#arman needed a room to breathe and this room was definitely not the one with aeran in it at that point

[aprilmr]

Finished reading wayfarer episode 2 today

[sir-gwaine-my-man]

A rewrite of the ending for The Letter for the King

If we're being honest, did the ending live up to anyone's expectations? Certainly not to mine. My babies deserved better and I hope my attempt at writing can help to rectify that for anyone else looking for a happier - and hopefully better - ending. At some point, I'll probably write a fic for the entire series, possibly with an OC (maybe a younger sibling of one of the knights because I want more interactions with Piak). Feedback would be greatly appreciated! I'm always looking to improve. I struggle with accurate characterisation in fanfics when writing non-canon dialogue/scenes so if anyone has any tips then please send them my way.

I know there's maybe 12 people in the fandom (this had better become a running joke, so help me) but hopefully I will please those 12 of you. This will take place from when they exit the sewers. Without further ado, let us proceed.

5000+ words

~~~~~~~~~~

The thick, rancid scent of the sewers still lingered in the air as the novices clung to the ladder several metres up. Damp metal frigid to the touch, covered in something that they wouldn't dare to ask the origin of. Even Tiuri - who had made his way to the top of the ladder - could still smell the murky water (or, at least, what they thought to be water) below.

He swung the grate at the top open, gritting his teeth as he hoisted himself up and out of the entrance to the sewer. The fresher air was a welcome comfort in the dimly lit room, candles flickering gently in the little draughts that filtered in, and he was thankful to take in a deep breath of fresher air.

Pushing himself over the edge with a grunt of effort, he turned around to help Piak climb out, safely pulling him up. It was certainly far more graceful than Tiuri's attempt to get himself out.

"You're pushing me again," Jussipo snapped, looking down and glaring before pulling himself out as well, a look of clear disgust etched upon his face.

"Because you're going even slower than you were before," Arman retorted, evidently still frustrated at having to go through the sewers.

"It's-it's in my hair! It's in my hair." Jussipo's face contorted as he tried to hide the extent of his revulsion as he essentially jumped out of the exit.

Arman came out soon after Jussipo, quickly pushing himself out, glad to be away from the dreadful place, and was quickly followed by Foldo. "It's definitely not water," Foldo choked out through the stench, his face paling as he resisted the nauseating temptation to throw up any food still left in his stomach.

"See?" Tiuri started, trying to reintroduce some positivity into their quest that seemed to lack a favourable outcome for the foreseeable future. "I told you. Easy."

The others stared at him as though he were insane, many still looking disgusted from their time in the sewer. Foldo looked greener by the second. No one particularly wanted to know what was in the sewer now that they knew it wasn't water from his expression. They also didn't want to know how Foldo found out.

The group rushed out of the room, breaking out into a run as they hurried to get to the throne room. They had hardly made it down a single corridor before turning into a hall and running straight into a line of servants.

Attempts at acting natural were made. Bowed heads, feigned interest in the exquisitely crafted banners and candleholders - although, they had to admit, they were beautiful. But, of course, despite the dirt on their clothes, they still reeked of nobility and they neither looked nor acted like the staff of the castle, not to mention the swords hanging from their belts. Still, the servants had far more important matters to attend to other than herding some wandering nobleman's children back to the feast.

As soon as they were alone, they all raced through the open doorway, speeding down more passageways, thankful not to encounter anyone else.

"That was close!" Piak exclaimed with a smile, jogging next to Jussipo, clearly enjoying the excitement.

"Be quiet," hissed Arman sharply, turning back to the boy. "You don't know who could be lurking in the shadows, listening to our every word."

"Don't talk to him like that," Jussipo replied, moving threateningly closer, attempting to turn any anxiety brewing within him to confidence.

"I'd appreciate it if you directed your aggressive energy towards the task at hand, please," Tiuri sighed. "Besides, I think we're safe for now."

"Perhaps we should be a bit quieter, it couldn't hurt," Foldo suggested gently.

They continued their way through the castle, footsteps echoing far louder than they would've liked through the stone hallways. Cautious glances were frequently casted towards the windows, the steadily rising blood moon harsh and bold against the dark sky, glaringly bright as it outshone the gentle twinkling of the stars.

"Do you even know where we're going?" Arman asked as Tiuri led them down yet another tortuous corridor. "We're running out of time. You could be getting us lost for all we know."

"Of course I know where we're going," Tiuri insisted, vaguely remembering visiting the castle once as a child. If he was being honest, he was mostly guessing the path to the feast. "It's around this corner."

The door creaked as he pulled it open, but they paid it little mind as they hurried down a set of steps and into yet another corridor. It would be a miracle if anyone knew their way around the entire castle.

"Come on," he whispered as they ducked around a wall, praying that the area would be empty.

It was, in fact, not. "Where do you think you're going?" a heavily armoured guard asked as the five of them came to a shuddering halt in front of him.

Jussipo was just about to come forward - casting worried glances towards Foldo and Piak - with a story about how they were the sons of some visiting nobles and had gotten lost when the guard keeled over following a sharp blow to the head from the pommel of a dagger. The knights-to-be watched in confused shock as he fell over to reveal Iona behind him.

"Surprise," she said, tears evidently brimming in her eyes as she looked at the people she could almost call friends before she turned them in.

Arman rushed towards her in a fit of rage, his fist raised as he prepared to strike. He was followed by the rest of the novices, ready to jump to his defence if needed, but Arman was brought to a quick halt by the blade millimetres from his throat, glinting menacingly in the candlelight. Iona urged him back in what seemed to be reluctance.

"You have every right to hate me," she began, the dagger still held out in front of her.

"Well, we do hate you," Arman claimed, jumping forward again as Tiuri held out an arm to stop him from doing anything stupid.

"I hate me too. What I did... what I've done." She finally held the dagger back by her waist, a choked laugh escaping her as she blinked back tears that threatened to spill. "I'm sorry," Iona admitted, the tears that she had attempted to withhold streaking down her cheeks despite the wary glances the group gave each other, "for all of it. I'm sorrier than you'll ever know. But I just... I wanted you to know that."

With a determined look, she furiously wiped away the tears, seemingly angry at herself for showing such emotion. Iona turned away, ready to never see any of them again.

"Iona?" Tiuri called out.

Iona stopped, turning around as hope glittered in her eyes. Tiuri approached her, wrapping his arms around her in a comforting embrace as if to say that he forgave her, it was alright now, she was forgiven. She returned the hug with one arm, seeming to relax for a single moment.

And then the moment broke, shattering into hundreds of pieces of betrayal and hurt as she snatched the letter with her free hand.

"Every time you think you've got her pegged," Jaro chuckled as he entered the hall with two knights following, a sinister edge to his laugh, "she turns around and she surprises you all over again." Tiuri backed up to the safety of the group, fear and pain smothering his features as Iona hesitantly handed over the letter, a frown upon her face. Was this really the right thing to do? Yes, of course, Tiuri had dashed her hopes of becoming a knight, this was her only way forward. Jaro took the letter with a sickening smile, pocketing it. The group's hands reached for the hilts of their swords, prepared for a final display of courage. "Looks like the letter's not going to the king after all. Now, do you want to walk away and live or make a futile gesture of defiance and die?" Each of the boys drew their swords with little hesitation, willing to put their lives on the line to save the world they knew. "A futile gesture it is." The three Red Riders and Iona drew their swords as well, a determined grimace etched upon everyone's faces.

Jussipo turned to Piak, the brother that he had sworn to himself that he would protect at all costs. He couldn't risk Piak’s safety, not for anything, not for the world. "Stay there," he whispered, gently pushing him back.

With a fierce cry, Jaro charged towards them, the novices racing into the fight. This included Piak who had decided to ignore his brother's instructions and fight anyway with little regard for his own life and lack of training, using his lack of size to dodge any incoming attacks.

Sword clashed against sword, metal ringing out in the brutal melodies of battle. Deafening clangs that brought the children's hearts to their throats for, after all, despite all that they had been through, they were still children. Adrenaline surged through each person, the fight blurring time and reality as they solely focused on the simple motion of swinging their swords. Back and forth. Blows and parries. Attacks and counters.

Piak stayed close to Jussipo, ready to jump to his aid at a moment's notice. That was until Jaro had forced Tirui to the floor. The tip of his sword inched closer to Tiuri's throat, slowly threatening to slice through skin. Piak took the distraction as an excuse to nick the letter from Jaro's belt, instantly jumping to action.

"I've got it!" Piak called out at the same time Jussipo yelled out his name more out of fear than anger. Piak passed the letter to him as Jussipo looked towards him in a mix of frustration and admiration.

"What did I tell you?" he asked in breathless exasperation as he deflected another attack. "Tiuri!" he yelled as he flung the letter through the air, Tiuri deftly catching it. "What are you waiting for?"

"Go!" Arman and Piak insisted in sync as Tiuri rushed out of sight, quickly chased by Iona and Jaro.

In that brief moment of distraction, in those few seconds in which the group thought they could recover, one of the Red Riders lunged towards Piak, the most defenceless of them all. In that split second before the sword hit him, Jussipo saw what was happening. Not Piak, anyone but him. He wasn't even supposed to be here, he was too adventurous for his own good.

In that split second, Jussipo remembered everything he could about Piak. The way he would leap around as he practiced fighting with a wooden sword. The way he could talk about anything and everything for hours. How he would sneak him extra food from the kitchens after a particularly tough training session. How he was so carefree despite all the troubles in the world.

In that split second, Jussipo made a decision. Whatever it takes, he thought, whatever it takes to save my brother.

With a breathless but purpose filled shout of, “No!” he leapt in front of Piak. Jussipo tried to deflect the incoming sword but he knew there was little point in even attempting to raise his weapon before the sword plunged into his chest.

Everything seemed to slow down at that point. He felt as though he should cry out in pain, the agony coursing through him immeasurable. He could hear his heart beating inside his skull, strong and steady and pounding and loud, far too loud. Why was it so loud? It was becoming difficult to breathe, ragged gasps attempting to escape his lungs. Why couldn’t he breathe? Why was it so hard? The panic mixed with the agony in a violent surge, every ounce of his being fighting against the sickeningly cool metal inside him. And everything was becoming blurry and hazy and he wanted to just let go, to not be tethered to this world in which he felt so much pain. Why wouldn’t it stop hurting?

Was he dying?

And all he could do was blankly stare forward, hoping that the pain would simply vanish.

As he crumpled to the floor in a dazed heap, the faintest flicker of a smile swept across his face in the knowledge that Piak was safe, he had saved him. He hoped that Foldo would be alright. Sure, they had been friends for years, but it felt wrong to leave him after the two had just confessed their love for each other, but he would be fine, he had to be. 

Piak stood behind his injured brother as the only emotion he could feel was pure shock. This was the person he had looked up to his entire life - Jussipo couldn’t die, the very thought was inconceivable. But he had to believe it, that sword should be inside him, but Jussipo had willingly sacrificed himself to save Piak. He crouched down next to his brother, attempting to support his limp body with shaking hands.

Foldo was the first to snap out of the trance. “JUSSIPO!” he screamed, his voice cracking, his world crumbling as the boy he loved threatened to slip through his fingers. 

With a cry of despairing, rage fueled pain that no one his age should ever have to experience, Foldo swung his sword in a wide arc, forcing the knights backwards. Within seconds he was behind Jussipo, gently pulling him to his feet as he pushed Piak to safety behind him. Foldo helped Jussipo up the stairs, Arman close behind, knocking the Red Riders down the steps with a powerful blow.

The only thought running through Foldo’s head as he half dragged, half carried the stumbling Jussipo was how to save him. He was still alive, still fighting, there was still time. He would not let Jussipo die, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t forgive himself.

They rounded a corner into another deserted corridor, certain that they had lost the knights. Foldo laid Jussipo against a wall as carefully as he could, his heart clenching as Jussipo groaned in pain. Piak looked on in shock, unable to comprehend what was happening.

The world seemed to twist and turn and spin and blur as Jussipo tried to remain as still as possible, dizzying waves of nausea washing over him as darkness encroached his vision. Blood had already soaked through his tunic, slowly dripping onto the floor; a dark, thick substance that stained the ground and the novices’ moods. Foldo tried to press his hands against the wound, attempting to stop the flow of blood, but his hands shook and trembled, hot tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

“It’s alright,” Arman murmured, “I’ll do it.” Foldo gave him a nod of appreciation, withdrawing his blood soaked hands.

“I should get help,” Foldo said, beginning to stand despite his very soul shattering before Jussipo loosely grabbed his hand, pulling him back down. Jussipo could hold on until Tiuri came back, he had to hold on.

“No, stay, please,” begged Jussipo.

“It’s alright, I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.” Gently, he brushed dark locks of hair from Jussipo’s face, terrified to hurt him any further.

Jussipo looked to him in dazed confusion, attempting to ignore the searing pain that shot through him with each movement. “Am I going to die, Foldo?” he asked, sounding so innocent and quiet that Foldo had to resist the urge to let out a choked sob.

“No, no. You’re going to be fine, I won’t let you die,” he said with as much confidence as he could muster.

“That’s nice, I believe you. There’s a lot of blood, though.”

“Don’t look at it, just look at me.” Foldo grabbed his hand, not daring to glance away from his eyes for a moment as he offered a weak smile. “Just try to stay awake. Everything’s going to be alright, I promise.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, completely unaware of the tragedy that had befallen his friends, Tiuri ran despite the burning in his legs, despite feeling as though his lungs would tear. He was close, so close, the dining hall was only metres away. The pounding footsteps of Iona and Jaro thundered behind him but he didn’t dare to look back, he couldn’t risk slowing down.

The room fell into a stunned silence as he sprinted in, nobility providing him with questioning looks. It wasn’t every day that an Eviellan boy charged in dressed in fine clothing. Jaro and Iona came to a hasty standstill, quickly realising that they had failed. With an awkward glance at each other, they subtly backed away, hoping that they could still escape with their lives.

Slowly, Tiuri took several careful steps forward, panting slightly as his eyes darted around the room, flicking to Viridian who simply stared at him, apparently not worried about the implications the delivery of the letter could bring. One look sent chills down Tiuri’s spine as haunting eyes met his own. The guests studied him, looking down at him, judging him for his clearly Eviellan descent despite his obvious nobility. As Tiuri approached King Favian, two guards blocked his path.

“I have a letter,” he started, his voice wavering as he stood before the most powerful man in the three kingdoms, “for the king.”

“What?” the king queried. 

“What letter?” Prince Iridian asked, oozing power.

“Who cares ‘what letter’?” Fantumar demanded as he stood up, trying to play his part in stopping the letter from reaching its destination. “Does the royal court now allow mere children to enter the presence of the king?”

“My father died for this!” Tiuri cried before turning to the king. “The Black Knight with the White Shield died too.”

“The Black Knight?” the king asked, his interest piqued at the mention of such a well respected knight.

“I have his ring as proof.” He removed it from his pocket, the precious silver almost glowing in the light of the room. Favian continued to listen in concern. “He was slaughtered by Prince Viridian’s Red Riders.” Gasps echoed around the room whilst Viridian remained stoic. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Who is this boy?”

“He is nobody,” Fantumar insisted, sounding remarkably suspicious considering Tiuri’s claim.

“I am Tiuri, son of Sir Tiuri the Valiant. Born of Eviellan, raised in Dagonaut. And we are all in danger if you do not read this letter.”

The king looked to Prince Iridian. With a nod, he said, “Let him through.”

Hesitantly, Tiuri approached the king, flicking a fearful glance towards Viridian. He bowed, holding the letter out in front of him as King Favian stood up to take it. And there, written out in an elegant script, sat the words that confirmed Viridian’s betrayal. Twenty families he had chosen to die, a member of one of those families slowly dying in the arms of a boy of another of those families within the very castle that Viridian resided.

The king studied it, hardly daring to believe what was in front of him. His own son desired to betray him? To kill his allies? No, it seemed impossible. Reluctantly, he turned to his youngest son. “What is this?” he questioned, not even sure if he wanted to know the answer. Viridian returned a blank stare in response. “Treachery? You take my crown? Kill my friends and allies?” He paused, still reeling from the news. “Answer me!” he yelled, fury lacing every word.

“You dare ignore your king?” Iridian asked, almost as furious as his father - despite sensing the betrayal all along - but twice as vicious. “Bow your head to your father!” Short, sharp paces clicked across the stone as he advanced towards his brother. “I will not tell you again. Bow your head. Beg for your king’s mercy.”

“If the world is to be healed,” Viridian began ominously, looking through the window to see the blood moon reaching its peak, a fierce glow shining into the hall, “then the power he has, the power you want to be yours, has to be mine. The decisions you take-” He stood up, walking up to his brother. “-the decisions the people on that list take will now be taken by me.”

“What is this?”

“Lives you’ve all led, lives of comfort and luxury, lives built on the bodies of soldiers like me and my enemies, are now over.” If it wasn’t for the cruelty dripping off of Viridian’s words, he would seem to be the most reasonable one in the room. “And yes, freedom is over too. And the world will have peace at last. A peace that will last forever.”

“He’s mad,” was all the king could offer to Iridian.

Iridian looked to a knight standing close by, handing him the letter. “Sir Tristan, gather your knights and send them to these families, they may need protection.” Sir Tristant gave a sharp nod, quickly leaving the hall.

“It has been foretold,” Viridian stated with an almost giddy smile. “And there’s nothing any of us can do to stop it.” He looked to Tiuri with a sneer. “Even you.”

“Brother,” Iridian hissed, drawing his sword, “I beg to differ.”

Viridian drew his own sword with a snarl. Brother pitted against brother, familial love forgotten as the two faced each other as enemies. The swords clashed together in a blur of experience and anger. Viridian was the first to give in, lowering his weapon slightly and subjecting himself to his brother’s will. Iridian took the opportunity to sink the sword into his own brother’s chest, killing him almost instantly. Horrified gasps escaped the gathered crowd as the prince that had attempted to betray them was murdered before their eyes, Favian the most mortified of them all. 

With one last look at the fully risen moon, Viridian keeled over. Dead.

But then came the darkness. From where Viridian’s body lay came a dread filled rumbling, shaking the entire room. Dark droplets of blood rose from his body, hovering in the air as they shimmered with magic and evil. They popped and fizzled in grey wisps of smoke, gathering and collecting as Viridian’s corpse was pulled from the ground by some sort of invisible force.

A rolling cloud of grey smog seemed to engulf Viridian, coalescing around him in a violent storm of malevolent darkness. Everyone in the room rushed away as the blackening cloud stretched out, absorbing every speck of light.

But Tiuri stood his ground. He may not have the magic he thought he did coursing through his veins but the idea of backing away, of faltering, never crossed his mind. He had faith.

From the dark emerged Viridian’s face surrounded by swirling wisps of the smoke, glaring out at the world he had sought to right. “NO!” he screamed. “I was to be the light that corrected this world! And you, boy, were to be the darkness! It was foretold, this cannot be!” 

As his rage seemed to grow with every second, so did the size of the smoke. Churning and surging together in violent clashes.

“But that’s where you’re wrong, I wasn’t supposed to be anything,” Tiuri replied simply, looking back into the crowd.

With shaky steps, Lavinia pushed her way through the throng of onlooking nobles. Her heart thundered in her chest, threatening to jump out at any moment. Any sense of logic had deserted her. Surely she couldn’t defeat whatever this was. The magic inside her, however, strongly disagreed. Its warmth spread throughout her body, tingling and gentle as it guided her to where she was supposed to be.

Her eyes were wide as she approached, fearing that she couldn’t do what was expected of her, couldn’t save everyone. “I’m scared,” she whispered, her breath escaping her as everything went cold the closer she got to the cloud of darkness.

“I know.” And he took her hand, guiding her into the darkness she was destined to defeat until it swallowed her whole as Viridian seethed, the smoke boiling in anticipation.

With gritted teeth, Lavinia allowed the magic inside her to spread out in a fierce glow so bright Tiuri had to look away. Viridian squinted at it, the light seemed to burn him away into wisps of dust.

“Foolish girl,” Viridian uttered with a maniacal smirk. He turned to Tiuri, the black smoke curling around him until he was obscured from view, ostensibly whisked away from the light. “You cannot defeat me, I am too powerful for you alone.” Lavinia’s eyes darted around in a panic as the cloud began to engulf her, the light shining out of her dimming.

“But that’s where you’re wrong,” Tiuri claimed, coming back into view with a dull glow, “she’s not alone.”

Tiuri and Lavinia’s intertwined hands shone with the brightest light the world had ever seen. An intense flash of white that had saved Tiuri, passing the tiniest amounts of Lavinia’s magic into him and igniting the beginnings of a power within him so great that it would be decades before it was fully understood. For now, they pushed every ounce of energy they had into sending the flow of magic into Viridian. Grunting cries of strain escaped them as all of their strength was forced into defeating Viridian.

“Stop!” Viridian yelled as parts of his magic induced body disintegrated.

“Never,” Lavinia hissed.

With a great cacophony of sound and an explosion of light that illuminated the night for miles, Viridian was blown out of existence. The darkness had been vanquished.

The two children breathed heavy sighs of relief, panting from the exertion. “You did it.” Tiuri beamed.

“We did it,” corrected Lavinia with a weak smile. “Guess you had some magic in you after all.”

“I’m not sure what it was, to be honest.” He studied his hands in confusion before looking up at Lavinia. “Are you okay?”

“Never been better.” And then she collapsed to the floor, Tiuri rushing to catch her, proving that she was, in fact, not okay.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

She gave a weak laugh. “Would now be a good time to get that reward?”

~~~~~~~~~~

The corridor that the novices had taken cover in glowed with a fierce light as Lavinia’s magic spread throughout the castle. “They did it, they must’ve done,” Arman said hopefully. “Lavinia must’ve come back.”

“They’ll be here soon, just hold on a little longer, please,” Foldo told Jussipo who, even now, was still clinging to life, refusing to let death take him.

Arman’s hands had done very little to stop the insistent flow of blood, the red liquid staining his fingers. Despite his efforts, Jussipo had lost far too much blood for their likings. All colour had been drained from his face, ghostly white in the flickering candlelight. Shallow breaths occasionally made their way past his lips but they were often ragged and forced. His eyes were strained from the pain and it was evident that it was a struggle just to keep them open.

“Y’know, they had better knight me after all this,” Jussipo said with a weak smile, coughing slightly.

“It’ll be a grand celebration,” Piak stated, speaking up for the first time since the fight. “There’ll be a feast and tournaments and everyone can sing songs about you.”

“That would be nice. Their songs can’t beat mine, though, can they, Fol?”

“No, you’ve always had the best songs,” Foldo replied, a soft laugh escaping him.

It was only moments later when Tiuri and Lavinia stumbled into the corridor. Whilst she had regained some of her strength, she was still using Tiuri as support, his arm securely wrapped around her waist as she leaned on him. 

The pair stopped short when they saw what had happened, the novices crowded around Jussipo’s weak, dying body. Tiuri and Lavinia hurried over as quickly as they could despite Lavinia’s fragile state, kneeling beside him. Jussipo tried to sit up upon seeing them, gritting his teeth and wincing in pain.

“Easy, easy,” Foldo repeated as he gently pushed him back down with Piak’s help, pushing back Jussipo’s hair again, “easy.”

“Did we do it? Did we stop him?” Jussipo asked, terrified that everything they had done would be in vain.

Tiuri smiled. “How could we not stop him?”

Everyone let out a sigh of relief. Jussipo smiled. Even if he died he could go knowing that he had helped save the world. But the feeling of relief and celebration was brief as they focused once again on the tragedy. 

“Has he messed up my hair with all his… all his fussing?” Jussipo joked, the faintest flicker of a smile upon his face despite the stabbing pain throughout his abdomen. 

“Your hair looks good.”

“Better than good,” Arman added. “It looks great.”

“I’ve always had great hair,” Jussipo claimed, looking to the boy that had quickly become his entire world, “Ain’t that right, Fol?”

Foldo chuckled softly despite the tears brimming in his eyes and the clenching of his heart, placing a hand on Jussipo’s shoulder. He couldn’t let him go, there had to be something he could do.

With a peaceful release of breath, Jussipo closed his eyes, finally free of pain.

“He will be alright, won’t he?” Piak asked, his voice threatening to break as his confidence faltered, tears glimmering in his own eyes.

Shakily, Foldo placed two fingers against Jussipo’s neck, desperate for any sign of life. He was met with a weak but persistent pulse. “He’s still with us, just,” he sighed gratefully.

Lavinia’s hand hovered over Jussipo’s wound as she snapped out of her fatigued daze, a shimmering aura glowing around it, but it was fractured, flickering, faltering. “No,” Tiuri hissed, grabbing her arm. No one commented on how the magic looked stronger the closer Tiuri was to it. “You’re too weak, you’ve just defeated Viridian.”

“If I healed you then maybe I can save Jussipo,” Lavinia countered, attempting not to sound as exhausted as she felt.

“This injury is far worse. You could die, Lavinia.”

“If I don’t then he will die.” Lavinia turned back to Jussipo with a fierce determination, Tiuri’s hand falling back to her shoulder. 

The last remnants of magic and energy still residing in her soul were dragged out. Forced through her veins, scraping and burning as it clawed its way out. The magic seemed gentle and warm in comparison as it floated above the wound, an incandescent glow that seemed to twist and swirl. Blood stopped leaking out, vanishing altogether as the skin stitched itself back together. Lavinia collapsed back into Tiuri’s waiting arms, welcoming the comfort of sleep.

And then it was over, a scar being the only reminder. Jussipo blinked rapidly as he awoke, confused and mystified as the agonising tear in his chest dulled to a mild ache. Hesitantly, he placed a hand where he was sure the wound had been, amazed to find no blood. And everyone was smiling, they were all alright, they had won.

“You’re alright, you’re alive,” Foldo cried, tears freely falling down his cheeks as he grinned.

“I should hope so, you’d be lost without me,” Jussipo chuckled, looking up at him, the world brightening as the darkness of death left him. “You couldn’t have found a nicer corridor for me to die in?” He looked around the dusty, deserted hall.

“We didn’t have much time, the Red Riders were-”

“Shut up.” And Jussipo pushed himself to meet Foldo’s lips in a kiss of relief and passion and ecstasy, gently cupping his face in his hands. They felt invulnerable, immune to the dangers life threw at them.

“Eww,” Piak groaned despite his smile.

The pair broke apart with breathless smiles, their hearts pounding with love. There was no way they weren’t alive. Jussipo looked to his brother who threw his arms around Jussipo in a tight embrace, almost scared to let go. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, I’m not going anywhere.”

And they were happy.

[pandamilo]

6: OtaPliRoy

‘I lost the baby.’ – when it’s meant to be angst but Iturned it into a comedy… and it’s sappy, how did this happen?! … sorry, notsorry.

***

Otabek had a hugefamily.

He was used to the chaos, the arguments, the make ups, thebreak ups and the ever need for a baby sitter.

But his boyfriends, definitely were not.

Yuri’s only family was his granddad and if you counted theNikiforov-Katsuki’s (which they would argue he does) he still had a relativelysmall family.

JJ’s wasn’t much better, he was also an only child and hadgrown up spoilt rotten because of it.

But Otabek was one of eleven children and he was the eldestat 23 meaning that went those of so important events occurred, such as the ledup for Christmas, he was always roped into to taking care of the younger onesso his parents could organise everything without the interrupts of the whirlwindthat was the younger, more spoilt, Altin siblings.

This Christmas was no different but the plus side was, thisyear he had roped his boyfriends into coming to his families Christmas. Lastyear was with the Nikiforov-Katsuki’s and the year before that was with theLeroy’s, so Otabek was claiming his turn – plus he really secretly missed big Christmas’,it wasn’t the same having so little people around.

When they first arrived, three weeks before Christmas, thefirst few days were all polite and sweet. His family welcoming them, waiting onthem hand and foot and teasing Otabek, revealing horrifying stories from hischildhood and well… doing what families do.

Now they were on their fifth day here, the novelty of theterm “guest” had warn off and Yuri and JJ were beginning to be treated as thetwelve and thirteen Altin.

This meant a few things.

One: his mother consistently called them the wrong name but never corrected herself, she simplypresumed you would figure out who she actually meant based on the context andwho was around.

Two: his father responded to any question addressed to himin exactly the same way, no matter who it was, “Yes darling.”.

Three: his siblings no longer knocked when entering Otabek’sroom or bathroom for that matter, walking in on Yuri changing twice and JJtaking a piss at least three times.

Four: and this was probably the one Yuri and JJ had decidedto complain about the most, they no longer went to bed or wake up just thethree of them. Every night, at least one of Otabek’s siblings would fall asleepwith them, or crawl in in the middle of the night having had a nightmare, orjust simply come in and flop on top of them when they had decided the threeboys had been asleep long enough.

And five: babysitting duty.

Otabek’s parents were taking out the eldest five siblings(apparently Otabek was no longer included in the sibling count, he was now likea new parent and his boyfriends were also thrown into that mix) and the threeboys were now left with the five youngest of the Altin’s.

Aina (6), the twins: Serik and Madina (4), Arman (2) andAlisher (1).

What Otabek’s parents had neglected to inform the new foundparental trio was that Alisher, when left to her own devises, would get up andtoddle away, never when anyone was watching her though, which is why, as far asthe boys were concerned, Alisher could only crawl.

That is of course until Yuri appeared in the kitchendoorway, clutching Arman in his arms and staring wide eyed and frantic at JJ,Otabek and the older three siblings who were currently covered in flour as they “helped” bake the oat biscuits they weregoing to eat for afternoon tea.

‘I lost the baby.’ Yuri stated, pulling Arman closer intohis chest in fear of loosing a second one.

‘What are you talking about, you are holding it.’ JJ scoffedand went back to wiping the flour off Serik’s face.

‘Ok arsehole, sorry… ok JJ,for one, this is Arman, he’s a boy, not an it and two, how many children do youcount right now in this room beside’s yourself?’

‘Yura, what do you mean you lost the baby, where’s Alisher?’Otabek ignored the usual bickering between his boyfriends and did his usualtrick – addressing the actual issue.

‘That’s what I mean Beka, one minute I was playing with themand then I turned around to stop one of the dogs from eating Madina’s favouriteteddy and then when I turned back, Alisher was gone.’

‘Yura, you sure you didn’t nap on the job because a baby isn’tan escape artist you know, have you actually looked for her?’ JJ was looking atYuri like he was stupid and Yuri wasn’t having a bar of it.

‘No genius, I just wondered in here straight away thinkingshe apparated in here because it was more fun getting covered in flour thenplaying with play dough with me. Of course, I bloody well looked for her. Nowsomeone come help me find her!’

Yuri was actually starting to become distressed at thispoint and his hold on Arman was obviously making the toddler distressed inreturn.

‘Jay, stay here with the older ones, make sure to put thecookies in the oven, I’m going to shut the door and help Yura find Alisher.’Otabek walked around the kitchen island, extending his arms for Arman as hewent, shifting so he was perched on the side of his hips and using his freehand to hold Yuri’s, squeezing it in an attempt to comfort him.

‘Where were you all playing, Yura?’ Otabek’s voice wasalways the same, deep and rumbling, but whenever he was around children it tookon a softer edge which Yuri and JJ had agreed in secret, was both sexy and toocute for words.

‘In the living room, but I checked there and the surroundingrooms. Oh god, how did this happen, I thought she could only crawl! There is noway she could move that quickly crawling. I was honestly hoping she did magicallyfind you guys in the kitchen. Beka, I’m sorry I lost your baby sister, sh-crap I’mhorrible.’ Yuri was whining and babbling as they walked around the lower floorof the three story house.

‘It’s okay Yura, deep breaths, she will be fine. She must bedoing what the twins did when they first started walking, because there arealways so many eyes on them they didn’t walk unless no one was watching them.It was strange behaviour but they grow out of it after a couple of months andthen started running everywhere… it was almost worse. My guess is Alisher isjust doing the same thing… Actually, I bet I know where she is.’

It was both shocking and adorable how much Otabek talkedwhen he came to his family. It had taken Yuri and JJ months to get Otabekcomfortable enough to use more then a few sentences at a time with them but oncehe trusted them, if it was about his family, Otabek couldn’t say enough aboutthem.

Otabek had suddenly turned on the spot in front of what Yuriwas fairly sure was one of the older sibling’s room before passing Arman backto Yuri.

The door read “keep out” but it wasn’t closed properly andwith a light push, it opened.

Yuri had to stifle a laugh when he walked in. Plastered allover the walls was every single one of his friends in their skating gear: theold man, the hag, the piggy, the sex fiend, the Italian twins, Otabek, JJ andYuri himself, along with many more.

Otabek smirked at him when he saw Yuri looking around, ittugged slightly at Yuri’s heart that he was accepted in this family even beforehe walked through the door. Otabek had told JJ and Yuri only about a thousandtimes before they ever visited and it had been proved from the very firstmeeting but seeing their relationship on display so simply was completelydifferent.

Above the dressed on the far wall was three posters, alloverlaying slightly, of Yuri, JJ and Beka in their finishing poses to piecesfrom a few years back and over it was drawn a very large and misshaped loveheart.

Yuri was startled when his eyes were drawn away from theimage to the sound of baby babbles as Otabek bent down and retrieved Alisher.She was sitting in a pile of dirty laundry and clutching a teddy larger thenherself, that looked older than Otabek.

‘I knew it! Found you, cheeky monkey!’ Alisher giggled asOtabek lifted her above his head before blowing a raspberry into her belly. ‘Everyonealways wants Ed.’ Otabek sighed before turning back to a mildly confused Yuri.

‘What in the hell is an Ed?’ Yuri stuttered out as theyexited the bedroom.

‘This-’ Otabek pointed to the larger-then-Alisher teddybear. ‘-His names Ed and he was mine to begin with but for whatever reason,every Altin falls in love with him and attempts to claim him as their own. Iknew Rayana always pinches it back when she gets the chance but it’s meant tobe Alisher’s right now and apparently she had to go find it herself.’

Otabek laughed as Alisher showed off Ed to Yuri and Armanbefore clutching it back into her own tiny fists and buried her face into it.

‘That is both ridiculous and adorable.’ Yuri sighed beforelooking up at his other boyfriend as they entertain the kitchen.

‘Just like the both of you then.’

[konstantinwrites]

Treasures from the Roof of the Insurmountable, Part 2

Old Man Warming Himself (Vincent Van Gogh)

On we dodder...

37: On My Way by Omar Naber (Slovenia) (Returnee, 2005)

I like the Gmail chat message noises that Omar lined his chorus with. Bww-ling. Bww-pling. Instead of staring at my palms and thinking of something to say about “On My Way”, I end up checking my inbox, tabbing over to Livescore for soccer match updates, forgetting about my task and looking at thumbnails of upset Pep Guardiola from when possession stats just didn’t turn into goals. All of a sudden, I’m 40 seconds into my next track on Spotify, “On The Regular” by Shamir, and I’m imagining how sharp and voluptuous of a Eurovision entry it would be. Omar Naber’s “On My Way” is a great song.

“I do not dignify this schadenfreude with comment.”

Omar Naber has a good voice. Unfortunately, it’s not a voice which is well suited to this song – especially when it comes to the modulation and the big finish, where it seems like he struggles to deliver. “On My Way” itself is a fairly standard power ballad, and the live performance is fairly stale and doesn’t really capture attention. All in all, I don’t think it’s a good song, nor do I think it is a bad one. I do, however, find it a forgettable song.

Rebecca Milne

36: Grab The Moment by JOWST (Norway)

The looping “ki-ki-kill tonight” stab lines sound terrific, and the glitchy on-screen visuals and color scheme are rad. It’s constant electronica here and it tries to be low-key and likable. That would be nice, if the listener was rewarded. As it is, JOWST refuse to take a simple risk. Leading into the chorus, the rising volume and fastening beat signal that complicated emotion, “fun”, even if Norwegian based fun. The vocal-led choruses are pallidly disappointing. What we get is trudging downtempo, like DJs mixing Spandau Ballet songs into their music, but unmemorably. The rising-pitch bridge at 2:16 is lame and discomforting, too, with all low bass key notes like Super Hans on the keyboard.

There are a lot of electronica based songs at Eurovision each year, but EDM is still a rarity. Visually, at least, JOWST can expand Eurovision’s palate. Aurally, I wish they’d provided a higher band of emotion than Arman from Terrace House talking about becoming a firefighter at some point sometime.

I like this song a lot. It’s not necessarily the strongest entry this year, but it is likely to be memorable since it is breaking the mould of songs falling into a few genres. The melody is repetitive, but the performance manages to grab attention despite this. The main concern here is whether the live performance of the pre-recorded backing vocals and samples do the song justice.

Rebecca Milne

35: Hey Mamma by Sunstroke Project (Moldova) (Returnee, 2010)

They’re great on stage and a practical tool for Eurovision, producers able to fit this funk dance pop in between ballads that are probably better, but that probably don’t have saxophone. Yes, it’s with sax, like before. “Hey Mamma” is a lot better live, particularly because they can’t play their music video on stage, which is “Stacy’s Mom”, but shit. Linked in title.

When I don’t have enough money for travel, I give Sunstroke Project tapes to share-taxi drivers as payment. If you insert a “Hey Mamma” disc into the CD tray of your local eastern european minibus, you get to ride for free for the season.

Hey I actually enjoyed this one! Thank you, Moldova!

When I first heard that saxophone, I didn’t know whether to feel positively or negatively, but ultimately it reminds me of other European hits (see Alexandra Stan, “Mr. Saxobeat”) and I feel that Sunstroke Project only did good things by incorporating it into “Hey Mamma”. Musically sound and danceable, if I was switching radio channels in my car and “Hey Mamma” came on, I would let it play to finish.

I really enjoyed the music video - there’s a 1960s vibe going on with whatever filter they slapped over the lens or added during the editing process. This makes itself evident when Sunstroke Project’s girlfriend cracks two eggs together while sensually baking a cake. The LED violinist playing in a dimly lit, cable-filled room is also highly appreciated.

I feel that Moldova let themselves have a little more fun with their entry, producing an upbeat, enjoyable, lyrically understandable song with a humorous music video. It definitely feels like a breath of fresh air when compared to other Eurovision entries. I may even listen to it again for my own personal enjoyment, while sending good vibes out to Moldova for their success.

Patty Ritter

34: Dance Alone by Jana Burčeska (F.Y.R. Macedonia)

Congratulations to Jana on getting engaged during Semifinal 2! That was crazy! She also sang this monotonous nothing of a song. That wasn’t so crazy.

This one has a catchy 80s chorus. The lyrics are less filthy and less clever than Billy Idol's "Dancing With Myself", but it must be an inspiration. I can imagine dancing to this at a late hour. I like it well enough for a fun, forgettable ditty. 7/10.

Philip Piatt

33: Running On Air by Nathan Trent (Austria)

Look, this is the kind of iPhone case-with-a-stars-and-universe-design saccharinity that "Running On Air” is: I thought that Nathan is refusing to say the word “chest”. At 1:15 I thought that he is singing, “Whatever you want, whatever you need, you gotta get it off your chest.” (Except with a cute bloop noise covering up “chest”.)

But it’s not the chest. It’s, “You gotta get off your ass” that he won’t finish, which, hey, let’s take it easy here, boys, we’ve all just had a bit too much. Nathan doesn’t want to be the baddest blonde in town, I understand, although he does get fucking wild with, “Hey now, if you let me drown I’ll swim like a champion”, a scenario where his lifeless body rolls around on the seafloor better than any other mafia victim. That’s a victory and hell yes you’ll count it.

“Running On Air” is able to capture zero aspects of genuine human experience, but that’s okay for the day. It’s empty and it’s lovely and it’s not quite ass.

An early version of the song.

Every day brings moments that are better and some that are worse; now and then things suck all day, the low points sinking beneath the surface of water. “Struggle” is the background, here, and the solution will be a combination of indifference — “But I don’t care” — and determination — “I’ll get up again”. Along the way, “People who were there to believe in me” appear for moral support, but this person intends to be the hero of his own triumphs.

Christy Wareham