#and there will be a yew branch fic then too

[teecupangel]

Hello!! It is me the anon who requested the Desmond ties Ezio up and #wrecks him fic, and oh my gosh. It was so good thank you. This is about to sound so silly, but I had actually been looking forward to Ezio’s bday cause when I reqed it, I said take you time even if it’s a couple years and you said ‘nah. It’ll be Ezios bday.’ And then I completely forgot until you started teasing smut for Ezio’s bday this month🤣🤣🤣. I was like ‘wait. Is that what I??? OHHHH THIS IS GONNA BE GOOD!!’

Anyway. Yeah. I really liked the fic thank you for writing it, and I also really liked the Yew Branches as well, that was. So good. Those fics are always such bittersweet ‘little’ fics that I devour on the spot and this morning was no exception lol, I didn’t even eat breakfast before I started it, I woke up, scrolled tumblr a couple seconds and then saw you posting Ezio bday stuff and went ‘ohhhhShit fic time!!’ And read both fics lol.

Idk how to end this off, but I hope your move goes well, and that you have a safe trip to wherever your movin to, and yeah. I hope your day goes good too!!🖤

Hi nonny!

I’m glad you liked the fic. I didn’t expect it to have shibari kink but it was pretty fun describing how to do one of the common shibari ‘styles’.

Hahahahaha, ngl, your request and the request for the bottom!Altaïr smut is the reason why I have a ‘Desmond Should Top... As A Treat’ agenda this year XD

And yes, Yew Branch fics have always been more on the side of bittersweet ‘little’ fics and I hope you enjoyed it as your ‘alternative’ breakfast today, lol.

Thank you! I’m still trying to get a hang of the new ‘schedule’ here but I think it’s going well. The trip was also pretty uneventful. I hope you have a great day too, nonny!

[solangelotus]

seven devils (part one)

luke castellan x reader (gender neutral)

my mind (now)

summary: capture the flag brings injuries plus shared feelings and memories between you and luke. you once loved him and try your hardest to understand where you went wrong, all while trying to change his fate. (lovers to enemies series)

word count: 4.2k

warnings: starts right before tlt, apollo!reader, lots of angst, graphic fighting, injury + healing descriptions, fluffy memories, mentions of character deaths (thalia) - also mentions alison, the new character being introduced in s2 of the show and using her as a plot point worked out well

author's note: lovers to enemies fic for luke is just too perfect 🤌 also it’s great because it’s therapeutic for me after going through my own lovers to enemies!

masterlist | series masterlist

there’s a chill in the air that makes it feel like the dead of winter instead of a friday in late may. you suppose you can blame it on the fact that your perch in which you sat during each capture the flag game was high up in the treetops. it was a perfect spot; forty feet above zeus’s fist, and you could see zephyros creek, the boundary.

the flag was wedged into the top of the rock pile, but the game had started over an hour ago and no one was to be seen yet aside from your teammates. sweat beads on your forehead from the red-plumed helmet, but you know if you take it off it will only increase the chill in your bones.

a crunch echoes across the woods, and you spy your brothers, will solace and lee fletcher, hastily grabbing their bows from opposite sides of the woods. you knew michael yew was nearby in a treetop much like you, but you had yet to spot him. he was backup for little will; the eleven-year-old was proving to be an exceptional medic, but he had not inherited great aim like most of your siblings.

you spot a pair of blue plumes by the boundary, one much shorter than the other. annabeth is the shorter one, you can tell from the careful, calculated steps. the only other person who always searches for the flag that would be so careless with his steps is chris rodriguez. but if he was with annabeth, then where was luke?

“fuck,” you mutter and start scaling down the tree as quickly as you can, pulling your bow from over your shoulder. crouching on a branch halfway down the tree, you load a sonic bow and watch the muddy ground. it had rained the day before, which attributed to the chill in the air. you spot the footprints and let the arrow fly before you can think twice.

annabeth wasn’t wearing her cap which meant someone was, and you hear a groan over the loud blast of music that affected the empty ground. will begins to run towards the area, and once you make it to the forest floor, you sprint towards the pile of rocks. will’s small legs fail to carry him as fast as yours and he yells, “y/n, what’s happening?!”

“castellan is,” you yell back and ready another arrow, trying your best to abide by the ten-yard rule. you watch carefully; lee intercepts will and tells him to find michael to distract the others, and then makes his way to your side.

“where is he?” your brother asks and you shake your head. scanning the ground where the footsteps end, you pull another arrow out of your quiver. unfortunately, even after years you still knew his body like the back of your hand. 

you had been his doctor from the day he arrived until he was seventeen, but it would be superficial to say that’s why you knew his body so well. a tattoo lay on the inside of his left ankle from when you were fifteen and took fake ids to a sketchy parlor ten miles from camp. a crooked line scarred his upper thigh from one of the first times he gave you sword fighting lessons. just above the mole you used to adore on his right forearm lays a burn mark from the time you attempted to make cookies together.

you sigh and look at a tree behind the spot to confirm the right height you need before you let the arrow fly. worse comes to worse, it just flies over his head. but you knew better, and the arrow did exactly what you planned; it knocked the hat off of his head and into the mud beside him. “always good with a bow, but never with the sword.”

you just shake your head and reach for your dagger-lined belt. lee knocks an arrow but you put your hand out to him. “it’s a diversion, lee. he’s here to distract us so annabeth and chris can swoop in. i’ll fight him off and you stay on guard.”

“still thinking highly of yourself, i see,” luke grumbles. you were both popular at camp to say the least, both for your welcoming personalities but also for your ongoing rivalry. popular for the worst reasons, seeing as you two being anywhere near each other usually leads to chaos.

“i literally heard you and chris talking about it at the campfire last night.”

“it’s kind of old news at this point,” lee shrugs, and you hate that he’s always a voice of reason, “you two always seek each other out, even if it’s not explicitly planned.”

“lee,” you plead, and gesture to the flag. he nods and you turn back to face the son of hermes, taking small strides to him.

“did you hear who’s coming back this summer?” luke asks with a smirk. you start to think throwing one of your daggers at his face might be worth the loss of dessert privileges. 

“i’m not here to talk, castellan.”

“alison’s coming back,” he informs, a boyish grin spreads across his face but doesn’t reach his hungry eyes. you gulp and suddenly you feel like you are sixteen again; a joy in the silent pain he can see in you. he knows you see him more clearly than anyone else has.

you feel the dagger in your hand start to shake. love and hate feel too similar; your pulse speeds the longer he looks at you. you hate yourself for the way he can still get under your skin after so many years. “why would i care?” you try your best to sound stern, but the tone of your voice betrays you.

“why wouldn’t you?”

“she’s not my friend.”

“we’re all well aware,” he spits out, his eyes drifting to where lee stands in earshot of you both. “you spoke so highly of her just to abandon her at a time of need. that’s why no one trusts you now.”

“i never did anything to her! you know this! the two of you lied to me, and lied to everyone about me!” you yell at him and tighten your grip on your dagger. he draws his sword and you contemplate pulling your own, but he was right about one thing: you were never good with your sword. you wished you could go back in time and relish the moment you sliced his upper thigh instead of feeling bad for it back then.

“i can’t believe it’s been three years and you’re still so delusional,” he laughs, and you throw your first dagger at the hand that holds his sword. he was caught off guard, but he was relying on the old mindset you had where you hated hurting people. the fact of the matter was you did, and you knew that was why the dagger flew just a few inches from the target. “still can’t aim for shit either.”

“shut up,” you breathe out, and pull your sword from its scabbard at your waist. the bow and daggers had been a gift from your father, and truthfully, you had extremely good aim. you never would have received two gifts from him without such a talent. deep down you were still a medic, and people were so different from bloodthirsty monsters who gave you no choice.

your attempts to deflect luke’s swings are futile, he’s always been quicker, better, and more efficient with a sword. your bow was no match in close-up combat. as a child of apollo, you were born for the outskirts of battle, not for the frontline. but you hated looking like a fool.

like other demigods, your restlessness helped you in battle. sure it helped the children of the war deities more, you had seen the flip switch in clarisse, silena, and annabeth, especially. their godly power filling them has always been fascinating, even when you’re on the receiving end. no one strategized like annabeth, her intelligence with the field and for all weapons was scary. clarisse was passionate, stronger than most, and she was a force just like her father. silena, and all of her siblings, got teased for their bright pink armor and for the vanity that people assumed of them. but you had seen the rage that filled silena’s eyes when she was challenged, the rage that came with being the daughter of the love goddess who was also a war goddess. aphrodite and her children were discounted for their skills, but there’s a reason the team that included cabin 10 usually won. you were thankful the aphrodite cabin adorned the red plumes today.

there was no switch in your siblings. predictability was a blessing and a curse; prophetic thoughts and visions could be hard to interpret. overthinking during a battle affected many of the children of apollo; there was no changing fate.

no one – not even lee who had the best intuition out of anyone – could have predicted your next move as you successfully ducked under luke’s sword as he swung it at your helmeted head. he was the greatest swordsman in 300 years, but he was playing dirty right now. who were you to make that easier?

you realize the scream you hear is luke’s as a dagger in your non-dominant hand stabs into his thigh. when did you grab the blade? when did the flip you didn’t know existed inside you switch? 

his sword fell to the ground when he clasped his thigh and you dive to grab for it. you hear lee yell your name, but for once you have the upper hand on luke and you refuse to let it go. “no!”

luke’s voice echoes in your mind as you grab his sword, and he grabs the back of your armor in an attempt to pull you away. he uses his free hand to yank off your helmet, and he pushes you back to the ground. the breath is knocked from your lungs and you roll over onto your back to look at him. the impact had released his sword from your grip and your head swam as he held his sword out towards your face. fear swims within you. how far would he go?

the conch sounds breaks through the camp and you can hear cheering, but you know it’s from your team. will and michael successfully kept chris and annabeth distracted. luke is furious, you can tell from the way his nose crinkles and the furrow between his brows. he stabs his sword into the ground right beside you and you flinch. “we would have fucking won if it wasn’t for you!”

“it’s just a game, luke,” you groan out, your chest and lungs still burning. you try to sit up but you feel so delirious, you knew your head had hit the ground but you didn’t realize you had hit it so hard. where was the adrenaline you had just a few moments ago?

“if it’s just a game, then why would you stab me?!”

“you swung your sword at my head!” you yell, wincing at your volume. you hear footsteps and silently pray that it’s lee coming to intercept after the announcement of your team’s victory.

“because you messed me up, you fucked me over! how dare you?!” he yells at you, the tears begin to well up in your eyes. his narrow at you and you notice him clench his fists; this isn’t about the game.

“how dare i? how dare fucking you?!” you scream back until you feel a hand grab yours. you swear your vision briefly goes out as you quickly turn your head to face your brother. lee is at your side and shushing you as he pushes your hair from your face.

“luke, go,” lee demands, earning himself a scoff and eye roll from the older boy. you close your eyes, trying to steady your persistent, uneven breaths. stomping fills your ears as lee helps you to your feet until your siblings find you and help get you to the infirmary.

the cabins involved on the blue team sulk at the campfire and chris notes the bandage wrapped around luke’s thigh. annabeth is pissed; her hat is muddy and her team lost. “i’m sorry, beth.”

“it’s your fault we lost,” she reminds him, using a rag to get the mud off of the gift from her mother.

“you got distracted too!”

“no,” she narrows her eyes at him, “you don’t get to do that. you don’t get to act like it’s my fault too when you have this ridiculous vendetta against y/n. you need to get over whatever happened years ago with them. you suck at games, you are weaker than you used to be, and your only motivation is to get back at them. what happened to glory? to pride?”

“you don’t understand.”

“then make me,” she grits her teeth, shoving the towel and hat into his lap, “and clean my hat. you should have picked it up the second it fell.”

“they cornered me!”

“the best swordsman in centuries supposedly got cornered and failed to defend himself and retrieve his little sister’s most prized possession? if y/n is as horrible at battling as you make everyone believe then you wouldn’t have gotten your butt kicked. get over yourself, luke.”

annabeth rushes away from the fire and towards the infirmary. when the bad blood began between you and luke, annabeth told you both she would never pick sides. she and you grew close after her first night at camp when she was mean and you still showed her nothing but kindness. you filled the older sibling void that she had lost with thalia.

when she enters the infirmary, she sees you laughing while laying in a bed with lee. she smiles at the joy in your face, at the crinkles by your eyes when you laugh. she loves the wide grin the children of apollo have, and how it strikes happiness in all those who experience it. without even looking at the door, you could sense her presence; something you and lee seemed to experience was being able to sense those nearby.  you wonder if it’s a gift from your father to be able to sense someone before they can approach you. maybe it’s a gift to prevent the healer from injury in a battle.

annabeth slides into the chair at your bedside and she accepts the hand you stick out for her, “how are you?”

“i’m fine now, much better after some ambrosia and a snack.”

“what happened?”

“nothing, it’s alright.” a sinking feeling fills annabeth’s stomach with your reassurance and forced smile. something is wrong. luke was quick to blame you, to say you tricked him and hurt him without a second glance, but you were the one in the infirmary. he had a singular bandage on his thigh. his anger was getting worse, he wasn’t pulling punches with anyone as he used to. “annabeth, what’s wrong?”

“i’m worried,” her voice trembles and you practically push lee out of bed. he accepts the hint and goes to the office to finish the paperwork that comes each friday night after capture the flag. you pull annabeth’s hand and she crawls into the creaky infirmary bed. “there’s something wrong.”

you wrap your arms around the small girl and press your lips to her hairline. annabeth is strong, both physically and emotionally, but she always holds it in. she guards herself heavily, but you have always been someone she needs not to protect herself against. “i…i know.”

“does lee know his fate?” annabeth questions. she continues to identify the distance in her brother, how he sneaks away alone at night. she used to believe it was to be with someone, but he was too good to cheat on alison; they had been together for three years. annabeth knows lee is the closest camp has to a prophet outside of the oracle.

“no,” you answer truthfully. you hope your expression stays balanced, that she will not see what you omit. that instead of lee, it’s you who sees his fate.

back at the campfire, luke eyes get lost in the flames. his hands move the towel absentmindedly against the gift from athena, and he silently prays to kronos to wish that his weakness can disappear. the warm flicker of light reminds him of sunlight, of the light that everyone sees in you. the light is his weakness, the hurt in your eyes fills him with guilt. but you are too good.

he has always known you were too good. the trust you have in the divine fills him with disgust. he hates that you convinced him to get that stupid wing tattooed on his ankle, and he hates that he convinced you to get a sun on your own. his naivete as a child was blinding. 

you fought tooth and nail to convince him of being loved, of being good, and he accepted it. he believed it too. the lord of time could never change his fate, only hasten it with the vow he has taken. 

he heard everything you told him, but maybe if he had truly listened then he could be good like you. maybe he could have ended up as kind and loving as the first night you met.

you had snuck away from the campfire when you could sense some commotion. team blue had won capture the flag, but your camp hoodie had gotten dingy – you wanted nothing more than to shower. the big house was just a short walk from the campfire, and inside were extra toiletries that you were going to need.

a commotion at the top of half-blood hill steered your attention away from the prospect of showering. you could see a few shadows in the moonlight and began sprinting towards the hill, pulling your sword from its sheath in the process. you would be the first to admit you were shit with a sword, but your bow and arrows were back in your cabin so you had to make due.

luke was leading a limping annabeth over the border when you arrived on the hill, and he couldn’t focus on anything other than your face. he didn’t care about the beaten-up sweater or the jeans caked in mud; he didn’t even care to draw his weapon when you pointed your sword at him. he saw nothing but you, your essence, and the concern firm in your eyes. there was no malice in the face threatening him with a sword; he knew you could never hurt them.

the moonlight created a soft glow around your face, bouncing off the snowflakes that began littering your hair. he saw your mouth move, but everything was quiet, everything was still. he was sure you were a child of aphrodite; no one could look so perfect and disheveled. his fourteen-year-old self was sure he would never meet anyone so beautiful ever again. “hello?”

“hi,” he breathed out as you walked closer to him. your voice was firm, but the weapon in your hand was beginning to shake. the fearlessness you tried to present yourself with was fading fast, and he was trying hard not to break down at the thought of thalia and grover not being beside him.

“are you okay?”

“did you seriously just ask that?” the small girl beside him asked as tears streamed down her face. your heart hurt for her, she couldn’t have been any older than eight you guessed. you put your sword back in its sheath while she tried her best to keep a stern expression. her stare was harsh but you could tell she was deflecting from something.

“s-sorry. i, uh, mean are you hurt? we have an infirmary.”

“no.”

“yes,” luke corrected, and you gestured toward the building beside the big house. bleating sounds fill the air, and before you can comprehend it, a young satyr runs quickly through the barrier and nearly topples into you. he’s hyperventilating and his face is covered in tears and grime.

“grover?!”

“y/n!” he exclaimed and wrapped you in a hug. he’s still deeply upset and in shock, it doesn’t take a genius to see it.

“grover, are-” you’re cut off with a deafening scream. it wasn’t until later on that you realized it had been your own. lightning struck the ground right at the barrier, and a tree slowly erupted into form and took shape. fear filled your body. you had never been at the scene of new arrivals, let alone at such an event. capture the flag was the extent of the danger you faced – this was beyond it. grover wrapped his arms around you, and you looked at him. 

the fear that filled your body was dissipating. it was useless in a time when two demigods were in need right beside you – sobs wracked both of their bodies as they held each other. the girl’s ankle was visibly swollen, and the boy had many gashes all over his body. you and lee had been training for this; this was your moment to put your parentage to use. “grover, if you’re not hurt then go find chiron. tell him what’s happened while i get these two to the infirmary.”

grover trots off in the direction of the campfire, and the boy picks the girl up as you hastily walk toward the infirmary. it was unlocked, thankfully, but you knew your sister, val, was at the campfire. until she, the main healer, came back you were on your own. you introduced yourself, and got both of them onto a bed together.

“i’m luke. luke castellan,” he told you as you inspected the small girl’s ankle. purple bruises began to litter her deep skin and she winced as you pressed lightly on the skin. you grabbed the bandage roll and started to wrap and secure it tightly on her ankle to stabilize it. she held her hand out and you placed a square of ambrosia in it. “this is annabeth chase.”

“you’re brave, annabeth. your ankle is definitely broken but it’ll heal too fast for a cast. the first few days at camp are overwhelming as it is, so i imagine you are going to be forced to take it easy anyway with this injury,” you explained to her, but she continued to glare at you.

luke was a much easier patient. he was silent, only whispering a response to your questioning here and there. you figured it was easier to stay silent while being stitched up anyway, so you gave him some slack for it. you finished stitching a deeper cut on his arm, and moved to a gash on his leg. it was so infected you nearly gagged, so you grabbed a canteen of nectar and began to flush the wound. he sighed in relief and looked down at you. “how old are you?”

“thirteen,” you answered and grabbed a new needle and more surgical thread, “how old are the both of you?”

“she’s seven, and i’m fourteen,” he grimaced as you embedded the needle into his skin. you assumed he was your age, but you were glad your guess was right for the both of them. “how do you know what to do?”

“my dad is apollo.”

“oh, mine is hermes.”

“who’s yours, annabeth?”

“thalia’s was zeus,” she said instead, and your brows furrowed at the both of them.

“who’s thalia?”

“the tree that made you scream,” annabeth huffed and rolled her eyes.

“daughter of athena?”

“how did you know?” she asked and finally her facade fell. she looked startled and like she was ready to start fighting again.

“my best friend is a daughter of athena, so your sister. she’s a lot like you. her name is alison,” she smiled at you. chiron walked in through the infirmary doors with val, lee, and grover hot on his hooves. val quickly started to inspect your work and gave you a high five once she saw how well you had done.

luke watched the smile on your face grow and he felt his heart constrict. he should have known from the second he saw you that you were the child of apollo; it explained the glow and warmth you gave off upon seeing you. he was grateful it was you who stumbled upon them; you were a great distraction from the grief that began to fill him.

“do you still love him?” you think about her words. about the little luke, you knew when you were just thirteen and fourteen, about the luke you met that first night. 

annabeth stares at your vacant, slack face with hooded eyes, the tears slowly streaming as she tries to choke back the anxieties that fill her. she’s wisdom’s daughter, yet she feels like she has no idea how to get the answer to this problem. returning your stare to her, you release yourself of the reverie you found yourself in. “i believe it’s my fate.”

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[starshideyourfics]

Finally getting around to my Steddie Big Bang fic announcement for a late bit of WIP Wednesday. So please enjoy my super niche and self-indulgent, dark fairy tale, omegaverse Tam Lin AU: among the leaves sae green

“Come, lad. It’s better if you walk yourself, but I’ll drag you if I must.”

Steve nods, stepping down as he takes the offered hand in both of his--wrists still bound and requiring the extra stability. He keeps his mouth shut, not wanting to give up any more of himself now, at the end. Carver hops down to the ground as well, following behind as Brenner leads them both down the path. The tangle of branches overhead blocks out so much light, only for them to pass into bright sun, the sky revealed by a small clearing. 

At one end an ancient yew—a death tree, like the one that stands on the edge of the village graveyard, but so much larger—looms ominously, its gnarled branches spreading wide, deadly poison in every needle-like leaf, the trunk thick and asymmetrical. Spaced around the grove are four more imposing trees: Elder, Rowan, Ash, and Oak, all much larger than any other of their kind that Steve has ever seen. Even just one of any of the five trees would denote this as a sacred space, but all of them together… It is like the green scent of the forest is intensified here, pulsing with ancient power. 

Brenner walks Steve to the yew, Carver still keeping close, ready to catch him if he tries to run. Resigned, Steve has no intention of running. His fate has been sealed a dozen times over. Passing a second rope around a low branch, Brenner weaves the ends around the bonds at Steve’s wrists, creating an intricate knot that pulls tighter at the slightest tug. Palm pressed to Steve’s forehead, smearing the oil that sits over his brow, Brenner speaks slowly and clearly: “We leave this gift in humble supplication. May it please you and grant us peace and prosperity.”

Face still serene, he removes his hand and steps back from Steve with a nod. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, and wipes the anointing oil from his hand, casting the delicate fabric aside—he has ruined it, the oil will never wash all the way out. Then he turns, making his way back towards the path. “Come along, Phinneas. I told you, not a mark on him,” he calls without looking back.

At that reminder, Steve looks to Carver, sees the sneer on the man’s face, and is glad to watch him leave, even if he is surprised that they did not slit his throat. Mayhaps the devil and his beasts like their offerings alive. There are plenty of creatures that will only eat live prey—

Steve shakes his head, knowing that if he keeps thinking about that he will drive himself into a panic, and he wants more from his last minutes… hours? He’s sure the aldermen would not allow themselves to come too close to the demons that they have left him for, so perhaps nothing will come for him until nightfall. The sun is sinking towards the horizon, but he still has an hour, maybe more before the pinks and golds of the setting sun give way to dusk. He will calm his body and mind. Take time to think.

Maybe if he pushes himself, he will be able to climb into the tree, pull his body up onto the branch to which he is bound. If he is not left on the ground, maybe he has a chance to survive the night.

But how his arms ache! Holding them up, even if he can rest against the tension of the rope, has his muscles straining with the effort. And he can feel the blood leaving his fingers, the tingle that will soon give way to numbness. He could start trying now, but he knows he will not have the dexterity to grip the branch for long enough to get into the tree.

Steve cannot help it. He begins to pace, only able to take a couple steps in any direction before he must turn, quickly settling into walking a circle. And he mutters to himself, going over the few possibilities he has for his survival. Frustrated tears fill his eyes as the sun sinks lower and lower, dipping below the treetops and out of his sight. His frustration gives way to fear as the forest grows dark, stars winking on as the sky turns from dusky violet to deep navy blue. The sounds of creatures skittering through the underbrush, of bats flying, owls calling softly from the edge of the clearing, keep drawing his attention. Any sound could signal the coming of the devil in the wood.

But no devil comes. Every sound he turns to investigate turns up nothing. Steve has no idea just how late it is, but it feels very late. He sags against his bonds, wanting so desperately to lie down in the soft grass, but still so afraid, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Well, well, well…” a rich, velvet voice says from behind him, no other sound to signal anyone’s arrival. Steve startles, back going stock-straight before he slowly turns.

He comes face to face with a tall, elfin man, long dark curls hanging down past his shoulders, a mischievous grin on his full lips. The grin parts when he sees Steve’s face, “Oh, how the mighty have fallen. They must be terrified back in Hawkins.”

That is enough for Steve to recognize the voice. He only heard it the one time, but it is seared into his brain, the tone and timbre settling along the man’s features, fuller now, lips and cheeks redder, thin frame now lithe and graceful as he advances, instead of gaunt and gangly. It’s Edmund Munson, the last tithe, looking more alive now than he did four years ago.

[sarilolla]

Tempted to write a trolls fic in Norwegian (my mother tongue), both to practice my fiction writing in my own language and to write something for my sister (who is 9 and finds my Hanahaki au a bit too exciting), but my main reason is that the BroZone brothers have the most dork names in Norwegian 😭

Or, the three oldest do, Branch is just the literal translation “Kvist”, and Floyd is “Falk” which means falcon. So objectively Floyd’s the best one

Clay is “Karse” aka watercress (fitting honestly with his hair-)

Spruce/Bruce is “Barlind/Erling” aka Yew (a species of tree so fitting with Spruce) and a “more mature version” of the name

And John Dory is Jan Didrik. Which is the most dork name ever and doesn’t have a translation as it’s just a name.

So if anyone needed evidence for whatever reason that JD is a dork, just take the Norwegian name as proof-

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

Malfoy donned his protective gloves, then raised his Dark Detector and stepped into the room. Harry followed close behind him, pulling on his own protective gear. The Dark Detector was vibrating so hard that Harry could hear its high buzzing against Malfoy’s gloves, like the whine of some tiny insect. Dust clouded up round their boots when they trod on the ancient rug, and Harry was grateful for the face covering that protected his nose and mouth. Apart from the dust thick on every surface, the room was pin neat.

Malfoy’s Dark Detector seemed to guide him at once to a particular corner, under a tidy little desk with a formerly handsome quill and several sheets of loose parchment laid on it, as if its owner had only just got up from it. Save for the dust, of course. Malfoy knelt, then lay on his front, the Dark Detector still held in front of him. He crawled determinedly under the desk, then with a little aha! of triumph, tore back a corner of carpet, and emerged a moment later with a wooden box upheld in his dusty, black dragonhide glove.

“That’s it? That’s the curse?”

“I think it’s got a cursed relic hidden inside,” Malfoy pulled out the desk chair and pulled out his golden stethoscope again. “Yes, that’s definitely it,” said Malfoy with grim satisfaction. “Interesting little thing. Never seen casing quite like this,” he held it out for Harry to see.

Up close, Harry noticed that although he’d thought the wooden object was a box, there didn’t seem to be any opening or even a seam to show where it had shut, “Are you sure there’s something inside?”

“Absolutely,” said Malfoy, giving the box a sharp jab with his wand. “I’ll need to put a protective charm on it before transporting it.”

“Maybe we sh-”

But the box had split along the middle, each half falling aside to reveal what looked like a snippet of yew branch, covered over in soft gold. At once, the branch extended, wrapping itself around Malfoy’s fingertips. Malfoy gave a yell of pain and surprise, but even over his voice, Harry could hear another voice. A familiar high, sibilant voice that turned his stomach.

“Traitor!” the voice screamed. “Sniveling coward! You might have been rewarded beyond your wildest dreams but you sought to cast me off,” the branch grew as the voice spoke, already it had wrapped itself around Malfoy’s hand and began to creep up his wrist. “There is no hiding from your destiny, skulk as you mi-”

Harry sprang forward and grabbed the top edge of Malfoy’s glove, just above his elbow and wrenched it down, forming a bag around the branch. To Harry’s relief, the glove and the branch came away with a tug, and though the branch writhed inside the glove and screeched in wordless fury, the glove held. Harry flung the whole thing back at the wooden box and shoved the pieces together. It reformed instantly, and the voice was silenced. Somewhere in the house, Mrs Black had begun screaming about cowards and blood traitors also.

Harry turned to look at Malfoy. His face had gone very white, and he was gripping his left arm, where the branch had caught at him. His Dark Mark was an angry red under the pitting of the bite scar, as if it had been burned.

“That was some very quick thinking, Potter,” said Malfoy in a faint voice. Then he slipped forward out of his chair, and his head lolled toward his knees in a swoon.

__________

Excerpt from my new drarry fic, Names for a House. 45.5K Rated E. Eleven years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry is a wildly successful wizarding novelist and his godson, budding werewolf Teddy Lupin is about to start at Hogwarts. Teddy comes to live with Harry at Grimmauld Place, but after a boggart attacks Teddy in the house, Harry hires a cursebreaker to help with the decontamination of it. When the cursebreaker turns out to be Draco Malfoy, is there too much bad blood between Harry and Draco for them to be able to work together, even to keep the one person they most care about safe? Get the rest of the story on AO3!

[writing-frenzy]

Care to Make a Wager? (SVSSS Fic)

Summery: No System AU: In which Airplane finds he has a new lease in life, but of course it would have a cost. Of course, being the creator of this world gives him quiet the price cut. Not to mention the untended bonus content.

Still, he did not expect the direction his life would go.

(Warning: mentions of death, violence, and most stuff you could find in SVSSS Canon. You should be good, but here is a just in case.)

---

When one Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky was reborn, he really wanted to curse his lot in life. Sure, he had been born into a rather well off Merchant Family, but when the Lord of the Family has two Official Wives and a crap ton of Mistresses on the side, things were bound to get crazy.

Luckily one Shang Huan had one hell of a Mother; in another life, Airplane might have described her as a ‘killer queen or a ‘boss ass bitch’, but as his mother, he just thought of her as the most amazing woman on the planet. As it was, She alongside a whole bunch of tutors taught him everything he needed to know about the world and then some. 

(Sewing was a bitch to get right.)

But with those lessons, it didn’t take long for Shang Huan to realize he was in his own fucking novel; it had not been a happy realization, making him break out into a truly childish tantrum, filled with screaming and tears that only calmed after he was given some delicious melon seeds.

(Luckily it had been attributed to wanting a snack after a morning full of lessons, otherwise he probably would have gotten the switch for it...)

But with all this knowledge of his place in life now with him, Shang Huan needed to start planning; good thing that was one of his specialties.

Noting down every bit of information he could, Shang Huan mapped out as much items and cheats he could afford to take from the Protagonist, as well as places he could and couldn’t go, hazel eyes narrowed as he messily scratched out his plots with his trusty quill and journal. The many lessons he Mother made him go through only helped to sharpen him, as well as learn the world’s common sense.

He was having a good go at it, building himself up as much as he could before something completely from left stage truly changed his course.

“There is a legend of Dreaming Glory, said to be a treasure to ensure great health and excellent rest. Though be cautious, for it is guarded carefully by the spirit of a Felled Divine Beast, angry and resentful of the betrayal it had faced.” was a tale a wandering storyteller spun, a group of children ooooing and awwwwing at the right places, even as Airplane felt his jaw drop at the information, focusing more on those words then the candy his mother allowed him to buy at one of the festival stalls.

See, while the Legend of the Dreaming Glory was definitely right at home with this world, it actually hadn’t been anywhere in Proud Immortal Demon Way; it had been in one of his earlier short stories, where Airplane had been practicing with the Xianxia/Xuanhuan genres (and didn’t need to rely on it, dreaming more of the theater then writing). (Until a mugging gone wrong and dreams cut short-) 

This... opened a few more roads then expected, especially if all his fantasy stories came into play, as there had been a lot of experimentation with plots and ideas until he hit his cash cow with PIDW. After all, taking something from the protagonist was always going to be a risk of somehow getting his attention, no matter how much the man wouldn’t actually need it.

(After all, showing off had always been a part of Luo Binghe’s character; showing that he was no longer the penniless street kid, no longer the weak disciple, no longer the one who was always pushed around, but now the one who can take.)  

It also meant more research; thankfully, his Mother was one to always encourage more in the way of learning, thankfully humoring all the ‘trips’ he wished to take.... In hindsight, he probably should have questioned why she was always willing to take him and go, but at the time was just thankful that he could indeed confirm places he would need to visit later and squirrel away items that were within his reach. (An actual legit Cultivation Manuel, even if it was only directed for growing crops and alchemy, was still his most proudest find, only needing a riddle to get and easily hidden in his pouch with his other learning books. Being an Author only got him so far, as every little detail was needed to ensure one stayed on a steady path, though did provide it’s own little boosts here and there.)

------=------

One day, when Shang Huan had been 13, sneakily already past the first part of Cultivation Qi Refining and entering into the first stage of Foundation Building, found his Mother to be ill, no Doctors seeming to be able to cure her (or willing too as he saw a servant of the Second Wife slip a few gold; he got his revenge in the end), Shang Huan took a deep breath and buckled down, doing all that his Mother said to do with the time she had left, learning as much as he could before it would no longer be open to him. 

(Like he could stay here in this den of vipers, without his Mother’s protection and love; there was nothing else for him here after all.)

In that time as his Mother stubbornly clung on, he listened as she mourned his chance to enter into the prestigious Cultivation Sect of Cang Qiong like the First Wife’s Third Son, Shang Shaoqing. She apologized greatly that she could not fight for him to get that chance, like so many of the other Mistresses did for their own children.

‘Huh,’ Airplane couldn’t help but think, ‘looks like I just dodged a arrow.’ though it was good to finally know just what the timeline was for the story; Shang Shaoqing was to be a certain traitorous Peak Lord after all.

As it was, his Mother showed her determination and spirit greatly, lasting till he was 16 before she finally past away, a smile on her face as she did, her son long gone with his inheritance and her blessing of broken ties, carrying her name meaning of Shang instead of his Father’s.

(If the night before, Shang Huan had decided to tell her of his other life, told her how this was a story he had happened to read, showing her a few of the treasure he had gathered, how he cried when Shang Wenyan had only smiled with a few too many teeth, her voice fierce as she praised her son with all her heart, hugging him close with what remained of her strength as she told him her last words.

“Live life however you want my child, live and dream and hope, do not be afraid to destroy any your way, and know I will love you always my greatest pride and joy.”

Well... no one needed to know about that.)

But with this new freedom came it’s cons as much as it’s pros. As he was stuck at a bottleneck in Foundation Building at Middle Stage, there was still a number of things outside his reach until at least Core Formation First Stage...

------=------

It was during his wandering, selling talismans he could make at his level, along with tales he made up that he finally got his big break.

He first heard tales of a powerful Resentful Spirit that was residing in a broken land near the Borders, no one from Demons to Humans wanting the land as it was deemed useless for all the resentful energy there, and no one bothering to pay a sect for what they considered a waste of money and time.

Shang Huan saw this, and wonder if it was what he recognized... Taking in more details and scoping out for any information, Airplane couldn’t help but wonder how lucky it was; this was indeed a spirit from one of his very first stories in fact. He knew exactly what to do.

Instead of fighting the Resentful Spirit, Shang Huan brought it pure cave water and incense, smelling of ash and jasmine. 

This certainly got the Spirit’s attention.

“What do you want Rogue?”

“I want for many things to be honest.” the brunet Cultivator smiled, not showing any teeth so as to make it look falsely gentle, “But for now, I admit I do desire your land.”

That got a huff for his efforts, the spirit a mass of negativity and ire, but actually still listening.

“You have provided the right offering, so I will give you a chance; bring me wine of the Soothing Jade Flower, the Broken Sword of Chun, and a branch of Deathly Yew... You get me these three things, and the land will be yours.” And with that shopping list given, the spirit was gone, even as the energy seemed thicker then before, the incense and water gone.  

And with an absolutely evil grin, Airplane was off; he had already remembered the Wine and branch, had even gotten them first as he had plans for them, but he had not remembered the broken blade.

Fortunately, it wasn’t too hard to find; he had written that the blade had been struck with a heavy stone in a battle between Demons and Cultivators on the borders of the land, where it would lay forever. And lo and behold, there was only one ancient battlefield it could be abandoned in, as this was PIDW.

There weren’t many left over from the borders after all, most of them being purified already. And as he thought, the Bloody Sword Grave was still around, a testament to just how much the resentful energy had soaked into the ground, demons and cultivators alike avoiding the place like the plague, even as bloody rusted swords stayed stabbed into the ground, their thirst and hatred still felt even to this day.

Couldn’t be compared to Xin Mo of course, but for being swords on the surface they sure were impressive. Ignoring all these deadly, intact blades stabbed into the ground, Shang Huan covered his face with a scarf drenched in purified Qi infused water, even as the talisman he sewed on for defense and purity glowed the more he traveled through.

He finally stopped at a blood splattered rock, digging carefully around it as he did, before he managed to pull out four broken pieces of what had once been a beautiful blade, but was now nothing but shambles and rags.

Having what he needed, Airplane made his way back to the spirit and their lands.

------=------

(This deadly spirit of a truly terrible Cultivator, who had been feared and revered for being a monster on the battlefield... cried as they saw the items laid out before them.

“Ah, no my Han-Er, my beloved figher... why you stupid, loveable fool...” The Spirit sobbed, easily using his energy to clean and reformed the blade, manipulating the energies of the other two items to aid it, ensuring the sword would still be pure, hugging it close even as it seemed to damage them.

“... He tried, to come back to you; his fellow soldiers betrayed him... He loved you so much... still does.” Shang spoke, watching as the spirit that laid resting in the blade finally came out with this truth, purifying the other as they did, along with most of the land around them.

The brunet had to look away from their reunion, their emotions a bit too much for him... This had been one of his first tragedies he had written, a solider and their beloved separated because of jealousy and hate, doomed to wait for each other forever, the solution to be so easy to have, if someone had given them a bit of kindness, to discover the truth of their separation, though never given the chance in the end... He never mention just what the Beloved’s gender was, made it ambiguous, but had in his mind of minds always thought of them as a man...

Maybe he shouldn’t have put too much of himself into his work, but a habit is so hard to break.

“... We truly thank you; as promised, the land is now yours to do with as you see fit; all you need to do is put your name on the deed and your blood into the ward stone. All the treasures inside are now rightfully in your ownership, so mote it be.” was announced, making Shang Huan turn to see two beautiful and handsome men smiling at him, before they bowed seeing they had his attention.

Airplane could only bow back, biting on the words of how he owed to them to do this at least.

And with that, they were gone, to enter finally into the cycle of reincarnation, together at last...)

------=------

Having his own place was wonderful; a lot of work, but wonderful all the same.

The wards around his land ensured no one with malice could actually enter it, along with protections against thieves and robbers like most noble Sects had. Shang Huan even went as far as to make sure he owned the plot of land in the official records, having everything stamped and recognized, even as he made sure no one actually looked too closely at what land it actually was.

He even made sure to pay his yearly taxes to the Emperor on time, making sure everything was nicely recorded and logged. (And seeing as he didn’t live in any town or such, he didn’t have to bother paying anything to any Lords for protection! How nice was that?)

But having a base of operations, one with land rich in Qi and perfect for Cultivating on, it not only gave Airplane security, but many other advantages as well.

He now had a place to securely put all the treasures he had gathered, which was a lot considering it was a variety of weapons, valuables, and even priceless seeds to plant. He could be completely self-sufficient as he cultivated, the spirits on the land easily convinced to do chores in exchange for sweets and treats (And being able to live in such a energy rich place). Not to mention how his Cultivation not only went up, but combined with other manuals that were treasures of the home, Shang was set on his way to being a powerful Cultivator in his own right.

And if he was feeling a bit cooped up, he could always go on journeys around his world, exploring and treasure hunting for odds and ends as he saw fit.

Soon enough, Shang Huan had managed to reach 34 years old, entering the Peak of Nascent Soul stage in his cultivation when, in a bit of boredom and interest, he bought out a debt ridden gambling house on the border of his territory, that rested in a ghost-like town on the border of the Human World and the Demon Realm.

It was, quiet frankly, just something to do to pass the time. It wasn’t too hard to fix the place up, and warding it had been a fun challenge of his skills, but he honestly hadn’t expected anything much of it, just putting a few of his lessor needed or easily replenished treasure up to be won. And making it to where anything bet could only be what one had to bet, alongside making sure others would have to honor it had been a fun spell to create, as he really didn’t want to be bothered by liars and braggarts and then having to chase them down. He even just made up some Golems and bargained with a few willing natural spirits to help run the place.

This was just suppose to be a fun little venture; he never expected it to blow up like it did.

------=------

It started slow; a trickle, with a whisper, a simple rumor.

There is a place where priceless treasure could be won; if you’re willing to bet for it that is. But be careful to not bite off more then you can chew, for it might be more then a bit of blood and coins you lose.

Some poor sods have even lost their very souls to the place, even now working where screams and laughter flow so freely to the terrible click the dice, the gentle flap of the cards.

It is a place no Mortal is safe, where no Demon has promise, where a Cultivator is honor bound to accept what is due; after all, no one has to enter the place, no one needs to keep coming back, no one has to bet their all, not all all. 

But oh, how they come; even those who dare not darken the doorway of that gambling hall come, filling what was once an empty town into one practically bustling with life. Funny, how it came about because of such a deadly place.

And oh, do not even bother messing with the Gilded Plane Gambling Hall’s Owner, a man who at first seems so weak and stumbling, so gentle and busy with their hard work, who at first couldn’t hurt a fly even as he smiles so prettily.

He’ll smile that same smile even as you sell your very soul at his tables, those gorgeous hazel eyes amused even as the crowds pant at his feet, screams all around from both terror and ecstasy.

(Shang Huan can’t help but sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he is once more offered someone’s entire being; if he’s said it once, he’s said it again, betting is at the tables, not at his feet.

Just another day it seems; hopefully there will be no explosions in the kitchen again.)  

-----------------------=-----------------------

0.0 huh, I did not expect this when I started writing; I just wanted to have Airplane have some fun in the world he created, maybe opening up a few businesses to make money on the side. I did not mean to make him into an oblivious Hua Cheng of the PIDW verse (Yes, in this verse, he will be as terrifying and pretty, I will not take criticism for it.)

Also, I was greatly inspired by Nighthaunting, though instead of ballet I have SQH as a theatre kid whose dreams got cut short due to bad luck and assholes. I love how they have built their world, and how they say that writing was probably a side thing for Airplane, which just makes so much sense. Also, I am all for Airplane being scary and fully taking advantage of his author knowledge, so haha! Hope you all enjoyed this story~

[hovercraft79]

Power of Two

Chapters: 1

Word Count: 10,109

Fandom: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)

Rating: Teen

Warnings: smoking, arguing and general family discord

Summary: The time has come at last for Ada to take over as Headmistress. She and Hecate are still reeling from the consequences of the marriage scroll, but life moves ever forward. Days into her new role, Ada is faced with a challenge she never imagined – and a loss she can’t comprehend.

Notes: This fic covers the 6th Week prompt ‘Mirror Universe.’

The title comes from one of my favorite songs by the Indigo Girls.

For all of my fics, but this one in particular, I’d like to thank all of those who work on The Worst Witch fandom wiki. It was an invaluable resource. If you’ve never taken the time to click through that site, I highly recommend it. It’s a fabulous resource.

Thank you again to my dear friend Sparky. I earned a smiley sticker by using a bit of Latin in this one. It almost made up for my deranged use of semi-colons.

Alma continued her pacing, surprised she hadn’t worn a hole in the rug over the last few days. She was sure she could have marched her way to London and back in front of her fireplace. Now… now she was out of time. Agatha would be here tomorrow. She stopped at the sound of knocking on her office door.

“You sent for me?” Ada stepped into the room, taking in the empty shelves and loaded cardboard boxes. Term had been over for a couple of weeks, and Selection Day would soon be upon them. Her mother had determined that Ada should be installed as Headmistress before then. “Have you had any luck with the marriage scroll?”

“The what? Oh… no. I’ve been preoccupied,” she waved her hands over the stacks of boxes. “I’m taking more than I need to the seaside cottage, but I wasn’t sure what I would want.” She studied Ada a moment. “I take it you’ve not had any success either?”

“No.” In truth, Ada didn’t know if she felt more relief or disappointment that the marriage scroll still bound her and Hecate together. She’d been busy with Hecate and their usual summer potion making. After a flurry of attempts right after they’d been joined – Ada refused to call it married – they’d decided to slow down and be more thoughtful. They’d also considered calling in the Great Witch again but chose not to. She’d been none too pleased to find Hecate Hardbroom in the midst of yet another magical mishap.

Meanwhile, the marriage scroll hung like a cloud over them. While it had forced them to recognize their feelings for one another, force was the key word. They’d become careful with one another again now that they’d been forcibly joined together. Ada had, anyway, recoiling at the very idea that Hecate had been tied to her without her own consent. For her part, Hecate had handled the entire situation with much more aplomb.

“If not the scroll, Mother, then what can I do for you?”

Alma gestured for her to sit on the sofa, joining her once she’d settled. “I need for you to let me transfer the title of Headmistress to you now, here, before the official ceremony. We can go through the motions on Saturday, but I’d like the actual transfer to already be done.”

Ada shook her head, leaning away from her mother. “If this has something to do with Agatha… I’ve told you where I stand on that issue. We will run this school together. I know you—”

“It’s not about Agatha – at least not only about Agatha.” Which, of course, was entirely untrue. If Agatha could find a way to disrupt the change of power, Alma had no doubt that she would do it. “The transfer ceremony has often been just that – a ceremony. The real transfer of power carries risk. It’s no small thing to remove all the protective wards for the Academy and pass them to another. The window where the castle is unprotected is small, but it’s there nonetheless.”

Ada considered her mother’s words. They made sense, though Ada didn’t discount the idea that this was somehow tied to Agatha. “The transfer could still happen once Agatha is here. There’s no way to explain leaving her out.”

“Frankly, I’d rather she not even know about the early transfer.”

“Then it shouldn’t happen.” Ada stood to leave. She wouldn’t start her partnership with Agatha with a betrayal. “We can transfer the power at the ceremony as planned.” She’d barely made it to the door when her mother called after her.

“There’s another reason to have it now.” Alma hated to play this card, but Ada had left her little choice. “There’s also the matter of you becoming the Sealkeeper. Transferring that spell, in public…”

Ada sagged against the doorway. “Everyone would know…” Hecate would be a public spectacle. Because of her age, Hecate’s punishment had been kept private. Only her parents, Alma, the Great Witch and a select few of the Cackle’s staff had known about it. But if it became part of the ceremony… Hecate’s childhood mistake would be in all the papers. She would be devastated. Over fifteen years had passed since Hecate had graduated from Cackle’s. Certainly, a handful of teachers remained, Miss Bat for one, and Miss Coriander, the Head Cook, for another. But if her confinement ever crossed their minds, they kept it to themselves.

Defeated, Ada returned to sit next to her mother, knowing she’d well and truly been spelled into a corner. Looking into her mother’s eyes, Ada expected to see a gleam of triumph. She didn’t find it. All she saw was sympathy. Ada cradled her head in her hands. She could include Agatha, or she could protect Hecate’s privacy. “There really is no choice, is there?”

“No, daughter. I won’t insult you by pretending I’m not happy about it, but it is necessary.” She poured Ada a cup of tea, as much for something to do as anything else. “A witness is required. Would you like for it to be Hecate?”

Ada thought for a moment, then shook her head. As much as she wanted Hecate by her side for this milestone in her life, she couldn’t bear the idea of Hecate watching her take the oath of Sealkeeper. “No… not for…” Her cup began rattling in its saucer; she hastily set it on the coffee table. “I don’t want her to see me become…”

“That’s all right, Ada,” her mother said, in the gentlest voice Ada had ever heard her use. “I’ve already asked Miss Bat if she’ll be witness. It seems right – she was there when you were born, you know.”

Ada nodded. She knew. “Should I wear my dress robes?”

“If you wish, but… there’s no need. Save them for the public ceremony.” She squeezed Ada’s shoulder before leaving her alone with her thoughts while she summoned Miss Bat.

Suddenly, it all seemed far too real to Ada. The air vanished from Ada’s lungs, sending her gasping to the window. She wasn’t ready. She’d have to explain to her mother… another year…

“Ada.” Alma wrapped a steadying arm around her shoulders. “It’s going to be all right.” They both turned at the sound of Miss Bat chuckling behind them.

“I dare say, Alma, she’s handling it better than you did.”

“Och, Gwen! She doesn’t need to hear about that.”

Ada’s chest burned from the lack of air. She thought she might be hyperventilating. Her mother steered her to the sofa and sat her back down again, pressing against the back of her head until Ada had it practically between her knees. Slowly her breathing began to calm.

“Your mother likes to forget how she lost her breakfast pudding before her transfer ceremony.”

“Wh-what?”

Alma made an annoyed sound.

“Oh, yes. Tipped the old cauldron right out onto the rug.” A twinkling eye winked at Ada. “It’s no small thing to become Headmistress of any school, much less the oldest witching academy in Britain. I’d be worried if you weren’t a bit nervous.”

Ada lifted her head. “Then you’ve no cause for worry. I’m about terrified off my broomstick.”

“That’s a good girl, then,” Gwen said, patting her shoulder reassuringly.

“Let’s go. First things first.” Opening her desk drawer, Alma removed an ornately carved box. Ada recognized it at once. The box had been carved from a naturally fallen branch of the Fortingall yew millennia ago specifically to hold the Great Seal of Cackle’s Academy. The Seal had been presented to Christobelle Cackle along with the Academy’s Founding Stone. Legend held that as long as Fortingall yew still lived, so would Cackle’s Academy. Reverently, Alma lifted the Seal from the box.

 As time as tide as stars collide,

The line of birth shall pass unbroken.

From old to new and now to you

The symbol of family in this token.

In you, Ada Cackle, the first-born of my line,

Your magic and this castles shall forever entwine.

 The magic swirled through Ada, warming the depths of her belly and radiating through her limbs, light and heavy all at once. As the transfer waned and settled, Ada could feel the magic of the castle thrumming like never before. Her mother sagged against the mantel, breathing heavily.

“Oi, that was a thing, wasn’t it?” She looked at Ada. “Are you all right?”

Ada patted herself down, slowly feeling her own magic center in her chest. The magic of Cackle’s receded into the background. “I think so. Can you always feel it this way?”

“More or less. Wait till the place is full of girls with too much magic and too little control. I practically itched from the inside out during exams.”

“Well, that’s something to look forward to,” Ada deadpanned.

Alma pulled a small red notebook from her pocket.

“Your spellbook?” The last time she’d seen her mother’s spellbook, Agatha had used it to create an extraction spell. It was the day Agatha had been sent to Wormwood’s. The day everything had changed.

Once again, it seemed that little red book would be a harbinger of change.

“Aye. My spellbook. And my mother’s before that and her mother’s before that and so on and so forth.” She pressed the book into Ada’s hands. “Now it belongs to you.”

As soon as Alma released the book, a trio of glowing lights, blue and green and gold, whirled around Ada, circling her faster and faster until they finally faded away. As soon as the lights were gone, Gwen began to chant. Ada recognized the tune of the Witch Investiture Chant immediately, but the words were unfamiliar.

 Rejoice, a magic spell is cast

Behold, a wondrous switch

A brand-new era comes to pass

With Cackle’s new Head Witch

Enhance, the feeble strength of flesh

Be well, be safe from any harm

When wisdom, strength and skill are meshed

With ward and spell and charm

 “I – I don’t feel any different,” Ada said, inventorying her magic.

“No. These are the protective wards that come with being Headmistress. They’ll protect you from almost any sort of magical mischief – accidental or intentional. That’s how you girls never could manage to land a prank or pull off any sort of shenanigans. But be warned – if you ever lower the wards, you won’t be able to get them back.”

“It’s why the extraction spell failed.” Ada studied the book in her hands. Agatha never had a chance.

Alma nodded and they fell silent for a few moments before Alma roused herself and retrieved one last item from her desk. “Time for the last one.” She held out a gilt-edged red scroll bearing the seal of the Magic Council.

Ada stared at it as though it was a snake. The Sealkeeper’s Oath. She didn’t even realize she’d taken two steps backwards.

“It changes nothing, Ada. Nothing.” Alma glanced at Gwen. The older witch was staring sorrowfully at Ada. “You are not responsible for this, Ada. You didn’t set the punishment. You have no power to release her from the confinement unless Indigo is restored. If that happens – when that happens – you will be poised to end the spell.” She stepped forward and gripped Ada’s elbow. “It changes absolutely nothing.”

Ada nodded, reaching for the pen and the scroll. Unrolling it, Ada swallowed the bile in her throat and began to read.

She stopped before she’d even made it halfway through. It didn’t matter what it said. She didn’t really want to know.

Nothing will change, she told herself over and over. Nothing will change. Setting her jaw, Ada signed her name to the scroll. A rush of red fire filled the room before disappearing. In the silence that followed, Ada realized: Everything had changed.

-----

“Well met, sister! Are you ready for your big day?”

Ada pulled her eyes away from the window where she’d been taking in the growing crowd. “Agatha! I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t make it!” She tried to pull her sister into a hug, but it just proved stiff and awkward.

“Miss my big sister’s big day? I don’t think so.” She peered past Ada’s shoulder out the window. “Not a bad crowd, but hardly what one would expect on such a momentous occasion.”

It was a dig and Ada knew it. Knew Agatha knew she knew it. She chose to let it go, instead taking in Agatha in her sharp, modern suit. She looked down at her own shapeless form in her dress robes. Sleek? No. Stylish? Only for the most traditional of witches. At best, they covered the ever-increasing evidence of her love for sweets.

Agatha pulled a purple velvet bag out of the air. “A token, to celebrate your day.” She pulled a round brooch from the bag and held it up so Ada could see. A large dark stone was set in the middle of the gold setting, surrounded by orange gemstones. She pinned it to Ada’s cloak. “Now you’re ready.”

Ada traced the pin with her fingers, eyes shining as she smiled at her sister.

“Miss Cackle?”

“Yes?” They both said, turning around together.

Hecate stopped, eyes darting between the two of them before she collected herself. “Your mother says it’s time to make your way down to the dais.”

“Time to get this show on the road, then,” Agatha said before she snapped her fingers and disappeared.

Hecate eased closer to Ada. “You look resplendent in your dress robes.”

Ada could feel the color rising in her cheeks. “You might be biased.” She fussed with the sleeves. “I feel like a blob.”

“Nonsense,” Hecate smiled shyly. “You’re nothing of the sort. And that is my objective opinion.” Things had been stilted between them since that infernal marriage scroll. She didn’t regret it. Not at all. It had forced them to finally give voice to their feelings for one another. But feelings hadn’t translated into actions. Ada was adamant that they not move forward in their relationship as long as they were bound by the scroll. She’d argued that any sort of… consummation… might make it harder to free them. Hecate had reluctantly agreed. Once again, a part of her life remained on hold due to events beyond her control.  “I think you’ll make a fine Headmistress, the finest Cackle’s has ever seen.” She reached up to smooth Ada’s collar, dropping her hand when Ada backed away.

“Well. We don’t want to keep them waiting, do we?” She gave Hecate’s elbow a chaste squeeze before transferring to the dais herself.

Hecate stared at the empty space where Ada had been just a few seconds before. Something else had changed. A gulf stretched between them, growing larger each day. Hecate didn’t know how to bridge it.

Hecate arrived at the dais just behind Ada. Agatha, who was sitting in the chair next to Alma, looked up at them in surprise. Hecate saw the briefest look of surprise flash across Alma’s face as well. She watched as Agatha stood to let Ada sit in the seat next to her mother.

Hecate’s steps faltered as Agatha shifted into the seat on the other side of Ada. Her seat.

What used to be her seat, she corrected. Now that Agatha was here… Hecate felt the chasm grow wider still as she moved to sit in the row behind Ada, between Gwen Bat and Geraldine Gullet. She hardly paid attention to the ceremony, surprised at how short it actually was.

Alma made a speech. Ada made a speech. The Great Witch said a few words, and before Hecate knew it, they were all being herded into the Great Hall for the Feast of Investiture. That’s when it hit her: there’d been no mention of transferring the responsibility for her confinement.

Despite the hot summer sun, a chill pebbled her skin. They’d already done it. That explained the growing distance she felt with Ada. Hecate moved through the rest of the day like an automaton, with no memory of how she did it.

-----

“I’m not sure a business suit is the look I want for my portrait. It feels a bit too Ordinary.”

“Our portrait,” Agatha corrected. “Surely you don’t mean to wear those ghastly old-fashioned dress robes that you wore for your installation. I don’t fancy looking like a bloody Cossack in our school portrait.”

Ada gave her sister a sideways look. Agatha was waging a more successful war against their middle-aged spread. Definitely not the dress robes. “Surely there’s something we could agree on.” Not that she should be the one to compromise; she was Headmistress after all, but with Agatha… sometimes it was easier to simply give Agatha what she wanted. “As long as we don’t make the same mistake Mother did.”

Agatha grimaced in agreement. “Where is that portrait, anyway?” Their mother’s official portrait had become something of a family legend over the years. Somehow, their mother – bastion of tweed and jumpers – had been convinced to wear something modern. Fashionable, their mother insisted whenever the topic came up. The dress had certainly been memorable – an orange and purple paisley monstrosity with bat-wing sleeves.

“Top shelf of the confiscation cupboard. I’ve been instructed to Leave. It. Be.”

“I rather expect you were.” Agatha rearranged the papers on her desk. “I had an interesting conversation with Geraldine tonight. She says her budget has been frozen for the last couple of years.”

Ada nodded. “Money is always scarce for a non-fee-paying school. You know that.”

“Quite right. And yet the potions lab is spending significantly more money this year than last.”

“New cauldrons specially designed for students. Hang on.” She scribbled a quick note on a piece of paper and sent it fluttering to find Hecate. “I’ll have Miss Hardbroom explain—”

Hecate materialized in front of the fireplace. “You needed me?”

An hour later and Ada finally called a halt to the discussion. Hecate had transferred away immediately. “If you ask me, that girl is far too big for her broomstick.”

“I didn’t ask you. Miss Hardbroom is probably the finest potioner I’ve ever seen. Mother agreed to buy those cauldrons, and I’m not going to back out now.” Ada turned the lamp off. “I believe it’s time to put this conversation, and myself, to rest.” She also wanted to talk to Hecate.

As soon as Agatha left, Ada transferred to the hallway outside Hecate’s quarters. She tapped on the door and waited.

Hecate opened the door, already wearing her nightclothes. Ada could feel her skin warming. She made sure to keep her eyes on Hecate’s face.

“I wanted to…” Ada faltered. “I’m not exactly sure what I wanted. I just wanted to talk to you.”

Hecate opened the door wider, welcoming Ada inside. “Do you want some tea?”

“No. Thank you. I don’t want you to trouble yourself.” She smiled nervously at Hecate, who didn’t smile back. She wanted to tell Hecate she looked lovely. She wanted to tell her she missed her. Instead, she said, “I’m sorry about Agatha.”

“Your sister is… very different from you.”

“Mother would agree.” Ada sat down on Hecate’s sofa.

Hecate gingerly sat down beside her. “I’ve missed our… time together.” She reached for Ada’s hand, but Ada pulled it away, squeezing the hem of her jumper instead.

“I’ve missed it as well.” Ada tried to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. The hem was a poor substitute.

“But?”

“Does there have to be a but?” Both of Ada’s hands were now twisted in the fabric, stretching the knitting out of shape. “Perhaps a spot of tea would be best.”

Without a word, Hecate rose from the sofa and moved to the kitchenette where she proceeded to make the tea by hand. Ada could see her hands shaking from where she sat. Once she had the kettle on, Hecate turned to face Ada but didn’t move any closer. “If I’ve done something—”

“You haven’t. I know I’ve been preoccupied and I’m sorry.”

“But?”

Ada shook her head. “But I can’t… not that I don’t want to! I do… it’s just… I can’t.”

“Because you’re too busy? Because your sister wouldn’t approve? Because I’m not enough for you?”

Finally, Ada couldn’t take it anymore, not if it made Hecate doubt herself or her worth. “Because it’s not right!”

Hecate clutched at the counter as her knees began to fail. “What does that mean?”

“I – I’m your employer now… there are rules…” Ada couldn’t even finish the thought.

“We have been friends for years, Ada. Since before I worked here. Before you were anything more than a teacher here. You are not some lecherous wizard taking advantage of some naïve little witch in your employ. Moreover, I am neither a scheming harridan using you to better my positon, nor am I that naïve little witch being used. Please don’t insult either of us by using our jobs as an excuse.” Her legs found their strength again; she circled closer to Ada. “I know how you feel about that ridiculous marriage scroll—”

“It took away any choice that either of us had in the matter.” Ada knew she sounded like a petulant child. “It took away your choice.”

“I know what it did. I was there, remember? I also know that we’ve come to an understanding about that.” And they had – if one considers pretending it hadn’t happened an understanding. “This isn’t about that.” She wrapped her hands around the watch hanging from her neck. The watch Ada had given her. As much as she hated the thought, she had to say it. “Unless your feelings have changed.”

Ada’s eyes widened. “NO.” She hurried to Hecate’s side. “They have not.”

“Then talk to me about what’s truly bothering you. For Merlin’s sake, stop pretending everything is fine when it so clearly isn’t.” She forced her hands to her sides. “I know your mother transferred her power to you before the ceremony. Days before. That’s why it took me so long to work it out. You can’t even sit next to me now that you’ve become Sealkeeper.”

“That’s not true! I came here to see you, didn’t I?” She forced herself to quit wringing her hands. “I just… I keep seeing it in my mind. Every time I look at you, I see my signature on the oath. I’m sure it will fade, but… I keep coming back to having this control over you that—”

“Control? Ada! What control do you imagine you have?” Hecate stepped back and held up a hand. The air started to shimmer and hum. With a crack the Sealkeeper scroll appeared in her hand.

“Wh -  How…” Ada sputtered, gaping at the scroll. “You shouldn’t have been able to do that!”

“That’s hardly the point.” She thrust the scroll against Ada’s chest. “Go on, then. Show me what sort of control you have with that.”

“Now, Hecate…”

“Don’t ‘now, Hecate’ me. I want you to show me this control you think you have.”

“Look, you’re over excited and I don’t blame you. I’ve not… handled things well. You’ve had more time to rationalize this than I have.”

“Rationalize? I haven’t rationalized anything. I have made my peace with it. This is my life. As much as you may have thought about it since becoming the all-powerful Headmistress of Cackle’s Academy, I can assure you, Ada, that I have thought about it more. So, show me.”

Eyes narrowing, Ada unrolled the scroll. “Nothing will happen as long as the girl—”

“Indigo. Her name is Indigo.”

“As long as Indigo is stone, there’s nothing I can do.”

“Why not? Aren’t you in control, Headmistress?” Hecate folded her arms across her chest. “Go ahead and read the spell anyway. Let’s see what happens.”

Ada scanned the scroll. There was no incantation, only a blank space where she assumed it would appear. “It’s not visible.”

“Then make it appear.” Hecate waited until Ada shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “You can’t. Nor could you if by some miracle Indigo walked into your office right now.”

“Why not?” Ada read the scroll in earnest.

“Have you not even read it?” Hecate spun around, slapping a hand to her forehead as she tried to process what Ada was telling her. “You signed it. You presume to make decisions about me – about us – and you haven’t even read it?”

“You have to ask for it. You have to formally ask that the spell be lifted.” Ada’s face flushed. “I didn’t catch that.”

“The Great Witch’s last twist of the knife. I have to ask. Don’t flatter yourself that you have any more control over this than I do. Than your mother did. It’s as much a punishment for the Headmistress as it is for me. The Headmistress didn’t exercise control when she should have done, therefore she won’t have any control now.”

Ada looked like she wanted to speak. Instead she rolled the scroll up and sent it back to the desk in her office.

“I’m sorry you’ve been burdened with this, Ada. Truly I am. I had hoped that we’d built a foundation that would allow us to remain… well, friends at least, after you became Head.” She felt her eyes filling with tears, but she refused to cry in front of Ada. Not this time. “I trust you’ll let me know if that hope was misplaced.” She walked to the door. She didn’t know that she could manage a transfer just then. “I have rounds tonight.” She left Ada in her quarters.

In the corridor, Hecate sagged against the wall and buried her face in her hands. They never quarreled. Not that they always agreed, but… they didn’t do this. She pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and wiped her eyes. “You’re a fool, Hecate Hardbroom, for even thinking you could have anything more.” It was like Pippa all over again, and she was doubly foolish to believe that it could be any different. The only difference was that neither of them could leave.

With a deep, shaky breath, Hecate began her rounds. She’d just turned onto the Fourth-Year corridor when she felt a ripple of unauthorized magic. Following the ripple to its source, she transferred into a shallow alcove just as Veronica Catsear was about to tap a mirror leaning on a table.

“What are you doing?” Hecate shouted. “It is past your curfew.” She stalked closer. Veronica wisely stepped away, clasping her hands behind her back.

“N-nothing, Miss Hardbroom.”

“Do not lie, Miss Catsear. This is the third time this month that you’ve been caught out after curfew. Add to that your sabotage of Miss Spellbody’s duplication potion, your recoloring of Miss Swoop’s familiar, as well as the cabbage incident... And now you have somehow managed to procure an illicit magic mirror. At the rate you are going, Miss Catsear, I highly doubt you will manage to remain a student here long enough to finish this term, much less graduate.”

“But really, Miss Hardbroom, I didn’t—”

“Enough. To Miss Cackle’s office with you. Stay there until I arrive with the Headmistress.” Hecate waved a hand and sent the girl to the office, setting a ward that would alert Hecate if the girl tried to leave.

Alone in the alcove, Hecate weighed her options. Casting out with her magic, she found Ada back in her office. No doubt Miss Catsear was already pleading her case. Hecate hadn’t intended to speak with Ada again tonight. Perhaps it’s for the best, she thought. Perhaps they could work things out sooner rather than later.

She grasped the edge of the mirror just as she transferred to Ada’s office.

-----

“The girl has a list of misdemeanors as long as my arm. I’m afraid I’ve had quite enough.” Ada sipped her tea.

“But… Ada… Wormwood’s? For a contraband mirror?” Hecate knew she’d just threatened the girl with expulsion, but… Wormwood’s? Ada would never send a girl there.

Ada turned her scowl on Hecate. “I beg your pardon? I don’t recall our being so familiar. Nor do I recall asking for you opinion on this matter.”

Hecate took a step back. “I’m sorry…Headmistress.”

Agatha stepped between them. “There, there, ladies. I’m sure we’re all a bit out of sorts due to the late hour.” She hustled Hecate to the door, practically pushing her into the corridor. “I understand there’s to be a broomstick display tomorrow. I look forward to it.” She closed the door in Hecate’s face.

Standing alone in the hallway, Hecate tried to make sense of what had just happened. This wasn’t like Ada. Even if they’d quarreled, she wouldn’t send a child to Wormwood’s.

Too agitated to sleep, Hecate headed for the library instead. The sooner they figured out how to undo the marriage scroll, the sooner they could get back to normal.

  Hecate would have sworn she’d only closed her eyes for a moment, but the sunlight was streaming through the windows of the library as Miss Inkwell gently shook her awake.

“Good morning, Miss Hardbroom. It’s been a few years since I’ve had to wake you up from some corner of the library. Researching something interesting?”

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Hecate stretched, wincing at the sound of her vertebrae popping back into place. “No… well, yes.”

“That same thing that’s had you prowling my stacks for weeks now?” Miss Inkwell leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. “You know, librarians are here to help you find what you’re looking for – and we don’t search and tell.”

Hecate considered it. She hadn’t had any luck searching on her own. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, but… “I’m trying to find a reversal for a marriage contract. A – a friend accidentally read an old family marriage scroll and…” She shrugged. “She’s a bit embarrassed about it all.”

“I can see how that might be awkward – for your friend.” She patted Hecate’s shoulder. “I’ll take a look for you. But right now, you’d better get your skates on if you’re going to be on time for the broomstick display.”

Nodding, Hecate magicked her hair back into its usual tight and tidy bun before performing a quick shower spell. She thanked Miss Inkwell and hurried out to the sports field.

Within minutes, Hecate was surrounded by a dozen girls, all asking questions and running a dozen different ways. She scanned the crowd, looking for Miss Swoop, but the woman was nowhere to be found.

“Settle down, girls!” Hecate held her hands out, willing the girls to just be still. “You know what to do. You’ve practiced and you’re ready. Now go. Take your places.”

Determined little faces moved into position. Hecate took a seat on the dais, two rows behind Ada. She still didn’t see Miss Swoop. Across the grass Gwen Bat began playing an organ that had been set up for the display.

Shading her eyes against the late morning sun, Hecate watched the girls soaring in a slightly uneven v-formation. One of the girls was late on the turn, throwing the line off, but they quickly recovered. Soaring over the castle, the group formed a circle, flying faster and faster. Just when Hecate feared they would lose focus, plumes of red smoke streamed from the end of each broom, swirling in the vortex the girls had created until it resembled a small tornado. One by one the girls peeled off, landing in neat rows in front of the dais.

The crowd erupted, Hecate included. The girls beamed, well-deserved pride shining in their eyes. Ada rose to her feet, holding her hands up and willing the crowd to be quiet.

“That was an adequate display, girls. Not quite up to Cackle’s high standards, but I suppose the best you could do. You in particular, Miss Stone, I do hope you’ll endeavor to improve. Such a disappointment.”

Hecate looked on in horror as the girl who’d been late on the turn dropped her head. “Yes, Miss Cackle. I’m sorry, Miss Cackle.”

“Don’t be sorry, Evelyn. Be better.” Ada shooed the girls away in a curt dismissal. The rest of the girls filed away, their earlier exuberance dissipating faster than the smoke from their display.

Filing out with the rest, Hecate saw Ada waiting for her. Surely Ada wasn’t still out of sorts from last night. “Miss Cack—”

“Next time, Miss Hardbroom, I expect you’ll see to it that the display is actually ready for public viewing before disrupting our timetables?”

Speechless, Hecate stood, staring at Ada as everyone else hurried past her. She felt a warm hand wrap itself around her elbow, and a low voice purred in her ear.

“Don’t listen to her, Joy. They were brilliant.”

“What did you call me?” Hecate asked.

She turned around and found herself face to face with Pippa Pentangle.

----

Ada pushed her glasses to the top of her head and leaned in closer. She kept her hands clasped firmly behind her back. “Now, you’re sure that the mirror wasn’t here when you went to Miss Gribble’s room?”  

Veronica Catsear looked back and forth between the adults. “Yes, Miss Cackle. I was sneak… I mean, I was walking down the corridor and I thought I heard something. I didn’t want to get caught out after hours, so I hid in here. But it was just one of the familiars.”

“I see.” Ada settled her glasses back into place and stood up. “And then?” The alcove was feeling very crowded with Ada, Agatha, Gwen Bat and Veronica in it.

“Well, you see… Mattie and I finished… studying, yeah, we were studying for… for chanting! Anyway, it was late, and I thought Miss Hardbroom would’ve been done with rounds already, so I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“But I’d kept Miss Hardbroom from her rounds. She got a late start.”

“Just my luck. Anyway, I was walking back to my hutch, and I saw it. I’d just gone to have a look when Miss Hardbroom caught me.” Veronica gazed up at Ada with wide eyes. “I hadn’t touched it or anything, I swear!”

“I believe you, dear. If you had, I daresay we’d be looking for you instead of Miss Hardbroom.”

Veronica edged further away from the mirror. “Is Miss Hardbroom all right?”

“Oh, I expect so. Miss Hardbroom is very resourceful, you know. I’m sure she’s just a bit misplaced at the moment.” Ada smiled and wrapped an arm around the girl as she walked her into the hallway. “You go on to bed now, Veronica. We’ll get Miss Hardbroom sorted.” She nudged the girl on ahead. “And Miss Catsear? Don’t think that I’ve forgotten you were out past curfew not once, but twice tonight. Come see me at breakfast tomorrow and we’ll see about your punishment.”

Veronica’s shoulders slumped. Clearly, she’d hoped her curfew violation had been forgotten. “Yes, Miss Cackle.”

Ada waited in the hallway until the girl disappeared into her room. Once she’d gone, Ada turned back to the alcove with a sigh. “What do you think?”

“I think that this is not an ordinary mirror,” Gwen answered. She bent down until her face was nearly pressed against the glass and sniffed deeply. “You can smell the magic on it still. A bit like sulfur.”

“It doesn’t mean it has any bearing on Miss Hardbroom’s whereabouts,” Agatha argued.

“True, but the appearance of an unknown magical mirror that just so happens to coincide with Hecate disappearing? I think it’s quite likely the two are related.” Ada studied the mirror for a moment, hoping the secret wards that she’d inherited as Headmistress were as powerful as her mother had hinted.

Gingerly, Ada lifted the mirror – nearly dropping it at Gwen’s gasp. “Merlin’s sake, Miss Bat!” She looked at the other women. Gwen anxiously stared back at her while Agatha stared through narrowed eyes at the mirror itself. “Let’s get this back to my office.”

 The first tendrils of dawn were breaking over the horizon, and they still were no closer to figuring out the mirror than they had been when Veronica first showed it to them. Agatha had begged off sometime around three am, arguing that she would have to cover Hecate’s classes. Gwen sat in one of the wingbacks, head slumped on her chest and snoring softly.

Watching the sky shift from inky black to rosy blue, Ada reckoned she had about an hour before her mother arrived. She knew Agatha would have plenty to say about that, but Ada didn’t care. Not where Hecate was concerned. Certainly not when their last words had been a quarrel. Ada wiped a tear away before it could fall. Right now, she didn’t care if she was Headmistress; she didn’t care that she was nearing fifty years old. She wanted her mum to come and make things right again.

-----

“P-Pippa?” Hecate couldn’t believe her eyes. “You’re here?” She looked her up and down, not sure she would have recognized her out of her signature pink. Why was she wearing a kitchen witch’s uniform?

“It’s not funny, Joy.” Pippa said as she crossed her arms and started to walk away. “Where the bloody hell else would I be?”

“Amulet’s?”

“Look, I know the wicked witch has you bollocked, but that’s still not funny.” She grabbed Hecate’s elbow and pulled her closer. “I’ve got to get back to the kitchens, and you need to go patch up Evie Stone’s self-esteem. Meet me on the roof tonight. Our usual.”

Before Hecate could gather her wits enough to speak, Pippa was gone. Something was wrong. Hecate’s breath started coming faster. Everything was wrong. Her heart sputtered and roared, sending her back to the seats before she fell. Pippa shouldn’t be here. Ada shouldn’t… She cradled the pocket watch in her hands. Ada should not be this person that berates young girls in front of the entire school. She flicked open the watch and read the inscription There’s Always Time for What Is Important.

She snapped the watch closed. Her eyes roamed the courtyard. Everything looked both the same and unfamiliar at once. She forced herself to her feet, fingers still wrapped around the watch. First things first, she needed to see to Evelyn Stone.

 Having no idea when or where ‘the usual’ was, Hecate transferred to the roof as soon as dinner was finished. It was just as well. She needed time and quiet to think. The day had been enlightening to say the least. If she’d been asked that morning, Hecate would have said that seeing Pippa Pentangle would have been the most shocking part of the day. No. The most shocking bit had been finding out she taught Physical Education. She’d walked into her lab expecting to teach the scheduled laughter potion. Instead, she found Miss Gullet preparing her students in her lab. Her quarters were different; her clothes were different. As best she could tell, she was different here. Friendlier, more open. Everything she wasn’t in her own life.

And then there was Ada. She barely recognized her. The woman she loved hardly seemed to exist in this… reality? Time? Was she caught in a spell? A time trap? Was she the normal one or the one out of place?

“Joy?”

Hecate’s heart stuttered along with her feet. She wasn’t sure if it was the name or the woman saying it.

“You’re talking to yourself, darling. Are you all right?”

She forced a smile before she turned to face Pippa. “Was I? I didn’t realize.”

“Just a bit. C’mon, Hiccup. I need a smoke.”

Hecate followed her to the edge of the roof, the same place they’d snuck out to when they were girls. Swinging their legs to dangle over the wall, they spent a few moments enjoying the night. Pippa took the time to light up her cigarette, inhaling deeply and blowing the smoke over their heads. Hecate tried not to wrinkle her nose at the smell. It had been years since Ada had last smoked – her Ada, anyway. She didn’t know about the one here. She’d forgotten how bad they smelled.

“Your team did well, today. Don’t listen to what Cackle said.” Pippa gave her a sidelong look. “Sure you don’t want a drag?” She held the cigarette out.

“No. Thank you.” Hecate smiled. “And thank you about the show. I really didn’t do anything.” She hoped, in the moonlight, that Pippa couldn’t see how true that was. She had so many things she wanted to ask Pippa. So many things she wanted to tell her. She hadn’t a clue how to begin.  

They sat in silence.

Hecate jumped when Pippa finally spoke. “You’re wearing your hair different today. It looks nice. You’ve always had beautiful hair.” She crushed out her cigarette and lit another.

“Thank you.” Hecate fiddled with her nails. “Aren’t you worried smoking will affect your chanting?” Hecate heard Pippa’s sigh, but she put that cigarette out as well.

“What different does it make? I haven’t chanted in years. You know that.”

Hecate swallowed a cry. Pippa had loved chanting – singing them, learning them, writing new ones. “I – I know… I just hope that one of these days you will again.”

Pippa reached over and grabbed her hand. “I know.” She squeezed Hecate’s fingers before letting go. “Someday, perhaps. When we’re far away from here.”

“How long has it been now?”

“Six thousand, four hundred and thirty-two days…” Pippa’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “Each day feels longer than the one before it. I keep telling myself it’s nearly done, but…” Her voice sounded like a cauldron sliding across stone.

Before she could even think about it, Hecate reached for Pippa, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. For a few seconds, Pippa leaned into her. Then she pushed herself away.

“I’m sorry, but… you know I can’t.” Pippa’s shoulder shook as she breathed in a deep, steadying breath.”

“I’m sorry… I just…” Just what? Hecate thought to herself. I don’t even know what we are to each other here. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t mind me, Hiccup. I’m just feeling a bit maudlin, I suppose.” She gave Hecate’s knee a shake. “I know it’s not your fault. Really, I do. And I’m grateful you stayed with me through my confinement. You didn’t have to.”

“Y-your confinement?” The word sliced through Hecate’s heart like a scythe. “I didn’t…”

“Don’t pretend to make me feel better, Joy. The only reason you’re here is me. Nobody works for Ada Cackle if they can help it.”

Hecate looked at Pippa – really looked at her for the first time since she’d been here. For the first time in years. Pippa wasn’t just older, she was harder, with pinched lips and cold eyes. “Pip…” She tried to reach for her hand again, but Pippa leaned away.

“I don’t regret it,” Pippa said, as much to the night as to Hecate. “You’d already been confined until graduation. If you’d actually given that girl magic… they’d have stripped you of yours and held you up as an example. I couldn’t let the most magical person I know be destroyed like that. What choice did I have but to steal the Wishing Star back from you? It’s not your fault I got caught putting it back.”

The wall seemed to sway beneath her, and Hecate pressed her back against the stone. “Pippa…”

“Don’t. I know I’m here through my own choices – and I wouldn’t do anything differently given the chance. But it all comes back to your obsession with that Ordinary girl, doesn’t it? Maybe once my confinement is up…” Pippa cleared her throat and wrenched some brightness into her tone. “Twenty years hasn’t been so long, hey? Only a couple left.”

“You don’t have to pretend. I understand how you feel, Pip—”

“NO! You don’t. You can come and go as you please. You can leave this place. Whether you choose to or not, it’s still your choice. Don’t tell me you understand until you’ve spent nearly twenty years getting knocked off your broom every time you get too close to the property line.” She climbed down off the wall. “I’ve had enough reminiscing for tonight, Joy. Get some sleep.” Pippa winked out of sight in a swirl of pink magic, leaving Hecate alone on the roof.

Hecate trailed her fingers through the fading remnants of Pippa’s magic. At least that hasn’t changed, she thought. This was not her world. Nor Pippa’s. Nor even Ada’s.

She knew she was in trouble – seriously so. But one thing Pippa said kept ringing through her head, crowding everything else out. You can come and go as you please.

Hecate summoned a broom, pushing aside her own vivid memories of getting knocked off her broom at the property line. Instead, she flew straight for it.

-----

“I can’t believe you’ve summoned Mother,” Agatha hissed. “Is this how it’s going to be every time some little thing goes wrong?”

Ada pulled away, trying to avoid any more of Agatha’s nettle breath. “Hecate is missing. I don’t take that lightly. I’m certainly not going to put her welfare at risk to spare my pride. Nor yours.” She pulled a rumpled paper sack out of her skirt pocket. “Suck on a lemon drop, Agatha. We’d all appreciate it.”

“If you two girls are finished…” Alma called, looking at them over the top of her glasses. She pointed at two spots on either side of the mirror. Ada and Agatha meekly took up their assigned positions.

“Do you know what we’re dealing with?” Ada struggled to keep her voice light despite her mother’s grim expression.

“I think I do. It’s old magic. Not quite dark, but… murky.” Alma leaned closer to the mirror and sniffed. “You said Gwen thought it smelled like sulfur?”

“Yes, that’s what she said.”

Agatha crossed her arms. “I didn’t smell anything.”

“Most people can’t, I think,” Alma said. “I can’t.”

Ada leaned in and took a deep whiff. “I don’t know if I can actually smell it, or if it’s just wishful thinking.”

“I believe we’re dealing with an Ostium Alternis Vitae spell.” Alma steadied Ada as she swayed on her feet. “We’ll get her back, daughter. Have faith.”

“Are… are you certain? I didn’t even think those were real.” A pit opened in Ada’s stomach. For the first time since Hecate disappeared, she feared for her return.

“I’ve never seen one, but… yes, I’m fairly certain. The smell of sulfur is one sign of it. But here’s what makes me sure… come here.” Alma positioned Ada in front of the mirror. “At first glance, it looks like an ordinary mirror.”

Ada stared at the reflection of her and her mother. Side by side, it was clearer than ever that Ada was her mother’s daughter. Shaking her head, she pushed the thought away. Now was not the time. “I take it, it’s not?”

“Step closer.” Alma nudged her forward. “Now, look at the edges of your reflection, but let your eyes go out of focus. Take your time.”

Ada tried to do as her mother instructed. As her eyes relaxed, the images took on a three-dimensional effect, nothing more. Just as she was about to give up, she saw a flicker of movement. Her eyes focused on that point and she lost the image. She grunted in frustration before closing her eyes to try again.

“That’s it, daughter. Relax yourself and your vision.”

Opening her eyes again, Ada slipped into the unfocused state much faster this time. When the flicker appeared again, Ada kept her eyes still, trying to look through the mirror, not at it. At last, the image shifted, and a new picture emerged. Ada could see that she was still seeing her office, but from a different angle. A woman passed in front of the mirror; Ada recognized herself. But it wasn’t her – little things were different: the cut of her hair, a skirt she didn’t own…

Suddenly the room disappeared, and Ada was staring into her mother’s worried face. “M-mother?”

“There you go…” Alma pushed her daughter to the sofa. “Let’s have a spot of tea.” She handed Ada a cup, adding a couple of biscuits to the saucer.

“I don’t understand.” Ada started as she realized that Gwen had joined them. “How long…”

“Over an hour, dear,” Gwen said. “Long enough to be sure that’s what we think it is. I must say, I never thought I’d see one of those again.”

Still dazed, Ada stared at her tea. “Where’s Agatha?”

-----

Water ran in rivulets around her hand where it rested against the windowpane. Hecate didn’t know when it started raining. She didn’t know how long she’d been hovering outside Indigo Moon’s window, holding herself without form as she watched the family inside, but the buzzing in her ears had moved somewhere beyond agonizing.

Indigo lived. She looked healthy and well and happy. She had a family. A husband, who laughed a lot and brought her popcorn when they settled in to watch something on the telly, who cuddled with her on the sofa. She had a child – a son, judging from his truck-covered pyjamas. He was just learning to walk, giggling in surprise every time he plunked onto his nappy-padded bottom.

Hecate pushed herself away from the window, lifting into the air and pulling herself back into space. She pressed her frozen fingers against her burning ears, the buzzing slowly fading away. She could only imagine how red they were.

Turning her broom towards Cackle’s, Hecate headed back. Her earlier exhilaration at leaving the grounds had faded. This wasn’t her home. It was Joy’s home and she was no longer Joy. Her mind racing faster than her broom, Hecate tried to make sense of what had happened.

She knew she was the one out of place. Her fingers closed around the pocket watch at her neck. A gift from Ada. Her Ada. She frowned. Did Ada know she was missing? Was she missing? Hecate slowed her speed. Was there another Hecate fumbling through her life at Cackle’s? Was there a woman who never turned a child to stone now confined to a castle that had never been her home?

Or was Ada pacing the corridors in a panic, wondering where she could be? Berating herself because the last words they’d said to one another were shouted in anger.

The rain fell harder. Hecate pressed forward into the night, using the flight to think. When had she first noticed anything amiss? Today? Certainly, nothing had been right today.

“No,” she said out loud. “You knew something was wrong last night. Ada would never send a girl to Wormwood’s. Not after Agatha.”

The castle appeared in the distance, and Hecate’s room, even though it wasn’t truly hers, still beckoned, warm and dry. By the time she’d landed, Hecate knew what she needed to do. She needed to get her hands on that mirror. Only two unusual things had happened yesterday: finding Veronica Catsear in possession of an unauthorized mirror and her quarrel with Ada. She hardly thought Ada would magick her into another dimension.

Half an hour, two drying spells, one warming spell and a cup of tea later, Hecate found herself lurking in the hallway near Miss Cackle’s office. Lurking, for Merlin’s sake. She hadn’t lurked since she was a girl. “And we know how that turned out,” she chided herself.

It wasn’t quite time for lights out, but the corridors were already deserted. Hecate nearly jumped out of her skin when Miss Inkwell rounded the corner.

“Miss Hardbroom! I was just headed your way.” She held up an envelope. “I finished your little research project. That took some doing. Where did you… I mean, your friend… where did your friend even come across such a scroll? Those haven’t been used since the days of arranged marriages.”

Hecate took the envelope, turning it over in her hands. “That makes sense. She was cleaning out old family mementos.”

“What is all this nattering outside my door?” Ada appeared in a burst of magic.

The two women jumped back, pressing against the wall.

“Apologies, Miss Cackle,” Hecate shoved the envelope into her skirt pocket.

Ada pointed at Hecate. “What are you trying to hide?”

“N-nothing, Ad- I mean, Miss Cackle. Miss Inkwell was just helping me with a bit of research. I wanted to…” Hecate fumbled about trying to come up with an appropriate subject.

“Joy was just trying to find a way to improve the aerodynamics of the school brooms,” Miss Inkwell finished for her. “Ever striving onward, and all that.”

Ada stared down her nose at them. “I’d bloody well hope so after your girl’s earlier performance.” She cast a scathing look at Hecate. “I shouldn’t be surprised that a sports witch knows nothing about using a library.” She dismissed them with a flick of her wrist. “Carry on then – away from my office door. I’m late for tea with Agatha. Be gone by the time I return.”

Bristling inside, Hecate managed to grind out a quiet ‘Yes, Miss Cackle’ as the woman stalked away. “Thank you, Penelope. I fear I was floundering a bit.”

“Yes, well… she does have that effect on people.” She held up both hands as claws and bared her teeth, growling playfully. “Good evening, Joy. Don’t be such a stranger in the library.”

Hecate snickered behind a hand. “I won’t. You take care.” She made an exaggerated show of checking the hallway before adding in a loud whisper, “Stay out of trouble.” She took a few slow steps in the opposite direction of Miss Inkwell. Once the other woman disappeared and her footsteps had faded away, Hecate hurried back to the office door. She didn’t know how long she had before Ada returned. With apologies to her ears, Hecate pushed herself into the space between transfers.

-----

“Mother? I asked you where Agatha is?”

“She’s gone to tend to your Headmistress duties while we try to sort out what’s happened to Hecate.”

Ada smiled thinly. “That’s very kind of her.”

Alma and Gwen exchanged worried glances before Alma spoke. “Is it?”

“Are you saying it’s not?” Ada scowled into her teacup. “You’ve never given Agatha the benefit of the doubt, always expecting the worst whether it was warranted or not.” She slammed her cup down on the coffee table. “And now, when we should be focused on finding Hecate, you’ve chosen to renew this… antagonism towards my sister!”

“Use your sense, Ada! She’s been here only a few days, and already there’s chaos.” Alma shook her head; there was no reasoning with Ada. There never had been. “I know she’s your sister, and I know you think my concerns are unfounded, but look at where we are. Do you think it’s a coincidence that the person who matters to you above all others is the one that vanished?”

Ada crumpled under her mother’s glare. “We have to get her back.”

“And we will,” Alma covered Ada’s hand with her own. “We will.” She waved Gwen over. “While you were… occupied… Gwen and I did some sleuthing. We think we know how to get her back…”

Ada looked back and forth between them. Their drawn faces and downcast eyes belied the hopeful tone her mother used. “But there’s something wrong… I can tell from your faces.”

“She has to be in front of the mirror,” Gwen explained. “We don’t even know if the mirror exists where she is, wherever she is. We don’t even know if she’s aware anything is amiss.”

“But she’s all right, isn’t she? In whatever reality she’s in, she’s all right?”

“I hope so, daughter.”

“But there’s something else. Stop waving your wand about and just cast the spell.” Ada leapt from the sofa, stomping across the room until she was standing in front of the mirror. “She has to want to come back. That’s what you don’t want to tell me.”

“It’s a mirror,” her mother explained gently, “an old mirror. There are flaws. The reflection is never perfect. The reality on the other side won’t be perfect either.”

If Ada had ever wondered what it felt like to turn to stone, this might be it. “What does that mean?”

“Hecate is the same, of course, but… other things could be different. You may not be Headmistress or maybe you are.”

“Maybe the confinement never happened,” Ada added softly. Would Hecate even want to return? What if the Ada on the other side of the mirror didn’t hesitate to love her back? “Trading her freedom for me isn’t much of a bargain.”

Alma moved until she was standing behind her daughter, hands resting heavily on her shoulders. “Don’t sell yourself short. And don’t underestimate Hecate.” She gave Ada a gentle shake. “It won’t matter if we aren’t paying attention when she looks in the mirror.” She left Ada staring, unfocused, into the glass.

-----

Hecate materialized in her room, the throbbing in her ears subsiding only a little. She leaned the cloth-draped mirror on her sofa and rubbed her ears, unsurprised when her fingers came away slicked with blood.

She wiped her hands on her skirt and didn’t give it another thought. Who knew how long it would be before Ada noticed the mirror was gone? Whipping the cloth away, Hecate studied the mirror. Her nose twitched at the faint smell of matches. She carefully touched the frame with the tip of her finger, flinching when she made contact. Nothing happened.

“A one-time only spell?” Hecate gripped the edge more firmly. She could feel magic under its surface – oily, writhing magic. Dark magic. She remembered finding an old ring in her mother’s jewelry box once, before she’d left for Cackle’s. She’d only held it a moment before her mother had snatched it away, but… she remembered the way it had felt in her hand. It felt like this, but stronger. Closer.

In a flash of understanding, Hecate realized it was because the spell was on the other side of the mirror, not this one. Whoever had done this had done it from her world, not this one. She pulled her hand away.

But this was her world, too. A world where she had Pippa, a world where she wasn’t confined. In this world Indigo Moon was home and warm, eating popcorn with a family who loved her – not standing in the rain, frozen in stone at the edge of the forest.

But it wasn’t her life.

This wasn’t her Pippa, bright and glowing and pink. This certainly wasn’t her Ada. She looked down at herself, awkwardly dressed in sports clothes. This wasn’t her life.

Hecate rearranged herself on the sofa. She gazed into the mirror, hoping to spot a trace of the magic, or maybe a pattern. She tried to avoid looking at herself. It was too distracting. Instead she tried to see through herself, adjusting and readjusting her eyes until…

Until she found herself staring into Ada Cackle’s blue eyes.

-----

“Hecate!” Ada rushed forward, flattening both hands against the glass. “She’s there, I can see her!” Behind her, she could hear Gwen and her mother scrambling, but she didn’t dare turn to look. On the other side, Hecate’s eyes flew open wide. “I think she can see me, too! Hurry!”

Alma opened the ancient spellbook. “When we start, push against the glass and try to pull her through.” She nodded at Gwen and they began.

 By all we see and all we are,

We summon you from realms afar.

 Ada pushed. The glass felt softer, but it didn’t give. “Again!”

 By all we see and all we are,

We summon you, Hecate, from realms afar.

 The mirror began glowing. Ada’s hands pushed through. “Once more!” She could see Hecate reaching for her from the other side but couldn’t feel anything. She pushed harder and suddenly felt Hecate’s hands in hers.

With strength borne of desperation, Ada pulled as hard as she could. Then, in a crack of thunder and hail of glass shards, Hecate was tumbling against her. Ada fell with her, refusing to let go even as they crashed to the floor.

“Hecate! Thank the stars!” She pulled Hecate even closer, kissing the top of her head. “You’re here, oh… Hecate…”

Burying her face in Ada’s shoulder, Hecate clung harder. “Say it again, Ada, say my name again…”

“Hecate… I’ll say it over and over if you want… Hecate…”

Hecate smiled into against Ada’s shoulder. She was home. 

[theaggresivepacifist]

and you, my oldest friend

For the lovely @thegoldensoundtwice, based on this amazing post.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Since I moved home from college in May, I’ve kind of lost contact with a lot of good friends and colleagues, and your amazing blog has been a little bit like having a friend to chat with – especially about the wonderful world of Redwall. Even though we don’t really know each other, your kindness, sense of humor, and incredible eloquence (I will NEVER be over the fic you wrote for me!!!) has been such a gift, and so instead of studying for the GRE I wanted to write you this tale as an early Christmas present and a heartfelt thank-you. Surprise!!!

It is un-beta’d, massive af (I think almost 7K words, so let me know if you’d like a .pdf!), and a tad bit angstier than I was going for at first, but hopefully still an entertaining yarn.

Cheers!!!

It was a glorious midsummer’s evening when she saw Redwall Abbey for the first time.

Her grandfather, a silver-furred old badger named Buckthorn, had told her stories about it, of course, promising to take her there the next time they held one of their fabled feastdays. He was a good storyteller, perhaps the best in Mossflower. But even he couldn’t do it justice.

The Abbey stood tall and proud and majestic at the border of the woodlands, battlements and belltower of ruddy sandstone soaring to the sky. The setting sun gilded the myriad ivy leaves that crept across the stone, turned the climbing roses to an incandescent shade of ruby red. The broad main gates stood open to all comers, and inside she could see colored lanterns glowing in the branches of the trees, reflecting in swirls of red and yellow on the surface of a tranquil pond.

Constance had never before seen anything quite so beautiful.

  A motely group of squirrels, mice, hedgehogs, otters and moles welcomed them to table at once, as if they were old friends, and loaded their plates with the most delicious-looking foods a creature could imagine: breads and cheeses, salads and pasties, puddings and berries and flans. All of them were talking at the same time.

“Welcome, both of you! You look famished! Here, this plum cake goes perfect with clotted cream.”

“How about some of this hotroot soup?”

“Don’t be shy, take a few more of these nunnymolers.”

They were given places of honor at a table of Abbey Brothers and Sisters, pleasant mice in cowled brown robes.  Being  rather solitary by nature, Constance spoke with them only when spoken to, preferring to let her grandfather hold the conversation. She devoted the rest of her attention to eating serving after serving of the scrumptious food and watching the other jolly creatures with interest.

As supper was winding down, with everyone sipping their favorite drinks and nibbling at their favorite sweets, some of the woodland guests, the two badgers included, took it upon themselves to provide entertainment for their kindly hosts. A troupe of voles played reels and jigs on a battered bodhran and sweet-toned reed flutes; a family of harvest mice performed several comedic skits. But Constance and Buckthorn’s act was the most anticipated of the evening. Many Redwallers had never even seen a badger in the fur before, as old Mara, Redwall’s last badger mother, had gone to her rest many seasons ago. The pair of them performed feats of marksmanship with yew longbows, and Constance obligingly wrestled stout waterhogs and burly otter champions, shaking them off like raindrops as the Redwallers shouted words of advice and encouragement.

“That’s the stuff, missie!”

“Hohoho, ole Skip’ll be sore for a full season!”

“Hurr, moind the choild don’t toss ’im into yon pudden!”

She enjoyed the competition, the adrenaline, the feeling of her own strength. The attention was slightly overwhelming. Having humored her hosts, she left her grandfather deep in conversation with old Abbot Cedric and slunk off to the orchards with a pawful of mushroom and leek turnovers, throwing herself down on the cool grass to eat. The night air was velvety-soft, sweet with the perfume of rose and blackberry and late blossoms, and she snuffed appreciatively at it between bites of savory pastry.

“Peaceful, isn’t it?” said a quiet voice, surprisingly close at paw.

Constance bristled slightly, but then relaxed when she spotted the creature, resting against the trunk of a neighboring plum tree. He was just a young mouse, dusky brown, wearing the sandals and sage-green habit of a novice. His eyes were wise and kind.

“I always like to come here in the evenings,” he continued. “It’s nice to sit and watch the sun set over the Abbey. And it’s especially nice to be surrounded by all these good creatures, and hear them laughing and enjoying the feast.”

“I live with my grandfather in Mossflower. I’ve never seen so many creatures all at once,” Constance said. It was unlike her to admit something like that to a strangebeast, but the mouse’s gentle manner somehow put her at ease.

“Do you have many friends in Mossflower?”

“Not really.”

“Well, now you’ve got lots of them here.”

Constance had to smile at that. She extended a broad black paw and gave his a gingerly shake.

“I’m Constance. Pleased to make your acquaintance, friend.”

The mouse made a grave gesture in return, bowing his head over his own folded paws.

“My name is Mortimer,” he said.

  By the end of the feast Mortimer and Constance were inseparable; the one’s serious nature perfectly complemented the other’s slight shyness. When she and her grandfather returned for the autumn harvest he showed her around the interior of the Abbey: the dizzying height of the belltower, the best places to sit in Great Hall, the labyrinthine aisles of the cellars where their resident Cellarhog kept special firkins of mulled wine and flowery mead.

Of course, they were both still young creatures, so these sights were soon followed by a tour of the spookiest corners of the attic, the hallways with the best curtains to shelter behind during games of hide-and-seek, and the kitchen larders that held the best snacks. They played in the crisp autumn leaves and dared each other to step paw in the icy pond. He also introduced her to Martin the Warrior, explaining the legend to her as she gazed, transfixed, at the richly embroidered tapestry.

“A mouse fighting a wildcat,” she marveled aloud. “I can’t wait to tell my granddad about this.”

“I thought you’d like to know about Martin,” said Mortimer. “He was brave and strong like you.”

“And then a mouse of peace, like you,” she replied thoughtfully.

  Buckthorn was growing too old to make the journey to Redwall as often as Constance would have liked, and so in the springtide she argued and pleaded with him until, finally, he gave her permission to make the trip on her own. She woke well before dawn, packed a generous haversack of supplies, and set out through the woodlands at a steady pace, already full of excitement for the day she had planned. The miles passed swiftly. She arrived at the Abbey by midmorning, just as the Redwallers were finishing their breakfast, and stealthily motioned for Mortimer to leave Great Hall and join her in the orchard. He was thrilled by the surprise, but also full of questions.

“Why are you being so secretive? Where’s your grandfather? How in the name of seasons did you get here so early?”

“I’m here to take you on an adventure,” she told him in a stage whisper. “Think you can sneak out to Mossflower for the day?”

“I’m not sure I’m allowed,” said Mortimer. “I have to help with the washing for the dormitories and –”

“Come on! I’ve been to Redwall lots of times, now you should see where I live. Just tell them you can’t do it! Make something up!”

“I’ll try. Wait here.”

He disappeared for several minutes, leaving Constance to sample some of the early gooseberries. Finally he returned with a subdued expression and a heavy green travelling cloak draped over his Redwall habit.

“I told Brother Oswin I was gathering herbs for the infirmary,” he said, already self-reproachful.

“Don’t worry, it won’t be a fib. We can find some on the way back.”

He cheered up as soon as they set paw in the emerald forest, where new leaves were budding and a kaleidoscope of varicolored wildflowers were blooming. He had never been so far into Mossflower Wood before. Constance named the many birds for him by their plumage and their dulcet voices, and Mortimer paused often to admire fuzzy bumblebees and jewel-toned dragonflies, or flitting butterflies with wings like stained glass.

After a few hours’ march they sat down on the riverbank to rest, shaded by the boughs of an ancient willow. Mortimer said a simple grace over their midday meal. Constance watched the way his eyes closed, his shoulders relaxed, his paws steepled.

“What is it like, being in the Order?” she asked him, around a mouthful of strawberry preserves.

“Well, there’s a lot of book learning.” He brushed oatcake crumbs from his lap and cut a wedge of yellow cheese studded with hazelnuts, whiskers twitching thoughtfully. “Lots of history. We learn about the founders of Redwall and where they came from, and about the rules and vows that all Abbeymice live by. But our most important duty is to provide help and healing and charity to any creature in need of our assistance. Just a few days ago there was a poor weasel with a racking cough –”

“You mean you let vermin into the Abbey?” Constance interrupted.

“He was an honest creature. Sister Teazle and I made him a draught of strong herbs. He was as good as new by the next morning, and gave us some beautiful mussel shells in token of his thanks.”

“He probably came by those while he was off pirating at sea,” she replied dryly. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you can’t trust just anyone. There are a lot of dishonest creatures who would try to take advantage, even here in Mossflower. We’ve had quite a few brushes with robber foxes and ferrets.”

“Trust them or not, my duty is to help them if they require it,” Mortimer said patiently. “But I suppose it’s safer living at Redwall than out here in the forest.”

“I don’t know. It’s not so bad.”

“Oh dear, I didn’t mean it that way at all, truly. Mossflower is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. I think I could stay here by the riverside forever.”

“Well, I think Redwall’s got to be the best place I’ve ever seen,” said Constance, pleased by her friend’s compliment.

“Who knows! Maybe you could come and live there someday.”

  After luncheon they crossed the stream, picking a careful path over the slippery stones, and made their way at last to at the badgers’ cottage. It was a snug little house of smooth clay, built back against a rock shelf so that the soft-mossed surface served as the fourth and largest wall. Trailing nasturtiums wove over the doorway and windowsills, their flowers like bright medallions of orange and sun gold. Inside were tables and chairs of Buckthorn’s making, carved out of honey-colored wood, and little trinkets from his many travels: pressed mountain flowers, many-colored stones, bits of seaglass worn smooth as silk.

“It reminds me of our Cavern Hole at Redwall,” said Mortimer, his eyes aglow.

“A neighbor helped me to build this place, a clever old beaver, when I first came to this part of the woods.” Buckthorn straightened from stoking up the hearthfire. “That were when young Constance here was but a tiny badgermaid. Her gran was still with us then.”

“She must have planted that wonderful herb garden of yours.”

“Aye, that’s right. She was a healer like you are, y’know. There’s some rare plants growing there that might interest you.”

The old badger and the young mouse were kindred spirits. Over the course of the afternoon Buckthorn swapped stories with Mortimer and shared with him some of the badger lore that Constance had known since she was a cub, the workings of the tide and the secret phases of the moon, the way to sense the first changings of the season – even old fireside tales, like that of the great snow badger who brought deep winter to Mossflower Wood. Constance was just about to remind them that they needed to get back to the Abbey before nightfall when a sudden spring rain began to lash through the trees, obscuring the woodlands with a heavy sheet of silver.

“Not travelin’ weather, I’m afraid, young ’un,” said Buckthorn, shaking his grizzled head. “You’ll have to stay here for the night.”

“Oh, no,” Mortimer groaned. “I’m going to be in a lot of trouble when I get home.”

“Don’t worry. We can leave as soon as the sun rises,” said Constance, secretly ecstatic that the elements had intervened. “Let’s have a cup of tea, and then I’ll show you how to make a seafaring dish my granddad taught me. Skilly and duff!”

In the morning, as promised, they set out at a run with the first rays of dawn, slipping and squelching on the muddy road. Though they made it to the Abbey in record time, Mortimer’s prediction was soon proved correct. Brother Oswin was waiting for them at the gate with a face like yesterday’s thunder. Without hesitation he took hold of Mortimer’s habit sleeve and began lecturing the young mouse severely.

“We were up all night worrying about you. Abbot Cedric was about to send out a search party! And where in the fur is the sanicle and valerian you were supposed to be gathering?”

Constance blushed at the Brother’s righteous fury, beginning to feel sorry for the part she had played in the whole affair. But Mortimer, recalling the sleepless night they had spent telling tales and playing games while the rain drummed on the cottage roof, could only smile.

  For many happy seasons they visited back and forth in this way, growing up and growing ever closer, Constance trekking to the Abbey for feastdays and bringing Mortimer back to the cottage to enjoy languid spring and summer evenings by the riverside. She eventually taught him how to find his way through the woodlands unaccompanied by reading the signs of moss and leaves, and after much effort prevailed upon him to carry a stout ash staff with him on the road (“Someday I won’t be there, and you might have to defend yourself!”), though only because he decided he could use it as a walking stick.

Mortimer made his way to the den often in the winter days when Buckthorn’s health began to fail him, brewing soothing teas and medicines, keeping him company while Constance slept. When the old badger went to his final rest it was Mortimer who said the funeral service, tenderly placing a bundle of early quince on the grave Constance had hacked from frozen ground.

Several days had passed since then, and the two of them sat at table together, sharing a jug of blackcurrant wine to drive off the icy chill. Constance was red-eyed but composed.

“I was thinking of taking some time to myself. Travelling someplace new, like my granddad liked to do.”

“Outside of Mossflower?”

“Perhaps.” She drained the last dregs of her cup, set it carefully back down on the tabletop. “He told me a lot of stories about Salamandastron, the mountain of the fire lizard, where his father and brothers ruled. Maybe it’s time for me to pay a visit there.”

“But surely not until the springtide, friend.”

“No. No, I’ll wait until the snow melts.”  Seeking to reassure him, she gave Mortimer a tired smile. He had taken his final vows and now wore the wide-sleeved brown robe of an Abbey Brother, which made him look, if possible, more solemn than ever. “But the sooner the better. I don’t think I’m meant to spend the rest of my life as a farmer. You’ve already found your path, you old fogey, and I’m glad for you. I don’t have that yet.”

For a moment silence fell. It was an end and a beginning. They always had known it might come to this, but hoped it never would. 

“You’ll come back to us, won’t you?” Mortimer asked her.

“Of course I will.”

  ***

  It had been a long struggle across shifting sands, chilled and buffeted by the wind. Her mouth was full of grit and her paws stinging from the many tiny cuts left by jagged rocks and sharp blades of spiky sea grass. She was hungry and thirsty and weary to the bone.

But at last, after weeks of travel, the great mountain was in her sights.

A military hare in a buff-colored coat was waiting her at its base; curiously, he seemed to have been expecting her for some time. He swept off his jaunty feathered hat and made a low bow, to which she responded in kind.

“Is this Salamandastron, the mountain of the fire lizard?”

“The very place! And surely you must be the charming Lady Constance, daughter of Iris and Birchstripe, grand-niece to Lord Oakpaw the Valiant, eh wot! By the left! My pater’s pater served under your great uncle!”

“Just Constance, thank you,” she replied firmly, shaking his paw with a grip that made him wince.

“Just Constance, what an odd moniker! Right-o, I’ll give you the full tour. Please to jolly well follow me, madam!”

He led her upwards through a warren of stone corridors, grey and bleak, but fresh with bracing sea air and the tangy smell of salt and seaweed. He was chattering all the way.

“This, dear gel, is the ancestral home of badgers such as your good self, although it’s a few seasons since our valiant Lord went off questing after some wicked corsairs to the south—vile creatures, nasty tatty rats, all of ’em, need a lesson in cold steel. And so but a few of us gallant and handsome hares, such as myself, the humble Corporal Merriwether, remain here, guardin’ his domicile while he’s away, keep the home fires lit, so to speak. I’ll show you the common areas, dormitories and kitchens of course, the forge room, the terrace gardens, perchance even the entrance to the sacred jolly hall of badgers itself…but here’s the ticket, just the place to start. The mess hall!”

As they approached Constance could hear a commotion – at first what she thought was the sound of several creatures shouting, but then recognized as one creature doing three or four different voices, as the mood suited him. Corporal Merriwether sighed.

“That’ll be one of our new recruits. My apologies for the disturbance, marm.”

They rounded the corner and found themselves abruptly in the Salamandastron dining hall: brightly lit by westward-facing windows, with a crackling fire along one wall and long wooden tables and benches arranged in the center of the room. A slightly bucktoothed grey hare in regimental red was leaping and bounding from table to table, his long ears flopping comically about as he berated his lunching comrades, each of whom ignored him steadfastly. Constance had never in her life seen a creature behaving in such an outrageous manner.

“Cowards! Bounders! Fiends! Yah boo, ya rotters, I can outscoff any three of you with my paws behind me back, so there!”

“Steady in the ranks there! What’s all this about, you young terror?” barked the Corporal. The mad hare came smartly to attention and threw him a swift salute.

“Sah! Was simply interested in a little pie-scoffin’ competition, sah! First beast to finish their pie jolly well wins, sah!”

“You ’orrible animal, what on earth for?”

“Simply a spirit-raisin’ game, sah, fun for the troops, good for the morale, eh wot!”

“I could eat,” said Constance mildly, to general surprise. Several of the Long Patrol hares instinctively stood upon seeing the badger in their midst, and the red-coated hare made an elegant leg.

“By Jove! Honored to have such a worthy opponent, I’m sure! May we commence with the challenge, sah?”

The Corporal looked doubtful, but turned on his heel to shout in the direction of the kitchens.

“Oh, dash it all, if the badger Lady wants to humor the lower orders…Cook! A mushroom ’n’ tater pie for the young badgermiss, wot!”

Constance took a seat on a comfortable bench across from her challenger, who sat poised with wooden fork and knife hovering over a massive golden-crusted pie. In a twinkling a stout hare came hurrying over to place before her a pie of similar size, tugging respectfully at one of his ears.

“With the compliments of me goodself, Cook an’ Colonel Puffscut, marm. Rules for a Long Patrol scoffin’ competition are simple: on the count of three, start eatin’. First beast to finish their plate’s the winnah. One…two…three!”

Without further ado the hare across the table began shoveling down forkfuls of pie, gravy dripping from the corners of his mouth. All eyes were on Constance, who in turn was watching her challenger with great amusement. She waited until he had almost finished his portion before locking eyes with him, opening her massive jaws, and wedging the entire pie into her mouth. After three leisurely chews and a draught of nettle beer she swallowed and shrugged at him, wiping her paws fastidiously on a napkin.

“What was that you were saying about outscoffing three creatures at once?”

There was a smattering of applause from the Long Patrol hares, most of whom were glad to see their eccentric comrade taken down a peg.

“Good show, marm!” the strange creature cried sportingly, still covered in mushroom gravy, as he extended a paw for her to shake. “The name’s Basil Stag Hare, doncha know. I think we two fellow faminechops would make awfully good pals!”

“I certainly ’ope not,” the Corporal remarked despairingly to the Colonel. Constance had to hide a sudden grin.

  She soon fit in at the mountain fortress: she was a badger in her prime. The hares kitted her up with a runner’s pack and sling, and she took to galloping alongside the patrols in daylight, telling jokes and gulping nutbrown ale by firesides at night. She spent hours in the forge room, smashing metal into arrowheads and sword blades, although she still preferred a simple javelin or the strength of her own limbs above all else. Basil, the renowned, if ridiculous, fur ’n’ foot fighter, taught her to box, a pursuit in which she excelled. A single right cross from one of her massive paws was enough to lay low a ferret or stoat (or once, by accident, an unprepared Lieutenant Swiftscut) for half a season.

A few of her most impressive feats became the stuff of legends in later days, such as the time when Basil convinced her to skip kitchen duty for an unauthorized day of leisure on the shore. It was a baking-hot summer’s morn, and they had unbelted their weapons so that they could swim in the cool green sea. They then sat wolfing down purloined fruit salad and honeyed damson tartlets, using a massive chunk of driftwood – perhaps the wreckage of a lost corsair ship – as a table. It was the badger who heard the approaching pawsteps first, and turned to see two weasels and a fox trying to sneak towards them, toying with their bladehilts.

“I say, chaps,” Basil said, feigning indignance. “This is a private party, d’you mind?”

“Shaddup, rabbit!” snarled the fox. “Don’t try to go fer yer weapons, they’re too far. Wot kind of vittles have ye got there?”

“Oh, a smidgen of this, a smidgen of that. ’Fraid there’s not enough left to share.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Hand ’em over, or I’ll gut ye!”

With eye-blurring speed the fox drew his rusted cutlass and slashed at the air a hairsbreadth in front of Basil. The hare sidestepped and moved swiftly to stop him, but Constance was faster. With a mighty heave and a sky-shattering roar she levered their picnic table out of the sand, sending food flying and swinging the heavy spar in one fluid motion in the direction of their assailants.

“Blood ’n’ vinegarrrrr!”

CRACK!

All three vermin were knocked poleaxed to the ground, stricken completely senseless. Constance tossed the spar aside with a snort of satisfaction, only to see Basil dancing about on the sand about like a madbeast.

“What’s the matter? Are you wounded?” she demanded, but the hare was merely overcome with awe.

“Absoballylutely spiffin’, wot! Strewth, I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“Well, I thought I heard him ask you to pass the damson tartlet,” she said modestly.

  Then there was another incident that aroused much mess-hall gossip later, not all of it friendly. Corporal Merriwether, driven half mad after several seasons’ of Basil and the badger’s endless capacity for trouble, had allowed the pair of them out on a weeklong patrol, accompanied by two companions. They were a few days’ journey from Salamandastron, in the last hours of their assigned mission, when a runner named Gurdee spotted a shabby lean-to built precariously against the cliffs. A mangy grey and white rat was crouched outside at a feeble fire. He did not appear to be armed, but Gurdee’s fellow runner, a hare named Bayberry, was taking no chances.

“Paws where we can see ’em, laddie buck! Just what d’ye think you’re doing on these shores?”

“Tryin’ to keep warm,” the rat said dully.

“Wouldn’t happen to be one of Zivka Bluesnout’s scummy corsairs, would you?”

“A deserter, probably,” Basil suggested, in a voice that seemed to propose moderation, but the rat made no reply, and Bayberry ground his teeth together at the slight. With a nod to Gurdee the pair of them drew their rapiers, perhaps seeking to intimidate him into an answer. Bayberry cut the ropes holding together the rat’s dilapidated tent, and Gurdee stirred up the seacoal with the point of his sword, extinguishing the last frail sparks of the fire.

“Stay mum if you wish, but we can’t have questionable characters campin’ out on our Badgerlord’s territory. You’ll need to clear out by nightfall.”

The rat had not made one move to stop this destruction, but instead sat watching listlessly from the sand, one grubby paw splayed protectively over a deep wound in his foreleg. When she saw it Constance barked out a sharp order, her voice echoing off of the cliff walls like a thunderclap.

“Hares, leave that creature alone!”

Obediently they froze, but there was surprise and perhaps even slight resentment in their eyes. Constance ignored them and turned her attention back to the rat.

“How did you injure your leg?”

“Slipped,” he said hollowly. “On the sea rocks, foragin’ the tide pools.”

“When?”

“Few days ago.”

Constance tugged her haversack from her shoulders and began rummaging through it, coming up with a clean strip of bandage and pawful of pungent leaves and mosses.  

“Clean the wound in sea water, and then bind it with these herbs. It may sting, but it’ll heal. In the meantime, you’ll want to stay off it as much as you can. Do you have enough food here to last you a day or two?”

The rat shook his head. Constance dug through the haversack again and then set the last of her field rations, a strong wheat loaf and some good mountain cheese, atop the empty cask that served him as a table.

“Take these and move once when you’ve had time to rest. We’re sorry to have bothered you.”

Then without waiting for a word of thanks she turned on her heel and marched away from the scene, accompanied swiftly by Basil. Gurdee and Bayberry sheathed their blades with a last warning look at the rat before jogging to the badger’s side. They disapproved and did not try to disguise it.

“Not entirely sure I understand you, marm, givin’ away healing medsuns like that to a rat, of all creatures.”

“Rather, wot! An’ beggin’ your pardon, but it sticks in my gizzard to see proper gentlebeasts’ tucker wasted on a villain like that!”

Basil, seeing the strange look in her eyes, was the only one who remained silent. Constance continued to stride ahead at a purposeful double-march.

  On the journey back to Salamandastron she seemed somehow a changed creature, moody and withdrawn. She no longer hungered after battle and danger the way the young hares did. Even the ballads and marching songs, rousing tales of glory and peril and heroism, had lost their charm. She trusted only Basil for counsel, sitting up to talk with him late into the night.

She missed the new green of oak leaves in the woodlands, the ruddy rose of sandstone in the setting sun, the stillness and sweet fragrance of the Abbey orchards. She missed a gentle, kindly mouse in the habit of his Order, cooling his footpaws with her on the banks of the River Moss.

One morning she left the mountain behind and went home to Mossflower Country.

  ***

  She could hear the ringing of the Joseph Bell even from a distance, clear and strong and exultant, and almost in spite of herself began to run, paws churning up the pathsoil. Through the lacework of budding beech and elm leaves she soon saw flashes of pink stone, and then she found herself before the gate. She had to pause for a moment to catch her breath and calm her emotions. She had dreamed of this moment every evening of her journey back; perhaps she would wake up to find that this too had been nothing but her imagination.

Then she stepped forward and rapped at the door.

After a few moments a chubby little dormouse heaved the doors open, peeking cautiously around the corner. At the sight of her his mouth fell open, and he nearly dropped his bunch of gatekeys in surprise.

“May a weary traveler enter?”

“Heavens above!” the dormouse said breathlessly. “You must be that badger our Abbot talks about so much! Come inside, come inside and rest yourself. My name is Brother Abel. I think I remember you from a midsummer’s feast.”

No sooner had the gatekeeper let her into the Abbey grounds than another mouse materialized as if from thin air. Before she could say a word he flung his paws around her, laughing and weeping all at once.

“Constance! Constance!”

“Mortimer!”

“Constance, my dear, dear friend!”

Mortimer was a young mouse still, but his fur was already taking on a tinge of silvery grey. His face was alight with joy. He stepped back to get a better look at her, awed by her obvious strength and size.

“You’re as tall as an oak! Where have you been all these long seasons?”

“You’re the same height as you always were. I’ve been traveling, like I said I would.”

“You must tell me all about it! Let’s go for a walk in the cloister gardens. Thank you, Brother Abel, you can close the gate.”

Brother Abel made a respectful bow, a gesture which surprised Constance. But she soon forgot about it as she related to Mortimer the story of her travels. For what felt like hours she told him of the mountain and the great gray-green sea, the hares she had befriended and the dangers she had faced. With every step they took through the familiar gardens, every time Mortimer laughed at a funny story or gasped at a tale of a narrow victory over vicious foebeasts, her heart felt a little lighter.  

“Well, that’s about it,” she finished at last, wanting to hear about what he’d been doing all this time.  “I’ve had plenty of adventure, like I wanted to. And now I don’t know what to do.”

“So does this mean you’re here to stay?” he asked hopefully. Constance let out a sigh.

“Oh, I don’t know. Does Abbot Cedric have a use for a large, grouchy badger like me?”

“Good old Abbot Cedric. I’m sure he would have, but he went to his rest two seasons ago, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry, Mortimer. I know you were close to him.”

“He was a wise and compassionate soul. I hope I am serving well in his stead.”

“What do you mean?” asked Constance. Then, suddenly, she understood Brother Abel’s bow. Mortimer seemed to draw himself up a little, a creature fulfilled and fully at peace.

“Just before Abbot Cedric passed on, he told me that he’d decided to leave Redwall Abbey and all its creatures in my care. I am Abbot Mortimer now.”

  Constance was still grappling with this news when she felt somebeast step on her footpaw. A mousebabe and a small squirrel, both clad in the linen smocks of Abbey young ones, had attached themselves to the hem of her tunic, tugging and pushing. They were addressing her in what they imagined was their best imitation of a badgers’ voice, trying to make themselves sound gruff and fearsome.

“I’mma bigga strong badger, make you falla down!”

“We’re not scareded of anybeast!”

Constance was not used to little ones, but she felt her heart soften. With a wink to Mortimer she scooped the pair of them up single-pawed, tumbling dramatically into a patch of clover and coming to rest with a bump.

“Phew, what fierce warriors! You’ve slain me, you little rogues!”

“Yee hee! Again! Again again again!”

“These little scallawags are Holly and Jessamine, two of our most ferocious Dibbuns,” Mortimer said, smiling. Constance looked aghast.

“Dibbuns? What in the world is that?”

“It’s what we call the young ones here at Redwall.”

“Nonsense. I’ve never heard something so ridiculous.”

“Again again again!” interrupted the squirrelbabe Jessamine, trying to clamber up onto Constance’s head. Constance struggled to her feet in mock exhaustion and bent to take each of them by the paw.

“How about you two ruffians show me and Mor – the Father Abbot to the kitchens first? I’m famished!”

“What does badgers likes to eat?” Holly demanded.

“Naughty little mice and squirrels!” Constance said, raising her eyebrows and showing off her shining canine teeth.

“No!” shrieked Holly in terrified delight, while Jessamine giggled. “They likes chesknutters an’ strawbee cordial!”

“Oh, that’s right! I forgot. I bet you like chestnuts and strawberry cordial too. Here, let’s wash our paws off in the pond first.”

“I think we may have a use for a large, grouchy badger after all,” said Mortimer, with proper Father Abbot-like sobriety.  

  She did not go back to the cottage where she had grown up. Mortimer had tended it for her while she was away, but she felt that with a new chapter of her life should come new lodgings, and had him find a family of poor fieldmice to live there instead. Nights she slept out on the soft grass of the Abbey lawn, waking up drenched in dew. In the early mornings, recalling her Salamandastron routine, she let herself out through the side gate and took long rambles through Mossflower Wood, running, swimming, testing her strength against heavy boulders, practicing with spears, javelins and her grandfather’s longbow, which she kept stored in a mossy log, away from Mortimer’s slightly rueful glances and the peaceful Redwallers’ fearful ones.

But she was always back at the Abbey before luncheon, helping with chores and, mostly, keeping a weather eye on the mischievous young ones, who soon began to call her “Muvver Constance,” just as the grown-ups respectfully referred to her as “the Badgermum.” She had an unexpected gift for caring for the Abbeybabes, and eventually she knew she wouldn’t dream of doing anything else. She traded her woodland homespun for an apron and stout gown, with deep pockets to hold clean handkerchiefs and found toys and coltsfoot pastilles. At mealtimes she could often be found sitting at the young ones’ table, spoon-feeding the smallest of the babes, convincing middle-aged ones to eat their turnips and rutabagas, cuddling and rocking fractious infants to sleep while their older siblings perched on her shoulders. At bedtime she tucked the little ones in, one by one, and hummed old badgerwives’ lullabies or related Martin-the-Warrior legends until the dormitories echoed with the sound of gentle snoring.

Mortimer’s heart gladdened the first time she spoke of Redwall as home.

  ***

  Constance was several seasons his elder, but it was Mortimer who grew old and fragile first. His eyesight grew blurry, necessitating a pair of crystal spectacles. In the winters, when the orchard trees were brown and brittle, and the Abbey grounds sparkled white with snow, his joints sometimes grew stiff and painful. But untiringly he watched over his beloved Redwall, through many peaceful years, as any good Father should: patient, wise, just, kind, with the badger as his strong right paw.

Then came the seasons of Cluny the Scourge.

  In the seconds before she picked up the Cavern Hall table and threatened to smash it over the warlord’s head, she chanced a glance at her friend and saw on his face an expression she’d never seen there before: rage.

In the days afterwards, as Martin was lost to the enemy, as creatures were wounded and killed, this was soon followed by another first, one that startled her even more: uncertainty.

  Constance was bleeding freely from some half a dozen gashes along her flanks and on her paws, wounds earned during a vicious skirmish with several of Cluny’s scouts. Abbot Mortimer worked by candlelight to clean the deep cuts and treat them with herbs. He was unusually silent, not speaking until his work was finished.

“Please try to take better care of yourself, Constance,” he said at last, rather shortly. “You put yourself in danger far too often.”

“I only do what I must, Father Abbot.”

“But if something were to happen to you –”

“You have Matthias and Basil, Jess and Winifred. Redwall would survive.”

“I am asking you as a friend,” said Abbot Mortimer. “My dearest and wisest friend. If we win this war tomorrow it will already have been at too great a price. Do not ask me to suffer your loss on top of everything that has already come to pass.”

Constance was stunned by the emotion in his voice. After a moment she laid a heavy paw on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry to have upset you, Abbot. I’ll try my best.”

It would never have occurred to her to ask him the same. He was as ever the careful, noncombatant Mortimer, a healer and a stretcher-bearer, a creature of peace, and the battle would never breach the Abbey walls to reach him. She would see to it.

  The Father Abbot was awakened by a sword-point at his throat.

  The poison barb on Cluny’s tail had done its deadly work. The Father Abbot was dying.

  ***

  There was much work to be done, after the war ended, but for a while she thought again of flight. Of sandy windswept shores and austere halls of mountain stone. Of the borderlands, of the northlands. Even of the sea. Anywhere but here, where the crimson laterose was still in fragrant bloom, and the big carved chair at the head of Great Hall sat empty, and the verdant gardens were full of mice in wide-sleeved brown robes gathering berries and talking with the Sparra, but none of them was Mortimer.

Yet every time she decided that the wound was just too deep, that she’d go mad with grief if she didn’t get away from here, something – or someone – changed her mind.

Matthias, still victory-stunned: “Constance, what should we do about the Joseph Bell?”

Mordalfus, solemn and deferential: “Constance, where do you think we should house the Guosim warriors who’d like to stay here till the springtide?”

The Redwallers at large, surprising her in Cavern Hole one day with a badger-sized marchpane cake: “Hurrah for Constance! We’d have been lost without you.”

And the young ones, clinging to her apron: “Muvver Constance, don’t be sad.”

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

  Slowly summer gave way to autumn, autumn to winter, and winter to a spring whose beauty was beyond compare. John Churchmouse had suggested a season-name upon which they had all agreed.

It was the Springtide of the Warriors’ Wedding!

Constance had spent the preceding week tugging a hay cart far and wide through Mossflower Wood, ferrying creatures to the Abbey for the ceremony that would take place today. Now the Sisters of the order and all her woodland friends had spirited Cornflower away to the dormitories to dress her in cream-colored gown and veil, and Matthias was waiting anxiously in the gatehouse that would become their home, with Log-a-Log and Basil fussing over his tunic, to which he had tied a certain flowered headband that a certain maiden had bestowed upon him, what felt like years ago.

Therefore, Constance was enjoying a rare moment of rest out on the sunwarmed steps overlooking the orchards, as the blossoms danced and the pond rippled gently in a playful breeze. It reminded her of something Mortimer had said. 

I have seen it all before, many times, and yet I never cease to wonder. Life is good, my friends. I leave it to you...

In the kitchens Friar Hugo was making a trifle as tall as two mice, heaping with raspberries, meadowcream, and honey-soaked sponge. Foremole and his crew were filling Great Hall and Cavern Hole with bunches of purple irises, butter-colored daffodils and, of course, cerulean-blue cornflower, while Winifred and her otters lined the cloisters and outside corridors with sweet alyssum and pale pink and white water lilies. Ambrose Spike was shepherding a herd of little ones as they rolled barrels of strawberry fizz, October ale and dandelion-burdock cup to the tables out under the shade. Jess Squirrel and Silent Sam were leaping bough to bough amongst the fruit trees, affixing colored lanterns to the branches.

The friends I know and love are all about me.

Constance remembered another feastday many seasons ago, and a wise young mouse marveling with her at the splendor of the Abbey and the goodness of its creatures, and she felt, for the first time in long memory, entirely at peace.

“Today is a good day, my old friend,” the badger said.

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot “California Adventure” (Rated PG13)

As their family vacation continues, Sebastian takes his husband on a little adventure that has nothing to do with Disney. (939 words)

Notes: This is a re-write of a Klaine fic that was originally dedicated to @itallstartedwithharry, so I'm dedicating this one to her as well :)

Part 37 of Daddies.

Read on AO3.

“I’m not coming out.”

“What do you mean you’re not coming out?” Sebastian asks, slathering himself in sunscreen. “You already are “out”. We’re married, remember? It’s not a secret. Everybody knows.”

“Ha-ha.” Kurt snatches the sunscreen out of Sebastian’s hands and applies a third coat to his face and chest, adding a fifth, then a sixth layer to places that don’t normally see the sun. “You know what I mean. I’m not leaving this hedge, and you can’t make me!”

“Kurt, babe, trust me, it’ll be fine.”

“You can say that! You’re carrying the beach bag! You’ve got a shield!”

“Do you want me to hire someone to carry the bag for us? Because I can totally do that.” Sebastian raises a hand to summon a porter. Kurt yelps and burrows further into the bushes.

“Put … your … arm … down!” he scolds. “Don’t draw more attention to us!”

“More attention?” Sebastian chuckles. “No one’s even looking.”

“Yeah, because I’m behind the hedge. No one needs to stare at the hedge, or laugh at the hedge, or judge the hedge’s love handles.”

“You don’t have love handles, Kurt.” Sebastian snickers. “You worked out 18 hours a day for the past seven weeks to prepare for this vacation. And that’s on top of your usual three.”

“Which could have been avoided if we both agreed to forgo this stupid nudist resort trip and spend the afternoon with Thomas and my folks at California Adventure!”

“So what you’re saying is you’d rather be riding that psychotic Ferris wheel and nursing a motion sickness bag than lounging around naked and soaking in some West Coast sunshine with your sexy husband?”

“Y-yes,” Kurt says, quickly but unconvincingly. Thomas was excited as all get-out to go on that damned Ferris wheel with its shifty gondolas sliding all over the good Goddamned place. And Kurt’s dad promised him on pain of a finger in the eye that they’d ride it. Which meant Kurt would have to, too, because even though Thomas would be fine with his dad, Carole, and Hepburn, that’s the kind of father Kurt is. And he’s sure Thomas would love it.

But Kurt, with his chronic vertigo – not so much.

“And if you do have love handles, I’m sure they’re ripped … just like the rest of you.” Sebastian looks his husband up and down, licking dry lips as he visualizes what’s hiding behind manicured branches of French Lilac and Dense Yew.

Kurt rolls his eyes, but that comment seems to do the trick, luring him out from behind the safety of the dolphin-shaped topiary. “Okay, okay. I’m coming. Just … keep your eyes peeled.”

“Oh, I am,” Sebastian promises, staring openly at his husband’s ass as Kurt crosses the border between the shaded patio and the sun-drenched sand.

“Not at me!” Kurt reaches behind to grab Sebastian’s hand. Sebastian tries to get his husband to grab something else entirely, but Kurt slaps it away, earning him a pained, “Oof!” So Sebastian maintains a safe distance, enjoying the view. After a few minutes of being out there on his own, Kurt grabs a hold of Sebastian’s arm and tugs him closer, needing the security of his husband by his side. “For cameras and cell phones. I don’t need my pale ass showing up on America’s Funniest Home Videos.”

“Is that show still on?”

“Sebastian!”

“Relax, Kurt. If you haven’t noticed, there’re signs all over saying No recording devices allowed.”

“Yeah. And that worked so well for Jennifer Lawrence and Kate Upton. No one listens to signs, Sebastian!”

“Well, lucky for us, we’re not exactly celebrities.”

Kurt gasps. “Speak for yourself!”

“Okay. You’re a celebrity … sort of,” Sebastian amends. “But not today. For now, we’re just a boring, regular married couple enjoying a day at the beach.”

“A nude beach.”

“Yup. A nude beach.” Sebastian saunters ahead and takes the lead, directing Kurt toward a collection of lounge chairs within reach of the water. A few other beach goers have already claimed a handful, so Sebastian walks Kurt to the far end, where at least a dozen empty chaises separate them from sunbathers. Sebastian scoots the last two chaises closer together and farther from the group. He sets a towel out over the sunbaked straps and gestures for Kurt to lie down, offering him the end-most chaise … but Kurt doesn’t. Sebastian turns around to find out why.

Kurt looks terrified.

“Pretend we’re alone out here,” Sebastian says, taking his arms and guiding him to his seat. “Don’t think about anyone else. Feel the sun on your skin, the wind in your hair, and try to become one with the universe.”

Kurt sighs, resigning himself to an hour of lying naked in the sun. Sebastian wanted to do this. This was his idea. Kurt is doing this for Sebastian, his husband. And even if he wasn’t, Sebastian has the car keys.

Kurt can’t leave.

This is all Sebastian’s fault!

But as Kurt reclines, he begins to notice that this isn’t actually all that bad. The beach isn’t too crowded, and the people who are there seem to be minding their own business. The water feels warm where it curls under his feet, and the sun overhead feels nice on his skin – all of it.

“Alright. I’ll give it a shot,” he says. Sebastian hands Kurt his shades. Kurt puts them on, closing his eyes behind tinted lenses. “I’ll just come to terms with my new, inevitable YouTube popularity when we get back home.”

Sebastian grins, closing his eyes and reaching between them to hold his husband's hand. “That’s all I ask.”

;

[dowagerintraining]

Banna Fanfic Exchange

My secret-santa fic for @my-mother-used-to-say

Merry Christmas to you and all of the #Banna fandom, especially those in the @batesessecretservice.  "Stars from the Sky” “Well Anna if there is one thing I have learned over the years, it’s that if Bates wants to do something for you, he’d pull the stars out of the sky to make it happen for you.” --

“It won’t fit.”

“It will be fine.”

“John, I’m telling you, it won’t fit…”

“Anna, it will be just fine. Please. Just let me take care of this.”

Hand on hip, baby finally asleep in the crib upstairs and her belly just starting to swell with their second much longed for child, John marvelled at the sight of his wife in all of her domestic, nagging glory.

“What are you grinning at?”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. John shook himself a little.

“I’m sorry dear, but please, it will be fine. I promise.”

Anna’s eyes swung back out of the window to the enormous Christmas Tree which overwhelmed their back yard. It was December 24th, the last light of the day was fading from the sky and she was almost ready to walk back up to the house to help Lady Mary change for dinner once the gong was rung. Their Christmas Tree was supposed to be up and decorated tonight for their first proper family Christmas tomorrow. The presents were wrapped, ready to go under said tree. But there was one small problem. It would not fit through the door, and her beloved husband was refusing to acknowledge that there was even the slightest problem.

“Anna, I can manage this. Mr Barrow has agreed to give Lord Grantham assistance in dressing tonight. He has everything well in hand. I can be spared, and I can manage this. It will all be done before you get home. Now please, go… or you’ll be late.”

The threat of being seen as unprofessional did the trick. Anna gave one final, un-Christmas-like huff, snatched up her scarf and coat and bundled up for her walk up to the Abbey. Stalking out through the door, John caught her hand, unwilling to let her leave in a pettish mood.

“It will be fine. I promise.”

Despite herself, Anna’s eyes softened at meeting his. She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, and departed with a warning shot.

“It had better be, Mr Bates. It had better be.”

As she rounded the corner, John smiled to himself.

“Alright everyone…”

From around the corner emerged Andy, Daisy and Mr Mason.

“By heck, I thought she’d never go. You were for it then for a moment, Mr Bates.”

Daisy stamped her feet and blew into her hands.

“She’s gone. Let’s get this show on the road... Phyllis will be up to keep an eye on little Jack shortly...” Andy was rolling up shirt sleeves, shucking off his good coat, despite the cold.

“Right then… I’ve got just the job over here…” Mr Mason pulled a hand cart over and threw off the tarpaulin cover to reveal the contents. 

John’s eyes lit up. 

This was going to be perfect.

…

“So how is everything down at the Cottage? Everything settled for little Jack’s first Christmas?”

“I’m sure it will all be fine Milady.”

“Oh dear… Trouble on the outskirts?”

“You could say that Milady. It would appear that Mr Bates has forgotten that our cottage doesn’t have room for a tree as big as the one in the great hall downstairs.”

Mary’s eyes twitched at Anna in the mirror, a sure sign that she wanted to laugh. But she did not want her great friend and trusted ally’s first family Christmas to be spoilt.

Anna gave way and smiled.

“He’s impossible, on this one, Milady. He wants the biggest and best for little Jack, for all of us, but honestly, if you’d seen the tree, even he was cross when it turned up just before I left. It won’t even fit through the door. Heaven knows what he’s going to do.”

“Well Anna if there is one thing I have learned over the years, it’s that if Bates wants to do something for you, he’d pull the stars out of the sky to make it happen for you.”

“I just hope he hasn’t bitten off more than he can chew this time.”

Mary stood and took her evening gloves, pulling them on one by one, wriggling her fingers into shape.

“Well, he never has yet.”

“Is that everything Milady?”

“Yes, I think so. Now come along and be off with you. I’m sure you want to get home and start your own Christmas.”

“Thank you Milady. I just hope there isn’t too much mess for me to wade through in the garden.”

“Don’t worry dear. I’m sure it will be alright.”

***

As Anna turned and went down the corridor, Mary turned towards the main staircase and caught sight of Barrow heading along the gallery. A slight raise of his eyebrows in question. Mary gave a discrete nod, and Barrow, with a short bow, turned and hurried down the row to the back of the house.

In a small, disused back room, Barrow hurried to the window and drew back the curtain, placing the lamp he carried in the window and fumbling for the matches to light it. Lord Grantham had never gotten around to installing an electric light in this room, but just for this night, it was the only one that would do.

Soon, the gas lamp glowed and was placed in the window sill.

Turning and locking the door behind him, Barrow smiled to himself. Only Mr Bates could have come up with a plan as enormous as this one.

***

Down at the cottage, Phyllis kept watch from the upstairs window of the cottage, while Baby Jack slept next to her in his crib. She looked up from her stitching and saw the small window at the abbey glow with soft light. She sprang into action, hurrying softly from the room, shutting the door behind her, scampering downstairs. Dumping her basket on the counter in the kitchen she rapped gently at the back window to attract the attention of the little team outside.

“She’s coming!” she mouthed, miming general hurry-up mimes behind the glass.

Inside, in the corner of the room, was a far more suitably sized Christmas tree, short and plump in its little pot, decked with strings of tinsel and hung with little wooden ornaments in the shape of stars. Phyllis lit the candles on the mantle-piece and placed a rather wobbly star on top of the tree. Anna’s neatly wrapped presents were stacked beneath it. It all looked so cosy and festive  that the good lady allowed herself a little sigh of satisfaction, before a frisson of excitement reminded her that the big surprise would be outside in the back yard.

***

Outside, the frantic activity was almost done. The enormous tree was replanted firmly, roped in place by Mr Mason and Andy until its roots took a firm hold in the earth. The step ladders had been folded and removed, and were now being stacked in the Yew Tree Farm tractor by the two men, while Daisy fastened the last few clips into the lower branches.

“Right, stand clear Daisy, let’s get this all lit...”

Mr Mason, with an expert hand, used the long taper to take a light from the lantern held by John, and deftly lit the candles nestled into the branches. An old hand at gas lamp lighting at his old farm, his steady touch kindled the wicks and soon the whole tree twinkled with shining little lights.

“By ‘eck, it reminds me of the one my own father had, he used to light candles on it too. But nowt so grand as this Mr Bates.”

“I was so afraid the whole thing was blown when she saw it coming in the estate wagon, she looked furious.”

“I think you’re in for a warm and loving forgiveness when she gets home.”

“So long as the wind doesn’t pick up and blow them out.”

“Never a bit of it, icy cold and still as the mill pond, there won’t be a puff of breeze tonight. It might snow later mind, those clouds were thick and iron grey earlier.”

“Snow’s fine, it will douse the flames overnight.”

“Well, you’ve got the long stick with the bell top, just don’t leave it overnight.”

“Right, we’re set and ready to go Mr Mason.”

A few handshakes and sparkling smiles later and the little band of conspirators loaded into the tractor and trundled away down the road, while John gave the yard a last tidy, fastened his scarf and set ready to wait by the front garden gate for his wife to get home.

***

Anna was frozen to the bone and tired by the time she reached the cottage. Her back ached, and her feet were stiff. At just over four months pregnant, her belly was beginning to swell and while her morning sickness had passed, she felt tender all over. Bed, warm bed with John beside her, was a comforting thought. But first Christmas had to be set up.

“Happy Christmas, darling wife.”

John was waiting for her as she rounded the corner, lantern in hand.

“Happy Christmas to you too.”

A warm kiss did much to ease her aches and pains.

“Don’t tell me you’re still trying to get the tree inside…”

John smiled, his eyes warm and filled with love. “Come and see…”

Gently, he led Anna around to the back yard of the little cottage and was gratified by her gasp when she faced the enormous tree, set at least ten feet high, covered in what looked like stars, glowing and twinkling in the night. The flames from the little candle fixtures danced and flickered, the whole scene looked like a Christmas card.

“Oh my goodness…”

“A Christmas tree covered in stars, for my own little star.”

There was nothing to say. The whole night lay quiet and still around them, the lights doused in every house for miles save for the Abbey, and the window of the little bedroom upstairs at the cottage where their baby son slept. John’s arms held Anna warm and safe beside him as they just stood and looked for a moment at the blazing glory of their Christmas tree.

“It’s absolutely perfect. How did you…?”

“Let’s just say that Father Christmas is not the only one with an army of helpful little elves.”

Anna smiled, the glow of a loving conspiracy warm in her cheeks. She did not know, nor did she wish to. It was enough to be so loved.

“Come inside…”

In through the back door, Anna spied a glimpse of light spilling through from the living room. Heading inwards, divested of scarf and hat, a small squeak of joy escaped when she was the, now to her eyes, tiny little Christmas tree in the corner, silver tinsel winking in the lamp light, presents stacked waiting for the festive morning.

“I told you I would get you a tree to fit.”

“Oh John…”

“I love you my darling.”

“Oh John, I should never have doubted you.”

For a few quiet moments, the couple stood wrapped in each other’s arms, their Christmas set and waiting for them, the small moment of friction washed away and forgotten about. As they looked at each other and smiled, joy shining in each of their faces, the first few flakes of snow whirled in the sky outside and began to settle in the branches of the finest Christmas tree in Downton.

[misedejem]

The Ethics of Revenge

During a pit-stop in Florem on the way to challenge the Kaiser, Edea and her friends end up running into some familiar faces, claiming to also be in pursuit of the Empire, but not explaining why. 

Word Count: 17,958

Spoilers for the end of chapter 3/beginning of chapter 4 of Bravely Second

(This fic has two endings. Please follow the link at the end of this first chapter to the ending that corresponds with your choice.)

Victor S. Court, the shining prodigy, and holder of the Spiritmaster asterisk. Despite his youth, he once stood on the Council of Six, outmatching his peers in his keen wit, cool attitude, and brilliant intellect by a sharp mile. Yet beneath his calm exterior lay a heart overflowing with the bitterest of despair. A despair that overcame him and destroyed him when he lost somebody dear.

And Ciggma Khint, the enigmatic mercenary, and holder of the Spell Fencer asterisk. He once served the Khamer & Profiteur Merchantry as a bodyguard, for a steep price, in order to help fund a part of his life that he deigned to keep a secret. He vanished one day after being caught in an altercation with the duchy, and not a single soul had seen him since.

By what strange trick of fate do your paths cross anew?

“Hey, Yew! How many Phoenix Downs did you say we had?”

Yew started at Edea’s words, despite her having been talking to him for almost ten minutes now.

“Oh, um… We have twenty-three left on the ship. Do you, uh… Want to take that up to a round thirty?”

“Fine by me,” Edea replied, shrugging and turning back to the items vendor to continue placing their order.

Yew’s eyes dropped back towards the water he had been gazing at, and he sighed. He distantly registered the brightly coloured shoal of fish that scooted past him, the garish neon lights of Florem’s business district dancing as the tiny creatures disturbed the water’s glassy surface, but they were a poor distraction from the turmoil that rumbled within his mind – a turmoil that had been present ever since their altercation at the Temple of Water with the Empire.

The altercation that had led to Sir Nikolai’s demise.

It was all so much simpler when the opposition conceded. Many of the Imperial soldiers they faced ran, or were still breathing when the four of them claimed their spoils in battle. Edea’s old duchy companions were no different, simply giving up when they knew they were defeated. But those Imperial asterisk holders… They would keep going, and going, and going until the party had no choice but to kill them just to stop them from wreaking any more havoc and taking more innocent lives. Only one of them had ceased the battle while he still drew breath, and even he intended to slay himself until he had been convinced otherwise. Why couldn’t they all be like that? All Yew, and his friends, he presumed, wanted was to save Agnès. These fatalities were unnecessary. Yew had accepted long ago that he would have to fight for his life. But he had always hated the idea of having to kill for it. He hoped he would never be responsible for the death of another Imperial soldier again.

“You know, I never noticed these before. Magic bottles?” Edea asked the vendor, snapping Yew once again out of his stupor. He hadn’t noticed them either.

“Ah, yes. I’m not really sure what they do, but apparently they undo some kind of ��exorcist magic’. A young man asked us to produce and sell them here about six months ago. They’re made with hot spring water.”

“You don’t think maybe they undo you-know-what, do you?” Tiz suggested, clearly catching the mention of hot spring water in the same manner that Yew had.

“Well, I’ve been studying exorcism ever since we got hold of that… thing…” Yew trailed off once he remembered the vendor, not wanting to mention asterisks or the Empire in public. “And a specific branch of their magic coincides with Necromancy, even though they’re both from different magical classes entirely. Exorcists have been known to assume a form like the people in Hartschild. And those two did work together, so I suppose they could have developed both this curative and the recipe that inflicts the ailment it cures themselves. But why have it sold in Florem, I wonder?”

“Oh, the man who commissioned them is from here. He’s been around for years,” the vendor supplied, “I haven’t seen him in a few weeks though. I hope he’s alright…”

“We’ll take ten of those, too,” Magnolia interjected, delving into her bag to fish out the pg to purchase them. “Just in case there’s more of them,” she added in a whisper.

Yew nodded. Who knew if the only ones in the Empire with access to the ghost ailment were Geist and Panettone, or even if the man who commissioned the bottles was one of those two. He felt an insatiable urge to go and investigate – one so strong that he had completely overturned his growing despair. The occult branch of white magic, that encompassed such things as Exorcism and Spiritism, was something he’d never really had the chance to explore before. He made a mental note that if they escaped the Skyhold with Agnès, he would go straight to Al-Khampis and research it.

After finishing their purchase, the party pulled away from the item shop and checked over the wares they had purchased once they reached a seating area in the city square.

“I think we have everything here we need,” Tiz affirmed, pouring over the servicing supplies they’d bought for their weapons from the blacksmith.

“Oui. We have all the spells the shops sold, and we’ve replenished all the items we lost in Sagitta and the Temple of Water,” Magnolia stated. Edea nodded and beamed.

“Then are we ready to go kick some Kaiser butt?”

Yew was about to meet Edea’s enthusiasm with some of his own, but before he could get the words out, he was interrupted by a voice he did not recognise.

“Pardon the intrusion, but I would like a moment of your time, if I may.”

Edea was the first to react, erupting in a small scream. Tiz stumbled back, and Yew just stared in the direction of the voice, completely stricken with awe.

***

“Do you hear that, Private?”

“That I do, sir! Even this high above sea level, the ocean is still incredibly loud.”

Sergeant Sapp pressed his hand to his brow and sighed irritably.

“No, Private. I meant the damned machine.”

Private Piddler’s mouth hung open briefly, before he laughed and nodded with vigour.

“Ohh, you mean this?” He patted Vucub Caquix’s dented head. “Yeah, I hear her loud and clear, sir! She’s roaring like a real beauty.”

“I… I can’t believe I actually fixed her. Maybe we can get back to the Skyhold after all?”

“You can do anything if you put your mind to it sir.”

“Ehhh… Don’t get your hopes up too soon. We still need to make sure she can fly.”

Piddler climbed into the cockpit on the robot’s back and looked curiously at the buttons on the control panel.

“Well, I can’t make out any of these weird squiggles, sir.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s mighty complicated.”

“Yeah, didn’t the Kaiser get a different mechanic to make her? I don’t even think we stole the blueprints for this one from Anchiem.” Sapp mused, climbing in behind his subordinate and looking at the panel himself. “Uh… I know the green one is the fly button, and then the purple one makes her transform… Ahh, but that one’s all busted. Good thing she broke down in her aerial form, I guess. I have no idea what button makes her descend though, once we’re up in the air.”

Piddler shrugged. “Only one way to find out.” And before Sapp could stop him, he pressed a stubby finger to the green button. The gears began to whir, and air blasted out around them as the mech began to rise into the air, it’s noises so deafening that even Piddler could not hear the various curse words that Sapp was spewing behind him.

“You idiot, Private!” He roared. “I just said I don’t know how to get her back down!”

“Huh… Maybe it’s the green button again?” Piddler suggested, jamming his finger into the same place he had done before. Vucub Caquix whirred again, and began to rise even higher, levelling out at the height of the Temple of Water’s crest. Sapp squeaked and gripped the sides of his seat.

“Stop pressing buttons without my permission! Gah!”

“Haha. Looks like that didn’t work. Maybe this red button?”

Sapp seized Piddler’s arm. “No, Private. No more. Look, we need to be airborne to reach the Skyhold anyway, so… Let’s just stay like this and ask once we get there.”

“Alright, sir. I might not know how to get us down, but I think I learned how to get her auto-pilot to work in that battle we had with them kids.”

“Excellent. Then to the Skyhold!”

“Alrighty!” Piddler punched the air, and then did nothing. Unable to see his face from his position, Sapp was left confused that he wasn’t acting.

“Private?”

“Uh… Sergeant Sapp, Sir? Which way is the Skyhold?”

Sapp’s face plummeted and he let his arm drop. And then he began swearing again.

***

Edea stared in bewilderment, clapping her hand to her mouth once she realised she had screamed. Of all the people she had expected to see there, in Florem, on that day, this was the last person she would have thought of. And yet, the voice matched the appearance she knew so well, and had known for her entire life, albeit in a different form. The man she had known had been paler, gaunter, and thinner. He had no life in his eyes back then. The man before her looked healthy, healthier than he had seemed even in his youth, before that harrowing moment when his life had come crashing down around him in front of everybody he had known. Even his hair, though as long as ever, had been pulled back into a braid, which was more effort than she’d ever seen him make in the years she had known him. But if the white coat and red cravat, and the spectacles, and the floating staff he used as a weapon did not give him away, that was undeniably his face. Even the way he carried himself was the same.

Then, behind him, there was another man, whom Edea was even more certain she had met. He had not changed at all in the three years since she had last seen him – in fact he looked no different from the man in the pictures who had served her father eighteen years ago, save the long, dark green robes and the fact that there were more lines around his one visible eye. Edea knew there was one more difference to his face as well, a scar, even though his right eye remained covered by his curly, green hair. But these were not enough to hide the fact that the man from then was who she saw now.

Edea had run into many of the duchy’s asterisk holders on her quest to save Agnès, and had soon come to believe that by some trick of fate, she had not killed any of them after all. But these two had been different. Of all the people in the duchy, there were six of them she felt sure she would never see again. One of them, she knew to be dead. The other five, she assumed, had met the same fate.

Yet, undeniably, Ciggma Khint and Victor S. Court stood, very much alive, in Florem with her right then.

“Why are you screaming, child?” Khint asked with a sense of urgency, turning his head behind him and placing a hand on the hilt of his blade. It hadn’t occurred to him that it was his sudden appearance that had startled the others.

“Yes, why are you screaming, Edea?” Magnolia asked, seizing her glaive. “Are these men dangerous?”

“No… I mean… Maybe? Are you?”

“We aren’t here to hurt you, if that’s what concerns you,” Victor assured them, “please, ma’am, Ciggma. Put down your weapons.”

Magnolia and Khint obliged warily.

“I… I have so many questions. How… Are you here?” Edea asked them, still struggling to find the right words.

“I might ask the same of you. Especially you, Tiz Arrior. Did the duchy find a way to restore you that I could not?”

“Well… Sort of. Truth is, if I hadn’t been kept in your elixir, I’d have died a long time ago.” Tiz grinned. “I never realised you were directly responsible for my treatment though. I mean… I knew you designed the Vivipod, but I thought you were… Umm…”

“Dead? Well, considering I was very much hidden from the public eye when you collapsed, I am not surprised. For a time, I wanted the world to believe I was dead.” Victor smiled slightly. “Yes, I was partially responsible, though I cannot take all the credit. You have Victoria to thank as well. I’m glad to see that you’re alright, Mr. Arrior. I’m… happy… that she did not have to die for nothing.”

Tiz started slightly at his words, but could not say a thing. Edea only felt more bewilderment as the conversation had grown longer. Victor was… smiling? Victoria was dead, and he was standing in Florem, looking… Happy? Three years ago, he had threatened to kill himself at the very thought of the child’s death, and Edea remembered clearly how he had reacted when she had actually passed. It was an image of despair that she would never, ever forget. This was so strange to her. What could you even say in a situation like the one she had found herself in?

Luckily, neither Edea nor Tiz had to say anything at all, for Magnolia took the silence that followed as an opportunity to express her utter confusion at everything that was going on.

“It’s a long story, Magnolia.” Edea affirmed, hoping she would not push for clarification. The entire Victor and Victoria affair was among one of the worst things she and her friends had been through three years ago, and she didn’t want to recount it.

“…But anyway,” Tiz blurted out suddenly, sensing that his friend was uncomfortable and quickly changing the subject, “it was actually a man who didn’t come from the duchy who managed to bring me back. Professor Norzen Horoskoff, if you know him? I owe my life as much to him as I do to you.”

“I see… So that’s what he was doing…” Victor placed his hands on his hips and hung his head. “It pains me to say it, but the professor was actually murdered several weeks ago by the Glanz Empire.”

“Yeah, we know…” Tiz sighed. “Oh, but you knew the professor?”

“Yes, I did. In fact, he was my uncle. After I-”

“Whatever happened to urgency?” Khint interjected curtly.

“My apologies… I would love to hear about how my uncle restored you, Mr. Arrior, but now is not the time. We do have some questions for the four of you though.”

“Never mind those now, doctor! Didn’t you hear what the Templar’s daughter said?”

“You’re referring to her comment on the Kaiser?” Victor turned to address Khint directly and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I heard it. I suppose that is of greater importance than my previous queries.” He turned back to Edea and the others. “Are you, perhaps, pursuing the Skyhold as well?”

“As well?” Edea spluttered, “you mean that’s why you guys’re in Florem?”

“Yes. We are here to board the Skyhold, and ask the Empire some questions. That is all you need to know.” Khint’s face was stony, and his words had an air of finality to them. He would certainly not be divulging anymore.

“You made it sound as though you know how to reach the Kaiser. But all the airships in Eternia were destroyed… how do you intend to get airborne?”

“We actually have an airship… just got it actually. Another long story,” Edea said, grinning nervously.

Khint and Victor both exchanged a wide-eyed glance.

“Then let us accompany you! If it would not be too much trouble, that is.”

“W-w-we would be honoured if you were to join us, Sir Victor,” Yew stammered, speaking for the first time. Edea hadn’t noticed until he spoke that he had the same look on his face that he got whenever Tiz did something impressive. Or Magnolia. Or just about anybody he had a giant crush on, which was surprisingly quite a lot of people.

“Sir?” Victor raised an eyebrow.

“Uh, allow me to direct you to our Rubadub – aah, airship. It’s this way!” Yew ran off, in the wrong direction.

“Ah, la vache…” Magnolia sighed, running after him and calling his name.

“What interesting new friends you have now, Edea,” Victor mused. “They’re a different sort to the Vestal of Wind, that’s for certain.”

“They’re oddballs, but you gotta love ‘em.”

“Is that why you’re after the Skyhold? I understand that your friend was kidnapped by the Kaiser, wasn’t she?” Khint queried.

Tiz furrowed his brow. “Yeah. They got Agnès. We’re going to do anything we can to get her back.”

“No wonder the world wept for you when you collapsed. You’re a noble kind, that’s clear to me.” A whisper of the old Victor, filled with despair, appeared on his face. “But don’t let protecting someone else cost you your life.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.” Khint said briskly. Victor shot him a venomous glare.

“I would… Disagree.”

Khint shook his head, but did not retort. Instead, he turned his attention towards Magnolia and Yew, the former dragging the latter behind her as he frantically tried to pull away and cover the beet-red colour of his cheeks.

***

“You didn’t tell me you knew Sir Victor!” Yew plopped himself down next to Edea with so much enthusiastic force that it looked as though his dinner would overturn.

“Our fathers were buddies,” Edea replied, shrugging. “You seem pretty damn familiar with him though.”

“Oh, uh… Well, I’ve never actually met him in person. I’ve only ever seen him in pictures. He’s like a legend in Al-Khampis! He’s the youngest ever person to graduate with six stars, and he pretty much wrote the entire syllabus for crystal studies, along with his father. He’s amazing.”

Yew cast a glance to the upper floor of the Rubadub, where the party’s new companions were conversing with Lotus and Sakura, a wistful glint in his eye. Edea sighed.

“How many more celebrity crushes do you gotta meet before you’re no longer completely star struck?”

“Hey, Edea… About what he said earlier,” Tiz said tentatively, perhaps choosing that precise moment to save Yew the embarrassment of replying. “What happened to Victoria? I mean… He made it sound like she died for my sake, but…”

“Ahh… Well, I don’t really know if I can say she died for your sake… More like her choice to die benefitted more than just herself…”

Edea sighed. She hadn’t wanted to do this, but Tiz had the right to know. She launched into a description of everything about the incident that she knew. How Victor and Victoria had suddenly fled the country after they were defeated by Agnès’ party, only to return just over a year later to use Eternia’s healing facilities.  So she had heard, once it became known that if Tiz was not given a stronger dose of curative than the ones he was able to take in the city that he would die, Victoria took the opportunity to give him the chamber that had kept her alive for so long. And so, in exchange for her own life, Tiz was allowed to be kept around long enough for Professor Norzen to bring him back.

“As far as I know, she’d already been written off. Everybody on the Council knew she was going to die; it was only a matter of time. So I guess she chose to end it quickly?”

Tiz remained silent, but nodded solemnly.

“Then shortly after she died, Victor just… vanished. He was in a real bad way, and when I asked father and Alternis about it, they just looked sad and said nothing. I really though he’d… you know.” Edea brought her knees up to her chin. “He seems to be doing okay now though. I can’t remember the last time I saw him look so well.”

“He said he’s Professor Norzen’s nephew, right?” Magnolia said. “He seems to be quite familiar with what the Professor was up to before he died, so maybe he just went to stay with him? Sometimes when you witness something horrible, it can help to get as far away from the place where the event happened as you can.”

“But what about the other man? Uh, what was his name again?” Yew queried.

“He’s called Ciggma Khint. He’s just a mercenary as far as I know. My guess is that Victor hired him to help out with whatever business he has on the Skyhold.” Tiz replied nonchalantly.

“Nah, that can’t be it,” Edea interjected curtly. “Khint’s a wanted man. He’s not gonna just go ahead and work with a former member of the Council of Six for money. Even he’s not that desperate. Whatever he’s doing with Victor, there’s got to be more reward in it for him than just pg at this point.”

“What? No way, what did he do?” Tiz gaped and leaned forwards.

“He was caught assisting Dr. Qada in one of his creepy schemes. Heinkel’s been out to get him ever since. I assumed he’d got him to be honest, given I hadn’t heard of him since.”

“Dr. Qada? The death-row inmate who was assassinated in his jail cell before he could be executed?” Yew’s eyes widened, and he looked quickly back up at the two men on the top deck. “That’s his accomplice?”

“Khint’s a total enigma. I don’t really know what he was up to with Qada, any more than I know what he’s up to now. But… if it was anything fishy, Victor would hand him over to the Sky Knights faster than anyone. He was always on very close terms with them, even after the war ended.”

“So what you’re saying is that whatever issue those guys have with the Empire, it has to be incredibly serious?” Magnolia frowned.

Suddenly, before anyone could reply to her, there was a tumultuous roar that heralded a huge, bird-shaped shadow that swept over the Rubadub like a cloud.

“What the heck-!?”

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Imperials above us!” Magnolia cried out, dropping to the deck.

“Imperials? That thing is one of the Empire’s machines?” Victor called out over the sound of the air gushing past the clamorous wings.

“Yes, but – Vucub Caquix? I thought we destroyed it in the Temple of Water?” Yew looked to the others for guidance, but they could offer none.

“Yew, what do you want us to do?” Lotus’ voice cried from the ship’s helm. “It’s headed in the opposite direction of the Skyhold!”

“The Skyhold should be our main priority,” Yew tried to say, but he was interrupted by Khint’s voice from above him

“If that’s an Imperial weapon, we need to go after it. It may contain the answers we need.”

“But… The Skyhold…? I thought you wanted to confront the Kaiser and-?”

“The Kaiser? I don’t recall ever mentioning the Kaiser specifically. Ciggma and I merely wish to find an Imperial, period. Soldier, officer, Kaiser, whomever may come our way.” Victor stated, his eyes affixed firmly on the disappearing shape of Vucub Caquix out in the distance. “This monstrosity may be dangerous. It is simply unacceptable to let it go unchecked.”

“You can’t be serious!” Edea hissed.

“Ah la vache!” Magnolia cried suddenly, clapping her hands to her mouth, “the wing just broke off!”

Everyone on the airship turned to face the machine in the distance, which was smoking profusely from its left side. It teetered, and began spiralling towards the ground at rapid speeds, leaving a plume of smoke in its wake. All the party could do was watch as it cascaded down, down into the ground, where it smashed into a field with a calamitous, final crunch.

“They’ve crashed in Florem Gardens. Now is our chance to make a move,” Khint announced, to Victor moreso than anybody else. The doctor nodded, and without another word, the two of then cast a teleport spell in succession and vanished from the ship in an instant.

“…Huh. They teleported…” Tiz folded his arms across his chest and frowned. “Do they expect us to wait for them and give them a ride to the Skyhold?”

“They didn’t really say, did they? I don’t know…” Magnolia replied, her own expression a mixture of confusion and concern.

“They seemed to just want access to an Imperial soldier, but… I dunno, guys, do you think we should go after them?” Edea said, her voice wavering.

“The Skyhold hasn’t made a move yet… I think we’d have time to go after them, but why do you suggest we do?” Yew cast a glance towards the beam of light far off in the distance. So far, nothing had changed. The Kaiser had not made use of it yet.

“It’s just… I don’t really know what Victor and Khint have planned, and what if the people on the mecha are hurt? It’s gotta be Sergeant Sapp and Private Piddler, right? I don’t want them to die or anything. They’ve kinda grown on me, haha.” She rubbed the back of her neck nervously.

“That crash did look pretty serious… Maybe we should go and check, just to make sure everything is alright.” Tiz nodded.

“Right.” Yew pounded his fist into his palm. “Lotus! To Florem Gardens!”

***

Sergeant Sapp was on fire. There was a ringing in his ears, and every inch of his body ached, but most alarmingly, he was on fire. Somehow, this was the last thing he registered once he realised that the pinprick of white light he saw was the moon, and not the heavens opening up to take him away. Only when he had convinced himself that he was alive did he suddenly notice the burning, which he resolved to put out by rolling into the tiny stream that was running alongside the crash site. Alas, he had been too slow to respond. His military jacket had been reduced to a smoking wreck.

“Private?” he called out, shakily rising to his feet in the water and taking in his surroundings as he surveyed the area for his subordinate. The crash had scorched much of the plant life to a black, smouldering crisp, but if he strained his eyes, he could make out a vast field of brightly coloured flowers that stretched all the way out to the grey silhouettes of the mountains in the distance. It looked as though they hadn’t even made it out of Florem, let alone to Harena where the Skyhold had headed. There was no sign of the Private anywhere.

“Private!?” he called again, slightly more urgently this time. He still didn’t reply. Sapp’s pulse quickened. He couldn’t have… He wasn’t… Was he?

“Piddler?” He dragged his feet out of the stream and wobbled back over to the wreckage, his stomach sinking. He’d already ruined another one of the Kaiser’s robots, but that could be rebuilt. But if he’d killed his Private… He had always been a handful to deal with, and Sapp was astounded that he had lasted this long, but he’d been the one to fix the robot, and he was the one who declared it safe to use. If his own mistake was responsible for Piddler’s death, he didn’t know how he would live with himself.

“Sergeant?” he heard a quiet, but comfortingly familiar voice reply from the other side of the crash site. Instantly, all his doubt flushed from his body as he turned to see the Private rise from the wreckage. His coat was also damaged, torn along the front, and his helmet was missing, but he seemed fine otherwise.

“Shit, Private…” he began, wanting to tell him not to scare him like that again, to express his pleasure in knowing the man was alright, but as always, his words failed him. Try as he might, he could never manage to express himself in that way. “…what a mess we’ve landed ourselves in…”

“Poor thing. I don’t think she’s gonna go back together again, Sir…” Piddler nudged a sheet of metal gently with his foot.

“She’s well and truly dead. Rest in peace, old girl.”

“Yep, rest in pieces.”

The two of them stared at the wreckage for a few moments, only the sound of the wind rustling the grass and the babbling of the stream breaking the otherwise silent atmosphere. Sapp placed his hand on his forehead and sighed.

“So now what?”

“Wanna explore?” Piddler suggested, taking off his ripped coat and inspecting it.

“…I guess we probably better, huh?” Sapp was slightly taken aback at a sensible suggestion coming from the Private, but he didn’t mention it. “But first, we should probably check for anything salvageable…”

***

“Hey!”

Sapp snapped his head up and he looked around. He and Piddler had been working on moving a sheet of metal. It wasn’t particularly big, but both men were still aching terribly from the crash, and Sapp was afraid to put too much strain on himself in case he injured anything more. He’d healed them both with the White Magic he knew, but he was concerned it wasn’t enough. They wouldn’t be moving it at all, had it not been covering the control panel of the mecha, which Sapp hoped had a transmission device built into it so they could call for help.

“Did you hear something, Private?”

“Hear what?”

“It sounded like a woman’s voice…”

“Oh, yeah. There’s a couple of people walking over with guns out right now, Sir. It was probably them.” Piddler smiled and pointed out across the stream behind the Sergeant.

“WHAT!?”

“Hey you two!” a different voice snapped. “Put that down and step away from the machine. Now!”

“Are they pointing guns at us now?” Sapp asked in a wavering voice.

“Yup. Fingers on the trigger and everything, sir.”

Sapp nodded and slowly placed the sheet metal back on the ground, before turning with his hands up to face the gunmen. As soon as he saw them, he let out a choked sound that was something between a gasp and a scream.

Piddler had failed to mention a few key things, apparently. Firstly, that the two women preparing to shoot them were Imperial Sniper Vans, wearing the khaki green uniform synonymous with the soldiers the Kaiser had dispatched to Eisenberg. Secondly, that there was a third person with them, not carrying any weapons but still no less intimidating. And thirdly, that the third person was an asterisk holder.

“Oh, hey there Lord Angelo.” Piddler was still beaming. “I didn’t know your ghost haunted these here gardens.”

“…What? Ghost? I’m not… What?”

“That’s Imperial property,” one of the snipers barked, apparently ignoring Piddler’s remark. “Step away, or we will shoot you.”

“We’re Imperial soldiers!” Sapp said, his voice no less strangled than it had been earlier.

“Unlikely. Imperial soldiers are not allowed to remove their uniform except for showering or sleeping,” the other sniper replied sharply.

“They caught on fire... I… I’m Sergeant Charan Sapp, and this is Private Poran Piddler. I swear, we’re Imperial soldiers! Look, I’ll show you.” He attempted to move in order to grab the remains of his uniform, but the sniper’s finger on the trigger of her rifle twitched and he froze to the spot.

“I know those names. But how do we know you’re not posing as them?”

“I have my name written in my underwear if you want to see that I’m me,” Piddler supplied.

The snipers both went bright red. “You don’t need to-!”

“It’s alright. They’re legit. I don’t recognise them as such, but only the Kaiser’s idiots would think to call me ‘Lord Angelo’.” The third person, whom Piddler had dubbed as such, held out his hand, and the two snipers lowered their weapons. “Why on earth do you think I’m a ghost though?”

“You are Lord Angelo? B-b-but you died! You went to Yunohana to fight Yew Geneolgia and you didn’t come back!” Sapp lowered his arms and moved forwards to get a closer look.

“Don’t call me that childish name. It's Chef Angelo to you. And no, just because I never returned, doesn’t mean I’m reckless enough to get killed. The Kaiser simply told me never to bother coming back if I didn’t kill those kids, and evidently, I didn’t. So I didn’t go back.” He tapped one of the snipers on the shoulder. “These men need medical help. Go make use of yourselves and get the others.”

“Yes chef!” they chimed, and the two of them ran off in the direction they had come from.

“Others? There’s more people here?” Sapp enquired, not quite sure how to address the man. Was he still technically his superior?

“Oh yeah, about ten others. All from different divisions of the Glanz Empire,” Angelo put his hand to his chin thoughtfully. “Uh, let’s see… There’s two Guards, another Van, two Deserts, and then the rest are all just regular soldiers. They all insist they’re still part of the Empire, so they’ll probably help you out.”

“Are they not still part of the Empire?”

“Would you consider people abandoned by the Kaiser still ‘part of the Empire’? Hmm. It’s not really any different to getting fired from a job. He obviously doesn’t want them anymore, so therefore they’re not Imperial soldiers. They’re just idiots who travelled across half the world chasing a man who probably doesn’t even know they exist.”

“So why are you with them, if you don’t agree with their sentiment?” Sapp clenched his hands into fists. He had never spoken to the baker at length before, and now he was glad of it. He wanted very much to punch him in the face, he was so pretentious.

“I’m not with them. After I left the Empire, I just came here because it’s where Aimee and I were living before we joined you lot. When the Skyhold got blasted by that beam of light, it fled over this way and the soldiers following it wound up getting lost here in the gardens, and now they won’t leave!” Angelo’s voice went up an octave and his speech grew faster as he went on. “And now you guys show up, and you take out half the gardens by smashing Vucub Caquix into them. Do you even know how long it took Aimee to make that thing? It was like her damned child, and you go and wreck it!”

“How can a person have a robot child?” Piddler asked, not seeming to realise just how frazzled Panettone was becoming.

“I didn’t realise Lady Aimee was the one who built this thing,” Sapp said, taking on what was a feigned tone of interest in the hopes that it would quell the man’s irritation. Angelo was well known among the Imperial soldiers, not only for his good looks and his talents in the kitchen, but for his ruthless tendency to poison anybody who got on his bad side.

“Well, it obviously wasn’t any of the regular mechanics the Kaiser hired. It was actually decently built. Yes, she certainly designed it, and helped direct the building process for it. She always had a talent for engineering, especially in the weapons department… She was nothing sort of amazing at it…” His voice became softer, as did his face, but that did nothing to ease Sapp's wariness of him.

“So I’m guessing you know a bit about it then?” Sapp asked tentatively. “Like, perhaps you know if we can contact the Skyhold with it?”

“You ought to be able to. I think all the Empire’s mechs are built with a transmitter, in case of emergency. But…” he tilted his head towards the wreckage. “Whether or not it’ll work in this state, I can’t say. Knowing Aimee, she’ll have built it so that you can contact the Skyhold even if the body of the mech has been blown up, but that’s just an inkling, I’m afraid.” Angelo’s eyes suddenly widened. “Wait, if you can contact the Skyhold then that means you and the other soldiers can leave!”

“Uh… yeah. That’s the idea.”

“Then we’d better find that transmitter.” He rolled up his sleeves and stepped over the little stream, before marching over to the remains of the mech and beginning to peer over it carefully.

“Alright… I’m still a little shaky from the crash, but if three of us work on moving this stuff then it should be possible even with our injuries.”

Sapp pointed out the sheet metal that was covering the control panel first, and the three of them spread themselves out around it so they could try lifting it. They were just about to take hold of it when they were, once more, distracted by a disembodied voice.

“Here’s the crash site. But I don’t see Victor or Khint anywhere, do you?”

“What the hell? Yew Geneolgia?” Sapp felt himself deflate. Of course they’d show up now. He wasn’t ready for a fight.  

The young boy and his friends jumped once they spotted the wreckage, and began to rush over. Sapp tensed, and wished he had a weapon. He really wasn’t ready for a fight.

“Crystals, that looks bad,” the boy with messy, brown hair murmured, his thick brows knitting together with concern.

“Ah, la vache… How did the two of you survive this?” the tall, white haired woman gasped, hopping over the stream and coming towards them.

“Wait…! Panettone? What are you doing here?” the blonde girl gaped and followed the taller one across the water as well.

“Honestly? I was trying to take a nap, before these two showed up,” Angelo sighed. “What do you want?”

“We saw the crash happen, and we came as fast as we could,” Yew stated proudly. “We wanted to make sure nobody was hurt.”

“…Oh…” Sapp raised his eyebrows. Weren’t these people enemies of the Empire?

“We’re also looking for two men,” the blonde girl added. “Have you seen any?”

“But you’ve got two men right there.” Piddler pointed to Yew, and then to the brown-haired boy. “And with us three, that makes five men. You’ve got more than enough men.”

“Ehhhh… No… Two specific men,” the girl sighed, the corners of her lips threatening to twitch into a smile. “A really tall guy in dark green robes, and a guy with long grey hair in a white coat. You seen anybody like that?”

“The only people I’ve seen in these gardens are Imperial soldiers,” Sapp affirmed.

“Same here. None of them fit those descriptions either.” Angelo folded his arms.

“You have a real specific type, missy.”

“Private. Be quiet.”

“Yessir.”

“They probably teleported further in. We should keep going,” the brown-haired boy mused. The others nodded.

“But first, you three need to get out of here,” Yew said abruptly to Sapp, Piddler and Panettone.

“Right,” the white-haired girl agreed. “If those guys catch you by the wreckage, even without uniforms they’ll think you’re with the Empire.”

“They’re both asterisk holders,” the blonde girl explained. “And one unarmed Imperial asterisk holder, plus two injured soldiers, versus two incredibly powerful Eternian asterisk holders… I don’t think you stand a chance.”

“You took my asterisk anyway, remember?” Angelo grumbled quietly, pouting.

“The duchy is here?” Sapp stepped backwards in alarm. “That’s… real bad.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“Uh… I wouldn’t really say they’re with the duchy, Edea,” the brown-haired boy said.

“Well… No, but that doesn’t make them any less dangerous, Tiz.” Edea replied haughtily.

“They’re after the Empire regardless of who they’re working for,” Yew said in agreement. “So you need to get away before they find you.”

“Why should we trust you? You’re the bastards who killed all our superiors, and countless soldiers. This could be a trap,” Sapp spat. He’d seen these kids kill Nikolai less than two days ago, and now they’d turned up again with that same steely glint of determination in their eyes. It was terrifying.

“It’s not like we wanted to!” The white-haired girl’s voice was choked in exasperation. “Don’t think their deaths don’t haunt us to this day.”

“Magnolia…”

“We only want to save our friend,” Tiz scorned. “And we only take life if we have to. Why do you think you guys are still alive? It’s because you know when to back down. Do you really think that if we were heartless killers, we’d spare you?”

“Sergeant…” Piddler interjected.

“Not now, Private.”

“Sorry, sir. It’s just that ain’t there a whole bunch of other Imperial soldiers who don’t know about these anti-risk people right here? Like them girls who tried to shoot us earlier.”

“…Shit! You’re right! You said there were twelve other soldiers in the gardens, right chef?”

“Yes, that’s right. They’re very deep into the thick of the place, but it doesn’t take too long to get there from here.”

“Say, Edea, or whatever your name is,” Sapp turned to address Edea directly. “These guys – are they dangerous? Are they going to kill the Imperials they find?”

“I don’t know… Victor probably won’t, but I don’t really know Khint well enough to know what he’s thinking. There’s a real chance he will kill them, but I honestly can’t say.”

“My, my, this is Ciggma Khint we’re dealing with?” Panettone piped up, rolling his sleeves back down and stepping over the stream. “Then this is serious. Khint makes me look like an amateur, and I don’t say that lightly.”

“Well, it’s my duty as a Sergeant to protect my subordinates. If they’re in any danger, then I have to go. You in, Private?”

“Yessir! I’m always in for a fight, sir.”

“What about you?” He looked at Angelo.

“Oh, I suppose. I’m not dumb enough to pick a fight, but those idiots are camped right outside my house. I guess I should probably stand by in case I need to put out any fires.”

“Right. Then lead the way, you kids!”

Yew Geneolgia and his friends looked befuddled for a brief moment, but soon their steely looks of determination returned and they took off at speed into the very core of the blooming gardens of Florem.

***

The air was already pungent with a smokiness that anybody who used fire magic knew all too well by the time the party reached their destination.

“It only gets worse from here on in,” the familiar voice of the orange-cladded traveller who always seemed to follow them around affirmed grimly.

“Are we too late?” Edea asked, her heart still in her mouth from the sprinting to get there. The Adventurer shrugged.

“See for yourself.”

Their nonchalant behaviour never really helped ease a person’s nerves before a battle. Edea probably would have kicked them a few times, were they not an excellent resource for items.

The party moved forwards into the huge clearing that led to the thick of the Gardens, immediately discovering the source of the smokiness. Khint was stood in the clearing, his scimitar ablaze with flickering, orange flames. Somehow, the cuffs of his long sleeves never caught fire while he was wielding the powers his asterisk gave him. Some distance away, calm as ever, Victor stood, watching, his golden staff floating gently by his side.

A few meters away from the two men were the reason for their hostility – a huddle of about twelve Imperial soldiers, all dressed in an assortment of different coloured uniforms, carrying an array of weapons. One of them looked no older than fourteen, while the oldest of them had to be in their fifties or sixties. Yet, despite their differing ranks and ages, at that very moment in time, they all had the same look on their faces that brought them together as one. It was a look of nothing less than sheer, undiluted terror. They were all stood next to a wooden house that Edea did not remember having been there before, when they had faced Mephilia in these gardens three years ago. Its roof had been masterfully shaped into the image of a stack of pancakes. Was this where Panettone lived?

“We will not ask you again,” Khint warned them, his voice even and gentle. “Tell us what you know.”

“I swear we don’t know a thing!” A Desert Axeman squeaked, his voice trembling.

“Khint! Victor! I thought you said you just wanted to interrogate one Soldier.” Edea snarled, stomping forwards and attempting to seize the Spell Fencer by the sleeve. He slapped her away.

“Don’t interfere Edea,” Victor told her sharply. His voice sounded nothing like it had before. It was chilling and harsh, like the voice of the man Edea had fought against all those years ago once more. It was a voice that instilled terror into the hearts of any foe. The doctor’s eyes were equally as harsh, an icy blue as biting as the snowfields of Eternia. Edea tentatively placed her hand on the hilt of her katana.

“Please help us…” one of the Sniper Vans whispered through a voice strangled with tears.

“They’re not gonna answer you if you’re brandishing weapons like that. They’re scared to death, look at them!” Tiz argued.

“Maybe he’s right, Ciggma. Let’s not resort to torture quite so soon.”

“Hmph. You may have a point.” Khint extinguished his blade and sheathed it. Edea sighed in relief, but the soldiers remained tense.

“We don’t want to hurt you without reason,” Victor assured the soldiers, stepping forwards. “If you really can’t answer our questions, we’ll take you into custody and move on. No blood should needlessly be shed here today.”

Khint shuffled slightly, and Edea though she saw him scowl at Victor’s words.

“Now, I’m looking for some people the Empire took prisoner when they attacked Eternia. Specifically, the ten researchers I tasked with watching over Tiz Arrior here while I was away. You’re all sure you don’t know anything?”

The soldiers conferred amongst themselves in a hushed whisper.

“I’m sorry. None of us were tasked with taking Central Command. Only us in blue even set foot in Eternia, and we all went to the city,” an Imperial medic affirmed. “We don’t know anything.”

“Uh oh…” Yew could be heard muttering under his breath, and he quickly whipped his head round to whisper to Magnolia. “You don’t think he means those ten researchers, do you?”

“Oh no… Oh Yew, what if he does? How do we even begin to tell someone something so horrible?”

“We can’t really know they’re telling the truth, doctor,” Khint could be heard saying in an equally hushed voice.

“You guys are talking about those research notes we found in Ancheim?” Tiz asked, his voice quavering. “They specifically mentioned the researchers tasked to protect me were used… I don’t see any two ways about it. It’s the same people.”

Tiz dug around in his bag and pulled out the notes he was talking about. He had gone slightly white, and Edea knew why. Both she and Tiz had witnessed first hand how Victor could react in the face of loss, and it was not a pretty sight to behold. There was a very good chance that if he read what was on those notes, he would kill every one of those soldiers right there and then.

But then she couldn’t just not tell him. He had the right to know. They were his handpicked research team, after all. The same faces Edea had seen running after him almost every day for eight years, and after his father in the seven before that. She hadn’t realised until just then, after hearing Victor mention them, that those were the people the Empire’s research notes referred to.

As she walked towards Victor, the papers in her quaking hands, she found herself having to force herself not to throw up.

“H-hey, Victor. You should probably look at this.”

“Hm? Is it relevant? If not, it can wait.”

“No, it’s relevant. I think it’ll answer all your questions… But just promise me you won’t get mad, okay?”

The silence was suffocating as the Spiritmaster read through the notes Edea handed him. On trembling legs, she began to retreat back to her party and braced herself for the potential fight to come.

It took an age for Victor to finish reading, or so it felt like it did. Then the silence was broken suddenly by the sound of his staff dropping to the ground and striking a pebble in the grass. His face went deathly pale and his mouth twitched. His eyes widened. He dropped the papers.

“…What…? This is…? I can’t believe it…”

“Victor…” Edea considered going to him, but Tiz seemed to sense her intentions and grabbed her hand.

“What is it? What does it say?” Khint asked, stepping forwards and making to pick up the paper. Victor stepped on it, and then with his heel, began to grind it into the dust.

“No. No more… Nobody else should ever see these notes again…” His voice was so quiet, but it was obvious that it was breaking. He kept grinding the paper into the ground, the same stony, wide-eyed look on his face. Only after it was pulverised did he look up, and he made a slow turn to face the soldiers again, all of whom had gone rigid and quiet.

“You… killed them?” he grimaced. “No, this is worse than that. Worse than torture, even. I might even be able to excuse that… But this? This is… This is… THIS IS BARBARIC!” He punctured the air with a spine-chilling scream and hurled a holy spell towards the trees to the side of him, his body heaving. The clearing filled with the hot light, but only the flora was singed. The people stood around him remained unharmed.

“Crystals, Victor, calm down!” Edea called, not even sure he could register her words at that point. At least he was taking out his anger on the surroundings. She’d seen him fly into a rage like this before, and he had tried very hard to kill her when he did.

“What the hell did that paper say?” Khint asked her, pulling out his blade again. He could probably cut Victor down if he needed to, but Edea hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

“They… They experimented on them…” Victor replied before she had the chance. “They turned them into a monster… What kind of sick person does that!? What was it for!? Why does this… this thing exist!?” He looked directly at the soldiers, his eyes blazing. “Tell me what you know! Why did your Kaiser let this happen?”

“We… We don’t know what you’re talking about,” the same Imperial medic from before spluttered, clutching at the grass beneath her.

“I’m talking about this Amphisbaena experiment! Those notes… They said you turned my friends into a monster… Why…?” Victor’s voice was suddenly thick with what sounded like tears. “Why!?”

The soldiers were silent. Then one of them, the Guardstave who looked like the youngest, spoke out. “Amphisbaena was… People? It was made out of people?”

“Yeah. It was. I read the notes too, and that’s what it said,” Yew affirmed, his tone dark. “We fought and killed the thing when it attacked us in Ancheim, and we found the notes inside it.”

“That’s so sick…” A Guardspear whispered.

“How… Could they? How could the Kaiser authorise such a thing?” One of the Sniper Vans squeaked.

“That’s fucked up…” Sergeant Sapp said to himself. “That’s so fucked up… What the fuck…”

“How scary…” Piddler quavered, staring at the ground.

“Do the soldiers not know what goes on in their own fortress?” Magnolia asked. Based on the reactions of everyone in the area, she seemed to be on the mark. There was no way all of them could act so convincingly. The looks of horror on all their faces seemed genuine. Even Khint, who usually looked so stoic, looked unnerved. “Surely the higher-ups should have said something to them! That’s insane! How could you keep this from them?”

She and the rest of the party turned to face Angelo and confront him on the matter, only to find him on his knees with his hands clasped over his mouth. He had gone a sickly shade of green.

“How… horrible…” he mumbled meekly, placing one of his hands on the ground to steady himself. He looked as though he was going to be sick.

“Even you didn’t know?” Edea turned back to face the rest of the crowd. “Maybe the experiment wasn’t made public to the rest of the Glanz Empire?”

“We don’t know anything that goes on in the research department. It’s top secret, ma’am.” An Imperial Katana affirmed.

“Then… take me to the research department,” Victor croaked. His voice had gone hoarse, but had regained the confident tone it usually possessed. He rose back to his full height, no longer trembling as much as he had been in his rage. “I’ll deal with these people directly… I’ll find out who did this, and I will kill them. Edea, let me go with you to the Skyhold.”

“Yeah… Of course… I won’t stop you,” she replied, not wanting to look him in the eye. She didn’t blame Victor for wanting to spill the blood of the people who had tortured and murdered those researchers in such a way. Part of her wanted to do the same.

“But first, we need to alert the Grand Marshal that this lot are here. They’re not responsible for anything that gives me cause to kill them, but they’re Imperial soldiers nonetheless. They need to be arrested for their crimes. You said that boy is one of them too?” he cast a stern look towards Angelo, who was still doubled over, but who was staring up at the doctor with contempt. “He’ll have to go in for questioning as well. You two should get out of here – I don’t know who you are, but you don’t look like you can hold up in a fight.” He addressed Sapp and Piddler as though he had no idea they were his enemies as well. “I have no use for you, and it’s probably safest for you that way. Do not repeat anything you’ve heard here.”

“Uh… Okay…” Sapp replied shakily.

Edea expected Sapp and Piddler to take their opportunity for freedom, but she had also expected Panettone to object. Instead, he just stayed quiet. Perhaps he thought he would not be able to resist Victor’s power if it came to a fight. Or perhaps the revelation of the Empire’s sick schemes had made him complacent to the Spiritmaster’s demands? He had chosen to fight the party in Yunohana for a personal reason, so it wasn’t as though he was particularly devoted to the Kaiser’s ideals. Or perhaps he was just being a stubborn ass.

‘Probably a mixture of all three…’

“Ciggma, can you help me tie this lot up?” Victor said, demanding it of him moreso than asking.

Khint remained silent for a brief moment. Then he scowled and spoke. “No. I don’t appreciate what you have done, so I am not going to take your orders.”

“…What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t upheld your end of the bargain, Doctor Court. We made a contract, and you are infringing on it. I don’t appreciate that.”

“We never… I didn’t agree to this,” he hissed, and then lowered his voice. “Khint, I really… can’t afford to pay you for your help. I genuinely do not have the pg for it.”

Edea knew Victor had grown up in relative poverty, pouring all his income and his father’s savings into his research, leaving barely enough to feed himself and Victoria sometimes. There was no way he could pay Khint’s rather extortionate fees for his service, and there was no way he would hire him if he knew that he needed to.

“I never specified that I wanted money,” Khint replied curtly, though even with his harsh tone, Victor still looked relieved. “I’m well past the need for it. But you still owe me blood.”

Victor started. “Blood? You don’t mean… They’re not the ones we’re looking for. They told us who we’re after, so now we’re going to go and get them. You can have your blood then.”

“I don’t think researchers will cut it, I’m afraid.” Khint shook his head. “They are your enemies. Not mine.”

“Your… enemies?” Victor narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing here, Khint? Why did you agree to help me? What is your motive?”

“My motive is my business. I have reason to take issue with the Glanz Empire, much like you do, but that reason is for me to know.”

“If you have your own agenda, then by all means act on it. Ask them anything, but I will not allow you to kill them unless I am satisfied that it is justified. How does that sound?”

“They’re bartering with human lives like they’re cash…” Magnolia breathed into Edea’s ear. “How awful…”

“I don’t need to ask any questions. They’ve already told me everything I need to know. You, in the blue. You said you and your other comrades in blue went to the city of Eternia, correct?” He pointed the tip of his blade towards the Imperial medic who seemed to speak for her squadron.

“Yes,” she replied quickly, her voice slightly more panic-stricken than before.

“I see you’ve become one of the Empire’s weapons now, Angelo. They must be paying you well. Can you confirm that the ones in blue here went to the city of Eternia?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed. “Probably. Only soldiers in blue were dispatched to Eternia, and I see no reason for her to lie. And for your information, I wasn’t being paid at all. Not in cash, anyway.”

Edea kept meaning to ask how Khint and Panettone knew each other, but this was not the time.

“Alright. Then I’m certain. All the soldiers in blue uniform die here.”

“What? Why? What did they do?” A Desert spear gasped.

“The rest of you can get lost, for all I care,” Khint scorned, ignoring the soldier.

“No, Ciggma…!” Victor growled threateningly, hoisting his staff into the air with a flick of his wrist. “It’s one thing to kill them with no justification... But to squander the opportunity to take in these wanted criminals while we have them in our grasp… I cannot let that happen.”

“So, take them in. I’m not stopping you. I only care what happens to the ones who attacked Eternia.”

“But who is to say they deserve to die for their crimes? You don’t even know what they did.”

“You know what part of Eternia had the most casualties when the Empire attacked, right?”

“Of course I do. Central Healing Tower. But even then, the death toll was in single digits, and only because the White Magic Cables got briefly interrupted. But who’s to say these four individuals in an army of thousands are the ones responsible?”

“They are the ones responsible,” the very quiet voice of Sergeant Sapp whispered to Edea. “They’re our squadron. And we’re definitely the ones who caused the cables to get shut off.”

“Well, don’t tell him that. He’ll kill you for sure,” she replied in an equally quiet voice. Sapp said nothing, but Edea could tell from his face that something was causing him discomfort.

“Give us credit. We may not be the smartest, but we know how to avoid dying when we need to,” Private Piddler told her in her other ear. For a brief moment, Edea cast her mind back to the joke she had with Yew about the Private being some kind of super soldier, and hearing him say something so cunning almost made her believe it.

“Hey, Edea.” Tiz sidled up to join the hushed conversation. “You know how Khint said he was past money? And you know how when we fought Profiteur that one time, he mentioned how Khint was only fighting to pay his daughter’s medical bills… You don’t think he’s doing this because she got hurt, or even died in the Empire’s attack, do you?”

Edea cast a glance back at Khint, who was still holding his sword to the medic’s throat. “Yeah… What else would he be fighting like this for?” she balled up her hands. So many people she knew of, or had met, had turned out to be dead in so little time.

“I’ll excuse myself with them, if you’d like. The gardens go on a little bit further. I can execute them there so you can do with the rest what you will.”

“You’re not executing anybody, Ciggma. I’m taking them to the Lord Marshal, where they will be interrogated properly. And should you resist, I’ll report you. I know Heinkel would love to see you again.”

“Empty threats,” Khint sighed. “Your sense of justice is frustrating Victor. Some people don’t deserve saving.”

“It’s not my job to decide who deserves saving, Spell Fencer. It’s my job to just save them.”

“And it’s not my job to decide who deserves killing. It’s my job to just kill them. And yet, here I am, deciding who to kill on my own. You should break the boundaries you’re tied to, Spiritmaster. Make your own decisions, for once in your life.”

“You fiend!” Victor whipped his staff around to strike Khint, but the Spell Fencer was too fast, and his sword flew from his hand, clashing into the neck of the staff and pushing it away.

“Stop it!” One of the soldiers, an Imperial Shield, cried out. “Don’t fight each other over us.”

“We’ve made a decision,” the Imperial Axe of the group stated.

“It was us who cut off the supply of White Magic to Eternia. It was only brief, but we now know it cost lives.” The Katana added solemnly.

“We’re under the impression that perhaps somebody you care for was among them. It’s only right that you take our lives in return.” Their Sniper wiped a tear from her eye and met Khint’s with determination. There was a small outcry from amongst the other soldiers, and both Sapp and Piddler paled.

“But we have a condition,” the medic added, raising her voice above the din. “Only us five will be punished. You will kill only us, and everybody else here goes free. They will not be taken to prison or interrogated by the duchy.”

“That’s fine by me. Thank you…” Khint pulled his blade away and walked towards the group of soldiers.

“I won’t allow it!” Victor snarled after him, sending his staff at Khint’s head for another attack. Once again, the Spell Fencer’s scimitar batted it away, sparks flying where they clattered together.

“This is ridiculous!” Tiz exclaimed, “they aren’t even trying to reach a decision.”

“Well someone better make them decide,” Angelo said sharply. “If they keep fighting like this, they’ll surely destroy this place, and us with it. If I die here, Yew Geneolgia, I swear I will torment you for all eternity when I see you in Hell.”

“Why is this my fault!? Wait… Hell?”

“Be careful, everyone. We’ve been through this before. If we side with one of them, we’ll definitely have to fight the other.” Magnolia’s expression was stern, and she readied herself into a battle stance.

“But we haven’t had to make this difficult a decision before, either!” Edea reminded them urgently. “These are people’s lives at stake.”

“Right. But it’s gonna cost all our lives if we don’t step in now.” Tiz stated, with an air of finality. “So what do we do? Do we let Khint have his way, perhaps even avenging the death of his only daughter, allowing him to sacrifice those five soldiers in exchange for the others’ freedom? Or do we side with Victor, and let him take all the soldiers, and Panettone, into the duchy’s custody, possibly leading to their entire lives being spent in prison?”

“We have no option but to choose, then. So what should it be…?”

Side with Khint

Side with Victor

[laurlovescookies]

Kadam Week Prompt Six: The Boy in the Well, Part 1 of 2

- Kurt meets Adam’s ex-boyfriend and realizes that he may not have cornered the market on bad relationships.

Soooo, I noticed that there are no horror genre Kadam fics. (Which is ironic, because I’m terrified of even the corniest of scary movies.) So I thought I’d give it a go. This is a fic wherein Kurt and Adam meet while Kurt’s still in high school, shortly before A Very Glee Christmas.

This fic features a morally-ambiguous Adam (to put it mildly.) I know that seems anathema to the Kadam fandom (because Adam is so sweet and easygoing) but I wanted to try it just the same. And also to challenge myself to write outside my comfort zone. ^_^

Adam’s jerk boyfriend is mentioned in this story, but he doesn’t actually make an appearance, for reasons you’ll soon understand if you decide to keep reading.

Warning: Dark fic. Um, Not really any graphic stuff (and no sexual content), but there are some un-jolly shenanigans just the same. Adam is by no means a threat to Kurt, but the same is certainly not guaranteed for some other parties.

*whispers* Run like hell while you can.

-O-

The slithery-dee,

He came out of the sea,

He ate all the others

But he didn’t eat me.

The slithery-dee,

He came out of the sea,

He ate all the others

And he only spared me. –Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, Adapted

-O-

He staggered through the brush, wading through knee-high, frozen snow. But however far Kurt got the man’s screaming still rang in his ears, and there was still the sound of dry leaves and branches being crushed not far away as the black silhouette ploughed after him. It sang, mocking and singsong, although taut around the edges with obvious fury:

“OLLY-OLLY-OXEN-FREE!”

By now the snow was glittering under the stars like a threat. It was scarcely light enough besides to see his own hand inches away from his face, and he kept smacking into trees and getting tangled in branches, liberally scratching him. Again he felt for his phone in his pockets, and again scrabbled at empty space. He’d dropped it. His one lifeline and he’d dropped it.

His ragged breathing appeared in the frosty air in puffs that swam over his face as he hurried downhill, slipping more than once and soaking himself. He forced himself up and running again, heart beating so painfully in his throat and blood pounding so prominently in his ears he wondered that they hadn’t given him away yet. The moon and stars watched through the trees as he swallowed the cries for help that he knew would only kill him in the end.

“DON’T MAKE ME DRAG YOU OUT, YOU DIRTY LITTLE FAGGOT, DON’T MAKE ME COME FIND YOU!”  

However deep he went, Dave’s voice was not getting any further away, and he was clearly following the evidence Kurt could not erase in the snow drifts. He stopped cold and looked round, clutching at a searing stitch in his side. He knew immediately it was no good throwing Dave off track with a false trail—it would only slow him down.

Chest heaving, the young man went deeper, mind blank with futility and hot with terror. He choked on dry sobs, his clawing hands angry-red, aching and burning fiercely.

“I’LL KILL YOU! GONNA RIP THIS KNIFE THROUGH YOUR ASS AND FUCKING CUT YOU!”

Better to give up now—it was the only left to do, besides hanging himself with his coat—he had his pick of trees, none of which he could scrabble into, however—but his treacherous feet kept moving automatically as he crashed through several bare branches. No good, no good, no good, was the mantra his slipping feet kept crushing through the snow.

Kurt tripped over a tree root, and his vision briefly turned white as he fell for the third time, this time feeling an awful pop in his ankle. There was a brief, horrible split second before the pain fully registered that he understood that he’d been hurt badly before he hit the ground. Pain lanced its way up his ankle, throbbing madly. Voice catching in the lump in his throat, he lay crumpled and winded, wet hair falling messily over his face. Any moment now there would be Dave and his knife and he would tear out his throat and it might be a relief, compared to what else the man might like to do. Especially because he’d shown a proclivity towards assault before.

He screwed up his face and moaned.

It also meant leaving his father alone, harming the only friends he’d ever had, possibly even the boy he crushed on, regardless of how he treated Kurt in the end. Strange how evident that was on the cusp of dying. He pressed his bitterly-cold hands against his mouth to restrain the primal shriek of despair that rattled inside his ribcage like a pinball.  

After some time—he couldn’t tell for how long—he rose again, dripping, glowing with cold and hurt, and hobbled forward. There was a retaliatory stab of pain in his ankle with each step, as if he were the mermaid in the original Hans Christen Anderson story.

Gritting his teeth, a fine sheet of sweat on his brow despite the extreme chill, he managed ten steps before he was forced to clutch a tree for support, every inch of him crying for release as he shakily limped away again, spotting a fallen branch. He quickly broke it into an adequate staff, limping with the birch over his shoulder as he came into a small clearing.

Dave’s shouts and intermittent curses had faded somewhat, but he couldn’t have got away so easily. Perhaps the darkness protected Kurt somewhat, but it wasn’t yet late enough.

Kurt came to a stop before a yew tree, sagging against his support, face deathly-white. Gasping, he looked up to find a small well. The weathered, cracked stone and splintery wood looked positively ancient, but maybe it meant there were buildings somewhere not far away. And inhabitants.

Tasting his heart in his throat, Kurt staggered forward, plunging deeper into the heart of the forest. By now the branches had grown so thick and so clustered overhead he couldn’t see the moon or stars anymore; he was running near-blind.

Kurt’s path narrowed into a thicket-tunnel, and he forced himself to crawl through it, previously throbbing hands rapidly losing feeling in them as they slapped forward against the snow. Dave was still yelling what sounded like lewd promises in the distance, but they sounded more distant now.

Not as distant as Kurt would’ve preferred, however. Maybe this pass would be too big for Dave to lumber through.

The inky tunnel eventually began expanding around him, and soon Kurt was able to shakily rise, wincing as he put some pressure on his injured ankle. Chest heaving, he hurried on, falling and rising upon a gently-sloping hill, nearly rolling down upon it twice as he hauled himself up.

It was then he came upon a house. His breath hitched.

It was an enormous, Victorian beauty, pillared and with pale green shingles lacquered so distinctly even in the night Kurt could see they looked like scales. The roof and dilapidated window panels were a dark slate, and upon the roof and ground floor there were iron fences. Somehow they managed to look both delicate and threatening, the intricate, spindly spirals in the metal belying the sharp arrowheads atop the fence. Kurt squinted at it, struggling to breathe.

Had the light been improved, Kurt would’ve been able to fully recognize the weathered loveliness and hideousness of the house. Clearly it had been elaborately designed, with two small towers constructed into its frame.

But with the panels scattered on the snow about it like missing teeth, the faded paint, the splintered wood and the fact that the distinctly-unwelcoming looking place seemed sunken into the snow, it had a foreboding feel of neglect. Had Kurt not been so frightened, he might’ve sensed how the whole place had a stale taste to the air.

But as it was, not even Kurt cared to appreciate aesthetics as he rushed towards the house, rushing past the old gate, which stiffly opened, creaking in his wake.

Kurt ran faster than he ever had in his life, the pain nearly unrecognizable in the face of overwhelming adrenaline. He slipped twice along the way—the stony pass was icy beneath the snow.

He had to drag himself to the door, pounding furiously. “Hello? Hello, is there anyone here? Help! Help me! It’s an emergency!”

Somewhere Dave bellowed his name. Tears dashing down his face, Kurt frantically hammered the door with both fists.

“Please, please, please open up, he’s going to kill me,” he cried, hot tears splashing on the door. “He’s come to murder me and I’ve got nowhere else to go, no phone, so please—“

The dark windows suddenly lit up like jack-o-lantern eyes, painting the outside yellow. A second later Kurt yelped as the door he’d been leaning against disappeared and he crash-landed on a thick plush carpet. Two hands immediately touched his shoulders and he instinctively recoiled, looking up with terrified eyes.

A young blond man was stooping beside him, visibly concerned. The door was shut—the stranger must’ve opened and closed it in a hurry. He withdrew his hands slightly, pale blue eyes wide.

“What happened?” He asked urgently, trying to heave Kurt to his feet. The boy hissed with pain through his teeth and the young man nearly dropped him in his haste. “Oh, oh, you’re hurt—“ He stared incredulously at Kurt’s face, and Kurt wondered wildly if he looked as bad as he felt. “—you really are hurt, you look like you got into a fight with a bear—“

“Please,” Kurt whispered again, tears continuing to fall despite his shock. He couldn’t stop babbling, everything that he’d kept silent for months slipping out from his crumbled defenses: “All I wanted—all I wanted was for him to leave me alone, he kept torturing me every chance I got because he assaulted me, and I left and I just wanted it to be over, but he—he found me—“

“Shhh. Shhhh.” The young man tentatively looped one of Kurt’s arms around his shoulder. This time the latter tolerated the contact, and Adam’s eyes closed for a brief moment.

“The door is locked.” He pointed toward the door with his foot. “And I have a gun.” Kurt flinched, partially out of the insinuation and from guilt over the shuddery wave of relief that passed over him at the words. He normally objected gun ownership. “No one is coming to hurt you, I promise.

“It will be alright,” The young man soothed as he and Kurt stiffly went forward, Kurt dazedly allowing himself to be led. “My name is Adam. Adam Crawford.” He turned to look at Kurt. “You can explain once we get you down—easy, easy now, you look dead on your feet—“ And while Kurt barely took in anything of his surroundings, he felt himself gently lowered on a sofa that sank beneath him. Adam tentatively let him go, muttering beneath his breath as he hurried away, “Water, hot water, bandages, and ice—“

Kurt’s head sagged back against the sofa, and he took in the background with a mite of curiosity. There was a small brass chandelier with glass bulb-frames that looked as if it’d recovered in an antique shop. There were two small chintz armchairs sitting near a beautiful mantle, beneath which was a fireplace. It was surrounded by two enormous shelves filled with leather-bound books with beautiful, peeling good lettering on their spines.

There were delicate tables scattered around the room, and velvet curtains with tassels hung heavily before the windows; he was grateful the drapes were drawn. The wallpaper was a discolored, intricate floral pattern that looked vintage. There was a cabinet filled with delicate-looking teacups, and on the heavy-looking coffee table before him was a glass decanter and two cups. His brow furrowed as he took in the grandfather clock ticking dutifully in the corner and its swinging pendulum. There were some embroideries hanging on the wall beneath glass. Kurt vaguely remembered his grandmother’s home before she passed away.

His eyes fluttered shut and open as he heard Adam’s footsteps approach, and the young man approached him with a tentative smile, bearing a small tray and steaming bowl. “I like your home,” he couldn’t help but say quietly as Adam set the tray on the table and knelt beside him. “Very 1950’s chic.”

“That’s what mother was going for,” Adam said, sounding amused as if enjoying a private joke. He dipped a small hand towel into the hot water and wrung it out. “She always liked to keep it just so. It was my Grandad’s before he died. Sorry—this might hurt a bit.”

Adam prized Kurt’s boot and sock off the swollen ankle, and the pale boy dug his fingertips into the sofa arm and suppressed a whimper. Adam gave him an apologetic smile as he examined Kurt’s puffy, bruising ankle.

“I’m not a doctor, but if you can still flex it—can you flex it? Oh, good. Then it’s likely a bad sprain.” He wrapped the hot towel around the wound and Kurt watched him with eyes filling up again, so grateful he couldn’t speak.

“Thank you,” he managed at last. Adam looked at him, brow furrowing.

“You’re soaked. Can you take off your coat?” Kurt would’ve blushed, but no color rushed into his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to get your furniture wet—“

“Nonsense. I just don’t want you to catch your death.” Kurt shed his soaking coat in an instant, and Adam took it away.

The sound of a snap made him jump, and he turned to look at a roaring fire which had certainly not been there before.

“Oh, you have an electric fire,” he said as Adam returned. Kurt thought the fireplace looked like wood-burning one, but you could make anything look like anything for the right amount of money.

Adam looked startled, and then chuckled as he stooped beside Kurt again. “That’s a relatively new addition. This house is historical, so the city of Lima can’t raze it. Not that anyone would care to, anyway—this place is in the middle of nowhere.”

“The middle of nowhere in the middle of nowhere,” Kurt murmured, and was pleased when Adam laughed. Adam had a nice laugh, and for the first time he noticed the taller man had an English accent. A little color did return to his face as Adam poured what smelled strongly of anti-septic into another cloth, and leaned forward to dab it on his face. It stung fiercely; he must be raked raw. “Sorry, sorry. Have to clean these.”

“Does it look bad?”

“What are you apologizing for? And yes, it really does, love. I’m sorry.”

“I can do it if you want.”

“No, pay no mind.” Adam applied a bandage to his cheek, cupping the other to hold Kurt’s face steady. He prayed the latter didn’t feel it burn.

Adam slowly withdrew, reaching for a glass on the table which was filled with something dark and pushed it into Kurt’s hands. Kurt took it at once, too distracted to remember that it had been empty seconds before.

“Now, drink this. It’ll warm you up.” He sat beside Kurt and looked at him expectantly. “Drink this and start from the beginning.

“Whom are you?” Kurt’s eyelashes brushed his cheekbones. He took a sip of the maroon contents a little and coughed at the dry tang of wine, which he’d seldom tasted.

“What’s happening? Who’s chasing you and why?”

“Kurt Hummel.”

Mind racing, Kurt hesitated out of sheer habit, and began.

“I came back from school to spend winter break at my home.” He said sadly, thinking of how worried his father must be at this point. He’d certainly broken curfew by now, and if Dave wouldn’t kill him, Burt would.

If Kurt could stand to tell him the truth. Burt might have another coronary then and there.

“It was snowing outside and so beautiful…it’s been a few years since I had a white Christmas, so I thought I’d go out for a walk on the nature trail a few miles away.” Several miles away by now. He would’ve frozen to death had Dave not got him, had Adam not saved him. Another rush of gratitude. “It got darker faster than I expected.” He closed his eyes, remembering the scene vividly as he’d headed towards his car. “I needed my phone to light my way back to the parking lot.” His fingers tightened in the sofa again. “But there was no one else there, no one but s-someone waiting for me.”

Kurt had to take a few deep breaths, and Adam put a consoling hand on his arm. Smiling wanly at him, Kurt went on:

“His name is Dave Karofsky.” The name felt like something acidic. “It’s because of him I had to change schools, he was—he—“Kurt fumbled. “In the parking lot, he asked me if I’d told anyone that he’d—“ He couldn’t say it. “And I said no. He said ‘Good,’ and then he drew a k-knife from his pocket. He said he was going to cut my tongue out for in-insurance. I ran because he was blocking my way to my car.”

Adam leaned close and Kurt felt like something contaminated. But Adam slipped a finger under his chin and made him look up. “Why was he hurting you?” He said, so gently it made Kurt want to cry again. “If you don’t mind my asking?”

This was dangerous, because Adam might throw him from the house any second, but he owed Adam the truth.

“Because I’m gay.” Kurt bit the inside of his mouth as Adam stared at him. “And I was out at school, and he wouldn’t let up on the bullying, until I confronted him.” He shook his head, so weary he could scarcely hold it up. “I confronted him, and he wound up k-kissing me.” He shrank from the memory, but it followed him. “I didn’t want it, I pushed him away, but he said he’d kill me if I told anyone.” A tear slipped down his face, and Adam thumbed it away, still watching him acutely.

“I didn’t. And I didn’t tell my dad…all of the truth, I couldn’t, he has a bad heart, but he tried to get Karofsky expelled. And failed. The school board took his side. So I just changed schools. Like I said, I came home for the holiday.” A lump rose to his throat again, threatening to burst. “And—“

Adam pulled him into a hug, a tight one, and Kurt squeezed back just as hard, burying his face against the other’s boy shoulder as Adam whispered to him. Kurt was too far away to understand much of it, other than that it was kind, comforting, and beautiful.

Adam pulled back, eyes overbright and with a tremulous smile of his own.

“You know,” He turned to look at the flames, expression inscrutable. “I’ve never met someone whom just…came out and said that before.” He gazed at Kurt again, expression wistful. “Certainly it’s not something I’ve managed yet.”

Kurt frowned, confused. “Come out and—“ His eyes widened. “You…”

Adam nodded, exhaled in a short puff. “Yes. Though I’ve never told my parents. It—“ Now it was Adam’s turn to struggle. “You already know, I’m certain, how hard it is.”

“…you can’t tell them? At all?”

“I never could. Not if I wanted to stay in this house.”

Kurt’s heart broke not for the first time tonight. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Adam hesitated, and then slowly took Kurt’s cold hand in his own, squeezing it. Kurt squeezed back, feeling the tips of his ears burning. “Do you know for sure?” he couldn’t help but ask anxiously. Adam looked down at his lap. “That they wouldn’t…accept…”

“One hundred and ten percent,” Adam said offhandedly, though there was a slight tremor at the end. “My parents have made it perfectly clear to me what they think of homosexuals.”  

“What’s that?”

“That they should be gassed.”

Profoundly disturbed, Kurt allowed his head to fall against Adam’s arm—under any other circumstance he would not be so forthwith coming, but he was so vulnerable at the moment he couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry again.”

“You really don’t need to apologize so much, dear.”  

“Are they…are they here tonight?”

Adam looked at the flames writhing again, back at Kurt’s head pressed against his arm. “No. For better or for worse, it’s just you and I. They’re away…quite often.” He snorted near-inaudibly. “And I’m afraid they took the car with them.”

“When will they be back?” Kurt asked hesitantly. “And do you have any brothers or sisters?”

Something in Adam’s eyes flickered. “No siblings. My parents are actually out of the country right now.” Adam grinned weakly. “They’re on their own winter holiday, and I’m on mine. It’s peaceful enough here and I can do all the reading I like, but it’s felt like a very, very, very long holiday, mind you.”

“…I’m…”

Adam poked Kurt playfully on the nose. “I’m going to start charging you money every time you say that. I have enough food to last us through a nuclear holocaust and life in a post-apocalyptic society.”

That wasn’t very reassuring to Kurt. The sentiment must’ve registered on his face, because Adam added, “Even if they were on their way home as we speak, they certainly couldn’t get very far with all this snow. You were right; I’ve not seen so much in years.”  

Suddenly Kurt remembered his own situation, and felt remarkably stupid for having briefly forgotten it. But he’d been so excited to meet another (sane) queer person, and had felt genuine pain for Adam’s situation.  “Do you have a phone? I need…”

He was faced with the awful truth; Karofsky couldn’t be allowed to threaten anyone else. “I need to call the police. Or at the very least my dad, and let him know I’m okay.”

Adam’s face fell a little at that.

“I’m afraid…we do not. Have a telephone, I mean.”

Kurt’s mind wiped itself clean with a blinding-white panic.

“How do you…” he began, and the concept was so utterly alien to him he didn’t know what to say. “Your parents left you here alone without a phone? Not even a cell phone?”

“…I don’t have a cell phone. We did have a phone once, but it was disconnected. And no one ever really bothered to replace it.”

“But you have wii-fi,” Kurt heard himself say feebly. “And I can still send a message to the authorities via email—“

“I’m afraid not. I don’t have any of these things.”

This was so utterly unbelievable and ghastly Kurt didn’t want to believe him, but as Adam steadily held his gaze and looked so genuinely apologetic, he understood with no small amount of dread that Adam was telling the truth. He inhaled a sharp breath, which didn’t seem to reach his lungs…

“Kurt? Kurt, breathe.”

Adam put a steadying hand on Kurt’s back as the smaller boy’s chest started rapidly heaving up and down, spots looming in front of his vision. “Look at me.”

Horrified, he just barely managed to obey, and Adam shushed him. “Hold your breath. Hold—I know, I know, it’s hard, but it will be alright, hold, that’s good, hold, and slowly release. Very good. Another. And again. Remember, slowly. And a bit deeper than that, from your diaphragm. That’s good. You’ve done a fantastic job tonight, Kurt. Call it intuition, but I suspect anyone else in your situation would be dead by now. There we go. Have a bit more wine.”

Shakily Kurt obeyed again, profoundly relieved that someone else was more or less in charge for a change because he was on the verge of falling to pieces. Breathing unevenly, he took a small sip of wine, and then another, savoring the warm bloom in the pit of his stomach. “There really isn’t…you really don’t have wi-fi at all?”  

Adam hesitated again, and then drew a wet strand of Kurt’s hair back. “No.”

“…any neighbors nearby whom do?”

“I’m afraid not, Kurt. This house was built by my granddad to be a summer home far, far away from his business partners at the logging firm he owned in Lima. Otherwise they were forever calling him for help and advice even when he was on holiday…I think that’s why my gran disconnected the phone to begin with. No one else has bothered building out here, and believe you me, I’ve searched.”

He got up and went to look out the window. Kurt wobbled as he stood again in alarm.

“What are you doing? Close them! He might see you!”

“Not in this snow, he won’t,” retorted Adam as he pulled back the curtain a bit more so that Kurt could see. The younger gawked, and wondered faintly if what he saw now was proof of the existence of a all-powerful, omniscient deity. Although whether or not said deity loved or hated him tonight remained yet to be seen.

Enormous, fat snowflakes, the kind that looked like they belonged in a snow globe, were tumbling from the heavens in torrents so quickly it looked like a white, sparkling blur at times. The wind was rising, whistling, and while Kurt’s spirits lifted slightly with the knowledge that an incoming blizzard might deter Karofsky from pursuing him, it would also strand Kurt here.

For whom knew how long.

He swayed. He was in the middle of the wilderness, with no phone, no internet, no neighbors, his car miles away and concealed near a forest no one was likely to visit anytime soon. Not in this weather. Only Adam’s soothing admonitions that he remember to breathe kept him from another full-scale panic attack. How many could he have in one night?

He closed his eyes, the full implications washing over him. He hadn’t told anyone where he had gone this evening. Karofsky certainly wouldn’t divulge that Kurt was missing because he’d tried to slash him open. His mind raced with panic; Burt’s heart would give out. And what would Finn and Carol do, if their brother and stepson never came home? Finn would call the Glee cavalry, that was certain, but again, Kurt had told no one he was, and certainly no one knew he was a tremendous distance away now. Even he didn’t know where he was.  

And his swans…they’d been at the mall together just a few hours ago, laughing and catching up in the food court, tossing fries and blowing straw wrappers at each other. All they’d know was that he’d vanished off the face of the earth. Possibly for days, if what the morning’s forecast said was true.

It was a selfish thought, Kurt knew, but would Blaine even care that he was gone? He didn’t want to answer that one.

“Where’s my coat? I should go, while I have the chance.” he said faintly, opening his eyes again. “I…I have to make my way back, before it gets too bad…follow the tracks I left before they disappear tonight”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Adam said at once, letting the curtain fall again. “And sit back down, Kurt, you can barely stand.”

“I managed before.”

“Barely! It’s a wonder you escaped at all from that menace!”

“…do you have a snowblower? I’d accept a dog sled team at this point.”

Adam’s eyes told him before he’d finished speaking that it was hopeless. “It’s already looking terrible out, and I’m not about to let you go into a storm, hurt and with a maniac out for your blood.” Adam gave him a pitying look, but shook his head in a firm no. “I’m sorry, Kurt.”

Kurt knew Adam was right, but that didn’t stop him from nearly toppling to his ground like some stupid Victorian woman with the vapors and why did he feel so effing fragile tonight when he’d made it a point for so long to be strong? Even when he’d been physically sick in the mornings with fear over going to school, he’d hid it. Now he couldn’t stop feeling as weak as if there’d never be anything again.

The back of his knees hit the couch and he fell back upon it, burying his face in his hands. It didn’t seem like such a bad trade-off for not being killed, but snowbound. He was snowbound, for goodness knew how long. Christmas was in three days, and this was the first one he would spend with a brother. Would’ve. His mind swiftly attacked the thought.

It was very possible that he wouldn’t survive in any case. Not if Dave found them…

A second later Adam was standing in front of him again, thumbing away the fresh wave of tears. “Whatever it might mean from someone you’ve never met—I won’t allow him in, and I certainly won’t let him harm you.”

Adam pulled him into an embrace and allowed Kurt to cry heartily into his shoulder.

[teecupangel]

Weird suggestion: thought of your Yew Branches where Desmond is reborn as Elijah and also the ask you did where Altaïr is reborn as a mongoose. What if Desmond is reborn as a mongoose back in time with another Desmond. So Desmond now has a pet Mongoose!Desmond? Kinda confusing but I think it’d be funny.

The Yew Branch oneshot where Desmond is reborn as Elijah and the Altaïr is reborn as a Mongoose and becomes Desmond’s unofficial roommate.

To make this less confusing, Mongoose Desmond will be named Mongoose. If this was an actual fic, his name will probably be Des to differentiate him with human Desmond.

What would be funny is that Desmond found his Mongoose self by accident. Mongoose Desmond just wanted to get to his ancestor’s place and figure things out as he goes so he’s now having an identity crisis because he saw Desmond. Desmond just think of him as an animal who wanted to stay with him and he liked the company.

Mongoose believes this Desmond is an imposter.

Desmond just thinks he got an animal companion.

When they reached their ancestor, things slow down a bit and one might stay it turns into more like a slice of life setup but with Assassins and Templars involved.

Mongoose makes it clear that his favorite is the ancestor.

Desmond just shrugs it off, it’s not really all that surprising considering who his ancestor is.

It’s actually the ancestor who is getting this ‘vibe’ that there is something ‘strange’ going on.

He didn’t understand what the feeling was until he started seeing the same habits and mannerisms Desmond and the Mongoose has.

At first, he could excuse it as the pet adopting his master’s habits and mannerisms. But it was too much.

It was too similar.

And Mongoose was simply too intelligent to simply be just a normal animal.

Was it possible…

No.

That was impossible.

Then again…

Desmond did say he had come from the future.

Would it really be strange if Desmond didn’t realize that he…

… had split into two and his other half was turned into a mongoose?

…

…

…

Yes.

Yes, this was crazy talk.

[teecupangel]

Have you ever thought about Desmond meeting Elijah? Not like a yew-branch Au, but a face-to-face au? A scenario like "Am I a father? Oh my gosh, I'm a father!" with Desmond knowing that he has a son before the solar flare, perhaps meeting each other and, although Elijah doesn't remember much about Des, he knew that his father loved him and wanted to be there more than he did, but never could. (and since we don't have enough material between these two, maybe this interaction could be a bit weird, because we never saw any interaction in canon) And I can imagine the little angst that Elijah is the Aita sage, who probably knew about the impending solar flare.

I had a fic idea where Elijah screwed Juno over and transferred Desmond’s Sample 17 data into the body the Instrument of the First Bitch had made for her and that would have had the additional angst of Desmond only learning of Elijah after his resurrection and having to deal with the fact that Elijah’s a Sage (and what that means) together with the problems he’d have trying to get used to having an Isu body.

An idea where Desmond learned about Elijah before he died would be interesting though.

Maybe Elijah’s mother needed help with the bills so she contacted Desmond and, in exchange for child support, he can see Elijah once a month. (We’re going for a month so Elijah wouldn’t have too many memories of Desmond).

Maybe in this scenario, Elijah would start having nightmares after meeting Desmond with Desmond triggering Aita’s awakening.

So this would be a scenario where Elijah knows more than he should but he can’t really make sense of it yet. Maybe Aita’s memories are still foggy at this point.

All he knows is that Desmond (his dad) will need to do something and Elijah will never see him again.

His parents would think the boy is thinking Desmond would abandon him. It’s not that much of a stretch considering Desmond wasn’t there for him in the beginning so Desmond tries his damn hardest to make Elijah feel that he won’t be abandoned. That Desmond is in it for the long haul.

And Elijah starts to believe it. Ignoring the frightening whispers of Aita became easier because he’ll always look forward to Desmond’s visits. He even starts calling every few days just to check up on Elijah. And, yeah, his parents will never get back together but they were starting to become friends.

Desmond still takes too many shifts at the bar so he could keep sending child support for Elijah but he also promised Elijah that they’d go somewhere nice on his next visit.

His mom has been hinting that Desmond had been saving up for it and she even has a small backpack ready that looked like it had enough clothes for the entire weekend.

And then…

September came around.

And Desmond Miles went missing.

On the morning of December 21st, 2012…

Elijah woke up with tears in his eyes.

Because he knew…

His dad was gone.

[teecupangel]

I have this idea that might interest you:

Desmond gets reborn as Shaun's twin: a normal family, modern(ish) comforts, a good friend for a brother, what's not to like, right? And sure, sometimes weird things happen, like when he got so angry he melted the fork he held... he'll just chalk it up to the Isu nonsense, okay?

Only he can't.

Because he's eleven.

There is a letter.

And a professor.

With a wand.

Is this... what the hell... is he in Harry Potter!?! (Yes, Desmond. Yes, you are.)

If I'm counting right, Desmond's first DADA teacher would be Umbridge. Second's Snape. And then all the hell comes loose.

(related crossover headcanon that might come in handy: "modern tech is pretty much copied from the Isu tech" × "magic interferes with modern technology" + "religions are based around Isus" × "witchcraft is considered sinful across cultures" = magic is human domain and fundamentaly anti-isu)

Okay, so if Desmond was reborn, Imma assume that we’re going for the Yew Branches rules of rebirth where Desmond remembers his past life and has the skills of his Bleeds (but with foggy memories and shackled by the limitation of his young body) so in this scenario, he’d definitely be the chill twin and the one who always makes sure Shaun doesn’t get into fights because of his tongue and doesn’t stay too long thinking of the weirdest strangest things that would later become the foundation of his conspiracies.

He’d also be more inclined to join Shaun in reading and maybe Shaun’s interest in history would only be propelled by his twin’s own interest.

So it would be a surprise when they hear that Desmond is the younger twin because he’s pretty much Shaun’s minder and their parents are ever so grateful.

Also… the whole “is he in Harry Potter!?!” sounds so much like he knows about Harry Potter which means Harry Potter was a book series in his world.

And this means…

We finally have a “Desmond is the ultimate isekai protagonist” fic idea where Desmond ends up in one of the most commonly used setting in isekais!

The “I got transported into this book I read” setting!

There is a problem though…

Shaun is born on 16 November 1985 (he’s 2 years older than Desmond) so Desmond would have received his letter late 1996 which would mean he’d have to enroll the following year for this to work. BUT 1997 is already Deathly Hallows which means…

He’d be enrolled in Hogwarts during the time the Death Eaters have it under their control as Snape as the headmaster.

Unorganized Notes:

Magic being fundamentally anti-Isu would mean that Desmond, having high Isu genes, would have a harder time with his magic. This might even get him the nickname of being a failure or a testament to how weak ‘mudbloods’ are.

On the other hand, Desmond’s inability to control magic is because he’s trying to control it the way humans do. Considering Hecate is the goddess of magic and she was an Isu, this could mean that even if magic is fundamentally anti-Isu and of human domain, an Isu can still do magic. And Desmond, being human but Isu-touched, means he must control magic the way Isus do.

This means that Desmond would have an easier time controlling magic wandlessly and wordlessly. It’s all about intent and desire.

Let’s say humans do magic by asking permission, by requesting help from magic itself (metaphorically). Isus do magic by demanding it, by ordering its submission, and doing their will. Isu tech like the Pieces of Eden readily do what Desmond orders because they see Desmond as an Isu but magic sees Desmond as an Isu and does not wish to help so Desmond must demand its submission (which would be funny because this is Desmond)

This also means that magic hurts Desmond more than a normal human and healing spells stings (like pouring vinegar with salt into an open wound) so… don’t get hit, Desmond.

If you want to go down the OP isekai protagonist route, we can also add in that because Desmond orders magic to do his bidding, with enough focus (and maybe a lot of irritation), he could hijack the spells of others. Mostly, he could make the spell go in a different direction or dispel it completely.

And to make Desmond’s life much, much more harder, Desmond didn’t read the books. He watched the movies so he’d be surprised when the characters don’t look like their actors or if the events don’t line up with what he remembers.

This will end up with Desmond making his own Brotherhood made of people who are not ‘satisfied’ with the status quo of Hogwarts. Hell, by the end of it, Desmond would probably make a Magical Branch of the Brotherhood and work in the shadows.

Ngl, Desmond would probably see a lot of problems with the situation of the Wizarding World, not just because of Voldemort and the Death Eaters, but there’s something rotten at the very core of this magical world that wouldn’t sit well with Desmond.

This is a world where the Solar Flare won’t happen (most probably) and the reason for it might be because of magic, to be exact: the source of all magic that these magical folks could do, is a primordial ‘entity’ that blessed humans. It was too late to protect the world from the first Solar Flare but it successfully took out what causes the Solar Flare afterward.

Desmond’s Bleeds will confuse the sorting hat and he’d get to choose which house he’d like. He’d most definitely choose Hufflepuff because Gryffindor and Slytherin are too dangerous this year and Ravenclaw might give the idea that he was smart and he’s trying not to stand out.

[teecupangel]

Hi!! I'm really enjoying all your AltDes content, and I was just wondering if there are any plans in the future for any EzioDes fics, or any other Desmond ships for yew branches or otherwise?? Love your work. Hope you have a great day!!!

Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying all my AltDes content and I hope you had/have a great day too!!! :)

As of this moment, I am focusing on AltDes for multichaptered fics. If there will be EziDes or other Desmond ships, they would most probably be the smut variety (especially since I apparently have a Desmond Should Top... As A Treat agenda this year which I didn't expect to happen XD).

Yew Branches though... after checking my sorta-maybe schedule... no actual completely without a doubt shipping fic. However, there might be another oneshot AltDes at some point but that one has a low chance of being written right now due to time constraint. That is subject to change though since whatever plans I have usually changed when I start writing (example: Cantarella was meant to be gen, but we all know it's sorta not, or... The Anomaly's ending point XD).

If you haven't though and would like to feel a similar 'slow burn' to Eagle of Alamut but for EziDes, may I suggest checking out @saberamane's We Were Born For This?