#arya's got the mic

[logaenhowlett]

well i just saw the news. disappointed in the way things turned out. but i’ll still be writing for logan - at least that man wouldn’t do shit like this.

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Shotglass (Short) (Eldest)

(Rough, not reread, quick word vomit when the idea came to me.)

Set in the extended timeline where there's a few days between Ajihad's funeral and leaving for Ellesmera. Eragon and Saphira are still grappling with the loss of Murtagh, so Brom and Arya take the duo to the Varden's traveling bar run by an old friend of the elf's. Since Arya is technically off duty, she decides to indulge a bit and order a bit of alcohol, leading to the reinstatement of a very old rule.

~~~~~

“Is this really necessary in front of Eragon and Saphira?” 

“You know the rules.” Brom chided. He gestured with a crooked finger, eyes crinkled at the edges and stern. 

Arya stifled the aggravated sigh that was rapidly building in her throat. She hadn’t had to suffer this song and dance for a long while, even by her standards. Glen and Fäolin hadn’t particularly cared, they trusted her judgment and knew she had a firm grasp on her limitations. 

But Brom? She honestly thought he was just showing off at this point.

Though, whether it was showing off her deference to him– a deference not of fear or respect for the chain of command but built off their years of work together and her true respect of his opinion, mind you– in front of Eragon and Saphira, or him showing off the tricks and casual abilities of his wild child former ward, Arya hadn’t decided yet. 

Still. He had asked nicely. Even if she wasn’t on duty, she’d do as he asked. Ridiculous as it was. 

The elf crouched slightly and allowed the old Rider to delicately place the shotglass atop her head. 

Eragon watched, dark eyes filled with their usual curiosity. Flickers of thought passed through the air, images, sights, sounds, before he perked up with a cracked grin that split his face like joyous lightning. 

“Drunk elf detector.” He giggled to himself and spun around on the squeaky stool Coop had cleaned off just for him. From outside, her bulk too much for the bar just barely holding together at the seams, the raking cough of draconic chuckling rattled the dusty windows panes. Saphira’s snout peeked in through the doorway, taking in the sight with her own eyes before another ruk-ruk chorus filled her throat. 

Brom stepped back to check his handiwork. “And an effective one at that. The second that glass falls, she's cut off for the night.”

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” Arya mumbled, slipping into her usual seat. The shotglass balanced on her head didn't wobble in the slightest. Coop already had her usual waiting, the former Combat Engineer having disappeared off to the back to prepare for the night’s usual rabble. “You realize you’re going dry tonight?”

A sour expression colored Brom’s face. “Don’t remind me, girl.”

Gentle, a tug pulled at the thread she left open in her mental defenses. Arya allowed her former mentor in, taking a sip of her drink as Eragon began chattering about the tavern in his hometown. 

‘It’s worth it.’ The old man rumbled in her mind, soft and affectionate in a way she so rarely heard from him. He couldn’t hide it here, not completely. She could almost read him like a book after so long, and he had stopped trying to keep her from his true feelings when they spoke this way. ‘Worth it to see him smile again.’

‘I’ll drink to that, old man.’

[dreaminghelaena]

asoiaf characters as youtubers

cersei: she is the CRAZIEST mukbanger ever. always has some new drama to talk about and it’s very very interesting so she has millions of subscribers. you know that meme of azealia banks’ internet feuds list? yeah that’s cersei. she’s beefed with everyone on the platform and never makes any apology videos for it. she’s had the channel since before she gave birth to joffrey and it’s still going strong. she sometimes does sponsorships but only for wine companies

tyrion: he is the vsauce of asoiaf youtube. does a lot of videos about scientific theories and experiments that get a lot of views. sometimes has drama with people but it’s not very often. he did a face reveal once he got to 3 mil and people edited picsart flower crowns onto his head and made it their pfp, so his comments are just filled with those. sometimes does his own experiments but they always end up going wrong

margaery: she does a lot of makeup tutorials!! she makes sure to use easily accessible drugstore makeup products so people can follow along. she has a couple million subscribers and is renowned as the most non-toxic makeup youtuber of all time. tried to collab with cersei but cersei didn’t show up. she also used to be a nail tech so she has a master class on that

theon: OMGGG theon is THE internet gossip youtuber ever. he’ll literally be pumping out videos about feuds hours after they started. some call him shady cause of the types of videos he makes but he doesn’t care cause he’s having fun. he also has a twitch gaming streaming channel and he is the Jerma of his universe there. he sucks at the games and does not know anything about gaming consoles or the best mics/cameras etc so he has to get computer science™ major jon to help him

sansa: sansa is a fashion design major in nyc so of COURSE she is posting lifestyle vlogs. she started the whole channel because she was featured in a few of margaery’s videos and people kept asking for her to make her own. but she is also very careful with her privacy cause she’s scared of someone finding her. she also has a second channel where she posts sims 4 videos and it’s super chill and fun over there

arya: arya’s really into self defense so she mostly posts tutorials and videos about that. she’s super super helpful in the comments but will insult people brutally when provoked. her genre isn’t as popular as the others so she has a couple hundred thousand (very loyal) subscribers. she also has a secret second channel that only has around 10k subs and everyone there gatekeeps tf out of it. she posts roblox and fortnite videos with her siblings that are really funny and entertaining. all of the girls in the comments are thirsting for robb 😭

jon: jon doesn’t post very much but when he does post it’s minecraft videos. most of the time sam is in them and sometimes robb will make an appearance but he has no idea what is going on. jon posts minecraft builds and he has his own smp (is that what they call it????) he’ll occasionally post videos about playing choices matter games like detroit become human and until dawn. sometimes ppl go ??? because during his minecraft build videos he traumadumps in the background instead of just putting on music or smth. he doesn’t show his face tho cause he’s afraid of getting made fun of

myrcella and tommen: ok they have a super secret channel that only has around 1,000 subscribers where they post videos of their cat. that’s all. people in the comments are super sweet and myrcella and tommen make an effort to respond to all of them. their videos only get like 230 views each time they post but they don’t really care they’re having fun

renly and loras: they’re posting relationship vlogs and stuff but they don’t have a filter so sometimes they talk about really nsfw stuff and get in trouble for it. they’re mostly known for their travel vlogs but they also do videos about drama in their lives that is literally insane. like once renly casually brought up how his brother almost killed him during a ouija board game and loras is like “mhm mhm” but all of the comments are ???? margaery collabs with them all of the time too

bran: 3am challenges.

[creganofhousestark]

(Screenshots because I’m one hundred percent sure i will be blocked for stating facts that go against the op’s headcanons if i were to reblog my opinions under their post and then will proceed to rant away about the eViL aRyA sTaNs whose crime is, well, reading the books, you know?)

So, i had the misfortune of coming across this one post by @agentrouka-blog when i was going through the main tags and, god! The amount of bs i have to wade through in the name of fandom experience is concerning at this point.

Whenever did Sansa cover for Arya? When she was declaring her as a traitor to a bloodthirsty Cersei Lannister that it was her sister with the traitor’s blood and not her after her father’s imprisonment? Or when she threw Arya under the bus at Trident?

“She blames Sansa for things she never did” dude there was never one moment where Arya blamed Sansa for things she never did. Hell, Arya didn’t blame Sansa enough. Guess it’s time to reread AGoT lol. Sansa “it’s your butcher boy’s fault for dying because he attacked the prince” is blameless y’all *mic drop*

“Violently attacks her because that’s her opportunity to blow off steam after a traumatic 4 days” yes because your sister is basically accusing of treason when the reason behind her actions was purely defense. Apparently you must be level headed in the face of your your sister refusing to be honest in a moment when the outcome (which is Mycah living or dying) depends on her word. If Sansa’s really as smart and intelligent as stansas claim then Joffrey’s actions at the Trident should’ve opened her eyes. Ned was the Hand of the King, the King’s BFF. She was under no pressure to maintain diplomacy. Hell, Ned was right by her side, reassuring her and encouraging her to speak her truth. What would’ve happened if she were honest? The betrothal would’ve been called off? Ned would’ve lost his spot at worst? Big loss, the North would have minded it’s own business as usual….and Sansa’s southern dreams would have shattered. In that moment Sansa chose her dreams and fantasies over her sister and remain blind to the kind of a monster Joffrey was.

Moreover, being focused and worried about herself and her desires is not necessarily a flaw, Sansa’s just more human. She’s got five heroes to compete against, which is why she may appear more flawed than Arya. But honestly it’s all subjective. Arya’s character is simply rich and has a hell lot more depth, that’s all.

Mostly Ned’s favouritism BRO NED CHOSE TO GIVE UP THE HONOUR HE VALUED hell he chose a traitor’s death for her and, goddammit there’s not one moment where he favoured one over the other. Do not talk about the damned flowers scene in Sansa I, Ned would’ve grinned and thanked Sansa for the same bleeding flowers. Sansa was just pissed that Ned didn’t reprimand his child for behaving like a typical 9 year old child. Which, nobility or no, is quite common in that society. Hell, we have textual evidence of Catelyn playing with LF and Lysa making mud pies at 12. It’s almost as if Sansa can’t stand anything short of Sansa 2.0 from her sister.

Arya’s miles better. Just ask GRRM. He wrote the books.

Anyways, thanks agentrouka for reminding me how brilliant of a writer George Martin is. The man picked stereotypical heroes and gave their stories not-so-stereotypical twists as their arcs progressed. An exiled powerless princess who earned it all and more through her blood sweat and tears, a non conformist noblewoman who’s gone through an extraordinary number of trials, a powerful noble dwarf unwanted by his own blood, a disabled boy with unparalleled magical potential and a bastard from two powerful, magical families who was practically thrown aside.

[gendryamas]

by @welt-verbessererin

Student x Professor AU

"It's like we're in highschool, except this is a University." 

"I don't really feel like a schoolboy when I'm with you."

Gendry is trying very hard not to bump into any broomsticks, but Arya doesn’t seem to care. She pulls him towards her with both hands on his collar and presses closer, which almost causes him to stumble and he has to let go of her waist to brace himself on the wall in front of him. Recovering quickly, he matches her energy, firmly grasping her butt cheek and making the most of the small space of the supply closet. Contrary to her physical actions, Arya reminds him that they have class. “We're gonna be late." 

Gendry pecks her on the tip of her nose, "Pain in the ass."

“Careful, Mr. Waters.”

Two minutes later, they enter the lecture hall an appropriate number of steps apart, hoping they don’t look like they’ve been making out in a supply closet, and when Gendry turns to sit down in of the first rows, Arya isn't behind him anymore. Instead, she has taken her place at the front, stepping behind the lectern and adjusting the mic to her height. 

Watching her from afar, Gendry notices her lipstick is slightly smudged. The next time they make eye contact, because they always do, he inconspicuously rubs along his bottom lip. Arya understands and mimics the gesture, managing to make it look natural, asking with her eyes if she got everything. He lets her know she did and she commences with the lecture.

Getting his degree in his thirties was the best decision of his life.

[madamebaggio]

Notes: This isn't related to any of my previous snippets. It's just something short and sweet.

***

Robb cleared his throat as he held the mic in front of his mouth. “Good evening, everyone. I’m Robb, the best-man and the bride’s brother.”

“Hi, Robb!” Many voices called back, and someone wolf whistled -probably Theon.

“Sansa was the first of many -many- younger siblings I’d get eventually, and she was a cute baby, even though the patch of red hair made her look a bit like a tomato.” Laughter all around. “She was also a bit annoying as a teenager, but at least she wasn’t setting the house on fire like Arya. But the one thing that Sansa has always been is immensely kind and loyal.”

He turned his eyes to his sister. “I feel that -at times- we didn’t appreciate it as much as we should’ve, and we took her for granted, but Sansa is a rock.” He was looking directly at her as he said that. “She only became stronger with time, and now she’s this beautiful bride and I couldn’t feel prouder of her.”

Sansa had tears in her eyes as she looked at her brother.

“Now, that fucker…” Robb turned to the groom, making the whole room explode in laughter.

“ROBB STARK! Language!” Cat screeched at her son.

“I met Arthur in University, where we became friends almost immediately.” Robb raised his glass to Arthur, who repeated the gesture. “And the first time I invited him to our house for Easter, he took a look at Sansa and said: ‘We’re going to be brothers’. And I asked him ‘why?’ to which he replied: ‘because I’m going to marry your sister’.”

Laughter all around again, because they all knew that Arthur would’ve definitely said something like that. “And I said: ‘it’s never going to happen, because my sister is way too smart to fall for you’.” Robb gave Sansa a flat look that made her explode in giggles. “And you know what? She is smart. Smart enough to see how good he was. To look beyond his reputation, and see the great guy he actually was. So yeah, Sansa is still smart as hell. And I guess you were right, Arthur: we’re brothers now.”

Arthur covered his mouth with his fist, while Sansa rested her head on his shoulder.

“I’m happy that we got here.” Robb told the others. “That Sansa found someone that knows how amazing she is, and that Arthur is with someone that knows he is great. As much as it pained me as a big brother seeing those two flirting all the time before they finally decided to get together, I couldn’t imagine two people more perfect for each other: you’re both smart, kind and hard working.”

“And hot!” Arthur called from his place.

Robb rolled his eyes as people laughed again. “Welcome to the family, Arthur. We’re really happy to have you here.” He narrowed his eyes. “But we’ll still fucking kill you if you hurt her.”

“ROBB!”

Applauses all around, and Robb could finally get drunk and party (and hopefully sleep with the maid of honor).

[atopvisenyashill]

sidebar- listening to a podcast about this season of survivor w two former players (it was rob cesternino and cassidy clarke, if u watch survivor) and there’s a player on this season, venus, who’s been the outcast for a while, but last few weeks all her opps have walked out one by one and rob goes “i think she’s got kind of an arya stark arc going on” and before he could finish cassidy whispers into her mic “she’s no one” it was hilarious aksjd (he meant as in venus is going through her kill list and might get to the end alive) ANYWAYS-

some changes i’ve noticed

i feel like part of why the series stumbles is bc it doesn’t discuss lyanna as much as it should. having that added “we’ll talk about your mother when i return” scene right before robert & ned’s talk about jon snow’s mother And the targaryens was really good tho, narratively linking the two concepts.

HOWEVER i think like rhaegar & robert, d&d saw lyanna more as a puzzle than a person, but the whole point of lyanna is that she was a living breathing girl to ned and her death completely wrecks him in an irreparable way. so when they cut out his entire milk of the poppy dream sequence later on, it cuts out that she wasn’t just the answer to a riddle of “who was jon snow’s mother” but instead an integral part of the narrative whose absence defines the people ned and jon become. but i’m getting ahead of myself bc they haven’t actually changed anything here yet and the scene where ned and robert stop to talk is really good and more or less what happens in the book aksjdj.

i don't understand why they don't have catelyn thank summer for saving her and bran from the assassin. just another mind boggling decision and weird, unnecessary departure from cat's character

another unnecessary change is taking away ned’s fashionista tendencies smFh they don’t get nedcat at all

the way jaime is like oh ned is gonna be my bestie we’re gonna trade war stories we’re gonna flirt i’ll tell him about his brother’s gruesome death and he’ll be so grateful he’ll become MY best friend instead of robert’s and meanwhile ned is like, openly snarling the whole speech. the way ned’s mouth drops open at the GALL of jaime to say killing aerys felt like justice and jaime looks DEVASTATED and PERPLEXED that this man hates him so much when they’ve talked twice aksjdjd

okay first of all I DO IN FACT GET THE CHANGE of having bran say he had to have fallen whole robb insists he never falls, and we all know this scene lives forever in my mind but i also think it’s a) another weird departure from bran’s canon, very stubborn character and b) a PALE imitation of the talk in the dark between robb & bran where they say they’ll go on an adventure

that said, there’s something that Really fucks me up about the North having this culture wherein the sick and disabled are sent out in the winter to fight and die because they’re not like, worth feeding, but at the same time As A Disabled Person i guess finding it almost enticing to be given to the chance to like Die For A Reason ya know. you always have that out. And then here’s poor sweet Bran who it just never occurred to him that he would have to take that out and now it’s all he wants. anyways i’m crying ig

it’s the stubborn streak in him. he doesn’t want platitudes, he doesn’t want to be strong. his whole life has changed for the worse and he just needs to sit in it. it’s not fair and it all sucks and he’s just a kid!!!

the robert and barristan scene is another good one and it’s bc it plays into robert’s character, really elevates the elephant in the room of rhaenys & aegon, and the way barristan is just. disgusted. standing there consumed with loathing for everything he’s become, refusing to engage with being a driving force for why everything is this way. dragging jaime in to humiliate him in front of barristan, to humiliate barristan in front of jaime. the way barristan almost reaches out to jaime emotionally in a way he refuses to reach out to robert, but robert only gets angry and picks at them more.

“he said the same thing he’d been saying for hours. ‘burn them all.’” OH NOW ITS NOT SO FUN ANYMORE IS IT WISE GUY

gonna be honest i think the weapon talk between jorah and rakharo is one of the sexiest scenes in the show, listening to two dudes who are hit in REALLY different ways talk about their favorite ways of murdering people is really fun and hot to me also elyes gabel and amrita acharia were wasted on this show, they would have killed in later seasons smh

i don’t understand why they made the drogo storyline like a REAL TYPICAL sort of rape romance story. what was the point if they were just gonna be ~in love~ at the end anyway. such a weird choice.

do i love the change from “fear cuts deeper than swords” to “what do we say to the god of death”? like it’s fine. they should have kept both if they liked that line so much. the actor who plays syrio is so good tho he’s got such great chemistry with maisie, you really understand why syrio impacts her so much

that ending close up on ned’s trauma face is so good it’s such a shame they CUT THE DREAM SEQUENCE WHERE WE FINALLY UNDERSTAND WHY NED IS LOSING IT WATXGING ARYA GET FAKE STABBED IN THE GUT. ITS FINE. IM FINE.

general thoughts

“it’ll get easier” jorah is a useless binch just like aemon the dragonknight. what’s the point of your sword if you don’t kill your girl’s evil husband. go fall on it shithead.

i do love that jorah is like “ned is a little bitch for trying to behead me for slavery even tho it’s been illegal in westeros for like hundreds of years. but also maybe having a king that allows behavior like that is kinda crazy actually bc viserys is not right in the head. i’m not gonna reflect on that at all tho” iain glenn the actor that you are.

love the lannister breakfast scene. the way tyrion clearly knows but is pointedly talking around it. jaime thinks tyrion is the height of comedy and wants them to have a nice breakfast but cersei leaves haughtily halfway through even tho tommen & myrcella are having a good time. the Loaded Look jaime gives tyrion during the “life is full of possibilities” line, where he like,,,, Almost realizes Tyrion is saying something to him here emotionally about being disabled before he puts it aside to be self involved about the incest.

kit’s acting is always several degrees of magnitude better when he’s with other starklings. idk if he’s trying harder or if maisie sophie and isaac are so good they infect him with acting abilities.

there’s something fun about the cycles continuing bc joffrey gets drunk & belligerent like his father has a thousand times, but he doesn’t have half the skill or charm as his father and just gets his ass completely handed to him by a practical toddler with zero training. and he’s so embarrassed it helps snowball this situation into a war.

the kid who plays micah is real awkward. i'm not bullying i'm just saying.

“we all pray for prince joffrey’s full recovery” “pity you didn’t spare a prayer for the butcher’s boy” GET HIS ASS

have i mentioned how much i hate aiden’s acting. oh my god i’m not gonna get through this rewatch aksjsj

“war was easier than daughters” ned every emotion you’ve ever felt is harder to deal with than the war that’s why you’re so fucked in the head be so fucking fr with me rn lmao

septa mordane is a terrible guardian i think this can’t be understated

“she must take his side even when he is wrong” “but how could you let her marry someone like that?” GET HIS ASS

bran literally shivering with fear as nan talks my baby!!!!!!!!

“ah the starks. quick tempers. slow minds.” CAN WE SKIP THE EVIL VILLAIN MONOLOGUES TO THE CAMERA PLEASE

“i think we can outfox a ten year old” jaime you couldn’t even kill that ten year old correctly let’s walk before we run

nedcat giggling over ned throttling petyr and then making out in front of petyr’s establishment is amazing i’m literally so depressed right now i hope petyr cried into his pillow that night

the way both ned AND benjen just give the most ass goodbyes to jon for no good reason. are they TRYING to give him a complex oh my god

i think i’m on episode 4. once i get past season one i think it’ll be easier when the writing gets worse actually.

[modern-inheritance]

*clears throat*

I might have to borrow these for later fanart of Arya and Faolin and late MIC her and Eragon.

Iunno, man. She attracts a type. *eyebrow wiggle* She ain't got any idea how, why, what, where, but somehow...these two found her. Our dumbass, dense demi.

couples themed photoshoots and old romance films have such a Grip on me they're all so destian and it makes me unwell LIKE

LIIIIIIIIIKE

[logaenhowlett]

self care is checking the logan howlett x reader tag 27 times a day

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Reunion (Complete)

(A/N: Here's the entire fic for the reunion between Arya and Glenwing in Ellesméra. There's additional A/N stuff on the original posts but y'all can find them if you'd like to.)

~~~~

The bustle of activity and near constant rush of people passed by in a blur. Arya let the crowd flow around her, sinking away from the main crush. She settled a few paces behind her mother where the queen was conversing with Däthedr, silent and watchful as she always had been. 

She was glad that Saphira and Eragon took most, if not all, the attention away from her. After that whirlwind of political and personal business, Arya didn’t feel much like talking to anyone. Such situations always put her on edge, and after so long away the combat liaison was finding it increasingly difficult to hold her tongue and remain the polite and proper diplomat she pretended to be in the pines.

So instead of mingling, Arya settled into an ingrained At Ease stance and began watching the gathered elves. Well, not as much the elves. Brom was her main target. The man had been all but forgotten in the rush, just as he had planned, and he sat at a table nursing a tankard of faelnirv. Yes, an entire tankard. To himself. Because that would end well. As the hour went on Arya contemplated asking her mentor for his shortsword and rifle. There’d be hell to pay if Oromis had to come down early to corral his former student yet again.  

Oromis. Arya suppressed a wince; facing him was just as daunting as facing her mother. He wouldn’t have left the world unwatched while the queen wallowed in her self pity. He and Glaedr had to have know about Eragon, Saphira, Brom. Their madcap running around the Empire. Farthen Dûr.

And he would know about Arya. And Gil’ead. She hoped he hadn’t seen too much of that. 

For a split second Arya smelled wet concrete and tasted copper and iron. The lilting music and bubbly voices smothered down to a low drone, a buzz that dug into her ear as the suddenly harsh light flickered. 

Behind her back she felt her hands involuntarily snap into white knuckled fists, nails digging deep into her palms. Her wrists burned, fingers tingling with sharp pins and needles as the wet fire encircled the ruined skin and rusted steel bit in deep–

It took a breath, a blink. A shaking thumb subtly run over the dark swathe of scar tissue under the cuff of her combat jacket sleeve. Feeling the half rumpled and half silky repairs to her body. 

The world snapped back into focus in time for Arya to mumble a returned greeting as another elf brushed past. She bit her tongue for real this time. ‘Damn recall.’

The night dragged on, and while the rest of Ellesméra whirled and danced Arya could not help but feel rooted in place, stationary in both time and movement. It felt…wrong. She was no stranger to solitude, that was certain, but for some reason standing there, alone despite the sea of people, felt off. 

The hollow feeling in her chest intensified. Ellesméra felt leagues bigger without them there.

Her bitter musings were interrupted by a violent yank on her arm. 

Everything in her body snapped taut as Arya whirled, letting the attacker’s motion turn her as she brought up both fists. The momentum carried her raising arm up to lock against the inner elbow of the man that was now grabbing at her shoulders, ready to throw him off and slam him in the jaw with her free palm. He had both shoulders now, fingers tightening, one hand impossibly hard and cold–

Golden eyes caught her movements, freezing her in place. The entire world dropped away.

Arya couldn’t breathe. The dead man held her at arms length, his brow furrowed and silver hair still settling around his face from where it had escaped his ponytail. His eyes, they had always seen past whatever she said and found what she meant to say, searched her face with the intensity of a hunting dragon. 

He had looked at her like that before, though not quite so intently. Every time she did something so remarkably stupid, like throw an artillery shell back over the trench wall, curl around a grenade to absorb its destruction into her wards, stuck her hand in a Broddring cannon, or, the worst offense of all, go without sleep in favor of double watch shifts and nights disappeared without a word beside their other companion. Always looking out for her. For them. 

The last time she had seen his face it was planted in the dirt, blood pooling and trickling towards open golden eyes as they stared unseeing into the darkness, before the swarm of Urgals had blocked her view.

And now he was looking at her, bright, alert, and with so much fear and disbelief and hope and who the hell knows what else because Glenwing of House Svanran, healer and medic and best friend and dead man walking, was holding her by the shoulders and trying just as desperately as she to figure out if the person in front of him was really, truly alive. 

“...Glen?” Arya half choked, the last air in her lungs used to voice her disbelief. She could barely hear it over the noise around them.

At her uttering of his name Glenwing suddenly seized her face in his hands and let out a cracked laugh. Tears spilled from his eyes as he half cried, half laughed, “Spirits, it is you!” 

And his arms were pulling her in and around her and hugging impossibly tight. 

Arya didn’t hesitate, hugging him back fiercely and holding on, unwilling to let go in case he too slipped away like the other memories. Something snapped inside her chest and in her throat as she let out a broken laugh of her own. “You’re alive! You’re alive!” 

They stayed like that for what felt like ages, relief flowing off of them like a waterfall with tears of joy and disbelief. They weren’t alone anymore. 

It must have been a full minute before the world around them became important again, and Arya reluctantly pulled back. “We should,” She broke off and wiped her eyes, cleared her throat before speaking again without the tremor in her voice. “We should probably go….” 

“Good call.” 

With a small gesture Arya caught her mother’s eye. When the queen inclined her head slightly the two reunited elves snapped their heels together and bowed, knocking their right knuckles to their left collarbones in acknowledgement before all but bolting to the edge of the crowded grove. Here, at least, it was quiet but for a low murmur of the gathered people and a soft thread of the music through the trees. No one would be looking out to the forest, not with something as amazing as Eragon and Saphira at the center of attention, and here Arya and Glenwing would have a modicum of privacy to talk.

It was Arya’s turn to take Glen by the shoulders, and she shook her head with another chuckle past the lump in her throat. “You fucking bastard.” They shared a laugh again. “You absolute bastard. I saw you die. And I never thought….”

“You’re complaining about me?” Glenwing beamed, wiping away tears with his right hand. “All those times I told you not to go running off and get yourself killed, and then I figure that you’ve gone and finally done it.” 

“Hey, I was doing my job!”

“You always say that.” 

“I actually was this time!”

After a few moments of excited chatter, Arya felt cold seeping back into the warm relief that seeing Glenwing had brought. Already knowing the answer, she looked out to the dark pines that hid from the celebration’s light. “Hey, I uh…” She blinked, cleared her throat as best she could past the returning lump. “I take it…you’re my only surprise tonight, huh?” When Glen shifted uneasily, Arya felt a pang of regret at her phrasing and shot him a weak grin. “Not that you’re underappreciated or any–”

Glenwing’s jaw tightened, and for a moment Arya saw his throat convulse as he swallowed. His voice was steady, though, when he gently, grimly, replied, “I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. Didn’t say anything for a long, painful minute. “I couldn’t have ever asked for either of you to survive that. Couldn’t even think, imagine, hope, whatever.” Arya waved a hand vaguely, unable to put her feelings into words. “But, shit, Glen. We’ve done so much dangerous, wild–”

“Insane?” That grin was back, tinged with sadness but filled with a familiar wild undertone that everyone in their little fyrn breoal held. 

“Insane!” Arya added with a laugh. “Everything we’ve done and everything we shouldn’t have survived…. I’m just happy you made it out. That we made it out. And look! We did it, we found them!” She pointed towards Saphira’s glittering form in the midst of the crowd that felt so far away. “Let’s just…let’s celebrate that right now. Celebrate him. Shit, can you imagine the ruckus he’d make? We did it! We finally did it.” She couldn’t hide the tangle of elation and relief that broke through the pain. This is what they had all been fighting for, together, for decades. Fäolin would want them to have that, to feel the joy for him.

A commotion drew their attention. Elves were returning from the cookfires, arms laden with dishes and bowls and platters. The sight made both the medic and the combat liaison stiffen somewhat, knowing that their brief time to reacquaint themselves was drawing to a quick end. 

Arya let out a short huff and drew herself up, steeling herself for the rabble again. “Alright. Come on.” Glen grinned when she slapped his arm and seized his face with both hands, squeezing his cheeks. “Have to make sure you’re not some hallucination. Let’s go drink. We’re here. We’re safe.” She slid her hands to his shoulders, began drawing them down his arms in preparation to drag him off to meet the biggest pair of silver linings in history. “We’re in one…”

She trailed off as her right hand slipped down his left arm and stopped short at the bicep. That…that wasn’t….

“Piece?” Words stuck in her throat at the sound of the wry tone in Glen’s voice. He thought he was hiding the ache under that twisted tilt of his lips as her eyes snapped up to his. “Yeah…about that.”

“...Glen, what–”

“Later. I promise.” Without waiting for her protests, Glen slid an arm around his lost commander's shoulders and began walking back to the tables. "Celebrate, right? Introduce me to these two first. Then we drink."

~~~

The door creaked as it slid open, sticking at that same spot as it always had. Arya purposefully kept her eyes down as she closed it, avoiding looking towards her mother where she stood still half stunned outside. Just as she had told the queen, she really wasn’t ready to forgive her, not now. If she met her mother’s gaze there was bound to be a war between exploding at her in buried rage or breaking down after the many emotional hills and valleys of the day.

She made it two steps into the flat, pack already sliding off her arms, when she froze. 

Glen blinked at her from where he was lounging on the couch, just as surprised as she was. 

They stared at each other for a long moment. 

“I uh…” Arya tilted her head slightly. “Wow. Um. I forgot you were alive. And that you’d probably be here.”

The medic blinked again, bewildered, and burst out laughing. “You what?!” 

“It’s been a really, really long day!” Arya threw her pack at him, ignoring the yelp of protest, and dropped onto the opposite end of the couch. 

Glen moved the bag to the floor as his lost commander disentangled herself from her rifle strap, feeling her eyes on him as he leaned back. He wouldn’t admit it, but he too had forgotten that she likely would come back to the flat instead of her long disused room at Tialdarí Hall. He was drained from the night of food and music and emotion, and had trudged home and changed into sleep clothes as soon as he entered, completely oblivious to the possibility of intrusion. 

The loose tanktop, standard issue to Varden soldiers in warm climates, left the metal of his bionic prosthetic on full display, the plating glinting dully in the low werelight. 

They sat in silence for what had to be half an hour, recuperating. Glen made no move to cover the evidence of his missing limb. A niggling feeling in the back of his mind urged him to do so, whispering that she didn’t need guilt on top of everything else. He shushed it, reminded it that he knew that she wasn’t the reason he was down an arm. 

‘But does she know that?’

“...What happened?” Glen rolled his head to look over at Arya, her voice quiet and softer than he remembered she could be. He had tried to lock in the memories of them all together during happy times, wild times, not the times where they had to quietly ask each other if they could keep fighting. “I didn’t…didn’t see where you got hit. I thought it was the chest.”

Glenwing lifted his left arm, the servos drawing power from the precious gems embedded on the insides of the plates whirring almost imperceptibly in the silence. He turned the wrist, tilted the forearm, bent the elbow. Stared at it. “Almost. One went through the bone just above my elbow. Another one got me in the hip.” With two fingers he tapped where the second bullet had entered. “Balan threw me when he got hit and I got knocked out.” 

He inhaled through his nose and bit back a sigh. He could smell pinesmoke again, pungent and heavy. “I think…everything was over when I came around the first time. There was fire but the Urgals were gone. I was cognizant enough to realize I was bleeding out and used the bloodstopper spell to tie off the artery and veins in my arm but…” The fingers made a pleasing series of clicks as he curled them into a fist. “I passed out again. And it was a good bit before I was aware of anything after that.” 

The elves in Vandral, the closest outpost to the edge of Du Weldenvarden where the ambush had occurred, had filled him in as best they could. How they found him half crawling, half dragging himself along the forest floor on their morning patrol. Fäolin’s cold body tied to his own by belts looped across his chest and secured under the dead elf’s arms. The remains of his left arm at and below his now pulverized, shredded elbow hanging on by mutilated muscle. The unmoving fingers white and purple and dusky from lack of blood. The burns on his chest, forearms, knees, thighs, from dragging himself and his long dead brother-in-war and remaining best friend through ashes and embers during the night.

The way he begged them to save Fäolin. Begged them to find her. 

Waking up, his burns healed. His arm–

Pain at his metal wrist ricocheted up to his shoulder. Brought him back.

Glenwing forced the metallic fingers open. “I…I tried to save him.” He dropped both hands to rest limp in his lap, Rhunön’s masterpiece relaying his movements perfectly through metal and crystal. “He was gone before he even hit the ground.”

“I know.” When he looked over Arya was staring past him. “I saw it.” After a moment her eyes cleared, and locked back on him. “Your arm….”

“Bloodstopper worked a little too well, I’m afraid.” He forced a smile. He could still smell the burning pines, but it was fading. Instead it was slowly being replaced by the familiar scent of the worn leather additions on Arya’s combat jacket, gun oil, sharp pine sap and an undertone of gunpowder. It smelled like home, like the Varden, like Arya and Fäolin and decades of companionship and friends. It smelled like safety in their little group. “Rhunön built this for me, though. It works better than the old one!”

Arya shook her head, a touch of a grin on her lips. “I’m sure. She’s outdone herself.” 

“How about you?” Glen didn’t have to know her for over five decades to notice the way Arya changed at the question. Her arms pulled in, the rifle settled across her lap. “What happened to land you with Eragon, Saphira, and Brom of all people?”

Instead of answering him Arya yawned. That was real, he wouldn’t deny that, but she was all too eager to postpone whatever answers she had. “Tell you what,” She stretched and rubbed the back of her neck, massaging a kink out of the muscle that connected to her shoulder. “That’s a story for later. Right now I’m about to pass out on this couch if I don’t get to sleep for a few hours.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” Glen’s voice was lighthearted, but they both could hear the warning under the words. It was clear as day, a promise made decades ago. Don’t hide wounds from your fyrn breoal. Head, heart or body, commander, medic or sniper, the only way to stay alive and keep the others safe was to share. “I’m sure it’s a hell of a story.”

Arya waved at him over her shoulder, already halfway down the hall to the room she had shared with her mate. “Yeah. It’s a real doozy. Goodnight, Glen. You still alive bastard.”

“Goodnight, Arya. Resurrected prodigal wild child.”

She blew a raspberry at him as she closed the door.

Glenwing sat back on the couch, the grin fading. His eyes fell on her discarded pack, stripped of weapons and bedroll, sitting at his feet.

The lock on the strap still accepted his thumbprint. It took only a few moments to find what he sought, buried under a mess kit and a pair of socks stuffed in a worn knit beanie she had acquired nearly twenty years ago from a Surdan merchant. A thick file, stuffed with pictures haphazardly sticking out at odd angles, sticky notes and scratched out shorthand. A scattering of numbers and letters, followed by a bold ‘6’ indicated it was the sixth such file in the series, a collection of war wounds and physical exams and the occasional psych eval that never really counted due to the elvish mind being alien enough to circumvent any human or dwarf made test.

Glen pulled it out and brushed his fingers along the tabs till he found one marked a little over two months ago. He didn’t open it, just let his fingertips linger as he mulled over revealing the contents. 

No. 

She would tell him. 

He left the file on the coffee table. 

~~~

It hadn’t escaped him that she had left her combat jacket on that night. Or that she was wearing it when she came out the next morning. Or the day after that. Or the next six mornings. 

They portioned out their days. Arya would spend the morning drafting reports and debriefs, filling out paperwork to reverse her apparent death and half begrudgingly taking on Brom’s share of more mundane documents as he joined Eragon and Saphira at Oromis and Glaedr’s lessons. They split the evenings, Arya going sometimes to guide Eragon and Saphira around Ellesméra or attempting to mend her fragile relationship with her mother. Other nights she joined Glen for dinner and spent the night remembering the days they spent crawling in trenches and infiltrating camps, Fäolin perched above them in his little nest.

Afternoons, though, were for wandering the pines together, walking aimlessly and just talking. Glen told her about the last months, his recovery and the process of fitting, building and bonding with his new arm. The struggles and the joys of connecting the nerves without further surgery, the excited yelling that earned him a pair of tongs to the face when he finally picked up a mug without shattering it or throwing it into his own teeth. 

The three months he spent without leaving Rhunön’s shop. He didn’t tell her it was because he couldn’t find the courage to face the Queen. 

In turn she told him the entire story of Eragon and Saphira, everything the two had shared and every bit of information Brom would reveal about his and their lives in the village of Carvahall. The Raz’zac, the disastrous first flight, Brom’s near death experience, the young son of Morzan and his surprising allegiance. Glen could tell she glossed over the madcap escape from Gil’ead, their eventual return to the Varden getting a similar treatment along with the post battle recovery under Farthen Dûr. 

He didn’t press for a time. But eventually, he knew he had to.

It was eight days after their impromptu reunion, meandering alone past one of the solitary beech trees that some elf had planted and warded years ago with leaves near dripping with the winking lights of bioluminescent moths, when he finally tried to break through. 

“You know you can take that off, right?” Glen teased, plucking a wrinkled fold on the arm of Arya’s combat jacket. “You’re gonna get more looks than usual if you keep wearing it with those cargos.”

Arya looked down with a frown. “Hey! I think it looks good with these! Green and tan go good together, right?” She had never been much for fashion, or even being all that presentable beyond the occasional inspection back during basic or black tie events for the Varden. At those, all it took was a black dress to get whoever dragged her along off her back, even if she insisted on wearing combat boots with it. 

For a moment she remembered, with some fondness, the first time Fäolin had been forced to join her at a fundraiser in Surda. Teasing him about his slicked back hair, chucking him under the chin to get at the bowtie that was damn near choking him over the starched collar of his borrowed suit. His laugh when she asked him where he had put the backup pistol, her own when he subtly touched the grip of the one strapped to her leg under the dress. “You’re my backup pistol, remember?”

Then it was gone again.

Shaking his head as if his commander were a lost cause, Glenwing peered up from under his brows at the dappled sunlight filtering through the heavy needles above. “Come on. What are you hiding under there?”

“Nothing.” 

The medic closed his eyes with a deep inhale and soft sigh at the deadpan tone, the sharp hint of warning contained in the single word. So it would be like that.

He stopped walking. “Arya.”

“What?” Her momentum had carried her three paces beyond, so she had to stop and turn to him. Her fists were jammed in the pockets of the combat jacket.

“We don’t lie to each other.” He fixed her with that look. The medic look. The look that said ‘I am here to help and if you don’t let me there will be a very difficult road ahead.’ A look that he hadn’t given her for years, decades. 

His heart sank when she cut her eyes away from him. “I don’t…” Arya broke off and rubbed the back of her neck again, fingers digging in roughly. “There’s too much to do. We can worry about it later.”

“You finished the paperwork this morning.” Green eyes slid closed in a quiet, nonverbal curse for telling him that earlier. “You– we –were relieved from guarding Eragon and Saphira days ago, and we won’t be called to that again until they leave. Please.” Movement caught his attention. “Your hands have been shaking since you got back.”

Arya looked down. The tremors had been increasing in frequency since Tarnag. The moments of recall around her wrists always followed their appearance. 

“Arya, you know that I can’t break my oath to you. I can only help you if you allow me. I can’t tell anyone unless you tell me to.” Careful that his approach was seen well before he reached out, Glen touched his commander’s shoulder gently. “I don’t want you to do this alone. I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

And still, she refused to look at him. “You don’t need this on top of everything else.”

“Cut the bullshit.” That got her attention. Glen swore only half as much as the rest of their little squad, and when he did it was usually cause for alarm. No one wanted the man holding their bleeding guts in suddenly swearing out of nowhere. “You’re scared. I understand. And I’m here to help you.”

The accusation made Arya let out a short bark of laughter. At Glen’s raised eyebrow, she merely shook her head, half a twisted grin on her lips. “Ah, Glen. I’m not scared. Nothing really scares me anymore.” Again she let out a short laugh, squinting up into the needles above much like he had and put her hands on her hips. 

He really didn’t expect her explanation. 

“I’ve puked on a shade’s shoes before and lived through the consequences. And I did it again, too. Twice.”

Glenwing stared, bewildered. It took him some seconds to find his words. “...I…I don’t know if you’re joking with me, or if this is your way of saying you’re going to talk about it, or–”

“Oh, I one hundred percent puked on Durza shoes multiple times. That’s one of the things that I like to remember about all that.” Arya was smiling broadly. It didn’t reach her eyes. “If you really want to know,” The smile fell. “I’ll tell you. But later.”

“No.” 

“Glen–”

“I have the file. You know I do.”

Arya closed her eyes in surrender. The file had been sitting on the table for days now, a clear sign to her that he was waiting for her consent to begin the process of unraveling the last nine months. “Yeah.” She inhaled. Smelled wet concrete and tasted copper and iron. Released the breath with a rough sigh. “Okay. Tonight.”

“Tonight.” 

~~~

Glenwing was sitting on the couch with tea already made, file sitting undisturbed on the coffee table, when the door slid open and closed. Relief seeped into his limbs, feeling cold on his left and warm on his right. He hadn't been entirely convinced she was going to show up.

He looked up when she didn’t immediately sit beside him. Arya stood in front of the low table, shoulders tight and fists again firmly shoved in the front pockets of her combat jacket. Every line of her body reflected tension, but her dark eyes glinted with steel when he met her gaze. 

“You sure you wanna do this?” Arya motioned to the file with her chin, sharp and jerky. “It’s a lot less…” She paused, searching for the right word. “Brutal. If you read it from there.”

Glen nodded. He did his best to sound gentle but firm. “I need to hear it from you.” 

Her jaw clenched. “...I don’t know how much I can tell you.”

“Whatever you can. Whatever you want to.” The medic patted the cushion next to him. “We’ll stop whenever you want.” She waited a few more moments. Then, with stiff steps, Arya sat a few feet down the couch. “Take all the time you need.” 

Arya braced her elbows on her knees and leaned over, studying the moss that made up part of the floor of their flat. “I’m not…I’m not ashamed of what happened there.” A shiny backed beetle meandered onto the edge of her boot. She reached down and let it crawl onto her finger, lifted it to examine the iridescence of its carapace. “Hell, I’m proud of what I endured. I don’t know why it's so hard to talk about it like this.” She grinned as the little creature fluttered its hidden wings, the thin sheaves dark in contrast to the elytra’s color. “I’ve joked about it plenty.” 

Glen leaned back. He had his notepad in his hands, rumpled and scuffed and one of the corners charred. “You’ve always preferred deflecting whenever something’s bothering you.”

With a gentle puff of air, Arya encouraged the glittering insect to take flight. They both watched it go, floating to the window where it escaped through the barely open latch. “...Yeah.”

She took a deep breath then, resumed her previous position, and rubbed the flats of her palms together. “I guess I should start from the beginning. 

“That night we were ambushed, when you lost your arm and Fäolin was killed, Durza captured me after I teleported Saphira’s egg.” Again the woman focused her eyes on the ground, watching the miniscule hairs of the moss waver in the near imperceptible movements of air created by the cracked window, her breath, and Glenwing’s breath. Connecting currents that linked everything in the room. “I was in and out, but when I woke up fully I was in a cell under Gil’ead’s keep, their maximum security wing. 

“There were shackles on my wrists. They weren’t connected to anything, so when Durza came in I obviously tried to take his face off.” Half a smirk touched her lips, a tone of bitter pride coloring her words. “So he locked the shackles to the wall. Then I tried to headbutt him when he got too close. So he put me in a chair and locked me to that.”

The woman tilted her head slightly, brow knitted in a hint of confusion. Her braid slid over her shoulder to hang free. “He just…talked to me that time. Sat across from me and told me who he was, gloated about the spells he made to break our wards with just bullets and Urgals at his disposal.” To Glen’s surprise, Arya had an almost wistful, crooked grin when she looked over at him. “You know what he did next?” 

Despite her previous assertion that nothing could really scare her, Glen saw, buried beneath the convoluted and contorted emotions in his friend’s eyes, a glimmer of fear. He shook his head, afraid to break whatever courage was driving her to speak. 

“He asked me, point blank, if I would submit. Asked if I would surrender then and there, knowing the spells he had created, the potential he had, knowing what he was. He told me what awaited me if I did. I would be taken to Urû’baen immediately and presented to Galbatorix. He would receive the information I had to give, take more if he wanted, and then I would be released into his service. I’d swear oaths to him and become his new Forsworn, and used however he saw fit to bring down the Varden, Surda and Du Weldenvarden.” She let out a soft scoff, that pained look still twisting her lips. “I told him ‘no.’ Only word I said to him besides ‘bite me, bitch’ and ‘fuck you’ a few times.” She laughed again, and it sounded desperate, near panicked at the edges. “He just smiled, that fucking smile, and said ‘good.’”

Her own smile gone, Arya dragged a hand down her face, skin going pale as she remembered. “He spent…I don’t know how long. I’ve got no sense of time anymore. He spent what had to be hours just…just telling me what he could do to me. What he would do to me. He paced around and around that stupid fucking chair, grabbed my neck from behind and whispered in my ear the experiments he wanted to try.” 

A shudder passed from the back of her skull to the base of her spine. Arya did her best to focus on the swaths of moss between her boots. Pincushion moss. A bryophyte. They grew it there because it was soft and stayed that way even when the weather turned dry for weeks at a time. 

She could feel his hand gripping the base of her braid, head yanked back against the metal edge of the chair. The way he cupped her throat, thumb pressing just under the joint of her jaw and stroking her skin as she did her best to appear nonchalant. Simply met his gleeful gaze with cold fire in her eyes. She would not look away. 

The elf took a shuddering breath and untangled her fingers from where she had been clenching them together hard enough to leave bruises. “And then…he did. He did all of it and more.” She blinked, willed the floor to return to its green carpet rather than the grey creeping in. “And I fought it. I fought whenever I could. He stopped using the shackles in the cell because my wrists were shredded and I wouldn’t stop fighting them. I don’t know how long it was till I…” Her words caught in her throat. She blinked again. Why was this what made her choke up? “Till I couldn’t fight anymore. 

“He dosed me with Skilna each day, tried to wear me down.” Her lungs hurt at the memory. The time that he had sat on her cot, one leg daintily crossed over the other while he let the poison run its course longer than before. Watched her, that fucking smile plastered on his face, the antidote held in his lap, as she coughed up blood until she couldn’t anymore, as she writhed against the feeling of her bones shattered like crystal glass and the overwhelming, all encompassing fever that turned her veins to molten lead. 

He had wanted her to ask for it. To beg for the antidote. 

She crawled over, every movement triggering more liquid glass to explode within her cells. Grabbed his leg. Saw that triumphant, gleeful grin in the haze above. 

With her last ounce of strength she slipped a finger between his leg and his high, polished boots and deposited a mouthful of blood into the space.

Her gurgling laughter at his disgust made her smile briefly, lost when the noise ended abruptly with a crack and the sound of a tightly gripped, torn throat struggling to breathe. Still. The broken jaw and flail chest had been worth it. And she didn’t even have to ask for the antidote.

“He uh…” Arya cleared her throat, tasted the same blood as he dragged her out of the cell again, fury evident in each step. “He had to change it. To a longer form. One he could trigger at will. I was apparently getting some sort of tolerance.” She could see the pen moving from the corner of her eye. “He couldn’t always be there. Something about reporting to Galbatorix. He told the guards to keep his…his work, going while he was away. Only rule was no blows to the head. Needed the information in my mind unscrambled.”

Glenwing’s pen slowed. He didn’t want to ask the question. He knew she could feel his eyes on her, the way she shifted and raised her laced together hands to her lips. The way she tensed when he put the pen down and leaned toward her to touch two fingers to her forearm. “Arya….”

She refused to look at him. “They didn’t.” Her jaw was clenched. “They…they tried.” One of her hands twitched before the other clamped down on it. She blinked. “One of them…one of them must’ve found some old book somewhere…talked about elf customs or something.” Slowly Glen saw her entire body go tense, muscles locked and coiled to their limit. The first mumbled words of her next admission were lost in the quiet breath that delivered them.  

“...tried to notch my ear.” 

Glen’s blood went cold. The practice was ancient, heralding back to the bonding of the dragons and elves and the…peculiar…additions the dragon’s blood had on elves' practices of coupling. While a gentle bite on the ear of a mate was considered a pact of love, of devotion…a notch was a symbol of bitter solitude. Any elf with a notched ear was considered almost untouchable when it came to love, mating, partnership, acceptance. They were given only for horrific deeds, the slaughter of children, taking an unwilling mate, murder of a partner, and, above all else, for the betrayal of the entire elven race. 

If Durza had learned of this from his men he would have carried it out as the ultimate humiliation, and bound the mark to her body so that no healing could touch the wound. 

It took every ounce of Glenwing’s self control to not seize his best friend’s face and turn her to him, looking for the telltale rift. Instead, he steadied his voice as best he could and managed an only slightly enraged, “They tried?”

“They didn’t manage it.” The words were hollow, the memory of just how close she came to being marked still bouncing in her skull. Unlike the others, this one was…hazy. She could feel the panic in her chest and the many hands forcing her to the ground as she struggled to lift her broken body. They wanted revenge for the men she had…disposed of…after their attempts to take advantage of her weakened state. The cold, cold metal of a set of wire cutters sliding against the side of her head and behind her right ear. 

Then just…relief. Gratitude? And spending time curled under the cot, pressed as tightly against the wall as she could manage until the pale hand dragged her out for another span of agony after a longer than normal gap. 

For some reason the sense of relief sparked warmth that soothed the growing lump in her throat. She pressed her fingers into the spaces between her knuckles, grounded herself in the discomfort as she found sore tendons and protesting connective bands. “Eragon was captured some time after that. I don’t know how long. Adrenaline and pain tablets kept me on my feet long enough to get out with them. Eragon, Saphira and Brom healed what they could and got me awake. The rest you already know.”

Glen picked up his pen again and rolled it between his fingers. “Poison?” He had masked the tremor in his tone, but the rage wasn’t going to fade quite so easy. He wouldn’t press, not now at least. This was enough for one night.

“Right.” Gil’ead retreating from her mind, Arya straightened somewhat and clasped her knees with hands now blooming with fingertip shaped bruises. “Durza activated it. We got through the Hadarac before it caused problems. I might have…had to use the dream state to survive it.” She winced, fully expecting a lecture. 

Instead, Glenwing chewed the end of his pen. “You got out of it.” It was a statement of fact, laced with a hint of assurance that he wasn’t angry. He had taught her how to trigger the dream state for emergencies, and poison was certainly on the qualifying list.

“After a bunch of Tunivor’s Nectar…yeah.” Arya blinked, suddenly remembering another visitor during her half-addled state in Tronjheim’s hospital. “And the Wise One gave me something to pull me out.”

Glen stopped his absentminded chewing, pen dangling from his lips as he shot his commander a look of shock. “She’s back?” The way the stylus bobbed with his words made him look almost comically like Brom with his pipe. 

“Werecat and all.” Arya frowned. “Didn’t I say she’s the one that fixed Eragon’s back?”

“You kind of ignored the recovery period.” 

“Ah.” 

The woman’s bearing had shifted again. Glen saw more anxiety than before, less tension in her limbs as she cut her gaze away again and picked a loose thread by her knee. “Speaking of the recovery period…” 

“I broke the Star Sapphire, injected myself with four full doses of adrenaline to try and stop Eragon’s back from bleeding, overdosed, had several cardiac events, and Vilks put me on strict orders and told me I’d die if I didn’t follow them.” 

‘Ah’ indeed. No wonder she looked nervous. There was nothing that could trigger fear in a lifelong, diehard soldier with nothing else but their deployment than the anger of a very exasperated medic with the power to put them on an indefinite hold.

“You what?!”

Arya had already bolted off the couch, skittering past the coffee table. “Look, I know you’re upset with me for pulling a stunt like that again–”

“FOUR?!” 

She was already down the hall, nearly slingshotting past her room when she grabbed the doorframe. “Just…read the file, Vilks took good notes, I’ll change, just…yeah!”

Torn between fuming and alarmed, Glen grabbed for the file on the coffee table. He swore when his knuckles impacted the side of the wood, the metal leaving a decent dent. Making a mental note to speak to Rhunön about his continued issues of emotional override, he snatched up the packet with his right hand and flipped it open to the tab at the very back.

Vilks’ handwriting still kept its tight scrawl in his advanced age, and after so many years the doctor had perfected the art of short, sweet and to the point in his notes. Possible seizures. Fluid in the lungs, intubation for two hours, O2 mask for six after. Five VTach events before AED applied, unknown number post. Repeated attempts to leave bed before fully aware. Restrained for aprox 10 minutes before reminded of patient history. Energy extremely depleted, side effects of poisoning, imprisonment, poor diet, adrenaline overdose and magic overuse. Given orders of NO MAGIC two weeks, consistent bedrest and sleep (unlikely), multivit 2/d two weeks, recheck two weeks. Warned of consequences. 

A quick note at an angle, dated eleven days after the initial list, added ‘Given consequences after discovered participating in rigorous PT. Patient given icepack for forehead contusion and required to replace hospital clipboard at next possible opportunity.’

Despite his frustration, Glen couldn't help the smile that curled the edges of his lips. ‘Of course.’

“If you’re going to chuck that at me, let me get a head start first.” The medic looked up at his commander’s wry request. She had donned a pair of jogging shorts and a loose tshirt, the standard PT gear of Varden recruits in Fathen Dûr. 

Glenwing snapped the file closed. “I wouldn’t warn you if I was going to throw it, especially after reading that. Let’s sit at the table, better light.” Arya shrugged, thumbs hooked in the small pockets of her shorts, and followed him to sit in the dining area where bright werelights hung above their heads. 

They sat together, bathed in light tinged with the greens that dominated their home away from the Varden. Arya, after a moment of hesitation, placed her forearms on the table, palms down.

The medic resisted sucking his teeth, and instead bit the tip of his tongue as he reached out and gently lifted the woman’s left arm. A swath of scar tissue encircled her wrist, creeping up her hand and palm just slightly before diving down and dipping a concave wrap two inches down her forearm. The right side mirrored the same mutilation, both dark and a mottled red mix of soft ridges and silken patches. With a light touch to the back of her hand and a nod of acquiescence, he turned her palm up to reveal her tendons etched at the surface of her skin, as if locked permanently taut. 

“They’re just like that.” Arya broke the silence. A half hearted shrug tilted her wrist, and the flexor tendons jutted out further. “Tissue’s gone. Tendons just kind of…stand out, I guess.”

Glen hummed in acknowledgement, inwardly swearing at the possible damage that lurked beneath her skin. “Do you have any numbness in your hands or fingers?”

“No. The shaking started when we were around Tarnag. It feels like pins and needles sometimes, but it’s not affected my grip or range of motion.” 

Gently manipulating the joints, Glenwing confirmed her words before picking up his pen and scribbling a note down. “And you didn’t heal these…?”

“I like them.” Arya’s eyes were clear when he snapped his gaze up to hers. 

“Arya, they've got nerve damage. In your hands.” 

At that the woman pulled her hand from his grip and crossed her arms, hiding the dark bands from view. “Can you heal the nerve damage without healing the scars?” 

Glen frowned. “Yes, but–”

“Then we do it that way.” She held him in her gaze for a long moment, waiting for him to acquiesce. “This is my way of taking it back, Glen.” And again, she suddenly cut her eyes away with a quiet mumble.

“What?”

“It helps…” He could see her flex her fingers involuntarily under her arms, gnash her teeth at some unseen jolt. She looked like he did when the phantom pain kicked in unexpectedly, a shock that lingered for minutes or hours. “It helps when I have recall. When…when I touch them it’s like….” The woman fumbled for words, distress building. “He never left scars when he gave me hallucinations.” She gripped the table edge with white knuckles, tilting the chair back slightly. “And when I feel the scars I just…I know I’m not there. It helps bring me back sometimes.” 

Sometimes. Not always.

‘Recall.’ That cursed thing. Sensory recall and elvish memory went hand in hand, making the calling up of emotionally charged memories laden with past sensory detail a normal, if not somewhat uncommon, occurrence among their race. Arya’s had always been strong, bringing back physical touch and involving a majority of the senses for most of her moments of involuntary recall. Glen’s near rivaled hers, built up from the years of war and countless moments where PTSD took hold of the accursed skill, if it could even be called that. They both relived their traumas, ricocheting to the past as the world went on around them, seeing but not seeing.

Every time he thought of the ambush, he smelled the smoke, felt the hot ash and cinders embedding in his clothes and his skin. He could taste blood and pine ash, the grit between his red stained teeth and the excruciating wrong that was the needles and the dirt and bark and ash collecting, sticking to the mangled flesh of his ruined arm. He didn’t always see it, and for that he thanked whatever stars watched over him. That was his only escape. Seeing the metal limb that now dominated his left side, a zing of phantom pain that reminded him that the original limb was long gone…it made coming out of the recall easier. Something to remind him that the past was the past.

Glenwing reached out and, with a feather touch of his mechanical hand, reminded his commander to release the creaking wood of the table. He cupped her scarred knuckles, turned her palm to run a cold thumb over the ghost of a hastily healed burn. 

“I’ll do my best.” He promised. 

A rush of air left Arya’s lungs, a relief she didn't quite realize she needed. An acknowledgement of the scars beyond the cursory looks cast her way under Farthen Dûr, the concerned frown Brom gave them every once in a while. Glenwing understood their purpose, in a way that no one else could. “Thanks.”

Satisfied he could mend some of the frayed nerves, Glen turned to examining the smattering of new scars that littered the woman’s arms. Nothing was particularly egregious, and while several of the straight lines that slid down from beneath the woman’s sleeves looked near surgical, Arya simply told him it was ‘healed fully’ and ‘not a problem.’ Again, he didn't push it.

“Is there more?” Glen took a sip of his now cold tea, making a face before reheating it with a quick word. If this was all that needed checking then he could call himself pleasantly surprised given her previous description. 

Arya paused. “There’s a few on my legs but those were…those were healed. He healed them to the surface at least.” She tried to shake the sudden jolt of seeing steel nubs protruding from her shin, the excruciating ripping, tearing, snapping, as the bone split down its length. All that remained were four pale pink spots in a line from the last time that particular method was used. “Eragon and Saphira healed a scrape on my right leg, but they did well. No complaints there.”

“Uh-huh.” Glen tapped the point of his pen at the upper corner of his paper, resisting the urge to chew on the end again. She wasn’t telling him everything. But it was a start. “Is that it?”

“...No.” Arya sighed and pushed back from the table to stand. “I’m not healing these either, okay?” Her voice was muffled as she tugged her shirt up and over her head. She tossed it into the achingly empty chair across from her and stood clad only in her shorts and sports bra. “Make me look badass.” She turned and pulled her braid over her shoulder, gesturing with a jerked thumb at the expanse of her back. 

Glenwing dropped his pen. “Well. Shit."

“Hey!” Arya whirled to him. She seemed genuinely offended. “Come on, Glen! I survived this shit. You know what that took? I’m fuckin’ proud of these, and I’m not healing them for bullshit vanity.” He didn’t answer. Just stood and put his hands on her shoulders. “What are you–”

And pulled her into another hug.

Arya froze. She could feel the cold metal of his left arm holding her around her shoulder blades, a stark contrast to the warmth of his right hand squeezing around her ribs. Someone was touching her back and he wasn’t recoiling, wasn’t probing, wasn’t hurting. She wasn’t struggling, fighting, desperate to run away. An ache that she didn’t even realize had been tied into the muscles along her spine for months suddenly released, bringing with it a rush of relief and a soothing mix of warm where warm was needed and cool where cool was needed. 

“Don’t lie to me.” Glen murmured in her ear, his voice catching. “You tried.”

Arya squeezed her eyes shut. 

The day after Vilks cleared her for magic use. Checking the multitude of scars that covered her back and criss-crossed her skin with burns, cuts, hills and valleys of hypertrophic and concave bands. The visible slide of muscle where the layers above had been carved away. There was space between them, yes. But all she could see was the red, pink and silver of lingering damage made physical and, above all else, undeniable. She looked…she looked almost broken.

She had tried to heal them. And found herself scrabbling, clawing, writhing on the floor of that stupid little bathroom, choking back a scream of unimaginable pain as the nerves in her back exploded in protest. Everything she had endured, condensed and dripped in a steady, maddening flow along each pathway, electric and burning and pain. Once again it was all that existed for her in that moment, an extended second that encompassed months and months of time she could not begin to grasp nor understand the passage of. 

She ripped away from the magic and lay, panting, on that stupid, stupid bathroom floor. Blood steadily streamed from her forehead to the tiles where she had cracked it on the stone, trying to breathe through the lingering aftershocks and remembering the spells that he had used to the same result. Felt, deep in her chest, an interwoven pity and horror for Eragon and the new hell he was beginning to endure. She couldn’t heal herself. And she couldn’t heal him. Magic wouldn't erase these wounds.

Arya reached up and grabbed onto Glenwing, clutched at the loose folds of his shirt under his shoulder blades as if he were her last hope against drowning. “They’re…” She shivered, pressed her forehead to his shoulder. She had decided already, that day back in Tronjheim, that if she couldn’t remove them then she would wear them as a badge of pride. She wasn’t broken. She couldn’t be. They were the proof. “I’m…. I beat them. I beat him.”

Glenwing didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. He knew, and she knew as well. They’d weather it just as they always did, together and steadfast and strong against the push of everyone else. So they had scars. That didn’t mean they were lost, or broken, or could be cast aside as soldiers who had long passed their expiration date. Fifty years, seventy in her case, was a long, long time to fight.  

They’d just have to keep fighting.

They wouldn’t have it any other way.

[modern-inheritance]

Ket: New rule! Ket: NO FUCKING ACTUAL STREET DRUGS IN MIC! Eragon: Oh no, what happened? Wait, Sa– Saphira?! DID SAPHIRA GET INTO A COCAINE STASH?! Ket: No, thank whatever the hell is still holy in this brainspace. Brom: Well it wasn't me. Ket: ...Why do I get the feeling you got hooked on combat stims at some point? Brom: Probably because you already have me as a recovering alcoholic and that can go hand in hand with drug abuse when actively at war where such stims are considered not only common but occasionally necessary? Ket: Stop cramping my style. Eragon: Okay, can we get back to the question at hand? Who got dosed? Ket: *sigh* Eragon, please brace yourself to the highest level possible, and put your arm out. Eragon: Oh...kay? *Does so* Eragon: *Is immediately nearly ripped off his feet as his favorite elf materializes* Arya: L;DKSFHASDICANGOSOFAAAAAASSSSSTTTASK;DFH Ket: She faceplanted in it. Eragon: Oh NO.

Today's Seal Is: La Cocaina

[weirdponytail]

*After Eragon has done something remarkably dangerous and stupid, and Eragon has already been scolded by Saphira, Arya's turn to verbally kick him up and down the street is coming up*

Brom: *leans over to Eragon* Remember that time I told you to buy that pack of gummy bears because though I couldn't tell you why at that moment they would be your last hope in a time of need, and that you should always have a pack on you?

Eragon: ....y-yes?

Brom: *sage nod* Now is the time.

Eragon: ....

Eragon: *holds out bag of gummy bears hesitantly when Arya storms up to him* Uh...got these...for you?

Arya: ...*narrows eyes*

Arya: *snatches pack, bops Eragon on the forehead once, and walks off tearing into the bag without comment*

Brom: Elves love sugar but don't partake often and go nuts when they do. *Pats dumbstruck Eragon on the shoulder* Keep candy with you and they'll forget all the dumb stuff you do, boy. Considering how often you do it, I suggest buying in bulk.

THERE IS A PART TWO NOW!! https://weirdponytail.tumblr.com/post/615859081227452416/arya-slams-door-to-broms-little-tronjheim-room

[shield-maiden-a]

I realized what was different about Game of Thrones tonight & that was the pace of it. I'm so used to them dragging it out and taking forever but so much stuff happened in one episode. I really enjoyed it and can't wait for next week.

[kelliyamaguchiart]

Two more products for holiday gifts! Arya “Don’t Make Me Put You On My LIST” and BTS “Did you see my bag?” Tote bag. These will be up on my website for sell, or you can message me. :)

[modern-inheritance]

Reblogging via the MIC account because I don’t use the WeirdPonytail one for writing anymore.

Uh ha. Hahaha. Uuuh. Lemme go take a look. We um…Tonz you KNOW what I usually write.

Oh god yeah no I’m not linking that to a reblog chain.

Uuuh…

Here! I’m counting dialogue between quotation marks, no matter how many sentences between them, as a single sentence as it is technically a ‘single thought’ when I write them.

This is a part of a multi-section series I’m doing for Brom being lowkey kidnapped by his friends and forced to sober up and go through alcohol withdrawal because he got just a leeeeeetle close to a cliff edge while yelling about how much of a failure he was. Everyone comes to have their moment with him and try to help him through it, but around the end Arya comes to him for help with a problem of her own.

Glassy, not all there, flickering in minuscule, panicked adjustments to stay locked on as shadows flitted across them, but her eyes were staring into his. A sliver of a gap in the Recall’s walls.

“Good. Good!” Brom ran his thumbs along her cheekbones, trying to push through the touch another link to the physical, present world. The change in placement should have drawn her attention, furthered the anchor he was building through his voice. “And if I’m here, you can’t be there. Remember what we said about my ugly mug being in your hallucinations?”

Iunno just usual MIC stuff. @cylieria-the-dragonrider @shows-up-naked-covered-in-bees @archangelsunited y’all’s up!

Last Six Sentences

Share the last six sentences you’ve written. Like this!

Thank you @sinvulkt for the tag! The past few days I was mostly editing, so I have no idea if these are really my last six sentences. Also, I like being ~mysterious~ so no translation for you here, haha. If you want to use any kind of translator: all personal pronouns should be he/him. (Hungarian has no grammatical gender, translators can't really deal with that.)

Last six sentences from an Inheritance Cycle story

– Újra és újra rácsodálkozom, milyen sok közös vonásod van apáddal.

Felfordult a gyomra. Utálta, hogy minden alkalommal meglepte, utálta, hogy csak azt nem tudta, mikor tudja oldalba bökni őt ezekkel a derült égből érkező hasonlítgatásokkal.

Utálta, ha megsimogatta, még jobban, hogy ez jólesett neki, hogy oda kellett telepednie a lábához. Azt akarta, hogy mindenki eltakarodjon végre, és úgy kezelje őt, ahogy szokta. A szidása legalább őszinte volt.

Tagging without any pressure: @kiir-bee, @weirdponytail, @andreacsenge, @oldfritz, @umunschaas, @3stike (except you, you must feel the pressure), @lordmorzan

[bansheesandhellhounds]

Brienne: "who taught you how to do that?" Arya: "no one"