#anyway yes i finally finished gideon the ninth and i like it now :)

[thelittlebeekeeper]

rip harrowhark nonagesimus you would have loved cigarettes

[iasmelaion]

what happens when you listen to three audiobooks in like a week and a half

We've been at trial for like the past two weeks at work, which means I have been alone in the office, with approximately 2 hours worth of work to do every day max, mostly just there to answer frantic emails and texts about "what exhibit number is [vague and potentially inaccurate description of email or other document]?" and occasionally file supplemental trial briefs. Anyway, it's all up to the jury now! Only not now now because it is a court holiday and because this case lives to torment me and never ever ever finish ahahaha it's fine i'm fine, we better win.

Anyway, all of that is to say I was bored as hell so I decided to finally finish listening to the audiobook of Gideon the Ninth, which I had started listening to LAST FEBRUARY. You can perhaps guess that, as good as the audiobook narration was, I was not entirely feeling the book. Ahaha. Ha. I was already mentally writing my Goodreads review, complaining about how yes, the narrative voice is great, and yeah, the set up and genre mashup are fun (lesbian necromancers in space! country manor mystery! slasher horror!), but there's just not enough context and the worldbuilding is so vague and what are the overarching stakes even. And then the last 1/3 of the book happened, and I listened to all three current books in the series in like a week and a half and I have spent the last two days rotating these characters in my head and reading meta and such. Sorry in advance about how in approximately two weeks time, my queue will be full of TLT shit.

Spoilers and assorted jumbled reactions below, because I'm not about to ramble like this on goodreads. But real talk, I have skimmed so much spoilery talk/fan art/etc about these books and absolutely none of it made any sense at the time so tbh I don't think it matters all that much if you're spoiled. The spoilers won't even make any damn sense most of the time.

I wish I could give this series some kind of pitch that would, idk, explain it or make it seem enticing, but lol I have no idea where I'd even start. I'll just say that if you are in need of Enrichment in your Enclosure, these books are like being tossed a very meaty bone full of delicious marrow which you can gnaw upon for a good long while.

Gideon's narrative voice is a lot of fun, and I do quite enjoy how she's basically a big lesbian jock, even if that did make a lot of the first book rough going for me because alas, Gideon, bless her, is not interested in much beyond hot ladies, swords, staying alive, and getting off her home planet. And Harrow, of course.

HARROW. For 2/3 of the first book, Gideon hates her passionately, they've been enemies their entire lives, they are vicious and awful to each other. Now, I knew Gideon/Harrow was like THE ship for these books, and I was like "...hm. Listen, I simply do not vibe with this kind of enemyship." But then that last third happened, and auuughhhhh. They're enemies, they were all the other had, they were two rats trapped in a barrel, desperate to get out, clawing and biting and snarling and hurting each other, they were each other's only solace, they were doomed from the start. They've been trapped in a cycle of terrible violence, and I have no idea if they can ever get out. And the love Gideon wants from Harrow is to be used and consumed and destroyed by love, and the love Harrow wants to give is to save her and keep her even if it means forgetting her. Like, y'all, I ship it, but I have no idea how there's any kind of future in it.

And then Harrow the Ninth happened, and goddamn, poor fucking Harrow. I felt for her already after the revelation in Gideon the Ninth, but Harrow the Ninth made me so desperately sad for her.

Good job on the soup though, Harrow!

Also the low key comedy of all of them stuck with each other on the Mithraeum was *chef's kiss*. Just like THE most demented and toxic workplace sitcom while poor Harrow is descending into a total mental breakdown.

The worldbuilding is so fascinatingly, complicatedly BONKERS. Also it's so SPACE CATHOLICISM that I don't even know what to say about it. I'm not qualified. But like. It is. It's so Space Catholicism, but also make it More Goth. And it's clearly concerned with religion and faith and all that, but not in a Narnia kind of way, and I am FASCINATED about where it's all leading to.

What a fucking villain this series has in John Gaius aka God aka Necrolord Prime aka the Prince Undying aka the Emperor of the Nine Houses aka Jod. Just absolutely skin-crawlingly horrible, the literal Worst Person Who Ever Lived, even as he's affable and funny and occasionally endearing and pathetic. And like I'm not even sure all of that stuff is a mask or a cover for his monstrousness! Like I think he genuinely is affable and funny and endearing and pathetic! He is just also quite literally History's Greatest Monster. I'm not sure if he was always like this, though I'm leaning towards him having been an awful man before he became god, in all those quiet, too-easily unnoticed ways men are awful, the moment they have any power over someone. And then Jod gets all the power so of course his awfulness becomes correspondingly greater.

I will say though that Jod's origin story is an actual horror movie, the stuff of nightmares. It's the end of the world because climate change and he and his team are frantically working on some way to save everybody but it doesn't quite work, not well enough, and no one is listening to him, and the clock is ticking down and of course the billionaires have a way out, of course they're gonna get on some space ships and bounce, but what about everyone else? Jod is sure he can save everyone else, if only he had the resources, if only they'd listen to him. And someone was listening, it turns out. Someone--something gives him power. Terrible, terrible power over life and death. And he becomes something else and makes choice after terrible choice, enabled by his friends, and then whoops not whoops! He's killed everybody on the fucking planet and ate the sun and the whole solar system too!! Absolutely terrifying reveal, and it's built up to so well. We spend so much time listening to Jod and so much of what he says is reasonable or understandable, but every so often there's a hint that under his commendable politics and goals and general hapless nerd vibes, there's something else, something much, much worse.

Actually, this whole part would make a truly great horror movie, especially if it starts off as an almost dark comedy that shifts genres as it goes: from dark comedy to suspenseful thriller to eldritch horror.

Also he gets, like, super weird about the cadavers he's been experimenting on. Like, deeply, horrifying creepy and weird about them.

Lotta people get weird about corpses in this series, if I'm being honest.

CAMILLA AND PALAMEDES. I am UNWELL about these two. I am UNHINGED. I am still rotating them in my mind, unable to do much but WEEP. "So...do you ship them??" you might ask. To which I say idk and idc, what does to ship these two even MEAN at this point, they are platonic, they are romantic, they are eros, philia, AND agape, and they're the Love that Is Perfected in Death. The absolute fucking pinnacle of insane codependence. Childhood BFFs who crawled into each other's skins and hearts and souls and never crawled back out. How much more codependent is it possible to get? NONE. NONE MORE CODEPENDENT. They have MERGED THEIR SOULS AND BODIES TOGETHER INTO ONE BEING. [actually, real talk, i am uncertain of the Soul Situation, I am pretty sure they've merged their souls together, but like. idk. they do also say they will be known as themselves "beyond the River" after death] I am WEEPING just THINKING ABOUT IT. That is not fucking hyperbole btw, the mere thought of them basically makes me cry, it's fine, i'm fine. They love each other SO MUCH. I CANNOT HANDLE IT.

Anyway, rather difficult to "ship" a pairing that has become...one person. Like, still willing to make a game go of it even during the period where they're sharing a body, but like. Now they are one person??? Because this is not a Steven Universe-style fusion where Ruby and Sapphire can unfuse from Garnet, Camilla and Palamedes are now one person, no takebacks while they live. I do love Paul though! Fucking adore that some of Paul's first acts as a new person were acts of kindness and mercy. Jod's lyctors are called saints, but I think Paul is the only one who is a saint in truth.

So, a triumph or a tragedy or both that Camilla and Palamedes died to become Paul? Idk! I adored Camilla and Palamedes as individual characters, I adored how in many ways they're the certain, just moral center of this entire series, I love their intelligence and ferocity, and oh, after Nona the Ninth, I loved so much how they loved. Each other, and other people. I loved Camilla using truths like her swords, her dry humor, how she was still so kind even while being an absolute stone cold fucking badass. I loved Palamedes, his brilliance and how he bent basically all that brilliance into helping people. I loved so fucking much that he was the one who figured out that there was a better way to achieve lyctorhood than the way Jod and his lyctors set out for them. I loved that stuck in a bubble in the underworld, with nothing but a terrible erotic novel, he started having serious opinions about said erotic novel and undoubtedly wrote terrible fanfiction in his head about it.

Ahem. Anyway. Abigail Pent and Magnus Quinn were also delightful, and I was especially charmed by the lovely Welsh accents Moira Quirk gives them in the audiobook. Love that Abigail has immensely powerful, friendly mom friend energy while simultaneously being an immensely powerful Eldritch Speaker for the Dead. Gideon observing her all like "ah, her eye contact is...extremely very unsettlingly intense! but also she is wearing an apron and is cheerful so that's alright then."

God, this is really long, sorry to anyone who actually read it, possibly i will reblog with more disjointed thoughts.

[taylorrama]

The Locked Tomb and mewithoutYou pt. 1/17

The Venn Diagram of Locked Tomb readers and mewithoutYou fans is probably two circles not touching, but it should really probably be two overlapping circles, not only because mwY is my favorite band of all time, but also because, like TLT, mwY is filled to the brim with obscure literary/religious references, and the later albums in particular have the "I don't understand what's happening at all, but I love it" energy of TLT.

mewithoutYou is a hard band to describe, but one decent way is to place them somewhere in the post-hardcore and indie realm. Screaming vocals. Heavy guitars. But then there's the folk album about vegetables.

Anyway, first of all, there's that name. mewithoutYou. Ring any bells? I have to say I laughed at that line at the end of Gideon the Ninth because I knew it couldn't actually be a mwY reference, but last summer, mewithoutYou played their final tour and their final shows, so now there really is no "me without you" or "mewithoutYou." I read Gideon after all that, so funny haha for me.

Let me start off by giving you just one song and then I'll make more posts. Despite the fact that this is my favorite band, I try not to always be like "every piece of art that does religious things in a way I like is a mewithoutYou reference." This band isn't that well-known, except it's likely that your favorite band or artist likes them to some degree (e.g., Hayley Williams, boygenius).

TW: depression, suicidal ideation

Song: Tie Me Up, Untie Me! Album: Catch For Us the Foxes

This song is Harrow in her self-hatred era, which is always. These sections in particular stand out.

I was licking at the leaves But I was in short sleeves and you You were like some sickness that I caught

"You were like some sickness that I caught" to me sounds like something Harrow would absolutely think about Gideon.

(Oh, please, brother, I'm far... Brother, I'm far away... Brother, I'm far away from everything Oh, brother, I'm far... Brother, I'm far away... Brother! I'm far away from everything good!)

This part sounds like a desperate prayer, especially how it's performed. Ninth House loves prayers.

She's like a hot cloth on a fevered head And like a needle she leads me (while I follow like thread) Tie me up! Untie me! All this wishing I was dead is getting old It's gettin' old! ... it goes on, but it's old

This is the chorus and it just strikes me as part of Harrow's mental state for the entirety of Harrow the Ninth. "She" could be about Griddlehark. It could be Harrianthe.

Now we get to some really interesting images in the next verse.

I was swimming through the waves For what must have been days But could find no relief When I started sinking down I thought for certain I would drown Until I saw you in the ocean Underneath

The River. The River. The River and how the necromancer/cavalier relationship works in lyctorhood/near-lyctorhood.

You, my hidden pearl of pure and perfect love And I'm the living example Of 100% the opposite of this

Right in the Griddlehark feels, honestly.

This next part is actually what threw me on this train of "this series accidentally (probably) pairs with most of this band's discography." I was finishing Nona the Ninth the other night and got to this part.

The silly referential part of my brain said, "This sounds like a mwY reference." Two, actually, but this is the part from "Tie Me Up! Untie Me!" that goes.

(If I ask the same questions… Well, yes, sir, I ask the same questions Well, well maybe I repeat myself from time to time But if I ask the same questions… And then I know I ask the same questions It's because everyone who answers me is a liar!)

It's the last three lines in particular, and the "liar" part also works well in the context of this scene, where Nona is so frustrated and desperately trying not to remember anything. The way she's saying this as well matches the way this part of the song is performed (letting her voice rush out).

"We don't need it" pings my brain with a different line for a different song for a different post.

And then I'll just leave you with the last chorus.

She's like the hot cloth on a fevered head And like a needle she leads me (while I follow like thread) But you untied me... didn't You untie me, Lord? And now I haven't even thought about killing myself In almost five months

I'll be rereading the series because I'm taking notes on a video I want to make about the theology of the Locked Tomb (to be released only after Alecto comes out), but these mewithoutYou thoughts are a by-product of my processing of the first read through.

---

TLT + mewithoutYou pt. 2

[zodiac-rave]

2022 in Books: 13/?, Nona the Ninth

I stayed up until midnight binging to finish and I have a twitch in my right eyelid that seems like it'll be here a while so just, idk, keep that in mind here.

Top image: the filter is called Vivid Cool and I think Nona would like that, I think she'd feel honored.

Bottom image: during the scene where they had pikelets I finally broke and googled what pikelets were because it just sounded like they were making pancakes? And based on the recipe I found and tried this morning, they really just seem like small pancakes?? But anyway you'll have to trust me that my attempt tasted better than they looked.

The rest of this is going under a readmore because it's probably spoilers so beware of spoilers:

I really hella admire Tamsyn's ability to maintain a distinct viewpoint narration style for a whole book, Nona's thought processes are so uniquely childish (and this made sense in context) and at this point I feel like Tamsyn could hand us a paragraph and we could work out whose POV it's from just by their thought process alone.

HOWEVER. By that token, if we're assuming the epilogue is from Alecto's POV, this might mean we're in for a whole book of Uriangerspeak next year, and this might push me to my limit. Yes I will preorder it and probably order whatever four-book set Illumicrate throws at us, I just might also cry.

I mean I'll probably be crying anyway because Nona had me so much more unsettled after the end than the other two did and my thoughts keep doing a weird multi-sided pong game: Gideon is one of my favorite characters of anything and I'm relatively distressed at the Current State of Gideon. But then I realize that makes me do the thing that makes Nona sad where people are very focused on the Other Two People who might be Nona and not as much on Nona herself, and I don't want to make Nona sad, I love Nona.

(Nona herself has residence in my whole part of my brain and I keep thinking about her because we basically went in assuming she was not someone called Nona but man I want Nona back, Alecto scares me,)

But then Gideon's reaction to Crux's death really did a number on some parts of my brain? Shoutout to Cyan and Lizzy and Mawd for enduring me at that point because I was mcLosing it.

"Why aren't you distressed about Harrow" listen right now she is Schrodinger's Harrow. She might just be fine, or as fine as we get for Harrow, and I need to compartmentalize.

But in seriousness I think the main reason that whole last stretch grabbed me by the gut is because they did it in the Ninth House, we were ending back where everything started, and it really made me think of all the shit these kids had been through and I really want them to like, get something for their suffering, but that isn't how suffering works a lot of the time. @ronsenboobi had a good comment to this point so I'm borrowing it with her permission:

In closing: if this entire book started as Act One of Alecto, then I am casually pointing a knife at next Fall.

[insomniac-arrest]

Hi there! I'm doing sort of what you did last year with the "here's all the books i read in 2020" post, as part of a resolution to myself to get myself back into reading. I wanted to see if you had a final list - I can't seem to find that post but I remember seeing a couple titles I wanted to read when I made the time :/ And have you read anything in the new year yet? I've read 2 books so far - Beyond the Ruby Veil and Serpent & Dove! The first is about a girl who gets whatever she wants and murders the person who makes water in her city out of people's blood, and subsequently finding out a LOT about the reality of her world. She is hella gay and her best friend is ALSO Hella Gay but it 2 different ways. I kind of hate her but also her story and her emotions are very compelling still???? The second is a typical opposite sides fake!married story with witches and witchhunters set in quasi-Medieval "France." Its very cute and Ansel is now my child. Plus the "twist" writing isn't for shock value like GoT was, the foreshadowing and payoffs actually make sense BUT the payoffs still blow you away!

Hello! Yes, here is my post with most of the books I read in 2020. You can also check out my Goodreads which has even more!

Here were my all-time favorites from 2020 by genre:

Fantasy: Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik, a money-lender gets in trouble after bragging she can turn silver into gold and is kidnapped and ordered to do so by a fey creature. It has a truly compelling main character and some awesome female friendships. I loved this book!

Literary Fiction: On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong, a son writes a letter about his life to his illiterate mother. The language in this is truly dazzling and the prose absolutely stunned me to the point of tearing up. 

Romance: Get a Life Chloe Brown by Talia Hibbert, Chloe Brown is a chronically ill computer geek with a goal, a plan, and a list. After almost—but not quite—dying, she’s come up with seven directives to help her “Get a Life.” I just thought this was a really funny and sweet romance novel! 

I also read “Red, White, and Royal Blue” this year which was pretty good and gets an honorable mention. However, despite the later being gay, I enjoyed Chloe more as a character so that’s why it ended up being my favorite.

Science Fiction: Station Eleven by Emily St John Mandel, a post-apocalyptical story about a group of traveling Shakespeare actors and a symphony. Soft! Apocalypse! A fascinating look at a world ravaged by a terrible disease (ahem) and the society that comes after it. There is something quiet and compelling about this book that I can’t explain.

Gideon the Ninth: I’m not putting this in any category because I honestly had no ideal what was going on in this book most of the time. BUT I HAD SO MUCH GODDAMN FUN IT’S UNBELIEVABLE. I laughed, I cried, I screamed out loud at the ending. This book reminded me how much I love reading.

I have finished one book in the new year! It was “Sharp Objects” by Gillian Flynn and I hated it so much that I thought to myself “huh, I guess I don’t like the entire thriller genre” and then the next day, still filled with rage, I was like “maybe I just don’t like books anymore, I’m going to become illiterate.”

Anyway, I am back to reading now and I’m doing “One to Watch” by Kate Stayman-London which is a romance novel about a plus-sized fashion blogging becoming the star of a reality dating show! I’m enjoying it well-enough so far, it is a bit heavy for me, but I hear it gets really juicy later on so I’m excited for that. 

[oh-shadowlord]

This was a year!

First of all thanks to @artofponara on twitter (check his art!!) for providing the template and thanks to @ultramarini (check her art!!) for joining everything together, this year I was going to make it myself, but my laptop stopped working on weekends and it's a shame and I had to ask her to make everything for me AGAIN lol

I'm so happy with how my 2020 went in terms of art. There's almost nothing I didn't liked in result and this final understanding that I can enjoy what I make is overwhelming, I don't know why but even last year I thought that being proud of my pics is something disgusting and I didn't deserve all kind words (probably because I was very depressed that even had to take meds, but fortunately that's in the past). But this year is different and I can proudly say that I'm awesome and I make awesome stuff and capable of making even more awesome things.

I'm so happy because when I wrote about myself in the end of 2019 I told that my goal for next year is learning how to tell stories through art, make backgrounds and make expressive pose (probably I meant something else except sitting and standing) and by looking at what I have now, I can say all those goals are now completed and during 2021 I will sharpen my skills.

This year is also awesome because coming back to Tumblr in summer was a good decision, I like it here actually, people are nice, humor is specific and I like that I can write unlimited amounts of text and people most likely won't skip it.

Anyway! Thank you for being with me people, this is one of the lasts posts of 2020, I have something that I:lol hopefully finish by Christmas and two Gideon the Ninth pics I don't want to leave for January ❤️

And under cut you can see summaries from previous years, and yes, in 2016 I was about to stop drawing, haha fool

[goattypegirl]

Harrow the Ninth Live Read: Chapter 6-11

Con: It’s been a while

Pro: We finished part 1!

Con: this post is hella long now.

Chapter 6

Eighth House icon. Oh no. Gotta say, not a fan of the characters from the Eight House in Gideon the Ninth, whose names I now forget. There was Big Dude and Mayonnaise Twink. 

OH OK WE’RE STARTING OFF WITH SOME LOCKED IN SYNDROME SHIT. 

So, panicked person wheeling Harrow is given the title “Sacred Hand.” I vaguely recall seeing that before; is that a title given to Lyctors? Is this one of the OG Lyctors finally making an appearance? Wheeling the frozen Harrow to the Emperor to “unfuck accordingly?” Well, maybe not. Presumably another Lyctor would be able to “unfuck accordingly” themselves.

Oh disregard it is a Lyctor! And if we go back to the Dramatis Personae, this should be... Mercymorn! Originally of the Eighth House! She seems nice.

“It was his order that she not be touched.” Did the Emperor do this? But hwhy?

Calling Harrow and Ianthe babies is kind of hilarious. Aaaand Mercymorn just knocked this random person unconscious. OH wait is this the person the Emperor said to make static-y noises at? Survey says... maybe? They were called the Saint of Joy, which seems a unique title?

The whole description of the Lyctor and the way she visually dissects Harrow is so poetic, but something else catches my eye here. Harrow says her eyes did not have such a startling transition, which helps confirm my theory that Harrow is suppressing or undid the Lyctor process.

Also using the power of Cringe, Harrow partially(?) undoes the paralysis spell done to her. “An emotion was playing out over her face that was- not unfamiliar to you- but nonsensical; you discarded it.” Eh? What emotion could this be referring to? Confusion over what Harrow did? Awe? Fear? All of the above?

OH okay before I forget, Harrow formed a bone hook inside of her to do that, and she made that bone sheath to hold on to the sword, so maybe her necromancy isn’t being suppressed? Well, maybe. That feels more... internal? Like she hasn’t grown any full ass skeletons from bone dust yet.

...Why is Harrow afraid of telling Mercymorn her actual age? Why is the Body telling her to lie? Why fifteen??

Relief? That’s what flashed across Mercymorn’s face? Oh, duh, because Harrow did that and didn’t immediately die. Duh. Also she straight up said “hiss”? That is weird. Also, thinking back, it is weird there wasn’t an age requirement in the Lyctor trials. Also Mercymorn took Ianthe too???

“You’re not as pretty as Anastasia.” Anastasia being the member of the Ninth House listed with the Lyctors, but not as one of the Saints. Doing this liveread has its advantages, namely that I can remember shit that happened earlier! 

OH WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT. “AS Anastasia,” not “As Anastasia was.” Implying Anastasia’s still alive? Matches her name not being struck through in the Dramatis Personae, and Mercymorn said there were 3 OG Lyctors now. Which matches with Anastasia not having that line about being a Saint! I’ve connected the two dots!

Okay there’s a lot going on here. Why is this normal necromancer so fascinating to Ianthe and Harrow? What she’s doing is pretty dope to be fair. Mercymorn called Ianthe 12... which... huh. More on that in a second. First, I need to google what the fuck an animaphiliac is... probably in an incognito window. Oh, okay, it’s just a style of necromancy in this universe okay thank God. Mercymorn also said Ianthe wasn’t as attractive as Cyrus... which is weird... And it reminds Ianthe of being with Mummy... I assume she means her mother, comparing her to Coronabeth? Oof.

So, back to the lowballing age thing. Mercymorn assumes Ianthe is 12, probably  because she’s super old and has forgotten how mortals age. Harrow seems to have subconsciously picked up on this, which is why she lied about her age. I’m still in the camp of the Body being non-supernatural in origin. Yes, she has Gideon’s eyes, BUT, she spoke in the voice of Harrow’s mother and Aiglamene. SO, my theory is that the Body is a product of the trauma Harrow’s gone through, that’s kind of externalizing Harrow’s inner thought process. Like I said earlier, I’ve read Twig, and this is reminiscent of that.

OH hey we’re headed to the frontline apparently? Because 3 warships got shot down suddenly? Which begs the question I’ve had in the back of my mind since first picking up this series, who the fuck are they fighting??? Probably not Ressurection Beasts, given what we know about them. Other humans, probably? Dominicus (probably) isn’t Earth or humanity’s home planet. 

Okay, hold up. The Emperor is trying to get to the frontline now, Mercymorn wants him to return to “the Mithraeum”, which is presumably the capital of the Empire outside of the Dominicus system? Also, Emperor’s been on the ship for 80 years, and been away from the Mithraeum for 100... Once again, the math’s not adding up...

Okay, so God hugs Mercymorn, she freezes, he confirms that he is leaving, and that he knows exactly who shot down 3 warships???

Okay cool we’re not headed to the fronline, we’re headed to the Mithraeum, whatever the fuck that is.

Ohhh and the Cohort necromancer girl died, or committed suicide? And the Emperor brought her back? ...There’s a story there.

Ohhhh Mom and Dad are fighting.

OKAY ONCE AGAIN A LOT TO UNPACK HERE BUT THE MITHRAEUM CAN ONLY BE REACHED BY ONE MEANS???? AND IT MAY HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH BEING A LYCTOR???

...Hey. So. Here’s something. In the description of Mercy’s sword, it says it has a white knob at the end of, and I quote “-you didn’t know the exact technical word. It was a pommel though.” There’s a disconnect there, between Harrow’s knowledge, and the narrator’s knowledge. This has happened a few other times, like just a few pages ago, Harrow says a room is used for bodily functions, but the narrator jumps in and says no one in the universe would call it that, it’s a toilet. And this is going to sound kind of batshit, but like 6 years ago i was in to Undertale, and there was a popular theory that the narrator in that game was a separate character from the PC and... a lot of the points used in that theory kinda ring true here... even the use of second person narration...

So the narrator is a separate character from Harrow? Now, whether this narrator exists in-universe, or if this is a really cool stylistic choice, is another story. Right now I’m leaning towards... I don’t know. Well, hm. If the Body is a kind of externalization of Harrow’s inner thought process, maybe the narrator is an internalization? 

That makes no sense.

Something to keep in mind.

Anyway, the shuttle detaches. There’s a sort of irony, in God being tired of people martyring themselves for him, but giving a speech saying “hey if you die in my service I love you.”

OKAY I think we’re about to go faster than light using necromancy? This should be good. OH OKAY WE’RE TAKING A SHORTCUT THROUGH HELL. COOL.

...so what was their original method of faster than light travel that turned out to be unusable? did it have to do with neutrinos in italy?

okay I love Mercy and the Emperor’s dialogue here. Again, objectively, I’m sure they’re bad people who have committed several warcrimes... but the way they bicker is just hilarious.

I’m googling hyperpotamus, and i’m only getting other Harrow the Ninth livereads, so it appears to be a term made for the book. But I have a terrible feeling it’s a pun on hippopotamus.

There are so many quotes here that I absolutely love, including “said the Lord of the Nine Houses, who apparently existed within a complex power dynamic.”  and “The magma metaphor falls apart from here.” 

...Oh. Okay, serious time. Even at the very start, just post-Resurrection, two of the Lyctors fell to the Resurrection Beasts. Well, one died, and one was “removed from play.” Which sounds horrifying.

So we’re dipping into Hell because you can move fast there. Hell is full of angry ghosts. This explains the ghost ward. Lyctors have hacked the system, and so can kind of survive there. And we learn what happened to Cassiopeia, one of the deceased Lyctors. (Interestingly enough it says she baited physical portions of the Ressurection Beast. Not a beast. Nor is it given a number...)

ALright so entering the River physically sounds fucking horrifying. I’m very glad we only have to do it this once and it definitely won’t come back later in the book nope definitely not.

“and that you felt alone in your head.” ;_;

Chapter 7

Sixth House icon.

There’s not a lot to say here, besides how freaky this is. How much do you want to bet that the faint wail Harrow hears is coming from the coffin with Cyntherea’s body?

JOHN. GOD’S NAME IS JOHN?? #NAME LORE UNLOCKED. IM JUST SO HAPPY I FINALLY HAVE A WAY TO REFER TO HIM WITHOUT STRUGGLING TO SPELL EMPORER EVERY FUCKIN TIME.

Also, Mercymorn knowing his like actual human name further implies some stuff about the timeline of the Ressurection, which I was wondering about previously... but that’s a discussion for later because Harrow’s in Hell!

Not a lot to say here besides 

fuck.

A few things. One. I think they’re going to get out of this okay? And by okay I mean alive? We know Ianthe, the Emperor, and Harrow live up to the point of the Prologue, and I don’t think Mercymorn is going to die already. 

Two. Cassiopeia was from the Sixth House, going by her Cavalier’s last name, which explains the chapter icon.

Three. The lights? The last page or so is very metaphorical, but, at the beginning it says Harrow perceived herself as a “sickly radiance”, and that she perceived the others on the ship as a light as well. She later said she was an “ova cluster of two hundred pinpricks of light.” So I think in this deep part of the River Harrow accidentally sent herself to, souls (maybe?) are displayed as lights. Harrow’s own soul is literally made up of the hundreds of dead House Nine kids, which is. Spooky. But then, at the end, when they jump out of the River, they bring 5 lights with them. So... either something hitched a ride with them, or it has something to do with Harrow suppressing Gideon and the Lyctor ritual. Everyone else on the ship has undergone the Lyctor ritual (or something similar, in John’s case), and they only have 1 light each. At least to Harrow’s eyes. BRUH IDK WHAT”S GOING ON. 

Chapter 8

No further answers here, this is a flashback chapter! So, sheared skull = flashback. And this chapter is going to feature the Fourth House, apparently. Who was Fourth House again? Oh no it was the kids. Oh no. ;_;

So, we are continuing through Harrow’s re-imagination of the events of Canaan House, with her Ortus OC in tow.

Of course Harrow is overwhelmed by normal tea, and of course Harrow thinks dressing up skeletons is stupid. 

AND of course Harrow would have a private prayer wishing doom on anyone that looks at her with any kind of emotion.

Hold up, the Anastasian tomb? Reserved for warriors? And presumably derived from the word Anastasia, the mysterious not-Lyctor of the Ninth House?? 

I can already tell Anastasia is going to become my Pepe Silvia. 

Ohhh this is going to be a lore bomb about the timeline of the Ressurection and I’m going to need to pull out my copy of Gideon the Ninth to see if any of this shit actually happened. 

TEN? TEN NORMAL ASS HUMANS? AND FIVE NECROMANCERS?? BUT THERE WERE SEVEN LYCTORS. THE MATH DOES NOT CHECK OUT.

Okay so I checked and none of this shit actually happened! In fact, Teacher actually said there were 16, 8 necromancers, 8 cavaliers. Where the fuck is Harrow getting 10 from? Who knows! And rather than explicitly saying “hey check out the basement labs to see how to become a Lyctor,” Teacher actually said fuck if I know. Not actually. But still.

Oh of course it’s called the Sleeper!! I had Kill Bill sirens playing in my head when I first read that. 

So,  had a whole ass monologue here, but this is already very long and im sleepy, so to very quickly summarize, the Parahumans series had an entity known as the Sleeper that was intentionally very mysterious and raised a lot of questions amongst fans, and the fact that there’s another entity here known as the Sleeper is flooding me.

So, I’m spooked. Again, this entire conversation did not actually happen. Teacher’s dialogue is precious. “go where I durst not go: because I love my life, and I love noise, also.” and “I do not know the answers to any of these questions, only that, already, you are being too loud.”

So, the rest of the chapter plays out with Ortus complaining to Harrow. Intriguingly, he says that Harrow doesn’t have much of an imagination, when she says there was no one else to choose as her Cavalier... And then one of the skeletons says, “Is this how it happens?” harkening back to Parodos, when the Body says something similar. There’s a lot to unpack here. One, like I said previously, because Ortus, and apparently the entirety of Canaan House, is a product of Harrow’s mind, they can maybe give some insight into Harrow herself. However, the fact that Ortus seems to break character and chastise her for her lack of imagination is... I don’t know.

Okay, theory time. “The Work” alluded to in the letters is not only the suppression of Lyctor-hood, it’s also the erasure of Gideon, and the creation of these false memories. Meaning Lyctor!Harrow somehow crafted them; there was conscious effort behind it. Which means we can totally pick these scenes apart to gain further insight into Harrow! The skeleton and the Body asking if this is what happened, and Ortus breaking character (maybe) are her subconscious breaking through... Maybe that ties into my idea of the narrator being an internalization or compartmentalization of Harrow’s trauma? Hmm...

Chapter 9

Seventh House skull, and not a flashback. I’m guessing this is because we’re going to inter Cyntherea’s body here.

Okay, so time seems to have passed. IDK how much of the River Harrow remembers here. It seems like she recalls it like a bad dream. Ianthe’s here, and they’re in a chapel made of bone. Or at least one absolutely covered in bone. 

Here’s a question. The necromancy Harrow excels at, that’s creating a whole ass skeleton from a single bit of bone. Is she actually creating a new skeleton? Or is she reforming one. Like if she had two teeth from the same skeleton, could she use that to make two new skeletons? In the last chapter the Ressurection was described as not creating anything new... does that apply to all of necromancy, or just what the Emperor did?

Also another side note, Harrow says the stars glow with an unearthly light, which matches what the Emperor said, that they restarted the stars near the Mithraeum with thanergy, so they’re weird now. Except... wasn’t Dominicus restarted the same way? Or is the Dominicus system a hybrid of thanergy and thalergy? I’m getting my energies mixed up.

Anyway yep it’s Cyntherea’s funeral, and Harrow is checking the fuck out.

Okay we have a new Lyctor... and I’m guessing it’s Augustine, since he and Mercymorn are fighting.  

Okay and John’s giving a speech and giving more lore about the pre-Ressurrection and it’s confirmed that this guy is Augustine and-

First gen? Second gen? Sixth installation?? Valancy? ANASTASIA?

bruh im so flooded and this is supposed to be such a reverent moment.

Ohhh this is awkward now that they’re pulling Ianthe and Harrow forward. Okay we get a formal introduction to Mercymorn and Augustine. Augustine trails off before the third... and asks if he, the third surviving Lyctor, knows about the missile strikes...Is the third Lyctor the one leading the people who shot down the warships, which is sounding increasingly like a rebellion rather than a battle against others? Who’s the third again ah fuck it’s ORTUS.

ORTUS is apparently interested in “you-know-what”. Which I don’t know what. Please elaborate. 

ORTUS is here and he’s skeletal. OH AND SO IS RESSURECTION BEAST NUMBER SEVEN.

FUCK.

(bruh what the fuck is a pseudo-Beast)

Okay yep time to fight an eldritch god.

Speaking of which, God’s name is John confirmed.

And Harrow bled from the ear and fell unconscious, hearing the name ORTUS.

Chapter 10

Pog we’re almost done with part 1. Fifth skull, sheared, so it’s flashback time. 

I don’t recognize immediately where we are; apparently this is in the library in Canaan House? Though I don’t remember one from Gideon the Ninth. We see a bit of personality from Ortus, when he complains about Fifth House poetry, which is nice. 

Oh, wait, never mind, that was Magnus speaking. Ortus remains as boring as ever.

Hehehehe dick jokes.

Hey so no fake vow of silence in the false memories of Canaan House! That’s interesting. As is Magnus and Abagail being here, and them being pretty fleshed out characters. As are these cooking instructions from the Lyctors...

HOOOOOOOLD the phone here. The cooking notes mention an M and Nigella... which was the first name of Cassiopeia’s cavalier... How would Harrow know that? The easy explanation is that this is a note that Harrow actually found, and is placing here in her fake memories... The other explanation is that something funky is afoot...

Ooohkay Magnus is asking if this is how it happens now. The simulation is breaking down. AND ABAGAIL CAN TELL THAT HARROW IS A LIVING WAR CRIME. PANIC.

Okay now we’re getting Ortus emotion! He is a grown ass man Harrow. At least, he would be, were he not a figment of Harrow’s imagination.

HEEEEY

WHAT THE FUUUUCK

WE’RE CONTINUING ON THIS DYING EGGS THING

PROBABLY WILL BE RELEVANT LATER.

Okay and the simulation breaks down further when Ortus says “you did have a cavalier with a backbone, I’m not them.” Interestingly enough, it’s hours later Harrow realizes something’s weird... Huh...

Chapter 11

Seventh House skull.

Literally just a paragraph saying Harrow sleepwalked and stabbed Cyntherea’s body.

...She sleep walked... the Sleeper from the fake Canaan House...

[laurelsofhighever]

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 38 - The Wind and the Summer Sea

Chapter 1 on AO3 This chapter on AO3 Masterpost here

--

Twenty-ninth day of Justinian, 9:32 Dragon

Consciousness came back to Alistair slowly. A haze of dim sound faded in and out of his awareness, some kind of scratching, and with it the sensation of his eyes roving beneath the lids. His head felt thick, his body heavy and too hot, and when he tried to move, he discovered through a general inventory of aches and pains that somebody had dressed him in his nightclothes. The noise stopped. He must have caught the attention of whoever had been making it.

A shadow blocked the light. As he turned towards it a cool hand smoothed against his forehead, and he squinted itchy eyes up at Rosslyn, no more than a dry blur through his exhaustion but one he would recognise anywhere.

“You’re awake.”

He made an indistinct noise and found out his throat had been rubbed with sandpaper.

“Hold on.”

She slipped away from him and without her face to ground him his eyes drifted shut again, content instead to follow her movements by listening as she glided about the room. He heard a door open, a muttered conversation, but his mind struggled to comprehend the words and floated instead, wavering between the current state of his body and flashes of the Swallow, the rising water, and the return to shore that he could barely remember. How long had he been lying here? Where was here? Just as he dared open his eyes again to check, blinking in the light, Rosslyn closed the door to whoever was outside and stepped lightly back towards the bed. His bed, he realised.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, brushing fingers along his cheek, apparently unaware that she had sat with her thigh pressing against his hip.

He groaned. “I’m still pretty at least, right?”

“Well there’s no blood this time,” she reasoned, with a ghost of her usual smirk. “And no broken bones. I’d call this a distinct improvement.”

“Hmm.”

In the silence, her gaze slid away from his, dipping instead to where her hand followed the line of his neck over his chest, to where his heart fluttered beneath his ribs. Unlike at West Roth, there was no hesitation in her touch, no recoil when his hand – almost of its own accord – unfolded from beneath the covers and settled at her waist. She barely seemed to notice. Dark circles bruised the hollows of her eyes, lending her skin a pallid sheen, and the hair usually so neatly braided frayed at the temples. But she was warm, and real, and leaning over him with a knotted frown hanging between her brows.

“I had a dream like this once,” he remembered, rubbing small circles onto her hip with his thumb.

“Mm?”

“Oh yes. I was tucked up in bed, and you were all worried about me... I can’t feel my legs.”

To his surprise, she laughed. “I can assure you they’re still there. Look.”

Cuno sprawled across the bottom half of his body, with his head pillowed on Alistair’s thigh and his paws splayed over the entire width of the bed. One bridle eyelid twitched as he snored.  

“His breath stinks.”

Rosslyn smiled fondly as she stroked her dog's ears. “You couldn’t possibly ask me to move him, not when he’s so peaceful.”

“No, I suppose not,” he huffed, still trying to work out how he had missed the presence of such a heavy animal on top of him.

“He was the best way we could think of to keep you warm. You were almost blue by the time we got you back.”

“How long was I asleep?”

“A day and a night.” The words were spoken calmly, but her frown deepened with the recollection. “The deepstalker venom kept your blood flowing against the cold, but then it gave you a fever and we had to bring it down.” She offered him a smile that didn’t quite lift the slump of her shoulders. “You got us our ships.”

He caught the hand still lying over his heart and brought the knuckles to his lips. “You look exhausted.”

Rosslyn opened her mouth to reply, perhaps to deny the observation, but her breath stalled and in the gap between her words the silence eddied like a dammed stream. One slight tug on her fingers and he could draw her down, coax her to rest against him, wrap her up in his arms and use her warmth to soothe away the despair the demons had clawed into his mind.

“What happened in that dream you mentioned?” she asked.

Heat itched on the back of his neck. “You, uh, spilled soup all over me.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes,” he replied. “The finest leek and potato – there was a public outcry and Cailan held a state funeral and everything. It was very moving.”

She shook her head, that lopsided smirk in place. “I don’t think I quite believe you. You’re blushing too much.”

“Curse my delicate complexion.” He smiled as he squeezed her hand. “It doesn’t really matter anyway.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is better.”

She tried to look exasperated, though the roll of her eyes was betrayed by the pull of her bottom lip, drawn between her teeth in a futile effort to remain demure. On an ordinary day, he might have teased her for such a reaction, but here in the quiet of his borrowed room, with his wounds aching under their bandages and the memory of the cold crawling along his spine, all he could do was look on, revel in the image before him, and marvel at the fact that she thought him worth all this effort. Her gaze flickered down to his mouth and his breath faltered. This time, he found the courage to tug on her fingers, beckoning with the same soft touch on her waist for her to tilt forwards, into his arms, into the kiss with which the demon had tried to tempt him in the cave. He remembered their promise to talk, but that could come later, after sleep and food and hopefully hours upon hours of having Rosslyn’s lips pressed against his own.

The door opened just as his hand cupped her jaw. They pulled apart in surprise, with the dog behind them snorting at the sudden rude interruption to his nap, and every muscle in Rosslyn’s body stiffened with defiance. In the doorway stood the Storm Giant, his arms folded over his chest, glowering under his bristling mane of white hair.

“So you’re back in the land o’ the living,” he growled, and turned to Rosslyn. “Away wi’ ye.”

She glared and stood, sliding to block the old man’s view like a wolf in front of the den. “You couldn’t give him an hour at least?”

“Hey,” Alistair tried, reaching for her hand.  

“You only just woke up,” she reminded him.

“And thanks to you, I’m absolutely fine. I’ll be alright.”

The Storm Giant cleared his throat when she opened her mouth to argue further. “There are matters te be discussed. In private.”

Still not quite ready to back down, cheeks hot with defiance, she glanced to Alistair with a final press of his hand and stalked over to the other side of the bed to the scrubbed wooden bench that served as a vanity.  

“A letter for the king,” she explained when she caught his questioning glance. “I finished it just before you woke up, and if I’m to be evicted, I might as well do something useful.”  

Unhurried, she folded the loose leaves of paper into an envelope and scrawled Cailan’s name across the front. The Storm Giant’s scowl only deepened as she turned the package over and closed it with a blob of blue wax from a crucible she had set to melt over a candle, but she remained guileless as she stamped it with Alistair’s own seal in place of the ring she had given to Ser Gideon. When the task was finished, she made a show of wafting the letter to cool the seal, and, though her expression remained bland, the rigid set of her shoulders as she stepped towards the door made even Alistair shiver.  

“Cuno,” she snapped, with her eyes fixed on her grandfather.  

The dog shifted, ears pricked and stubby tail wagging, waiting for the command.  

“Stay here.”

--

Up above the hold, the cliffs basked under the bright summer sky, the last of the previous day’s clouds chased across the horizon by a stiff northerly wind that coaxed white tips to the waves below and made the meadow grass ripple like silk. Out of the close atmosphere of the sickroom, and with Alistair’s recovery now certain, Rosslyn found space to breathe again. Her vantage point offered a view clear across Dunedyn and beyond the narrow strait to the neighbouring island, a sacred place forbidden to all but the augurs. Ships leapt through the stramash, one among them perhaps carrying the letter she had left with Brantis, and the others likely the clan lords’ vessels, going to take news of the moot to the rest of the Clayne.

News of Alistair’s success. She twisted the circle of flowers in her hands. Making crowns from the blooms that grew in the upland meadows had been a tradition she shared with her mother, who had taught her how to weave grass and stalk together without leaving loose ends to stick out and spoil the effect, and who had always giggled when her finished wreath was placed atop her husband’s head. The memory brought a smile to Rosslyn’s lips as she worked. She had started without quite meaning to, the action a reflexive motion to occupy her hands and keep her mind focussed on something other than the moment Alistair dragged himself out of the Swallow. It had played itself out again and again in the hours they had worked to save his life. Nerlina had come to her in the late hours of the evening, once he was out of danger, and apologised for her comments during the feast.

“I was just playing a little,” she had said. “If I had known...”

Rosslyn couldn’t remember her reply.

A bumblebee wobbled past and settled on the clover by her feet. Crickets buzzed in the grass nearby, larks high in the sky, and from the crest of the hill came the distant bleating of rams, carried by the wind that snagged her hair and sent it lashing about her shoulders. The day was wearing on, the pressures of the war looming behind the horizon with Tevinter ships and traitorous arls, but for now just distant enough that the pull of an easy walk along the cliffside held greater sway.

She sighed. “Not enough yellow, I think,” she muttered to the wreath, and brushed off her knees as she stood to scan the horizon for buttercups or frothy spikes of lady’s bedstraw.

A bark broke the silence. Turning, she was just in time to catch sight of Cuno through the grass, ears flopping and tongue lolling as he bounded towards her. Though he had tracked her this far, the strength of the wind scattered her scent so that he paused in confusion, craning his head above a spray of ox-eye daisies until she took pity on him and whistled to get his attention. The wide, doggy grin that broke over his face was enough to make her laugh, and she bent down with her arms spread wide to greet him and hopefully dissuade him from barrelling headlong into her legs.  

“Who’s a good boy?” she crooned when he met her, scratching his shoulder as he sneezed his delight and tried to lick her chin. “Who’s so clever for finding me? But I did tell you to stay with Alistair.”

Cuno chuffed and sat on her foot, then changed his mind and raced back the way he had come. Alistair was already cresting the hill when the dog reached him, his gait stilted and his shoulders hunched under a cloak he wouldn’t normally have needed, but he waved nonetheless and sent Cuno skipping ahead of him back down the path.  

“You should be in bed!” Rosslyn chided. In the daylight, the ashen pallor of his skin stood out more than it should.

“Nonsense.” He grinned at her. “Fresh air and sunshine, that’s what I need.”  

Unable to think of any real reply, she turned instead to fuss Cuno, who was delicately trying to steal the flower wreath from her fingers now that he had ceased to be the centre of attention. “No, this is not for eating. Here –” Dodging the investigations of a cold, wet nose, she knelt and placed the wreath on the dog’s head, tucking the sides under his ears to keep it in place.

“Very handsome,” she decided as she leaned back to survey her work.

Cuno only stared at Alistair, imploring.

“I don’t think he believes you.”

“Well, he can live with it.” Her knee cracked as she stood, her gaze on the ocean. “And so will all the disappointed young women I ran into on my way out of the broch. They were all so eager to offer their services and make sure you were alright.”

“It’s a shame I missed them,” Alistair answered with a shrug. “But then again, I was waiting for one young woman in particular, who was nowhere to be found.”

When she faced him, a flutter in her stomach, she found the gap between them closed to a bare few inches. “I would have come back eventually,” she teased. “For my dog if nothing else.”

His thumb brushed over the back of her hand. “Well, he’s very impatient.” His eyes dropped to her mouth. “I wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me?” She blinked, tilted her head back to see him properly, frowned as he pulled her dagger from his belt and offered it to her.

“You saved my life,” he murmured. “Again.”

On instinct, she reached up, but her hand curled away before she could touch the hardened leather scabbard. “No... I was forbidden to help you.” Her hand dropped to her side. “I didn’t do anything.”

For an instant, it looked like he would argue, but the words stalled on his tongue and he sighed them away as he scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Alright. Hypothetically, then. If you had helped me, and you’d been caught, what would have happened?”

The earnest look in those autumn eyes scalded. The view out over the cliffs was far safer, over the sea to where Howe sat in her father’s seat, and over Dunedyn and the realm of her mother’s people, the only family left to her, who were bound by law to shun any who dared defy the will of the sea.  

“Nothing that wasn’t worth the risk.” She pushed the dagger back towards him. “Keep it. I’m sure I’ll find another one. But that reminds me...”

He frowned as she fished under her collar, close enough now that his hands fell to her waist in a movement as natural as breathing. His surprise when she revealed his mother’s amulet, hanging from its silver chain around her neck – something swooped low in his belly, a kind of possessiveness that thrilled along the length of his limbs knowing she held onto something that was his, that it touched her skin where nobody else could see.

“I kept it safe,” she offered, when the silence stretched.

“Keep it,” he echoed.

“You’re sure?”

“It looks better on you, and it’s a fair trade. For a dagger. Don’t you think?”

“Alright.”  

With a steadying breath, she tucked the tiny silver disk out of sight again and adjusted her shirt to hide it, and batted impatiently at her wind-snaked hair when it caught on her nose and mouth. Alistair watched the quirk of her lips, the nimbleness of her fingers, the way her brows drew in over her grey eyes as she paused and once more let her gaze slip out to the horizon.

“What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” she said, and startled when he brushed a thumb along her cheek. “It’s - it’s silly, really. My mind keeps going back there, to waiting – not being able to do anything – and imagining how much worse it must have been for you, with the water rising, I...” Her eyes closed. She leaned closer, wavering with her hands braced against his shoulders until the confession became too much and she tipped into the solace of a proper embrace. “I couldn’t have done it. I would have been too afraid.”

Alistair's arms closed tighter around her, his words bitten out through clenched teeth. “At the moot. You volunteered to do it anyway.”

“I panicked. I would have lost you.”

“You didn’t.” He pressed a kiss against her hair. “You didn’t. I’m here, and it’s thanks to you.”

This time, she didn’t protest, only buried herself deeper against his shoulder and fisted her hands in his shirt, and he was grateful for it. Right at the end, in complete darkness with his lungs burning and the current pulling at him and the demons screaming in his mind, he had thought he wouldn’t make it. His body had starved for air, but in the moment, his only thought had been to see her again, to hold her and inhale the jasmine of her scent as she kissed him. Nothing happened on Innse Gaillean that did not reach its lord’s ear; the Storm Giant knew what she had done, and before all other things he made sure Alistair knew it too, in its entirety, so he would understand.

“You went against the gods for me.”

Playing with the hem of his collar, she shook her head. “No. If I had, you would be dead. They gave me what I needed to help you, long before I even knew I would need it.”

They fell silent. The dog, having lost his flower crown, snapped after crickets through the grass.

“We’ve come such a long way, haven’t we?” Alistair asked. His fingertips traced idles shapes along the back of her neck. “We sort of… stumbled into each other. And here we are.”

She chuckled. “From what little I recall of the night we met, I fell on you.”

"Mmhm… you were bloody heavy.”

“I was barely conscious!”

“And yet you demanded to see Teagan anyway, with this haughty look on your face like blood loss and exhaustion were for lesser mortals.” He sighed at the memory. “But… you were so brave, so determined… would it be too much to say I thought you were the most beautiful person I’d ever met?”

“It doesn’t say much for your taste,” she pointed out. “Since I was covered in blood at the time.”  

"You remembered my name. I wasn’t expecting that.”

Something in his voice pulled her back from the embrace, a shiver that ran through her core and lodged in her chest like smoke. Had he really fallen for her so soon? Had he realised, or had that come later?

“You called me Andraste,” she recalled, the memory unbidden but no less powerful. “In the infirmary, after West Roth. It was so awful to see you lying there, knowing the last thing I said to you was an argument.”

He nodded. “I touched you on the arm.” And he mirrored the gesture, a cautious slide of fingertips up from the wrist, turned into a question.

“I... wanted to kiss you. It was terrifying – I’d never felt that before.”

The confession robbed Alistair of thought. She watched him go still, saw his eyes fix on her mouth as he leaned forward – hesitated.

“I thought I was fooling myself, hoping you might… come to care for me.”

How had it taken them so long to get here? “You weren’t.”

Hands at her waist, her fingers playing with his hair as a breathless puff of laughter ghosted across her lips, and after so much time, it felt like the easiest thing in the world to tilt her face up, to let her eyes fall closed.

“So I fooled you, did I?” he asked, impossibly close.

She paused, pulled back. “… What?”

“Yeah that – that made more sense in my head,” he admitted, wincing even as he leaned in again. Her giggle hummed against his lips.

“And you were doing so well.”

“Maybe we should just stop talking?”

“If you like.”

And then there was no space between them at all.