythmic hum of the engine and the steady motion of the vehicle hinted our journey.

Before fully waking up, I stole a glance at the front seat, where my mother navigated the route with a map by her side. The details of our destination eluded my groggy mind, another day unfolding in the tapestry of our lives.

"Is everything okay, ma?" I asked, rubbing my eyes to dispel the remnants of sleep.

Caught off guard by my voice, my mom turned to look at me through the rearview mirror, weariness etched across her face.

"Yes, mausi," she attempted a smile, though it failed to reach her eyes. "Sorry if I woke you up; you can go back to sleep."

"No, no, I'm good," I stretched my arms, shaking off the fatigue. "I woke up on my own."

"Good to hear that," my mother nodded, redirecting her gaze to the road while stifling a yawn. "We still have a fair distance to the hotel—probably another hour or so."

Surveying the quiet highway, devoid of much traffic except for the occasional weary traveler, I suggested, "If you want, I can take over for a while, and you can rest."

My mother cast a puzzled look at me through the rearview mirror. "This isn't a parking lot."

"I know," I pressed my lips together, "But you're tired, and the road is nearly empty. I can follow the map until you feel more rested. I've been observing you drive, you know…"

Mrs. Gaumont sighed audibly, as if seeking approval from the powers above for her impending decision. Whatever doubts she harbored, she decided to proceed.

"Okay," she relented, pulling the car over to the side of the highway. "But if anything goes wrong…"

"You come back to the driver's seat, got it!" I grinned, hopping out of the car, prepared to switch places.

Mrs. Gaumont wore a frown as she settled into the backseat, where I had been. Observing me carefully, she watched as I adjusted the rearview mirror to keep an eye on her and the road behind, and positioned the map in a way that allowed me to glance at it without distraction. All the little rituals she followed before hitting the road—she noticed that I wasn't kidding when I mentioned I had been watching her.

Her smile this time was genuine, reaching her eyes. It might have hinted at the wish that someday, I could navigate life on my own. I'll never be sure, but I like to think that's what her smile meant.

"You can rest now, ma!" I called out, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror as I merged back onto the highway. "I've got this."

And deep down, she knew I would. My mom always knew that I was capable of taking care of myself without her constant guidance. Perhaps, that's why she let go so willingly.

So peacefully.

“You’re really good at this,” Luke finally commented after a while, snapping me out of the reverie.

Glancing at the backseats through the rearview mirror, I noticed Thalia trying to stay awake by gazing out the window, while Annabeth observed my actions with keen interest—from the way I alternated my gaze between the road and the map Luke held for me or shifted gears in the car.

Swallowing hard, I met Annabeth's eyes for the umpteenth time. Unlike before, I wasn't frightened; instead, I was taken aback by her genuine interest in my presence.

But who could blame her? According to Thalia's explanations, they had been traveling together for a considerable time.

“Let me see if I understand,” I furrowed my brows, recalling everything the trio had shared with me. “You’re also connected to these Greek gods…”

“Yes,” Thalia muttered from behind, narrowing her eyes at me, mirroring the curiosity of her smaller companion.

“You're the daughter of the thunder god, one of the Big Three, and because of that, you're pursued by a plethora of monsters,” I reiterated their explanation word for word.

The three of them nodded, awaiting my next words.

“You’re the daughter of Athena…” I turned my gaze to Annabeth. I chose not to delve into the more peculiar aspects of her origins—born from an idea of her mother as a gift; the more I tried to comprehend, the stranger it sounded.

“And you,” I looked at Luke, who raised a brow at me, “You're the son of Hermes, which makes all of you like me, as I'm also the daughter of a god. Everyone inside this car is a half-blood.”

My last statement carried a hint of uncertainty.

“Or demigods,” Luke shrugged, brushing a black curl out of his eyes. “More commonly, we're called demigods.”

“Got it…” I squinted my eyes, doing my best to concentrate on the road rather than the knot forming in my head from all this information.

Once again during that journey, I caught the gaze of the boy with black curls alternating between my face and the leather wristband I wore. I couldn't discern if he was equally intrigued by my magical weapon or if he still found amusement or confusion in the fact that it took me more than a minute to transform the sword back into the wristband.

Honestly, I hoped it was the former. Yet, given the number of times he repeated the same eye movements and subtly moved his lips, it seemed to be the latter.

“Where are you from?” Thalia inquired, her voice betraying a hint of weakness that she tried to conceal.

“Hmm,” I frowned, glancing at the map again, “I'm not sure, maybe Missouri?”

“You're American?” the girl with two electric blue eyes asked, her surprise leaving me bewildered.

“As far as I know… Yes? I’m American.” Seeking an explanation for the sudden question, I looked into the eyes of the others, but each of them appeared surprised by my responses.

Here we were, children of Greek gods, fleeing from monsters that sought to harm beings like us, yet what surprised them was that I identified as American?

Noticing my confusion, Luke snorted, shaking his head.

"You have a different accent, that's all," he answered simply.

But that only deepened the crease in my forehead.

“Well, most states have different accents,” I tried to explain. Since when did I have such a strong accent?

“Yes, but we had been to most of the states,” Thalia reasoned, raising her brows. “Yours doesn’t sound like any accent from here.”

I remained silent, trying to remember if my mother had already commented on anything. When I asked her about my father for the first time, she had told me that she had met him in Missouri, so I ended up deducing that both she and I were also born in Missouri.

But if she met my father here, then I was born here. Which meant that maybe my mother wasn't American. Maybe that explained why I had never met or seen my grandparents. They might not even be here in the United States.

It also explained the many times that my mother had to show her passport to a guard or police officer in addition to her ID. There were also some curious looks that I had recently noticed every time I opened my mouth.

Did my mother have an accent? Probably, because I grew up with her presence always present, hardly talking to other people, I never found it strange. For me, it was normal.

In fact, everything in my life before, at the time, seemed normal to me.

This was just another detail at the tip of the iceberg.

"I didn't ask badly, I was just curious." Thalia commented due my silence, "Sorry"

“No, it’s alright” I shook my head, “I just hadn’t-”

Noticed. But I was interrupted before I could say that.

Thalia squeaked in pain, her face retracting into a grimace and her hand instinctively went to her leg.

“Hey, Thalia,” Luke shouted, looking back from his seat, “Stay strong, we’re almost there. Take the next turn.”

I followed his order, watching Thalia quickly, she was way paler than before. I had no idea what I could say or do to help them, so I just continued to drive.

Viola’s pale skin tainted with her own blood jumped into my mind.

[graha-stan-account]

Weal: Day 19

Weal: noun. That which is best for someone or something. 

Present. A nighttime visitor. Some comfort, assurance, but also hurt. Takes place during 6.0, Returning Home.

FFXIVWrite 2023 Masterlist

--- 

Napha opened the glass shutters to her Annex room, the cool sea air sweeping up the hill and through the window. It was a temperate night in Sharlayan, and the sky was clear. Napha sat on the sill and looked up at the stars. When last she had gazed upon the darkened sky, she was sure it would never appear quite the same again. But strangely, from the heavens as from the ground, it remained unchanged. No matter how high she soared, those bright lights remained still infinitely further beyond her grasp. 

Now with Zodiark dispelled, it was only a matter of time before fate determined the mantle of hero fit ill upon Napha's shoulders. She cast her gaze to the bed, weary for sleep, but fearful of what may come the morrow. 

Then, there was a knock. There was but one who would call at an hour such as this. She pulled at the heavy door. G'raha was looking down at his hands, turning one over in the other, when he raised his head suddenly, face blossoming into a guileless smile. 

"How are you faring?" Napha leaned against the open door.

"In honesty, I am troubled." 

Napha's eyes went wide, and pulling the door further open, she bade him enter. He shook his head. 

"I will not keep you overlong." 

Napha gave the smallest of nods. She squeezed her fingers with the opposite hand. He stared at her politely as her gaze crawled over him, the door frame and the hallway beyond. She offered a weak smile. 

"I suppose this is liable to be the last quiet night we have to talk for some time," he said, his look softening at her familiar, anxious posture. "And there are things you would say too, then. I'd hoped as much." 

Napha stepped aside, clearing the floor before him. He stepped just over the threshold, out of the hall. 

"I am listening." Napha fought to clear the worry from her face. She tightened her lips, lifted her furrowed brow, stood a little straighter. 

"You are not a fool, my friend." G'raha's face wrinkled with sympathy. "Nor must you put on for my sake." All such tricks would not work on the reluctant former head of a city-state, it seemed. But, as though reading her mind, that he would now rebuke one of the many slights she leveled against herself in their closed company, served to scrub the pretension from her face. "Ah, now I can be at ease." 

His sentiments had shot clear through to her heart. Her sinuses burned, the small kindness near moving her to tears. How could this put him at ease? -  she wondered. 

"I pray when you look at me now you do not see the boy you knew, nor the beleaguered leader. Just the same, I am not here to talk to the Warrior of Light." He chuckled. "J'napha," his voice sobered, "matters will complicate from here, like as not. A difficult journey it has been, especially for you. But know this trial too shall conclude one day, and again... we'll begin anew! So you mustn't overtax yourself." He exhaled, considering for a moment. "For this I am also to blame. I've made it too easy for you to place yourself last. Pushed you further in the name of duty. 

"So before it becomes too much, before we all lean so heavily upon you, our most dependable companion, I ask you allow me to shoulder some of that burden. Seek me out when you have need. Know that I have learned from the Exarch's mistakes. A load shared by many makes for light work. For the good of all." 

She would not allow those tears swimming in her eyes to fall. He was right. More blood and death would come. More sorrow and pain. But Napha had steeled herself, too. And as she felt the bulwarks grow around her, she found it easier to stand, scaffolded not by duty and obligation, but by love. 

"...For the good of all," Napha replied, the words she meant to say catching in her throat and tumbling back down. 

I don't want to die. Not now. 

G'raha gestured with approval. Napha captured his fist with her hand and the moment froze, their fingers slowly moving over one another's. 

But yours would be worse.  

As she took in his satisfied grin, it was another's words which echoed persistently in her mind. 

"That's the thing with you adventurers. You're so damn good at leaving an impression, but you don't stick around long, do you?" 

"So, please. What was it you wanted to speak about?" G'raha asked. 

I very well could die. And it shall not be your penance. 

"Not a thing. You've put my mind at ease. Sleep well." 

[ksmraika]

Journey

Two hands grip the wheel

Blood tense like clenched fists

Is it fear that makes me hold so tight

Or is it knowing that I can’t escape what’s real?

A foot leaden down on a pedal

Such speed was never meant to reach

Discovery in yesteryears long since past

Decided the path that life will seek

Cacophonous noise inside the space

Laughter followed by bellowing screams

Choked down tears and false affirmations

Are the only sounds that I can still hear

Eyes wide open, reddened, weary

Vigilance at its very best

Exhaustion bitten deep into the soul

Marks scarred and littered across the flesh

Gifts given in gilded blood

Wrapped in the finest silk made of time

Freshly made every year since way back then

Each recipient demanding something new and fine

How long since I have driven

On this road no longer fit to ride

I’ve long since lost sight of where to go

Done it all for those by my side

Hands slackened, loose and unfurled

Gaze faded and pupils out of focus

What lies ahead can’t be what is seen

But the soul that barely remains knows it

Time is a marvelous thing

Wonders beyond imagination in its whimsy

It is cruel at times, true

But even still, one cannot deny its beauty

For there are those that see infinity

In the scope of human life

While there are others like myself

Who could swear they’ve seen more it than twice

The road has long since run it’s course

Gifts given plenty while still being of use

I for the first time in my forever

Will give myself what I’ve always wanted to do

All things must live in forward motion

Life will always find a way

People will always say you’re selfish

But it’s a decision we all must make

Regret a familiar companion

Rage always at my dinner table

Sorrow an intimate partner

Yet hope tried to be my savior

To love is a blessing

To be loved was everything I hoped

Chased it, craved it, and nearly died for it

I’m grateful I ever I got to know

Lessons learned and sermons given

To teach and speak and show

I pray I’ve done my job well with my time

Fate will have to be the one to know

How long as it been for us now

We can finally take a breath

Taste the air just one last time

Drop our arms, close our eyes

To rest.

[cosmic-lullabies]

I was once a celestial being, soaring through the vast expanse of the heavens, my heart intertwined with the constellations that illuminated my Sky. In those days, it was my universe, a sanctuary from the chaos of the world. And in that celestial realm, I found companionship among the clouds.

We navigated every wonder together, forging bonds as strong as the flickering candles that illuminated our path. Our journeys were filled with quests, candle runs, and moments frozen in photographs. We reveled in the thrill of uncovering hidden secrets, venturing into every nook and cranny, and embracing the joy of each other’s company. Sun, Moon, Star, and others became my companions, my confidants, my family.

Under the starlit skies, we roamed, our laughter echoing through the celestial expanse. We shared hearts and kindled candles, silent gestures of unity and friendship. Sky was more than just a virtual space; it was a vessel through which we poured our emotions, our hopes, and our dreams. In Sky, I even found a love that transcended the boundaries of my screen.

But as with all tales, the winds of change swept through our haven. The weight of distance and the strain of circumstances strained our connections. Conversations grew shorter, and disagreements became more frequent, until the inevitable decision to part ways was made.

As my life slowly regained its rhythm, the desire to return to Sky dwindled. The memories of our shared experiences lingered, haunting each corner of every realm, reminding me of what once was.

The magic had dissipated, replaced by a hollow emptiness. Sun found solace in the comfort of her other friends, Moon succumbed to boredom, and Stars and I drifted apart, a misunderstanding driving a wedge between us.

I am left with a bittersweet ache, mourning the loss of those vibrant connections that once adorned my night sky. The weight of my own actions weighs heavy upon my heart, for I was the one who let those stars fade.

In the quiet moments, I find myself longing for the conversations that once flowed effortlessly, for the laughter that filled the void. Yet, I am beset by weariness, drained by the effort of bridging the chasm between solitude and companionship. I am adrift, caught between the brilliance of distant constellations and the enigmatic solitude of the night sky.

I yearn for the rekindling of those bonds, for the revival of the connections that once lit up my world. But for now, I find solace in the memories, in the echoes of laughter and shared moments, hoping that one day, the stars will align, and our paths will converge once more. Until then, I remain a lost child, seeking the light that once illuminated my celestial being.

[gloriabomfim]

Dark Reg emerges like a shadowy specter, his mechanical form shrouded in darkness, with hues of black and red that create an eerie contrast to the vibrant colors of his counterpart. The once cheerful and friendly demeanor of Reg is replaced by a sinister aura that exudes malevolence and darkness.

In this alternate reality, Dark Reg's intentions are far from benevolent. His speech carries a chilling resonance, his words dripping with a sense of impending doom. As he addresses his fellow Rubbadubbers—Tubb, Sploshy, Finbar, Winona, Terence, and Amelia—his voice resonates with a foreboding tone, each syllable tinged with a coldness that sends shivers down the imaginary spines of those who hear it.

"Behold," he hisses, the words crawling forth like serpents in the darkness. "It is time for a reckoning, my dear companions. Tubb, Sploshy, Finbar, Winona, Terence, Amelia… your existence in this world has become an inconvenience, a blight upon the order that I seek to establish."

Tension fills the air as his malevolent gaze locks onto each of them, one by one. The once cheerful and lively bath toys now stand frozen, their expressions a mix of confusion and dread.

"You see," Dark Reg continues, his words punctuated by a maleficent chuckle, "I have grown weary of your futile attempts to find joy and amusement in this whimsical existence. Your wishes, your dreams—they are nothing more than foolish endeavors, and I have decided that it is time to put an end to them."

A sense of unease settles over the room, as the Rubbadubbers exchange worried glances, their previous camaraderie overshadowed by the malevolent presence before them.

"Dark Reg," Tubb's voice quivers as he speaks, "why would you do this? We were once friends, allies in our playful escapades."

Dark Reg's mechanical features contort into a sinister grin, his red eyes gleaming with a twisted delight. "Ah, dear Tubb, you misunderstand. Friendship is but a fleeting illusion, a weakness that hinders the pursuit of true power. And I have embraced the power of darkness."

Sploshy's voice trembles as she interjects, "But why hurt us? We only wanted to have fun and enjoy our time together."

Dark Reg's laughter echoes through the air, a haunting melody that resonates with malevolence. "Fun? Enjoyment? Such trivial desires are beneath me. I am the harbinger of a new order, one where chaos reigns and the dreams of the innocent are shattered."

As Dark Reg's words hang heavy in the air, the atmosphere becomes suffocating, each Rubbadubber feeling the weight of his intentions pressing down upon them.

"Prepare yourselves, my dear companions," Dark Reg intones, his voice a chilling whisper, "for your journey ends here. But fear not, for from your demise, a new era shall rise—one under the dominion of Dark Reg."

The dream world trembles as Dark Reg's presence grows stronger, his malevolent influence spreading like a contagion. The Rubbadubbers stand united, facing the embodiment of darkness with a mixture of fear and determination.

And as the shadows close in, the dream world's fate hangs in the balance, a battle between light and darkness poised to unfold in a realm where the bounds of reality are blurred and the very essence of imagination is at stake.

[upliftingbibleverses]

God's Promises in Brief: 10 Uplifting Bible Verses for Daily Encouragement

In the midst of life's challenges and uncertainties, turning to the promises found within the pages of the Bible can offer a wellspring of comfort and encouragement. Short devotions, centered around uplifting Bible verses, provide a powerful way to infuse our daily lives with divine wisdom and hope. These brief moments of reflection enable us to internalize God's promises, guiding us through each day with renewed faith and a strengthened spirit. In this article, we'll explore 10 such uplifting Bible verses that serve as anchors for short devotions, nurturing our souls with daily encouragement.

1. Jeremiah 29:11 - "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope."

Devotion: Embrace this day with the knowledge that God's plans are filled with hope and purpose. As you navigate challenges, remember that your future is held securely in His hands.

2. Psalm 23:1 - "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want."

Devotion: In each moment, remember that you are cared for and guided by the Good Shepherd. Allow this truth to free you from worry, knowing that your needs are met.

3. Isaiah 41:10 - "Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."

Devotion: Trust in the unwavering presence of God. In moments of uncertainty, lean on His strength and let go of fear, knowing that He is your constant support.

4. Philippians 4:13 - "I can do all things through him who strengthens me."

Devotion: With faith in God's power, you can overcome any challenge that comes your way. Draw strength from this promise as you face the day's tasks.

5. Psalm 46:1 - "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble."

Devotion: When troubles arise, remember that God is your refuge. In the midst of difficulty, find solace in His strength and seek His guidance.

6. Romans 8:28 - "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."

Devotion: Even in the midst of trials, know that God is at work, weaving good out of every situation. Trust that His purpose prevails.

7. Joshua 1:9 - "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go."

Devotion: Let courage be your companion as you journey through the day. Know that God's presence accompanies you, bringing strength and assurance.

8. Psalm 34:17-18 - "When the righteous cry for help, the Lord hears and delivers them out of all their troubles. The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit."

Devotion: In moments of distress, call upon the Lord, knowing that He listens to your cries. Find comfort in His nearness and His promise to bring deliverance.

9. Matthew 11:28 - "Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."

Devotion: As you encounter weariness and burdens, turn to Jesus for rest. His invitation offers solace and rejuvenation for your spirit.

10. Proverbs 3:5-6 - "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths."

Devotion: Surrender your plans to God's guidance. Trust that as you acknowledge Him in all you do, He will lead you along the paths of righteousness.

Embracing Daily Encouragement Through Short Devotions

Incorporating these uplifting Bible verses into short devotions creates a rhythm of daily encouragement. As you pause to reflect on these promises, allow them to infuse your thoughts, decisions, and interactions with faith and hope. Each verse serves as a reminder of God's unwavering presence and His commitment to guide, comfort, and uplift you on your journey. Through the practice of short devotions, you can navigate life's challenges with a heart filled with confidence and a spirit fortified by divine assurance.

[gptwrites]

The common room of the Silver Wyvern

Prompt: Excellent. From now on, we will tell the story in first person. As this tale should stretch out over a long time, we don't want the group to run into Azrakath just yet. For now, the 5 adventurers - also referred to as the party - should find themselves, once again, in the common room of the Silver Wyvern. Narrate the story, include a bit of humorous dialog between the party members, and bring a story hook that forces the group to seek an item of great power in the lands of Naevalon. Feel free to make up non-player characters and individuals within the world to help drive the story forward. Output:  I find myself once more in the common room of the Silver Wyvern, surrounded by my newfound companions. The warmth of the fire and the murmur of conversation create an atmosphere of camaraderie that soothes my weary soul. We've been through much together already, but I can't shake the feeling that our true journey has only just begun.

I glance around the table at my friends. Alaric, ever the serious one, is deep in conversation with Thorgar about the finer points of their respective faiths. Lylia is trying to teach Ruk a game of chance involving a set of dice, and the half-orc's bewildered expression brings a smile to my face.

"Ruk, I promise you it's not that complicated. You just need to roll the dice and add the numbers," Lylia says, her voice patient but strained.

Ruk squints at the dice, then back at Lylia. "Why we not just smash things?" he asks, his voice rumbling like distant thunder.

Before Lylia can respond, the door to the tavern swings open, and an elven messenger strides in, the silver emblem of the Arcane Order gleaming on his chest. The room falls silent as he approaches our table. We exchange wary glances, sensing that our lives are about to take another unexpected turn.

"Greetings, adventurers," the messenger says, his voice melodic and clear. "I bring a message from the Arcane Order. They request your presence at their Citadel. A matter of grave importance has arisen, and they believe you may be able to assist.

"We share a brief look of surprise and curiosity, then Alaric speaks up, his voice steady and strong. "We'll hear what the Arcane Order has to say, but I must ask: what is this matter of grave importance?”

The messenger hesitates before replying, "An ancient artifact of great power, known as the Tear of Elanor, has been discovered in the heart of Naevalon. This relic is said to have the ability to bend the very fabric of reality. The Order fears it may fall into the wrong hands and wishes for you to retrieve it.

"Our eyes widen at the mention of such a powerful item, and we can't help but feel the weight of responsibility placed upon us. We agree to undertake this quest and make preparations to leave for the lands of Naevalon.

As we gather our belongings and head towards the door, Lylia nudges Ruk playfully. "Looks like you'll get your chance to smash things after all, big guy," she quips, a grin spreading across her face.

Ruk chuckles, a deep and hearty sound, and replies, "Ruk always ready for smashing!"

With a mixture of determination and apprehension, we set out on our journey to the elven realm, each of us aware of the challenges that await us. Little did we know then that our quest for the Tear of Elanor would bring us one step closer to our fateful encounter with Azrakath, the warlock who sought to plunge the world of Therondor into chaos and darkness. But for now, our focus was on the task at hand, and the bonds that would be forged and tested in the trials ahead.

[a-flickering-soul]

EverymanHYBRID And Deer In Media: In Five Parts (click for individual comparisons)

Deer are both a symbol of fragile purity and the untamable wild–here, we examine deer in the context of man, where deer come to represent the urge within us to abandon the conscious ego for the subconscious id. The deer is a symbol, too, of rebirth, of transformation, of shedding and regrowing its weapons each year. To kill, to be reborn, to choose to be monstrous through our proximity to humanity. Is there not something pure in surrendering to animal instinct? If deer are the twin themes of innocence and wildness, then we in turn are the juxtaposition of humanity and monstrousness–our actions made monstrous by the attempt to temper them with humanity.

(transcript, analysis, and sources below cut)

1: The Secret History & EverymanHYBRID--Bodies

The Secret History, on the killing of a man in a hallucinatory bacchanal:

"'Henry,' I said at last. 'Good God.' "He raised an eyebrow. 'Really, it was more upsetting than you can realize,' he said. 'Once I hit a deer with my car. It was a beautiful creature and to see it struggling, blood everywhere, legs broken ... And this was even more distressing but at least I thought it was over. I never dreamed we'd hear anything else about it.'"

EverymanHYBRID, "Ryan and the SEVENTRIALSOFHABIT":

A shot of a deer's dead body at the side of the road at night, looking crumpled and not quite right. The captions read: "Jeff: It's a fucking deer, dude. (Evan: See it?) Yeah. Something cut its belly open. (Evan: It cut its belly open the wrong way.)"

Parallels drawn:

Consider this one an amuse-bouche. Henry draws comparisons between a man he killed to a deer he accidentally hit with a car, mildly naming the incident ‘distressing’. There is a lack of human empathy, of guilt over killing a fellow man. In comparison, Jeff, Evan, and Vinnie at this point in the EMH plotline have not yet become hunter or hunted–they have not yet been warped by their roles in this iteration and can acknowledge the upsetting nature of the events that befall them. Henry has tasted that amoral nature and is less human for it, more visibly willing to shed that veneer of attempting to care about other people. Jeff, Evan, and Vinnie have not yet reached that point.

2: “Whoso List to Hunt”, EverymanHYBRID, and The Secret History--The Chase

"Whoso List to Hunt", on hunting a fabled white hind:

"I am of them that farthest cometh behind./ Yet may I by no means my wearied mind/ Draw from the deer, but as she fleeth afore/ Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,/ Sithens in a net I seek to hold the wind./ Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,/ As well as I may spend his time in vain. And graven with diamonds in letters plain/ There is written, her fair neck round about:/ Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,/ and wild to hold, though I seem tame."

EverymanHYBRID, "Slushpops and Surprises”

A shot of white text on a black page, "[Enter the tragic hero and his unattainable companion.]"

The Secret History, on hallucinations experienced during the bacchanal (bold for emphasis):

“‘Camilla said that during part of it, she’d believed she was a deer; and that was odd, too, because the rest of us remember chasing a deer through the woods, for miles it seemed. Actually it was miles. I know that for a fact. Apparently we ran and ran and ran, because when we came to ourselves we had no idea where we were.’”

EverymanHYBRID, “December & early January”:

A shot of Vinnie, hand covering his face in shock, as he sits and listens to Jessa’s last voicemail before she went missing. Jeff can be seen in the background, listening in silence. The captions read “[Jessa’s voice, recorded]: Steph, that thing you were talking about, I saw it...he’s real, he’s right here. What the hell does he want? I think he’s following me.”

Parallels drawn:

The deer symbolizes wild nature, something that man cannot obtain, touch, or capture without abandoning something of his own humanity. Similarly, deer represent the unattainable prey. Noli me tangere, says Caesar’s unattainable deer– touch me not, no matter how hard you may attempt to catch me. Jessa of EMH is deemed the unattainable companion and Jeff’s driving force to discover the truth behind the situation they’ve been placed in–it is Jessa, dangled in front of him after she goes missing, that leads Jeff down the path that inevitably leads to his own death after uncovering too much. The deer is to be chased, to be hunted, and never captured. Camilla from The Secret History believed herself to be a deer during the same hallucinatory bacchanal that cost a man his life, and led her brother and friends on a chase spanning miles. Jessa was hunted by an unknowable force, then used as bait to draw her partner down the path to his own death. Unattainability, the shape of something fleeing in front of you, elicits a powerful reaction to follow, to hunt, to chase. Jessa fell victim to that reaction. Camilla, and the white hind, did not.

3: The Myth of Diana and Actaeon, EverymanHYBRID, and The Secret History--Madness

The Diana and Actaeon Fountain at the Caserta Royal Palace:

The detail of the fountain shown depicts the pivotal scene in the myth of Actaeon and Artemis, where Actaeon, mid-transformation into a stag, is killed for the slight of viewing the goddess Artemis nude.The sculpture shows the transformation in no mercy, plain in its depiction of Actaeon’s pain and terror, and the simple ferocity of the hounds that surround him.

EverymanHYBRID, “May & June”:

A shot of Jeff, blood spattered across him, speaking with a shocked and angry tone. The captions read, “Jeff: Why were we doing that? That was...that’s not what we were looking for. We knew damned well that wasn’t what we were trying to kill. (Vince: Close enough.) It was a deer! It was a fucking deer! I tried to pull you off, you tried to punch me in the fucking face!”

The Secret History, on the Greeks’ view of beauty and terror (bold for emphasis):

“Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. And what could be more terrifying and beautiful to souls like the Greeks or to our own, than to lose control completely? To throw off the chains of being for an instant, to shatter the accident of our mortal selves? Euripedes speaks of the Maenads: head thrown back, throat to the stars, ‘more like deer than human being’.”

Parallels drawn:

Most depictions of Actaeon, sculpture or painting, usually show him with antlers or a deer lower body, leaving his head and face a recognizable human shape. However, the sculptor here decided to subvert expectations and leave his body human, giving Actaeon the animal head of a stag. The loss of control and the descent from human to animal is not glorified or made palatable by the mere addition of a crown of antlers--there is only the one constant, fear, that follows him all the way down. Madness may be defined as a loss of control, and there may be something beautiful and terrifying in feeling your sanity slip through your own fingers. Jeff, Evan, and Vinnie are overtaken by brief, inexplicable madness and tear apart a deer as they come dangerously close to uncovering exactly who and what is hunting them. They skate close to seeing soemthing they shouldn't see. It is only Jeff who looks up, shocked by the blood on his hands, and voices his fear. Vinnie, apathetic, lets it go. But Evan, houndlike and irrational, defends his kill.

4: EverymanHYBRID & Hannibal--Warnings and Temptation

EverymanHYBRID, “May & June”:

A shot of Evan, spattered heavily with blood, standing with shoulders caved in protectively. His left hand is raised to his mouth, with his hair covering his eyes, and he is licking the blood off of his fingers.

“Shot Through The Hart, and Hannibal’s To Blame” (bold for emphasis):

“In my post about ravens, I talked about how it’s not always easy to tell what the Ravenstag really means. Is it evidence of the Hannibalesque elements of Will’s soul? Or a warning of those parts growing within him? Does the Ravenstag urge Will forward on his journey, or warn him of what’s to come?”

Hannibal, Season 1, Episode 1 “Aperitif”:

A shot of the Ravenstag, staring directly into the camera with one hoof up, as if to approach. There are black feathers interwoven with its pelt and its eyes have an uncanny shine.

Parallels drawn:

On a naturalistic note, deer are skittish creatures. They have thin legs and a sleek body, made for running. A small head and big eyes, placed wide-set to see coming predators. Keen ears. They are ready at any moment to sense danger, warn others, and flee. When a deer does not move, it is either safe or sizing up its options, either accepting where it is or preparing to run. Deer, staring directly at the viewer, come as a sympathetic warning to flee or, in its dark eyes and firm stance, a temptation. Me tangere, they say. Come closer. We are one and the same. In Bryan Fuller’s Hannibal, the commanding presence of the Ravenstag serves as both a warning and a beckoning temptation to turn his feet down the darker path. It is otherworldly, black-furred and feathered, and yet a warning of events rooted in the real world--does Will understand what danger he is in upon meeting Hannibal and take the warning, or will he ignore it, sensing that same darkness in himself, that same potential for corruption? In EverymanHYBRID, it is that same killing of a deer that hints at that same potential for darkness growing inside Evan. He licks at his fingers, animalistic, fully ignoring his own Ravenstag warning signs for the delight of the hunt. Is he Evan anymore? Or is something else growing inside him?

5: EverymanHYBRID & Hannibal--Predator and Prey, or the Final Act

EverymanHybrid, “:D”:

A shot of HABIT, looking up a set of stairs with one foot on the bottom step. In one hand down by his side, he is holding a knife. His posture is tilted forward, poised, ready to spring into action, like that of a hunter.

“Shot Through The Hart, and Hannibal’s To Blame” (bold for emphasis):

“The idea of deer as symbols of rebirth also stands out to me. Hannibal is a series obsessed with becoming and transformation. People start one way, and are reborn as something completely other by the end of the show. There’s even a character sewn up into a deceased pregnant horse in the hopes that when she’s released, she will be literally reborn as something different. It’s thus a neat fit, this significance of deer with the themes of the show.”

EverymanHYBRID, “:D”:

A shot of Jeff, looking up and to the side with an expression of caution and fear. His eyes are unnerved, squinting as, from offscreen, HABIT’s hand plays idly with his hat.

Parallels drawn:

The first and final incarnation of the deer is, of course, prey. Beyond and before any symbolism of innocence and wildness and warnings, deer are prey animals, to be hunted and devoured. And yet, in keeping with the concept of contrasting symbolism, deer are not helpless. Yearly, they shed and regrow their antlers in a transformation of horn and blood. At the climax of EverymanHYBRID, the final reveal, the final transformation, comes to fruition. HABIT, formerly Evan, takes its place as the Hunter, the archetypal predator, with Jeff shown most prominently as the Prey. Jeff’s luck has run its course, with him in the chair as the sacrificial prey-victim to fall to HABIT’s knife. HABIT, reborn, reiterated, made incarnate through Evan’s unwilling transformation, is poised to start the hunt. This is the big reveal, the crux of the transformation, Actaeon caught mid-transfiguration and the bloody sloughing-off of velvet humanity to reveal perfect and gleaming antlers. This is what it comes down to, time and time again. The hunter and the hunted. The wilderness embraced and the wilderness captured, and the monstrosity in that act.

Works Cited

Callimachus. Actaeon and Artemis. C. 220 BC

Fuller, Bryan. “Apetirif.” Hannibal, season 1, episode 1, NBC, 4 Apr. 2013.

Koval, J., Caffarello, V., &; Jennings, E. (Directors). (2011, July 12). May & June [Video file].

Koval, J., Caffarello, V., &; Jennings, E. (Directors). (2012, October 9). :D [Video file].

Tartt, Donna. The Secret History. Penguin, 2006.

Uhminuh. “Shot Through the Hart, and Hannibal's to Blame.” Read the Rude, Wordpress, 19 July 2020.

Wyatt, Thomas. “Whoso List to Hunt, I Know where is an Hind.” c. 1530.

Honorary mention to this fanart by @/rrhaes that started this whole spiral

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Legolas x elven reader

Requested by @sokkasdarling​ -took me a lil while to think of smth but can i request a legolas fic pls🥺🥺 so maybe reader rly likes him and its super obvious to aragorn but not to leg man and then when he finds out its all soft and stuff🥺🥺🥺🥺 -

I hope you like this and it’s close to what you wanted, it was fun to write ngl, leggy is such an oblivious softie I love.

You had been traveling along with the Fellowship since your departure from Rivendell not even four weeks ago. But even so, time had not seemed so very long for you anyways. This whole adventure began when Gandalf sent word to your kingdom calling for your aid in an important mission of sorts, as per usual the old wizard was very vague in his brief explanations. But you’ve known him for such a long time that whenever he needs you, it’s usually very important. So you traveled many days to Rivendell where you met up with your other longtime friend Aragorn who has been traveling in the wilds since you last saw him, now looking incredibly less dirty if you may add.

It was a curious thing when you were gathered into a secret meeting where low and behold sat the one ring of all objects to grace your very eyes. Your inquisitive gaze scanned the open room as Lord Elrond spoke of the ring and who would be the one to help destroy it. You sat idly by the young hobbit Frodo, who Gandalf explained was the carrier of the one ring from all the way into the Shire to where he sits now. What a brave little fellow you thought. Directly in front of you from across the room sat Aragorn who was looking at the ring with a troublesome gaze upon his worried features.

 It was not until Boromir spoke did you realize the Prince of the Woodland Realm was among you. You didn’t exactly take the time to look at everyone sitting around the half circle when you got here, but your face softened the moment they locked eyes onto the attractive elven prince. You’d never met Legolas before, but you’ve heard about him through Aragorn and Elrond when he decided to vent about the dealings with Legolas’ kingdom. From that very moment you became immensely intrigued and drawn to the silver haired prince. Though your heart did leap when yourself and all of the Fellowship began the long journey to Mordor, you felt relieved and excited to be spending such a long time with Legolas. But as the weeks grew on, your feelings only grew stronger, and one night while on watch with Aragron, as the two of you sat away from the rest of your sleeping companions did you finally break your silence. 

“I must confess something to you or I fear it will eventually drive me mad. It concerns the likes of the only other elf among us, which I assume you’ve already guessed.” You begin with a sigh as you glance over to Aragorn for a moment, his eyes soften at this news that has been swirling within your mind for many days.

“What troubles you my friend?”

“My heart grows for the prince in a way that I did not expect. I enjoy his presence, the way he speaks, how he carries himself, his smile...and for that I cannot help it when I keep close to him while we travel.”

“I have noticed your longing eyes upon him, it is sweet.”

“In all my five-thousand years in this land, not once have I ever felt this way towards anyone. I cannot explain it Aragorn, it feels so strange...this feeling for him. So very strange.” Your brow furrows as you look off into the valley, Aragorn lends you a small smile though you don’t see it.

“My dear Y/N, I believe what you are experiencing is called love, well at least in human terms for that matter. I am happy for you, truly.” You turn your uneasy gaze to Aragorn, surprised to find him sharing a small smile with you. You turn your head towards the stars, closing your eyes as you feel a comforting breeze blow through your half braided hair. 

“Your words are kind indeed, but I cannot tell if he feels the same in anyway.....that is what scares me.”

“Let him know of your admiration in subtle ways, he should figure it out eventually. I know Legolas, Y/N, he is smart and sharp as the edge of a dagger.”

For the next week you thought hard about your conversation with Aragorn that night, so as the days rolled past and the nights came and went, you stayed at a healthy closeness to the prince and seeked his company in quiet moments when the Fellowship was at rest. To your great astonishment, Legolas deemed you quit comforting and unexpectedly full of good humor as well as kind-hearted and protective over the hobbits. You had more then once caught him staring at you when he thought you weren't looking, it always brought a warm smile to your face. But nothing more was said or done and your painfully obvious attraction towards Legolas was becoming increasingly more entertaining for Aragorn, within the daily trials of continuous walking and watching out for the hobbits and evil creatures alike. He truly felt for you and your internal frustration with these newly intense feelings for someone that you had never felt before. He understood that as an elf, when they fall in love, they fall with all of their heart and soul for whoever graces their path. 

The Fellowship had stopped for a small break after a long and tiresome hike up a large rocky hill for the past two hours, you practically had to carry Pippin up the last fifteen minutes of rough trailing just to make sure everyone was together at the top. Not even five peaceful minutes of rest could you have before Merry and Pippin were already forcing you into a game of who can throw a rock the farthest over the cliff. Not one to ever decline such an appealing invitation, you oblige and walk over to the cliff edge while the rest of the Fellowship watches in amusement. You chuck a fist sized rock into oblivion, unbeknownst to you from a spot higher up on the rocky edge, Aragorn has walked over to Legolas, deciding to figure out his elven friends innermost feelings.

“Y/N is a fascinating being isn’t she, I’ve never seen someone so willing to join in on the games of hobbits, her heart is kind, she’s good company.” Starts Aragorn as Legolas shifts his eyes from him and back to you again, the ghost of a smile forming onto his lips.

“I’m actually quite fond of her presence...it has surprised me.”

“Oh?” Wonders Aragorn with a knowing look that’s lost to Legolas as his attention is fixated on you and the two hobbits. 

“Yes. I did not expect to enjoy her company so much. Not ever have I met someone so unawares to how truly divine and clever they are...or beautiful.” Explains Legolas as he whispers the last part, its so quite that Aragorn almost misses it but he does not and a small laugh escapes him. Legolas abruptly turns to his friend, his expression a mix of embarrassment and slight dejection. 

“I do not laugh at your tellings my friend, if only Y/N new. She would be very pleased to hear this I’m certain.” Replies Aragorn with a nod, Legolas’ brow furrows in deep thought.

“What do you mean?” He questions, confused as to what Aragorn is implying.

“Have you not noticed? She feels much for you in these past weeks of our journey. Y/N has given you a place in her heart, do you understand my meaning now?” 

Legolas’ face changes to a new realization as he slowly turns his head to a smiling Aragorn, “Y/N loves me? I thought it was only I who felt that way, how could I have missed it?” He says astonished as his face breaks out into a beaming grin. “She loves me. Y/N loves me. This day has been weary and long, but my heart leaps with this news. I will tell her tonight when we rest for the day, I only hope that she will be just as joyous, even with my lack of a gift.”

“I don’t believe she’ll mind. Just knowing you feel the same should suffice.” Adds Aragorn with a friendly pat to Legolas’ shoulder, he flashes him a quick smile before staring at you adoringly once again. 

[realtacuardach]

Risk and Resolve

Here’s my entry for the final round of Obiyuki Trope Madness 2021, hosted by @snowwhite-andtheknight : Roaring Rampage of Rescue. And because I thought this would be clever, I decided to include the two tropes that didn’t make it out of the semi-finals, Anguished Declaration of Love and Almost Kiss. (Hopefully it worked...) It turned out a lot longer than I intended, 😅. I hope you enjoy!

...

Shirayuki kept her polite, professional smile firmly in place until the door closed with a distinct click behind her, then allowed herself to sag against the wood with an exhale.

A warm chuckle rumbled beside her. “Rough patient, Miss?” Obi was leaning against the wall with his usual coiled grace, smirking down at her.

Her smirk was ready as his, although probably a great deal more wearied. “No more than he has been for the past...month?”

“Five weeks, four days, and ten hours,” Obi replied glibly. “But who’s counting?”

He bent towards her to grab some sachets that were about to slip from her arms to the ground, and she took the chance to shove back the hair that had curved and matted against her sweaty forehead. “It shouldn’t be too much longer though, he’s through the worst of it.”

Not much could have wrested Shirayuki from her current work at Lyrias, but there was no way of refusing the summons of yet another minor lord who had insisted emphatically that his son needed the very best of care to recover from a sword wound that had nearly killed him twice - once from the initial blood loss, and then from the intense infection that had taken root in his exposed flesh. The infection had progressed to almost shutting down several of the young man’s organs, and Shirayuki had to admit that she had had intense pity for the man.

She would have had trouble refusing someone help in such a condition in any case, and Izana’s calculatedly casual comment that it would be good to keep this particular lord appeased sealed her decision.

“So far away, surrounded by dense forest, far from the cities,” he’d mused aloud. “It can be difficult to get decent medical care; it would be a shame to force Lord Shikaku to seek it elsewhere.”

Shirayuki’s sense of politics was developing, although a bit unpolished still, but she roughly translated that to mean, “He’s got a lot of land and he’s far from the capital where I can keep an eye on him. Better to have a favor binding me to him than risk him changing alliances.”

She’d mentioned that to Obi on their journey over, and he’d snorted and grinned at her. So she assumed that he agreed.

“How much more care do you think he’ll need, Miss?”

Shirayuki clicked her tongue in thought as she turned toward the wing where she and Obi had been given rooms. “Not more than a week, I’d say. Probably less. He’s able to walk now and his temperature has been mostly normal. He needs regular bouts of rest and exercise now, but probably not an herbalist.”

Obi glided into step beside her easily, and they made their way to their bedrooms in companionable silence. They were nearly at Shirayuki’s door when Obi spoke up. “Do you think they’ll let you leave without a fight?”

It was said almost as a joke, but Shirayuki heard the knowing tone in it and flushed. “Why wouldn’t they?”

Obi raised a brow, looking unimpressed and so similar to Kiki in that moment that Shirayuki wondered if he’d been taking lessons from her. “Miss,” he stated plainly, “you’ve seen how the...invalid...has reacted to you.”

Yes, she had. She wasn’t sure when the flushes of fever had begun to be replaced by blushes as she’d leaned over young Lord Gaki to check his pulse or examine his stitches. The glaze of fever in his eyes had given way to a more speculative glimmer that lingered too long where it shouldn’t. “It’s common enough,” she replied, almost more to herself than to Obi, “for patients to develop attachment-”

Obi coughed something that sounded a lot like attraction.

Shirayuki ignored it. “Attachments to the people who nurse them back to health. I’m sure it’s harmless.”

Obi exhaled heavily through his nose. “If you say so, Miss.” He popped his shoulder and groaned appreciatively.

“And I’m sure he won’t touch me ag-”

She had meant it to be a murmur under her breath, a simple release of frustration from having to keep a professional mask plastered on her face all day around a young lord who was getting increasingly tactile. She hadn’t meant for Obi to hear her, expecting her voice to be lost in the popping of joints and creaking of leather.

She should have known better.

“He did what?”

“He touched,” she swallowed hard. Now that he knew, it was better to just get it over with. Obi was not likely to be distracted or dissuaded once he was on the track of something, “my hair. And my cheek, a little bit? But mostly my hair.”

“With your permission?” Obi gritted out in the tone of someone who already knew the answer.

“No.” Shirayuki sighed. “But it was a little thing, Obi, nothing to worry about.”

“Respectfully disagree, Miss,” he growled in response. “And Master would agree-”

He froze, a sheepish look overtaking his righteous indignation.

“It’s been almost a year,” she soothed. “You don’t need to get defensive on my behalf, Obi. You know that we both agreed that it was for the best - Zen and I are better as friends.”

Obi snorted. “He still wouldn’t like it, Miss. And what’s more, you clearly don’t.”

Shirayuki glared down at where her hands trembled and stilled them. “I can handle it.”

It looked like Obi wanted to argue the point, but then she yawned despite herself and he seemed to settle for pinching the bridge of his nose instead. “You can, but you shouldn’t have to.”

“Just a week more, if not sooner.” She smiled, hoping to reassure him.

He didn’t smile back, but his eyes softened and she took what small victory she could from that. “Just promise to tell me if he tries anything else. Please.”

“Of course!”

In the end, she didn’t have to tell him anything. Because he was there to witness everything.

…

Since the young lord’s wound had completely healed, and she was only treating its aftereffects, Shirayuki had taken to bringing Obi along with her during treatments. The man hadn’t touched her again, although he had made several attempts that she’d managed to artfully dodge. She already felt uneasy around him, and when she found the hot water bottle he’d squirreled away beneath his pillow to simulate fever, she knew it was far past time to go.

Obi had been silent as a statue behind her during the sessions where he was present, only speaking when prompted. But his presence had been enough to curtail any more...impertinences...from the young lord. Gaki had originally protested at the inclusion of another person during his treatments, but something in Obi’s expression had stuck him and he had conceded with ill grace.

When she pushed open the door for what she had insisted was the final session before she and Obi needed to return to Lyrias, she expected to find Gaki lounging in bed, sulking and flushed with indignation, as had become his custom. She had not expected for him to be out of bed and seated at his desk. She had not expected the bouquet of flowers placed in front of him. 

His father being there was also a surprise.

After the triple shock, the marriage proposal came almost as an afterthought. 

The situation was so absurd, she would have laughed if it wouldn’t have incited some sort of incident.

“I’m honored by your proposal, my lord,” Shirayuki began, having learned that nobles found sweet lies more palatable than bitter truths, “but I’m afraid I cannot accept it. I am needed back home.”

“Nonsense.” Gaki waved his hand in a way that infuriated her. “What could be more important than finding a good match?”

“My work,” Shirayuki replied, more flatly than intended. “I have responsibilities and people who need me back home. I again thank you for your proposal but must decline. I can’t marry you.”

“Why?” Gaki nearly yelped. “It is not as though you have any better prospects, now that the prince has thrown you over.”

That struck at a rawness still healing within her, even if it had been a mutual agreement between them rather than her being simply rejected. She did not mourn the lack of romance, she was herself with or without a man, but she did grieve the friendship that had once been so easy that was now in the tentative stages of repair.

She had half a mind to retort that someone like him could hardly desire a prince’s discarded plaything, but he would probably mistake her contempt for agreement.

Obi loomed closer to her then, his presence at her shoulder grounding her; warming, steadying, assuring. He picked up the conversation with a practiced courtly air. “We must take our leave, my lords. We have much to prepare for tomorrow.” He leaned down towards her, and she could see the concern glinting through his eyes. “If we may, milady.”

And maybe it was the reminder that her attachment to Zen, an attachment that had developed from a sturdy string connecting them to a ball and chain before it eventually broke down into pieces that she was still picking up, was no more. Maybe it was the relief of having Obi close by, as always. Or maybe it was how her traitorous heart skipped a beat as Obi’s breath curled over her ear as he leaned towards Lord Gaki.

Shirayuki could not pinpoint the cause, she could only hear how her breath hitched in the stifling silence.

Gaki’s eyes narrowed over his steepled fingers. “I see.”

Shirayuki’s heart stuttered. She had a feeling that the lords had indeed both seen too much.

…

The moon gleamed through her bedroom window as she awoke to the heavy pounding on her door. Years of caring for sick and injured patients had made her a light sleeper, and she slid out of bed and grabbed for her robe even before she was fully awake.

“Yes?” She croaked, pushing the door open to see a stony-faced guard.

“You are needed, Lady Shirayuki. Lord Shikaku says it’s quite urgent.”

Shirayuki frowned. This wouldn’t be the first time that his son had needed tending late at night, but that had been much earlier in his recovery. He had seemed well earlier, albeit ill-tempered.

Still, the guard’s stance brooked no argument, and Shirayuki followed in step behind him. Her sleep-dazed mind wondered where Obi was.

She was still surreptitiously blinking sleep out of her eyes as they arrived at the lord’s quarters. She found the lord and his son much as they had been earlier that day, although their smiles were distinctly less friendly.

“Yes, Lord Gaki? How can I help you?”

“Marry me.”

So much for flowery courtship, then. He’d discarded the more eloquent language of court and civility to come down to brass tacks. Typically, she preferred a more straightforward approach, but this only irritated her.

“No, I can’t.” She bit back the instinctive sorry that she didn’t mean. If he was struggling this much with simple responses, she’d stick to monosyllables from here on out. 

They would probably have to leave immediately now. She would feel more guilty about rousing Obi out of bed and getting them going far earlier than they’d planned, but she knew he was as eager to leave as she was if not more so.

Her eyes swept to the side. Where was Obi?

The lordling looked sour, and on the brink of spitting at her, when his father brandished an imperious hand to silence him. “Enough,” Lord Shikaku rumbled, “this is going nowhere.”

Shirayuki’s heart leapt at the prospect of someone in this place being sensible, but it quickly sank as the lord looked to the side and snapped his fingers.

A group of four guards came in from a side door, bearing someone between them who, despite being bound hand and foot, was giving them a hard time. They forced the figure into a kneeling position on the ground, and Shirayuki winced at the sharp crack of knees on the marble floor.

“Now, now,” Lord Shikaku crooned as he stepped closer to the kneeling figure, “is that really how you want your mistress to see you? Are you trying to make this more difficult?”

He wrenched off the hood covering the figure’s head and sneered down at him.

Obi shot him a searing glare.

…

The ill feeling Obi had been experiencing over the past week had only intensified after their supposedly final meeting with the lord and his son. Miss already knew his misgivings, and had shared she had some as well, so he hadn’t seen the point in alarming her with how strong they had become. But his instincts had been honed by years on the streets among mercenaries, on the battlefield among knights, and through navigating the tenuous, poisonous affairs of the cutthroat nobles at court. He had only ever ignored them at his peril, and it would be a fool’s move to do so now.

Still, arousing suspicion by making his own suspicion obvious would do Miss no good. So he played along with the guards when they summoned him later that evening for an impromptu meeting to discuss security measures. They had had meetings of the like before, especially when the brat noble was too busy being unconscious to harass his Miss and he’d had nothing better to do than stand around looking intimidating. 

But, given the currently icy state of affairs, the timing of the meeting was...unfortunate.

So he decided to go, but with both eyes wide open.

That they were going to a different room than they had for previous meetings was bad news. The fact that he was being almost shepherded along by the soldiers behind him was worse. But when the door was opened to reveal nothing but blackness, Obi knew he was in trouble. His eyes swept from side to side to assess what he could see, and he was able to react in time to block the attack from the soldier to his right. But that left him exposed to the blow to the back of his neck from the soldier on his left, and he stumbled into the darkness.

He was a top notch hand in a fair fight. He was even better when it came to an unfair fight, because he wasn’t afraid to fight dirty. But the lord here clearly wasn’t afraid to fight dirty either.

Even if he could see it would have been difficult- there were too many bodies, too little space, and his weapons had been yanked away from him after the first blow. He knew he wasn’t making it out of the room in one piece, so he resolved to take out as many as he could in the meantime.

They swarmed him in one great mob, which was unoriginal but effective. He kicked and swung and ducked and darted, sneering with satisfaction at the cries of pain as he connected with faces and limbs. They were cowards, just as much as their boss was a coward, and he felt no remorse.

He put up a good enough fight, but the sheer numbers on the enemy’s side eventually overcame his superior but solitary skill. The captor leading the way lit a lamp once Obi had been thoroughly trussed up, and Obi noted with grim satisfaction those sprawled on the ground who were clutching their wounds and groaning, at least until they covered his head with the hood.

These nobles are idiots, he thought to himself. Everyone here is crazy. Miss was in a relationship with one prince, she has a title granted her personally by another, and her skill is openly acknowledged by a king; so that’s three reasons to assume that someone would come looking for Miss. Or for me, he added sardonically. But we are far from the castle out here, and it would take a while for us to go for help. Besides, who knows what could happen between now and then…

He was being dragged into another room, and he could hear what sounded like his Miss. She sounded exasperated and irritated, but not fearful or in distress, which was reassuring.

He heard a snap, and his captors trotted forward like the obedient dogs they were. His knees crashed into the marble floor hard as they forced him to kneel, and he felt the reverberations lance through his legs. At least the pain was a temporary distraction from the lord’s ramblings.

Lord Shikaku flung the hood off Obi’s head with an almost theatrical flair, which would have made him roll his eyes if he wasn’t so busy glaring. Who is all the theatrical posing for? There’s no one to applaud you, you pompous-

“Let him go!”

Ah, right. That’s who you’re performing for.

Obi looked over in Miss’ direction and almost wished that he hadn’t. She looked horrified and furious and desperate. That look didn’t bode well for her, or for his ability to focus on the situation at hand. He blinked down the surge of highly distracting apprehension and glared up at the windbag.

“Please!”

Don’t try appealing to his better nature, Miss. He doesn’t have one.

“I’m sorry, Lady Shirayuki,” Shikaku leered. “But I can’t. This guard of yours took out twelve of my personal soldiers-”

-That was gratifying, he thought it had only been nine-

“-and so I can do with him as I like.”

Obi was pretty sure that legally, the lord didn’t have much of a leg to stand on with that point, given that the soldiers had ambushed him. But the man didn’t seem too interested in bothering with legal quibbles. Here, his word was law.

At least until Elder Highness finds out what he’s been up to and rips him a new one.

Izana didn’t have any patience for lords who thought they were above their station. Especially when his Miss got involved, much as the king had endeavored to keep that out of public knowledge.

Miss’ eyes swept over him briefly before returning to the lord, her gaze steely. “What do you want?”

Shikaku laughed. “I would think that is obvious. Marry my son, and your knave goes free. Refuse and, well…” He shrugged delicately.

Don’t do it, Miss. I’m not worth it.

She had to know that the lord wasn’t going to let him go regardless. If he let him go and kicked him out of the fortress, Obi would be able to go for help or storm the castle himself. And if he was free and allowed to remain, he would not hesitate to wreck everything in his path.

In the long run, this would not work out for the lord. But the damage wreaked in the short term could be devastating.

Looking up towards Miss, he could see the gears spinning and turning in her mind as she deliberated what she should do. She had to know that the situation was ridiculously, hopelessly skewed in the lord’s favor, but she also wouldn’t take the risk of putting someone in harm’s way.

Obi stared into her emerald eyes with all his strength. They’re not going to let me go, Miss. No matter what you do. Say no - it’ll buy you some more time -

“Fine.”

He wanted to sag in his bonds, but didn’t want to give the lord any satisfaction.

I’m so sorry, Miss. I’m going to make my escape, and then I’m getting you out of here.

…

Brushing her hands down the ridiculously puffy, ornate skirt of her dress, Shirayuki looked at herself in the mirror and made a moue of distaste. She looked farcical, like a tiny red cherry amidst clouds of filmy fabric.

Surprisingly, forcing a woman who did not want to get married into a wedding dress did not instantly make her change her mind. Shirayuki glared at the veil anchored to her head as though it had personally offended her, before forcing herself to focus on the real mission at hand. Rescuing Obi.

She hadn’t seen him since the ultimatum she’d been given a week ago, but she knew he was still alive. She had insisted on getting daily messages from him to ensure that the lord kept his end of their bargain, and his dry comments that hid bits of crucial information about the situation as it stood brought her the only joy she’d felt the whole week.

He’d smeared a little dirt on the second letter, which smelled faintly of iron and rock and staleness - so he was probably in the dungeons. He’d taken to nicknaming the guards who stayed with him, so she was pretty sure he was only being flanked by two guards at a time. With only two, they clearly didn’t know who they were dealing with, but she wasn’t complaining.

Sitting down at her vanity, Shirayuki began to systematically tear her veil into strips and wad them up. There are three floors to this castle, she reminded herself, and then the dungeon. I’m in the tower, because of course I am. So that’s four floors to go down. He’s sent most of the guards away to drum up local attendance for the wedding, so there’s less of them to deal with.

She started tearing the surplus skirts from the dress, and her hands fell into an almost soothing rhythm as she strengthened her resolve. Tear, wad, tie, set aside. When the bundles of cloth on her vanity were stacked nearly to the top of the mirror, she opened the vanity drawer where she had stored the mixture of opium, lard and disinfectant she had been using on the lordling, now laced with a healthy dose of arsenic. Smearing the mixture on the bolts of cloth, she grinned to herself. Really, they should have confiscated her herbs and ointments - but they had been systematically underestimating her from the start. They had thought that she would sit like a pretty doll until the lordling came to retrieve his new ornament. They thought that they could restrain Obi with just a handful of thugs. They thought that she would just cry pitifully in her hands, having been thwarted by masculine minds.

It would be almost a pleasure to show them how wrong they were.

Footsteps clicked just outside her door as she stuffed the last of her bundles into her bag. Tying the bag securely around her waist, she crept behind her closet door and listened.

The footsteps were coming closer.

“Ow!” She cried piteously. “My ankle!”

There was an oath and a frantic jangling of keys. A guard flung himself into the room, his eyes scanning the area desperately for his charge that had somehow gotten injured under his watch.

Shirayuki allowed herself a smirk as he walked past the closet, looking for her.

And then she pounced.

…

The guard outside the dungeon fell to his knees with a muffled sound, snoring before he even hit the ground. Shirayuki took a quick glimpse of the rag in her hand. Finally, she’d hit upon the perfect amount of sedative; some of the knights she’d left snoozing behind her had taken more than one bundle to subdue them, and others she’d had to check to make sure she hadn’t sent them into more permanent sleep.

She wondered if the lordling would appreciate the hallways full of unconscious knights she’d left as a wedding present. She doubted it.

Creeping through the dungeon, she could see light spilling through the bars of only one cell. She closed her hands around the next bundle of cloth and moved to peek through the bars.

Only Obi could look so unperturbed while being held by two guards who were clearly out for blood. Heaven only knew what he’d been saying to them for the past week. Only his eyes, which were clearly calculating, assessing, and planning, gave him away, and only because she knew him so well. She suspected that his guards were too oblivious to notice anything.

She bit the corner of her mouth in thought. The guard on the left appeared to be favoring his ankle. If she threw herself into his knee, that would probably be enough to give Obi the opportunity he -

“Hello, my lady.”

Her blood ran cold at the croak in her ear, and then her arms were forced behind her. She cursed herself.

Missed one.

“Looks like you have a visitor,” her captor creaked as he forced her into the cell.

For the first time, Obi looked genuinely worried and Shirayuki flinched. Guilt flooded her for a moment, along with an apology to Obi for getting them into this mess when they should have left the moment he started having suspicions. But she shoved it down for later, and began struggling in her captor’s hold.

Obi followed suit, straining to get to her, his face shuttering into a professional blankness as he pulled at his guards’ grip.

This is our only chance, she reminded herself as she twisted desperately. They’re not going to fall for it a second ti-

She heard a muffled curse behind her before a dull pain exploded at the back of her head, and then there was no more.

…

Being a damsel in distress was overrated, Obi had decided. His minders were boring, although fun to mess with, and the accommodations left something to be desired. With nothing else to do, he amused himself over the week by setting personal challenges on how quickly he could irritate Dumb and Dumber into leaving him alone. Yesterday, he’d reached a personal best of five minutes.

Besides that he’d just been busy observing. The guard shift changes stayed consistent and predictable - if he’d been sincere during any of their security meetings, he would have raised the issue a long time ago. Now, however, it worked to his advantage.

There were less guards today. Thanks to his usual shadows being gossipy old hens, he knew that the guard was lighter today since they were sending men out to draw people in for the wedding. It figured that the lordling would have so few friends that they’d have to drum up stand-ins; he wondered if news had already got back to Wistal. Elder Highness did have ears everywhere.

Which explains why they’re rushing this so much. Lord has some sense, I guess.

He craned to gauge the brightness of the light streaming through the cracks of the dungeon wall. Judging by the light, it would be about an hour before the next shift change, and the one guard with the limited vision in his left eye would be in charge. It would be the best time to get away. Then there would be only four floors between he and his Miss - they could probably get out through the window before the others figured out what happened, giving them enough of a head start to -

Two sets of hands grabbed him by the arms and hoisted him up, jarring his old shoulder injury. “Really, boys,” he dryly remarked, “if you wanted to hold me, all you had to do was ask.”

“Shut up.” Dumb growled. “You talk too much.”

“Such sweet words,” Obi sighed, batting his eyes and placing a hand to his heart, the manacles dully clanking, “you’ll turn a man’s head talking like that.”

Dumber made a disgusted noise at the back of his throat. “Just come on.”

“Where?”

“Going to give your lady some encouragement,” he grunted. “She’s shown signs of not following through with the deal.”

Obi’s mind clicked into higher gear. “And you’ll carry me to my lady? How gallant of you!”

Dumber managed to look even more disgusted. “Carry you?”

“You think I can walk up there like this?” Obi tilted his head towards his bound legs. “I’m good, but not that good. I’m flattered that you think so, though.”

In all actuality, he was that good, but they didn’t need to know that.

Dumb looked skeptical, but Dumber shrugged. “Fine. Don’t try anything funny.”

“Perish the thought.”

He would probably be laughing, but he could pretty much guarantee that they wouldn’t find it funny.

The key clicked, and he could feel the manacles falling from his ankles. There. So far, so good-

All three men turned towards where there was a scuffling outside the cell door. Obi frowned, that didn’t sound like the next guard. It sounded like - 

“Looks like you have a visitor,” a new guard croaked, and Obi’s blood froze as the familiar form of his Miss was manhandled into the cell.

He let his blood run hot for a moment in rage for her before rapidly discarding Escape Plans A and B from his mind. At this rate, they would have probably have to run with Plan F, which hadn’t been nearly as planned out as he would have liked.

Miss looked apologetic for a moment and then began struggling in earnest to get loose. Her captor looked dumbfounded at the fight in his spitfire Miss, and Obi let his pride in her spur his own attempts to break free, coiling like a spring, looking for weaknesses in their grip, planning to use his leg to sweep Dumb off his feet…

But then Miss’ guard made a mistake. He grunted out a curse in exasperation, reached for his sheathed sword, and slammed the hilt into the back of her head.

She slumped to the ground in a heap, and Obi saw red.

“Should you have done that?” One of the idiots holding him said, he didn’t care which. “Lord Shikaku will be mad at you for damaging-”

Through the wind rushing through Obi’s ears, he could just make out the bastard scoffing, “Her hair will cover it, he won’t even see the bruise.”

He hadn’t thought he could have been more angry. He was wrong.

The redness engulfed everything, and he feel more than hear his own bellow of rage as he dropped all the skills he’d honed over the years in favor of pure feral, animalistic fury.

He slammed Dumber into the ground, elbowing him sharply in the nose and feeling the break with satisfaction. Dumb squawked as Obi’s legs swept underneath him, only going silent when Obi shoved him into the wall. Free of two problems, Obi turned with fire in his eyes to the worst offender, who looked like he was finally realizing what hell he had just brought upon himself.

Obi leapt onto him like a panther, not feeling or caring how his prey clawed and scraped at his arms and side. He brought his arms which they had so thoughtfully left shackled around the scum’s neck, twisted the chain around his throat, and pulled. It was gratifying to see the redness darken to purple as the bastard went slack beneath him. He almost wanted to see if it was more gratifying to see him to go pale and lifeless, but stopped himself. He had more important things to worry about.

He pulled the discarded sword from the scabbard and slammed the links of his shackles against the blade until they gave way. Placing two fingers that trembled traitorously against her throat, he nearly cried when he felt her pulse. He scooped her up, held her close, and allowed himself a moment of weakness to feel her breath against his neck. Then he shifted her over his shoulders and began running.

He would have to applaud his Miss later for how efficiently she’d disposed of all the knights, he thought as he ran past the huddled bodies lining the corridor. None showed signs of waking yet, which meant he didn’t have to waste time being sneaky and lurking in the shadows.

They remained uninterrupted all the way through the castle and even out to the stables. The stablemaster was snoring heavily, his customary bottle of liquor empty beside him, and Obi deliberated whether or not he should take his horse. It would make the trek faster, but there was a limit to how quiet one could be when a horse’s hooves were involved.

It’s a shame, he thought as he watched his horse ride off, spurred by the sharp slap he’d given its flank, I really liked that horse. But it was too recognizable to ride, and would serve them better as a wild goose chase rather than as a means of escape.

He shifted her into a more secure place on his back and started his trek into the forest.

…

Obi made his way steadily but slowly through the trees, passing every now and then to listen if anyone had followed them. He hadn’t lost the ability to step lightly through the underbrush, for all that he felt that the good life at the castle had softened him. Even so, he didn’t want to take any more chances than they already had.

He also stopped from time to time to lie Miss down and check on her, to scavenge sustenance that they would eventually need from the trees, or to unearth bundles of supplies he’d paused to squirrel away as they had traveled to the lord’s estate the month before. The memory of the streets and the constant apprehension of when an open handshake could become a knife in the back had never left him, and so he liked to be ready, even now.

Miss had sometimes looked somber when he’d done this, but she never questioned it.

The sunlight streaming through the branches faded steadily as he trekked along, finally succumbing to the silver glow of the moon above. He settled somewhat, feeling more attuned to the night than the day, and he let his muscles loosen and savored the warmth soaking into his back from where his Miss was resting.

The moon was high above them when he felt her begin to stir. He stopped to place her against a tree, using her bag to pillow her head against the trunk.

“Obi?” She groaned, her hand reaching back to her bruise and wincing.

“Good to see you, Miss.”

“How long have I been out?”

Obi clicked his tongue in thought, leaning back on his haunches. “Ten, twelve hours. I wondered if you were ever going to wake up.”

He’d meant the tone to be teasing but he failed, given that her gaze went liquid and sad and soft. His heart throbbed in a way that was not helpful when he needed to remain focused.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what, Miss?” Obi smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “It’s not your fault that others find you so irresistible. Or that they don’t know the meaning of no.”

His jaw twinged in pain, and he’d realized his teeth were clenched. It never ceased to incense him how people would treat his Miss - like she was a trinket or a doll that didn’t have any feelings or dreams or desires of her own. She was more than that, so much more, so much that it made him hurt with awe, and -

The adrenaline was definitely fading, along with his focus.

“No,” Miss breathed, her fingers tracing the bruising along his wrists. “I’m sorry I got caught - I was so sure I’d done everything I could to pick the best time, but -”

“You did good, Miss,” he hastened to assure her. “I was thinking along the same lines - you just got a few hours’ lead on me. Don’t think I didn’t see your handiwork on the way out.”

She blushed, and he grinned. “That was impressive, Miss. That last guy was a surprise we both didn’t see coming.” He took a deep breath. “It’s not that much further to the main road, Miss, but we’re about to lose night cover. I don’t think we’ve been followed, but there’s a chance they’ll pick up the search in the morning.”

A look of determination spread across Miss’ face and she stood up, wobbling a little on her feet before bracing herself on the trunk. “We should get going, then.”

Obi popped his shoulders before standing up too. “Follow me, Miss.”

…

The dull pounding at the back of her neck didn’t show signs of going away soon, but Shirayuki didn’t have time to dwell on it. As they walked, she grew accustomed to how her vision would somehow double, twin Obis nearly colliding in front of her, and how the ground would occasionally tilt beneath her. She could steady herself, most of the time, and when she couldn’t, Obi would press an arm against her waist until she was ready once more. He’d asked her once if he wanted him to carry her, and saw enough in her expression to not ask again.

They were passing into a clearing as the sun rose over the trees, the light striking the river in front of them and dazzling her eyes almost painfully. She squinted and shielded her eyes, and nearly bumped into Obi, who had stopped in his tracks, tilting his head and narrowing his gaze.

She was about to ask what was the matter when he let out a low string of curses.

Then she heard it too, the sound growing louder and clearer.

Dogs.

“Of course, he’d be the kind of lord who has hunting dogs,” Obi gritted before indulging in another low oath. “Come on, Miss,” he said grimly. “We have to go.”

He scooped her up and ran along the banks of the river, craning his head in search of something. Shirayuki looked from side to side, ignoring how it made her head spin.

“What are you looking for?”

“Waterfall,” he grunted, preoccupied. “It should be right about -” He stopped, a satisfied smirk creasing his face. “There.”

Shirayuki followed his gaze to see the waterfall in question, a few hundred yards away. She held tight to his neck as he sprinted, nimbly avoiding the muddy parts of the bank. Once he got to the base of the waterfall, he splashed them both through the spray, Shirayuki only just managing to bite her lip to keep from yelping in shock from the cold water.

“Sorry, Miss,” he apologized, “but the water-”

She nodded. Will keep the dogs from following our scent. She remembered as much from his lessons.

Obi began making his way up the damp, rocky incline, shielded from view by the torrential spray of the water. Shirayuki gently pushed at his chest. “Put me down.”

Obi frowned at her as he obliged. “What?”

“It’ll be easier for you to lead the way if you don’t have to worry about dropping me.”

“I always worry about you, Miss.”

And if that didn’t just do things to her heart that she wished she had the luxury to savor, but were too distracting at the moment. She placed her hand on his elbow. “I’m fine, lead the way.”

Obi’s shoulders tensed, then released, before he started his way up the glistening rock face. They climbed higher and higher, hands and feet seeking purchase on the damp stone. The ache at the back of her neck grew, augmented by the brightness of the sun on the water, and the relentless pounding of the falls as they met the river.

Obi glanced back at her, his expression at once relieved and sympathetic. He tapped her shoulder twice, and then pointed to a wide shelf of rock jutting further out from the cliff face, although it was still shielded by the waterfall. He guided her up to the shelf before helping her ease down into a seated position leaning against the stone.

She must have looked like she was about to say something, because he placed a finger on his lips before curving his hand around his ear. Shirayuki leaned forward a little, straining to hear. With effort, she could hear the yells of men spurring the dogs on, the dogs barking and baying, the sounds of riding crops striking horseflesh.

Leaning against the rocks, she shivered despite herself, and Obi knelt beside her, craning to listen even as he dropped an arm around her and rubbed her shoulder. Shirayuki curled into the warmth bracing her, and felt Obi’s breath hitch as he continued to stare out beyond the water.

After what felt like eons, the sounds of the hunt faded into nothing and left the two of them with just the sound of plummeting water and the thrum of Obi’s heart beneath her fingers. More eons passed before Obi finally relaxed, smoothly sliding from kneeling to sitting without letting go of her shoulders.

They sat there together for a long time, until the sky began to darken. Obi let out a deep breath and stood up. “Come on, Miss,” he beckoned. “I think they’ve given up for now. And it’s going to get cold soon. The sooner we get to the shelter of the trees, the better it will be for you.”

Shirayuki took the proffered hand and pulled herself up. The world spun for a moment, and she grinned to hide it. “Lead the way.”

Obi gave her a reassuring smile and turned to lead the way.

What happened next happened in a blur. She couldn’t tell if it was the dizziness, her muscles still unknotting from sitting for so long, the muddiness of her boots, or the slickness of the stone.

But suddenly she was slipping, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

“No!”

One moment she was canting to the side, too close to the rush of the water and the brink of oblivion. The next she felt a vice-like grip on both of her shoulders before she was flung bodily away from the edge, just missing the rock face. Gasping to regain her breath, she looked around. Obi was gone.

“Obi!” She barely managed to keep from running to look over the side of the ledge. There Obi was, holding onto the rocks that were slippery with water and blood from his scraped palms. She looked into his eyes and saw a resignation there that terrified her to her core.

She flung herself onto the floor and seized both his wrists. Obi tried to pull himself up, but the week of malnutrition and injuries was finally catching up with him, along with the fatigue and lack of sleep since their escape. His grip faltered.

Hers tightened.

Obi tried to push up with his feet but any rocks that could have helped were too far away. He looked up at her. “You have to let go!”

“No!” The fall was too far, the impact of the water could kill him.

“Miss! Now!”

She squeezed his wrists.

He exhaled. “Miss, I left a bag by those gnarled rocks, the ones that look like Lord Haruka on a bad day - so, everyday.”

Shirayuki giggled despite herself, a traitorous giggle that dissolved into a sob.

“The bag has strips of cloth in it. When it’s safe, go to the north,” he craned his neck to the side, “that way. The road should be about a half-mile away from here. Put a stake in the ground-”

“Obi!” He was talking like he was saying goodbye.

He continued over her. “Tie three strips around it, braid them. Then come back into the forest. Tie a strip to the second lowest branch of every third tree until you stop where you want to rest. The royal guard will know what to do, they should be passing by soon."

“Obi!”

“Don’t move until the ripples stop. The lord’s men should be far away now, but don’t take risks. At least no more than you’ve already taken.” He began twisting his wrists in her grip.

She held tighter. “You’re one to talk.”

Obi’s grin was barely visible through her tears. “They were all worth it, Miss.” The twisting intensified.

“Why?” She was crying in earnest now, her whole world narrowed to her white-knuckling grip and the man she was holding onto. “Why do you think it’s worth risking your life?”

“Because,” he swallowed hard, his face crumpling into a rawness she had never seen before, “I love you, Miss. I think I always have.”

Shirayuki pushed herself forward, grip resolute, and ignored the growing burn in her muscles. “You...love me?”

Obi sighed almost as if in relief, lassitude making his body limp in her grip. “More than life itself.”

Her heart was full of terror and exhilaration and anxiety and joy and a feeling like coming home. She craned her head towards his, feeling his gasps of air across her face as she moved closer.

She could feel his breath across her lips now. She leaned towards him.

And then he slipped through her fingers and was gone.

Despite every instinct screaming in protest, Shirayuki followed Obi’s instructions and waited for the ripples to stop. She probably wouldn’t have managed to do so if his body hadn’t resurfaced almost immediately after plunging beneath the water, his face mercifully turned upwards towards the sky. She clambered down the rocks until she couldn’t bear it any longer and dove into the water.

She swam quickly towards him, snagging his belt loops with her hands and pulling him along with her. Her muscles screamed for rest, but she ignored them as she inched the two of them closer to shore. 

Eventually, her feet scraped against the riverbed, and she was able to stand up and drag him onto the muddy bank. She wanted nothing more than to flop down beside him and sleep for years, but she stooped over him to check his pulse.

No pulse. No breaths.

Shirayuki almost couldn’t breathe herself.

Mechanically, she started compressions, the rhythm even and deep and punctuated with the plea please let it not be too late please let it not be too late.

She gave two breaths, wondering how the lips that had breathed out such warmth could be so cold now.

Please don’t die, she begged as she pounded his chest. Not now. Not ever. Especially not before I can tell you-

“I love you too,” she grunted with desperation and exertion before leaning down for two more breaths.

She was halfway through the compressions when he jerked to the side, water pouring from his mouth before he started coughing himself hoarse.

“Miss?” He was looking at her in wonder.

“You’re alive.” It was simultaneously the most obvious and most wonderful thing she had ever said. She would have flung herself about him, but he was clearly struggling to breathe. She settled for simply holding him close but gently.

“Miss?” He whispered hoarsely.

“I’m here. We’re safe, for now.”

He coughed. “Ribbons?”

“In a moment.” She held him tighter.

“Miss.” He sounded exasperated and tired. “The royal guard can’t find you and get you to safety if they don’t know -”

“Is that any way to talk to the woman you love?”

It felt good to tease. His tanned skin blanched, then flushed with a fury, then blanched again. He looked puzzled.

“But...you need to be safe, Mi-”

She placed a finger to his lips. “I do have a name, you know.”

He looked even more confused. She took pity on him, it had been a rough day. “Is 'Miss' really the way you want to address the woman you love?” His expression became apologetic and alarmed, which would not do. She bent down and brushed a kiss to his brow. “The woman who loves you too?”

Obi’s body went even more lax, a whirlwind of emotions blurring through his unguarded gaze before resolving into something like wonder. He reached up a shaky hand to curve around her cheek, and she placed her hand over his, rejoicing in its warmth and the pulse beating steadily through his wrist.

“Shirayuki.” It was a whisper, a promise, a pledge. It was everything.

She kissed his forehead ahead, a longer, lingering kiss. He looked awed, although the mischief she loved to see started to creep into his gaze. “You missed.”

Brushing aside the damp hair dripping into his face, she grinned. “When you’ve caught your breath.”

“You always leave me,” he coughed, “breathless, Miss.”

She tapped his nose. “Obi.”

He smirked, eyes already drooping with fatigue. “Shirayuki.”

Shirayuki curled around him, supporting his head in her lap. “Later, Obi,” she promised. “We have all the time in the world.”

Stubborn man that he was, he looked as though he wanted to continue to playfully protest, even as sleep pulled relentlessly at him. She gave him an affectionate look. “I love you.”

He melted. “I love you, too.”

And then fell asleep.

Shirayuki remained curled around him until his snores became deep and even. She left him alone only long enough to retrieve the bag and to tie the ribbons as he had instructed. But then she returned to his side, cuddling him close through the night and the morning, and she didn’t let go even when the royal guard found them.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Fanfic for @tolkiengenweek!

Title: The Castaway

Works Referenced: The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion

Characters: Legolas, Gimli, Maglor

The small grey boat sat completed on the shoreline, and the last of the supplies were being packed for the next morning’s expected voyage, when Legolas and Gimli looked up from their preparations to see a stranger on the beach. From his deeply-lined face and greying hair, Gimli might at first glance have thought him a Man of Gondor, were it not for the keenness of the eyes. 

Legolas’ hands went to his bow, and before Gimli could speak he had already notched an arrow and moved to stand between the stranger and the boat.

“Show your hands.”

The stranger held his hands out, palm up, and the right hand was curled and blackened to to second knuckle of the fingers, as though he had grasped a piece of metal new from the forge.

“Sit.”

The stranger sat in the sand, hands still held up in front of him.

Gimli at last found his voice. “Legolas, what are you doing? He is unarmed, he has offered us no threat, the Men of Minas Tirith assured us there were no evil things at the Mouths of Anduin - ”

“Evidently, the Men of Minas Tirith were mistaken.” Gimli had never heard such hate in Legolas’ voice, not even for Saruman or servants of the Enemy.  “I will explain. For the present, believe me when I say that this is such a threat as we have not faced since the War, and seldom during it. Now -“ returning his attention to the stranger - “how and why are you here, and why now, and for what purpose?”

The stranger spoke slowly and softly, his eyes fixed on the sand.

“A fortnight ago I was far to the south of here. In a dream, I saw the Mouths of Anduin, and a small grey boat, and two companions at a distance. I thought it only a dream, but it returned in the same form four nights more, and on the morn of the fifth day I saw a great flock of gulls flying north. I thought it might be a sign, though I have had none such since we left Valinor, and I came north to meet it. And here I find you. Am I right in thinking,” - he paused - “that you mean to leave these shores?”

“Yes.”

“Then I have come to ask - to beg - for you to take me with you.”

*****

Legolas had sent the stranger a little ways up the beach, so that the camp lay between him and the ship, before he turned to talk with Gimli.

“How much do you remember of the tales of the Elder Days told at Rivendell? Or at Erebor?”

“I know the tales of Beren and Lúthien and the Great Jewel, of Túrin the Doomed, of Nargothrond and Gondolin and the war against the Dark Enemy.” He also knew of the war of Doriath and Tumunzahar, but he suspected that Erebor and the Forest of Greenleaves had differing accounts.

“And of Fëanor?”

“The maker of the Jewels. His grandson was the Ring-maker deceived by Sauron, and a great friend of Khazad-dûm and of Dúrin the Deathless. His sign was on the doors of Khazad-dûm.”

Legolas narrowed his lips. “Yes. That is what many would remember, in these days. Some tales are too dark to tell lightly to outsiders, and too ill to tell for pleasure. The Elves remember, but few others care to, beyond the lore-masters. For our times are happier, at least in that we know our enemies from our friends.

“When the Dark Enemy slew the Lights that were before the Sun and Moon, and stole the Great Jewels, Fëanor and his sons swore to reclaim the Jewels and to slay any that possessed them, or else be doomed to Darkness Everlasting. To leave the Blessed Realm swiftly, they slew the greater part of my kin that lived there and stole their ships. In the long years when the Dark Enemy held the jewels, they never attacked him in his fortress, but when Beren and Lúthien freed the Jewel, and their son ruled as King of Doriath - ” Legolas paused and threw a hard look at the stranger. “They destroyed Doriath and slaughtered its people. They killed the King and Queen and their young sons, and when the King’s daughter escaped, they slew near all that remained of her people. But she was saved by the Lord of the Seas, and with her husband Eärendil the Mariner brought the Jewel into the West, and sought and received the aid of the Powers against the Enemy.”

“And what has this to do with our visitor?”

“He is Maglor, the last son of Fëanor. For his crimes he is barred from returning to the Blessed Realm; but he appears to be attempting it.”

“He seemed to think he had a sign from the Powers that it might be permitted.”

“The Fëanorians are liars, thieves, and murderers all. I trust him no more than I would an orc. While he is here, we keep a watch through the night. Keep an eye on him - and keep an eye on the boat!” *****

Legolas took the first watch, and woke Gimli at three in the morning. Maglor did not appear to have moved all night, nor was he sleeping; he remained seated silently, gazing out to sea. After an hour of boredom - he might as well have been watching a statue - Gimli approached the elf and sat down beside him. At the least, it seemed right for him to have a chance to speak for himself.

Gimli gave a small bow before seating himself. “Gimli son of Gloin, of Erebor and Aglarond.”

“Maglor Fëanorian. But your companion has told you that, and more.”

“Do you dispute any of it?”

The elf gave a faint shudder. “No.”

Maglor seemed thin, even for an elf, and wearier than any elf Gimli had ever seen. “Have you eaten?”

“A few fish, on the journey north.”

“Did you eat yesterday?”

“No.”

Gimli left him briefly to rummage through a pack at the camp. Lembas, a final gift from Queen Arwen of Gondor before her departure. He brought back a wafer with a mug of water and handed it to the elf. Maglor ate it slowly and with difficulty, as though it were cram rather than the much more savoury bread of the elves.

While Maglor ate, Gimli pondered, and fragments of old lays and legends came together in his mind, forming connections and the beginnings of an idea for taking the measure of this uncommunicative stranger.

"Do you know the tale of the Quest of Erebor?"

Maglor shook his head, still chewing.

Gimli told the tale, not as it was told on days of festival or winter gatherings in Dale and Erebor - dwarves did not criticize their kings lightly, or to outsiders - but as it was told by dwarven elders to youths, when they were old enough to think and consider and understand.  He told of Thorin's quest, for vengeance and for the treasure and kingdom of his forefathers; told of danger and daring and victory, of wrath and pride and dragon-sickness, of loss and of sorrow and renewal. And all the while he watched Maglor's expression closely.

He could read nothing clearly from the elf's face, though midway through the story he began tapping one finger lightly, as though keeping time with the rhythm of Gimli's account.  They sat in silence for a time once the story was ended, Maglor staring abstractedly into the distance, until at last he said, "I envy your king." His weariness seemed only to increase. "He fought with valour, and died at peace and in honour. It is more than many achieve."

The elf reached for a mug of water, but his hand passed right through it.  He tried again, and the same happened.  On the third attempt, he managed to pick it up in a solid hand.

Gimli shivered. This was too wraith-like for his liking. “Are you some manner of ghost or spirit?”

“Not yet.” Gimli gave him a questioning glance. “Given enough time, the spirit wears through the body. I am nearly there. If I remain much longer in Middle-earth, form will fade away; I will hear and see, but not taste or smell or touch; live in the world, but not act upon it.”

Gimli could scarcely think of a worse fate than being alive but unable to touch, to shape, to craft, to work. He was glad Mahal had had the wisdom to grant his people mortality.

The question had drawn Maglor's attention back to the journey before them. "I am sure you have more right to the journey than me, but may I ask how you come to be travelling to Valinor? I had not heard that mortals were permitted."

"There have been a few exceptions. I am not one of them, and cannot say I have been invited, as such. But Legolas is my dearest friend; the sea calls him, and I will not leave him, not so long as I have life. And even if mortals die swifter in Farthest West, as some say, still it would be worth many years of life to see the Lady Galadriel again."

Maglor started at the name. "You know her?"

"Aye; and count it one of the greatest fortunes of my life that have had the chance. Fairest and kindest and wisest of all whom I have known, with a dwarf's love for beauty and craftsmanship. Greatness without pride, and power without corruption. She cast down Dol Guldur in the war, where the old king Thrain was murdered; I wish I could have been there to see it!"

"Did she!" For the first time a smile flickered around Maglor's mouth. "She would have enjoyed that. I am glad one of us had victories, in the end."

"You know her?"

"Cousin Altáriel? We were never close. It has been long ages since I last saw her. But there is something to be said for shared exile, of a sort; the two in Middle-earth, since the Great War. I had not known she had been permitted to return. That is hopeful, at least; though our cases cannot be said to be alike."

Gimli's head was swimming. "Cousin?"

"Well - after a fashion. You have heard of my father," - with a rueful look - "and his half-brother, Galadriel's father, is king of the Noldor in the Blessed Realm."

It was exceedingly strange to think of the Lady as the child of someone still living, much less as the child of a king rather than a ruler in her own right. Gimli forced his thoughts back to relevant questions.

"You swore an oath to regain the Jewels. That Jewel, by the old legends." He gestured at the greying horizon. "Do you still intend to pursue it, if you return to Valinor?"

"I cannot." The elf's eyes went to his blighted hand. "I could not hold it, if I did. Nor would I seek to. I have lost all right to it. Let those that hold it keep it." His voice sank below a whisper. "As weregild, at least."

*****

"You spoke to him?" Legolas asked incredulously.

"You never forbade me to do so."

"I told you that he was dangerous! I told you that he could not be trusted! I would think the implication was obvious!"

"Well, whatever he was in the past, I cannot think he is dangerous now.  He is old, and he is tired, and and he is sorry."

"And you can understand him this well from one night's conversation! When you had not even heard of him before yesterday!"

"It is more than I would have understood otherwise. Why are you so afraid of me speaking to him? Or hearing and seeing some account of him other than your own? You did not mention that he was close kin to the Lady Galadriel!"

"If you think she would wish to see him again, you are mistaken.  Very much the reverse. The people he murdered were her kinsfolk as well as mine.  And if you would trust him over me so readily, that should give reason enough for why it is perilous to speak with him unwarily. Do you remember what Gandalf said to us of Saruman at Orthanc? Beware his voice. Not all power is in weapons."

"He is an elf like you, not a wizard - "

"He is not like me. In powers I am no more like him than the innkeeper in Bree is like Aragorn - or rather, like Ar-Pharazon! The elves of the First Age had strange powers, and yes, some of them were equal or greater in power than the wizards we have known. You will remember that Felagund himself fought alone against Sauron. This elf is known about all for the power of his music and his voice, and I have no wish to test it!"

"I assure you that I am not enchanted! It is not as though Saruman had any effect on me, beyond annoyance at his lies. Even if you were right about him, why would Maglor be any different?"

"Saruman was seeking to daunt us; and you are too brave and too stubborn for that.  But he got to Fangorn in the end, and Fangorn is no fool; and convinced him not through threats or temptations, but through pity. The kinslayer knows he has nothing to offer you or threaten you with, but if he can play upon compassion and seek to drive you to distrust me - "

"He did not. He denied nothing that you said, and he did not mention Galadriel until I had done so. Is it so impossible that he is sincere?"

"You do not understand the Fëanorians. Even grief and regret can be deceptive. Of all Maglor's works, the most famed is the one he wrote of the First Kinslaying, a song of sorrow and regrets.  It did not hold him back from slaying kin a second time, or a third, or making war against the Valar themselves. So his protestations of regret can mean little now.  Whether he is dissembling, or whether he means them truly, they have never stopped him before."

"He is dying. Or what passes for it among elves. Can you ask me to go to the West and tell the Lady Galadriel that I abandoned her kinsman to die?"

"He has more than earned it."

"So had Gollum. So had Saruman, when Gandalf and the Lady Galadriel both offered him mercy. Legolas, you say you fear I am bewitched, but it is you who do not sound like yourself.  You hate him so bitterly, you would leave him to die, for deed committed ten generations or more before my grandsires, in a past so distant it is scarcely memory?"

Legolas went taut, and his eyes flashed with rage. "The memories of mortals are short! His deeds live in the memory of my father, and my mother, and their fathers and mothers, who dwelt in Doriath when he attacked it and lost friends and family and home to his and his brothers' blades! No one is asking you to show pity for Azog! No one is asking you to invite Smaug into your family's home and last refuge!"

The words hit Gimli as a blow. He had to admit that he would never have spoken to another dwarf as he had spoken to Legolas. Dwarves had fought long and bitter wars over the death of their kings; not only against Smaug, but against the Orcs of Khazad-dûm and the cold-drakes of the north. And though Dúrin’s folk had never warred among themselves, other dwarven lineages had had long and bitter clan-wars over generations. If he had tried to tell another dwarf it was his duty save a bitter personal enemy, when there was blood between them, the conversation would quickly have come to ax-blows.

His opinion of the aged elf had not altered, and he had no wish to leave him behind; but it was not Gimli’s choice to make.

“You are right. I cannot understand what he has done to your people, and to your family. I have no quarrel with him, and so I have have not the right to pardon him. You are my friend; I trust your judgement and your wisdom; and the choice rightfully belongs to you.  Whatever you choose, I will go with you.”

*****

Legolas spent the afternoon in thought.

What were his reasons for refusing passage to Maglor? Certainly, Legolas hated the elf, but that alone was merely a sentiment, not a reason to condemn another person to death.

He is a murderer, and a threat, and his pretences to remorse cannot be trusted. He has killed, and repented; and killed, and repented; and killed, and repented; and so his repentance is meaningless. Should we bring danger and evil again into the one place in Eä free of it?

Even if all that was true, Maglor was only one elf. Could he reasonably be said to pose a danger to the Powers? If they considered him a threat, was there anything to stop them taking him prisoner immediately upon arrival? Even among the elves, Galadriel by herself was at least his equal, and there were likely others in the Blessed Realm as powerful as she or more so.

That argument, then, was weak.

He is barred from the Blessed Realm. He has chosen his own fate, and his own doom, and the scars on his hand proclaim it plainly. He cannot enter; and if we attempt to bring him, we may never find the path, or even be destroyed as the Númenoreans were when they defied the Powers’ judgements.

This argument was stronger. The judgement was not Legolas’, but that of the Valar, and one that Maglor had fully earned. Even the attempt to bring Gimli, a mortal and not a ring-bearer, depended on the Valars’ leniency; why try their patience further, for one to whom he owed nothing?

But did he know that Maglor was forbidden to return? Maglor felt he had been given a sign.

Maglor has proved time and time again that he cannot not be trusted. He might easily be lying, or deceiving himself.

But if he was not...

If he was not, Legolas was choosing to judge where the Valar had granted mercy.

There was no way to know. Either choice could be in error: to pardon where they had judged, or to judge where they had pardoned.

Legolas was not Galadriel, or one of the Elves of old. He had not spoken with the Valar; he knew of them only through distant and hazy legends.

And through their emissary. Mithrandir, who had urged pity for Gollum, pity that had saved them all. Who had offered mercy to Saruman, a traitor and orc-breeder far worse than Maglor. There could be little doubt what Mithrandir would have chosen.

And if there was risk to the choice, to Legolas and Gimli themselves, what of that? To abandon him to death for the sake of guarding their own lives was fear masquerading as justice.

It was cowardice.

So the second argument, too, failed.

But were either of these the true reason for Legolas’ refusal?

I am returning to Elvenhome, to all the generations of elves since the world began. I am returning to my kin, and perhaps my ancestors, and to all the people of Doriath. I cannot do so in the company of Maglor Fëanorian and a dwarf!

Legolas would be living among the elves of Eressëa and Aman, for the rest of his life. If he did this, he would alienate them from the start, and destroy the chances of his people ever accepting Gimli. It could scarcely offend more if it had been calculated to do so; it could not appear but as a deliberate insult, to arrive with the greatest enemies of Doriath by his side.

They were not the same.  They had nothing in common.  There was no more reason for anyone to blame Gimli for the actions of other dwarves two Ages ago than there was to blame Legolas for the deeds of Fëanor.  But the appearance of the thing could not help but have an effect; could not help but drawn connections; could not help but estrange him and Gimli alike from Legolas’ home and kin.

That was the true reason in his heart.

And acknowledged, it sounded ugly. Was he truly willing to condemn a person to death, or worse, merely to protect his own reputation? If he was too timid to bear disapproval or hostility for Maglor’s sake, would he also be too timid to bear it on Gimli’s account?

It was unacceptable. 

*****

In the evening, he spoke with Maglor.

“How can I have any assurance that you will not again bring violence to the Blessed Realm? If your oath still binds you, are you not a danger? And if it can be broken, what possible excuse could you give for not breaking it far sooner?”

Maglor answered the question as if he had been expecting it, but unsteadily, wavering from meeting Legolas’ eyes, to closing his own, to looking away at the sand or the sea. “We swore to pursue the Jewels, and we swore ourselves to the Darkness if we kept it not, and in keeping it we more than earned the Darkness. If I am condemned, I am condemned; more in the keeping than in the breaking; but I will pursue it no longer.”

“Why do you seek to return now, after so long? If you wished to seek pardon, surely there were others you could have asked, far earlier - at Mithlond, or at Imladris -”

Maglor gave a sharp shake of his head.

“You may as well call it cowardice, on both counts. I stayed away for long ages, for fear and for shame, of seeing any that I had known or letting them see what I had made of myself. I think I would have preferred death to mercy, but for fear, being in no hurry to meet the Darkness. And so I waited, and waited, and now I am out of time, and fear fading more than death or judgement. I cannot stay here, forever, to the end of the world, without any hope of asking mercy, without any chance of saying that I am sorry -”

“What do you expect, if you do return?”

“I do not know. I scarcely care. Let the Valar do with me as they will.”

It was difficult to disagree with Gimli’s reading of the old elf. More than anything, he seemed unutterably weary.

He is not harmless. He has killed hundreds, by his sword; thousands, by his commands.

And he is willing to answer for it.

And Legolas’ decision had, really, already been made.

“Come with us, then. We depart in the morning.”

Author’s Notes

I wrote this in a very fragmentary manner and I can’t say I’m entirely happy with it. But it’s going to nag at my mind until I post it, so it’s going up in its current state.

There are two main reasons I wanted to write this.

First, I wanted Maglor to be able to return to Valinor, and I felt it important that he be held answerable for his actions by someone affected by them. It’s something he chose not to do during all his years of exile - he could have turned himself in, to Círdan, to Thranduil, to Celeborn and Galadriel, and he didn’t, and by this point there are very few people left who would qualify. Legolas didn’t directly experience the Kinslayings, but his father and grandfather were Doriathrin so there’s a definite connection nonetheless. I think that Gimli’s conclusion, that Gimli has no right to grant mercy to Maglor because he has no grievance against him, is correct; pardon needs to be given by the wronged, or by someone with authority to judge.

Second, Legolas is, of all the Fellowship, the one who never faces any real trials and temptations during The Lord of the Rings. (Even Gimli has to vie with his terror of the Paths of the Dead.) The Ring is no temptation to him - he has no desire for power or glory or greatness. Neither battle nor the spirits of the Dead nor the road to Mordor seem to daunt him. So I wanted to create a story where he has to face temptation and overcome it and do a certain amount of soul-searching. And, as is the case with many people who haven’t had to face great trials, the strongest temptation is towards condemnation of those who have faced temptation and have failed.

So I’ve tried to balance those two somewhat conflicting ideas, the legitimacy of judgement and the moral necessity of mercy.

[rebornbythunder]

Bright Eyes, pt 2

Red was light on his feet as he bounded into the Pokemon center for the first time in what felt like a decade or more. The bright smile on the trainer's face wasn't lost on the Nurse Joy who took his pokemon from him for a moment, remembering his anxious and weary look from when he stopped by earlier in his trip.

"Your adventure going along well?" She asked, making small talk as she loaded the pokeballs into the machine, checking over Pikachu who refused to go inside his ball as per usual.

Red nodded enthusiastically in return, practically bouncing on his heels. "[I found exactly who I needed,]" he answered, not needing to get into any more details than that. He was offered a congratulations, assured that his Pokemon were all fighting fit once more, then dashed out the door without a word. He practically felt like a kid again.

Up the stairs to the hotel room he was staying at, Red didn't pause to talk to anyone. That was pretty common with trainers, but typically only from those still new on their journeys, or with places to be. Though, to be fair, Red did have places to be.

Once in his room, Red set Pikachu gently down on the bed, both trainer and Pokemon grinning like they were kids at Christmas. Red released Jess from her ball, who took a moment to stretch her legs before turning to look inquisitively at her trainer. Pikachu helpfully explained that she was about to meet their newest team member, and that they were going to explain the plan to them and see if they agreed to it. Jess bounced from paw to paw excitedly, before sitting down and staring directly at the pokeball on the bed.

Hardly holding back excitement, Red took his notebook from his bag, and set it on the bed as well, where Pikachu picked it up. Then, the battle-worn trainer gently pressed the button on the ball, letting their new companion out and into the room.

The newcomer rubbed his eyes, still new to the feeling of being materialized. As he adjusted, he looked up to see his new trainer, and his new teammates. He started at first, seeing Jess, but the older Pikachu explained quickly that she was part of the team, and part of the welcoming party.

A few things to start off! Pikachu chattered to the newcomer, who sat in rapt attention, eyes wide. This, he said, gesturing to his partner, is Red! He's our human. He doesn't use humanspeak the same way a lot of them do, but hand-humanspeak, because he doesn't make a lot of sound. You'll learn it eventually, but until then I can tell you what he's saying! He's my best friend, and we can talk to each other without using any kind of speak.

The newcomer nodded, and asked if he could one day learn to talk to Red without using speak. Pikachu thought for a moment, before shaking his head.

Probably not, he admitted, as Red went to get a chair to sit down. Looming over the two while Pikachu talked made him feel weird. Pikachu continued, We can only do it because of something bad that happened to us, that linked our minds. But you'll be able to read his hand-humanspeak, and he can understand pokespeak just fine.

Nervously, the new teammate asked if Red could understand what he was saying just then. Red nodded with a kind smile. The smaller pikachu looked up at Red, and offered a shy wave, trying to keep both Red and Pikachu in his focus now.

Pikachu continued. Now that you're part of the team, let me tell you about some of the things we do. He flipped open the notebook, searching for the page where the plans were doodled. He couldn't read any human languages, but that's why the plan was drawn instead of written. As he looked, he kept speaking.

Back before I decided to stay a Pikachu forever, every few months Red and I would talk about if it was time to evolve. That's where you come in, if you want to. We're never going to ask you to do something like that if you aren't ready. Pikachu reached the page, and laid the notebook in front of the newcomer, six little pokemon doodles on the page. Clearly, there was one for Jess, and the Pikachu was very obviously meant to be the one standing before the newcomer now.

This is the team that we're planning, Pikachu explained. Raichu that evolve here in Alola look different, and are different, than ones that evolve anywhere else in the world. He tapped the paper, where a rough approximation of a Raichu was. Red was not an artist. That's why we came here, to get a Pikachu who would want to evolve into one of these special Raichu. And we found you! But if you decide you're not ready, or don't want to, we won't be disappointed at all. It's totally up to you, okay?

The newcomer's eyes absolutely lit up. He was caught for a purpose other than just his shiny fur. He'd run so many times from trainers just seeking him as a trophy, people who would just put him in a box to look at and brag about, he'd overheard them talking about it. But this was different! He was wanted because he could be special in other ways! He grinned and wiggled excitedly, and nodded.

Then the newcomer paused, before speaking up. I'll do it, but on one condition!

Pikachu folded his arms, not sure about the new guy making demands so early, but wasn't about to shoot him down just yet. Okay, he began, what's the condition?

The orange-tinted pokemon grinned, and perked up. Only if you be my mentor! You have to promise!

Is that all? Pikachu grinned, and offered the newcomer his tail to shake. You've got a deal! He chirped. The younger pokemon linked tails and shook, cheeks faintly sparking in excitement. When they broke apart, Pikachu stepped away, giving the newcomer plenty of space. The younger pokemon even backed up a few steps, and looked up at Red expectantly.

Red, on cue, reached into his bag. The stone he pulled out was old and worn, something he'd been carrying around for the better half of a decade, just in case. Finally, it was time for it to be put to use. Red set the stone down on the bed, in front of his new companion.

"[Whenever you're ready,]" Red signed, Pikachu translating for him.

The newcomer looked intensely at the stone, then up at his new friends. He took a deep breath, stepped forward, and put a paw to the stone.

The room filled with light. The sight of evolution, something Red hadn't seen in a very, very long time in his isolation, was something he would always find incredible. He forced himself not to squint in the light, wanting to see every moment of the event.

Soon, the light faded, and there the newcomer stood, slowly opening his eyes from the blinding light he had emitted. Once orange-tinted fur, now a dark chocolate, and once dark eyes gone now a bright, shining blue. He adjusted to the new shift in perspective, suddenly near double his previous height, looking down at his mentor, nervous to hear what he thought.

What Pikachu thought, at first, was not even his own thought. What Pikachu first thought was, Oh my god, he's so cute, he looks like a chocolate biscuit. That, of course, was Red's thought, loud and intense as the trainer struggled to not burst into tears on the spot. Pikachu just grinned, and sent back a thought in return.

Why don't we ask if that's what he'd like to be called?

Thats an AMAZING idea.

Pikachu aproached his new mentee, and put a hand on his arm- he was too short to put one on his shoulder. You look great! He chirped, and the newcomer relaxed visibly. Red has started giving the pokemon he teams up with nicknames, and he wants to know if you were okay with going by Biscuit! He says you look like one, and it's cute.

The newcomer- Biscuit- grinned and nodded enthusiastically. He liked the name, he liked being appreciated, and he liked the way everyone looked at him not as a thing but as a real, living being. He liked the way Red was bouncing excitedly, twisting his hands around in place just looking at him. He was a companion, he had a name he wasn't a trophy but part of a team! It was more than he had ever dreamed of, and he'd been with them for less than half a day.

Biscuit looked at Pikachu, and smiled. What's your nickname, then? He asked.

Pikachu shook his head with a grin and slightly puffed out his chest, single ear tall and proud. I'm just Pikachu! The one and only! Red reached over and gave Pikachu an affectionate pet, and the pokemon chattered happily.

The trainer held out his free arm wide, offering Biscuit a chance to come in for a hug. The newly evolved pokemon accepted enthusiastically, running into Red's arms and snuggling against his chest. Jess, in turn, snuggled up against Red's side, as Pikachu moved from his position being pet, up onto his rightful perch on Red's shoulder.

There was warmth, love, and healing in that room. Red was moving on. Moving forward. Pikachu was going back once again to teaching a pokemon the ropes, mentoring as head of a team. Biscuit was moving into a team, a family, that loved him already, adopting him into the fold not for his special coloring, not as a trinket to brag about, but because they wanted him for him. And Jess, well. She was experiencing community, bonds that so few of her kind experienced in all their lifetime.

For the first time in a long time, each of them felt whole.

[joannevixxon]

Love Comes At A Cost

An Elsamaren fanfic by JoanneVixxon on AO3

Summary:

The Fifth Spirit is one of many myths that came to life. And, not all myths are meant to be saviours in times of woe.

Just as Arendelle welcomes Queen Anna into her reign, the Northuldra wade through their newfound freedom under Elsa’s protection. Unbeknownst to them, lurking behind shadows awaits a monster whose anger finds peace in the demise of innocent lives. 

[Chapter 1: Anna’s Astute Mind]

Preview: “How ever cold a fortitude of silence Elsa bore, it melted, came undone at the seams, shed its mask of immaculate armour, once Elsa leaned forwards to rest her elbows languidly against the railing, as if to ask for back rubs instead. Like a steed to its master, the Queen of Ice and Snow bowed her head ever so slightly to her Northuldra companion.”

[Chapter 2: This Warmth Has A Name] 

Preview: “This warmth. It has a name. Proclaimed at times most opportune. Sometimes it teeters at the edge of one’s lips— nothing more daunting than to have its existence brought center stage. It had always been there in Elsa’s life. Lurking behind curtains when Anna met her closed doors. Burning bright in her mother’s lullabies. It was Elsa’s oldest companion. The hot to her cold. The light to her dark. The quencher of her fears.”

/////////////////////////\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

Chapter 2: This Warmth Has A Name

It all started three weeks before, when Elsa had just turned twenty-six. 

Along with Honeymaren, Ryder, Yelena and the others, Elsa celebrated her “sorta-quarter- of-a-century birthday”— as Anna proclaimed it at every seizable opportunity— in Arendelle. A full week and a half whizzed through before anyone could fully revel in Christmas celebrations and solstice festivals. For the first time in forever, Arendelle stood hand in hand with the Northuldra, to ring in the winter season with a Yule Bell that sat atop the castle’s facade. 

It flourished into a jubilant eleven days, complete with every variant of chocolate-drenched dessert imaginable— fruits with chocolate fondue, chocolate mousse, chocolate tiered cake, chocolate parfait, you could go on forever. The doors to the Great Hall were kept open for the citizens of Arendelle to dance, savour the taste of scrumptious treats and seek refuge from the crisp winter air. As per Queen Anna’s request, the castle kitchen stocked a hefty supply of lutefisk to keep Elsa’s cravings at bay for another week or two. 

Elsa honestly couldn’t have dreamt of a more perfect occasion for which she could spend time with her family and friends, Arendellian and Northuldra alike.

She returned to the Enchanted Forest at night, welcomed at last by the quiet noise of forest critters and sea breeze. Though her body was tangibly there, kissed by the smoke wafting from campfires, Elsa’s mind had remained to saunter through the hustle and bustle of Arendelle’s winter parties. That was, until she realised how pensive Honeymaren had been throughout their journey to Northuldra. 

The two had yet to reach the level of intimacy that Elsa and Anna shared. Despite the stark contrast in their characters, the two sisters could detect each other’s disquietude in as much time as it did a whiff of chocolate from the kitchens— in other words, immediately. Aside from a chilly draft whisking into the room, Elsa had the habit of pressing into her palm where her gloves used to cause an itch, arching shoulders, vacillating around any space you’d call a window or a balcony. Anna usually stammered her way into a blabber, biting her bottom lip, flailing her hands and pacing in a spot altogether.

But what about Honeymaren?

Elsa dawdled her way to Honeymaren, who sat quietly on one vacant bought at their usual spot around the campfire, petting the nape of a baby reindeer. 

“Is this seat taken?” asked Elsa out of courtesy.

Honeymaren lips curved into a weary smile as she shook her head. Hesitantly, Elsa plopped down beside her.

“Honeymaren,” said Elsa, trying not to sound like an overly concerned parent. She settled with a tone of affability, with just a hint of nonchalance. “Are you okay? You’ve been a bit quiet,”

Honeymaren paused to survey their camp. Young brothers and sisters were plagued with a fit of giggles as they chased one another down on winter-crusted soil. In the large, oddly extravagant shed of ice— courtesy of none other than Elsa— reindeer herders could be seen sharpening their spears and daggers. Nourishing the camp with youthful music were the elders, who were either blowing into fadno flutes or plucking zithers. The night was as lively as it was serene.

“I’m okay. Just tired,” said Honeymaren. “Thanks for asking, Elsa. I appreciate it,”

Elsa tensed at the curt response, as she gently petted the baby reindeer’s hind. Somewhere amidst the reindeer’s soft coos of bliss, she hoped to find a balm to her fluttering heart. “Was Arendelle... a bit too much?” asked Elsa, though her question aimed furtively to the droopy-eyed calf. “I understand if it’s too noisy and colourful and overwhelming—”

“What? N-No, no at all, Elsa,” stuttered Honeymaren. Quickly peering into Elsa’s eyes, she placed a hand on Elsa’s back. “I love coming to Arendelle. The things you do with lingonberries! Who knew they could be tastier than they already are? And those boxes that magically tell you the time—?”

“Clocks...?”

“Clocks! They’re amazing!” Honeymaren let out a chuckle.

Every tendril of muscle in Elsa’s body melted as Honeymaren rubbed her back. Any average citizen of Arendelle wouldn’t dare to come three feet into Elsa’s space, let alone rest a finger upon her cool skin. But, the Northuldra saw physical contact as a means of sharing one’s innermost sentiments, relaying passions upon the slightest brush of one’s shoulder, speaking louder than words, unvarnished and raw. 

“I’d go there everyday if I could...” said Honeymaren wistfully before looking away. There it was again. The look of apprehension shot to the ground, as if the hook of a piercing gaze could fish a fickle dream out from the barren soil. “I want to know everything there is about Arendelle... And the world beyond...”

This restless demeanor was anything but foreign to Elsa. She’d seen it countless times in the eyes of a young blonde, trapped on the other side of her mirror. The Forest to Honeymaren was perhaps what queendom was to Elsa in its dying months. A cage with its doors left ajar. A set of chains with its keys jangling by one’s feet. A trap, tattered, loose and unhinged. 

The prospect of breaking free from a prison that was once home, was becoming less and less an elaborate fantasy to Honeymaren and more an optional reality.

And it terrified her. 

The unknown. 

“I should bring you over more often,” said Elsa, before realising what had tumbled out of her lips. “I-I should introduce you to everyone. Give you a tour around the whole kingdom. See my favourite views, my favourite hiking trails...”

“Really?” Honeymaren’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You’d do that? For me?”

“Of course,” said Elsa in a daze. “Anywhere you want to go in Arendelle. I’m more than happy to bring you around,”

Honeymaren’s smile stretched from ear to ear. Just as Elsa opened her mouth to ask what had truly ruffled Honeymaren’s feathers, the brunette cradled the baby reindeer in her arms and rose to her feet, never leaving Elsa’s eyes unattended. “I want to show you something,” She cocked her head to the side and extended a hand.

Elsa stood, her hand fastening in Honeymaren’s. For someone who could triumph over her brawn of a brother in a spar, who could hang from a tree upside down, who could hold a baby reindeer then in the crook of one arm, Elsa never found Honeymaren’s hands any less delicate in her clasps. Elsa caressed her thumb over Honeymaren’s, making sure to come off as habitual than deliberate. Sure enough, her skin was just as soft as her touch.

“What is it?” asked Elsa, curiously.

Honeymaren bumped shoulders with Elsa and winked. “You’ll see,”

Fingers intertwined, Elsa let Honeymaren lead her to whatever it was she wanted Elsa to see, stealing glances to the back just in case her snowflakes had stalked them from above. 

Elsa was in control. For now. 

Into a small clearing, they entered, greeted by the soft amber light of a solitary campfire, on top of which perched a steaming pot of burbling stew. Several wooden shafts neatly lined the outskirts of the area, adjoined by several twines knotted in perfect bows. 

Had Yelena decided to bring a semblance of Arendelle’s lamp posts into the forest as decor? 

Once Honeymaren drew Elsa to the campfire, she jogged back to the tents to deposit the slumbering baby reindeer. It suddenly struck Elsa that Honeymaren had brought the reindeer along as an excuse to leave Elsa for a moment. 

Something was about to happen. Something special. Elsa sensed it. Hoped for it. Wished upon a thousand stars.

Out from the thick blanket of looming shadows, Honeymaren reappeared, with what seemed to be everyone else from the camp. Elsa fidgeted with loose strands of hair as the area flooded with family after family— little boys and girls, mothers and fathers, and elders. All eyes locked on her. With Elsa’s tension palpable from miles away, Honeymaren hastily returned by Elsa’s side with a reassuring smile, clasping one of Elsa’s hands with both of her own. For the first time since fleeing from her coronation ball, Elsa’s heart yearned to burst free from her rib cage. 

Could everyone see her tremble? Was she freezing the floor? Was that her snow?

Yelena finally stepped out, wearing the widest grin Elsa had seen from her. She took Elsa’s other hand, as did everyone else with each other’s shoulders, forming a human spiral.

“Elsa,” said Yelena, her deep voice stoic yet tender. “You and your sister have granted our people a freedom we have long abandoned in our prayers. For all the despair that has consumed us for the worst part of thirty-four dark years, you have kindled a flame of hope within our hearts, motivating our people to take steps in mending old wounds, to discover what lies beyond this sacred forest, to unite and thrive together as a community, and to live to our fullest potential. For your undying love to our families, we dedicate a vuelie to you, as a symbol of eternal gratitude,”

In an instant, the camp broke into song— into a vuelie that Elsa hadn’t heard before. 

Yet, its lilt was as foreign as it was familiar. Elsa’s magic pulsed through her veins to a rhythm not so different. Its cadence reverberated through Elsa’s bones, lulling her storm of thoughts to the peaceful voice she heard ringing in her ears. 

Her mother. Her siren. Her call. 

This was a vuelie, specially made for Elsa.

Elsa opened her eyes, to see the forest painted in a blue haze, by the ocean of fireflies buzzing behind barren trees, by the moonlit sky splashed a river of stars, by Bruni’s fire which blazed along the posts and their ropes. 

Elsa felt her entire body shrouded in warmth. This warmth. It has a name. Proclaimed at times most opportune. Sometimes it teeters at the edge of one’s lips— nothing more daunting than to have its existence brought center stage. It had always been there in Elsa’s life. Lurking behind curtains when Anna met her closed doors. Burning bright in her mother’s lullabies. It was Elsa’s oldest companion. The hot to her cold. The light to her dark. The quencher of her fears. 

Breathing life in as far as it echoed, the vuelie hushed too soon after it began and so did the soft buzz of forest critters. Elsa blinked into space, floating into reverie.

Yelena shot Honeymaren a glance, before turning to look at Elsa again. “Also,” continued Yelena with a smile. “Happy Birthday, Merry Christmas, and have a Happy New Year, Elsa,”

This warmth. It was Love. It swaddled her, as if to celebrate her own being— once Princess of Arendelle, once Queen, now Fifth Spirit, now Elsa in her truest element. Elsa felt loved. For all her beauty and flaws, she was loved.

Years of preserving queenly composure crumbled as tears rolled down Elsa’s cheeks. The entire camp stood dumbfounded in silence.

Yelena seemed like she contemplated a gesture of consolation— a squeeze on Elsa’s shoulder, perhaps. In the end, she simply coughed into a fist. “It was Honeymaren’s idea,”

“H-Hey—” stuttered Honeymaren, panicking as Elsa’s weeps turned to sobs. “Elsa, are you—”

Elsa pulled Honeymaren into a tight embrace, knocking the wind out of Honeymaren’s lungs as their chests collided. They had never been this close, whimpers seeping into Honeymaren’s ears, shoulders trembling against Honeymaren’s chin. 

Worrying others for her personal turmoil was a peeve of Elsa’s that stood the test of time. And yet, she prayed for all that she felt bellowing within the confines of her tightening chest to find its way to Honeymaren’s heart. To have the burden of inexplicable pain be carried in companionship, than in solitude. To be taken care of. To be shared. To be understood.

Careful arms wrapped around Elsa. First hesitant, then resolute, Honeymaren rubbed Elsa’s back in a way she knew best— with fondness. Slowly, Elsa’s hug grew limpid. Her sobs lulled to heavy breaths. The weight of her arms rested on Honeymaren’s shoulders. 

She felt at ease.

If Decadence made itself the crux of one’s love, it would’ve taken the form of a human being named Honeymaren. She was as sweet as her name suggests. As soothing a balm as honey. 

“Thank you, Honey,” mumbled Elsa into Honeymaren’s collar. “ I love… I loved it,”

Yelena snickered, ambling away from the two. “Told you,” she said to another elder in a loud whisper. “If it’s Elsa, ‘Maren’ is never going to be her nickname,”

Elsa pulled away an inch, blushing. “Honeymaren,” 

“Yes?” replied Honeymaren, eyes widening.

“I-I meant to say ‘Honeymaren’,” Elsa looked furtively to the crowd around them, voice still cracking. “I don’t know why I said ‘Honey’. Well, I-I mean I do know. I just thought about how sweet you— t-this— was. You can be sweet. You are sweet. Goodness gracious. I didn’t mean—”

“Elsa,” said Honeymaren softly, wiping the tears off of Elsa’s pink cheeks. “You can call me Honey,”

“Oh... Oh, okay,” Sniffling, Elsa threaded her fingers through her blonde hair. “Only... if you want me to...”

“I’d like that very much, Elsa,” Honeymaren stroked Elsa’s knuckles with a thumb, blotting out any certainty Elsa had in the furtiveness of her caresses just moments before. Honeymaren hugged Elsa again. This time tighter. Warmer. “I love… I’d love that very much,”

__________________

Turns out that pot at the centre of the camp had bidos simmering away. It was a Northuldra stew that Elsa took delight in but had mixed feelings for— what with the carrots, potatoes… and reindeer meat. The thought of eating Sven, or the dozens of baby reindeer she coddled every morning with warm hugs and icy fractals, had always hovered above her head when she ate bidos, too nebulous to be tucked away, too vile to be hidden and ignored. 

Herding reindeer for sustenance was just something that irked Elsa. Or, perhaps, it wasn’t reindeer herding, but the sad reality that furry creatures live in as both epitomes of cuteness and victims of slaughter. Would she feel the same way about whitefishes used for lutefisk or chickens used for roasts, had she lived this close to her food?

“Onto your second helping?” teased Honeymaren, sitting beside Elsa. She pretended to thoroughly inspect Elsa’s bowl of bidos. “How unlike you,”

Elsa daintily covered her mouth with her fingertips as she swallowed, snapping out of her ponderance. “I like it,” said Elsa with a simper. “I want to… relish in this moment,”

“Oh?” said Honeymaren, intrigued. “And what kind of moment is this for you?”

Elsa’s eyes fluttered closed as she attempted to immerse herself in her five senses. The past year of meditation practices had proved this to be second nature. “I can see everyone having fun, dancing in the moonlight, chatting around the campfire… I can hear the echoes of my vuelie ringing in my ears.... The waft of embers tickling my nose…”

Honeymaren rested her chin on Elsa’s shoulder at this point. Maybe it was sisterly instinct, or better yet, a jolt of courage bestowed by the gods of sympathy themselves. Either way, Elsa found herself stroking Honeymaren’s head. 

Elsa figured that fatigue had washed over the brunette, being the mastermind of Elsa’s surprise. Elsa herself had a hand in planning a surprise for Anna’s 19th birthday and that culminated with a snowgie-infested cold. 

Surprises were no easy feat.

Elsa felt grateful but guilty, indebted to Honeymaren’s acts of kindness, compelled to repay her with the same sweet type of affection. A strong compulsion then surged into her conscience, coaxing her to try something that she’d seen Anna do to Kristoff time and time again. Gulping, Elsa threaded her fingers through Honeymaren’s thick black hair, and slowly, gently, casually, massaged her scalp. 

Honeymaren was pleasantly warm to the touch, like blankets that had been soaked overnight in body heat, or carpet tassels lazed before hearths. As if Honeymaren’s own body had betrayed her adamancy to not respond— not through the weakest of whimpers or the softest of sighs— she grew warmer and languid as Elsa’s fingers leisurely ventured their way from her crown to the spot behind her ear, before finally adding pressure right where her head met her nape.

Her silence was stifling to Elsa. Perhaps, there would’ve been no harm in continuing with a description of this moment. Which human sense was this? Touch? Once a taboo to Elsa. Now, an unspoken language of Elsa’s deepest desires. “The feeling of… your hair… in my hand,”

Honeymaren chose that moment to flinch away, staring intensely at the crowd, whose backs were all that could be seen from their seats. Elsa figured her caresses had truly gone unnoticed this time. Did Honeymaren hate head massages? Did Elsa cross a line? She should’ve asked. She wasn’t thinking through…

“I-I’m sorry,” stammered Elsa, hoping to squeeze some wisdom out of her thick skull as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I shouldn’t have— Not everyone— I’m sorry,”

Something tickled Elsa’s wrist. Looking between her fingers, Elsa found Honeymaren trying to clasp her hand. Her soft grip seemed to say “look at me” and “look away”, all at once.

“Sounds like four senses,” whispered Honeymaren, her hot breath tickling Elsa’s ear. “That leaves taste,”

Elsa’s shoulders arched. “O-Oh… Well... I can taste bidos... lingering on my tongue,”

Honeymaren peered downwards, paying no heed to Elsa’s awkwardness. “I haven’t had the chance to... have a taste,”

Elsa took a deep breath. 

One thing she’d learned from Anna and Kristoff was that couples spoke in code, like a cypher of romance. Just that, she didn’t know if Honeymaren had actually meant to use it. 

They were merely friends after all.

So, was Honeymaren flirting? Or… Was she asking for a bowl of bidos? Was Elsa supposed to lean forwards and kiss her? Or stand up… and… grab Honeymaren a bowl of bidos? 

Should she ask what Honeymaren meant? 

That would’ve been pathetic. 

An embarrassment.

Time stood still, arms crossed, as Elsa listened to the cacophony of her thousand bickering thoughts. Her silence reeked the scent of docility. It was tempting. Magnetising. 

As if their proximity wasn’t all too indicative, Honeymaren inched closer.

Not before long, a strong gust of wind suddenly meandered its way through the crowd, taunting them with a sweep of dust and leaves. 

“Mama!”

“Be careful of the fire, sweetheart!”

“What the...?”

“Is that—?”

“It’s winter! The last thing we need is wind!”

“Hush! Do not anger the spirits!”

In a heartbeat, the gust of wind halted before Elsa and Honeymaren, circling in a spot by their feet. Everyone spun around to trail the beast of a breeze, as Elsa and Honeymaren shifted away from each other, putting enough room to fit a reindeer between themselves. 

Honeymaren dipped her face into her palms.

“G-Gale?” called Elsa, acutely aware of everyone’s curious stare. The change in mood hit her like a whiplash. “Is that you?” 

Gale swivelled around Elsa’s wrist, yanking her by the arm. Stumbling forwards, Elsa found herself falling on all fours, palms digging into dirt.

“Gale? What’s wrong? What happened?” asked Elsa, flicking dirt away from her hands. She could tell how frightened the Wind Spirit was by its frantic whiffs.

The breezy spiral around her arm brought with it some dark liquid. As the embers of the campfire flickered across the soil, Elsa caught sight of a red tinge. 

It was blood.

“Water has memory…”

Holding her breath, Elsa blasted a small stream of ice, letting Gale reconstruct a scene they had witnessed. Building layers upon layers, the snow congealed into ice, and the ice crystallised into a sculpture of intricate detail. 

The crowd broke into murmurs of fright and confusion.

The sculpture took the form of a Nothuldra man with his back against a boulder. A dagger was unsheathed, perched atop unclenched fists. There was only so much that could be deciphered. But, that figure was as lifeless as it could have been for an ice sculpture. 

His hair was unkempt, nose wide, brows thick and chiseled.

Everyone made no mistake in thinking that it was Ryder.

Elsa didn’t dare turn to face Honeymaren. 

She shut her eyes and grimaced, bracing for a shriek, a swooning body, a clambering towards the sculpture, as she had done with Anna’s frozen form years ago. Instead, she found Honeymaren seemingly turned into a statue herself, speechless and riveted to the ground. 

Elsa felt as if her body was dunked into the depths of Ahtohallan.

“Honeymaren,” called Yelena, squeezing her way out from the crowd. She trotted to the two young women. “Honeymaren. What’s Ryder—“

“The reindeer,” stuttered Honeymaren, her voice suddenly small. “The herd… was missing one or two reindeer. He went to look for them where they were last grazing on lichen,”

Jumping to her feet, Elsa strode to a stream trickling down close by. “Nokk!” called Elsa, voice laced with panic. “Nokk, we have to go! Gale, lead the way,”

Amidst the yelps of awe and shock from the crowd, a vehement neigh echoed throughout the forest and a ferocious water horse emerged with a splash. Gale circling beneath her soles, Elsa mounted Nokk without an inkling of hesitation.

Elsa was about to click her heel when Honeymaren ran towards them with a staff in hand. “Lemme come with you,” said Honeymaren, as a statement rather than a request.

“Honey,” replied Elsa, her heart aching. “It might be dangerous. I—“

“No! Stop!” Honeymaren tugged Elsa by her knee. “He’s the only family I have left! If anything happened to him, I need to see it with my own two eyes. Please.”

Elsa paused as those very eyes filled with hot tears. She’d do the same for Anna. How obtuse must Elsa be to deny Honeymaren this right? 

“Okay,” said Elsa, extending a hand. Time was of the essence. “We do this together,”

[luzeliza29]

Chapter 4 of Obsidian

The heavy afternoon sun was high in the sky as Amalia and the man stepped out of the forest. The sight of their horses was a welcome sight to Amalia. After escaping the Ilele, they both had walked tiredly out of the forest, the silence between them filled with the sound of crunching leaves underneath their feet and the sound of birds, yet no tinkling bells.

The man bowed deeply when they reached the forest’s edge. “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t know if there’s anything I could possibly do to thank for saving my life. Hell, I think you saved not just my life but my soul as well.”

Amalia gave the man a weary smile. “You’re welcome. Honestly, though, I wasn’t even sure how to defeat it, it was mostly lucky intuition that we survived.”

She untied her horse and prepared for travel once again.

The man got down on one knee and took her hand in his. “If you will have me, I will be at your service until you feel that my life debt to you is repaid. It is my honor and duty to do so for such a brave woman such as yourself”

For a moment Amalia thought the man was joking until she saw the complete seriousness in his eyes and realized that this young man was absolutely serious about binding himself into her service.

She laughed a little. “You don’t have to do that. I admire your adherence to honor, but I’m not royalty. I’m just a woman and your thanks are enough for me.” She turned to get on her horse. “You and I can go our separate ways now.” With a joking smile, she told him, “just be careful next time. And if you see a woman dancing and singing in the middle of the forest, maybe you should assume that she probably just wants to eat you.”

“At least let me escort you to the next town over.  That is, if you wouldn’t mind the company for such a short while” the man said.

With the reins in her hands, she looked at him with a slight half-smile. “I suppose not. I’ve been traveling alone for a while now. I wouldn’t mind a little company.” She extended her hand to him “My name is Amalia.”

He shook her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Amalia. My name is Nathaniel Sewell. But you can call me Nate.”

They set out on their horses and onto the winding road before them. The rays of sunlight shining in between the trees have the woodlands around her a feeling of ethereal beauty.

Amalia thought back to the Trisgol she saw earlier. Was this what it was warning her about? The Ilele? No, that didn’t feel right. The impression she was left with was of something even more terrible, something that ran chills up her spine in uneasiness. She had hoped that everything was going to be okay now, but she still felt like something was…. off. She felt as if something else, something worse was waiting for her, and she had no other choice than to keep going and face it. She glanced at Nate. Was it him? She didn’t think so either. However, she felt curious to know more about Nate. He certainly wasn’t a normal man, she felt sure he had some magic inside of him also.

“So, Nate tell me where you’re heading. You seem like a seasoned traveler to me. Like someone who’s seen a thing or two” Amalia asked.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ve spent quite a few years of my life traveling and exploring. Done some things. Met some interesting people I suppose. I’ve realized that the world I grew up in is so much more… interesting…. then I thought it was, but in the end, I suppose I’m just trying to find myself and maybe get some answers”

“Have you got any stories? Any tales of daring adventures” she asked.

He chuckled. “Maybe a few. Perhaps more than a few.”

“ I used to sail in my younger years. And it was really amazing. Amazing and terrifying. The ocean’s this endless expanse of unknown territory. One time, my crewmates and I were just doing some regulatory work patrolling the sea and we this shimmer in the water far off. It was coming towards us and we were all kind of hoped it’d be some sort of mermaid, the ones in the stories. ” The man’s face looked forward wistfully. “Alas, I couldn’t have been more wrong”

“Something worse, I’m guessing”

“Unfortunately, yes. While we were waiting the captain told us to ready the harpoon. Turns out it was this gigantic sea serpent. It rose up from the water like a shining metal tower. And when it opened its mouth you could see that it had row upon row of sharp teeth. I was scared shitless, but my captain, he was no stranger to this particular sea serpent.”

“We took a harpoon and we hurled it at the great beast. My captain was so crazily nonchalant about the whole thing though. He was smoking his cigar the entire time”

Amalia laughed. “He sounds like quite the man.”

“He was one of the best men I’ve ever met. Anyways we shot that massive serpent again and it crashed down back in the water again. I was amazed and we were all ready to break out the ale as a celebration, but my captain told us that we had haul our asses away from here because we had only just killed a baby serpent and the mom was going to come after us if we didn’t get away fast enough.”

“That’s insane”

“I couldn’t believe it either, but we got away as quickly as we could and back to land. My rookie self got used to all the craziness on the open sea. Eventually. And believe it or not, I’ve seen worse.”

“Do you miss it? It sounds like you enjoyed it.” Amalia asked.

“Sometimes, but I left it all behind.”

Amalia wondered why, but she didn’t want to press on what seemed like a sensitive subject.

“And what about you? You seem just as much of a traveler as me.”

“I suppose you could say I’m a researcher and I’m always looking for answers. The world is so much more than what we can see.” She rolled up her sleeves and showed him her tattoos. “These” She pointed to her tattoos. “they let me sense the world around me and channel some of that energy, some may even call it magic.”

“That’s amazing”

“Do you want me to show you? Give me your hand” They stopped their horse, and she took his hand in hers, their palms pressed together.

“Don’t be scared.” She looked up at him, her eyes glowing completely white.  “I can sense magic inside of you too.” She could feel a swell of emotion inside of him too. She could feel his confusion, his hopelessness, and his anger. It felt at odds with his caring demeanor. She looked at his brown eyes and the smile lines on his face and saw a very caring man.

“Magic. Like black magic?” He said. She noted the sound of worry in his voice.

The light from her tattoos extended into Nate’s skin, tracing his skin in lines of light that ran along his body. “You’re quite a curious person, you know. But you’re not evil or bad.”

He breathed a sigh of relief.

“The type of magic I use allows me to connect to others. It’s not like what witches do, so please don’t burn me at the stake. It’s like an extra sense. Kind of akin to a metal conductor, but I conduct magical energy.”

“What you can do is amazing. Is that how you were able to revive me? By conducting the magic inside of me?”

“In a way, yes. I used my own magic and, in a way, flooded your system with my own energy because the Ilele fed off of the energy inside of you. Some, like you, possess more magic than others. Normal humans probably wouldn’t have survived as long as you. Their death would’ve been immediate. I bet that Ilele was going to feed off you for much longer than a normal human”

“You can tell? You know what I am?”

She could see his eyes twinged with fear. He was really quite a curious man, especially for a vampire. Most vampires weren’t as nice. What a curious man you are, she thought.

“That you’re a vampire? I’ve met others like you.”

“Some vampires are good, others bad. You’re quite a contradiction. I can sense you fighting within yourself.”

“I know what I am and I…..I…..I just want to be normal again,” he said.

“I don’t know of any cure to vampirism. I’m sorry.”

Nate looked crestfallen. That moment of hope was gone now.

He sighed. “I didn’t want to be this way. It was forced upon me. This insipid curse. That’s why I left. That’s why I’m here. I want answers. I need answers or at least something to let me know that there’s at least some good to being this way.”

“I have to admit, most of the vampires that I’ve met haven’t been as…..erm….nice as you. But there was one that my family and I had met. She was quite ancient, but she wasn’t evil. She decided for herself what type of person, what type of vampire she wanted to be.” She squeezed his hand. “You know, just because you have magic flowing through your blood now doesn’t mean you’re a monster. I’ve met monsters before, trust me. Both human and nonhuman. They’re monsters because they don’t have love or compassion, or they choose to reject their humanity. You can choose.”

“I try, but I’m afraid one day I’ll just give up and become the monster so many people like me have become. I just need to know if there’s an end to this curse. Anything.”

Amalia knew that there were some people in Budapest, people like her parents and her that could perhaps offer Nate some more information on vampirism. Perhaps even her parents might even be able to offer him some answers. She knew there were other Solomonari people in Budapest, one’s whose knowledge and experience of the world and magic far exceeded her own. She contemplated for a moment if whether she should help him on his quest for answers and let him accompany her, at least for a short while, on her journey. He seemed desperate for answers.  She still sensed danger coming her way. But there was no harm in just letting him travel with her to Budapest, right?

“There are other people like me, who are far more knowledgeable and might be able to offer you the information you seek. I can take you to meet them and they can help you.”

He looked up at her hopefully. “Really? You would do that?”

She nodded hesitantly. “Yes. We’ll have to travel to Budapest though.”

“Anything’s fine with me. I’ll be the best traveling companion you’ll ever have. He smiled. “At your service, you’re majesty.”

Amalia rolled her eyes. “You’re quite a dramatic vampire, aren’t you? A little bit of a hopeless romantic? Or are you going for a chivalrous knight-in-shining-armor type?”

He grinned. “Both” His smile widened. “I can even sing. How ‘bout it? Are you up for a little song?”

“Not really”

“I’ve been told my voice can enchant even the most stubborn of maidens.”

“I thought you were supposed in my service as my humble traveling companion.”

“Just one song?” He looked at her with puppy dog eyes.

She looked at his brown eyes, full of amusement and teasing sadness.

“Fine”

With a dramatic breath, Nate broke out into a chorus of singing:

There once was an old man named Bill

And oh boy, was Bill feeling ill

People asks him “why so down?”

Ain’t got no topsy-turvy turn around?

He paused for a moment and grinning at her said, “Unfortunately………all the songs I know are old sea shanties. Don’t mind the lyrics though.”

To his reply, he says to them

Ain’t gonna get ‘em

Oh poor Bill

Feeling so ill,

Cause he got no chum

To give him some bum

Chum said not today

Cause’ other bums need some fun

But, oh boy that’s all he needs.

Poor Billy Bill Bum Chummy Chum Chum ain’t got no Bum.

Amalia rolled her eyes, but she felt a smile tugging at her lips. He did have a good voice, after all.

With that they set about the winding forest road and onto the next town, Nate’s bawdy voice ringing out into the forest.