#because that’s how conclave-centered i am now

[chillentertainer]

me when i’m in the european medieval section of the mfa: oh wow this is so conclave-core

[lagunapoint]

Veilguard is nice. Cool interactions, great romances, excellent graphics, excellent combat. I love flashy slashers, so it worked for me. But wraps up in a blanket of sadness at some point, it becomes clear that I kind of like it, but the little elf Inquisitor inside me misses Inquisition, which was completely forgotten in this new part :( I don’t miss the circles and the templars, I miss the little details that built the atmosphere. I’m not saying they should’ve made Inquisition 2. I like the new story, but it would’ve been great to find more little details and Easter eggs. Yeah, it was cool to find the note about Gordon Blackwall. Why didn’t they add more things like that? For a new player, it’s new info and world expansion, and for us, it’s just nice.

But the reason for my post is that yesterday, I got blown away by this fresco.

Here’s Trespasser, the conclave, the rebellion, the ancient elves, Solas, the qunari, the wolf, magister Alexius (?????), the creation of the breach why am I whining if it’s right here- Inquisition? But you know where this fresco was? In the ass of Minrathous. I’m not sure many people would have the patience to get through that quest to this fresco. And if they do, it’s super easy to miss, just by flicking the camera too fast, because this fresco is BEHIND A DOOR hahaha, and because it’s dark! Anyway, because of this drawing, I’ve been whining all morning and floating around like a storm cloud above my keyboard.

So. We’ve got the qunari next to Solas, but there’s not even a hint of the Inqui. I don’t know, maybe the second qunari is supposed to be the Inquisitor? What a load of crap. Okay. How do you draw the Inqui here if everyone’s is different? Just add the Anchor? Didn’t we have enough Anchor symbolism in Inquisition? Where is the Inquisitor? Why add such an important moment (SOLAVELLANS, I’M HORRIFIED) and not include the Inqui?

And now let’s play riddles. Up top there are pieces of frescoes from the Skyhold rotunda. First there’s the tevinter magister from the third fresco of Solas, which appears after choosing the Templars or the mages. If you choose the mages, Solas paints two versions of the future, and at the center is a magister - Alexius, since he’s a key figure in that storyline. And now this magister is painted on the wall of the Minrathous. Is it the same magister? Alexius? Why is he here :( Or has this image now become a generalized representation of 'bad magisters'? Either way, there are even some long-forgotten magister, but no details that would hint at the key character - the Inquisitor. Was this really not that important all this time? 🥲  A reference to the temple of mythal and part of the fresco about the explosion at the conclave, the creation of the breach, and the wolf, black, with no white elements, as part of the conclave fresco. The absence of the second wolf on the right - it’s just empty lore imao It’s probably unlikely, but could this drawing here be meaningless? Maybe someone just added elements they liked? It reminds me of a podcast where the words of Solas and Elio’s ritual were the lyrics to the song 'I Am The One,' which played during the sex scenes in Origins. I didn’t know whether to laugh or focus.

In general I’m satisfied and unsatisfied at the same time. Can someone share their thoughts on this drawing with me, please? Or on all of this eh? <3

The frescos from Skyhold

[ladyhindsight]

We are doing this again. Unlike with City of Bones, the revisions in City of Ashes deal more with narrative mistakes being corrected and some utterly incomprehensible changes rather than the world-building being so blatantly unprepared that it needed to undergo full-on metamorphosis.

Here I've compared three different e-book versions of City of Ashes, one of which I presume is the original 2008 text, one that is the 2015 edition, and one I quite frankly have no idea which it is but most likely somewhere in-between the other two. This, I figured out so smartly, is because some things have remained unchanged as in the 2008 edition, but it also includes later changes that have been made in the 2015 edition which are not present in the original text.

I was looking for a nicely formatted file and then noticed by chance that these three are all different. While I understand and know that it is perfectly normal for a book to undergo changes and corrections throughout different editions, I am no less confused by some most of these.

And here we have one of the many boomerangs because what. Why. The second one was the best because now you've just repeated the word 'floor' unnecessarily, so it sounds just dumb:

→ he strode across the floor, his boots echoing against the floor

The prose has truly peaked.

Here's a good example of how some changes made after the original release are also in the 2015 edition but not in the original text, which places the 2010? release in-between the two. In some cases the 2008/2010? are the same but 2015 one different.

→ Daniel was first Maia's twin brother but was then changed to an older one. It's a minor change but also inane. Because what does it matter, why couldn't Daniel be Maia's twin?

→ Maia's character being introduced with her full name is better.

→ Where did the mahogany go?

It's gone as it should. In City of Bones it is said that "in the center of the room sat a magnificent desk. It was carved from a single slab of wood, a great, heavy piece of oak that gleamed with the dull shine of years."

It was oak. So you just couldn't replace 'mahogany' with 'oak' then? So you just deleted it altogether? Okay.

Another boomerang. Let's go with 'body'. No, let's change it to 'form'. No, let's go with 'body' again.

I am left with the impression that Clare didn't know what to do with this interaction/scene or what she wanted from it, neither did she think how it would fit the structure of the part I of the book, because how are all these so different. Sorry, it's early. No, sorry, it's late. No, I'll tell you what, sorry for waking you up at all, really.

TIME. The scene before this is Luke, Clary, and Simon having dinner at Luke's some time after the episode caused by Jace in Hunter's Moon (Chapter 2 "Hunter's Moon"). It's the same day the book began. This part of the chapter that begins with Jace being woken up and then meeting the Inquisitor in the Institute Library intercepts that scene. The Inquisitor accosts Jace and then decides to take in to the Silent City as a prisoner. Then we get back to Luke, Clary, and Simon. Clary is helping Luke "clean up the remains of dinner" when Maia comes over. Simon and Maia talk and once Simon returns to the kitchen, it is said that "The smell of cold night air came in with him." It's the same day as the book began. It is night. Simon and Clary talk about tomorrow and prepare for bed. Then in the next chapter begins with Jace's held in a cell in the Silent City. Then we cut to Simon and Clary making out as they haven't gone to sleep yet. The narrative structure doesn't give any reason to think these scenes aren't happening somewhat concurrently. Especially when Clary then receives a message from Isabelle which reveals Jace has been taken away. When Clary, Isabelle, and Alec go rescue Jace, and the Conclave meet them outside, it is still night. ("The sun couldn't have risen yet--could it?" / "despite the witchlight illuminating the night.")

→ Jace couldn't have woken up 5 a.m. because he would've slept through the night and it would've been the next day, meaning the scenes with Clary happened previous evening/night, which doesn't make sense to write them in such order. Also it would've been morning already once Jace was rescued from the Silent City. This was corrected tooo..

→ Midnight, which makes more sense narrative-wise and structurally, because why insert scenes with Jace that take place in the small hours of the next, if the scenes with Clary are still the previous day and the events cross when Clary gets the message from Isabelle? So instead here Jace has merely taken an evening nap.

→ Eventually removing any indication of time propably gave more flexibility to the interpretation as to how long all of this took to happen. Which was still the one and the same night but whatever.

ALEC'S EXCUSES. There are three and they all mean different things.

→ First Alec has stayed up all night, not even trying to go to sleep. He looks tired, which by the following conversation they have could be also interpreted as him being worried about the situtation surrounding Jace.

→ Alec tried to sleep, and the rest is the same. Not that different, so I don't get why change it at all. Maybe Alec not getting sleep despite trying underlines his worrying.

→ Alec straight up says he went out. The 2015 edition removes all of the previous indications because how dare anyone else have dark shadows under their eyes but Jace. How dare Alec look like he might have something to worry about. Nay! He was with Magnus.

Also, Clary trying to rewrite history by having Jace seek out Alec? Also, "friend"? How about brother or, better yet, parabatai?

→ "They came" and "they explained" were erraneous to begin with since Maryse tells Isabelle (Jace and Alec as well) in the first chapter that Robert was "unfortunately [...] still in Alicante."

→ I don't know whatever that mess in between is, but in the 2015 version Clare seems to have sorted it out.

Boomerang. At this point in the story, the only Downworlders drained of their blood was the warlock Elias, who appears in the prologue. The werewolf cub that was killed in the allie was never drained. ("It seems whoever murdered the werewolf was intercepted before the blood could be taken..." -Maryse to Luke in chapter 3 "The Inquisitor")

→ As a side comment: It was a wild goose chase in the sense that this mission did not need the whole Conclave attending to it and leave the Institute utterly unmanned especially if someone needed to contact them.

I don't understand why.

Added badassery.

Added a nice explanation and rules to the creation of vampires.

This was also an error to begin with, because just couple paragraphs before it is literally said that "Clary yanked the blade back" in each version. She already did it, which it is only reasonable the sentence was eventually removed.

Simon's love for Clary watered down, which I think is for the better. This is also relevant in a later part here...

Another thing I don't understand why.

This was also an error (depending on the interpretation). In this scene, before this part, Jace already closes his eyes once but opens them up. Without shutting his eyes again, him not seeing Valentine rather reads like he's so far away in his thoughts that he doesn't "see" him. But as this was corrected by adding the sentence about Jace shutting his eyes again, it probably was just an error.

→ 2008: Magnus was healing Maia, because Luke was outside being attacked by the demons that Jace and Clary went to investigate and then dispatched. Luke was brought in after the attack and Magnus healed him then. I can't help but wonder how Clare (or her editor for that matter) couldn't keep up with what was happening in the story.

Clary couldn't have been worse off because Magnus didn't have a chance to go help them while he was supposedly healing Luke inside the house while Luke was lying outside on a riverbank. So that was reasonably removed.

→ 2010?: Luke was corrected to Maia because that's who Magnus was actually healing. Only problem here is that only one of the lines were changed, and the "you would have died" is still inaccurate since Magnus couldn't have helped Luke before the demons were killed and he was brought inside to be healed.

→ 2015 is finally correct.

→ the person you love/someone I love were all corrected accordingly.

→ the blue part, however, was wrong in the same book, because if we return back to that part, Simon actually says you know what the worst feeling I can imagine is. Not the worst feeling you can have is.

This was also an error because Jace had given Clary his jacket and he only had the shirt on. It was also made a point since the demon shit had burned down his shirt sleeve pm his shoulder enough for Imogen to see his Herondale scar.

→ 2008 version never happened. The scene in City of Bones is the following:

Clary stepped back, but Jace stood very still as the glass rained around him, staring at the empty frame of the mirror. Clary had expected him to swear, to shout or curse at his father, but instead he only waited for the shards to stop falling. When they did, he knelt down silently and carefully in the welter of broken glass and picked up one of the larger pieces, turning it over in his hands.

and then, after no rocking back and forth in between (either in the original or revised version):

He said nothing, only whispered something under his breath. She couldn’t quite hear the words, but she reached out and took the bit of glass out of his hand. He was bleeding where he’d held it, from two fine and narrow gashes. She put the shard down and took his hand, closing his fingers over the injured palm. “Honestly, Jace,” she said, as gently as she’d touched him, “don’t you know better than to play with broken glass?” He made a sound like a choked laugh before he reached out and pulled her into his arms. She was aware of Luke watching them from the window, but she shut her eyes resolutely and buried her face against Jace’s shoulder.

It's like Clare imagined a whole other scene in City of Bones, recalled it while writing City of Ashes and kind of forgot that it wasn't how the scene even went.

Anyhoo. These are the ones I managed to catch. Ta ta.

[slytherinbarnes]

there are ghosts in the sky, ii

ii. how deep is the moon?

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 12.4k

Warnings: violence, fighting, language, angst, anxiety, blood, death, mentions of Shumway.

Summary: the battle for your body begins, but who will come out on top? you or josephine?

a/n: part 2 is here and it’s my favorite of the three! what do you think so far?!

au series masterlist // sub rosa masterlist // full masterlist

It takes a second for the flood of panic to leave your system, and it’s quickly replaced with confusion.

Despite your last memory being of you stretched out on a table, surrounded by skeletons while being murdered by Russell Lightbourne, you are now in Arkadia, in the room you shared with Bellamy before Praimfaya. Your clothes are the same ones you used to wear back then, long since discarded. The closer you look at the room though, the more you realize it’s not right.

In fact, it’s a mess.

Clarke’s sketches clutter the walls, taped over each other, overlapping in some places. Weirdly enough though, some of the sketches are from your memories, not hers, etched out perfectly despite her not being present for the memory. Scattered among the sketches are star charts, each of them labeled differently, and you reach out to touch the closest one, simply labeled, “The Kiss. October 11, 2149.”

As soon as your fingers brush over the paper, you get a glimpse of a memory: Bellamy, hovered above you, the sound of Grounders and Delinquents fighting in the background. But all you see is him, and all you feel is him as he leans down to kiss you. You pull away in shock, not expecting the memory to appear around you so vividly. You reach out and run your hands along the cluttered wall, and your hand passes over a sketch, transporting you out of your room again. This time, you're standing in Vincent and Maya’s bathroom, with Bellamy’s arms wrapped around you. You pull away again, walking along the room, scanning the belongings. A stack of books sits on the desk in the corner, and you smile as you look down at them, The Illiad on top. You reach out to grab it, but when you do, you see Gina in front of you, slumped over the desk, bleeding out. You gasp and drop the book in shock, stepping away from it, suddenly realizing that not all of the memories in this room are good ones. 

As your eyes scan over the sketches and star maps and assorted books, you see memories from every year of your life, both the good and the bad, the happy and the sad. There’s a star map near you, and you get curious and move towards it, reading the label, “Sister. March 28, 2150.”

When you reach out and touch it, you see you and Octavia hugging, right before the Final Conclave, days before Praimfaya. Beside it is a sketch of McCreary torturing you and Clarke, your fight with Bellamy outside of the Second Dawn bunker because of his relationship with Echo, you nearly being killed in Shallow Valley by the Eligius prisoner, sitting with your family in your living room on the Ark. You step back, almost overwhelmed with the memories, your memories, that are held within this room, and as you take a deep breath to center yourself, you hear a door creak open behind you. You turn your gaze to the door to the room, light now filtering in through the crack, and curious, you walk towards it, pushing the door open wider and stepping outside.

Except outside is actually inside, because you get a flash of light before you realize that you are now standing in the church that you, Madi, and Clarke used as your home in Shallow Valley. When you look down, your clothes are different again, your outfit one that you wore frequently in the valley, and as you step deeper into the room, you realize now that you’re not alone. A figure stands near one of the windows, peering out, their back to you. But you don't need them to turn around for you to know that it’s your father, because you just know.

You let out a little gasp at the sight of him, and he turns to face you, a smile on his face. You feel tears rise to your eyes as you look at him, his face a little older than it was at his death. He whispers, “Hello, sweetheart.”

He opens his arms and you crash into him, pressing your face into his chest, smelling his scent of grease and Ark soap. Tears fall down your face as you hug him tightly, only pulling away when a thought starts to nag in your head. “How are you here?”

His voice is calm, yet serious, when he asks, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I died.” And saying the words out loud, they shock you a little, because it feels like they have solidified the truth of what you already knew. You’re dead, your mind in some sort of afterlife, and that’s why you can see your father. That’s how he’s here. Your dad seems to sense that you're spiraling, because he turns you around and starts to guide you over to one of the tables in the room. “Come here, let’s sit.”

You plop down into the chair, looking at your father in shock, your voice a quiet whisper. “It's over. I've been fighting for so long.”

“I know you have.”

A horrifying realization hits you hard, bringing tears to your eyes. “I didn't get to say goodbye to Bellamy, or Clarke, Madi, Mom.”

Each new name that pops into your head, each unsaid goodbye, makes you more emotional, and as your dad gazes at you with a sad expression, you hear the clap of thunder outside. The lighting in the room changes quickly, the sunlight fading and now hidden behind a wall of clouds, and you stand and turn to the window, walking over to gaze out at the suddenly stormy sky in confusion. “What the hell? It started when I got upset.”

Behind you, your dad calls your name, drawing your attention back to him. “Listen, what do you hear?”

You listen for a second, your ears only picking up on the soft patter of rain on the window, so you roll your eyes and look towards him. “Rain?”

He laughs, and the sound brings a smile to your face, but his amusement fades as he locks eyes with you. “I'm serious, la lune. Focus. Between the raindrops, what else do you hear?”

You close your eyes, listening hard, focusing on the sound between the raindrops, and slowly, your ears start to pick up on a different sound, a steady thumping sound. The longer you focus, the louder it grows, until you open your eyes and look at your dad in surprise. “A heartbeat.”

He smiles and nods, and you look at him in shock, “I'm still alive.” But before he can say anything, you shake your head, instantly refuting your own statement. “No. No, I saw it. Russell killed me.” 

“He didn't.”

You shake your head again, starting to grow frustrated. “You're just in my head. I loved being here with Clarke and Madi, and I love you, so here we are.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” Your dad stands from his place at the table and crosses the room over to you, pulling you into his arms at the first sign of your now falling tears. Your emotions are all over the place, confusing you, and you feel yourself growing frustrated as you struggle to understand what’s going on. You pull away from your dad slightly so you can look into his face when you ask, “I don't understand. Am I dreaming?”

“This place is reacting to you, so we're just in your subconscious somehow. Beyond that, there are no answers for you here, so go on. Go figure this out. I'll be here if you need me.”

You look up at your father, into his smiling face, your grief over losing him hitting you in a way that it hasn’t in months. You suddenly realize that you’re grateful for this moment, that you get to see him again, but you know that walking out the door and leaving him behind will just amplify your loss again. Because if you do figure this out and leave all of this behind, you’ll be leaving him behind too. And subconscious projection or not, that loss still pains you. Your father motions towards the door, urging you to leave, and you whisper, “I love you, Dad.”

“Forever, my little la lune. Now go on.”

You nod and turn away from him, heading back to the door of the church, stopping just as you reach it to turn and look back at your dad one last time. He smiles and waves at you, and you smile back before turning and pushing the door open, temporarily blinded by the light again. This time when the light fades, you’re standing in the halls of the Ark, the whole ship empty and abandoned. You hear a scream from behind you, followed by muffled yelling of, “Sanctum is mine!”

You spin around, your anxiety spiking, your eyes landing on a door at the end of the hall. Despite your limited knowledge of the Ark and its appearance, you know this door is out of place. It’s red, with a wreath hanging on the front, and it clearly looks like the door to someone’s house, not one that belongs on the Ark. You mutter, “What the hell is going on?”

And as if the ship was just waiting for you to ask, you hear a door creak open behind you. You turn and look at it as you whisper, “It is reacting to me.”

You walk towards it and push the door open, your clothes now changing again as you step back into your shared room with Bellamy. This time, you’re wearing the outfit you were wearing in Polis, when Clarke shut down the City of Light. As you look up from your clothes and gaze around the room, you realize that someone else is here. A woman in a red dress turns to face you, and you feel a chill roll down your spine as you lock eyes with Alie, who gives you a small smile. “Hello, Miss Griffin.”

You shake your head, backing away from her slightly. “No. Clarke pulled the kill switch, she destroyed you!”

“And I saved you.” You look at her in confusion, and she motions to your memories scattered all around the room. “Why do you think you're still here? I may be gone, but this precious repository of your memories is here because of me. You're welcome.”

You look around the room and then to her in confusion, trying to understand why Alie would be responsible for your safety. But then you remember the chip, the one forced down your throat as you tried to protect Clarke, the contents of the chip still inside your head. “The neural mesh is still in my head. It must have interfered with the drug they used to wipe my mind.”

“Correct, and so you see, you exist because of me. But you won't if they figure out how you freed Raven.” She motions to a drawing on the wall, one of Raven tied to a bed, her mouth opened in a scream. You glance at it and then back to Alie. “We EMP'd the chip, but only in Raven and my Mom.”

“If I were you, and in a way, I am, I'd keep this memory safe.” She pulls the sketch off the wall, balling up the paper and pressing it into a tight ball, closing her hand around it. When she opens her hand again, the sketch is now transformed into one of the City of Light chips, small enough for you to easily hide. You take the chip from her hand and tuck it into a small pocket inside your jacket, before turning your gaze back to Alie. “Thank you. But for the record, you tried to steal all those memories you're now saving.”

“I tried to spare you the pain and horror of your existence.”

You shake your head. “There is no joy without pain.” 

She turns away from you, gazing at your various memories before turning to face you again. “I never did understand humans. Those painful memories aren't even here. They're cast away deep in your mind, where you don't have to face them, and yet, you can't let them go.”

You look around the room, realizing that she’s right, though you don't want to admit it. There are sad and painful memories here, but the worst ones, the ones that really hurt you, are locked away somewhere, left out of the sketches and star maps and books of your mind. But as you stand across from Alie, you start to get a nagging feeling in your mind. one that’s reminding you of a red door at the end of the hall. You look up again as Alie starts to walk away, presumably to leave you alone, but you call out to her, “Wait.”

She turns to look at you, waiting for what you have to say. “You said this is a repository of my memories.”

She nods, confirming her earlier words, so you continue, “But there's something here I've never seen.”

“I told you to keep your memory of Raven safe. But I never told you who from.”

“Who is it? Who’s in my head?”

“I think you’ll find that you already know the answer to that. Maybe it’s time to open another door.” And before you can say anything, she turns and walks away, disappearing into the wall like a forgotten ghost. You walk out of your room, back into the halls of the Ark, moving towards the large red door slowly, growing more nervous with each step. The same yelling you heard earlier is repeating now, punctuated by a chorus of screams, and as you come to a stop right outside the door, the Ark announces, “Proximity alert.”

You reach out and touch the handle, turning the knob slowly, but the door flies open first, freaking you out. You scramble backwards, away from the bright light, watching as a figure makes its way towards you. As the door swings shut behind them and the light starts to fade, you come face to face with a familiar looking blonde, one who is grinning at you and saying your name. “It's nice to meet you. I've heard so many things, most of them murdery, but, you know, no judgment.”

The sight of her tugs at a memory, reminding you of the picture you, Bellamy, and Clarke saw in the creepy shrine on Sanctum, and you stare at her in confusion. “Josephine?”

“In the flesh, but you shouldn't have opened that door. This body is not big enough for both of us.”

The sight of her hits you like a ton of bricks, truly confirming what you were sure of all alone. “Russell really did it. He stole my body.”

“And clearly made a mess of it. It's been hundreds of years since a mind wipe failed. She looks around, slightly impressed. “But I gotta say, this isn't bad. Not as organized as my mindspace, of course, but mildly impressive.”

“Mindspace?”

“The brain creates these constructs when two minds share a body, like lucid dreaming only not as fun. It's a self preservation thing, trying to keep the minds separate so the body doesn't die. You kind of messed that up when you opened the door, so, you know, thanks for the accelerated brain deterioration.”

You feel a wave of panic wash over you. “What’s going to happen?”

“Brain hemorrhaging will lead to a stroke, and we all fall down. It's messy and hurts like a mother, would not recommend it. Two minds, one brain never ends well, so this,” She motions between the two of you, looking annoyed. “It's a problem. How did you even survive?”

A voice in your head reminds you of the chip in your pocket, one that Alie explicitly told you to keep safe. You glare at Josephine, your panic starting to subside as you focus on your anger. “You just want to know so you can figure out how to get rid of me.”

“Weren't you listening? If we don't do something, this body dies. Is that what you want?”

Your voice starts to rise as you counter, “Of course not. But why can't you just find a new body and give mine back?”

“I could, I suppose, but it's risky. The last Primes who went on ice died forever, and I'm not really into that. Besides, just between us girls, I kind of like your body.”

Your anger flares, your blood starting to feel white hot within you. “You're a sociopath.”

��Judgy. Besides, like you're one to talk, Wanlida.” Your fist clenches at your side as you remind yourself to stay in control and not lash out. Yet. “The way I see it, you have two options. Tell me how you survived so I can fix it, and I'll make sure your people live happily ever after. Or don't, and eventually we'll both die anyways. The difference is, I'll be reborn in someone else, tell my father what happened, and he'll kick your people out to die in the woods.”

You practically spit, “Go float yourself.”

She shakes her head in confusion, clearly starting to get annoyed that you won't just roll over and take it. “I have no idea what that means.”

“It means that I'm not telling you anything, and I don’t go down without a fight.” 

Josephine scoffs, her expression turning to one of slight amusement. “Wow. You're selfish, not to mention dumb. Your mindspace contains all of your memories, so try not to think of where you keep them.”

Of course, as soon as she says the words, your mind flashes to your room within Arkadia, and the door at the end of the hall swings open, practically inviting her in. You feel a flash of frustration as she pushes past you, heading straight to the room, her voice taunting you. “You control your mindspace. Too bad you can't control your thoughts!”

You turn and jog down the hall after her, glaring at her as you walk into your room and see her gazing at all of your star maps and sketches with distaste. “This is a disaster.”

“Get out of my head!”

She rolls her eyes and glances your way. “Now, now. Sharing is caring.”

She brushes her fingers over a few memories on the wall, including Octavia being the first delinquent on Earth, you and Bellamy putting the Flame in Madi’s head, and Finn giving you the star charm to give to Clarke. She reaches the one blank spot on the wall, where the overlapping sketches and star maps are clearing missing one of their own, and Josephine turns to you with a smirk. “Are you hiding a memory from me? Rude.”

You snap, “You'll never find it.”

She brushes past you again, checking out more of your memories as she walks around the room, talking to you as she moves. “You know, I study all life, but insects always fascinated me most. They're merciless, ruthless. I respect that. People are so messy, so emotional. Because of that, they give themselves away. I could always figure people out, even as a kid. I could tell when they were nervous. Their pulses would beat faster. Eyes would dart. Breath would quicken. It's physiological. You know what my spidey senses are telling me about you right now?”

She comes around and stops in front of you, and you glare at her and answer, “That I'll never help you wipe my mind?”

“You think you're a badass, but your bravado covers self doubt. You had to physicalize your secret so you could keep it close, where you have control. I bet you have it on you right now. Now let me have it.”

She swings a punch towards you, and you almost smile as you realize you’re back in your element. Because the thought of Josephine taking your body freaks you out, but a physical fight is right up your alley. You spent months learning how to fight from both Lincoln and Octavia, and right now, in your mindspace, you have no injuries. No cut up leg to hold you back, no injured shoulders or bruised ribs. Right now, you are at your best. Which is why you deflect Josephine’s punch with ease before immediately following the move up with a punch of your own. It lands on her face, and she staggers backwards a little, but you bear down on her, punching her again. You remember the move Bellamy used on you during the eclipse, when he grabbed your shoulder and held you in place so he could punch you, and you use the same move on Josephine, except you hold her in place and bring your knee up to hit her in the stomach. 

She doubles over in pain before she feels a rush of anger, which she channels before she runs at you, wrapping her arms around your center and pushing you backwards. The two of you fall through the door behind you, now out in the halls of the Ark. You scramble to your feet first, and as Josephine tries to get up and come at you again, you deliver another punch to her face, knocking her to the ground. Black blood is now dripping out of her mouth, but you don't care, still so pissed off that she’s even here, in your body. You knee her in the chin and she collapses to the ground on her stomach, trying to crawl away from you, but you press your shoe down onto her back, pinning her in place before you swing the heavy metal door of your room towards her head, hitting her in the skull.

You slam the door against her a few times, until you’re sure she’s dead, and then you drop down to the ground in a heap, staring at Josephine’s dead body in shock, panting as you try to catch your breath. Your hands are shaking, your brain trying to process what is likely your most brutal kill, and you close your eyes and take in a shaky breath, trying to calm yourself down. But as you do, you hear an alarm ring out, and you pull your eyes open as the Ark announces, “Warning. Collision alert.”

You look to the place Josephine’s body was just in, the ground now empty, and you mutter in horror. “No.”

You pull yourself to your feet and run to the hallway with the red door, watching as the knob twists and the door swings open, Josephine walking back into the Ark with a smirk in her face. “We're back, bitches.”

You ignore the stolen words from your stolen memory, focusing only on the horror of her return, your head shaking in disbelief. “How?”

“Come on, you're smarter than that. How do you think we're resurrected? My mind drive backs my consciousness. I can't die in the mindspace, but you can, unless whatever fluke kept you here can bring you back. You, my friend, are playing for keeps. I took a sedative about an hour ago, so that gives me all night to kill you in here or find the memory of how I can kill you out there. Got a preference?”

Your mind runs through a hundred different scenarios at once, before your fight or flight instincts kick in, ultimately choosing flight. You turn and take off running, putting space between you and Josephine’s taunting voice. “Easy or hard way, either way, you die!”

You ignore her, running through the Ark until you reach a set of doors, which automatically open for you, temporarily blinding you with light again until it starts to dim. But as they dim, you realize that you’re no longer on the Ark. You are now back in Polis, after Praimfaya, in the room that you and Bellamy used to put the Flame in Madi. You look around the room, trying to find a place to hide, but you stop when you see a figure standing in the middle of the room, their back to you. You already know it's Madi, even before she turns around, all dressed up in her Heda clothes. “Madi?”

She turns to face you, her expression blank, her voice emotionless. “Hello, ani.”

“Madi, you have to help me, I have to hide from Josephine. She’s trying to kill me.”

“It’s always something with you, isn't it?” 

You shake your head, looking at your niece in confusion. “What?”

“Me and Clarke were never enough when we lived in the valley, and you spent all of your time thinking about and wishing for Bellamy. You always wondered why my relationship with you was different from my relationship with Clarke’s, and it's because Clarke was actually there for me. You never were.”

You shake your head, tears rising to your eyes. “What? Madi, no, that isn't true.”

“Isn't it though? Isn’t that why you put the Flame in my head? Because, compared to Clarke, I’m expendable. Even though it meant ruining your relationship with her, you were willing to sacrifice me and put a target on my back just to save her. But it was more than that, wasn't it? Because without Bellamy there to put the idea in your head, without him there to convince you, you would have never done that to me! He convinced you that it was the only way to save Clarke, but you never even stopped to consider another way.”

“Octavia would have killed Clarke!”

“Octavia almost killed me!” You stare at her in shock, not used to hearing her yell. “But that didn’t matter to you, because all you cared about was following Bellamy, at the expense of me, and your relationship with Clarke.”

“But it wasn't at your expense, Madi, because you were safe, I protected you. And Clarke, she forgave me. She understands!”

“Does she? Then why isn't she here right now?”

You look around in shock, realizing that your twin is missing, and there must be a reason why. Madi, of course, is well aware of that reason. “You’re afraid to face her because you think that she, and everyone around you, thinks that you’re just a shadow to Bellamy. You’ll sacrifice anyone and everyone to keep him safe, the rest of us be damned.”

“That’s a lie! I would do anything to protect Bellamy, but that doesn't mean I’m willing to give up Clarke or you or mom or just anyone else to do it.”

She shrugs, a sinister smile on her face. “I don't know why you’re arguing with me, ani. After all, I'm just a subconscious projection of you.”

Before you can answer her, an alarm starts to blare, warning you, “Collision alert.”

The doors slide open and Josephine steps inside, smirking at you. You look at Madi in fear, whispering, “Madi, you have to help me!”

“No.” You look between them for a second before you take off running again, moving through the room towards the door that leads to the streets of Polis. Madi watches you go and shrugs at Josephine, “Have fun!”

Josephine laughs, yelling at your retreating figure, “Even your projections hate you!”

You ignore her and push open the door to the outside, the light taking you over before it subsides again. Your clothes have changed again, your body now covered with a sweater, jeans, and tennis shoes. Your stomach drops, aware of the last time you wore these clothes. The light around you is still bright, but it’s not because you’re still transitioning into the next space. It’s because you are in a bright white hallway, surrounded by bright white rooms, with bright white lights. Your gaze travels up from your clothes to a sign on the wall, confirming your suspicions as you read the words, “Mount Weather: Quarantine Ward.”

Your gaze moves over to the door, the glass smashed, and as you peer through it, you can see that there’s a body bag sprawled out across the bed, a body sitting inside. You push the door open and step into the room slowly, walking over to the body cautiously, afraid of what you’re going to find. You take a deep breath to give yourself strength, and then you reach out and pull the zipper down, slowly revealing a face covered in radiation burns. Not just any face though, Maya’s face. You whisper, “Maya?”

Her eyes suddenly snap open and she smirks at you, and you step back a little, unsettled by the sight. “Hi.”

She sits up, her skin marred by radiation, because of you. You, Clarke, and Bellamy made a choice to save your people. You pulled a lever to save them, but it was at the expense of everyone else in the mountain. And looking down at Maya now, at the death you had a hand in, despite all the help she gave you, you know that you haven't really ever dealt with what you did in Mount Weather. Those deaths, whether you’re actively thinking of them or not, are part of your darker memories, hidden within you. This isn’t the scary place, not yet, but you realize this must be the road that leads there, your journey away from Josephine taking you closer and closer to the darkness. You shake your head as you stare at Maya, backing away from her, heading to the door. “No. I don't want this, I don't want any of this.”

“That's the thing, la lune. Some part of you does want this, or I wouldn't be here.” She climbs out of the bed and comes to stand across from you, cocking her head to the side. “I have a question for you: Why are you fighting so hard to stay alive?”

“I have to-”

She cuts you off, already aware of what you're going to say. “Save your people. Yes, I know. Too bad I wasn't in that group, huh?”

“Maya.” Your voice cracks a little, tears rising to your eyes. “I never wanted to hurt you. I wanted to save everyone, but Cage, and Lexa, and Emerson, they forced our hand. They were killing my mother. I had to, I’m sorry.”

“Tell me, are you sorry about Jasper, too? After all, killing me is what sent him off the deep end.”

You shake your head, “No, that wasn’t me. Jasper made his choice.”

“Wrong. His death is on you too, Wanlida. You do things, but other people pay the price.”

“Enough.”

She smiles at you, the expression so mismatched to the words coming out of her mouth. “You've killed more people than you've saved. Do you realize that? If you actually cared about saving people's lives, you'd walk away. Because how can anyone do better with you still around? You’re the reason that death finds them, after all. Clarke can't kill them if you don’t lead her there.”

You open your mouth to argue, but you're cut off by the alarms in the room ringing, repeating the words, “Radiation alert. Radiation alert. Radiation alert.”

Maya glances at them, and then turns her smile to you. “She's coming. Why don't you give in to her? Just give up control for once.”

Her words remind you of something, of Josephine’s earlier words to you. You control your mindspace. You look at Maya with realization. “Control. I'm in control. I have an idea.”

You pull the City of Light chip from your pocket, holding it out in your palm so Maya can see it. And then you close your palm and your eyes, thinking of your journey to the darkness, of the scary place hidden with your darkest memories. You open the door to it, find the little lock box in your mind and drop the chip inside, locking the box behind you before closing the door and opening your eyes. When you open your palm, it is now empty, the memory hidden deep inside of your mind. 

Just in time too, because Josephine pushes open the door to the room just then, looking at Maya with intrigue. “Whoa. you have a little something…”

She trails off, pointing to Maya’s face, and Maya reaches up to touch her damaged skin before she catches on to Josephine's cruel joke. She laughs, before she glances at you, and you mentally adjust projection Maya’s attitude towards you so that she’ll help you. Maya turns to Josephine and mutters, “She hid it in the cave.”

You play along, glaring at her and exclaiming, “Are you kidding me?”

Josephine laughs, looking between the two of you with amusement, completely falling for it. “I mean, your projections are the best.”

She turns her focus to Maya, “Care to take us?”

Maya nods in agreement, transporting all three of you to the entrance to a cave. Maya motions towards it, and Josephine nods at her in thanks. “Thank you, melty girl.”

She starts walking into the cave, everything around you growing darker and darker as the tunnel grows skinnier, until finally the cave opens up into a room. The room is adorned with a few meager belongings, a bed of furs in the corner, and Josephine looks at it in disgust. “Ugh, gross. Who the hell would live here?”

You see the movement behind her, and you nod towards it with a smirk, “He would.”

Josephine turns around in shock, catching a split second glimpse of Lincoln before he knocks her out. Her body hits the ground with a thud, and you look up at him for the first time, his clothes closer to his Grounder clothes than his Skaikru clothes. Still, you smile at him, happy to see your old friend before you step forward and grab him in a hug. Lincoln smiles and hugs you back, pulling away after a moment and looking down at Josephine’s body. “What have you gotten yourself into, my warrior with a heart?”

“Nothing good. Long story short, she wants me dead.”

“Yeah, well she’ll have to get through me.”

You smile at him before the two of you team lift Josephine and carry her to the corner of the room, chaining her up to the wall, in the same place Lincoln once held Octavia. The two of you wait around for a few minutes before she wakes up, her eyes pulling open and her face pulling into one of confusion. She tugs on the chain and it rattles, but her hand doesn't move far, her movement limited. “What is this?”

You smile down at her. “You have no control here, because this is my mindspace. Turns out, I can create whatever I want.”

She sneers at you, “Cute. But what's your plan here, stall until I wake up? I'll just try again night after night, and the more time I spend here, the faster you die. And let me tell you, that death ain't fun or pretty. You can't win, so why bother?”

You cross your arms, looking down at her, your expression serious. “To make sure you lose. As for me, I'll find a way to survive. I always do.” 

“You’ve got spunk, I'll give you that. If things were different, we could have been friends, but I'm bored now.”

And before you can even comprehend what's happening, she reaches out and grabs a discarded knife that’s lying nearby, which she uses to slit her throat. You and Lincoln watch in alarm as the blood spills out of her neck, and you turn to him to ask what you should do, only to be transported out of the cave and back into the Ark. You’re facing the red door at the end of the hall, and you don't wait for it to open this time before you take off running down the halls, and as you do, you can hear Josephine’s voice calling out to you, “I may not be able to create anything in your mindspace, but I can sure bring something in!”

You freeze in the hallway you’re running through, listening hard to hear what she’s brought in. Unfortunately for you, that what is actually a who, and that who is actually Russell. His voice simultaneously sends a chill down your spine and pisses you off, still in disbelief that he's the reason you're even in this mess. “Let's split up and stop playing games. You're not a cat toying with a mouse. She's dangerous, kill her.”

You take off running again, putting space between your killer and his daughter, praying to the Universe that you survive this night. As you run past a door, the lights flicker on, revealing the airlock that sent your dad out to space. Tears instantly spring to your eyes as the memory flashes in front of you, and you watch him fly out of the airlock again, relieving the experience. You stare at the door, knowing this is the path to your dark memories, and you debate on whether to head here or continue down the hall. But the loud thud of Russell’s nearby footsteps is enough to decide for you, and all you can do is hope that this dark path is enough to stop him.

You step towards the doors and they slide open, and this time you’re not blinded by light before sliding into a place from your memory. This time you’re blanketed in a thick darkness, which slowly grows lighter to reveal the field below Arkadia, a big pole erected in the center of the field. You already know what this is as you gaze at it, your eyes already searching the space for him.

Finn.

He finds you first, his voice casually calling out to you, “Hey, la lune.”

You spin around to find Finn, his shirt stained with blood, smiling at you. You feel your emotions threaten to take you over, but you push them aside and call back, “Hey, Finn.”

He walks towards you, closing the space between you, looking you over. “You know, I told you to keep her safe.”

You know he means Clarke, so you nod. “I know, and I have.”

“Letting her bear it so you don't have to? That’s not keeping her safe. And what about the City of Light and Praimfaya and the Battle for Eden?”

You shake your head at him, refusing to be bullied by another one of your subconscious projections. “No, you don't get to do that. You don't get to make me feel bad about Clarke’s reactions to the things she’s done. She needed to leave after Mount Weather, because she couldn't stand to look at everyone and know what we did. That's not my fault. I have tried to help her bear it. I decided to take the Nightblood serum before she did and I got left behind with her during Praimfaya. I did everything I could to protect her while she was in the City of Light, including getting chipped myself. None of that was easy for me either, Finn, but I did it to help Clarke. I did it to try and keep her safe.”

He nods, accepting your answer, before he counters, “And what about giving Madi the Flame?”

You scoff, annoyed that another one of your projections is bringing this up. “Believe it or not, I did that for Clarke too. I didn’t do it because Bellamy told me to, and I didn’t do it because I value Clarke over Madi. I knew that people would follow Madi as their rightful Commander. I knew people would give their lives to keep her safe. But without a rightful Commander, I had no way to get to Clarke and free her, because even with Octavia in a coma, Wonkru still wanted to follow the wishes of their queen. I needed Madi to take the Flame so we’d have that Commander, but I was willing to do it myself if that is what it took to save Clarke. Even if it meant I'd be killed in the end, at least there would be enough of a distraction to get Clarke out. But Madi volunteered to do it to save both of us, and I agreed. Maybe I shouldn't have agreed, maybe I should have fought her harder on it, but it's done now. I made my choice knowing the effect it would have on my relationship with Clarke, but ultimately she forgave me. So it’s time for me to forgive myself.”

All around you, the trees start to go silent, nature’s warning to you and Finn that you’re in danger. Finn looks at you and warns, “He’s coming.”

You nod, and he slips into the shadows as Russell emerges from the trees, stalking right towards you with a glare. “Miss Griffin, I believe I told you no more fighting, and yet, here you are.”

He comes to a stop across from you, holding out his hand. “Now give me the memory.”

You cock your head to the side, sizing him up. “Seems this is a lesson that you and your sociopathic daughter need to learn: I’m nothing but fight.”

Russell sneers and lunges at you, but you sidestep his outstretched arms before swinging your elbow to his face and smashing his nose, breaking it. He reaches up to grab his nose, blood gushing between his fingers as he glares at you. You punch him across the face and then deliver a solid kick to his chest, sending him flying backwards, and as he peers up at you, you snap, “Make no mistake, the only reason you were able to kill me was because I was already sedated. Without that temporary paralytic, I would have ripped your throat out with my teeth.”

Russell tries to get up and attack you again, but Finn emerges from the shadows, punching the man and knocking him flat on his back. He tosses you a rope, and the two of you restrain Russell’s hands before dragging him over to the execution pole and restraining him there. Once he's tied up, Russell struggles against the ropes, but fails to do anything other than waste his energy. You and Finn watch on before he holds out his hand and mutters, “Here.”

You look down at his outstretched palm, your eyes falling on the knife that Clarke used to kill him, his red blood still staining the blade. You look up and meet Finn’s eyes in surprise, and he nods to Russell before he snarls, “Jus drein jus daun.”

And it’s like the words remind you of what Russell did to you, because your anger starts to rise, and you take the knife from Finn’s hands with little hesitation. You walk over to Russell, who is still angry, though he’s looking at you with curiosity. “‘Jus drein jus daun’? What does it mean?”

“Blood must have blood.” And then you plunge the knife into his chest, killing him. When you turn to face Finn again, you watch him disappear into the Commander’s tent, leaving you behind. You run after him, calling out, “Wait!”

As you push through the flap to the tent, the darkness overloads your senses again before gradually getting lighter, revealing a new location. Your clothes have changed to ones you hoped to never see again, because the sight of them only means one thing: you’re in the Skybox.

But as you look around the room, the one you know is the darkest part of your mind, holding your most painful memories, you get the sense that you are not alone. Because this cell, this solitary prison, it reeks of Shumway. His mark is all over it, your darkest memories flashing as you turn and take in the room, visions of Shumway shoving you against the wall to kiss you and standing in the doorway and taunting you with your father’s death. You feel your anxiety and panic start to rise, bringing a fresh onslaught of tears with it, but you close your eyes and take a deep breath, reciting constellations under your breath until you start to calm down. 

Your calmness doesn’t last for long, because the door behind you swings open, causing the hairs to lift on your arms in alarm. You turn, expecting to see Shumway standing there with that sinister ass grin he always wore, but you are instead met with the sight of Josephine, her smirk just as taunting as Shumway’s used to be. Your stomach drops and you feel your confidence start to crack, which is the only reason she’s able to swing a punch at you and knock you to the side. You hit the ground with an echoing thud, and Josephine stalks across the room to your bed, reaching underneath it to grab the locked ammo box that is hidden there. You look up at her, weakly muttering, “Don’t.”

You’re unable to muster up much more than that, the heaviness of this room and these memories weighing on you. She tries her luck with the combination lock on the box, spinning the little dials before she tugs, the lock still and unmoving. Josephine grunts in frustration and drops the box onto the bed, plopping down beside it before looking around the room, taking it in. “This is the place you were avoiding?”

She shifts her gaze to you, shaking her head in confusion. “It’s not even that scary.”

You sit up, glaring at her as you snap back, “It is if you know what happened here.”

A memory of Shumway attacking you in this room flashes across your mind, and apparently Josephine is able to see it too, because her eyes go wide with surprise. The next time she shifts her gaze to you, it’s full of pity and you hate it. “I didn't know.”

You counter, “It doesn't matter.”

“Memory is funny, you know? The formative stuff like the traumas, the things we can't move past, they live deep in the brain stem. These are the wounds we pay shrinks not to fix. These places control us, make us who we are. It's actually connected to the lower brain function; breathing, reflexes.”

“Please just shut up.”

She shakes her head, looking at you in confusion, motioning to the room around you, “All of this is guilt for the things you’ve been through and the deaths you've caused, but I don't get it. Why are you so torn up? Everything you did was to save your people. I'd do the same thing.”

You snort, “A ringing endorsement.”

“The thing I don't get is why you don't care about saving your people now.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Josephine?”

“Let's say you could somehow fight me off and get your body back. What would that do to your friends and family? Do you think my father would just let me go? What you're doing right now leads to the genocide of your people.”

“I just want to live. I want to see my family again.”

She cocks her head to the side, sizing you up. “Have you ever even once considered that the solution is to sacrifice yourself?”

You think of Maya’s words to you and the words from your father during the eclipse on Sanctum, reminding you that there is no doing better while you’re still around. Josephine can see you thinking of these memories, because she pushes on, “Your people are safe, Bellamy and Clarke made sure of it. I mean, they took your death hard, sure, but they knew the only thing a leader could do was to strike a deal for peace. Now it's time for you to step up. Bow out gracefully, and your people get to live happily ever after.”

You shake your head, rising to your feet, calling out the bullshit of her words. “You're lying. Bellamy and Clarke would never make a deal like that.”

“The lack of trust hurts me, but that's why I brought this.” She tries to hand you a book, one that’s been tucked at her side the entire time she was talking to you. You stare at it with apprehension, wondering if this is some ploy that ends with you dead. Only, for real this time. She shakes the book, urging you to take it. “Take it. It's not a trick, I don't play that way.”

You sigh and place your hand on the book, seeing a memory from Josephine’s point of view. She’s standing next to Russell, but she’s facing Bellamy and Clarke, both of them looking distraught. Russell has a small cut on his neck, and he’s panting slightly when he levels a look at your lover and your twin. “If you let us live, I can guarantee safety for the rest of your people. We'll share everything we've learned about surviving on this moon.”

You watch Bellamy glance at Clarke, the two of them having a silent conversation before he answers Russell with anger, “We are not doing this for you, we’re doing it for her.”

The memory ends, and you’re suddenly back in your prison cell on the Ark, looking at Josephine, tears in your eyes. They didn't fight for me. Josephine senses your emotional turmoil and tries to use it to her advantage, “It's time for you to sacrifice for your people. Don't start another war they'll have to fight.”

Your mind runs through all the possibilities, weighing the options on whether you should fight or just give in. If you fight, you get back to Bellamy and Clarke and the rest of your family, but at what cost to them? Because ultimately, you wanting to go back to them is purely for selfish reasons. It’s because you want to see them again. But if you give up now, they get to live. They’ll be safe, have a place of their own. And maybe most importantly, you’ll have peace. You have already sacrificed so much to save your people and the ones you love, which is why ultimately you look up at Josephine and nod, resigned to your fate. “I need for them to be okay.”

“By my word, your people will be safe. Bellamy and Clarke are meeting with my father first thing in the morning to discuss building them a compound. They'll have a new home, a new life. Madi can go to school just like any other kid, your friends can settle down. Everyone can stop fighting, including you.”

You feel tears rise to your eyes as you think of the peace that they’ll finally have, the peace you’ve all been fighting for since you landed on Earth. If making this one sacrifice gives them that, then you’ll do it, because they mean everything to you. You whisper, “Tell Bellamy I love him, Madi and Clarke too. Just...tell all of them.”

She nods, and once you have her confirmation, you cross the room over to her, reaching out for the box. You lift the lock, checking to see what incorrect combination she put in, and you see that the numbers are set to 0100. You shake your head, glancing over at her and muttering, “You forgot Bellamy and Raven.”

You change the last number, switching the numbers to 0102 before you tug down on the lock and unlock it. You step aside, allowing Josephine to remove the lock and open the lid to your darkest memories. She reaches inside, pulling out a tablet that has security footage from the Ark, the cameras aimed at the hallway around the airlock used to float people. The footage is edited together to show you sliding around the corner at the last second, just as your father is seen flying out to space, gone forever. You blink away your tears as she puts the tablet aside, reaching in to pull out Maya’s ipod, reminding you of both Jasper and Maya, and the role you played in their deaths. Next is the Grounder knife, which is stabbed through a picture, and Josephine looks at it in curiosity before pulling the picture off of the knife. It’s a photo of Gina, smiling and happy, wearing the clothes she will later be murdered in. You feel yourself choke up at the sight of it, unable to think of the sacrifice she made for you without getting upset.

Josephine pulls out Shumway’s ID badge, and she tosses it to the side, just as disgusted with the man as you are. She digs around in the ammo box, only two things left inside now. She pushes one to the side, a small angel statue that has been created from twisted metal, in favor of the tiny chip that plagued you and your people once Jaha returned from the City of Light. As soon as Josephine touches it, the memory of Raven’s EMP plays for her, which Josephine seems to find fascinating. She turns to you with a smile, musing, “An EMP. Cool.”

She sees your serious expression, one riddled with hidden emotions, and she drops the smile from her face, growing more somber. “It'll be over soon. I promise.”

And then she rises from the bed and walks away, leaving the room and heading back to her side of your brain. As soon as you're alone, all of the emotions you worked hard to keep hidden begin to bubble to the surface, all of your most painful memories spread out across the bed in your former cell. You collapse onto it, your tears finally falling, allowing yourself to cry for all of the awful things you’ve been through. But beyond that, you have a new memory to add to your locked box: the one you’re sitting in right now. Because this memory of you sitting on the bed, surrounded by the ghosts of your past, symbolizes what will soon be a reality for you: your death. 

Soon, it will truly be over, and you will be nothing but a memory to the people you love, locked up in their own ammo boxes, hidden deep within them and out of reach.

-

You don't know how long you sit in your cell and cry, but eventually you pull yourself up and head back through your mindspace, determined to spend your last few hours of life doing something other than crying or fighting. You walk past the scene of Finn’s death, through Lincoln's cave into Mount Weather, then back into Polis before emerging back inside the Ark. and then you follow the halls, past your shared room with Bellamy and the eerie red door to Josephine’s side, until you emerge back inside the church in Shallow Valley, eyes searching for your father. This time though, the building is empty.

You shrug off the hurt you feel and grab your favorite book from a nearby table, flipping it open to read the note scrawled on the first page. 

My radiant moon,

I’m writing this letter to you to tell you that I love you. 

Right now, you’re asleep beside me, unbothered by the chaos of life that awaits us outside our door. When you sleep, you have a tendency to pull me closer to you, always reaching out for me anytime I shift or leave the bed. I don’t think you even know that you do it, but each time you do, I’m hit with the strength of your love. I’ve never had someone love me like this before.

But, I feel the same for you. Looking down at you now, I want nothing more than to love and protect you for the rest of my life. I promise to always do that. 

I don't know when you’ll find this, maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, maybe when we’re old and gray, surrounded by our kids and grandkids, watching our family gather together and spread the love that we share. 

All I know is that you are my love and my heart, and I am a better man because of you. I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving that to you. I know that I've made mistakes, and that at times I don't deserve the love that you give me, and when I feel that way, I’m going to work to earn it. 

For now, though, I have to go. The love of my life is reaching out for me, trying to pull me closer. I love you more than the stars, my radiant moon. You light up my life in ways I didn't even know were possible.

Forever yours,

Bellamy

 You smile as you finish reading, the words not making you sad like they did after Praimfaya. This time as you read them, all you feel is gratitude. Even though your life will soon be over, you’re grateful that you at least got to meet Bellamy. You got to meet him, then hate him, then fall in love with him. Even better than that, you got to be loved by him. Not many people get to experience the love that the two of you have for each other, but you did. And now, at the end of your life, you’re just so damn happy that you did.

You flip past the note and to the first page of the book, quietly reading to yourself and spending your last few hours at peace. 

You read for a few hours, the sun outside of your window rising slowly, reminding you of the passage of time, and when you’re about halfway through The Iliad you hear a door open, letting you know someone else is here. You close the book and look up with a smile, calling out, “Dad?”

Except your eyes don't land on your dad, they land on Monty. 

He looks the way he did when you all went into cryosleep, before he became an old man, and you jump up from your seat and put your book to the side, running across the room to pull him into your arms. He hugs you back, though not as enthusiastically, and as you start to wonder why, he mutters, “You call this doing better?”

You pull away from him and look at him in confusion as he adds, “Giving up isn't better.”

“That’s not what I’m-” You cut yourself off when you see the look that he gives you, because technically, you are giving up. You just have a reason to, which is what you decide to tell him instead. “I’m doing this to save the others.”

“‘It's all for my people’? Look. I've heard that from Clarke before, and it's just an excuse.” You give him a hurt look, shaking your head, unsure what to say to him. Because maybe it is just an excuse. But maybe you just don't care anymore. Monty must sense that, because he becomes more empathetic. “I get it, it's been endless. But are you really gonna leave them?”

He motions to a picture tacked on the wall, one with Madi, Clarke, and Bellamy locking arms, all smiling. It’s not a memory, it’s just something nice that your brain created, but now Monty is using it against you. You think of Josephine's warning, how you fighting back will be seen as an act of war, and your people will suffer for it. Which is why you counter with, “They’ll be better off without me.”

“I don't think that's true.”

“They have each other. Plus, Bellamy and Clarke already made a deal that keeps them all safe.”

Monty shakes his head, trying to get you to understand. “This is about being the good guys. Yeah, that deal means our side gets to live, but at what cost? You're giving in to people who murder human beings to live forever.”

“You’re right, but it’s too late. I already gave in, and Josephine has the memory. As soon as she wakes up, she'll know how to get me out of my head. It's over.”

“We’ll see about that.” Monty holds his hand out to you, waiting for you to take it, and you know the gesture means more than just trusting each other. If you agree to take Monty’s hand, you are agreeing to go back on your deal with Josephine, and to fight for your life. And the more you think about it, the more you want to fight. Isn't that what you told Josephine, and Russell, and Kane, and countless others? You don't go down without a fight, never have, and you let yourself be manipulated by Josephine, who could easily tell that you were struggling. And maybe it is selfish to do this all because you want to see your family again, but so what? Everyone needs something to fight for, and your family is your reason.

Which is why you take Monty’s hand, and allow him to lead you out of Shallow Valley and back onto the Ark. He leads you down the hall, towards the eerie red door, both of you coming to a stop right outside of it. You look at it with apprehension and mutter, “This is Josephine's mindspace. She controls it.”

Monty jokes, “What’s she gonna do, kill you?”

You both exchange a smile before he nods towards the door, urging you to open it. You grab the knob and twist, pushing the door open, you and Monty temporarily blinded by the light before stepping into what appears to be the world’s largest library. You look at it in shock, staring at the shelves of books that extend further than your eyes can see. “Wow.”

“230 years of memories.” As soon as Monty says the words, you hear a distant explosion, the lights above you rattling. You look around in fear, before turning back to Monty with wide eyes. He surmises, “Good news is, we can affect her body here. Bad news is, Josephine seems to sense it. Come on, let's find something we can use.”

The two of you split apart, taking different aisles so you can cover more ground at the same time. You can see Monty in the space between the shelves, and the two of you exchange a look every few seconds, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of books in the room. They’re all in chronological order, numbered and neatly organized, seemingly color coded according to which body the memories occurred in. You have to agree that Josephine’s mindspace is better organized than your own, but the vague appearance of each book means that finding anything useful in here is going to be a pain. Luckily for you, you don't have to worry about that for long, because as you and Monty come to the end of your respective shelves, you find a large door, locked and labeled: Special Collection. Monty calls out, “Look, this must be where she keeps her primal wounds. This is her Skybox.”

You think back to Josephine's earlier words to you, said to you as she sat with you in your own special collection. These memories control us; they’re connected to lower brain function. You look at Monty, suddenly getting an idea. “She said they create a physical response. We could control my body from there.”

He smiles at you, proud of your quick thinking, “On it!”

You wait anxiously at Monty’s side as he hacks into the security system that controls the door to Josephine’s darkest memories, and after a minute or two, the door beeps, and the light outside turns from red to green. Monty smiles, cheering himself on, “Yes!”

He pushes the door open and motions for you to step inside first, both of you temporarily blinded by the light until it begins to clear, revealing a small diner. There are people milling about inside, and lights hung up all over the place. You glance and Monty and mutter, “Earth before the bombs.”

Monty rushes forward to the counter, sliding a stack of newspapers to the side to reveal a magazine, which he holds up to show you. “Check it out.”

On the cover is Diyoza, looking identical to the Diyoza you met over 100 years later, the headline proudly proclaiming that she’s been caught. You shake your head, looking around at the cozy setting, wondering why Josephine gave you so much shit about your dark place not being scary when hers doesn't seem scary at all. “Why would she keep this memory locked away?”

“More importantly, how do we get control from here?”

You look around, trying to figure out the answer to Monty’s question when your eyes land on a blonde girl sitting at a table nearby. It’s Josephine, dressed in a pretty pink outfit, sitting at a table with a friend. You nudge Monty and point at them, whispering, “Come on.”

The two of you slip over to the table behind the pair, watching as they write in notebooks in front of them, textbooks scattered all along the table. They’re quietly discussing their classes, the conversation largely boring until the bell over the door of the diner rings, signaling a new arrival. A young man walks inside, searching the diner until his eyes land on Josephine, and he makes a beeline for her, coming to a stop beside her table awkwardly. “Hey.”

She looks up at him, before her eyes shift to her friend, both of them having a silent conversation. The guy seems oblivious to the fact that neither of them seem to want him there, and he plops down in the empty chair across from Josephine. “I was looking for you at the water rationing protest, thought you posted something about going.” 

“Too many people, you know.”

Her friend adds, “And it's really dusty outside.”

“Yeah, sure.” He seems to take a second to regroup, before settling a smile on his face, directed at Josephine. “Uh, I asked, and there's plenty of room at the comparative linguistics thing if you want to go.”

She twirls some of her hair between her fingers, the motion clearly something she does without really realizing, as you’ve seen her do it a few times before. “I don't know. I'm not really feeling that social lately.”

Josephine looks down, back at whatever she’s working on, and the guy finally seems to catch onto her rejection. “You still think you're too good for me, huh?”

She looks up in alarm, shaking her head, “That's not what I-”

He cuts her off, sounding more pissed off with each passing second. “Don't lie, just admit it. Stop toying with me and just admit what you are.”

Josephine stutters, “I, I don't-”

“I mean, I tried. Calls, texts, you know, being thoughtful. What do I get? Nothing.” He follows his nothing up by reaching into his pocket and pulling out a gun, plopping it down on the table so Josephine and her friend can see, but the other patrons in the diner do not. You and Monty share a look of alarm, and you're finally starting to understand why she might have hidden this away. Josephine and her friend both look panicked, but Josephine sits silently as her friend shakily asks, “What are you doing?”

“Thinking you should shut the hell up.” The friend snaps her mouth closed, obliging his demand, and he turns his gaze back to Josephine. “Message received, you stuck up bitch. You don't want to see me, but you can see this.”

And before anyone can say anything, he lifts the gun to his temple and pulls the trigger, killing himself and sending blood flying all over both girls. People in the diner cry out at the sound of the gunshot, and they all take off running, but Josephine and her friend stay frozen in place, shocked into stillness. You turn to Monty, your adrenaline pumping a little because of what you just witnessed, and you whisper, “This is the thing she couldn't face.”

“We need to use it to control your body.” You nod in agreement and he looks around the room for a second before he mutters, “I have an idea.”

Before you can ask what it is, the lights in the diner start to flicker as an alarm starts to blare, “Alert. Incoming bombshells. Take cover immediately.”

You look at Monty in fear and whisper, “Quick, hide.”

He does as you say, quickly jumping up and running towards the bar, ducking behind it as you stand from your chair. The door to the diner swings open, and Josephine comes stalking in, dressed the same as the version of her that’s sitting in a chair behind you, covered in blood. This Josephine, however, is clean, but she is pissed. She takes one look at you and screams, “You never should have come here! Get out!”

Her words echo in your ears, the force of them sending you back to your side of the divide. As you look at the red door in shock, it suddenly flies open and Josephine dives out, knocking you both to the ground before she moves to straddle you, her hands flying to your neck. She squeezes hard, spots already dancing along the edges of your vision as she grunts, “I gave you the chance to go quietly. I said I'd help your people. Deal's off!”

And just when you think it's the end for you, she’s gone, her body disappearing off of you in the blink of an eye. You roll over and cough, struggling to take in the air she nearly stole from you, and as soon as you catch your breath, you stare at the red door, now closed. You’re hit with a realization as you try to comprehend her speedy exit, one that can be the only answer as to why she wouldn't finish the job. “She's awake.”

You stand staring at the door for a long minute, trying to figure out what to do. Now that Josephine knows you’re fighting back, you have to keep going and you have to win. Otherwise she’ll kill everyone that you love just because she can, and those she doesn't kill she’ll cast out, leaving them to struggle to survive on this complicated ass moon. 

Monty’s last words to you before Josephine’s arrival were that he had a plan. And considering the fact that he’s still in her darkest memory, that means that you are still inside her darkest memory, since he is a subconscious projection of you. That’s why you reach out for the doorknob again and push your way inside, arriving inside of Josephine’s neatly organized library. You run past the shelves and head to the door, worried when you see that the light on the door is red again, and you have no idea on how you can hack it like Monty did. You decide to take a risk and knock on the door, whispering, “Monty, are you there? It’s me.”

The door pulls open and a hand grabs you and tugs you inside. You start to worry that it’s Josephine, fully prepared to send you back to your side again, but you’re relieved to see that it’s actually Monty, standing in front of you and holding up a pen and small paper pad. “Morse Code.”

“What?”

“We’ll use the lights to send a message with Morse Code.”

You shake your head, growing panicked again. “I don't know Morse Code.”

“Yes you do, you learned it when Clarke did. The memory’s boxed up, shoved to the side in favor of more useful skills, but since we’re inside of your memory, it’s much easier to find the box. In fact,” he uncaps the pen and writes quickly for a second before passing the notepad to you. “I already did.”

The notepad has a message, one word, simple, formed with dots and dashes. The message, scribbled on a waitress’s notepad in a memory that does not belong to you, gives you more hope than any other message has ever given you before. You rush over to one of the abandoned tables in the diner, tugging down one of the strands of lights so that you can easily reach it. And then you plop down into the chair across from Monty, twisting the light to turn it on and off, signaling out the code that Monty wrote out for you. 

●— A

●—●● L

●● I

●●●— V

● E

 -

Clarke freezes as the door to the palace opens and her twin walks in. Except, it’s not her twin. 

It’s your body, but you are no longer inside. 

She knows she should be listening to whatever the hell Russell is saying, but she can't bring herself to focus, her eyes still locked on you. Josephine doesn’t seem to notice though, she just stands near the back of the room, waiting patiently to talk to her dad. Though, maybe it’s more like waiting impatiently, because she’s tapping her arm while she waits. At first, Clarke doesn’t find anything odd about that, until her eyes notice that the tapping is occurring in a pattern, and the pattern is repeating in a loop. 

Josephine clears her throat, asking for the attention of the others in the room, and Clarke uses the temporary distraction to nudge Bellamy. He looks over at her in confusion, and she nods her head to Josephine, silently communicating what she’s seeing. Bellamy follows her gaze over to the former body of his fiance, catching onto the same strange pattern being tapped out. But Bellamy recognizes it for what it is first, and he flips a page in his notebook before he begins to write quickly, marking out the dots and dashes in the order they appear in.

Russell demands his attention again, and Bellamy manages to keep it together just long enough to end the meeting and get Clarke and Miller outside. He already knows what the symbols mean, easily able to translate the code in his head, and he’s practically bouncing with excitement. Clarke nearly breaks his hand when they get outside of the room, when she grabs it tight so she can drag him away into a private corner. “What does it say?”

Bellamy writes the letters next to their corresponding symbols, translating the message out for the remaining Griffin twin. He turns the notepad around so she can read it, the word leaving her mouth in a breathy whisper. “Alive.”

She looks up at Bellamy in disbelief. “She’s alive?”

“Looks like it.” Both of their faces split into wide grins, this information the happiest news they’ve ever heard. Miller is still struggling to understand, his gaze flitting between the pair in confusion. “What does it mean?”

Clarke turns to him, her expression getting serious as she realizes what they have to do now. “It means my la lune is alive, and we’re gonna get her back.”

-

[utilitycaster]

hello!! i just went thru your history of exandria post and im confused by the dates of the even of crimson midnight and the moleasmyr accident- in De'Leth's bio it says that he is one of those escaped elves and was also the founder of the assembly (ergo, was there for the Eve) so I think something is amiss... I also checked the dates, and Ludinus is an original member of the assembly. So how could he have fled Moleasmyr AFTER he'd already established the Assembly in Rexxentrum?

Hi!

Short, Doylist answer: Matthew Mercer is not superhuman and made a very understandable mistake.

Extremely long answer: Matthew Mercer is still not superhuman and still made a very understandable mistake (my guess is either he meant to put in 565 instead of 585 for the fall of Molaesmyr, or “not a half-century” for the date of the Eve of Crimson Midnight), but this, one of the the two biggest discrepancies in the history of Exandria* can both be handwaved (Watsonianed, if you will permit me turning that into a verb, and if you don’t I fully understand and probably deserve it) with a little bit of headcanon. Here is my headcanon which you are welcome to adopt, with dates, citations, and reasoning, below the jump.

Reasoning for the Date for the Eve of Crimson Midnight

So: the exact phrasing (Matthew Mercer, The Explorer’s Guide to Wildemount (Renton, WA: Wizards of the Coast, 2020), 16) for the Eve of Crimson Midnight is “Not a quarter century after the Marrow War ended....” blah blah, wizards fought, got captured and brought to the king, “After days of deliberation, an agreement was drawn up that would absolve those involved of the usual punishment in exchange for direct subservience to the Crown and the goals of the empire. Establishing themselves as the Cerberus Assembly, this council of mages became an powerful tool for the empire to maintain its position as the dominant force of Wildemount.”

“Not a quarter century” is something I’d personally interpret as “slightly less than 25 years later”; this is also the typical interpretation of that phrasing for most native English speakers, certainly native speakers of American English, which both I and the author of the book are, so we’re going with that.

The Marrow War has an explicit date given; the Admonition (execution of rebellious priests who were in turn spurred on by Julous Dominion interests) was in 544 PD (Mercer, p. 15) and later that year Emperor Manfried (the title of King rather than Emperor comes later) attacked the Julous Dominion, starting the Marrow War. It lasted “over sixteen months” which again I’d interpret as “more than 16 months, but probably not more than 17 otherwise you’d say that”, so depending on when the Admonition was, it ended in either late 545 PD, or early 546 PD. Not quite 25 years later would therefore put us in roughly 570 PD for the Eve of Crimson Midnight.

Reasoning for the Date of the Fall of Molaesmyr

This is much simpler! Per Mercer, p. 42: “What is known is that in the year 585 PD, suddenly and without warning, a wave of purple-gray shadow rapidly crept from the center of Molaesmyr to engulf the entire city.” It then goes on to describe that the elves fled, some “eventually” to settle Bysaes Tyl, some to Uthodurn.

Ludinus Da’leth’s personal history

Mercer, p. 42: “Ludinus is the oldest and only original member of the assembly...He was one of the mages who survived the destruction of Molaesmyr and fled to Bysaes Tyl, but he saw the opportunity to achieve greatness within the empire and left his culture behind to continue his arcane pursuits.”

A note on Bysaes Tyl

Per Mercer, p. 96, it took several years to build up the city, but for the sake of argument I am treating the region to which the elves of Molaesmyr originally fled as also Bysaes Tyl, thus indicating Ludinus may have only been there very briefly.

Here’s How Ludinus Can Still Be A Founding Member Of The Assembly

While the Eve of Crimson Midnight occurred circa 570 PD, as did the initial agreement that those involved would be directly subservient to the crown, it doesn’t actually indicate how long it took for those people to establish themselves as the Cerberus Assembly.

I would absolutely believe that a bunch of wizard academics who all tried to kill each other so hard they created collateral damage in the streets of Rexxentrum would absolutely take 15 years or more to consolidate a formal council and give it a cool name. In fact, can’t you just imagine it? Ludinus Da’leth, a promising young elven mage living in “the height of reborn civilization on Wildemount” (Mercer, p. 18) sees his home, his laboratories, everything he’s worked on, all destroyed. Perhaps it’s by his hand; perhaps by that of a colleague. He flees to a bitter cold forest with absolutely nothing. To the south, Rexxentrum stands as now the major site of arcane talent. Perhaps there’s been communication between the wizards of the Empire and those of Molaesmyr. Perhaps he’s heard that they are sworn in service to the king, but have been in disarray because they can’t elect a leader-after all, they’re in this position because “A number of noble houses with a strong history of studying arcane pursuits began to compete with other high-born magic practitioners from the Julous Dominion”. They can’t openly fight anymore, but the political games continue and neither those from within the pre-Marrow War boundaries of the Empire nor those from the recently-incorporated Julous Dominion can agree on council representation, and they’ve been deadlocked for over a decade. They have been serving the king, but he is becoming displeased.

Enter a neutral** third party: Ludinus Da’leth, formerly of Molaesmyr. A suitable compromise who just happened to make his way south - a gifted mage, eager to prove his allegiance to the Dwendalian crown and share what he knows. And so: the founding of the Cerberus Assembly, 15-20 years after the Eve of Crimson Midnight and shortly after the fall of Molaesmyr, following an uneasy interim period of mages in slightly disorganized service to the crown. And scene.

*the other big discrepancy is that the Chroma Conclave was stated to be in the year 815 PD on page 20 of the Explorer’s Guide to Wildemount, but in Campaign 1 episode 103 a minor NPC when asked for the date says the year is 812, which would instead put the Chroma Conclave in the last few days 810 PD per the dates given. However, since the month and day that NPC gives also don’t line up internally even with the other stated events of Campaign 1, and since using a date of late 810 for the Chroma Conclave would make Allura pretty young when she sealed away Thordak and conflicts with a bunch of dates mentioned since, including Delilah Briarwood’s expulsion from the Cerberus Assembly, Vilya’s time on Rumblecusp, and The Darrington Brigade’s stand against Quackthulu, I’m personally inclined to say “Matt probably didn’t have the date written down when asked, because it was episode 103 and the exact year had not been relevant so far, and/or misread 817 for 812 when looking down at his notes.” The headcanon to fix this is of course that the NPC got the date wrong and Vox Machina either didn’t realize due to *gestures vaguely at the events of episode 102* or was like wait are we in the past? seems fake and then asked someone else offscreen and got the right date, which is way less fun but much easier.

**technically, lawful, although who knows what his alignment was then. If you also buy into theories that Ludinus was in some way responsible for the fall of Molaesmyr you get some fascinating parallels to one similarly opportunistic and ambitious Hot Boi, and yes I did make a really stupid alignment joke just to make this point.

[ks-caster]

The 100 Season 7 Episode 4 - Post-Liveblog Recap

Okay, so I liveblogged an episode for the first time - and it turned out to be a nice way to stay focused through the commercial breaks. Might continue to do that for the rest of the season.

But TBH I started doing it just so I could bitch about the CLEAR AND BLATANT LACK OF A SCENE WHERE SANCTUM!KRU REALIZE THAT BELLAMY AND ANOMOLY!KRU ARE MISSING. That was an important scene that the whole fandom, more or less, has been waiting for the entire time for various reasons. 

How do the characters react? Who figures out that something’s wrong first? Does Clarke sense Bellamy’s absence because they have a bond? Does Emori go looking for her space sister to comfort her other space sister only to find her missing? 

(Actually, she does. That’s my headcanon and I’m sticking to it. Might fic later. Accounts for Emori’s complete absence while her bestie Raven is falling apart.)

Edit: here's the fic!

Anyway, back to the episode - whoever was in charge of editing really really dropped the ball. Missing realization scene, poorly ordered Raven and Clarke scenes. The music during the Dev-and-Hope montage was a nice touch but just too loud enough that I really had trouble telling what they were saying - and the pacing would have felt better with just one show of teenage!Hope before we got 20-year-old her. The cut from Orlando agreeing to train Anomaly!Kru to 5 years later was WAY too abrupt for me to get a feel for the character and relationship development that they were trying to shoehorn in in order to create conflict at the end. I got where they were going with everything, but in a I’m-reading-a-newbie-writer’s-fanfic-because-I-love-the-story-concept-and-want-to-support-them kind of way and not in a I’m-watching-a-show-made-by-experienced-professionals-and-paying-for-the-privilege-in-ad-revenue kind of way. Disappointing.

Jumping around here for a bit: I gotta say I’m loving the makeovers this season! Hair and makeup did a great job on bringing back the old Raven without losing the maturity they gave her, giving Murphy and Emori their Gucci Royalty Vibes without losing the feel of their individual styles, and making Hope look like she can’t find quite the balance between feral forest girl and innocent shut-in who can’t bear to take a life (which is accurate to her character, of course). 

And Echo! So I really, really didn’t like her makeovers in seasons 5 and especially 6, because it felt like they were trying too hard to make her look pretty in a 21st Century kind of way. She looked softer, more vulnerable, which really contradicted her character traits - but I thought that might’ve been on purpose, to show a change in her (that she did indeed allow herself to become softer and more vulnerable for her family). And her post-time-skip (not that one. Or that one. The other one. There’s a lot of those. Bah.) look feels like a return to herself; she’s beautiful but in a no-nonsense, don’t-forget-I-can-cut-your-throat kind of way. (Is this because I just really love the butch look on woman and am myself a butch woman? Maybe. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.)

Side note: Where the hell did they get clippers on Penance? Those haircuts were entirely too even to have been done with scissors. I’ll buy that Gabriel and Orlando shaved their heads and their perfect round cuts were growout, but Hope and Echo? Electric clippers. Like I said I like the looks, but guys, there’s no way.

I liked that I got a better feel for Hope’s character this episode - she’s trying so hard to be like her mom and Aunty O and all the heroes they told her about when she was a child, but the truth is she’s been in one real battle, she froze, and her best and only friend died. And since her only role models were these incredibly strong people who didn’t give up, back down, hesitate, that wouldn’t be an easy thing for her to get over. (Given that Diyoza was pregnant with her for two entire seasons, I’d really like to have more time developing Hope’s character - or even the same amount of screen time but go easier on the timeskips, lol. She keeps having growth/maturity/life experience spurts so it’s hard to keep up with the development that we’re shown.

So, 5 (7? Wasn’t she 22? There’s still 2 years we missed right?) years after watching her friend die, and 5 (7?) years of blaming herself for freezing, she’s put into the same position, and she stabs some lady in the neck. Kid didn’t steal her coping mechanisms! All joking aside thought, the kid basically relived her trauma in real life - honestly her reaction was 100% valid.

I’m sure I’m supposed to be upset by Echo’s choice to kill the remaining gold-head people. But I think the only reason that’s supposed to bother me is that she promised (ish - she was real explicitly clear that she’d do what was necessary to rescue Bellamy and them were the breaks) Orlando that she wouldn’t. I think I’m supposed to care about the fractured relationship between AnomalyKru and Orlando.

I don’t. I don’t know if it’s the super-fast timeskip (it was weird enough to see the changed dynamics in SpaceKru when I deeply knew all of the characters AND we got time to see the changes play out) or the fact that I didn’t really get to know Orlando in a way that made me super sympathetic to him (I’ll get to that in a minute) or if it’s just that he was smart enough to know he was being played from the start (see Navy SEAL mom didn’t teach you how to swim and Echo again being 100% clear that killing people might still happen) and walked right in anyway. Either way, his betrayal wasn’t enough of a motivator for me as an audience member to be bothered about how things ended between him and AnomalyKru. I kind of shrugged and moved on.

More on Orlando... So The 100 has had several plotlines that center around people doing dangerous, terrible and downright ridiculous things because of their religions; see the kidnapping and conclave of freaking children killing each other to become commander, Gaia’s whole character arc + starting a new religion around Octavia/WonKru betraying that religion to go back to their old one centering on Madi, WHO IS GODDAMN TWELVE, all of Sanctum and season 6, the Sanctum conflict here in season 7, and now this goddamn Bardo Disciple shite.

Now I’m not dishing on real life religion or religious people - I happen to have one of those myself - but the plot of some-people-take-their-religion-way-too-far-drink-the-koolaid-and-hurt-people-around-them has been done and done and done on this show. And now here we have Orlando, who was a high-ranking member of his religion, drank the koolaid, cast out, still a true believer and therefore dangerous because his perspective is fundamentally skewed. I don’t know anything about this religion but that it’s militarized (they can arrest people) and think that sentencing people to 10 years of madness-inducing Geneva Convention violations and then bringing them back to their families two days later is okay. I don’t really want to know anything else, because I’m worried that the show is going to work hard on making this religion scarier than the Sanctum one (needing to one-up themselves with the big bad, of course) which just keeps making the commander religion look humane in comparison. 

Which it wasn’t. But I digress.

So Orlando was kinda’ cool, but getting in too deep with a fundamentalist who was complicit in his own abuse by said religion (and so who knows what he thought was okay to do to other people) and then it ended badly.

Cue shocked Pikachu.

Moving on. Clarke. Baby. After the harrowing experience of the radiation destroying the radio so you couldn’t say goodbye to your mom when you were supposed to go to space, then missing your time window and getting left behind on Earth, and the radio broke them too so you couldn’t even be sure your friends would leave in time until they blasted off, and then calling Bellamy every day when you knew he couldn’t hear you, and ALL OF THE FREAKING LAST SEASON WHERE YOU WERE POSSESSED AND WOULD HAVE GIVEN ANYTHING TO LET YOUR FRIENDS AND DAUGHTER KNOW BOTH THAT THAT WASN’T YOU AND THEN LATER THAT YOU WERE ALIVE and THEN your MOTHER getting possessed and you had to check to see if it was really her and it WASN’T. Clarke. 

After all that terrifying inability to communicate.

You leave Gaia behind to warn everyone of the danger. INSTEAD OF CALLING THEM ON A PIECE OF HANDY TECHNOLOGY OR TAKING A QUICK TRIP BACK YOURSELF. TO TELL YOUR DAUGHTER WHERE YOU WERE GOING. YOU DON’T THINK THAT MAYBE MAKING EXTRA SURE THAT EVERYTHING GETS COMMUNICATED CLEARLY AND IMMEDIATELY MIGHT BE A PRIORITY.

And then Gaia gets kidnapped. Honestly, cool! Not ‘cause I’m rooting for Gaia to be hurt (I don’t care all that much about her tbh) but I LOVE Indra and I want her to have more screen time and development this season - and or the chance to cut people up with her sword - and kidnapping her daughter seems like a great way to facilitate that.

*Looks at list* Oh, right, Jordan. I forgot you were here. Honestly I can’t figure out what the fuck is going on with you, and since I’ve had a whole season of not connecting with you because the story was too busy focusing on external plot... I don’t see that changing any time soon buddy. Sorry.

Oh and that FrEaKiNg PrOmO! 

My garbage boy! My chaos gremlin! My excellent-at-impersonating-a-deity-even-if-it-goes-against-his-programming! What are they doing?! 

I’m torn between NO DON’T HURT HIM and YES HURT HIM BECAUSE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT AND BRAVERY BWAHAHAHA. At least I know there’ll be Murphy and hopefully Memori content in the next episode. That’s the good shit. It’s the only thing left about this show that still feels “pure,” not that I didn’t know what sort of darkness I was signing up for when I started but just because he and Emori are sort of the last light in the darkness, and it’s nice to get a break periodically.

[elfrootaddict]

HERALD OF ANDRASTE - Chapter 2/4

DESCRIPTION: El'lana’s entire world is turned upside down when she, a proud Dalish elf, is bestowed the title “Herald of Andraste”.

SERIES: Halla & Wolf

VOLUME: 3

It’s been just over four days since the prisoner’s attempt of closing the Breach, and Solas did not expect her to survive. As she lay unconscious for hours, then a day, and then into several nights, it was only a matter of time before she would be declared dead. 

She may have survived the Conclave by accidentally entering the Fade, Solas thought to himself, but to survive closing the Breach with her magical limitations? Impossible. 

Just as Solas had theorised, the mark had stopped spreading like the Breach, which helped solidify his value to Cassandra. Seems her desire to see him executed will have to wait. 

When nearing the end of the third day, Solas was preparing the little belongings he had in anticipation of the prisoner’s demise, so that he could reconnect with his agents as soon as possible.

However, not too long after making the decision to leave did he notice a lot of stirring and commotion amongst the people of Haven. Suddenly everyone started rushing to witness something. Or someone. 

While keeping his distance, Solas witnessed Lana awkwardly shuffle through the gawking crowd of people. 

This prisoner somehow managed to defy all reasonable odds. Again?

Only when Lana disappeared into the Chantry, did Solas retreat back to his cabin to reconsider his strategy. A few thoughts had come to mind but he quickly settled on one; he was going to leave regardless, and have one of his agents spy on the prisoner for him. His time is too valuable, and he was not going to waste it here, especially when his spies could do the work for him just fine. 

Also, he was not comfortable being the only apostate amongst so many unrestrained Chantry forces. Rumours of the rebel mages causing the Breach was growing, and he wanted no part in it.

Once Solas was packed and ready to leave, he opened his cabin to once again find the people of Haven gathering to witness something else. This time, it was in front of the Chantry. 

With his curiosity peaked, Solas decided to quickly see what the commotion was all about before he left. 

As Solas reached a perfectly concealed spot, he patiently watched and waited as Cassandra, Liliana, Josephine Montyliet and Commander Cullan stood ideally by in a huddle in front of the slowly growing crowd. After a few moments of nothing, Solas decided it was probably no more than a public service announcement of sorts for the people of Haven.

As Solas was about to turn to leave, he suddenly saw the prisoner step out of the Chantry. With genuine shock slapped across his face, Solas witnessed Cassandra gesture for the prisoner to stand with them in formation, as an equal, and announce the rebirth of the Inquisition. 

As momentous as the occasion was to witness, especially considering it was current and not a memory in the Fade, Solas could not help but bewilderedly stare at the prisoner as she stood front-in-center of the ceremony.

She is clearly no longer their prisoner. No, she has become someone important. Someone, I need to keep an eye on myself.  

***

It is now the fourth day, in the late afternoon, and the people of Haven are starting to prepare for the evening meals. Solas is making his way back to his cabin when he passes Varric, who is warming himself by a large fire, and regards him with a friendly nod.

“Hey, Chuckles! Hold on a moment.”

Solas stops to turn around, “Yes, Master Tethras?”

“Please, Varric is fine. I’m not one for fancy titles.”

“My apologies, Varric. What can I do for you?” and with a subtle, polite gesture from Solas, the two men continue walking together. 

“Look, I don’t like telling people what to do just as much as the next guy, but I can tell when someone needs company.”

Solas looks down at the dwarf slightly puzzled, “I hope you don’t mind me saying, but I am in no need of any company?”

“I wasn’t talking about you.”

The two men walk up a small flight of steps which leads to a large, open space with cabins situated on either side, and another directly in front. 

“Who, then?”

Varric folds his arms across his chest, and cocks his head over his left shoulder and whispers, “Lana.”

Solas leans to the side and notices a pair of two bare feet, wrapped in thin, makeshift leather strips, hiding behind the cabin opposite to his.

“What does that have to do with me?”

Varric sighs loudly, “I understand you like being alone, but our little Dalish there? From what I could gather, this is probably the first time in her life that she’s been away from her clan.”

Solas becomes visibly uncomfortable at Varric’s insinuation, “And you think because I’m an elf, that I would be able to console her?”

Throwing his hands up and shaking his head, “Is that so hard to understand? Sure, there is Minaeve but she’s too, you know, Andrastian. Lana would perhaps enjoy talking to someone less, Chantry?” Varric sighs and crosses his arms. “Look, just go talk to her will you? Maker’s breath, she won’t bite!” and walks away, leaving Solas with a decision. 

All Solas wanted to do was to get out of the blasted Fereldan cold. He looks down at his toes, sighs, and realises they are going to have to stay frozen a little while longer. 

As Solas begins his quiet approach, he notice’s Lana sitting on a loose fur rug, knees close to her chest, and with her back against the cabin as she softly hums a melody to herself. Solas also notices an ink pot beside her, and then sees her slowly guiding the quill on some parchment as she draws a pair of eyes.

As Solas’s shadow casts down on Lana, she looks up from her sketch and immediately squeals from fright, causing Solas’s entire body to subtly jolt as he tries not to squeal in return. 

That would be entirely unbecoming. 

Lana brings her hand up to block the sun’s rays, her eyes trying to adjust to the silhouette towering above her. Soon small details begin to reveal themselves, and Lana eventually recognises that it’s Solas. 

Taking in a deep breath of relief, Lana chuckles loudly, “Ir abelas, lethallin! I wasn’t expecting anybody to find me here.”

After quietly composing himself, Solas calmly responds, “Apologies. It seems I have frightened you. I should have announced my presence sooner.” 

Lana removes her gaze and looks back at her sketch, “Oh no, don’t worry. I just startle easily. Not a very good trait for someone to have in my position, I suppose.” and turns to look back up at Solas with a gentle, innocent smile.

“Do not bother yourself with their perceptions of you. For it is your mark they are primarily concerned about, after all.”

Lana sighs, “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Is there something you needed, Solas? Is Cassandra looking for me?”

“No, Cassandra does not need you. If it’s no trouble, would you mind if I joined you?”

Lana’s smile widens, and she happily moves her ink pot out the way as she shuffles herself over to make more room on the rug, “No of course not, you can sit here.” and taps her hand on the empty space. 

Solas places his staff against the cabin and sits down next to her. With his legs crossed, Solas turns to regard Lana, “So, the Chosen of Andraste, a blessed hero sent to save us all.”

Lana’s shoulder length, silver hair swoops in a flick as she looks around to ensure nobody but Solas can hear her, “Banal! These shems are crazy. I’m not,” forming air quotations. “The ‘Herald of Andraste’ and I have no interest in being anyone’s hero,” and she leans back against the cabin to continue drawing. “All I want is to find a way to seal this Breach. Ghilas ma vhenas.”

Solas releases a quiet sigh under his breath, “Pragmatic, but ultimately irrelevant,” and he too, looks down at Lana’s sketch. “Who is that?”

“Keeper Deshanna,” answers Lana proudly and turns to look up at Solas. Based on his subtly confused expression, she realises she needs to explain. “She’s the Keeper of my clan.”

Solas offers a subtle nod in response and quietly critiques her skills, and determines she is quite talented, “Why are you drawing your Keeper?”

Lana rests her quill on the parchment and sighs, “I… well... you might think it strange. But I wanted to draw the faces of my family back home. I don’t-” 

Lana turns away from Solas and clears her throat. “I don’t know when I’ll see them again, and I want something to look back on while I’m here,” and turns back at the parchment. “Something to help me remember their faces,”

Lana quickly wipes away at an escaped tear and releases a soft, embarrassed laugh, “Ir abelas. You don’t have to sit with me. I actually don’t mind my own company.”

“Neither, do I,” murmurs Solas. “The company of others can be quite trying.”

Except for some Spirits.

Lana’s face immediately bursts into a happier demeanour, “Me, too! Ugh, especially with shems! I don’t know how to act around them. I don’t have a lot of experience, obviously.”

Solas is surprised to find Lana using the word ‘shem’ without a hint of disgust as one would expect from a Dalish elf. The only thing Solas finds the Dalish and city elves have in common, are their constant derogatory tones whenever they say “shem”. However, Lana appears to be saying it without contempt and Solas finds himself curious over why that is.

Offering only another subtle nod as a response, Solas decides to keep their conversation going a little while longer, "If you don’t mind me asking, I heard you humming before, and I’ve never heard such a beautiful melody in any of my travels before. Is it of your own making?”

“Oh, you heard that? No, I didn’t create it. It's actually a very old Dalish song parents sing to their little ones before bed. It’s called Mir Da’len Somniar,” and turns warmly to admire her sketch. “The Keeper always sang it to me.”

“Why not your own parents?”

Lana’s face suddenly stiffens as she falls quiet, and Solas immediately regrets having asked the question, “I’m sorry. I seemed to have upset you. Forget I asked.”

Lana continues sketching and eventually answers, “For a time they did, but they died. A long time ago. The Keeper raised me as her own.” and with that, Lana continues shaping the eyes of the Keeper.

With a gentle voice, Solas murmurs, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, you didn’t know.” and Lana finalises the details on the eyes and then begins with the eyebrows. 

With their conversation having suddenly reached an immediate halt, with neither one knowing what to say next, Solas decides to talk about the one thing he feels the most comfortable with. The Fade.

While focusing his gaze on the Breach in the sky, Solas unpromptly shares one of his many veracious stories with Lana, “I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade to ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations,” Lana stops to regard him and Solas, still focused on the Breach, doesn’t take notice. “I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten,” he turns to face Lana and is startled to find her gaze already upon him. “You say you don’t want to be a hero but every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be?”

Lana ignores the question and instead asks one of her own, “Ruins and battlefields? What do you mean?”

Solas is pleasantly surprised at Lana actually having paid attention, as he expected her to answer his question boldly and ignorantly. Instead, he has unintentionally piqued her curiosity, and suddenly feels a rush of excitement over the fact. 

Solas turns his body slightly towards Lana as he gladly educates, “Any building strong enough to withstand the riggers of time has a history. Every battlefield is steeped in death. Both attract spirits. They press against the Veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds,” Solas turns away, losing himself in his mind's eye. “When I dream in such places, I go deep into the Fade. I can find memories no other living being has ever seen.”

Lana places a light hand on Solas’s shoulder as she cries out in horror, “You fall asleep in the middle of ancient ruins? Isn’t that dangerous?”

Solas takes a quick glance at her hand on his shoulder, and releases a cheeky smile, “I do set wards. And if you leave food out for the giant spiders, they are usually content to live and let live.”

Lana drops her hand and looks away as she contemplates on what Solas has shared with her. Her eyes appear wider than usual as they dart from side-to-side. Then, as she looks back up, Solas holds his breath as he braces himself for her to either disregard or openly mock him for his choice of study.

They always do.

“I’ve never heard of anyone going so far into the Fade before, Solas,” her smile widens with pure, innocent excitement. “That’s extraordinary!”

This has yet to be the most positive response he has ever received. The moment Solas would mention his studies and observations of the Fade, people either politely excuse themselves or openly mock him. They would never ask questions and then openly praise him for his accomplishments.

Solas’s emotions begin to turn as he starts to feel guilty for having such animosity towards Lana before. At a minimum, he expected her to be crude and hostile, just like all the other Dalish people he’s come across. The last thing he thought she would be... is agreeable. If it wasn’t for her vallaslin, he would not associate her as Dalish at all. 

Humbled by Lana’s excitement, Solas smiles, “Thank you. It’s not a common field of study, for obvious reasons. Not so flashy as throwing fire or lightning. The thrill of finding remnants of a thousand-year-old dream? I would not trade it for anything,” Solas pauses, losing himself in his thoughts yet again. Unsure of what to say in light of his sudden silence, Lana awkwardly looks away to observe her sketch. 

“I will stay then,” announces Solas as he breaks the silence between them, causing Lana to face him once again. “At least until the Breach has been closed.”

“You weren’t going to stay?”

“I am an apostate mage surrounded by Chantry forces and unlike you, I do not have a divine mark protecting me,” Solas lowers his voice as he murmurs. “Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution.”

Lana averts her gaze and thinks about her next few words very carefully, “You came here to help, Solas,” and turns back to look deep into his eyes. “For as long as they care for my opinion, I won’t let them use that against you.”

“And how would you stop them?” he asks smugly.

“However I had to. As a Dalish and First, I will not sit by and let any elf be subjected to shemlen arrogance.”

This time, Solas noticed she said ‘shemlen’ with disgust.

Despite Lana meaning what she said, he still admires her courage, however misguided it may be. Solas knows she holds no real power over the humans should they wish to harm him. Nevertheless, Solas doesn’t want to appear ungrateful towards her display of bravery on his behalf, and answers with a simple polite bow. 

Content with their conversation and his toes practically turned to frostbite, he decides this would be a good time as any to head back to his cabin. 

However, just as he is about to stand up, Lana unexpectedly puts her quill and papers down on the ground, perks herself up as her, and with her overall mood clearly improved she looks at him with her wide, lavender eyes.

More questions?

Elvish to English Translation:

“Ir abelas, lethallin” = I’m sorry, lethallin

“Banal” = Never

“Ghilas ma vhenas” = I want to go home

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

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Halla & Wolf Series

[writtingsparxx]

To Be Alone With You

Title: To Be Alone With You Pairing: Vax’ildan/Shuan Gilmore Rating: Teen Summary: After the Chroma Conclave attacked, Gilmore is left mortally wounded, and Vax is left with the guilt Notes: Thank you to the absolute gem that is @tuba-david who commissioned this from me, and basically let me cry about Hozier and Vaxmore at the same time. 

You can also find this on Ao3

Just because one blended into a crowd didn’t mean they were comfortable in them. They made Vax’ildan’s skin crawl and put him on edge. At any second someone in the crowd could easily betray him, sell him out, turn on him… It had happened before and he knew that it would happen again. It’s partly why he worked so hard on blending in with the people around him. If no one knew he was there, then no one could betray him. They would just see him as a shadow passing by without a trace. How he fell for someone his complete opposite was beyond him.

Shaun Gilmore was everything that Vax was not: Not only was he comfortable in crowds, he demanded the center of attention. He wasn’t afraid to trust anyone who showed an ounce of sincerity. Everything that Gilmore did was calculated, but it was never cold. His charity extended past just his friends and family, but to anyone who asked for it. He was a leader who never asked for the power that he was given. Instead, he received it because people trusted him to make the right decisions. And to not hold grudges. That was probably one of the main reasons why Vax loved him so much: Through every confusing turn in his life, through every crazy adventure, and through every decision, Gilmore supported him no matter what. 

After the initial attack of the Chroma Conclave, Vax was certain that he would never see the sorcerer again. The damage that Emon withstood was terrible and left many people dead, even more homeless. That’s why finding him that day had nearly driven him insane. Even when the literal world was burning and being destroyed around him, Shaun had sacrificed himself to save others. He did everything to keep as many people alive and protected as he could. But they were no match for dragons destroying the world. 

Vox Machina did what they could. They got as many refugees out. They evacuated to Whitestone as soon as they were able to. The de Rolo’s were nice enough to not only spare their own war-ravaged city as a place for refuge, but they welcomed as many people as they could with open arms and resources that they could muster. They offered help in the way only another city that had suffered loss and suffering and tragedy could. And while leaving the wounded in Whitestone wasn’t ideal, Vax trusted Pike. And he trusted his sister, and Keyleth, and if Percy trusted her, he believed that he trusted Cassandra as well. He knew that the refugees and Gilmore were safe there. Safer than Emon, and safer than being left to fend for themselves. 

The night when they all arrived at Whitestone was somber and quiet. Everyone was still recovering from traveling. Many were still processing the loss of their families, their homes, their livelihoods. There were people still being tended to by Pike and Keyleth and Vex for injuries that would have taken their life if it weren’t for the healers working endlessly to heal them. Even Scanlan was doing his best when it came to healing those he could. When it was time for an evening meal, most of the members of Vox Machina stayed with the refugees in the main hall, but Vax disappeared upstairs, offering to take Shaun his food for the night. 

Cassandra and Percy had been kind enough to set Gilmore up with his own room in the castle. Not only did they want to give him the best possible care, but the room was a thank you for everything he had done before for them. Not only that, but it gave Gilmore more privacy than if he was housed in the main hall with everyone else. And privacy was exactly what Vax wanted when it came to Gilmore. The room had already been decorated, no doubt helped by Gilmore’s powers, to reflect the occupant there. Instead of the dull muted colors that were present throughout the rest of the castle, the room had a bunch of colorful tapestries and pieces of fabric hanging from the ceiling. The sheets had been changed to a dark purple. Gilmore’s favorite colors.

When Vax entered the room he saw Shaun sitting up in bed, his eyes closed. A clearly exhausted Pike was curled up in a chair next to his bed and Sherri was slumped over his bed, her head resting on her crossed arms. When the door closed behind Vax, Shaun opened his eyes, staring straight at the dark haired half-elf. “How wonderful to see you,” he said with a smile. Even with how exhausted he was and how injured, Gilmore commanded the attention of the room. His deep voice was like honey to Vax. “Come, sit, and enjoy the company,” he said, weakly opening his arms to indicate the bed or another chair near him. 

“I just brought you some food. I should probably see how my sister is doing,” Vax said simply, walking toward the bed. 

Gilmore sat there and watched Vax for a second, a small smile appearing in one corner of his mouth. “You saved me, and all of those people. You and Vox Machina are truly the heroes of Emon,” Gilmore said simply as Vax approached. 

“We let all those others die,” came the quiet and hissed reply from Vax. He set the plate of food on the table near the side of the bed. There was a moment where Vax couldn’t make up his mind whether or not he wanted to leave or stay. He was already on the balls of his feet, ready to take off at any moment, but he wanted to be here, with Gilmore as well. 

“Even heroes can’t save everyone,” Gilmore said simply. There was a moment of silence in the room, both of the men letting the weight of the situation settle in. It was true that people had been saved, but try as both of them might, there were a lot more people who had died instead. After a moment Gilmore extended his hand for Vax, smiling when Vax took it. “You did everything that you could,” Gilmore said softly. 

Vax felt like crying. No matter what happened, Shaun always had a kind word for him. “We started this. If we hadn’t gone into that basement and fought the blue dragon, none of this would have happened,” Vax whispered, his voice hoarse from choking back tears. 

Gilmore smiled weakly, shaking his head. “It would have happened anyways. If you hadn’t been there, this castle of people would be gone,” Gilmore said, bringing Vax’s hand up to his lips and kissing Vax’s knuckles gently. 

That small gesture was enough to get Vax to break down crying. He fell to his knees, holding Gilmore’s hand in both of his. As he kneeled there next to Gilmore he felt all of the tension that had been building for the past couple of months seemed to wash away. As much as he loved his sister and the rest of Vox Machina, there wasn’t a lot of opportunity to just allow himself to feel the emotions that were pouring out of him. Around the rest of Vox Machina it always felt like he couldn’t show weakness. He needed to be strong for his sister, for Keyleth, for everyone else that was falling apart around him. But with Shaun… With Shuan it felt like the entire world disappeared around him. And even after everything that Vax did to Shaun, he still welcomed him back with open arms. He didn’t deserve to be in the same room as Gilmore, let alone be loved by someone like this. 

“I know it is selfish of me, but of all the people we could have lost, I feared you would be gone the most,” Vax said softly, keeping hold of Gilmore’s hand. He looked up into those dark brown eyes, just enjoying the warmth. “Outside of my family you are the most important person in my life. You and only you,” Vax whispered softly. He studied Gilmore’s face for a few seconds, trying to see any kind of hatred or remorse, but saw only affection. 

“I was worried about you as well. I will always worry about you Vax’ildan,” Gilmore said softly. He pulled his hand away from Vax’s hand and put his large hand on the side of the half-elf’s face. The simple gesture made Vax close his eyes and lean into Gilmore’s hand. “Even when you are not doing the impossible and chasing down a group of dragons. That story that you told me about being in the Underdark was enough to make my heart nearly give out,” Gilmore joked, smiling softly at Vax. 

“The entire time I was there, all I could think about was getting back to you, and your shop. I wanted to see you again,” Vax replied. He slowly stood up, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking over at Shaun. “You always were the joy in Emon whenever we were there,” he said softly, smiling. 

Gilmore chuckled, reaching out to hold Vax’s hand once more. “I am honored to be someone so special to you, but I know that times have been tough for you lately. I hope that you are not making such sweet declarations out of guilt,” he said softly, patting the top of his hand. “You have nothing to be guilty of.”

“You know that’s not true… I have hurt you in ways that I never wanted to be hurt. I have hurt others in order to try and feel like a person again. If we hadn’t meddled in the affairs of things... I wonder if all of this would be different,” Vax said quietly. The room fell to silence as the two sat there. It felt like Vax’s mind was racing a thousand miles an hour. Everything that Vox Machina had done up to that point… they did it to try and save people. Vox Machina was trying to make the world a better place, but at this point were they helping, or were they just causing even bigger problems. 

“There would be five dragons,” Gilmore pointed out. “You told me the story of the blue dragon in the basement… Of your friend Pike falling to it,” he said, indicating to Pike, who was still curled up in the chair a few feet away. “Imagine the destruction that would have occurred if there was another dragon to deal with. I know that things seem difficult right now, but I assure you, without Vox Machina things would be worse,” Gilmore pointed out. He took his hand away from Vax’s folding them over his lap. 

“I have hurt you in other ways too,” Vax admitted after a while. Vax had been struggling with the fact that last time they were in Emon he had told Gilmore that he had feelings for someone else. He had known how Gilmore felt about him, and instead of admitting his feelings for Gilmore he said that he held feelings for someone else instead. And while he did love Keyleth, he loved Gilmore as well. Gilmore was one of the first people that he actually had any type of connection with outside of Vox Machina or his family. “I led you on and made you think that I was interested only to pull away when things actually were starting to settle…” Vax said quietly, looking down at his lap. 

Gilmore sat quietly for a few seconds, just studying Vax. The half-elf had leaned forward so that his hair was falling in his face and obscuring his face. It was a defensive mechanism and Gilmore knew it. “Come here,” he said softly, indicating for Vax to move up closer to him. “Vax’ildan, I mean it, come here,” Gilmore ordered. After a few seconds Vax moved to sit right next Gilmore, who gently reached out and put his hand on top of Vax’s once more. “Lay down with me,” Gilmore requested. Gilmore felt Vax’s hand tense under his own and knew that he was going to try and find an excuse to get out of it. Slowly, Vax relaxed under Gilmore’s hand. He looked around for a few seconds, taking in the room around him. Pike was sleeping soundly in the chair next to the bed, and if Sherri was awake, she hadn’t made any indication of it since Vax had entered the room. 

“I don’t want to cause any problems,” Vax said simply. He knew he should just walk away at this point. He should leave Gilmore to eat and try to get some sleep and that would be the end of this conversation. But still, Vax couldn’t bring himself to do it. Everything that Gilmore had told him so far was true. He never lied to him, and Vax trusted Gilmore completely for it. There was never a case where Gilmore wasn’t completely upfront with his intentions, whether that be their relationship or in business. But even now, Vax was trying to find a way out of it. He wanted to run. He didn’t want to confront the reality that it was his own fault for ruining the relationship that he once had with Shaun. 

Gilmore took Vax’s hand, simply kissing at the pale skin over his knuckles once more. “You have never been a problem for me,” he said simply. “Besides, I need some company after the last couple of days, and I can’t think of anyone I would want to spend the time with more than you,” he said jouvally. Even when he was hurt and tired, Shaun was still able to make Vax smile and lighten the mood. Without saying anything else, Vax finally nodded, laying down next to Gilmore. He was glad that he had taken off most of his equipment when they first got to Whitestone and settled in. He turned to look at Gilmore, smiling softly. “See? It’s not the end of the world,” Gilmore said quietly. A smile came across his lips, making it clear that it was a joke at the current state of things. 

“No… It’s not the end of the world,” Vax said in response, chuckling slightly as he looked into dark brown eyes. “How can you sit there and make jokes about this? Doesn’t all this scare you?”

“What good is being afraid of something inevitable. Eventually I’m going to die. So will you. So will everyone else that I love. Instead of being afraid, I’ve decided to live life to the absolute fullest. When it’s my time to come I will know that I have lived it with joy and love and have done everything in my power to spread that love and joy,” Gilmore said softly. He moved to intertwine his fingers with Vax’s smiling softly at the half-elf. 

“After everything, you still love me?” Vax asked, choosing to only focus on that for now. Everything else that Gilmore said resonated with him, but the choice in wording was what caught his attention. If Shaun still loved him, that was what he wanted to focus on. No more talk about the end of the world or whether or not there was something that they could have done previously to prevent this. Right now he wanted to focus on the good.

“After everything I still love you. I will love you until one of us has left this earth for good. I will love you even when you don’t love me. Or can’t love me. I will love you even when you love someone more than me,” Gilmore said quietly, turning to look at Vax. He smiled, running his thumb across the back of Vax’s hand, just enjoying the moment. 

Vax sat there in silence, letting the weight of those words fall over him. They had never said that they loved each other before. Instead, it was always quiet flirts and soft touches. There were moments when they both knew the feeling that floated between them, but neither one of them wanted to acknowledge it. Neither one of the men wanted to announce their feelings to the other, fearing that it would change their relationship in a way that would be detrimental. And for Vax in particular, the word love was loaded. He had never been loved by someone other than his sister. He never felt love that wasn’t purely platonic until he met Gilmore. Up until he met Gilmore, he had never felt seen before. To hear the small declaration of love was enough to cause Vax’s heart to shift into overdrive, his mind racing once again. But, through all of the complicated emotions and thoughts that were overtaking him, one thought kept coming back to the front of his mind. 

“I love you, Shaun,” Vax said quietly, keeping his eyes locked with Gilmore’s. Slowly he brought Shaun’s hand up to his lips, kissing the tanned knuckles slowly. He was mirroring what Gilmore had done earlier, trying to emulate the small gestures that he found comforting. “I just do not know how to love you like you deserve,” he said quietly, looking at the back of Gilmore’s hand before turning back to Gilmore. 

The wizard smiled. It was a soft smile that conveyed not only happiness, but joy and love and tenderness. It was obvious that Vax’s words had an impact on him; so much so that Gilmore had to look away from Vax’s face to regain his composure. After what felt like some of the longest seconds in Vax’s life, Gilmore looked up again, smiling still. He pulled his hand away from Vax’s, reaching up to cup the side of the half-elf’s face. Gilmore slowly ran his thumb over Vax’s cheekbone, watching as Vax closed his eyes and leaned into the touch softly.

When Gilmore paused for a few seconds, Vax opened his eyes, staring directly into Gilmore’s once again. “Let me teach you,” Gilmore whispered quietly, leaning in and pressing a deep kiss to Vax’s lips. 

[sarcasticdebate]

Sailors Take Warning

Relationship: Emori/John Murphy, Gen - AO3

Rating: T

Summary: Emori was born with black blood and a mutated left hand. One of those things granted her the opportunity for leadership and acceptance, the other barred her from ever hoping to have either. Emori has long since accepted that the spirit of the Commander will never chose her, and has carved out a different life for herself. Until four strangers offer her a chance to ascend, and, more importantly, a way to get back to John Murphy. 

[Canon Divergent AU from 3.13/3.14]

Written for The 100: Chopped Fanfic Challenge hosted by @dylanobrienisbatman and @littlefanpire. Super excited that I won first for the use of the canonverse theme, the character swap trope, and the ‘everyone thinks you’re an asshole but you’re nice to me’ trop, as well as first overall!! Thanks to everyone who voted. You can check out the other fics here!

Emori loves her boat. It’s been the one constant in her life since her early adolescence. A means of escape and survival, a place of shelter and sleep. She’s fallen in love on this boat, with herself, and the world, and a boy. In her head she sometimes calls herself Emori of the Boat People. She loves her boat, and there’s someone on it.

Emori drops her freshly caught rabbit and unsheathes her knife, still dirty from her kill.

The boat had been well concealed, and Emori is forced to tamper down her annoyance at it being found to focus instead on using the thick brush to conceal her movements as she creeps onboard.

The closer she gets the more she’s able to gage about the trespasser. He’s younger than she first thought, tall and skinny, maybe malnourished. Hardly capable of putting up a decent fight. But he’s also yelling, in Gonaslang, and in conjunction with his clothes its clear he’s skaikru.

“Guys!” he calls, and Emori knows she needs to act now, before any of his reinforcements arrive. “We’re looking for the boat people, right? I found a boat!”

There’s an answering call, muffled by distance, but then the sound of movement, and Emori knows she’s running out of time. The kid is searching through her stuff now, hunched over as he picks through her tech, and although something in her prickles at the sight of this stranger handling her things, she also recognizes it as her last opportunity.

With practiced grace she leaps onto the boat, her landing so soft that they don’t even sway in the water. It’s a simple matter after that to take him by the collar, haul him away from her things and throw him belly down onto the deck, her knee in the center of his back pressing hard enough to cause discomfort. The knife finds its place at the nape of his neck and he grunts, trying to reach back and push her off, but she takes his wrist in her gloved hand twists it till he yells.

“Tell me what you want with my boat and I won’t kill you,” She whispers into his ear. The words come out as a hiss and her breath makes the hairs rise on his neck. She has to make sure he fears her.

“We’re just looking for someone named Emori! We’d heard she’d have a boat!”

The use of her name surprises her, but not enough for her grip to loosen.

“Who told you that name?” She asks, and her prisoner starts moving again, wriggling in an attempt to break free. As if on cue his back-up breaks through the treeline, but there’s only two of them: a petite blonde woman who looks at the situation first with worry before it settles into grim determination as she looks to the older man at her side, his gun aimed at Emori.

Emori pulls the kid in her grip to his knees, her body shielded by his. The knife finds its way to the front of his neck. There’s a faint scar there, where someone has cut his throat before, so she presses the edge of her knife to that point, to remind him of the pain. He goes still.

“Eject the magazine from the gun and kick them both away and no one has to get hurt.”

The man with the gun hesitates, looks first to her knife, then her hostage and finally over his shoulder.

“We don’t want anything from you, just information,” he says, voice low and gravely, but he begins to lower the gun holding up his free hand in what he probably assumes is a show of good faith. As if information is nothing.

“Bellamy, wait. What if she’s chipped?” The woman on the bank says and Emori blinks.

“Bellamy Blake?” She says, her mouth forming the words without her mind’s consent. The gun is raised again and the posture of all three of the strangers becomes lined with tension. They’ve suddenly become more dangerous.

“How do you know who I am?” He barks, and she can see him weighing the risks of taking a shot, his eyes falling to his friend with concern.

She takes a risk before he can. “John told me.”

Bellamy’s eyes shift, uncomfortable and uncertain. His gun doesn’t move, but his finger on the trigger softens.

“John Murphy? You know John Murphy?” The blonde woman asks, her eyes wide with something like excited relief.

Emori’s mouth pinches. Of course she knows John Murphy. Knows the sharp spark is his eyes when they outsmarted a mark, knows how his voice sounds in the morning, knows about his scars, the ones on his body and the ones in his mind, knows what his hands feel like running up her thighs and cupping her breasts and tracing her jaw.

That knowledge burns now though. It’s eating her up inside, when she considers it against the memory of him shaking his head, fear in his eyes, as he was dragged away and she did nothing. He might be dead now. He could have died days ago while she dawdled trying to fit together the flimsiest outlines of a plan to get him back.

This is the first time she’s allowed herself to think of that possibility, his name in this stranger’s mouth a trigger to all the worst case scenarios when before she was able to convince herself to rely on the cleverness of his mind.

“I do,” she says, but has no opportunity to elaborate or ask questions because the boat rocks, unsettled, and Emori turns her head to see a fourth member of the party, a girl with sharp black hair, sword in hand. She doesn’t have a chance to yell a warning before the girl springs forward, her sword swinging in a wide arc, and Emori is forced to shove her hostage to the side, so she can parry with her knife, the sword’s sharp edge just catching on the hilt, close enough that she feels wind from the motion move her hair. She forces the path of the sword to her right, then grabs the girl’s wrist with her gloved hand to limit her control of the weapon. Emori tries to pull her opponent closer, knowing that her knife will be useless against the wider range of the girl’s sword. They wrestle over the blade for a moment, before Emori’s elbow connects with the girl’s jaw making enough of an opening to kick her down.

But their struggle was enough time for the former hostage to recover himself, and rush her. He tackles her to the ground using his momentum and the leverage of his height. With the breath knocked out of her he’s able to land one punch, sending the back of her head smacking into the deck, and making her nose sting in sharp pain.

He stops in the assault, which makes him a fool. One punch is not enough to keep her down. He seems confused, and his distraction allows her to deliver a swift knee to his gut and push him off her.

Her attention turns back to the female warrior who has reclaimed her sword and Emori is thinking about the possibility of pushing the two of them overboard and starting the boat quick enough to get away, when the hostage exclaims behind her.

“Wait! You’re Emori?”

The warrior’s stance becomes less hostile. Although her expression remains the same, held together by anger. It might be set like that.

“Well, she’s a nightblood. And she feels pain.”

Emori feels blood drip onto her lower lip and quickly brushes away the trickle coming from her nose.

The other two are on her boat now as well, and Emori doesn’t like it. She takes a step back. She can’t fathom what they might want with her. No one’s cared that she has nightblood for a long time, skaikru should least of all.

“You are Emori, right?” The blonde asks, stepping forward, seemingly unaware that Emori doesn’t want her close. “I’m Clarke, and this is Bellamy, Jasper, and Octavia. We’re friends with Murphy, and we need your help.”

“Friends who hung him from a tree?” She snaps back, satisfied by the way Clarke flinches and Bellamy looks to the ground. Octavia mumbles something inaudible, but obviously rude, and it’s only Jasper’s hand on her shoulder that seems to take the venom from her eyes. “Why should I trust you, let alone help you?”

“You’re the last Natblida,” Clarke continues, with desperation Emori notes. She reaches into a concealed pocket on her chest to pull out a small box which she opens it to reveal a tiny piece of tech, like one of Jaha’s chips, the sacred symbol, ALIE’s symbol, emblazoned right in the center. “Lexa died,” Clarke says, something hopelessly empty in her eyes for a moment, “and her spirit has chosen you to be the next Commander. Titus entrusted me with the flame to give to you.”

Emori scoffs.

“You want me to be the Commander?” She asks, the idea honestly funny. All four pairs of eyes are fixed on her, and Emori isn’t sure she’s ever had this much attention put on her in her life. Clarke must misinterpret the comment. Her next statement is still desperate, but insistent now too.

“Titus told me about how you ran from your conclave, and I know it’s frightening to lead, but—”

“Of course he told you I ran,” Emori interrupts, almost laughs. She hasn’t had reason to think of that self-righteous bald man in years, but her hatred for him still bubbles, just below the surface. Memories of how happy she had been to come to Polis as an accepted novitiate are now clouded with bitterness over her own naivety when she remembers how she had been neglected or excluded in all aspects of the training the other nightbleeders were groomed in. All of that she might have been able to deal with if it weren’t decided at the most final moment that she wasn’t even deserving of a warrior’s death in a competition for what should have been her birthright. Cast out again, it was then that she began to recognize it as the pattern of her life.

“I didn’t flee the conclave because I thought I would lose. They kicked me out because they were afraid I would win.”

Clarke’s eyes narrow, as if she can’t comprehend being lied to by the old flamekeeper.

“I can’t ascend,” Emori says, her left hand curling into a fist. “No one will ever accept me as Commander.” As a child it was a hard truth, but the thought of it no longer stings. She’s moved on from who she could have been.

“You don’t have to be Commander,” Bellamy interrupts, a statement that Clarke doesn’t seem too keen to accept. “You just have to take the flame so we can stop ALIE from taking over everyone’s minds and ending the world.”

Emori’s thoughts starts spinning with this admission, she doesn’t know why they didn’t start with that.

“Jaha’s ALIE?” She asks. “In the City of Light?” She remembers John’s explanation of what had happened to the old man, the offer that he had made to go to a place without pain. Remembers also ‘the bitch in the red dress’, the one who had first ended the world.

“Yeah,” Clarke confirms, “She’s turning people into mindless minions who take away free will. If you take the flame we can figure out how to stop her.”

Clarke holds the little rectangle between two fingers, pressing it into her line of vision, and Emori thinks of the reasons she should refuse. There’s clear danger in what they propose and little benefit. Still, ALIE might come to prove herself a nuisance for Emori in the future, and she doesn’t often have the reassurance of allies. Having ones who don’t seem to wish her harm is better than any future opportunity will be. And she certainly wouldn’t mind them owing her a substantial favor.

“Okay,” she agrees, and all four of them seem to relax by at least a few measures.

“I need to put the flame in the back of your neck,” Clarke explains, and it takes more self control than Emori is willing to admit to stop herself from flinching at the way Clarke brushes aside her hair. Her fingertips on the first notch of her spine are oddly shaking, as is her voice when she whispers words Emori has never heard. “Ascende superius.”

There’s a feeling like a needle entering the back of her neck, cold enough to halt the flow of blood in her veins before it changes sharply and starts to burn like a cauterization across the length of her spine. She yells, her back arching in unpleasant ways that only abate to an aching throb pressing out from inside her head to every inch of her skull.

The pain subsides quickly, except for the headache, leaving a warm prickle to dance through her blood. Emori blinks away the tears that had welled in the corners of her eyes to see Jasper crouched in front of her, his hands hanging loosely in the air just in front of her shoulders. She doesn’t remember falling, but she accepts his hand and lets him pull her into a sitting position.

“Are you okay?” he asks, once he’s satisfied that she’s settled.

Her mouth feels thick, like her lips are so swollen as to make talking difficult, but she nods anyway. Despite the bodily discomforts she feels largely the same.

“Do you know how to stop ALIE?” Clarke asks, not one to stray far from sight of the goal it would seem.

Emori rubs the center of her forehead in an attempt to ease the headache and closes her eyes. She doesn’t know if it will help to stimulate whatever is supposed to happen, but at least she won’t have to be aware of all the eyes pressed on her.

The idea comes to her in flashes of memory: The backpack she had stole from Gideon clutched in one hand, opening it with her knife, John holding it over the water in a successful exchange for her life.

“There’s a backpack,” Emori explains piecing together the information slowly, “That’s what ALIE is stored on. Destroy it and we destroy her.”

“Yeah, I remember that,” Jasper says sitting forward in interest. “It’s what Jaha used to make the chips, I think.”

“Well, where is it?” Octavia says, sharp.

“Last I knew Jaha had it.”

“Yeah,” Jasper confirms, “he was really protective of it.”

“Well then where’s Jaha?” Bellamy asks. They look to each other in dumb confusion until Clarke hatches a plan.

“Polis probably. If he’s trying to get as many people chipped as possible. It’s even more densely populated than Arkadia.”

“I can’t go to Polis,” Emori says, a reflex. “I’ll be killed.”

“What did you do?” Clarke asks, in the same breath as when Jasper questions, “Why?”

“Is it for the same reason why you couldn’t ascend?” Clarke continues, clever enough to find the commonality. Emori admits nothing, shifting how she sits so her hands are tucked under her thighs.

“The twelve clans are intolerant. They’ve been trying to erase my existence for my whole life, I’m not going to let them.”

“But now you’re the Commander,” Clarke tries, as if she’s been able to learn in the short time that’s passed since skaikru fell all the ways of the people on the ground. “They’ll respect you.”

Emori thinks about laughing in her face, thinks about spelling out her ignorance to her letter by letter, thinks about just kicking the lot of them off her boat. But she doesn’t move or speak, thinks instead about finally carving out a place of acceptance for herself.

“Please,” Clarke says, desperation setting in, “You said yourself this is how we stop ALIE. And Murphy’s in Polis.” Emori hates that she’s right to know those words will cause a squeeze of longing in Emori’s chest. Hates too that she was already planning on going to the Capital in the flimsy hope that she could trade her scavenged ALIE tech to Titus for John’s safe return without even the reassurance of the spirits of the Commanders shifting in her mind.

“And we’ll protect you,” Bellamy adds.

“Alright,” Emori says, wondering where all her common sense has gone. “The river will take us straight there.”

Polis sits on the Wide River, and Emori would never typically travel on it when it was so commonly used for commerce by various villages along its banks. But speed is of necessity so she risks the danger, finding comfort to in the fact that Bellamy has a gun.

She starts the boat, guiding them to the mouth of the river, not too far down the shore. It’s unerringly quiet until Bellamy breaks the silence to speak into a radio to someone named Raven, informing her of the events of the afternoon. The others fall into deliberation after that, and like so many before them they seem to forget about her once she’s left their frame of view. She stays still and keeps her breaths quiet so that she can eavesdrop.

“Are we doing the right thing?” Clarke says, maybe rhetorically. “All we really know about this girl is that most other grounders hate her and that she’s John Murphy’s girlfriend? None of that is really giving me a vote of confidence. I mean, think about what kind of person you have to be to fall in love with him.”

“Lincoln trusted her,” Octavia says. “And Murphy might have been a lying killer, but his body count isn't as high as some people's.”

“He was still always kind of a dick though,” Jasper says, more bored than harsh, trying to neutralize the rising heckles of the little group, but still the comment irritates something in her chest at the lack of understanding his so called friends have of him. “He’s the one that shot Raven.”

“It’s the best choice we have,” Bellamy says in a way that’s final. “If she’s working an angle it can’t be worse than anything else we’ve seen.”

The others seem to agree with that, and they go quiet.

“Come on,” Bellamy says, “Daylight’s dwindling, this might be the only chance we have to sleep for a while. We’ll take shifts to stay up with Emori, I’ll go first.”

Emori might question why they feel the need to have one of their own group stand guard, but it seems a waste of energy to pinpoint the level of trust they’re placing in her.

Bellamy lingers on the lower dock for some time, eyes trailing over the three others as they drift off, but soon enough he comes up to meet her. Let’s his gun hang loose at his side.

“Where’d you get this boat?” He asks, as if too strike up a conversation, or peel information from her. But he’s no spy, and when she looks in his eyes there’s something close to sincerity. Even still she lets the silence sit while she considers lying.

“I acquired it from a previous owner. Made some improvements myself.”

“Impressive,” Bellamy notes, “you’d get along with Raven. She designed the motorized Rovers we use.”

Emori hums. “I don’t generally get along with people.”

“Sorry about my sister attacking earlier,” he says, as if he thinks that’s the root of her social trouble. “I’m sure we can all get along given enough time. I mean apparently you get along with Murphy, that’s no easy feat.”

“It’s not that hard.”

Bellamy’s stance shifts were he stands next to her, in disagreement perhaps, or plain awkwardness.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how do you know each other?”

It’s probably the black ink of the night that prompts her to answer the question so openly, darkness conceals all sorts of vulnerability. It lets you expose some of the bleeding pieces of your heart to the fresh air.

“We’re lovers.”

“Huh.” A funny expression plays across Bellamy’s face, surprise, confusion, amusement. The need to defend John flashes sharp in her.

“I know you hate him,” Emori says. “But he’s…” She thinks of the way he had seen her, the day they first met, when she had carted him and his friends from the desert to the island and he had stood where Bellamy now stands, asking about her solitude. He had looked at her the same every time she returned to the island to hand off new tech. It was the care and a cool softness and understanding that convinced her to start taking him on the trips. It’s what made her fall for him too. “He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“You’re right,” Bellamy says after a long pause, one which Emori didn’t think he’d try to bridge again. “I hated him for a long time. Now though...a lot of things have been put in perspective.”

“As they should be,” Octavia says behind them, standing at the bottom of the stairs. “It’s my shift for watch.”

Bellamy looks as if he’s thinking to protest, but he moves away from Emori without much complaint, looking to his sister for some type of compassion. But she presses her eyes closed as he passes.

Slowly Octavia comes up to take a position next to Emori, taking the assignment of guard seriously even when there’s nothing to see except the reflection of the moon against the water.

The wind picks up several times making them both shiver, but neither of them talk about it. Emori is just beginning to think they’ll spend their time together in utter silence when Octavia’s hoarse voice breaks the quite.

“You knew Lincoln,” she says, and Emori would have to be far more pigheaded to not noticed the layers of grief that coat the name.

“Not well,” Emori says, although she remembers the one time they had spoken very clearly in her memory. It had been a good con.

“He mentioned you a couple times,” Octavia continues, seemingly not satisfied by Emori’s answers. “He spoke highly of you.”

Emori turns her head away. A person like Lincoln would. He was a skilled warrior, but too soft. A few lies about a fictional safe haven for the misplaced had gotten her a large supply of medicine. Seemed better than telling him it was for the boat dwelling clan of one.

“He’s dead?” Emori asks, turning the conversation so that her own viewpoint of their relationship won’t come to light.

“Yes,” Octavia whispers, not that Emori needs the confirmation.

“That’s a shame,” Emori says, thinking of the ways to endear herself to this vulnerable girl. “He had a good heart.”

Octavia scratches at her chest, then stands with a sudden jolt, distancing herself from Emori as if she’ll be able to shake off the weight of heartbreak with movement alone. Emori licks her lips, and is forced to acknowledge that she’s been attempting to do the same these past long days.

Exhaustion pulls at Emori like a riptide, the desire for sleep a sudden and deadly call. Octavia stands at the stern, her eyes looking to the river behind them, and despite her habits Emori doesn’t think the girl will attack her in her sleep.

She stalls the book and picks a spot away from the others to lie down to sleep, just for a few hours. But her sleep is not restful.

She dreams of the crack of a gunshot, a flaming cinder planted in her stomach that spreads to consume her flesh. There’s sobbing and gasping, and then pain choked yells. Someone else’s black blood drips out of a closed fist, warping as it lands on the flame. The sacred symbol on the blue tech transforms into the same symbol installed in a geometric backpack, one she had once killed for. The tech of its belly uncovered and shining in dim light for precious few seconds before the blunt end of a spear comes crashing down on it. From the corner of her eye she can see John’s face, dirty and handsome, like the day she met him. Exhaustion pulls at his eyes, and all she wants to do is to turn her head, reach out and soothe the worry from his skin. But then synapses disconnect, wires break, and Emori wakes with a start.

“The City of Light’s been destroyed,” she says into the cool air of the night. Octavia is the only one awake, but the others stir at her outburst.

“It’s gone,” Emori repeats, “Someone else destroyed the backpack.” She doesn’t mention who that someone is, but her heart thuds with the knowledge.

“It can’t be that easy…” Clarke says, and Emori wonders if the girl feels lost because she wasn’t able to fulfill her savior complex or because paranoia is what has kept her alive this long. “How do you know?”

“I saw it,” Emori says, unsure how to explain something she doesn’t know herself. Perhaps it has something to do with the interconnections of the tech, but Emori has no way to know, and doesn’t particularly care either.

“Raven it’s Bellamy, come in.” Emori looks over to see Bellamy speaking into a radio, hope that’s known too much disappointment rising behind the depths of his eyes.

“You’re lucky I wasn’t asleep Blake,” a disembodied voice comes back. “I’ve actually been meaning to tell you guys, I think I can create a backdoor through the key into ALIE’s code to find a kill switch.”

“Wait, is the City of Light still there?” Bellamy demands, and even Emori, who is sure of its destruction, holds her breath in wait of the confirmation.

“What do you mean is it still...oh my god. It’s gone. There’s no more code.” Comes back the voice, a crackle that pours relief out into the open air. “We did it.”

“Not us,” Bellamy corrects, “Someone in Polis destroyed the server ALIE was on. We’re on our way there now. We’ll get our people back and then we’ll start to rebuild.”

“It won’t be that easy,” Octavia says, dark and sharp into the silence the click of the radio had returned. “Some people still have things to atone for.” She stands as if to move away from the group but there’s little space to go on the small boat. Jasper gets up to follow her, the pair of them speaking in hushed tones as they lean over the railing to watch the first rays of dawn bring light to the day.

Bellamy and Clarke watch them for a moment before turning to each other, their own quiet conversation concerning plans and technicalities. Emori stands so she can get the boat moving. She won’t be able to sleep any more.

“Emori wait,” Clarke calls out, “We need to talk about rebuilding.”

“That doesn’t concern me,” she says.

“It should now that you’re Commander.”

Emori has no intention of lingering in Polis, she’ll find John and then the two of them will get the hell out. He’s probably already trying to leave now that the City of Light is gone, they’ll need to get there quick if she wants to intercept him.

“That can wait till we get to Polis.” For now she plays along.

Clarke seems to accept this, although not without a suspicious pinch of her eyes. Emori gets them moving again, and tells them they should be at Polis before mid morning.

As they continue down the river, she begins to think she overestimated. They don’t encounter a single other boat along the way, and despite passing the banks of several fishing villages they don’t see any people either.

“Is anyone else really uncomfortable?” Jasper asks, when the tower of Polis has come into view. There are sounds, finally, coming from the city, but none of them bode well.

“Yeah,” Octavia agrees. “And I think there’s someone following us.”

“What?” Bellamy says, moving to stand next to her, using the scope of his gun to look out to the place where Octavia points. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“I can’t make anything out for sure, but there’s been movement for the past couple of miles. At first I thought it was just an animal, but it’s been following the line of the river too closely for too long.”

“It’s someone on horseback,” Bellamy confirms.

“They won’t be able to catch up,” Emori says. An animal that can fatigue is no match for the swiftness of her boat. None of them seem to take any comfort at her words, all of them turning their ears to listen for the pound of hooves. Emori is more concerned about what awaits them in the city.

She’s right to worry. Polis is soaked in blood, it sits in pools among the cobblestones, weeps out of bodies that are nailed to crosses or that lie already dead in the center of the streets. In her memory Polis always smelled like iron, but it was the ashy type that came from fire and blacksmiths; now it’s wet and red, thick enough to taste.

Jasper looks nauseous, and Clarke heartbroken. Bellamy squeezes his eyes shut for long stretches of time, as if to ward of the sting of a violent memory. They walk silently through the streets, avoiding the sobs and outraged cries of mothers and children and friends. There’s an odd urging in the back of her head to call them to action, say some fancy words of condolence before putting them to work, but Emori shakes her head to dislodge the suggestion.

They make it to the center square without being stopped, or even looked at twice. And it’s there that Clarke finally breaks the silence.

“Mom!”

There’s an odd assortment of grounders and skaikru brought together before the entrance of the tower. And even as Clarke rushes into her mother’s embrace, tensions between the two simmer, suspicious eyes and barked insults threatening to bring the situation to a boil.

“What’s going on?” Bellamy asks of a bearded man, tear tracks the only lines of clarity on his dirty face.

“The grounders are blaming skaikru for the deaths that occurred under ALIE,” the man says, his head bowed, but his gaze remained fixed on the accusers.

“But we have our dead too.”

“It’s the tech,” the older man says, his hand on the muzzle of Bellamy’s gun to keep it pointed down. “They think we’re the ones who created her.”

“Aren’t you?” Questions a new voice, cool and sharp. It’s owner is a tall woman, her furs characteristic of Azgeda, but her face bearing none of the traditional scarring.

“Echo…” Bellamy says, recognition and then desperation playing across his face.“We’ve suffered as much as you. And now we have to help each other.”

“Skaikru is incapable of helping us,” Echo says, regret mixing with her harshness to create something heavy. “I’m sorry Bellamy, but Azgeda is taking command of the city on behalf of Commander Ontari. No one leaves.”

“If it’s on Ontari’s order, then where is she?” Clarke steps up, and the two women wear matching glares. “You don’t have any authority here.”

Echo lifts her chin. “Take them all prisoner.”

There’s a scuffle then as the two groups approach each other and Emori turns her head to look for a route of escape, but before any of them are dragged away in chains, Jasper’s voice breaks through the struggle like the crack of a whip.

“HEY!”

Emori wouldn’t think it enough to distract heavily trained Azgedan soldiers, but there’s enough influence in his voice to catch them all unaware.

“Is this really what we’re doing now? We all just got our minds back from a crazy AI who made us torture people we love, and we’re all turning against each other again? If this can’t draw us together, then we’ll always be at war. We have to try and work together.” Jasper is frantic in his insistence, and convincing too. Emori sees more than one soldier lower their sword.

“The boy is right,” says a warrior woman coming out of the tower, but Emori pays her hardly any attention because John stands to her left, his eyes shifty and distrustful as he looks out over the crowd. Until he sees her.

“Of course Trikru would say that when it suits them,” Echo snaps back, and the two start a squabble about the old feud, but Emori couldn’t care less because John is alive, and he’s here, and his mouth is forming the shape of her name.

She’d run to him if there weren’t so many people in the way, screw the fear of making a spectacle of herself, it would be worth it. Instead she’s trapped between two groups a pin drop away from a fire fight.

“I say it because you don’t have any authority here. Ontari kom Azgeda is dead, and until a time when a new Commander can ascend, the council of ambassadors will speak for the needs of the clans. Not Azgeda alone.”

Silence, by definition, should not have a sound, yet Emori swears it rings through the crowd at the news.

“Except there already is a new Commander,” John says, his voice not raised, but still able to carry through the crowd, his sardonic tone catching on all their ears. She’s almost surprised when he singles her out with a casual point, but his eyes remained locked with hers, wider than how he normally holds them, willing her to understand him.

Trusting him is easy. She takes one of her knives off her belt and nicks her palm, the cut oozing tar that starts to trickle down her wrist as she holds her hand over her head for the crowd to see. The grounders in her vicinity take a step back, a familiar motion, but one that is now associated with awe rather than disgust.

John is then able to make his way through the crowd to her, he reaches out, her gloved hand slipping into his easily. He smiles at her, small, almost not there, but still he lets it crack through the pretense for her.

“Murphy?” Bellamy questions, but he’s already pulling her away, and only manages a glance over his shoulder for his former friend.

“I got this Bellamy.”

Emori isn’t yet positive about what they’re lying about, but it’s easy enough to follow his lead, to find a place at the base of Polis tower and prepare to bullshit her way through this.

“This is Emori, she’s the last Nightbleeder.”

“And who are you?” Someone calls out, one of the Azgedan guards.

“The flamekeeper,” John says, his tone accusing the man of idiocy. Emori studies John from the corner of her eye, wanting to ask him a thousand questions but refraining for the sake of the con. God, she taught him well. “Now why don’t we go up there,” he says with a point up there tower, “where she can recite the lineage and we can figure this thing out without spearing each other.”

The warrior John was with, Indra, some part of her brain supplies, steps forward then, eyeing them with no small amount of suspicion, but seeming to fall into support of them anyway.

“Let’s go,” John whispers in her ear as the woman starts calling for representatives from each of the clans to ascend to the tower and for those left behind to start building pyres for the dead. John guides her inside the tower, first into a main hallway before pulling her off to one that was narrow and easy to miss. Her memory of the building from her childhood seems wildly insufficient.

“We could still get out of here,” he says, their pace nearing a run now.

“We won’t make it out of Polis.” Not with tensions running as high as they are. And especially not after they put themselves on display like that. “Might not hurt to have a lot of power. And your old friends owe me now.”

“Okay,” John says, coming to a halt. They’ve arrived in the same hallway they originally started in. They've ran a circle. Now there’s nowhere to go but up.

“Okay,” Emori agrees, stepping into the old elevator, John joining her a moment later after miming something for the two men who are inexplicably still standing by the wheel waiting to turn it. The doors haven’t even closed before he wraps his arms around her, two hands strong and firm across her back.

“I missed you,” he says, his arms squeezing tighter as she presses her forehead into his shoulder, allowing herself to sway just a little bit.

“I missed you too,” she breathes back, forcing herself to step out of his embrace so that they can start getting on the same page only to fall back into it when the elevator stutters to a halt, upsetting her balance.

“What was that?”

“Don’t worry about it,” John laughs, brushing down her hair. “I told the guys to stall us halfway there. Gives them a break, gives us time to talk.”

“Yeah,” Emori breathes, her hands squeezing his forearms. “How did you know I ascended?”

John exhales deeply. “No one’s shut up about nightblood since I got here. Remember that time you pricked your finger making fishing hooks? I knew you had it, and I knew Clarke had the flame, and that you were with her. But mostly I was just bluffing. Been doing a lot of that lately.”

Emori huffs in laughter. “That’s a big risk John. Hardly a survivor's move.” She tries to sound berating, but mostly she’s too charmed by how his mind works. His daring and quick thinking.

“It was worth the risk, if it could get us both out of there.”

“But now we’re here,” Emori notes. And John nods, his hands falling to cup hers, fingertips staining from where she cut herself. But no, stain is the wrong word.

“We’ll go along with it for now, until a big enough distraction comes along for us slip away. How does that sound?”

“Perfect.” Emori nods, wanting nothing more than for them to get back on their little boat and to leave the complexities of society to flounder on the shore.

“Okay, now that all that’s settled, I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Please,” she mumbles into his lips. There’s no patience in the kiss, both of them seeking too much from each other—reassurance, comfort, presence—for it to be chaste. He backs her against one wall, clutching at her waist, tongue playing at her bottom lip while she reaches for the back of his neck to pull him closer.

She kisses at the corner of his jaw, and when she moves to the sensitive parts of his neck he gasps her name without shame. His thumb presses into the point just behind her ear, his other fingers tilting her jaw up so their mouths can collide again. Her gloved hand tugs uselessly at his collar when he slots one of his legs between hers and she’s on the verge of asking him to take it off so she can feel his skin when the elevator starts moving again with a jolt, sending their foreheads knocking into one another.

“Shit, sorry,” he says, soothing the spot with his thumb. She copies the motion and he smiles fully this time, just for her. A moment later the door dings open.

The body of the former Commander lies on the steps in front of the throne, stabbed to death it would seem.

“Shit,” John says. “Indra and I didn’t move her.” He explains how he and Indra had come to kill her after they destroyed the City of Light. “She really deserved it,” was the story’s culmination, John’s voice shallow and dark. They move her corpse to a vacated room and leave it at that, the floor dark and dirty enough that her blood doesn’t leave too much of an imprint.

The others begin coming up in batches, first the skaikru she had escorted on her boat, but then many others, mostly faces she doesn’t recognize; people who have just been informed about the existence of the new Commander and look at her with curiosity. John stands a little in front of her, protective, which she finds so sweet she doesn’t bother to remind him of the fact that she’s the much better fighter. He passes the time by whispering how she’ll have to recite the names of all the former Commanders, and makes a big deal about brushing off any of the representatives who approach in hopes of talking to them.

The room fills too quickly, but it also seems to take far too long. But at last the final elevator arrives and in unspoken recognition all the room goes quiet, attention placed solely on her. So many eyes.

“The Commander will now recite the lineage.” The words sound so boxy and improper in John’s mouth, but everyone but Emori seems convinced.

Standing in front of them, in front of a throne, makes her think she should quiver. John stands next to her and fighting the urge to hold his hand seems more difficult than any of the tasks she’s completed in the past day. But despite those things, her stance is firm as names and faces flash in her mind. She doesn’t realize she’s saying them out loud until she peels her eyes open to see the various degrees of surprise written across the faces of the crowd.

John looks to the room as if in challenge before announcing to them all. “Commander Emori.”

She’s often thought that her name felt empty without a following clan title, but she’s always liked the way John says her name.

“One of you sound the horn,” John orders. “Let the people know they have a Commander.”

A man at the edge of the group begins to move, but doesn’t make it to the balcony before a new arrival breaks through the gathering.

“Not so fast,” says a strong square man, pushing his way past people.

“Roan wait!” Clarke calls out, only to be ignored, as is Echo who seems to say something sounding a lot like “My liege!”

“The pair of you are frauds!” Roan calls out, his finger and glare accusatory. “That man is a skaikru imposter and the girl is nothing but a frikdriena!”

Actual gasps of shock rumble through the room, but no one yet makes a move for a weapon. Confusion setting in first.

“You might think you’re so smart, using your little boat to hide away all these years, but you couldn’t even shake a tail. It just makes obvious what you are. A coward and a stain.”

“Back up,” John growls even if he can’t hold a candle to Roan in terms of intimidation. The man turns his focus to him instead.

“You have big talk for a dirty rat.”

“King Roan,” that’s Echo by his side now, her hand on his shoulder a gesture made to pull him away. “Even if what you say is true, Ontari’s dead. She’s the true Commander now, we all saw.”

“Don’t make me question your loyalty to Nia’s ideals, Echo,” Roan says. Without even a glance to accompany his words, Echo’s arm drops and she takes a step back.

“I question your loyalty to your mother’s lust for power when she had you banished,” Emori counters, the knowledge pressing on her without warning, like a headache. Roan flinches ever so slightly at the words.

“Fine,” he says, “You’ll get your peace for now. But I’ll never accept a stained Commander.”

Emori blinks with utter boredom. It’s funny how this man thinks she will crumple to insults now after hearing them her whole life.

He storms out of the throne room after that, followed by at least half of those gathered. Clarke looks intimidated by their leaving, the gears in her mind clearly turning, but their exit is undermined by the bellow of the trumpet, reverberating through the streets of Polis.

Emori doesn’t care much either way, it’s not like she’s planning on staying Commander for long.

“You know I was actually expecting that to go a lot worse,” John says, offers her a tired and funny smile. She caves and reaches out to hold his hand.

“It did,” Bellamy says, his face more pale than can be natural. In his right hand he holds his radio, wrist shaking as he presses down a button. “Raven, tell them what you told me.” His eyes are afraid as they survey the room, and a pit drops in Emori’s stomach as the crackle of a voice makes an announcement.

“There’s a wave of radiation coming. We’re all going to die in six months.”

[for-the-dales]

Chapter 5: Varric

Chapter 1 (Leliana): https://for-the-dales.tumblr.com/post/185692342364/the-path-forward-chapter-1-leliana

          Varric never minded much just sitting and watching the world pass by, as long as the world was interesting. At the present he was sitting on a bench with his back against a wall while tuning up Bianca. He watched as the activity in Haven ebbed and flowed around him. Thedas’s second weirdest company got back from the Hinterland this morning after spending a week running all around those hills. Mother Giselle had been nice enough, didn’t want to execute the Herald on the spot. Small improvements. Even didn’t think she should be jailed for the rest of her life just for being a mage. Honestly the woman was a bit of a radical.

           The killing bad guys who hurt innocent people, hunting down supplies for refugees, and even closing rifts became a little routine while they had been in the Hinterlands. It got a bit monotonous. The fun part was watching everyone try to get along. No one knew each other really, not even the original group from Haven. Varric hadn’t met Chuckles until they both got caught up in a fight together in the aftermath of the Breach. Varric knew Cassandra of course, but they weren’t exactly the best of friends. Throw in some very weird Dalish elves and a woman accused of being the worlds last and best hope, and you’ve got yourself a party. The two new elves in their party kept muttering back and forth to each other in elvhen, which put the Seeker on edge. The Herald tried to keep the peace by insisting that the twins speak in common, but Solas almost ruined the whole thing when he agreed because, “Your pronunciation needs work.”

           The big elf reminded Varric a little of Fenris when he almost ripped the mages head off. It made him a little homesick.

           Just then Varric saw the Blessed Lady herself walking back to her cabin. She was smiling and greeting people along the way. She exuded a calm energy that was desperately needed around Haven. Having a potentially world ending catastrophe kill all of your religious leaders only two weeks ago could have that sort of effect on morale. She reminded Varric a little of Elthina. Or maybe what Elthina should have been. When she came close to him, Varric noticed the small crease between her eyes that she was trying to hide. When she got to the door of her cabin he saw her shoulders sag just a little before going inside.

           Varric set Bianca aside and stood. He supposed even holy saviors needed pep talks occasionally, and if Varric had one talent it was convincing people to do things. Sometimes it was convincing them to give him money or information, but with his friends it was usually just convincing them they weren’t in as bad a spot as they thought they were.

           Varric knocked on the door to her cabin and only had to wait a moment before the Herald was opening the door. She looked a little tired, but when she saw who it was she smiled and stepped aside so Varric could walk in. She’d managed to make the place pretty cozy. Small candles were clustered on almost every surface with a large cluster on either end of the mantle opposite the door. On the mantle were eight small wooden figurines. They had simple designs on them, but they were still beautiful. The largest one looked kind of like a dragon and had a single red candle lit in front of it. There was a fire blazing in the fireplace and Varric thought he might actually have to take off his coat to keep from passing out from the heat.

           The Herald noticed him sweating and said, “I’m not used to the cold. I don’t think I’m built for it. May I?”

           The elf held out her hand and Varric gave her his coat. She wasn’t wearing her armor so he saw her hands for the first time. The vallaslin were broken up on her fingers by several dainty gold rings, some were all woven together.

           “I didn’t think Dalish got vallaslin past their faces.” Varric commented while he sat down at the small table she had one side of the little room.

           “Most don’t.” She hung his coat on a knob next to the door and walked over to get some water and cups from her bedside table, “Only priests get more extensive ones. The more extensive the tattoos, the higher rank the priest.”

           She set the water and cups on the table and sat across from the dwarf, “Tea?”

           “Yes please.”

           She reached across the table to grab a small wooden box in the center, opened it, and grabbed two blocks of tea out of it. She put a block in each cup, poured water in after, and then took hold of the cups. After a moment Varric could see the water begin to bubble and steam rise out of it. She handed Varric his still warm cup and said, “I apologize, I don’t have any milk or sugar.”

           Varric waved her off, “That’s alright. It’s not stream water or cheap ale, so it’s an improvement to what I’ve been drinking the past few days.”

           Varric took a sip and was happy to discover he had not been falsely optimistic. It was good, tasted a little like berries. The Herald took a sip of her tea before setting it back down and looking up at Varric, “So what can I help you with Mr. Tethras?”

           Varric chuckled, “Nothing.”

           Varric wouldn’t say the Herald looked shocked; maybe mild confusion would be more accurate. He continued, “You looked stressed and I decided to swing by to see if you needed to chat. Do you?”

           The Herald leaned back in her chair and took another sip of tea. Finally she sighed and nodded.

           “Okay then, lets start with names. Mr. Tethras is my father, everyone just calls me Varric.” Varric took a sip of his tea, “And, if you can believe it, in all the hubbub I didn’t catch your name. Cassandra and Solas call you Herald, the twins call you Rajha-whatever, but I don’t think I’ve heard someone use your actual name once.”

           The Herald looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding, “I think you’re right.” She extended a hand across the table, “Ellana of Clan Lavellan.”

           Varric took her hand and shook it, “Nice to meet you Ellana of Clan Lavellan, been nice fighting with you for the past week.”

           “Likewise.”

           “So, you said that the twins are part of a different priesthood from you, right?”

           “Yes.”

           “So how did you meet them? You seem to know them pretty well. Do you all serve in one place or…”

           Varric wasn’t trying to pry- no that was lie. Varric was always trying to pry. He wasn’t trying to be invasive. However, he was really curious about these Dalish that seemed very different from the ones he had met. Daisy would get a kick out of them.

           Ellana smiled and said, “No. We all live at different temples. I met them when they were much younger. I was sixteen when I first joined the priesthood, and the twins arrived a few weeks after I took my vows. They had been orphaned, and they were only nine years old. I had been having a hard time settling into temple life so the Raj’ha’haren at the time assigned me to look after them while they got settled. She thought it would be good for all of us. She was right, as usual. Helping them get settled helped me to understand my own place in the temple a little better. I wound up practically raising those two. When they were seventeen they decided that the priesthood of Mythal wasn’t for them, and they went off to join different temples. I was invited to both of their initiations. I was so proud.”

           Ellana smiled to herself and took another sip of her tea. The smile only lasted a moment before the small crinkle appeared on her forehead again.

           Varric put his now empty cup down, “They’re your kids.”

           “As a priestess of Mythal I have had a hand in raising many children who came to our temple… but yes. Those two were special.”

           “And now they’re here.”

           “And now they’re here.”

           “Well shit, that can’t be easy.”

           Throughout the conversation Varric could see Ellana relax bit by bit, but now she almost slumped forward.

           “It’s not. I was the one who volunteered to take this risk. To come to the Conclave. After everything happened, I understood that I needed to stay and help; I had accepted the dangers because I needed to. But they don’t have to be here. They can go home. Be safe.”

           “You could tell them to leave.”

           “They wouldn’t listen, and I’d probably offend them. As much as I worry, they are both extremely capable. I just wish Sahren would stop picking at Cassandra. She’s uncomfortable enough as is. And Mythal give me strength if Rasa tries to pickpocket Leliana one more time. The Nightingale might actually have them killed.”

           “Or recruit them.”

           That got a chuckle out of her. While Ellana made Varric some more tea he asked, “So, what’s the scariest thing right now? Other than the obvious possibility of death and dismemberment.”

           “Well other than that.” Ellana handed him his tea, “I suppose it’s all the walking on egg shells. I’m not ashamed to talk about my people or my beliefs, as I suppose you’ve guessed by now.”

           Varric nodded an affirmative as Ellana continued, “But I’m still so nervous constantly that if I don’t mix in the right amount of deferment, agree just enough that ‘sure, maybe your goddess sent me’ that they’d get a little too frustrated and…”

           “They’re not going to kill you.”

           Ellana sighed and her shoulders slumped, “I know, but you didn’t say it had to be a reasonable fear. I’ve seen what humans will do when elves get a little to elvhen for their tastes. It rarely ends well. I was talking to Josephine the other day and bless her she was trying to talk to me about my people and ask questions, but she had so many misconceptions drilled into her brain. Scary ones. Is it terrible that I don’t always want to have to be the perfect elf? Back home I am a leader among my people, but I’m a leader on my own terms. They know me, and I can be myself. I was the youngest priest in a very long time to be chosen as Raj’ha’haren, and that didn’t come without a lot of hard work. But does Cassandra care? Does Cullen? No. They’d rather I stayed quiet about the whole elf thing and focus only on the Breach. Afterwards they can look back on their elf friend and clap themselves on the back about how tolerantthey were with her.”

           As she had been talking her voice had gotten louder and angrier. When she finished she realizer her volume and took a deep breath to compose herself. Varric could see her walls going back up as she said, “I apologize I shouldn’t have-”

           “Bull shit you shouldn’t have. It’s okay to vent. It’s okay to be pissed about this whole situation. And I’m not gonna sit here and lie to you and say that you shouldn’t worry and that you can be completely yourself, because you’re right, you can’t. But I will say I think you may be giving our compatriots too little credit. She may not seem like it, but I think Cassandra wouldn’t mind having an honest debate with you in your down time about religion. Maybe invite Mother Giselle and Josephine; it might be good for both of them. And don’t back down when they get frustrated, push through. You should also really introduce Sahren to Cullen because once they get past the obvious differences I really think those two would get along. And let me handle Rasa, they’re a decent thief, but they could be better.”

           Ellana smiled at him. A real smile. Not one of the smiles she shot at refugees who thanked her that exuded benevolence. Not a small one while speaking to Cassandra that worked hard to present her as non-threatening. No, this smile was a little crooked and made her eyes crinkle just slightly. She finished her second cup of tea and said, “It makes sense that Rasa isn’t a decent thief, it’s not what they trained to be.”

           “And what exactly did they train to be?”

           “A master assassin, they were visiting me from Antiva when I left.”

           “Wait what?”

Chapter 6: https://for-the-dales.tumblr.com/post/187109071729/chapter-6-solas

[phyrexian-mama]

Fanwalker Friday - Whisper

I haven’t really done fanwalker friday before because I don’t really have the skills to illustrate them and was insure if people really wanted to read about them. BUT fuck it - I want to talk about my characters even if no one cares :p

Description first - backstory below the cut

Whisper is a Lorwyn elf. His pale skin is marred by rough and jagged scars that cover both forearms and travel up over his right shoulder where some of the skin no longer grows. Similar scars can be found across his body, but that is where they are most notable. He is missing his left horn, which was snapped off abruptly near the base, and another scar runs across his right cheek and through his hair below his right horn, causing the hair to grow unevenly. Most notably, however, are the bright white burn scars that blossom over his throat and into the soft tissue underneath. These scars make him unable to speak louder than a soft whisper - hence the nickname he goes by.

His first “walk” after his spark ignited was to Ravnica, where he met with the Selesnya Conclave. He felt at home with them, because unlike on Lorwyn, he was not critiqued for his appearance, and instead was able to be comfortable cultivating the culture he loved. He has a tall staff with various loops and knots that he grows various plants on - flowers, moss, vines, and fungus. His pride and joy… and the eventual source of his revenge… are a small number of Moonglove blossoms that crown the top of the staff.

He is incredibly thin with high cheekbones and pointed features. He wears varying layers of cloth and leather to hide his small frame, and to protect him from the elements.

He is centered in green, but is also black and white (speaking about magic colors, of course)

And now, for Whisper’s story.

Whisper was an elf from Lorwyn - no one important, only of Faultless caste. But he was happy and had his friends, and that was enough.

Whisper wasn’t his given name, of course. He couldn’t remember his given name anymore. Not that he cared to. It no longer mattered.

See, Whisper and his friends spent years maintaining a beautiful garden together that sprawled carefully through the Gilt-Leaf Wood. Truly it was Whisper’s work that kept the garden flourishing - whether it was magic or natural talent that allowed him to tame even the most stubborn of plants was hard to tell - but they all owned it in some way or another.

As he was tending the garden one day, a pack of boggarts began to tear through the carefully manicured and stylized garden. Whisper watched in horror as the beautiful flowers and vines he and his friends had worked together to grow were tossed recklessly into air by the cackling creatures. Having no choice, he threw himself into their path, attempting to beat them back.

Having no combat skills to speak of, he was easily overwhelmed by the horde. He watched in horror as his slender, flawless arms were torn into with stone and wood, exposing bone and sinew in a horrific display. He felt tears sting his eyes as a particularly large boggart snapped off one his horns with glee. But he would not fall - and after a time, after countless wounds, the boggarts grew weary of this plaything, and Whisper was able to chase them off.

He was in poor shape. A glance at himself in a nearby puddle of water caused him to recoil - surely that unkempt, asymmetrical monstrosity wasn’t him? He couldn’t return home like this, so he waited in that precious garden, repairing the damage the boggarts had wrought, until his friends could come and help them.

The hours were long, but just as the sun began to set he heard footsteps and the beautiful flute-like timbre of his friend’s voices approaching. He could feel relief envelope him as he stood shakily, leaning onto a fallen branch for support, and went to meet him.

“Tyra, Kriss, Nyila - I’m so glad you’re here! These boggarts came and-” but Whisper lost his words as he saw the faces of his friends contort in disgust.

“… what have you done to yourself” Kriss spat, as though the act of speaking to Whisper filled his mouth with a foul taste. Whisper looked down at his dirt caked clothes, his arms that were already beginning to scar from the boggart’s attacks. He felt tears rising once more as he looked up.

“I… the boggarts, they tried to ruin the garden, but… but I stopped them! Look, our precious gard-” but he was cut off by a sharp slap, delivered by Tyra’s delicate hand. Hatred burned in her eyes.

“Do not call this your garden. Not anymore.” Whisper was stunned. These were his friends. How could they turn on him so quickly, after all he had done. “You were a friend once, so I give you this one mercy - leave the woods. Now. And never return”

He felt the blood in his veins turn to ice as Tyra’s words struck him deeper than any wound the boggarts had inflicted. He scanned the faces of those before him, desperate to find a sliver of compassion, of the friends he thought he knew. But all he found was contempt, pity. Disgust. Hatred. He stood tall - as tall as his injuries would allow - and set his jaw.

“No. I’m not leaving. This garden is my work. I won’t be chased out like some common eye-blight for defending it” Nyila stepped forward, her face cold with resolve.

“Then you leave us no choice. Kriss” with no more peompting than the sound of his name, Kriss quickly grabbed Whisper by the hands and flung him onto the ground, knocking the wind from his lungs and pinning him to the earthen floor. Tyra braced her hoof over his hips, keeping his weak body locked in place as Nyira plucked the pristine white flower of a Moonglove plant off of a nearby bush.

Panic began to rise in his chest, and before he knew it he was crying and gasping out “please, please, no, don’t do this. Please, we’re friends” as the words left his mouth, Nyira crouched over his torso, looking at him like one might look at a particularly disturbing bug in the rubbish, and held the oozing flower aloft.

“We’re not friends, little eye-blight. And I’ll make sure you don’t decide to say something so insulting ever again” she crushed the flower, and Whisper watched in horror as the silvery white fluid from the bulb of the Moonglove came pouring out, hissing as it sliced through the air.

He had seen artists use diluted Moonglove extract to trace delicate patterns on skin - it was a painful and risky process that resulted in stunning pure white works of art displayed on the body.

This was not art.

This was pain.

The extract splashed across his neck and began eating into his throat without pause. He felt cold fire rip a scream loose from deep within his chest, before the unbearable pain in his throat silenced it. And as quickly as they began, his screams became whispers.

But the pain was only beginning. A cruel smile played over Nyila’s delicate features as she watched the scar tissue blossom across his throat and eat through his flesh. Whisper writhed in panic, his instincts going wild as he grasped desperately for some escape.

The burning in his throat grew, and spread, until his entire body felt engulfed. He wept, he screamed, and he begged the earth to consume him.

And suddenly he was weightless. Numb. All he could see was white as he fell through nothingness.

“Am I dead?” He wondered. Unsure if that would be such a bad thing if he was. But soon the nothingness took shape, and before he knew it he found himself lying in a well manicured flower bed - white flowers with broad, soft petals seemed to cling to his every movement as he hesitantly sat up and looked around.

“Well you’re the strangest flower I’ve ever seen” a gentle voice spoke up from behind Whisper. He turned to see a tall woman, who reminded him of the elves from home in stature. But her ears were small and pointed, and she lacked horns and hoof. She was wearing strange layered robes of deep, mossy green and cream white, and seemed to be coming to tend the flowers Whisper had found himself.

Embarrassed, he crawled out and brushed the loose petals from his clothes. Not daring to meet the eyes of someone so beautiful, Whisper cast a shameful look towards the ground and attempted to apologize.

“I’m sor-” the words burned in his throat, and he gasped in pain, clutching at the burned and scarred flesh that now blossomed over his neck. The woman was quickly at his side, her hands guiding him gently to a bench just a few steps away.

“Don’t force yourself. Whisper if you must.” He took a seat, nodding as tears stung his eyes, threatening to spill down his raw cheeks. She was patient, and kept her hand resting on his back as she waited for him to find his voice. In the silence, Whisper became more aware of the ambient sound around him - unlike the quiet rustling of leaves found in the Gilt-Leaf Woods, this was a medley of voices and animal cries, of booming construction and travel, of energy. He finally forced himself to lift his eyes from the ground, and was struck by the wonder of what he saw.

Before him was a massive tree - larger than anything he had ever found on Lorwyn - that towered high into the sky and branched in every direction. Carefully designed trellises and gates created areas to lounge and live among its branches, and carefully cultivated gardens seemed to flourish across its bark. But what truly caught his eye, was the skyline beyond the tree.

In every direction as far as he could see, spires and towers stretched into the sky, circled by all manner of winged creature. Streets could be seen past the garden everywhere he turned, and were crowded with people of every race imaginable, as well as many he could never have even dreamed of. Whisper turned to the elf woman beside him, his eyes wide with wonder.

“Where…. where am I?” He forced the hoarse whisper from his throat. The woman smiled, and held aloft an ornate wooden pendant hanging from her neck.

“You are in the Selesnya Conclave gardens. Not from from Ravnica’s tenth district. Were you part of some Izzet experiment gone wrong? You seem awfully confused…” Whisper shook his head, trying to process what he was being told. He had never heard of Ravnica before. Admittedly he had never traveled too far beyond the woods he once called home, but surely he would have known about something like this.

“How far is it to the Gilt-Leaf Woods from here?” He asked, and the woman frowned, her head lilting to the side.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of that. Gilt-Leaf… sounds lovely though! I should visit some time!” The woman continued on pleasantly, as Whisper sunk in on himself. He wasn’t sure how, or why… but he was beginning to realize that Lorwyn was long gone.

It had been a year since Whisper had found Ravnica. Not knowing what else to do, he had joined the Selesnya Conclave, and had quickly become a beloved member for his skills with the plants. He had been hesitant at first, after his interaction with his friends. Well… not friends, not anymore. Not ever, he had realized. But he quickly came to find that those hear did not care about the appearances of their members. They believed that nature had a purpose for everything - it was your job to guide it to that purpose, and take even the most despicable looking plant, and cultivate it into something beautiful. And so he did just that.

He eventually came to understand that he was a planeswalker, and what that meant. He had traveled to other planes on occasion. Never for long, and he always returned to his new home on Ravnica. But on his travels, he collected plants for his personal garden. He carried with him a gnarled staff, lovingly crafted by a woodshaper who seemed to enjoy his company from a fallen tree. He took inspiration from the design of Vitu-Ghazi, and crafted small barriers into the wood, where he cultivated small samples of plants. Rare moss, potent fungus, striking flowers, and creeping vines all found a home on his staff. He took great care in creating a small garden that seemed wild to the untrained eye, but was expertly planned and maintained.

He did not maintain this project out of whimsy, however. Every plant here served a purpose. Every one of them could be crafted into a potent poison - many of them dangerous to even touch and grow. He had the scars on his fingers to prove it, in fact. The crowning example of this, and the reminder of why he did it all, was the crown of Moonglove that beautifully circled the top of the staff.

He had come to find peace with his appearance, and had accepted that the elves of Lorwyn were no friends of his. He no longer burned with anger or shook with fear. Instead, he did what he did best - he cultivated the dark seed of hatred that had taken root in his core. He waited, patiently, and plotted his revenge. And one day, he would take back his garden, and show those who had once deigned to call themselves his friends just how fragile their supposed perfection was.

Touch of Moonglove by Scott Murphy

[haphazardlyparked]

a point of contention

regret everything part twenty-one (part twenty)

Noki begins coming back later and later at night, and his absences correlate directly to the impending deadlines for Congress proposals. Noki comes to bed when Kan’s already asleep, and by the time Kan wakes up in the morning, he’s already up and about. Kan spends a lot of his brand-new alone time thinking about the Exchange, and how he can best dismantle the group without mortally offending Noki.

The Exchange is becoming far too involved with different Samra-related pots to continue operating within Kan’s government. That Kan must force a choice on them is already apparent, though Kan doesn’t care what Noki chooses to do so long as his interests are clear, and his position is appropriate for those interests. Pure diplomacy hasn’t been Noki’s focus for a while now.

Kan decides he’ll start the process after Congress. Things will be calmer then... and Noki might be more persuadable.

“If you want my advice, Noki,” Kan drawls, passing the data screen with the Exchange’s draft proposal back to his lover. “You need to look at our side more closely again. You’re starting to sound like an agent of Samra, and not like a group dedicated towards Tasak’s successful future.”

He tries to couch it in a jest, but Kan hopes Noki sees his genuine concern. The Exchange has become very… bold recently, more so than Kan could have anticipated. Their proposal—to create an organization dedicated towards analyzing viable structures for bilateral trades between Samra and Tasak, as well as research on such an alliance’s potential benefits (and costs, Kan supposes)—is a good idea in theory, but their highlighted topics and outlined priorities heavily favor Samran scholars, and what Samra has to offer, and what Samra should be allowed to do or not do.

What about what Tasak has to offer? They may not have Samra’s sophisticated organic technologies, but their work with digital and mechanical construction has built wonders in their city. And Tasak has seated herself at the center of a grand alliance between multiple states, a trading coalition unlike any seen before it. There’s nothing in the Exchange’s proposal about how the alliance’s farmers and tradesmen and engineers will be protected from the adverse effects of Samran influence, let alone how this new relationship might change Tasak’s relations with her historical allies.

Noki cuts Kan an annoyed look. “Are you going to help me or not?”

“Not,” says Kan glibly. “It would be highly inappropriate if I did.”

The scowl on Noki’s face scrunches his nose. In an energetic attempt to derail the conversation, Kan leans sideways to kiss it; Noki evades him.

“I’m serious, Kan. This is important!”

“And I’m serious too, Noki,” Kan replies, exasperated. “I just gave you my opinion. You know I won't take risks for my people that Samra will benefit from, and which we might or might not.”

“I've already explained--”

“I know,” Kan says, trying to sound patient. “I know how you think these supposed provisional allowances will function, but you must recognize how narrow your plan’s vision is. The Exchange is going to keep heading down this road. You know this, don't you?”

“Excuse me?” Noki asks, surprised into sharp politeness.

Kan huffs. “You’re hardly one of my diplomats these days. Changing careers can be a good thing,” Kan adds quickly. “But you must see the beginnings of the need to change, right?”

Wrong, clearly. Noki’s expression shutters to blankness. “Is what the Dowager has been saying?” he asks.

“She doesn't have anything to do with this.”

“Kan.”

Kan sighs. “She agrees with me, but that doesn't make me wrong, Noki. You're not exactly objective. And you do this thing, where you try to be the organization you want to gain permission for, only before you have the permission. The Exchange is an example of this, I think.”

Noki recoils, stung. In an effort to distract them, or to give himself a minute to think, he gets up from the sofa and goes to get a drink. While he’s gone, Kan wonders how he can get out of the rest of this conversation.

“How can you say I don't want the best for Tasak?” Noki asks when he comes back. Instead his spot by Kan, he sits on the chair beside the couch.

Kan frowns. “That's not what I’m saying,” he objects. “All I mean is that, as a diplomat in my court, you should be more objective when it comes to Samra. Understanding them and understanding where and how we can open dialogues and relations is important, but in the end, you're Tasakese, Noki.”

“I never said I wasn’t!” Noki protests hotly, sitting ramrod straight now. His eyes blaze with righteous anger, and Kan shakes his head.

“You speak with a whole host of Samran contacts every day,” Kan reminds him.

“Just as I spoke to Isokai every day too.”

“That was--is--different. He's the ambassador, and you're his Tasakese liaison here. Under what auspices are you carrying on your communications with various members of Samra’s Conclave and private strategic organizations? Would the Exchange even provide me a list of them, if I asked?”

Noki gasps. “Have you been spying on me?” he demands, using his outrage to avoid the question.

But Kan avoids his question in turn, because while he himself isn't doing the espionage, Sem and the Dowager do present him dossiers of information on the Exchange.

“In this matter, Noki, I am your lord,” he replies calmly, but with an uneasy weight in his chest that drags his voice down half an octave. “I can support your passion as your lover, but I cannot always condone your actions as your liege. You should know this.”

Noki sighs, and leans back in the chair. “I understand,” he mutters.

But Kan doesn’t know that he does.

A few nights later, Kan finds a familiar-looking ring sitting in an open box on his pillow. It’s made of a dull metal, with a white band circling its center, and he knows immediately that it is a strand of Noki’s dyed hair set into the band.

“I don’t want to fight with you over this—thing,” Noki says, coming into the bedroom from the bathroom. His voice is heavy, on the verge of cracking. “I love you, Kan.”

Smiling, Kan picks up the ring and box and sets it on the bedside table. Holding out his arms, he beckons Noki closer until they’re standing next to the bed. Then he hugs Noki so tightly, he can’t escape when Kan lowers his mouth to Noki’s ear and taunts, “One apology to one. What does that mean, in Samra?”

“I suppose,” says Noki quietly, shivering in an effort to fight his ticklishness. Kan loosens his hold so that he can poke at Noki’s sides. “It means that neither of us--is perfect!” The last comes out as a squeal, and Noki pushes at Kan lightly. When Kan loses his grip on Noki, he escapes backwards onto the bed. 

Kan follows him, and Noki pulls him down beside him. “I love you, Kan,” he whispers seriously, his hand running down Kan’s side and back up. Kan suppresses a shiver, and shifts in closer to Noki. 

“I love you too, my brilliant heart,” he murmurs back. 

Kan leaps out of bed and to his feet at the sound of doors slamming open.

“Lord Kan!” he hears someone shout his name. “Kan!”

He’s awake enough to realize that very few people can come into his and Noki’s home without triggering all manners of alarms, and then he recognizes Sem’s shouting.

Dread bores a hole into Kan’s stomach. He runs towards the front door, and meets Sem in the hallway.

“Kan!” Sem repeats, breathless, more a sob than Kan’s name. He’s red-eyed and he grasps for Kan’s arm, gasping, unable to say the words that he needs to.

Kan holds Sem upright and closes his eyes and wishes that Sem never finds a way to tell him. He might even take this moment, Sem in pieces and clinging to him, for eternity, just as long as—

“The Dowager,” Sem gasps. “The Dowager—Kan”—another sob wrenches free of Sem before he can continue, voice trembling—“I’m sorry, Kan. She’s gone.”

“What?” Noki gasps from the bedroom door. He looks as white as his nightshirt.

(next - twenty-two)

im afraid to tag people but  @gingerly-writing  @severe-fangirl-syndrome @rrrawrf-writes

[head-and-heart]

The 100 Highlights - “Eden” (5x01)

Hey there fam! I’m starting this series in honour of the new season of The 100 that is now airing. Basically, it will function similar to review of the episode, except I will be pointing out the highlights of the episode - the things that I liked (not what I was critical of).

In light of 5x01 airing, it has become increasingly clear to me that - no matter how good an episode is - it is too easy for this fandom to get caught up on the negative aspects of it. (And yes, that includes myself sometimes.)

Being critical is good - it is a part of consuming fiction - but it is also important to recognize the positive aspects of literature as well. If not for anyone else, than for your own sanity. So that sparked the purpose of this series: for me to take a step back and think about what I enjoyed about the episode, and then share it to spread a little positivity in fandom. 

I intend to do this for every episode of Season 5, and possibly for later seasons as well (assuming we get renewed) depending on how it goes. 

So, for my first post, I will be talking about “Eden”. 

In no particular order:

The camera following the Ark and speeding down to Earth as the very first shot of the season was pretty cool and really captured the atmosphere of the episode as well as what the heart of the show seems to be: the connection among people even when they are apart, and the ways in which they fight to get back to each other.

Looking back, the cinematography of this episode was honestly stunning. The dull and bleached colour pallet of the scorched Earth versus the vibrancy of Eden is a shocking contrast and there were so many beautiful shots throughout the episode.

Loved the little callbacks to past places and characters - like the stones where they signalled to Luna, Jasper’s goggles, the stick from L.exa’s throne, Maya’s iPod, the rover, etc - it shows how all these people are still very present in Clarke’s mind (and how they are indirectly keeping her alive, keeping her centered).

The attention to detail was really strong in this episode (see above point) with all the props and the music choices (eg. playing the CL theme when Clarke finds L.exa’s throne). Due to this it ensured that, in spite of the time jump, the heart and history of The 100 remained present.

Seriously, there were sooo many cool shots. The shot of Clarke driving as the dust/lightning storm approaches was super neat. I loved how they depicted what life on Earth looks like after Praimfaya, the devastation of the planet. And also the shot of her staring into the flames as she burns the bodies of the villagers was stunning.

Having the entirety of the first 27 minutes following Clarke (and narrated almost solely by her) really nailed home the impact of her isolation and was, not to mention, a very bold storytelling decision

Music was used expertly in this episode. Tree Adams did such a great job at pinpointing when the music was needed, and when the episode was better served by using it liberally (and, on occasion, not at all). In the shot of Clarke sorting through Arkadia, the music is very light, the most prominent sound the whistling of the wind, as if to accentuate the fact that the world has gone completely silent following Praimfaya. It is also used as an homage to old characters who have passed, such as Maya, or L.exa, which I appreciated.

The scene where Clarke finds Jasper’s things was absolutely beautiful, and Eliza killed the scene with her acting. When I watched 4x13 last year I was disappointed to find that the scene where Clarke found Jasper’s suicide note was cut from the finale (it was in the leaked scripts) because I thought it meant Jasper’s memory would be forgotten. In retrospect, I’m happy that they did it this way instead, when Clarke is completely and utterly alone, and she can finally allow the emotions to hit her properly. There were so many amazing callbacks to characters from previous seasons who are no longer around anymore.

“Anyway ... in case this is the last time I get to do this, I just wanna say .. please don’t feel bad about leaving me here. You did what you had to do. I’m proud of you.” We’ve all had over a month to mentally and emotionally prepare ourselves for this line, since the trailer came out, but it remains just as beautiful as the first time.

There’s just something so badass about Clarke driving through an empty post-apocalyptic wasteland, listening to EDM on one of the last remaining pieces of tech on planet Earth. Clarke finding Maya’s iPod was the gift I didn’t know I needed.

Kudos to the makeup department for depicting their female lead realistically after almost dying of dehydration and radiation burns in the desert - sometimes this is not easy to find on a CW show.

Clarke’s frequent radio calls/narration offers up a fresh and interesting way of telling the story in this episode, revealing how Clarke has grown and reflected over the years.

There were soooo many parallels to previous episodes (eg. Clarke rising out of the water like Octavia in 1x01, the irradiated dining room in the village visually paralleling Mount Weather in 2x16, Clarke confronting her map like she did in the very first episode of the series, the shot of her face through the flames as she burns the bodies of the villagers is very reminiscent of 3x12, and everything to do with Madi and Clarke parallels the Blakes. And, of course, Charmaine’s “it means we’re not alone” is an obvious callback to Clarke’s words in the Pilot.)

No emotional beats are missed in 5x01. Clarke finding the child on the step outside the church is just one example of a gutwrenching moment in this episode that emotionally impacts us just in the way that all good media should.

“I’ve lost track of how many bodies we’ve burned since reaching the ground. God, this would be so much easier if I knew you were alive, if I knew I was going to see you again.” My Bellarke heart is singing!

Clarke gushing about berries. Enough said.

The filming of Clarke’s encounter of Madi pays homage to the horror genre, with her appearing suddenly in between the trees, or in the window frame. While not scary, it holds the same mood as 3x12 and 4x07 did - two episodes most strongly associated with typical horror films. I really enjoyed the mystery and intrigue associated with the way they approached Clarke meeting Madi.

By displaying Madi as fearful of flamekeepers, it demonstrates an alternative perspective to the Grounder faith that we haven’t gotten to see before: resistance. It also shines a light on the brutality of the conclave system in a way that is rarely addressed in the show (but perhaps should be).

Clarke performing surgery on herself? SO ! BAD ! ASS !

Clarke’s drawing of Madi was beautiful. And the little girl’s smile after seeing it? Precious.

Clarke spearing a fish? I’m turned on.

They did the absolute MOST gorgeous transition this show has ever done in this episode. And you all know which one I’m talking about. When Clarke is looking up at the stars and says, “What about them? Do you think they’ll come down too?” AND THEN IT SMOOTHLY SHIFTS TO THE ARK, BELLAMY STARING OUT THE WINDOW LOOKING DOWN AT HER AS SHE LOOKS UP AT HIM - BOTH UNKNOWINGLY. And the MUSIC. The music, oh god. Everything about it was stunning. The camerawork, the music, the thematic implications of it all. I just can’t be coherent about how amazing that transition was. Lemme go watch it another five times before I continue.

Raven beating Echo. Raven laughing. Raven. 

The dynamic among the space squad is really intriguing, and Jason Rothenberg communicated so much with so little. With just a few short scenes and lines of dialogue we can perfectly understand everyone’s role on the Ark, the tension between Bellamy and Raven, the uncertainty of Echo paired with the internal struggle of Monty, the way Emori has so seamlessly fitted herself into the group, and how Murphy has just as easily removed himself from it. It’s fascinating to me to watch how these characters interact with each other; how things have remained constant, and how they have shifted.

The fact that “Murphy” is considered one of their chores on the Ark will never not be funny (and equally heartbreaking???).

“Seconds?” “Yeah right, I choose Murphy.” I will never be over Monty’s poor, cute, little hopeful face here. It was adorable.

The Murphy and Bellamy fight scene was a blessing in every single way. First of all, Bellamy being cheeky is my lifeblood. Second of all, Murphy’s story this season is super intriguing to me. And third of all, Bellamy holding Murphy in a headlock as he forces him to admit he’s not worthless is a scene I never would have imagined I would need this much.

“You know what I think your problem is? You like being the hero; only up here, there are no heroes.” I LOVE this line because of how it delves into Murphy’s psyche and also displays him in a different way than Murphy typically is. It shows that, deep down, he really does care about more than himself. When he has so much time to wallow in his own self-loathing, he feels he needs to live up to his own expectations, and he acts out. If he can’t be a hero, then he’ll be what he knows he can be. A dick.

Also ... “there are no heroes” = “there are no good guys”. I love my otp

Bellamy is the biggest dad and I am LIVING for it.

“I’ll make sure it’s my only choice.” Cue Kate’s Bellarkean death.

“Non-violent offenders with me?” “Yeah, both of them.” Okay, I’m sorry but I’ll never stop laughing about this.

“Relax, McCreary. You’re still my favourite mass-murderer.” I loved this little exchange because it hints at the dynamic between all of the Eligius crew. Again, Jason does so much with so little words. It clearly indicates just how different these prisoners are from The 100 - how dangerous. Also ... is Zeke a mass murderer, then?

Monty and Harper’s scene together was enlightening. I’m so excited for Monty’s journey this season, and it makes complete sense for him to go in this direction. What’s intriguing is that him and Harper have almost shifted places from where they were in Season 4, where Harper wanted to give up and Monty was insistent on the need to keep fighting. He brings up a good point now: “No one should have to be that strong.” Because isn’t that the whole truth? I also really appreciated the callback to Monty’s mom, as well as Jasper, as there was a serious concern as to whether those deaths would just be swept under the rug because of the time jump. I’m happy to see that my concerns were for nothing.

Emori and Raven’s friendship is EVERYTHING. 

Nothing is brighter than Raven Reyes’ smile and that’s a fact.

Lindsey and Richard continue to have stunning chemistry and they both feed off each other so well, no matter how you see their relationship.

Ending the episode with the single shot of the fight ring in the bunker and Octavia (and her “royal guards”, so to speak) observing blankly from above was absolutely chilling. And the best possible way to lead into the next episode. 

Hope you enjoyed reading my highlights! Feel free to share some of your own. I’ll be back sometime next week following “Red Queen”.

[thefatlannister]

“You’ll have to make it a kill shot:” That Bellarke Scene in 4x11

Okay so at this point I’m aware that I’m bordering on beating a dead horse, but “Clarke would never choose to sacrifice the entire human race for Bellamy” is apparently the Hill I’m Dying On.

I wanted to respond to this comment on my old meta “Start with Bellamy Blake: Unconditional Love + Narrative Meaning” with what’s basically my overdue reaction and analysis of what happened in 5x11 with Bellarke. **It is important to note before I begin that the gun scene in 4x11 is primarily about Clarke thematically, and her character arc. What did and didn’t happen in this ep is also tied into Clarke’s (semblance of a) character arc in season 4 which I’m hoping to write about separately.

But for now let’s dive into the 4x11 gun scene from a bellarke perspective:

I see everyone out here like “CLARKE WAS WILLING TO LET HER MOTHER DIE BUT CAN’T KILL BELLAMY TO SAVE THE HUMAN RACE!!” Which is basically a retread of the argument that was going around after 3x15 and the “start with Bellamy Blake scene.” My reaction to this interpretation of 4x11 is largely the same as my reaction to that interpretation of 3x15, namely that this is a very reductive interpretation of the scene and the circumstances surrounding Clarke’s decision and bellarke’s relationship. Also, just a warning up front that I’m really not trying to sound preachy, mostly because it’s totally understandable for people to interpret the scene the way they do— more than 3x15, the 4x11 scene is framed in /extremely/ personal and even romantic terms. It’s FRAMED like it’s a scene where Clarke DOES choose Bellamy over the rest of humanity.

However, I’d argue that both the very specific circumstances of the plot AND the nature of Bellarke’s relationship undermine that interpretation. I will also talk a little below about how I believe poor writing- from a macro and micro standpoint- contribute to the confusing framing of this scene.

Plot Context

The task of describing and understanding the actual circumstances and stakes of the moral conundrum we’re presented with in 4x11 is very hard. This is largely because the episode does SUCH a poor job of establishing and explaining them itself. In many ways I’d say the episode actually makes false assumptions about the scenario it sets up, which is frustrating on multiple levels. So here’s what we know about the situation:

1. Clarke, Jaha and all of Skaikru are locked in the bunker. Skaikru thinks they’re safe to ride out the 5 years.

2. Octavia, Indra, Gaia, and Kane are the only ones outside the bunker who KNOW that Clarke stole it; this is true for THE DURATION OF THE EP.

3. Clarke, Jaha, Abby, Bellamy know from the beginning of the ep that Octavia won the conclave and that NO ONE OTHER THAN HER (and Indra,Kane, etc) KNOW THAT CLARKE STOLE THE BUNKER.

4. Clarke, Jaha, et al have the ability to communicate with Octavia et al if need be.

The problem with 4x11 is that it’s written as if Clarke and the others have no idea what’s going on outside that door. Clarke is written as if there’s a mob on the other side of the door waiting to slaughter skaikru. In fact, I think an earlier, perhaps even a filmed, version of this episode had exactly that, because even in the promo for the original ep that’s the situation that’s implied.

Clarke’s defense to Niylah in bed (don’t even get me started…) about Skaikru’s technological know-how would make a TON more sense if Skaikru were actually shown as in danger of being completely slaughtered. But as it is, we know Octavia is in control, and that word of the stolen bunker hasn’t gotten out yet. Which means that if they open the door, the likely outcome isn’t the slaughter of skaikru, and it CERTAINLY is not the end of the human race (a HUGE leap).

The stakes of opening the door are that hundreds more members of SKAIKRU will die. Not all of them, but more of them. And honestly, as the leaders of skaikru, it would be totally valid for Clarke and Jaha to be worried about that!! But that’s not the argument that’s presented in 4x11- that argument isn’t introduced until 4x12. Instead there’s this nonsensical assumption - by apparently both the writers and the viewers - that if Clarke opens the door then all of humanity will die.

Character Context

Now, to get to the central question at play when interpreting this scene from a bellarke perspective: Does Clarke believe when she lowers the gun that she is dooming the human race to death? We the audience know she’s not, but in Clarke’s mind, is her choosing to let Bellamy open the door fundamentally the same as if Clarke gave ALIE the passcode in 3x15, thus temporarily saving her mother but dooming the human race?

The obvious answer, to me, is OF COURSE NOT. Because only someone weak-willed or short-sighted would make that decision, and Clarke Griffin is neither. I cover this topic in considerable detail in my original meta, but if Clarke knows for a fact that sacrificing a loved one could save the world, and the alternative is losing the world AND that loved one, there is literally only one choice that makes sense. That’s why she let Abby hang in 3x15, and that’s why she would have been forced to let Bellamy hang too.

So what’s different in 4x11? Clarke seems convinced throughout the episode that opening the door could mean the end of the human race. She also, notably, spends the episode NOT TALKING TO BELLAMY, until this last scene.

What makes 4x11 different is that this ISN’T a clear cut “save the world or save this person” situation, and that it’s BELLAMY that’s able to instill enough doubt in Clarke that she’s not willing to kill him over it (read: an infinitesimal bit of doubt).

With ALIE, there WAS no uncertainty - like Bellamy says, "we knew what would happen then - now, we know nothing.” Fundamentally, Clarke's argument in the 4x11 scene is based on that fact that she KNOWS that if they DON’T open the door, the human race survives. But if they DO open the door, the survival of the human race is UNCERTAIN, not categorically doomed.

And, ultimately, Clarke is NOT willing to kill Bellamy over an uncertainty.

Of course, had it been anyone BUT Bellamy on those stairs, she likely would have been willing to kill them. But Bellamy is her partner, her co-leader, the person she loves most in the world. And, importantly, in the moments where Clarke doesn’t trust her own decision-making, she trusts Bellamy’s. That’s canon fact.

That’s why the subtext of what Bellamy says to her about keeping the door closed is so important: I know we’ve done stuff like this before, I know this feels necessary- like closing the dropship door, like pulling the lever in Mt Weather, but it’s not. And you know how you know it’s not? Because I won’t share the burden of it with you. In fact, you’ll have to kill me to do it.

And Clarke, who wants DESPERATELY not to hurt him, who has affirmed and reaffirmed how much she trusts him, ultimately is not willing to bet Bellamy’s life on him being wrong. Which, of COURSE she’s not, because she loves him.

Although my interpretation of this scene may not be as classically romantic as others, I find it no less compelling. In fact, I think it says really fucking beautiful things about Bellarke.

Their relationship is defined in part by their knowledge that, in a situation where the choice was LITERALLY between the survival of the human race and the other person's survival, Bellamy would beg Clarke to pull the trigger and vice versa. They would do it, to save their people, to save the human race.

Bellamy literally does this in 4x13- makes the choice to leave Clarke behind, because not doing so means both she and his people die. It kills him to do it, but it is in the strength of her love and the knowledge of her faith in him that he is ABLE to do it!! They have changed and molded and supported each other in order to make each other capable of making decisions that might ultimately mean putting the people they both love before each other. That’s what bonds them and, ultimately, that’s what breaks them.

4x11 is an example of that bond being used to help Clarke understand when NOT to make that kind of hard choice. The very fact that Bellamy isn’t on her side is what allows her to make the right decision and to hold onto her humanity. It’s their relationship with each other that keeps them CENTERED, that keeps them balanced enough to retain their humanity but also to be able to make the hard decisions.

Narrative Framing

To finish off, I want to circle back to my original observation that I totally understand /why/ people interpret this scene as the romantic trope “you over the world.” And that’s because it’s literally presented that way. As explored in this essay, anyone reading into the plot and character dynamics of the scene can see that it’s nowhere near as straightforward as that. And yet, Clarke’s tears, the lack of her verbal acknowledgement of his arguments, and even the script itself all combine to narrative frame this scene in a way that is undeniably… romantic.

In a way, the scene oversimplifies *itself.* The actual dialogue we receive (not the subtext) - "you'll have to make it a kill shot"- is specifically meant to frame Clarke's choice as either kill Bellamy or let him open the door. This is the frame even though a reasonable viewer could just be like “well obvi she can shoot him in the leg or something.”

It is CLEAR that the writers/directors.etc. intended to frame this moment as "Clarke can't pull the trigger because she loves him too much.” That is indisputably what the scene is telling us, and I think it is this message that is the catalyst for so many members of the audience to then conclude “Clarke chose Bellamy over the human race.”

So I guess my point here is that they clearly wanted to frame this scene as being about Clarke’s (nonplatonic, earth-shatteringly intense) feelings for Bellamy, for better or for worse. And I, for one, am curious as to WHY they would be so intent on doing that….😏😏

[dylanobrienisbatman]

discussion question: (if you feel like it) how do you think the conclave would have changed if lincoln were alive? would he have fought for trikru? how would it have changed the outcome with octavia, luna, echo’s cheating, etc.

Okay so i 1) sort of forgot i had this ask, and 2) haven’t really been able to decide what i wanted my answer to be so im sorry it took me approxiamtely 125 years to answer it. BUT I AM HERE NOW AND PREPARED TO GIVE THE OLD COLLEGE TRY. 

So just quick, in terms of Echo, I don’t think it would have changed what she did. I think Lincoln may have tried to propose sharing the bunker, and if he succeeded and there was no conclave, cool, but if there had been a conclave Echo would have still cheated. I honestly believe Clarke would have too. Those choices were entirely divorced from any external person’s influence, and totally centered around one goal, saving THEIR people. So for that, I think Echo would have behaved pretty much the same. 

In terms of Octavia, I think… I think Octavia would have still fought for Skaikru, but the idea to share the bunker would have come from Lincoln upon her winning. She would have won, and ran to him, and he would have counselled her. I think her choice originally came from a place of trying to emulate what Lincoln would have done, so I think in terms of her choices it would have been much the same outcome. I do, however, think that she would have entered the conclave to fight for him and him alone (and maybe Bellamy, because their relationship would be a lot different if Lincoln was still alive), under the guise of Skaikru, because he was her people.

Luna would have  been entirely different in my opinion. I think first of all, if Lincoln had been alive, he would have gone to science island with her and Nyko, and he wouldn’t have allowed them to continue to test on her and take her bone marrow. I think he would have also helped her feel less alone, and she wouldn’t have disappeared off to be by herself between leaving science island and showing up at Polis. I think she would have positioned herself as the one to fight for everyone, because she would have had a person left to help her remember who she was, where she came from, and that there were people in the world worth saving. I think Lincoln would have made a big difference for Luna. 

I don’t think he would have fought, because thats not really his way. I think he would have counselled the winner, he would have tried to stop Clarke from stealing the bunker and Luna from being such a nihilist, etc. but i dont think he would have fought. I think he really would have tried hard to get there to NOT be a conclave, and I think he would have succeeded. I think had the idea of sharing the bunker come from someone within their culture, who had NOT tried to steal the flame and become a false commander (ehem… Clarke), the idea would have been a lot more appealing to them. I think he would have been able to voice the necessity of skaikru being allowed some of the spots because of their science/tech knowledge, and would have been able to show his people that te bunker COULD be shared. I think Lincoln would have had a huge affect on all of the plots that happened after his death, but the bunker/conclave plot was probably one of the biggest. 

[rookie-dm-disasters]

Chapter 19: Heard it Through the Tree Vine

Burdru landed the zeppelin in a clearing in the middle of the forest. They were a good walk away from the world tree, but the walk was nothing unmanageable. Pumpeck, Niama, Thorfreyer, Rum, and Veldora stepped out of the zeppelin and were met with elves dressed inn white and green armor. Each one held a spear in their hands and bore a shield that had the symbol of a large tree. An elf spoke and said “We saw that Burdru was with you. Bring him out.” The crew took note that it was a not a question. They saw the large elephant man’s trunk before they saw anything else as he made his way out of the zeppelin. Despite his size, he looked small as he stepped closer to the guards. He held up a thick hand and waved at the guards. “Hello. I have brought guests that require the aide of the tree.” The elves’ eyes widened when they heard Burdru say “the tree.” In unison, they leveled their spears. “You have abandoned us, but you will show proper respect to the world tree Yggdrasil.” Burdru snapped to attention. “Yes, of course. Yggdrasil. These guests require the assistance of Yggdrasil.” The guards pulled up their spears, the metal was pristine to the point of blinding them when the light played off of blades. A guard stepped forward. “As is known, any are welcome to seek her aid, be they willing to take the test. I can take you to her. Will you be joining, Burdru?” The question was dripping with venom. It wasn’t a true question, but a dare. It was unclear why the guard spoke in such a mocking tone. But it was clear enough that Burdru had not left on good terms. The guard began to walk towards Yggdrasil, not waiting to hear a response. The party began to follow, but as they walked, they heard Burdru say from behind them, “You guys go ahead. I’ll wait in the zeppelin.” They waked through the forest, following the guard that had so warmly welcomed them. He was not a chatty fellow, not initiating any small talk with the group, which was appreciated by most of them. Scattered throughout the forest were several camps and gatherings of people in groves. Some looked like they were performing rituals around a bon fire. Others appeared to simply be enjoying the day in good company. The people who lived here were primarily elves. But they did notice some more loxodons like Burdru, as a well as a few humans, but those were rare. They seemed to have a certain oneness with the forest around them. Animals approached with no fear. Squirrels were eating from their hands. Birds were sitting on their shoulders. Deer rested with them by the fires. It looked like a peaceful life, living and communing with nature. But the party couldn’t help recall what Burdru had said about living among the Selesnyan Conclave. It was a beautiful and peaceful life, certainly. But it was boring. How long would they have been able to live here, they wondered. The guard finally spoke. “We are nearing Yggdrasil. I should warn you, you should only enter if your intentions are pure. If you attempt to enter and speak with Yggdrasil and you hold ill will in your heart, you will not enjoy the consequences.” Once they got closer, they understood what he meant when he said “go in.” At the base of the tree was a large opening. Large enough that even a giant could pass through. They could see a dim green light glowing from inside. At either side of the entrance stood a large statue. The statues did not look like anything in particular. They looked more like five large rocks held together by some magic to look vaguely humanoid. They had runes engraved throughout them and vines growing around the stone at the center. The guard simply gestured to the opening with his spear. A silent “go for it.” His smirk told them he did not have high hopes for them. Niama looked to the group. “Alright, I’m not going to lie, I think I may have a bit too much baggage to help out with this one.” She turned around and walked to a nearby tree. “I’ll be over here when you’re done.” Pumpeck followed after her. “What do you mean? Wouldn’t it be best if we go in together?” “Absolutely not.” Niama continued walking. She reached a nice, shady tree had a nice seat. “Well, she’s out.” Said Thorfreyer. “I’m willing to go in though. Pure intentions? Got ‘em. All I want is the leaf to return home. Nothing purer.” He brimmed with confidence. “Who else is in?” he eyed his group. “I should probably pass.” Rum said, holding up his flask. “I’m already a little tipsy, and I imagine that’s an immediate disqualifier.” It was a fair assumption. “What about you, Veldora?” Pumpeck asked in her cheery tone. Veldora looked down at the small gnome. “No.” Pumpeck waited a few seconds. “Okay.” Waited a few more. “Will you tell me why?” “No” He said as he turned and walked toward his own tree to sit under. Pumpeck felt a heavy clap on her back that pushed her forward a foot. “Guess it’s you and me, Pumpeck. You ready?”  Pumpeck looked up and nodded, eyes filled with determination. The two of them walked to the entrance of the tree and passed through the tree, expecting the statues to come to life. As they got closer, the runes on the golems began to glow a faint blue color. “Go through one at a time.” They heard the guar yell. Thorfreyer took the lead. The runes glowed with more and more intensity as he approached. He could feel his concern welling up in his chest, unsure what was going to happen. But as he passed the threshold of the tree, the runes on the golems turned green. “Is that good?!” Thorfreyer yelled back. He saw Pumpeck shrugging and shaking her head. The guard was giving him a thumbs up, letting him know he passed whatever the test was. Pumpeck ran towards the entrance, excited to see what was on the inside. The Runes once again turned blue as she got closer and shifted to a bright green as she passed the threshold. They nodded at each other and went further into the tree. Rum approached the guard. “What exactly is the deal with the test?” The guard chuckled. “It’s simple enough. The golems you see there are enchanted with the ability to detect thoughts. If anyone passes with ill intent, the golems with crush them where they stand.” “And what is the point of this test? Why not simply escort a guest yourselves?” “Simple security. Why have a squishy elf protect Yggdrasil when you can have a sentinel like that.” He pointed to the golems. “We find it is the best way to keep her safe.” Rum scratched the scruff on his chin. “You keep speaking as if Yggdrasil is not right in front of us. What will they see in that cave?” The guard laughed once more. “That is knowledge only for those who pass the test. But I assure you, your friends are not out of danger yet.” Rum looked back to the entrance and saw the shadows of Pumpeck and Thorfreyer disappear in the green light. Thorfreyer and Pumpeck followed the green light deeper and deeper into the tree. The walls were made of thick roots that dug deep into the ground. They could feel power humming in the air. Since spending more time with wizards, the both of them had become a little more in tune with the arcane. They were far from fully understanding it, but they had learned from Faelyn about the weave of reality, and how magic was a force tied into that weave. They knew magic was around them, but both of them could feel the magic in the air around them in this place. The air was dense with its power. They had to pop their ears as they traveled deeper into the tree due to the pressure that this power exuded. They saw they were close to the end now. The green light appeared to be coming from a small pool of water in the center of a room no larger than 40 feet by 40 feet. They could see on the other side of the room, sitting on a chair made of vines and roots, a dryad more beautiful than any woman they had ever seen. The leaves on her head were a green reminiscent of emeralds. Her face was free of blemished and looked perfectly smooth to the touch. Her eyes were green as a forest mid Spring. She sat with one leg crossed over the other, her head resting on her fist as she looked into the pool of water. Without looking away from the water, the edge of her mouth curled up a near imperceptible amount. “Pumpeck and Thorfreyer. Took you long enough to get here.” She continued to look at the pool. Walking into a large tree, only to be greeted by a tree person who knows your name would throw most people off of their game. Maybe even a little concern. Pumpeck, however, was not most people. “You know who we are?” She said with a smile beaming on her face. “That’s amazing how do you know us?” The dryad’s hard expression warmed and the leaves on her head became a brighter shade of green as her smile grew. She waved a hand at the water in front of her “The pool allows me to see many things in the world.” She finally looked at them. “And other worlds.” “Who are you?” Asked Thorfreyer. “That, I’m afraid does not have a simple answer. I suppose the best way to describe it is that I am an Yggdrasil.” She must have had this conversation with others before, because she went into explaining before they had an opportunity to ask the questions she knew they would ask. “This tree you are in is not the true Yggdrasil. It is merely a branch that extends into this world. Every world has a branch of Yggdrasil in it, and each one has one of us. The true Yggdrasil, the world tree that lies between worlds is not reachable by mortals. We refer to that Yggdrasil as out mother. And yes, she has her own dryad residing within.” “That is.” Thorfreyer searched for the right word. “Enlightening. But how do you know who we are?” “Simple enough.” Said Yggdrasil. “We dryads of Yggdrasil are all connected. My sister from your world had informed me through the scrying pool that you all had wiggled your way into my world. I figured you would come to me for aid sooner or later if you wanted to return home.” She eyed the two of them. “Though I must say that only two of you being willing to attempt to enter is.” Her leaves turned the color of dark, dingey moss. “Disappointing.” As she moved about in her chair while she spoke, the two adventures could see the vines of the chair move along with her. It didn’t take too much effort to see that she was attached to the chair. “Regardless of that.” Said Thorfreyer. “Will you help us get home? I’m sure you know that all we need is a leaf.” “I am well aware of what you need.” She said. “However, I will not give a leaf freely. You will have to earn it.” “What do you need us to do?” Asked Pumpeck. “It is a simple matter, all things considered.” The leaves on her head brightened. “I simply ask that you bring a traitor to me. A year or so ago, one of our own in the conclave betrayed us and stole a leaf from me. I want you to bring him to me so justice may be served.” They were worried that it would be an arduous fetch quest, but this task sounded simple. And if they could bring in a traitorous thief, that was all the better. Pumpeck was more eager than Thorfreyer to bring in a criminal, but Thorfreyer had no bones about it. “What can you tell us about this traitor?” Yggdrasil laughed. “I am happy to inform you that you already know everything that you need to know about them.” It took them a moment to realize who she was talking about. Someone who was a member of the conclave but left on bad terms. They reached the same conclusion and said in unison. “Burdru.” “Yes.” The dryad smiled. “Burdru, the loxodon. I know not of his motives. I know not why he left or why he took a leaf with him. But that matters little to me. I would see him meet justice for his crimes.” Pumpeck grew uncomfortable. “Does it have to be Burdru? He’s been a lot of help to us. Surely there is another task that we can undertake?” “No.” Said Yggdrasil. Her leaves turning the fiery red of Autumn. “Burdru for the leaf. That is the deal. I accept no other offer.” The leaves returned to the calming green as she spoke. “Now, leave me. I have business to attend to.” Her gaze returned to the luminous pool. Thorfreyer and Pumpeck could see nothing in it, but they could only imagine what the being connected to the tree could see. Once they exited the tree, they were greeted by Rum, asking if they needed any heling done. They shook their heads and said they were fine. “Good.” Said Rum. “The guard over their said that you were still in danger and I just wanted to make sure. So, what’s the situation.” The three of them went and gathered Niama and Veldora before explaining their situation. Rum, Niama, and Veldora hung on every word as they realize what the tree really was. They had the realization that they would have to betray the person that had helped them so much. “So, what’s the plan?” Asked Veldora. “Is that even a question?” asked Niama. “We bring Burdru to Yggdrasil buy guile or by force. Personally, I don’t care which.” The group looked at her, slightly taken aback by her brashness. She had been calculating before, but something about that seemed especially cruel and coldhearted. Pumpeck looked at Niama. “I was hoping we could find a way to get the leaf and keep Burdru safe.” Niama shook her head. “Not a chance. This is the only thing we measly mortals have to offer to a being like her. If that’s what she wants, that’s what we will have to give her.” She walked past the party in the direction of the zeppelin. The rest of the group didn’t like it, but they couldn’t argue that Niama made sense. No matter how they though of it, it seemed unlikely to get around the rules of the agreement. They made it to the zeppelin and saw Burdru through the window of the cockpit. Niama put a smile on her face and waved to Burdru, signaling him to come out. He grew a worried look on his face as he stood. Burdru stepped out of the zeppelin and approached the group. “What’s going on?” he said. “Great news, Burdru.” Said Niama. “Yggdrasil is willing to give you a pass on your crimes.” His eyes widened as he looked to the rest of the group for confirmation. They all nodded in unison, not sure how else to aide this situation. “Is that right?” He said. “It sure is. She said that she is willing to forgive you on the condition that you meet her in person for a formal apology and an explanation.” The words came out easily, as if lying were a natural skill. “That’s amazing news. Will you go in with me?” He asked. “Just Pumpeck and Thorfreyer. They were the ones who went in to speak to her.” Niama turned back towards the world tree. “Let’s get a move on.” “Right.” Said Burdru as he began to follow at a brisk pace. Returning to the tree, they were once again met with the large opening and the stone golems. Niama extended a hand towards the entrance. Pumpeck and Thorfreyer looked to each other and walked through the entrance once again. They were unsure if Burdru would pass the test of entry, but whether his intentions were pure or Yggdrasil made an exception, they were unsure. The three of them disappeared into the green light of the cavern. Thorfreyer and Pumpeck could hear Burdru muttering to himself. They could only assume that he was rehearsing what he was going to say to Yggdrasil once they were face to face. They felt bad, deceiving him like this, but as far as they were aware, this was the only way they would be able to get home, and that had to be their top priority. In what felt like less time, they reached the core of Yggdrasil and saw the dryad resting on her throne. When they entered, she raised her eyes and her leaves flashed red for only an instant when she spotted Burdru. Burdru stepped forward and fell to one knee. Yggdrasil simply glared at him. “What do you have to say for yourself, fallen leaf of the Conclave?” Yggdrasil’s voice was steady, but held behind he voice was the fury of nature. Burdru was sweating as he spoke. “My lady, I am sorry for the crimes I have committed. I wanted to join the Izzet league. But I wasn’t sure if they would want me. I knew I had to bring something to them to research. Something to impress them.” “And you believed one of my leaves were the right item to give them.” “Yes, my lady.” “Even understanding that the leaves of Yggdrasil are sacred and brimming with power?” Burdru hesitated for a moment. “It was a mistake.” Yggdrasil smirked. “And one will shall no longer regret.” Burdru lifted his head hoping that he would be forgiven. But what he saw were vines lashing out from the walls. They twisted and turned, coiling around the large loxodon’s frame. He attempted to break free, but they had to tight a hold on him. They pulled him against the wall. Pumpeck and Thorfreyer an Pumpeck looked on in horror as they saw the flesh pf Burdru begin to turn to solid wood, melding with the wall. They locked eyes for the briefest moment before his entire head became solid wood. The creaking of the vines stopped, and the room was silent. A small leaf sprouted from Burdru once stood. “What has been stolen has now been returned.” Yggdrasil said. “I give you that leaf willingly, so that you may use it on your quest to return home.” Pumpeck shook off what she just witnessed. “You said that these leaves are sacred and powerful. Why give them to us?” “It is for the best. You do not belong in this world. It is possible that the longer you are here, the less stable this world, and your world become. And I know that you will guard this leaf with your lives.” “Hold on.” Said Thorfreyer. “If it’s so important that we go back to our world, why not give us the leaf without the hoops to jump through.” “Oh, dear.” Yggdrasil smiled. “I would have given you the leaf regardless. But If I can get something out of the exchange, why not seize the opportunity?” Thorfreyer did not appreciate being played in this way. But he knew better than to start a fight with a being like this. He plucked the leaf and stormed out the room. Pumpeck noticed and quickly bowed to Yggdrasil before hurrying after Thorfreyer. “Good luck.” They heard her yell down the corridor. They left the cavern and met with their group, holding up the leaf. “How did it go?” Asked Rum. “Let’s just go.” Said Thorfreyer as he held up the leaf. They made their way back to the zeppelin and didn’t realize until then that they may be stranded here. “Damn!” Yelled Thorfreyer. “Our pilot’s gone, and we have no way to get out of here aside from walking. And I don’t even know how to get back to base from here.” “Don’t worry.” Said Rum. “I watched him manning this thing on the way here. It will be a bumpy ride, but I think we can manage.” “I was watching too.” Said Pumpeck. “I think I can help out.” Together, Pumpeck and Rum managed to get the machine off the ground and make their way back to the Izzet League, with a leaf from Yggdrasil in tow. All that was left was getting the leaf to the Simic for a bit of reworking, and they would be free to return home.