#beggar on a beach of gold

[rwpohl]

another cup of coffee, mike & mechanics, beggar on a beach of gold 1995

[bbcphile]

WIP Wednesday

I've finally worked up the courage to post the opening of one of the Mysterious Lotus Casebook fics I'm writing (Li Lianhua/Di Feisheng/Fang Duobing), specifically, from my post-canon fic where LLH's shiniang tried to sacrifice herself to cure him.

Tw/cw: suicide attempt, mention of off-page non-consensual medical procedure, internalized ableism

***

Li Lianhua crashed to his hands and knees on the ground as the last trickle of his borrowed qi abandoned him, the densely-packed sand doing nothing to cushion the blow. The impact rattled through his spine and ribs, shaking loose a bout of coughing that forced him to swallow down the burning flare of copper trying to escape from his mouth. He couldn’t cough up blood now, not here, too many steps away from the water’s reach. It would leave evidence of his route, a trail that his shiniang would undoubtedly follow once she had broken free from the immobilization. He couldn’t let her find him until the job was done. 

He pushed himself to standing, his arms and legs shaking hard enough to nearly drop him back to his knees, and he blinked to will the dancing black spots from his eyes. The waves awaited him, and he refused to crawl to meet them. He took a staggering step toward the sound of crashing water ahead of him, far fainter now than it had any right to be, and squinted against the sunlight to get his bearings. 

A large gray lump on his left snagged his attention, disrupting the blur of gold and blue that filled up the rest of his view. Why did that look familiar? He took an unsteady step closer, pressing his palm against his chest to convince his lungs to hold back a cough one more time, and the gray lump resolved into a rock. 

A rock that had once served as a pillow that was soft only in comparison to how hard the rest of the day had been.

Of course. He’d landed at Donghai beach. He swallowed back tears with a bitter laugh. Never let it be said that the universe didn’t have a sense of humor.  

He’d returned after all: three months late for the duel and over a decade late for bringing his decrepit body back to the waves that had so decisively spat him out. But surely this time, with all the mysteries solved and no business left unfinished, the sea would accept the offering of his broken frame. Li Xiangyi was long dead and it was past time for Li Lianhua to follow his example. He was already a ghost in every way that mattered. And this was the only way to guarantee his shiniang would live.

She would be furious, of course, but wasn’t furious better than dead? How could it be unfilial to make sure she lived on? Too many people had died for him; he refused to let her join those ranks. Dying to save her was already a far better death than he deserved. 

As for the others, Xiaobao would have his teachings and would be too busy climbing the heights of the jianghu to miss the weak physician he once protected. 

And a-Fei—

—well, how could he still fixate on defeating a ghost with Xiaobao shining more brightly than Li Xiangyi ever had?

No, this end was far better for everyone, and best of all, no one would sacrifice their life or be forced to play caretaker to an empty husk of a man.

A familiar chill seared through his veins and meridians, despite the warmth of the fur of his outer layer, stealing away his breath and the amorphous blue blur before him. He took another stumbling step toward where it had been, his heart stuttering painfully in his chest. 

Not much longer now. It seemed his frenzied dash here and self-shattered heart meridian were more efficient for what he had in mind than the weight his waterlogged fur coat would have offered.

Perhaps he didn’t need the coat for this at all. His body would certainly float further without it. And not even his shiniang could save him now, so what harm could it do to leave some evidence behind? Xiaobao might not believe the beggar’s words, but surely this fur cloak at the water’s edge would put to rest any lingering futile hopes. And then Xiaobao would tell a-Fei.

And if it brought them peace, if it let them say goodbye, then how could he not leave it behind?

It was decided, then. 

He lifted his hands to the coat’s laces, then paused. Were those voices? For a moment, he could have sworn he heard—

—Ah, no, the hallucinations must have started again. 

He smiled. At least he had heard a-Fei and Xiabao one last time, if only in his mind.

He untied his laces with fumbling, stiff fingers, and let the coat fall behind him. 

His heart and lungs clenched with another spasm, and a wave of dizziness broke over him, threatening to drop him to his knees once more. 

He fought against it, muscles shaking as they never had during battles. He couldn’t surrender now; not until he reached the water. He could manage three more steps. He had to.

He tried to lift his foot again.

The world swam before him, and darkness dragged him under.

[smallraindrops-blog]

What Will You Leave Behind

(Flowing Through The Sea of Time)

A wmftd and ‘In the Blood’ lore sidefic

Word count: 4.4k

Summary: Somewhere, there was a hill covered in poppies.

Warnings: Post Reader’s death, violence, death, bones, OCs heavy no beta

Notes:

One of the early installments of the Lore series, ‘In The Blood’, along with a little bit about the hero cult members. The Lore will have their own masterlist at some point. If you have no interest in the lore stuff, you can skip this and still enjoy WMFTD. :)

Fic title is from the ending title song from Spiritfarer. 

Happy early Halloween! Keep your eyes peeled for another fic, a very fluffy one! lol

Enjoy! 

The sun was high in the bright skies that stretched over the verdant landscape, once flushed with olive grooves, vineyards and wild flowers. Amidst the beauty lay dark ashes and ruined homes that glowed with faint embers.

The sea sparkled like diamonds in the sunlight with shadowy glimpses of quick fishes. Waves crashed loudly against the sandy beaches as it pushed shattered, burnt wood from ruined boats drifted onto the abandoned land. 

Some were still burning at the port.

Everything else was silent, once a thriving seaport town now was a grave.   

Unseeing eyes stared up into the indifferent heavens, a gentle breeze moving over the body, caressing his bloodied hair like a parent. 

Eventually, soft footsteps came. Her bare feet were covered in dirt and soot, the hem of her skirt brushing her ankles with each nervous step.

Her dark eyes widened, acid rising in her throat at the sight. Her parents had warned her but Cilo knew she had to return to the site. To him. Even if it meant being polluted by death.

It was as if the fates themselves were coaxing her along and Cilo was a pious little soul who knew to listen and to listen well.

If no one else would see that the fallen warrior will safely make it to the afterlife, then she would. Surely, there must be someone in the underworld who had loved this man and was waiting for him to return to them. 

With a nervous breath, she tightened her veil around her head before getting close to the body. 

Cilo wished she could find the words for what the hero of war had done to the body. The only one she could come up with was ‘nightmarish’. She wouldn’t wish it on her worst enemy.

This man had fought for her and everyone in their village and paid the ultimate price for it.

“I’m sorry.” Cilo said, her cracked voice coming out painfully young. Tears stung her eyes as she dug out her only offering.

The gold coin gleamed in the sunlight, Medusa’s round face staring up at her. As she often did, she traced the shape of the mythical creature with a gentle finger, a flicker of pity in her chest.

Cilo’ jaw tightened so hard that her teeth hurt. 

“You will be of better use to him than me.” Cilo told the coin softly. 

She kneeled next to the fallen warrior’s head, uncaring of the ash, of the mud and tracky blood and brain matter staining her skirt. She pulled off her large shawl, a soft green shade that she adored but now it would be his, and gently covered what she could off the body.

Her dark eyes spied the blade next to his broken hand.

Cilo remembered seeing the warrior always had it with him, even when he was just working the boats. The strong curl of his fingers as he pulled at the sails, the shifting of strong muscles under the brutal sun. 

He had never leered at the women or the pretty youthful boys like so many others had, he never even raised an angry voice at the beggars or whores. He had been kind sometimes, giving food to them or leaving fresh fishes in front of the poor houses.

Impulsively, she picked it up, ignoring the dried blood. She blinked, surprised by how heavy it was. Cilo had never held a weapon before and lifted it up to the sun to study it better.

There was a reason she was here and it was slowly becoming clear to her. 

“I will take good care of it.” She promised him, her heart heavy with the sad knowledge that she would never even learn his name, that she would bury his body in the cool, dark earth and he would be alone with only the silence for company. 

The town leader had declared there was no point in trying to rebuild the port town. It would only tempt the gods to smite them once more for their arrogance.

It would be foolish of her to stay alone, especially as a young lady. It would be inviting damnation at her feet and she shivered at the memories of what happened to women without protection.

But Cilo’s own heart was here, her home was here. She would be burying it along with this warrior. If there were such things as spirits, maybe he would take care of it for her.

Fresh tears formed in her eyes and it took her a moment to gather herself.

With that she placed the coin in his mouth and gently closed it with a small hand on his jaw.

“You will need help with the body.” An raspy voice came up from behind her and Cilo twisted around in surprise. Two women, their mirror blue eyes stared back at her, their backs bent by age and their hands marked with spots.

Cilo knew of the twin sisters. They were ones who always had to help with unpleasant matters of bodies. Never married, rarely welcomed to any homes, the sisters only had each other.

”I will.” Cilo agreed. “But shouldn’t you be with the others right now?”

”Bah.” One of the women waved a dismissive hand. “We were born here.”

”And we will die here.” The other finished with a nod.

It was then that Cilo saw a few more people coming up the path, some with young children in tow. She knew them as the whores, beggars or just lost souls and the others were families with a long history here.

”We want to help.” Ellis said once they were close enough, her doe eyes solemn. “He did feed us afterall.”

“And we didn’t even have to kiss him for it.” One of the pretty boys called out, getting some laughs and a few disapproving glances.

“My beloved husband and my oldest son are buried here.” Kyra said, smiling down at her youngest boy who leaned against her leg shyly. A few more muttered their agreements and Cilo couldn’t help the flash of cool relief in her chest.

Then she saw more coming, the young men that had stood with the warrior and kept them safe from anyone from following them. Their mouths were hard lines of determination. 

“We will help too.” One of them called out as they joined the crowd.

For this, she won’t be alone. Nor would be the warrior.

”Right.” The first twin clapped her hands together and sighed, looking down at the fallen warrior. “Let's get started. We got plenty we still need to do if we are to give him a proper burial.” 

Once the rites and small earthly tomb was finished, with the rosy gold of dawn’s lights barely over the land, Cilo lingered as she used a flat bit of wood as a name plate. She carved out the name in neat, blocky lettering.

He went by Kleopatros, Pat for short if she remembered right.

Somehow Cilo knew what wasn’t his real name, that it might have belonged to someone else once. But it was only the one she had. Once she was done, she placed it in front of the dirt mount.

Her lips moved in silent prayers to the boatman, to Hades and his beloved Queen.

The last line of her prayer went like this. 

Let his last journey return him to everyone who ever loved him.

~

(years later)

There was a storm brewing, looming over the restless gray seas as it neared. The ships rocked and swayed, threatening to overturn. 

The winds were blowing so hard that Tryphon had to fight his way up the scarlet hill, poppies everywhere the eye looked. He used his hand to grab at whatever rocks and swaying trees were along the beaten path. 

His cloak flying behind him, making the trip even more difficult.

He was younger, smaller than most of the other men. They only called him boy, not even by his name. Had his fellow soldiers seen him, they would have teased him mercilessly. 

Small Tryphon getting stolen by the winds once more. 

Little bird, short one, little baby. Small. Weak, worthless.

With a snarl at the taunting memories, Tryphon pushed himself upward with a grunt. He just needed to get to the tomb. 

When he got near the top of the hill, he was surprised to see how small it actually was. Tryphon had been to other heros’ tombs, Heracles and Asclepius and even Achilles and his beloved Patroclus.

Beautiful, grand tombs with elegant art carved in the stone, painted in bold colors to gleamed in the sunlight.

This one was simple in comparison, a mound of earth, tall poppies and wildflowers around a big rock.  Words were carved in the stone by an unskilled hand.

Hot fury flashed in Tryphon’s chest, had he been misled by those useless fishermen?

Scowling once more, He peered at the stone, leaning in close with the dimming skies overhead.

‘Arkesilaos’

Unknown hero.

No, that was the name the simple townsfolk had given the hero, his real name long forgotten by time. Arkesilaos wasn’t a name, really. Merely a word that meant ‘Guardian’.

Sighing, he straightened up, watching as the young, skinny laurel tree swayed wildly in the gusts. Tryphon never thought he sympathized with a plant but here he was. 

He must be sleep deprived or something.

“I came to find a hero.” Tryphon informed the dirt mound. “The locals here claimed you fought the god of war himself, my good sir. In fact they say you won the first time. Funny how I am just now hearing about you. I have traveled far and wide. Seen many great things.”

Ruined countless great things, more like it. All in the name of everlasting glory. Countless beautiful artworks. He always left those alone or took what he could away from the ruinous hands of his fellow soldiers.

Tryphon shook his head with a sigh. In another life, he would have been an artist of sorts, once more he longed for a paintbrush or block of clay or something.

There was no response of course. He studied it carefully, it was clear it was well taken care of, the area was neat and Tryphon suspected if it wasn’t for the oncoming storm, he would have found offerings and bouquets of flowers.

“If nothing else, I must admire you for having people like these remember you so well and fondly. We morals do have a short memory, after all.” Tryphon said. His eyes went back to the pitiful tree. 

He had some rope, and there were plenty of rocks around as well…

Lavender bolts of lightning crackled in the skies and Tryphon knew he needed to hurry back before the gods decided he would make good target practice.

“Tell you what, Arkesilaos. I will save your tree and you will grant me a blessing, one that will help me survive this doomed war. How about it? If I live, I will even return and make you a statue or something.” Tryphon said with a rueful laugh, not really believing his own words.

Gods and warriors with divine blood flowing their clay forms will be there, Typhon would be lucky to live beyond the first battle.

He was quick as he worked on anchoring the tree to the best of his abilities. “I never planned on fighting. I don’t care for glory but my father… anyway, here you go.” 

The tree looked much more stable now, with only a faint sway now. He nodded in satisfaction.

Another bolt broke the dark gray skies and Tryphon knew it was time to go. 

“Perhaps, we will meet again, good guardian.” With that, Tryphon bowed, his fingers touching the stone lightly. 

Later, so much later. A man came to the shore once more, his body and soul worn down like unmovable stone against an unstoppable sea. He walked a slight limp up the hill, the sun passing overhead.

”I returned, thanks to your guiding hand.” The man told the fallen hero. He smiled up at the now strong laurel tree that now loomed over him.  “Now about that statue, my good friend?”   

~~

(Several generations later)

Hiero rushed up the grassy hill, the offering for the town’s hero wrapped up in linen and held close to his chest. Scarlet poppies danced as he rushed past, the flowers growing more dense the closer he got the tomb.

It was one of those perfect summer mornings, heavy with the cool breezes and the warm sun only brought gentle warmth and golden light. The small olive grooves were flushed with olives and Hiero knew he would be there later today, helping to harvest them.

He stuck to the well beaten dirt path, not wanting to risk stepping on the beloved flowers of the hero and upsetting him. There had been a man once, when Hiero was a babe, who hated the sight of so many poppies and ripped them all up in a single night.

Only for the flowers to return the next day like they never have been picked.

That man’s family were still cursed with bad luck to this very day, their goats always too skinny and their sons too pathetic to fight.

The tomb was small, circular with towering columns that rivaled the impossibly tall and heavy laurel tree. The entrance way was painted in sapphire blues and greens, causing bright red poppies that grew between the cracks to look unnaturally vivid.

The tomb didn’t loom as much, now that Hiero was getting older but it was covered with poppies like always. The imposing tree swayed in the breeze but Hiero’ eyes went to the statue under it.

The tall statue, that someone had created even before Hiero’s great, great grandparents were born, stood in the dappled light of the laurel tree. The powerful warrior’s face was hidden by a Corinthian helmet, his spear in front of him, his wrapped hands were relaxed but ready.

The name of the warrior was long forgotten so the town folks just called him ‘Arkesilaos’  Guardian.

Hiero took a moment to peer at the statue, making sure it was still in good form. The paint had faded but otherwise, the fine line cracks haven’t grown nor have any birds decided to nest on it. 

Again.

With a respectful bow, Hiero placed the offering on the altar. 

It was a good one, some honeyed figs rubbed with spices. Mama always claimed those were the hero’s favorites since she always got good news when she offered those.

Hiero usually just nodded along with her nonsense. Unlike his Mama who felt the call to become the Priestess since she was a little girl, Hiero only saw stone and a myth long gone. 

Besides Hiero never saw much point in offering anything, nothing bad ever happened in this sleepy port town anyway. But he loved his mama and he would make sure her wishes were seen to.

“My mama couldn’t make the journey this time. I am her oldest son.” Hiero informed the hero, his eyes on the ground. “She is due soon, we ask for your blessing for the babe, and for your continued protection, Beloved Arkesilaos.” 

He waited for a minute or so, some foolish part of him actually expecting the hero to respond. 

When none came, Hiero gave one last bow and ran back down the dirt path, ready to start his day. 

~

Exhausted and dirty, Hiero took the small basket of freshly picked olives and a few coins as his due with some quiet relief. His stomach growled and Hiero grimaced as he began his walk home.

Counting the coins, he mused how unimpressed Melina’s father would be, especially when every man and boy in the village were counting his once childhood friend.

Then he felt his stomach growling, the sound loud in the twilight air.

He knew his mama had been working on a lentil soup that morning, hopefully with some bread and some grilled fish if they were really lucky. Maybe she even saved them a fig or two.

Life hasn't been easy since they lost Papa to a storm while he was fishing. Not even his Mama’s beloved guardian could fight the mighty powers of the god of tides.

Hiero glanced up the hill as he passed it, the tree looming over the land like a protective parent. Sometimes Hiero wished he was still a child who believed in such things but he had to be the man of the house now.

Then he spied someone up by the tree, a man but it was too far, too late in the twilight to make out his face. Moments later, a few more appeared, staring up at the hero’s statue. 

Hiero scowled but kept walking. Something nagged at him, like a low voice hissing of danger in the back of his mind.

While the tomb didn’t often get outside visitors, there had been warriors and soldiers who found their way here. Sometimes they made their offerings, said their prayers and moved on.

Sometimes they didn’t.

Sighing, Hiero knew he wouldn’t get much rest tonight, with one eye on the front door.

~

Jerking awake, Hiero blinked as he sat up, his blade still in his hand.

he heard His Mama waking up, her voice a soft murmur in the dark. They frowned at each other, not sure what caused them to wake up.

Then he heard it. 

Screaming. Lot of it. 

“By the gods, what is going on out there?” Mama placed a hand on her rounded stomach. Hiero waved for her to stay quiet as he risked peering through the window. 

What he saw would haunt him until he was old and bent. His neighbors were running from the fire, some fighting as men chased after them, screaming and weeping filled the air.

“Hiero, get away from there!” His mama hissed, pulling at him. He went, far too shunned to understand what was happening. He never saw violence like this, never even dreamt of it.

Those men- he had thought they would be common criminals at the most. Not this living nightmare.

“We need to hide.” She said, her eyes scanning their small home in despair, her arms wrapped around him as if he was a babe she could still protect. “We need to-“

A loud bang on the door caused them to jerk. Hiero felt his heart pounded, his world rapidly narrowing into the focal point of his mama’s sob and the sound of a door bursting open.

Men, their faces hidden in gold helmets and their flashing white teeth like hellhounds, spilled into his home. Hiero tried to move his mama behind him but she fought, trying to save him.

Some of the quicker men grabbed her by her long hair, and pulled at her, causing her to fall on the floor with a wailing cry.

Attack. Now!

Somehow, without his own mind telling him, he charged swiftly, his knife raised high before he plunged it deep into a man’ neck. More screams, blood spilling in the dark but he was numb, focused. He was someone else now.

Fight! Fight for your mother!

Fury roared in his blood. He felt like a beast, like he was born for this. Morals were supposed to be made of clay but now he burned like the sun itself in righteous anger as he took down another man.

Spare none of them!

~

The sun was rising. 

And the town was quiet as the survivors tossed another attacker in the mass grave. The townsfolk will not give these monsters a proper burial, may they all rot in the underworld, never to know peace.

Their sleepy little town had been attacked by a bold group of bandits. Their armor and helmets were all mixed from different places, different armies. 

None that mattered to Hiero. Not as he listened to his mama’s sobs as she went through the pains of labor, the women of the village helping her murmuring quietly behind the doors. 

His neighbors wouldn’t meet his eyes, even as they murmured their thanks for his brutal treatment of the bandits. For ensuring their survival.

Hiero wanted to ask them what happened, all he remembered was the roaring voice. The guiding hand on his. 

Yet he didn’t.

“Hiero?” A soft voice called to him. It was the first one that broke past the veil of darkness in his mind. 

Melina covered her mouth in muted horror when he turned around to face her. Her beauty was untarnished from the lone nightmare, the sunrise golden in her doe like eyes. 

It was rare for them to speak these days, her father knew the prize his beautiful daughter was and didn’t want a poor fool like Hiero lurking around.

“Your eye, Hiero.” Melina swallowed, her slender fingers grabbing his tunic as she studied the painful mess of his face. “It- it is-”

In another life, maybe they would have run off together, or maybe Hiero could have proven his worth to her father. In another life, he would have been allowed to love her with his whole soul.

“Gone.” He rasped.

He reached up and gently detached her grip. He gave her a warm smile even as tears grew in her eyes, her breath hitching up quiet sobs. 

“I need to go do something.” Hiero informed her, his whole being light as the wind that brushed over the wheat fields. He felt like death, one with a beating heart.

Hiero heard people call for him but it was like they were elsewhere, far from the golden horizon now.

The grass brushed against his ankles, the poppies red as the drying blood on his face, on his hands, on his body. He was in so much pain but he still took every single step onward.

He tried not to think about how he only saw one side of the hill now. That darkness will always be his side now. 

The statue was still there. The helmet of stone gleamed like gold in the rising sun. The tree rustled quietly in the wind.

“You were trying to warn me weren’t you?” Hiero asked Arkesilaos, reaching out with bloodied hands to grip along the spear. Blood soaked into the stone, marking it for evermore. 

The statue never moved, but Hiero knew. “That deep voice. It was yours.”

if he had listened to his mama more, if he had just understood.

He suddenly felt woozy, like he had too much to drink. The grass and the poppies looked so soft, so inviting. Everything was blurring in his sight, golden sunbeam melting into honey.

He stumbled, falling under the laurel tree, the cool shadows covering him from the burning sun. Everything that he touched felt cool and dark, like the earth, like peace was calling to him. 

“Mama.” He gasped as a looming shadow appeared over him, casting a brutal chill over him but he was unable to lift his head up. All he saw was the carved stone of the warrior. Arkesilaos. “Protect- pro…tect…”

A gasp, spinning gold and sun dappled leaves, Melina’s hands in his as they ran from the adults, of a single kiss shared in moonlight, of his mama’s gentle hands on his cheeks, of his Papa’s smile.

For a moment, he wondered about the little sibling he will never meet. Hiero just hoped that they were healthy, that they would be there for Mama when he couldn’t be.

Then he was gone.

~

(????)

The skies were dark. No moon nor sun peered through the thick clouds tonight. No watchful eyes of the Titans to follow him.

The endless fields of poppies swayed in the strong gusts, a wave of blood over the grassy knoll. The beaten dirt path had seen many visitors although never like this one. 

With each step, the dragging chains rattled as he moved but he only became more sure, his own divinity calling to the tomb. The little village below slept, caught under the heavy powers of Nyx’s son. Not a single one knew what walked in their sleepy mist.

It was better this way, lest they brought the damning eyes of Olympus toward them once more.

The statue of the warrior caught his attention first.

It looked strong, it’s back straight with pride and every detail of the armor was finely made. Even the hands looked strong with healthy veins. There were dark marks on the spear, like old blood.

He peered at the face but it revealed nothing, the helmet hid away any of its features. With an exhausted sigh, he smirked ruefully. The universe truly had a sick sense of humor. 

Then he forced himself to acknowledge the tomb, of where hopefully it was where the  bones rest. He hoped it wasn’t ashes. Just let him have this one victory among the smothering ruins of his life.

However, the sight of offerings, batches of wildflowers flowers and bowls of candied figs laid at the stone door of the tomb, soothed his heart just a little. 

There was a chance to get it back, to weave what The Fates’ promises back into the grand tapestry of everything to ever exist. If it took his bloodied hands killing everyone who stands in the way to return what his beloved wife had lost, then so be it. 

He swept past it all, his ancient chains rattling as he braced his hands against the door. 

Darkness, silent of a grave long left to rest. His footsteps left prints in the fine dust, his heartbeat loud in his chest. 

It was a simple one, a mere hole in the earth. 

He dropped to his knees and buried his hands into the dirt, digging and digging like a desperate dog. His chains echoed in the grave, metal so loud it drowned out his heavy breathing, the soft sound of moving earth. 

Then.

Then.

His fingers hit bone.

Stilling, he paused for a breathless moment, moving much more gently than before. He brushed away the layers of dirt, unable to stop the trembling of his form.

The first thing he revealed was a skull, cracked wide open. He knew immediately it was due to violence, the pain calling to his very godhood.

He caressed along the many fine lines cracks, along the jagged edges of the skull. For he saw not broken bone nor pain of a life lived and ended in bloody violence.

All he saw in his mind’s eye was a little boy with his mama’s eyes and his Papa’s smile. 

He smiled brokenly at the ruined skull, alone in the darkness.

“I finally found you, kiddo.”

[blackjackkent]

Adventures at the dockside area of Heapside Strand:

Broke into a beach house where some smugglers apparently made a romantic getaway to a new life. They left behind their counting house safety deposit box key.

Got jumped by a whole group of angry sahuagin that crawled out of the water and decided we were a problem. Not a difficult fight but surprising. The local fishermen were grateful and gave us 333 gold, which was nice of them.

There's a really sad-sounding beggar asking for coins to help feed her sick son and the game WON'T LET ME GIVE HER ANYTHING. Very frustrating. :/

With this, I think I've officially cleared the east side of the city. The last marker remaining east of the wall is Gale's meeting with Mystra in the Stormshore Tabernacle, so I guess we'll hit that up next.

[sorcerous-caress]

Not even companions address the Orin situation? I feel like there’s a couple things in Act 3 that didn’t get finished. Like there’s this beggar and her son near the beach where you fight the fish monsters who pleads for some gold so she can get food for her son and you can even like talk to her but you can’t actually give her any gold. It kinda sucked that I just couldn’t do anything because I really wanted to give her gold.

I threw gold at her and got arrested for assault.

There is another begger that you can actually give gold to, a one in front of the bank with the women counting her coins in front of them. At that point I had around 100k gold and was just throwing money around, even paid the full 20k to open a bank account or something.

But their dialogue doesn't change after? The women still taunts them for not having money when they clearly have money.

Also if we're talking about unfinished act 3 stuff, then the biggest elephant in the room is that fireworks quest that gets nowhere and never gets solved.

Remember at the start of the act when a rich guy is trying to kick a family out of his spare house? You can step in and one thing leads to another, you find out he has been donating kids toys to the shelter nearby. Only that they are full of explosives.

You find him again at Sharess Caress, interrogating him lead to him saying he was just the middle man and his orders came from this fireworks shop in the lower city.

You go to the fireworks shop, surprise, it's run by Gortash's fanatics. Fine, you go to the upper floor which isn't run by Gortash fanatics but is some black market for speical explosives or something? They tell you that you can't go upstaris and the quest meets a dead-end here.

It's still incomplete. The only available options are

A: kill everyone in sight

B: sneak kill the women refusing to let you up

C: become invisible and go up

Surprise, all options lead to the same fate where you have to fight and kill everyone. Everyone immediately becomes hostile the second you step upstairs, and explode themselves and all the evidences.

If you sneak and pickpocket the evidence, there is nothing to do with them.

Also there is a single drow guy upstairs? He is the one making the explosives so these guys are clearly a part of something bigger but it's never explained.

Even after killing everyone which is the only real way to end the quest, it doesn't end it fully? It just says "everyone is dead" and closes. No reward, no explanation on why, no anything.

[lunarxdaydream]

( part one )

Gold. Emerald. Teal. Violet and all shades in between hung from the racks. Each organized according to color and pattern. A daunting task, mindful in its approach as every detail is taken. Cashmere melts like butter beneath her touch. Not a single thread out of place but what else is there to expect from the designer? In fact, it was one of the many reasons why Lucia had been fond of their campaigns. Bold and unique designs yet the manner in which sigils or myths were incorporated are nothing short of clever. A perfect and breathtaking balance. Simplicity, above all, refined with an air of sophistication. A favorite of hers if she was honest. 

A corner of her lip rose. Matte rouge a stark hue to cream skin yet a sinful companion to the silk draped over her figure. Once more eyes drift back to the mirror. A woman staring back, golden hair cascading in loose beach curls. Peals so delicately weaved along the crown of her hair; a matching set to the string sitting against her neck. The softest kiss of silver dusted inner eyelids; just a plume grey left to the outer crease to bring out the vivid amethyst of her orbs. Cheekbones so lovingly caressed with a touch of bronzer for a glow; not a single flaw to be found beneath the make-up set. 

Beautiful might have been the only word to describe the sight and yet, Lucia knew better. Just as her hand fell from the rack so did the woman in the mirror. Thin strap of the ebony dress falling from her shoulder only to soon be returned to its place. One by one, her steps approach. Slowly. Carefully. As if she were mindful of the pace to avert frightening her. 

A foolish notion. 

Finally, she stands before her. Face to face. Eye to eye. Pads of her fingers left to brush against cold glass of her reflection. Curves tenderly hugged; a slit free to expose her legs from mid-thigh below. Pitch black Prada with red underheel suitable to the elegant and simple attire dawned. Had she not known any better, Lucia might have expected the director of the photoshoot to come barging in. Or hear the giggles of other models as they burst through ready to take their pick of the next outfit. 

“You know,” he began as the light finally struck the mirror. As usual, a carefree grin set as his arms crossed. “You’re starting to get the hang of it.” 

Gaze flickered down to her left thigh. The weight of steel cool against her skin; flushed and secured just mere inches higher from where the fabric opened. Carefully tucked inside, away from where a hand would dare caress, not that she would give them the opportunity. Time is of the essence.

“We only have one chance.”, Lucia remarked as she withdrew from the reflection. His earlier words callously thrown back. Nails dipped in crimson fix the flower among his lapel. A scoff freed from his lungs as his eyes grow alight with humor. “I’m guessing they’ve checked in?”

“And waiting.” From his inner pocket, another item is brandished. Small enough to fit in her grasp as velvet is undone. A sharp edge peaking and for only a moment does she hesitate. There is still time to turn back ...

‘... What’s done is done.’ Blood was long shed. And now ... 

“Maybe you ought to reconsider my offer.” His arm extends with that same smirk. Grating as expected but beggars can’t be choosers. 

‘... How did he manage to be friends with you?’

Blade is tucked away. A foreign sensation as it brushed against her. A physical reminder of the wrong to come and yet there is something else. 

“One thing at a time.” Her arm slips through, his comment dismissed just as any other thought beyond the task at hand. 

[mahouowo]

Mermaids in Dutch folklore

The Netherlands is a country that co-exists with water, but it wasn't always that way. A lot of our cities & villages have been lost due to floods (like Saeftinghe) before we had proper dikes and Neeltje Jans. Some of the areas affected by these floods have become wetlands and others have ruins standing where the village used to be.

So, what do mermaids have to do with this? In Dutch folklore a lot of these floods are either caused by greedy villagers or by fishermen catching a mermaid and refusing to let her free. They talk about pavement being laid with bricks of gold and hooves from horses being of silver with villagers wearing clothes made out of the best fabric around. Sadly, because their villages and cities were always so pristine they did everything in their power to cast out beggars and travellers. When there was no mermaid involved the story would describe the flood as a consequence of their greediness. However, with every story that does involve a mermaid being caught by a fisherman, the place they come from tends to be the same. Golden pavement, silver hooves, etc. A merman, being the mermaid's husband, would come above water and warn them of the upcoming floods if they didn't set his wife free.

'Westenschouwen, ’t zal u rouwen dat ge heeft geroofd mijn vrouwe, Westenschouwen zal vergaan alleen de toren zal blijven staan’

'Westenschouwen, you shall grieve That you stole my wife away from me, Westenschouwen shall fall Only its tower shall stand tall'

In this example the merman curses the village by putting seaweed & sand in the gullies of the city after the people mercilessly killed his wife by putting her up for display. After he leaves, storms flood the place with one single tower standing.

Even in Dutch folklore mermaids were seen as such beautiful creatures that fishermen couldn't help but take them home. They weren't the only ones, however! We also have the Nixie, who in some stories was said to be a beautiful woman who would jump out of the water to sit behind you on the carriage. When you reached the end of the body of water she would jump back in, never to be seen again.

The Mermaid of Edam

Around the 1400s there was a mermaid sighting close to Edam. A mermaid was stuck behind the wrong side of the dike because of a heavy storm. After the storm, the hole was fixed so she had no way to go back to the sea. People described her as drifting between the edges of the lake asleep, unless she dove to the bottom of the lake to eat. She was beautiful and her body was adorned with moss and seaweed. There would often be women sailing on the lake to milk the cows on the other side who were shocked to find her. However, after some time they got the courage to approach her and pulled her out of the lake.

The Mermaid didn't speak their language nor did they understand her, so they did what any rational person in the 1400s The Netherlands would do - strip her of all her moss to put clothes on her. They fed her and she ate our type of food, but she always longed to go back to the water, so they guarded her. She became quite the tourist attraction and because a lot of Haarlemmers wanted to have her for their city, the people of Edam gave her as a gift to them in the end. She learned how to spin wool and lived a very long life. When she died they buried her in the graveyard of the church because she made a lot of crosses in her lifetime (which could also mean she became Christian). In 2014 they rebuilt a statue in Haarlem to remember her.

The Mermaid & The Mother

Once upon a time in the province of Limburg near a big castle a servant took two children out to the beach. He met someone and spoke with them while the children continued playing on the beach ahead, but when he was done they were nowhere to be found. He searched all day and returned to the castle with only their socks. Everyone helped searching for the children, but it was to no avail - they were gone. After a lot of grieving the lady of the house took a stroll on the same beach and to her amazement saw a beautiful mermaid singing in the sea. The mermaid asked her why she was so sad and the lady relayed the story of her missing children to her. "Oh! Don't worry." She replied. "They are safe and happy in my castle."

The mother pleaded with the mermaid to see her children or to bring them back but the mermaid refused. She didn't give up however because everyday she went back to the same beach to plead with her again and again. There came a day the mermaid was sick of it and dragged the mother into the water to take her to her castle. The castle was made out of crystal and on every corner you could imagine was a little light to illuminate the darkness of the ocean. She brought the mother to a room with a glass window and to her surprise she saw tens of children playing together; including her own. Sadly, she was only allowed to look through the window and pleaded with the mermaid again. "You can't go inside, but I'll allow you to live here and look through the glass window everyday."

Many moons passed and everyday the mother would stand outside the window looking at how her children were happily playing with the others. However, she didn't give up and by pleading as much as she did back then the mermaid struck her a deal. She could take her children back home if she would make the mermaid a cloak of her own hair. The mother was handed a pot of fat to grow it out and started to get to work. The first time she finished the mermaid was not impressed and demanded that she do it again. When the mother came back a second time the mermaid was happy and called for a crystal carriage pulled by other mermaids to take her family home.

Conclusion

Mermaids in Dutch folklore, although beautiful, are often related to misfortune, curses & floods. Their symbolism and stories seem parallel to the peoples’ struggle with the sea. Our relationship with her is a complicated one as she both destroyed our towns and livelihoods all the while giving us plenty of abundance over the centuries. On the other hand, it also highlights how we treat and have treated the nature around us. Nowadays we put great emphasis on co-existing with water and try to educate on the importance of our delta works. We can not tame the sea, but we can work together to make it liveable for both of us.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Books of reference:

The Sagen boeken written by JRW Sinninghe (Dutch only)

[troupeofstars]

Barry Xantrani

art by WAB

Toyhouse Profile

Name: Baerithryn (Barry) Xantrani Titles/Nicknames: Barry Goldpocket, Jackass of trades

Race: Half Sin'dorei, Half Human Gender: Male Pronouns: He, him, his Age: Looks young adult Birthday: February 13 Height: 173 cm ( 5'8" ) Weight: 77 kg ( 170 lb ) Body Build: Built athletic Pinterest: Link

Orientation: Pansexual Status: Married

Home Town: Booty Bay Current Location: Traveling Occupation: Merchant, Pirate, thief, First mate to the "Ocean's Lust" Class: Pirate

++ || Charismatic • Liberal • Adaptable == || Adventurous • Goofy • Mellow --- || Conniving • Immoral • Argumentative

Best Trait: Perceptive Worst Trait: Impatience

Likes: Blueberries, jewelry, bugs, performing arts, gold, coins, blankets Dislikes: Darkness, cheese, board games, alcohol

Favorites: Color/s: Gold, Maroon, Hunter Green Scent: Beach, Weed Food: Blueberries, Dim sum Drink: Rum and soda

Family: David | Father ( deceased ) Hycis | Mother ( deceased ) Lin | Childhood friend ( recently deceased )

Barry was raised in Booty Bay, but hoped over to Ratchet more than enough times when it was a bit bigger than three feet. He learned the way of beggars, thieves and the hungry, The rich walked with their noses up and his kind starved. Due to lack of attention during his teen years and running around as an orphan, Barry has a real lack of morals. Don't get him wrong, he's emphatic but he's not sympathetic. He will fake it until he make it, appearing weak for others to gain his trust but to only to steal from them. Why be alive if you can't have a little bit of fun?

Barry is a neutral character; in no means does he pick sides in the war. He fights for himself.

He is not part of the war, often chosing to do merc jobs for both sides if hired on.

He gave himself his surname; he knows his mother's surname but he refuses to acknowledge it

He has gone back to using his mothers surname, Xantrani. He'll still respond to Goldpocket though.

Design Notes

Barry is half elf

Small smaller, still longer than human's, pointed ears

Hazel (almost golden), human eyes. Almond, monolid eyes

Human like eyebrows, with a scar in his right eyebrow.

There is no glow to his eyes (previous design had them at one point, no longer does)

Freckles on his check bones, nose and forehead.

Always wears his mother's emerald ring with a gold band Out of his jewelry, the three stacked helix piercing on his right ear is the most important.

At first glance....

Striking Looks

Other than being half elf, Barry is covered from his neck, chest, back and arms in Black out tattoos (about has ref)

He has dark olive skin, brunette hair, hazel eyes. A scar on his right eyebrow and a whorish smirk about 105% of the time.

Why is pirating so addictive?

They say once ye lose yer first hand, ye get hooked!

Okay but for real, Barry grew up on the docks of Booty Bay and Ratchet. Pirating is all he knows. He'll act nice to get that pretty coin out of your pocket.

The sound of gold...

The sound of cold coins tinkling makes Barry the happiest lad around town.

He'd do most anything for a bit of more weight in his purse.

Weapons

Barry's favorite: a pair of twin golden daggers that have red lightning, Disrupt and Disturb. Usually they're worn on his back, attached to his belts.

And of course his gun, the Silent Bronze Pistol. Which he keeps tucked away in his sash n' belt.

Locks and Pockets

Barry is really good at getting into people's locked chest and their pockets. Keep an eye out around him.

RP Hooks

Ratchet / Booty Bay / Pirate crews / work - Before befriending his best friend and captain of the Ocean’s Lust, Barry grew up and was raised in Ratchet and traveled to Booty Bay often. Once he was old enough, he joined the local pirates for work. If he was off a boat for extended time, he usually worked as a server/bartender at taverns on the port.

Thief - a thief shouldn’t be well know, but has a bit of a light finger around new folk. He also has a history of larger jobs, heist and even bank robberies. Hasn’t technically gone to jail though.

Ocean’s Lust - The name of the ship he works on currently as the first mate. Him and his bro, Pheonix are the only two crew members but that doesn’t stop the adventures. Together they do a much of treasure hunting.

Succulent Tarts - Barry has been working with the Succulent Tart guild for some time now. If you've been to a show or two, maybe you've seen him running around helping out.

How to Contact:

OoC feel free to contact me here on tumblr. I enjoy cross-server / cross-faction rp, and Barry’s general hangouts are usually around Orgrimmar, Zandalar, or even free to walk up to in the open world!

IC always feel free to message on tumblr. In-game, “Baerithryn” on Wyrmrest Accord - Horde side.

Barry is very friendly, even with strangers. So feel free to strike up a conversation anytime.

[medusinestories]

 And the rewatch continues...

Black Sails, II (S1ep02)

- Back to Breaking Billy. Damn, he looks so shell-shocked by what he did. He... LIED to the crew. I think a lot of viewers don’t see how this is a big deal in a world of thieving lying bastards which make up about 95% of the cast, but it’s a huge deal to Billy. Later in the ep, Gates tries to brush it off, telling Billy that it’s for the good of the crew (and, well, he may be right - the crew is already trying to spend gold they don’t have yet). I also love that Gates opens with “I’ve always been straight with you”... Why yes you have, except when you didn’t tell him about Flint’s plans. And Billy knows this, deep down he must know that he comes second to Flint in Gates’ list of priorities.

- Randall and his “we don’t like thieves, this is what happens to thieves” (at this point crew members are pissing on Singleton’s corpse)... the way he looks at Silver, nearly like he knows. Also a foreshadowing of the “he’s a thief!” dialogue. Also, why on earth didn’t Gates search Silver? He’s the only man on Parrish’s crew that didn’t get searched. Either Silver was extremely lucky, or something happened between them to distract Gates (is this a request for silvergates fanfic? yes).

- Silver taking one look at Flint's face and belly-flopping into the sea... CLASSIC. Billy running after him, he seems to be able to handle. Flint looking right at him... PANIC!

- Anyhow there’s a lot of things in this episode that reveal bits of Silver’s identity. He thinks incredibly fast, hard to tell if he’s thinking on his feet or applying techniques he’s already used (I suspect the latter), but he manages to vanish on the beach, from the brothel (after nearly losing an eye) and in the wrecks. But then he goes and does something halfway decent when he sees Max being throttled by Vane and asks Idelle for a weapon. I wasn’t sure if it was for self-protection or what, but since Max is gesturing at him not to do anything, he actually seems fully prepared to go in and save her as had been previously discussed.

- We see a lot of Vane in this episode, and a lot of different facets. He’s surprisingly cautious when Rackham puts the “we get info on the Urca” plan to him, and his attempts to argue calmly with Eleanor show quite a lot of (awkward) restraint. And then there’s the brutality against Max, which also seems to come from a place of paranoia (and probably jealousy?). But above all, it’s interesting that while Vane’s name strikes fear in the heart of people, like Flint, also like Flint, he doesn’t truly have control over his men and their brutish behaviour. Also, very much like Flint, he wants things done his way, as demonstrated by him killing off the messenger Silver sends to fetch the pearls. I also found it nice (for Vane) that when Rackham falls into the sea, Vane actually stops to check that Rackham is okay before going after Silver again.

- Max. I have to admit, she’s one of the characters that still leaves me the most mystified on a rewatch. She gestures to Silver not to intervene when Vane is throttling her, even though she has no leverage and no idea whether he’ll actually leave her alive or not... why? Max Accepting To Endure Pain will come up again in the next few eps (ugh :-/ ) and I still have trouble understanding what motivates her. Is it pride? A fierce will to be free/independent? I get that she doesn’t trust Eleanor and refuses to be protected by the same person who basically stabbed her in the back. But she goes several steps further into pure recklessness and I don’t really get it. Your insights/comments on this are welcome!

- That said, her begging Eleanor to run away with her and give up Nassau, “we can be free together”, well that’s pretty much what John “all I want is to be free” Silver would like from Madi by the end of S4, isn’t it?

- I kind of wonder whether Silver wasn’t hoping to be captured by Flint. I mean, he was probably hoping to manage to escape, but getting caught by Flint was apparently what he considered his second best option, since he calls Vane “the madman”. It’s pretty interesting how he’s already decided that Flint and his crew are better than Vane. I can only imagine that the difference is that while he’s seen Flint commit a really disgusting murder on another pirate, Silver thinks it’s not as bad as Vane who killed a beggar and threatened to kill Max. (that or he’s already fascinated by Flint, of course)

- I just love the little bits of vulnerability you see in Flint in this episode. His talk with Eleanor, where he’s slouching and exhausting, and instead of explaining why he wants Nassau specifically, tells the story about Odysseus and the oar. And then at the end we see him watching his men having fun in the camp before he leaves to see Miranda. The moment he’s back in this familiar environment and she tells him to get his boots off and she’ll boil some water and he just... crumples. A+ acting and just brilliant.

- So we hear that Richard has been bribing the Lord Proprietor for years. We know that Lord Alfred was the proprietor. Now I kind of wonder whether the killing of Alfred Hamilton is recent, and whether this is why the navy's coming in now that he’s gone.

[writing-for-me-at-this-point]

Quick! Don't imagine Luci falling even harder for mc after he stumbles upon them singing Satan to sleep :3 (lost paradise au)

Lost Paradise AU | Pirate AU | Obey Me

Oh, to see without my eyes

The first time that you kissed me

Boundless by the time I cried

I built your walls around me

Soft blonde locks soaked in the setting sun, the young boys head settled into the curve of your chest comfortably, eyes slowly becoming more and more lidded as his breathing evened out. A smile fades into a peaceful slumber, your hands stroke the soft fluff that was Satan's hair, lulling him with the promise of sleep as your steady heartbeat filled his mind- soothing any wild thoughts and worries.

You looked to the window overlooking the sea, a large ship in view, empty and settled for the night. Peach and honey gold mixed into the deep blue and ebony black of the heavens, stars scattered as they shine with pride as the galaxy swirls in the soulful tincture that decorated the beauty of existence.

Your voice filled the air, not even dulled by the ocean breeze that chilled the night, the beach house Diavolo had made for you and your family was sturdy and reliable. The wood echoed with stories of your new life among the sea, a doctor among thieves and beggars, a family made with love and hardship. A guardian of broken men and a desperate child.

White noise, what an awful sound

Fumbling by Rouge River

Feel my feet above the ground

Hand of God, deliver me

Your back sat comfortably against the stack of push pillows piled against your headboard, your legs bent to keep the sleeping boy in place, a small hand in your now long hair, the other testing on your chest next to his face. Your own larger, callused, hand moved to rub circles onto his back- moving from his hair- the small tufts now sticking out wildly from the comforting touch.

Footsteps were drowned out by the oceans song of her kiss to the sands of the beach, heavy and long waves caressing the shore before pulling back, guided by the moons pull. Heavy boots left long and slow steps, the Captain, the father of this child, listened to a sirens song.

Oh, oh woe-oh-woah is me,

The first time that you touched me

Oh, will wonders ever cease?

Blessed be the mystery of love

Inky black locks tied back were now free, cushioning the man's head as he leaned against the wood, carmine eyes glazed over the scene before him.

His little doctor singing his son to sleep, your head looking out to the sky and sea as you lulled his son into a deeper sleep, protective and loving hands wrapped securely around the little blonde pirate. His arms crossed over his chest, Lucifer, the disgraced son now looked to his family before him- the scene touching his heart in ways he hasn't felt before.

He wanted nothing more than to walk into the room, lay in your bed next to you and pull the both of you into his arms, your voice singing your song as he settled against you. A yearning for a love, one between a child and his parents, a love between two people and their son, a love of family. This extended takers his brothers of course, but this moment... It was just for him- something he wanted just for himself.

Lord, I no longer believe

Drowned in living waters

Cursed by the love that I received

From my brother's daughter

The feeling of being watched ran down your spine, settling in your stomach, but you didn't pull from your little world. You felt his eyes before, you knew how he kept you and Satan in his vision or within his grasp majority of the time, an aura heavy and protective- like many blankets warmed by the fire now placed upon your form, forcing the chill of danger and sorrow from your body.

Like Hephaestion, who died

Alexander's lover

Now my riverbed has dried

Shall I find no other?

He didn't dare break the scene before him, and you didn't dare to call him from his space of solitude, an unbroken promise to take the time needed to come together. To not overwhelm the child that laid in your arms, to not cause chaos between his brothers and their mission of piracy, to protect you and your son from the murderous eyes of nobles and seamen of the Crown who wished to tear his soul apart.

So now? You stood apart. Only 30 paces apart, and yet, you felt countries away from one another. Coming together by foot. As to not break the fragile nature that was your relationship. The love was easy, it came easy to the both of you, but the effort that needed to be out in was needed.

To protect the love that was vulnerable.

To protect the love that was held to sleep in this room.

To protect the love of your precious, little boy.

[jengajives]

Couple of OCs in this one to make it work, but I really wanted to do something with second/third age Maglor gettin too close with Ulmo and the Oath sneaking up bite him

“So... you’ve seen it?”

Maglor didn’t look up when he spoke. Just went on dragging his fingertips through the sand, drawing swirling patterns on the beach around him. Ulmo sat cross-legged on a rock watching him, letting the wind blow warm and gentle raindrops through both their hair. A beautiful evening for a talk in the rain.

“Seen what?” he asked absently. There wasn’t anything familiar enough in the way Maglor stiffened at that to be alarming.

“It,” the minstrel said again, softer but more insistent. “You know. The...” He trailed off. The fingers on his right hand, twisted with scars, gave a feeble twitch.

The burn marks reminded Ulmo what they were probably talking about and so he nodded.

“Oh, yes. I’ve seen it. I keep it safe, you know. You needn’t worry yourself.”

A long silence. Maglor pressed his hand into the cool damp of the sand.

“Yes,” he mumbled distantly. “No need to worry...”

Silver armor and royal blue banners. Swords that gleamed under the light of the stars.

A figure atop a mountain peak, cloaked and hooded, and the blood-red torchlight lighting his brothers’ faces in the high court of Tirion.

Constantly the words of the Oath boomed now in Maglor’s head, where it had slept for many hundreds of years. Constantly the weight of his father’s spirit pressed his mind.

He would have left the coastline and forsaken sight of the sea, but the glimmer of silver and gold he often saw now beneath the distant waves kept him fixed upon the shore. To turn his back would be to give up the Oath and suffer the ultimate pain of retribution.

He could not. He could not. He could do nothing but cower on the edge of the water, too afraid to act.

“No one will withhold a Silmaril from the house of Fëanor,” said his father within the deeps of memory, “be it Elf, Man, or Vala.”

Ulmo.

His burned fingers trembled and twitched.

Ulmo, his friend. Sheltering the Silmaril at the bottom of the sea.

He buried his eyes beneath quivering hands and tried not to let the connection form.

The Oath waited ever so patiently.

The water was still and glassy black, reflecting a sky of stars that reminded Maglor of the ages before the sun and moon. His days in Valinor, before any curse or oath had torn his family and soul asunder.

He liked the pool. It was always cool and tranquil like a vast sheet of glass within stone’s throw of the sea, and when the world was younger he used to come here to remind himself that he was a lord of the Noldor no longer; look at his reflection and see nothing but a wanderer without people or honor to plague him.

Tonight, though, he saw frost-white armor glinting ghostly beneath his coat, and the light of Aman burning fierce in his face, and in his eyes the soul of the two trees mingled and tamed within depths of stone.

Maglor cast a stone across the pool to shatter the image, unable to stop the quivering that spread up from the root of his spine.

“Is it far?” he asked softly.

Ulmo didn’t stand there in the gangly form he was so fond of, but Maglor still knew he was listening.

The water lapped at the shore like gentle laughter.

“Far enough, but well within my reach.”

When Maglor turned to look at the sea the entire horizon was turned to streams of molten gold and silver chasing each other endlessly within the ocean’s cold jewel.

“Where are we going?” Riston asked eagerly as he trotted behind.

Maglor had forgotten he was there. His mind was busy with other things.

“Going?” he repeated. “When are we ever going anywhere?” But the words were numb and he could not stay the path his feet now took of their own accord.

“I just thought,” huffed Riston, scurrying over the sea-hewn boulders to try and keep pace, “that we would be avoiding places like that.” He pointed upwards.

On the nearby clifftop, a tower fortress blazed with torchlight red and fell.

Maglor let his eyes wander down the cliff face to the dark gap at its foot.

“Yes,” he said dimly. “We should.”

And he hurried along, desperate now to come quickly to the cave and dispense with this mania.

If he could just see what he was seeking, the need for it would pass.

It would pass.

The cavern was cold and dripped with seawater, and in all the ages of the world it had not changed. From the tower above, the stone seemed to vibrate with raucous shouts and music, but the dark stone, crusted with barnacles and grasping things of the sea, was fast and familiar under Maglor’s feet. He moved eagerly now, driven forward by the desperate need to prove himself wrong, forgetting entirely the fact that Riston trailed behind him in wonder.

In the darkest back of the cave, a pale green light shone just enough to illuminate a small stone chamber, wide and high-roofed, and the shelf carved carefully into its back wall.

He knew the place, because he had labored there cutting stone to forget the world, because he had poured Maglor Fëanor’s son into this rock to forget him.

On the shelf rested gleaming white armor, and above it on the wall was set a pale sword with a green gem set into its hilt.

They looked polished and new, as if he had left them yesterday and not thousands of years hence.

It felt as though everything warm left Maglor in a single rush and he was nothing but cold stone himself, staring blank at those arms and wishing he could forget them.

If all was fair, Glírlang’s curved blade should still drip with blood for every life it had taken. The blood of his kin and his friends who had done nothing but stand between him and his father’s prize.

Maglor fell to his knees.

Yes. Yes, it was over now. There was no Oath that could hold him to kill again. No promise he had made would drive him any longer. He was not his father. He was not the elf prince who had sailed from Valinor long ago. Yes, he was no one. No one.

“Maglor-!”

Slowly he turned.

Riston was still here, but oddly enough he was not the only one.

When Maglor saw eyes gleaming cold with greed and malice he thought at first of goblins, and of his brothers, but these were only Men with stout swords who crept in on thick boots that cracked the clinging shells beneath them. They spoke Westron, roughly, though it took him long seconds to understand it.

“Trespassin’,” one said. His blade flashed in the green light of the gem. “Little vagabonds trespassin’ on our lands.”

“Oi,” said another. He pointed to the shelf with the tip of his sword. “Puttin’ some shiny armor down here so’s you and your friends can come back and kill us with it later?”

“That don’t make no sense.”

“Shut up! They’re trespassin’, and you know trespassers gotta die!” The first man’s pale lip curled into a grin. “Besides. I want me that nice silvery sword, and they’re in the way of me takin’ it.”

They moved closer, and Riston stumbled back with a squeak. His Westron wasn’t good enough to understand what was going on.

“Maglor!”

They would both die. What would Maglor do? He could do nothing. Well enough for him to die on the point of a sword, but Riston was barely more than a child.

Well enough for him. Well enough to die here.

“Look at ‘im squirm!” roared the one man, and with fluid ease he cast Riston to the floor and planted a boot on his chest to keep him there. “You say I gut ‘im, boys, or take ‘im up to the tower and let the others have a go?”

Laughter echoed off the walls of the chamber. Maglor’s back hit cold stone but all he could hear was Riston screaming his name.

“Maglor!” cried Elros as the orcs swarmed around him, arm thrown protectively in front of his brother, both little ones wide-eyed and trembling with fear. “Uncle Maglor, please!”

The sun glinting through cloud near the sea. Orcs guffawing to find the little lords of the Noldor unguarded.

So many ages ago and Glírlang dripped with blood.

Fire rushed across the surface of the pool with a deafening roar.

Glírlang pushed in through the back until the tip of the blade came right out the other side.

Blood gurgling through punctured lungs.

Maglor pushed and the Man fell, toppled over, the sword slipping easily from the hole it had put in him, resting with such familiarity in Maglor’s hand.

His Glírlang. So familiar.

He turned to the other Men, standing right over Elros, blade glinting and body slipping automatically into a defensive stance.

No, no, it wasn’t him. Elros wasn’t here, he was long dead now.

It was Riston. Little Riston.

Yes. Riston.

The sword in his grip brought him back through centuries of honey-slow time.

“Step back,” he said steadily. Many years had passed since last he used Quenya, but it flowed now easily past his tongue and filled the whole of the cavern with a crackling power. “You will not touch him.”

The Men scrambled away, faces frozen in awe and terror, for it seemed to them that they had just watched a wandering beggar transform before their eyes into a fell warrior of old, shining with the light of countless centuries and the power of ancient kings, and his sword was alight with green flame.

His enemies fled before him like the cowardly goblins had in ages past.

Torchlight. Blood-red torchlight in the night without end. The courtyard of Tirion stained crimson.

“Let no creature stand between my house and a Silmaril,” Maglor said softly, speaking the same words to the cavern that had sealed his fate those ages ago. “Be it Elf, Man, or Vala.”

He heard the dull roar of the ocean outside, and left Riston behind to cry gently in the earth’s cold embrace.

The waves slammed the shore with fury, but to Maglor, all seemed silent. The stillness of the night utterly complete.

Nothing to shatter his fevered thoughts as he screamed a challenge on the wind to the Lord of the Sea.

“No one will withhold a Silmaril.”

No one.

Vala.

“Maglor.”

He looked up and Ulmo was there, standing in the ankle-deep water in the tall, gangly form he’d once kissed. The sky had grown cloudy but he couldn’t remember when, and the distant line of the sea was alight with fire.

Maglor raised a trembling hand and put the tip of his sword to Ulmo’s chest.

“You... will... give it to me...”

“This is mad,” Ulmo said, very calmly. “Maglor, you don’t have to do this.”

Sea spray brushed against his cheek in some semblance of a fond touch, but he was not swayed.

“Give it to me,” he hissed, his own voice like the touch of hot metal to water. “Or I’ll kill you.”

“Don’t do this,” Ulmo said again. When he stepped back Maglor took a swipe at him, but it was easily blocked by a forearm coated in rough blue carapace like a crab’s. Rusted chains clinked against each other with every movement Ulmo made.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

“You would keep what’s rightfully mine!”

The hissing flame and shadow of Balrogs. His father’s eyes burning brighter than the sun with his last words.

“Thief!” Maglor screamed, batting Ulmo’s shield arm aside to press Glírlang to his breast again. “That Silmaril is mine!”

Ulmo straightened to a new height. His brow, crusted with salt and living stone, grew hard and fell. His simple clothes hardened to plates of chiton armor.

“Do not make me hurt you,” he said again, but now his voice boomed like thunder on the plains and waterfalls and waves breaking against unyielding stone. Behind him the sea rang with the blowing of horns in the deep, shaking the ground, sending rushes of icy water up to swirl against the solid cliffs. Lightning split the sky. Rain began to fall in cold sheets.

“Deliver me what is mine!” Maglor roared against the wind. “Or I will take it!”

Glírlang flashed white light back at the sky. Maglor felt the might of his brothers behind him. The strength and glory of Valinor rushing through him as if he had just newly set foot on Middle-Earth. His blade moved in a blur of green and white, and when he returned again to ready stance, Ulmo stood before him with a gash across his face slowly beginning to seep seawater.

When he touched the tear in his skin, the water turned blood red.

“So be it,” Ulmo said at last, and with the rush of the sea, the tall glorious form was gone, and in its place was a tower of water adorned with sharp yellow teeth stained scarlet, and lengths of rusted silver chain caught in the swell, and a million blue-green eyes that saw everywhere water touched the world, that saw into Maglor’s very soul.

The roar of a tidal wave filled his ears and the flood took him.

Direction became utterly meaningless because he was spinning too fast to recognize any way at all. There was no color but the black of fathomless depths, and Glírlang was torn from his fingers, and teeth tore his flesh, and he spun alone suspended in the might of the sea.

Well enough, to end this way. Conquered at last.

Maglor screamed and water rushed in to fill his lungs. All around him and within him Ulmo spoke.

“If it is the Silmaril thee desire, then take it.”

Before his eyes, the brilliance of the Two Trees locked in a jewel without equal.

“Take it and see where it leaves thee. Let it drive thee mad. Let thee fall as thy brothers have fallen.”

Maglor stretched out his fingers. It was there. It was there, he could feel it, he could almost taste it...

“Take the heirloom of thy house,” Ulmo rumbled, “and let it destroy thee.”

Maglor screamed and the water played the sound he couldn’t make as Being began to fade.

Everything went still and silent.

When air rushed again into his lungs, all he could do was sob.

“Why didn’t you do it?!”

On his knees. Water dripping slowly from his hair, his fingers in the sand.

“Why do you keep me here?!”

The blinding light of the Silmaril resting in a pool in the sand. Glírlang at its side. Maglor took up the blade and threw it with all his strength into the sea, then fell again with his eyes turned from the jewel, his whole body shaking with sobs.

“I don’t want it! I don’t want it! Please!“

Still he was here. Still he lingered.

“Just let me go,” he breathed to the motionless air. “Just take me! I don’t want it! I failed! Just let me go!”

Ulmo did not answer. No one answered.

The waters were still and the Silmaril lay there watching.

Maglor screamed at Ulmo to take it away, but the Lord of the Sea would not answer.

And his mind crackled and folded like the flesh of his hand.

[lordrethandus]

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 8

Wonder ( @daily-writing-challenge​, @ijirothehero​ )

World: Warcraft

He remembered it like it was yesterday.

It was during the last remaining hour of the year and at the Darkmoon Faire. Ijiro had admittedly been drinking a beer here and a tankard there since noon, but he was never drunk enough to make a fool of himself. Syrahn and his daughter Nairi had dragged him all over the faire, mainly as their primary ticket and prize holder; by the time the sun had set he was dragging a giant bag filled to the brim with stuffed animals he knew they would either forget about or discard within the month. But he kept on carrying on, for their sake… the ale was not that great, but beggars can’t be choosers. Especially when the ale was free. “Hurry up, dad!” Nairi waved at the top of the hill. “Or we’re going to miss the fireworks!”

“Two grown ass women can’t carry their own shit…” Ijiro thought to himself before calling back, “I’m comin’, I’m comin’... this bag’s heavy, girl! Why don’t you come lend your old man a hand, yeah?” His daughter conveniently didn’t hear his reasonable request. She was already gone, briskly walking down the other side of the hill to catch up with the Priestess. The Hunter was beyond tired from hauling their cheap prizes around for hours, and all this manual labor was working up a mighty thirst for something a little stronger than the boar piss the Darkmoon Faire was giving away for free. But when he reached the top of the hill at last, he looked around for any sign of the two women, but he couldn’t hope to find them in the sea of hair, pointy ears, and horns.

At least a thousand people were camped along the beach. High above was the full grey moon, casting its pale light upon the sand and shrubs. There were enough beach towels spread across the sand to make a bathrobe for Alexstrasza the Life-Binder. Ijiro looked onward hopelessly, knowing by the time he spotted them sitting in this crowd the fireworks would be over already. Not exactly the biggest fan of crowds, it wasn’t something he entirely minded; the top of the hill had a better view of the sea and the imminent display anyway.

“Jiro! Jiro!” A soft voice called. The Hunter turned to his right to see a woman approaching with a tankard larger than her head; if it weren’t for her soft amber eyes he wouldn’t have even recognized her. Syrahn approached wearing fake antlers covered in brown and green glitter, with the hippogryph face paint to match. “Here… for hauling our stuff all day.” She offered him the tankard with the warmest smile he had ever received.

“Ah, thanks, Syrie.” He graciously took the tankard and knocked it back; rich, creamy, heavenly mead. Syrahn watched in amazement as he didn’t even pause to take a breath.

“Thirsty?” Asked the Priestess. She took away his empty tankard and stood close beside him. “Hey… I wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done lately. Bodyguard duty is a thankless job, especially when you’re not even getting paid to do it.”

“After all we’ve been through in the Plaguelands… we deserve a little break every now and then, yeah?” Ijiro shrugged, feeling his strength renewed now that his thirst was banished from whence it came. “And besides… I gotta keep my daughter and her friend safe.”

She slowly turned to look at him with that half-cocked smile. “You know… I’m your friend too.” Just when Ijiro met her gaze, the firework show began. Her face lit up from the vivid colors of red, green, and gold, filling the night sky with the rolling thunder of mastercraft fireworks. The sudden booming caused the Hunter to flinch, almost reminding him of the shells he used to load back when he was fighting on the other side of the Dark Portal, but soft fingers wrapped around his hand and held him tight.

Her eyes were filled with wonder and splendor as she watched the show. The cheap face paint was already cracking around the corners of her lips, but she didn’t seem to care; her smirk turned into a grin in no time at all, as rocket after rocket went off over the calm ocean. Ijiro heard them, of course, but he didn’t see them. Truth be told he didn’t notice any of their colors or shapes.

He was staring at Syrahn’s face. Her full lips stretched taut from her beaming smile. Her amber gaze aglow in the crisp night air. The gentle but firm grip she had on his cold and clammy hand. It was then he knew there was something he hadn’t noticed before. Something he wanted now more than anything in the world.

It was then that he knew he loved her.

[atinytokki]

Distant Daylight

viii. New Strategy 

“I hope you boys have somewhere to stay the weekend in Panhang,” a voice broke into Yunho’s sleep, and he startled from his position slumped against Gunho to face the cart driver.

Oh, right. They had finally made it out.

“Why do you say that, sir?” He asked respectfully, pulling some hay out of his hair when it poked him as he went to rub his tired eyes. Gambling in the tavern all week when he should be in bed had worn him out.

“Because this cart stops there and returns to So-ai. So unless you want to be right back where you started, you’ll need to get off when we arrive in the morning,” the driver explained, turning around for a moment to make sure he’d been heard.

“But…” Yunho tried to argue, suddenly faced with the fact that he hadn’t made any arrangements and would once again be thinking on his feet. “But we’re trying to get to the archipelago, doesn’t this cart go to Kon?”

“No, young man, it does not. For that, you’ll have to hire a carriage that travels south,” the driver answered with finality, unable to be persuaded on the matter.

Yunho hadn’t been on a carriage since the day he left for the orphanage, and he knew even if they could afford one, no self-respecting driver would take on a pair of street rats.

So he invited himself into the front seat and tried a different angle. The sun was already rising and he didn’t have much time.

“Sir, do you have parents?”

The man gave him a quizzical glance before returning his gaze to the road. “No,” he admitted after a moment. “Not since they were claimed by the mountain.”

Not entirely sure what that meant, Yunho continued on anyway, “From one orphan to another, what sort of place is Panhang? Somewhere a couple of poor homeless children could survive and earn enough for the carriage you speak of?”

When the man eyed him knowingly for a moment, Yunho sat up straighter and did his best to look completely innocent. It was Gunho’s skill, but unfortunately he was still asleep in the back.

“The business of the city consists mostly of fishing and finance,” the driver finally said in a gruff voice. “There are a few wealthy families, but they keep to themselves and won’t be frequently seen in town, not when they can send servants instead. You’ll not be able to steal money off them.”

Yunho widened his eyes and feigned a gasp, acting shocked that the driver would mention such a thing when he and Gunho clearly only secured their funds through reputable and entirely legal means.

“And there’s already some competition between beggars,” the man continued, unfazed. “It’s a bigger town than So-ai. Any luck you had there will not guarantee you survival here. Not with winter blowing in.”

Yunho couldn’t help but pout as the distant rooftops finally came into view. He had never been outside his hometown in all his ten years of life, and the unfamiliar world on the horizon was intimidating.

He would need a new strategy, both here and wherever the road took them next.

But it was no matter; he didn’t fear what was to come. Jeong Yunho loved a good challenge.

___

“We picked the worst time to jump ship.”

Yunho crossed his arms to trap some body heat and sighed in response to yet another complaint from shivering Gunho.

“We didn’t exactly have a choice,” he reminded him, turning yet another street corner as they explored Panhang, looking for anything and everything that could be of use to them. “Can’t go back now.”

A stranger brushing past and jostling him forced Yunho to find a way out of the crowded market. “Let’s try the town hall,” he suggested, turning into the alcove where the stately building was located and hoping the officials hadn’t seen his tricks before elsewhere.

Before they could even open the door, another beggar sidled up to ask for change until he took stock of them and returned to his corner, knowing they wouldn’t share.

“The driver was right,” Yunho groaned, abandoning the idea until later. “It’s too crowded with beggars here, we’ll get no pity for being poor.”

“What about the tea house?” Gunho tried hopefully.

“We passed one a few streets back,” Yunho reminded him. “The owner is outside tending to the garden.”

“Could we afford the inn?” Gunho asked quietly, glancing at the place with longing eyes. “What money do we have left?”

“Half a bag of gold, a couple of silvers, and enough copper coins for one loaf of bread maybe ,” Yunho listed, honest despite not wanting to crush Gunho’s hopes. “It won’t get us lodgings. The most we could do is hire another cart back to So-ai, but that’s out of the question.”

“Well, why is it out of the question?” Gunho mumbled. “If this place is so unfriendly, then maybe it would be better to return…?”

Yunho ignored the comment, trying to avoid the same disagreement that had driven them apart at the orphanage. Gunho clung to what he knew out of habit and a sense of duty, even if it kept him in a dangerous situation, but Yunho was an escape artist, an adventurer, always moving on and up when he could and leaving the dark days of his past behind.

Even so, he refused to leave Gunho behind.

“You see that lighthouse there?” Yunho suggested, pointing past smoking chimneys they were barred access to and over to the seaside. “Let’s climb it for a better vantage point.”

There was really no denying him, so Gunho trailed behind and followed his brother to the eastern side of the city, taking the road to the beach. It only took ten minutes or so to be in sight of the sea, and it was a priceless one.

There was a salty smell on the air, not unpleasant but distinctly foreign to the brothers. The ocean lay before them, boundless and blue— not the pristine turquoise blue of picture books, but deep and full of mystery.

It evoked a similar feeling as seeing the mountains, with its expansiveness instead of majesty, but instead of turning Yunho away, it beckoned to him.

Gunho cleared his throat before he got too far away. “Hyung? The lighthouse?”

“Oh, right,” Yunho mumbled awkwardly, having gotten lost in the view. “Careful on the rocks.”

Together they made their way down to the beach, slow but sure footed on the bluffs as if they really were descending a mountain. This time, the prize at the bottom was worth much more.

Gunho said nothing but turned and gave his brother a smile, and Yunho knew what he was suggesting.

“It’s winter, Gunho, it might be cold…”

Throwing off his shoes and sprinting across the sand anyway, Gunho’s laugh became a shriek at stepping in the freezing water and then dissolved again into giggles.

Yunho had followed suit and pulled off his worn boots to feel the sand under him. Little rocks, shells, and pieces of coral were scattered throughout but it wasn’t painful to walk across provided you knew where to step.

He’d never been to a beach before and had nothing to compare it to, but to Yunho, it was heaven.

“There’s the lighthouse,” he observed, pointing up the coast. “Let’s head that way.”

Gunho looked up from where he was already digging through the shallows for little tidal creatures and nodded.

Being so tall, the structure looked a lot closer than it was, and by the time they drew up to it Gunho was hungry, cold, and tired and had long since stopped splashing in the surf.

“Are we sleeping here for the night?” He asked in a pout, clinging on to his older brother to steal some of his warmth.

“Yes,” Yunho tried to answer confidently, regardless of the fact that it was their only option with evening fast approaching. “Let’s just hope no one sees us.”

The lighthouse appeared to be empty, though the cottage next to it was illuminated by candles in the windows, and the door swung open when Yunho gently nudged it.

“Quickly!” He whispered, beckoning Gunho in and closing the heavy door behind him. A tall metal staircase spiralled up into the lighthouse, so high they could not see the end of it, but there was a small space underneath the curve of the railings that could house the pair of them if need be.

“It’s still cold in here,” Gunho sighed, already pulling his blanket out from the bag he carried.

“We’ll just have to make do,” Yunho answered redundantly, knowing he was powerless to change the situation. “At least we’re shielded from wind and snow.”

Perhaps they could try knocking at the lighthouse keeper’s cottage next door, where a wisp of smoke emanated from the chimney invitingly, but Yunho didn’t trust this town or anyone in it and it was better to hide out in the lighthouse undiscovered.

“You don’t think anyone will come in here while we sleep, do you?” Gunho asked, suddenly pausing as he was about to lay out his blanket.

Before Yunho could respond, the sound of footsteps approaching from outside shocked the pair into freezing in place.

“Behind the door!” Yunho whispered quickly, pulling his brother into the cramped corner just as the door swung open and obscured them from view.

He could barely hear anything beyond the sound of his heartbeat and Gunho’s shaky breathing, but it seemed that a man had entered and was making his way up the steps to the top of the lighthouse.

“It must be the lighthouse keeper,” Yunho surmised when he was safely out of earshot. “The tides have changed and night is coming… he needs to turn on the light.”

“How will you go up and look around if he’s there?” Gunho sighed, remembering the original purpose of coming there.

Yunho bit his lip and peered up the tower hesitantly. “I suppose that… I’ll have to climb up the outside.”

“Hyung, are you insane?” Gunho hissed, taking a step forward and out of his sheltered corner. “There’s nothing but brick to cling onto, you could fall!”

“Quiet!” Yunho shushed his brother sharply before softening and taking his hand, leading him outside to survey the outside of the lighthouse. “There’s a way up, see?”

He pointed to the small window holes that trailed up to the balcony where the light was.

“Please don’t die,” Gunho whimpered, still trying to cling on even as Yunho found his first foothold and pulled himself up.

“I’ll be fine,” said Yunho with a grin, climbing out of reach within a few seconds. He’d only climbed trees and rooftops in his life, but he loved the feeling of it. A chilling wind battered him and his arms shook from the effort of clinging on when his reach didn’t quite meet the height of the next window.

Almost losing his grip when a shiver overtook him, Yunho had to press himself close to the wall and relax his limbs for a moment. He could see Gunho nervously pacing below but continued up the second half of the stretch without calling down unnecessarily.

When his hand made purchase on the railing at the top, he found enough energy to vault over it and land acrobatically on the balcony, a rush of adrenaline granting him some extra wind.

“Easy!” He mouthed in Gunho’s direction, not yelling in case he was heard by the man inside but not above some bragging when he’d made it up in good time with nothing but his own strength.

The view from the lighthouse was beautiful, and Yunho became lost in it again as he surveyed the land around him.

There was, of course, the glittering ocean at sunset which he couldn’t tear his eyes away from and atop his perch he could see more of it, but no land on the horizon. The archipelago was still much further south.

Glancing in that direction, he saw Panhang nestled into the coast and the road the carriage would take winding out of it through forest and farmland to the city of Kon. That was where they would make the crossing, and taste the sea air instead of only smelling it.

Investigating finished, Yunho couldn’t help but steal a few more moments to himself up there. He didn’t mind the heights or the force of the wind, even the snow blowing in from the north.

He would like to let Mother’s music box play up there, soft twinkling carrying on the breeze and putting the entire town to sleep, but he let Gunho keep it safe in his bag until he was ready to climb down.

When some of the circling gulls had swooped too close for comfort, Yunho finally decided to begin his descent.

The light above him came on just as he vaulted the railing and, thankful for good timing, he scampered down with ease and hurried to hide behind the door again with Gunho just as the lighthouse keeper came down and returned to his house.

“What did you see?” Gunho whispered, still wary even though they were alone.

“The road that leads south. If we have trouble getting money in town, I say we start walking on it and hitch a ride if we can. Winter will be a harsh one here in Panhang.”

“We won’t have to steal, right?” Gunho asked in a quiet murmur as he laid out his blanket and sat on it this time.

“I can’t promise that,” Yunho finally responded with a sigh, stretching out next to his brother and covering both of them with his own blanket. “But I won’t force you into anything. I’m looking out for you, Gunho, you can trust me.”

Gunho didn’t answer, but snuggled closer to his hyung, and for Yunho that was answer enough.

___

He thought he’d be at home in the tavern, but Yunho struggled from the moment he set foot inside to find his place there.

“Which way to the pub?” He had asked a boy who was digging up holes in the snow and dirt of his front garden. The treasure hunter, about his age, gave him a puzzled look and simply pointed towards town.

“There’s only one. The Boar’s Head, you can’t miss it.”

It was a snowy day which meant by noon all the tables nearest the fireplace were taken and the place was so packed full of miners on their lunch breaks that it was all the orphans could do to find a seat that didn’t feel like ice on their backsides.

“I want to order something,” Gunho announced while Yunho kept his eyes glued to the men playing dice across from them.

“Gunho, this is a tavern,” Yunho reminded him distractedly, following even the slightest movement of the players. “You wouldn’t like any of their drinks.”

“Not true!” his little brother whined, pointing to the menu on the board behind the counter. “They make soup, too. A thing called chowder. I want to try it!”

Yunho sighed and finally faced him, pressing a couple of coins into his outstretched hand. “Fine. But if it costs more than this, you’re responsible for bargaining.”

Judging by the teary puppy eyes Gunho was currently displaying, he would have no trouble with that.

The tides of the game changed as Yunho looked on. An old woman had joined in the bets and seated herself at the head of the table. From the way the miners looked at her, he guessed she wasn’t well known. Yunho, too, fell for her guise of ignorance when she lost the first two rounds after upping the bid.

Just as Gunho returned with a steaming bowl big enough for both of them to share, the old woman took the pot in a landslide victory the likes of which Yunho had never seen.

He gulped and stood from his seat. The games in the tavern at So-ai were child’s play compared to this. He didn’t stand a chance.

“We’re leaving.”

“But I just got the soup…” Gunho complained with a mouthful already in his cheeks.

“No,” Yunho explained frustratedly. “I mean we’re leaving Panhang— tonight. We’ll just have to take our chances on the south road, we can’t do business here.”

“Well, why not?” Gunho scoffed. “The barmaid liked me well enough.”

“ That woman is a witch,” Yunho whispered harshly, nudging his head in her direction. “She knows every trick in the book and, I’d wager, exactly what die everyone else rolled before they even know it themselves. It’s mathematically impossible, there’s no other explanation. She’s a witch.”

“You can’t beat her? Well, she doesn’t know you, maybe there’s another game…”

“No, Gunho. She could con us out of all our money without breaking a sweat. It doesn’t matter if I avoid her, she can join in at any time,” Yunho insisted urgently, remembering the incident with the tea house owner. “I barely secured enough in So-ai to get us here and this is much more of a gamble.”

Gunho simply looked away and took another bite of the chowder. “Here, have some,” he offered dully, weary of all the business discussion. “It’s good.”

Yunho followed his conscience instead of his stomach and declined. He felt bad enough for Gunho as it was, starving on the streets and moving uncertainly from place to place, driven on by an incompetent older brother with no friends or family otherwise. He needed as much nourishment as his hard-earned stew would give him.

As for Yunho, he’d have to figure out a new strategy.

His stomach was rumbling so loudly the next morning that Gunho insisted they drop by the tavern again so that he could beg another chowder bowl from the barmaid for a poor, ill baby sister that didn’t exist, secretly giving it to Yunho, and Yunho could steal some firewood for the journey ahead.

He saw the witch again, this time in a different form— the body of a younger woman— but he knew it was her by the way she played. Feigning defeat at first and then raking in all the bets, the way he used to play, but with certainty in her wagers due to some nefarious form of sorcery.

Yunho pitied her victims.

“We go by foot until we see a carriage,” he decided when he’d licked the bowl clean and packed it away with everything else.

“I like walking,” Gunho chirped brightly, throwing his bag over his shoulder.

Yunho’s head was full of maps and worries, so he was glad to find his brother in a good mood.

They’d evaded the lighthouse keeper until now, but left him a small offering Gunho had found in the snow, a bright red camellia flower. Yunho didn’t have the heart to remind him it would die now that he had picked it.

But the brothers were no wilting flowers. They could move from place to place and gain vitality, not lose it.

That was what Yunho was betting on.

___

“I don’t like walking anymore.”

Yunho stopped where he was trudging through the snow piled on the road for the second day in a row and turned around to see his brother lagging behind.

“Do you want to switch? You carry the firewood and bedding and I carry everything else?”

Gunho shook his head and slumped over in a full-body pout. “It doesn’t matter which bag I take, they’re both too heavy.”

“But we’ve been over this, Gunho,” Yunho reminded him gently. “We can’t get rid of anything else. You have the money and the cooking pots, I have the campsite supplies.”

“Then why can’t we stop now? My feet are tired,” he whined, trying his pitiful eyes on Yunho despite knowing he was immune.

“Because at this rate it’ll take two weeks, not one, to reach Kon,” Yunho repeated for the umpteenth time, surrendering and walking back to meet his brother where he was stopped. “Besides, we just stopped for lunch.”

“Just a small break? Please?” Gunho sounded on the verge of tears and almost dropped his act accidentally as an idea crossed his mind. “I have to relieve myself!”

Yunho resisted the urge to pinch his nose and gestured to the tree line. “Fine, go in the bushes. There’s no outhouse here on the road.”

As Gunho scampered off, Yunho pulled out the atlas again, a bit worse for wear than it had been when they stole it from the library. His life and Gunho’s depended on that thing, so he studied it again, trying to surmise their position and hoping he hadn’t led them astray.

“We’re still on the main path… right?” He muttered to himself when he didn’t see the small village they should have passed by now anywhere in the vicinity.

Doubt overtook him, seeping into his stomach the longer he stared at the map and then at his surroundings. He had made a wrong turn somewhere, and retracing their steps could cost them a day or two depending on how long ago he had made his mistake.

Feeling unsettled in his stomach, Yunho turned to give Gunho the bad news before seeing his brother come hurtling out of the trees, pans clanging from inside his bag as he sprinted over, yelling unintelligibly.

“Hyung, hyung!” He finally got out, breathless. “There’s a carriage, it’s going south. We can catch it if we run!”

“You found the main road!” Yunho gasped excitedly, following behind as he was led through the evergreens and into the open.

There it was, stretching south and slightly more east than they had been headed. If not for Gunho, they’d have continued on the smaller path and eventually deviated so far off course they might have passed Kon as well, ending up so lost he wouldn’t know what to do.

He would be nothing if not for Gunho.

“Hurry, toss me!” The younger boy called, redistributing the weight of his bag and preparing to be thrown at the carriage as it dwindled away.

“Try to land quietly, we don’t want to be discovered,” Yunho cautioned before pulling Gunho into arms and hoisting him up.

Almost missing it, he managed to grasp the trunk rack fixed to the back and turned around to catch Yunho. “Quickly, hyung, it’s speeding up!”

With a few large bounds courtesy of his long legs, Yunho accelerated into a leap, gracefully landing next to Gunho aboard the carriage with the passengers none the wiser.

“We have to whisper or the driver will catch us,” he warned his brother, who was already pulling a blanket out of his sack.

And it was a good thing, too, because snow began to fall not thirty minutes later.

As the two once again shared their shivers, Yunho found himself wishing they’d stayed in Panhang awhile longer.

At least they’d had a roof over their heads.

“The firewood…” Gunho whimpered in realisation when they pulled out some dry crackers for supper several hours in. “How are we supposed to use it on the carriage?”

“We can’t,” Yunho sighed, again forced to be realistic. “We’ll have to eat dry food until we arrive. In order to make a camp we’d have to jump off.”

“It’s a slow enough carriage, we’d be fine,” Gunho pointed out hopefully, letting desire get the better of him.

“And we’d have to wait who knows how long for the next carriage… that, or walk the distance to Kon,” Yunho finished, pulling his brother closer so he wouldn’t have to see the disappointment written on his face.

Like he often did when he was sad, Gunho brought out the music box from his pocket and ran his finger along the swan carvings that decorated the outside. They both knew he couldn’t open it or the passengers inside the carriage might hear.

Yunho’s heart felt stale inside his chest, and he didn’t know what to say. Instead, he reached out a hand and Gunho took and squeezed it.

That was all he had to hold on to. Mother’s music box, and Yunho.

___

Yunho liked Kon even less than Panhang.

It was dirty, crowded, and crawling with enemies— be they other beggars and street rats or town officials and navy soldiers.

He could tell already from how high the prices were in the market they explored on the morning of their arrival that they’d be forced to blow all their money on food and sneak aboard a ship instead of pay their way like they’d initially planned.

But as he surveyed the towering masts of the ships practically climbing over one another all crammed into the harbour, he realised he didn’t know enough about sea travel to even figure out where to start.

Yunho would have to do something he had avoided since Sangwoo’s disappearance; ask for help.

In a city of cutthroat thieves and suspicious seamen, it was difficult to find a candidate.

The only people Yunho trusted were those as naïve as he had once been, and Kon had precious few innocent types lurking on its street corners.

Since the orphanage he’d learned he could only trust those he could predict, and rarely could a stranger’s movements and loyalties be predicted more than once.

“That man there,” Gunho pointed in the direction of an old sailor selling sponges and starfish on the street corner, already a step ahead of Yunho despite his shyness around strangers. “Maybe he knows how to get to the archipelago.”

“Indeed I do,” the man spoke up without lifting his head from his work, having heard them whisper about him already.

Cherry red, the two properly approached and bowed to him, smiling back brightly when he grinned and shook his head.

“I assume you haven’t the funds to do so legally?”

Biting his lip, Yunho nodded. Gunho was tugging at his sleeve in a plea for him to reconsider revealing so much, but admitting their situation was a risk he’d have to take.

“Unless you know exactly which island you’re headed to, I’d recommend the Dalhae ferry. It’s less guarded than the Namhae one and will get you almost as far. Backtracking from there to whichever island you intend to stay at should be easier.”

“Thank you, sir!” Yunho praised a bit excessively before turning with Gunho to the docks.

“Now hold on a minute!” The man interrupted them, standing and letting his nets fall to the ground.

Yunho froze in place, afraid that once he turned around, the old sailor would demand payment for his generosity.

Slowly he turned his head and cocked it innocently, seeing Gunho clutch the money bag tightly in his hand out of the corner of his eye.

The old man chuckled and took a seat again. “If you mean to stow away, you’ll need supplies to last you; food, water, medicine— haven’t you ever been to sea, lads?”

Yunho went to shake his head and ask for more information but Gunho was already arguing back.

“But the sea is water, silly! We can drink anytime.”

The sailor stared blankly at them before bursting into a hearty bout of laughter and wiping mirthful tears out of his eyes. “I take it that’s a no.”

Gunho frowned and looked to Yunho for direction.

“Thank you again!” He called to the stranger, who waved them on with continuing wheezes.

“We have no choice then?” Gunho asked nervously, chewing his lip while they bought as much food as they could afford and filled their stolen flasks with fresh water. “We have to sneak on?”

“Everything I’ve seen here leads me to believe that starfish man was telling the truth,” Yunho admitted as he screwed the lid shut and shook it to ensure it was properly sealed.

“You trust people more than I do,” Gunho muttered in the opposite direction, perfectly aware Yunho could hear him but too grumpy now to care.

“I trust people who have nothing to lose by helping us or nothing to gain by betraying us,” Yunho responded coolly, aware that Gunho’s experiences at the orphanage had destroyed his ability to trust other beggars, despite his childish charms being his main act.

“Which category was Sangwoo in?” Gunho shot back, finally turning to face him.

“Sangwoo doesn’t matter anymore,” Yunho grit out, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

As always, the argument was forgotten as soon as the two were huddled in the hull of a supply ship bound for Dalhae, clinging to each other for warmth.

It wasn’t as cold as it had been in So-ai or Panhang, but the bilge water that washed around when the boat rocked back and forth was cold enough to chill them to the bones. There was no tasting the sea air.

“I’m sorry,” Gunho whispered as he buried himself in Yunho’s arms. “It wasn’t your fault he left us.”

“We have each other,” Yunho managed to answer around the ball in his throat. “That’s all that matters.”

It seemed that each town they arrived at was more different even than the last.

In Dalhae there were only a few things Yunho recognised.

The stars, for one, were visible again thanks to the island being smaller and less populated than Panhang or Kon.

It was a hillier coast than Kon had been, and at the bottom of the slope where the market was located, dark caves beckoned them, inviting mystery and danger.

“Let’s head that way,” Gunho suggested when they’d successfully disembarked to the jetty without being seen, pointing to the lights of the market and away from the spooky cave system.

Yunho agreed wholeheartedly and found a dry alley corner for them to spend the rest of the night in, too tired to explore another town and beg for shelter.

At least it wasn’t raining or snowing on them.

Just before dawn, a rustling sound roused Yunho from his sleep.

Sitting up straight and peering into the darkness, he watched a figure suddenly emerge and jumped a foot in the air, startled.

“This is my alley!” A voice growled, low and rumbling but loud enough that it woke Gunho too. “Go on, get out! And don’t come back!”

Gunho gasped, but Yunho was already pulling him away, dragging their bags behind him. “S-Sorry,” he stammered, clutching a dusty blanket and backing away in more of a stumble than a walk. “We didn’t know! It won’t happen again...”

The stranger was hardly even visible in the grey light, but a grunt sounded in response and after, only silence.

It may not have looked to be the case when they arrived, but Dalhae was just as full of street rats as Kon had been.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Yunho sighed, setting up their things outside what seemed to be the tavern, always his temporary base of operations.

“I want a few more hours,” Gunho whined, rubbing his eyes and pulling the blankets closer. It left Yunho with only the rubbish heap to lay on, but rather than argue, he pinched his nose and tried to sleep.

It didn’t work.

When the noise in the street was becoming too loud to ignore, Yunho arose and brushed any excess garbage off of him, wandering away to see what was going on while Gunho poked through the pile for breakfast.

It didn’t sound like the regular hustle and bustle of a market, but entertainment of some kind. The crowd reacted with one voice, cheering sometimes, gasping sometimes, always with a buzz of excitement.

Sure enough, when he reached the end of the road he saw a circle of people surrounding something. They were too tall to peer over so Yunho pushed his way through.

Two boys had just finished wrestling in the middle of some type of dirt arena, and money was changing hands between the spectators who stood around.

“We have our winner!” A brightly dressed woman announcer entered the ring and held up the arm of the champion. “Han Changhwa!”

“It’s a street fight!” Yunho realised aloud as the defeated boy stumbled to his feet and pushed his way past.

“No kidding,” the boy grumbled, barely understandable with all the blood in his mouth. “Bet on the other fighter if you want to get paid.”

Yunho was speechless and did nothing more than wince at the wounds on the boy’s face until he hobbled away, empty handed.

“Place your bets on the final round, ladies and gentlemen!” The announcer bellowed over the excited crowd from a table for money to be collected, and right and left the audience emptied their pockets to make their wagers.

Yunho dug through his own pockets until he landed on a silver piece and placed it on the table in favour of Changhwa, following the losing boy’s advice and staking his claim.

“It’ll be tripled if you win then!” The announcer told him before returning to the arena.

At her command, another contestant appeared, bigger than Changhwa. Yunho bit his lip with second thoughts. Maybe the defeated contestant had given him bad advice and he’d wasted a silver coin.

The boys wasted no time going head to head when the announcer yelled, “Start!”

Both of them tried to tackle each other, but when neither could gain an advantage, Changhwa realised it first and released his opponent to clock him in the head.

The other boy dodged and returned easily with a roundhouse kick. Just as Yunho was beginning to wonder what the rules were, Changhwa was kicked in the face and fell to the ground. Wiping blood from his ear, he used his slick hands to squirm away before the other boy tackled him.

With the opponent in a bent position, Changhwa could deliver a kick to the midsection without sacrificing his footing and jumped back when the boy got to his feet.

Changhwa was punched again in the nose and Yunho sucked in a nervous breath. In a few seconds he could lose his silver.

Twice more, Changhwa was punched, his arms coming up too late to be of any defence, and not until he lowered his stance and rammed his opponent in the gut did he get him on the ground long enough to put him in a hold.

When the required ten seconds had gone by and the opponent couldn’t wiggle his way out, the match was ended and Changhwa fell back, exhausted.

“Once again, we have our winner!” The announcer yelled over the cheers, hoisting him up and raising his arm. “Han Changhwa!”

Yunho sighed, relieved, and joined the line to collect his money.

Either way, it had been too close and he’d almost lost his coin over it. Betting on street fights was no better than betting on tavern games when it came to probability. Unless…

It had been awhile since he’d brawled with anyone, but if the odds were in Yunho’s own hands, he could be much more confident in winning.

Yunho set his jaw and turned to the announcer.

“I can fight. How do I join?”

“Sign up for tomorrow morning’s games, same place and same time,” the announcer answered distractedly as she distributed everyone else’s winnings. “Make your mark here, a fingerprint will do.”

She pointed to a paper that Yunho signed in a flourish with the proffered pen.

“You can write?” The woman asked with a raised eyebrow. Apparently that was exceptional for a street rat.

Yunho nodded and skimmed the rest of the list. “I can read, too. Does Changhwa advance now that he won today?”

“As long as he shows up for it,” the announcer answered affirmatively before putting away the list and beginning to pack up.

Changhwa was collecting his own earnings and, noticing Yunho’s stare, gave him no more than a forced smile before walking off.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, thanks for earning me a few silvers!” Yunho called after him, voice bright with the thrill of possibilities.

It was time to go inform Gunho.

This was it. This was his new strategy.

___

A/N: It was a long time coming but I bring you a long one because the writer’s block is gone (for this chapter at least)! Take your time enjoying it but don’t forget to leave a comment if you did <3

P.S. You may or may not have caught the Ateez member cameo but I’ll reveal that it was in fact a pre-My Way Hongjoong digging up holes in the garden as referenced in Zero to One chapter 6, because this chapter takes place before the deaths of his parents. 

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[peachnewt]

Layla’s Spool: A Giant/tiny story

When Layla, the only sister of a house full of rough hunters and trappers finds a giant washed ashore after a storm, she takes pity on it despite knowing that helping a monster might get her burned at the stake as a witch. What starts as begrudging charity turns into affection between Samuel, the giant shipwrecked scholar, and Layla, the girl that can fit in the palm of his hand.

Layla’s Spool - by peachnewt

Clouds boiled over the sea, the wind whipping air and water into a cold froth and mist flashed in the distance over the sea, the wind whipping up Layla’s black locks and throwing them back in her face as she dragged her cart along the sand, looking for driftwood and possibly trinkets.  She kept her skirts hiked up to her knees, freeing her bare feet from tripping over their ragged hems.  A stray thread from her bodice and used it to tie her hair back.  Despite the rough winds, she would dare not let another person get at the pickings before her.  Already she had gathered a few lengths of rope.  

 A storm had raged along the sea coast for the last few days, breaking limbs and foundering boats.  As it passed, it left gifts upon the beaches, driftwood, kelp, sometimes rope and bits of metal.  Layla considered herself lucky that others were too afraid to approach the beaches so soon after a storm, afraid of disturbing beached whales or monsters from the deep.  No such things would come to the quiet coast of Winchel.  

 A piece of carved wood, maybe a part of a ship’s bow stuck out of the wet sand.  A little digging and Layla unearthed it only to stand back aghast.  It was not part of any ship she had ever seen.  A long cylinder, as big around as her waist longer than her arm, splintered at one end like it was supposed to be longer.  On one side she saw a hole in it bigger than her fist.  Perhaps a wooden pipe to one of those newfangled pipe-organs?

 Layla heaved her finding into the wagon and kept moving.  A large outcropping of rock poked out of sand ahead, she would either have to go around in the surf, or climb.  Rather than get her skirts wetter than they already were, she climbed, leaving her wagon behind.  A groaning rumble echoed beyond the rocks.  More thunder?  

 At the crest of the rocks Layla froze.  

 ***  

 Samuel shivered in his long-coat, the grit from the wet sand sticking to his face and hair as he collapsed on his chest from wading into the beach.  How he had survived the swim from the wreckage with the coat on was beyond him, but now it weighed cold on his back.  His temple still bled from a gash given to him when the main mast had split. The pounding in his head made his vision blur in and out.  He kept his left hand close to his chest.  At least two of the fingers were broken, the digits curling inwards towards the palm like a flower refusing to bloom.  

 Out of the corner of his eye she saw a flash of muted green.  The skirt of a young woman sitting on top of a outcropping of rocks far away.  She seemed frightened, as if she had never seen a man shipwrecked before.  He reached out his hand, hoping to get her attention, his voice rough from the saltwater he nearly inhaled during the storm.

 “Help,” he rasped.  “Please.”  

 Help splinting his hand. Help to get dry and warm.  Help with his hunger.  Help to get back home.  Heavens above, a kind face would be a grace to him.  He reached his hand further to the woman, begging.  

 The dark haired woman shrieked and crawled away to the other side of the rocks.  Why would she fear a nearly drowned man with less strength than a kitten?  

 When his fingers touched the rocks that were so far away, his mind sobered from his lethargy and pain.

 Samuel realized the startling difference between his still muddled perspective, and distance.  The outcropping of rocks no more than a foot tall, and the young woman no bigger than his hand.  

 Samuel jerked back his arm with a gasp.  Had he been marooned on some fairy isle?  Was he suffering some delusion caused by the knock to his head?  Or worse, in a land where everyone was small?  

 The thumping in Samuel’s head deepened until the dark edge of his vision crept inwards.  The shock had finally got to him.  He managed to turn over on his side, still cradling his damaged left hand.  

 “God, help me,” he murmured as sleep took him.  

***

 Layla sat shaking, muffling her mouth with her shawl.  A giant. A real giant had washed up onto her shore.  She glanced over the rocks again.  Albeit a very tired giant.  One that looked hurt.  Still a giant.  Probably took to raiding the countryside and eating live cows on the weekends while it took care of it’s clothes during the weekdays.  

 She should run to the village and get the soldiers.  Get away from trouble before the trouble got her.  But something stopped her.  Perhaps the glint of gold off the giant’s hair, or the way his brow furrowed while dreaming.

 The breeze picked up again; another storm making itself known for landfall soon.  Layla gritted her teeth and went back down her wagon.  

 ***

 Samuel woke to his broken hand on fire.  He jerked it back to his chest and something small hit him on the shoulder.  

 “You keep movin’ it like that it’s gonna heal crooked.  D’ya hear me?”  

 Samuel opened his eyes. The tiny, dark haired woman in the green skirt stood by the sandy indent where his broken hand had lay, a pile of rope and driftwood by her.  She had been splinting his fingers.  Cumbersome work for a such a tiny thing, but she had managed to get three of his fingers straightened.  

 “Sorry,” he said, shifting his hand back to her.  Any fear he might have inspired had evaporated as she went back to work.  “Thank you.”  

 “Yeah, I should be sorry.” The woman, pulled on his ring finger, straightening the bones with quick motions before lining it up with the driftwood. “Ya asked for help, so I’m giving it.”

 “Why did you take pity on me?”  

 “Ya called out for God.”

 “I supposed I did,” said Samuel.  He blinked hard, trying to get rid of the sand in his eyes.  “But how did that sway your decision?”  

 “Figured if a man is askin’ help from God, he’s hit rock bottom and begging.  And I was taught to never look down on beggars.”  

 “I am not a beggar,” said Samuel.  The nerve of that woman, thinking him a beggar when… well, a castaway was close to a beggar.  But there was still a difference.  “I’m lost.”

 “You could have fooled me,” said the woman with a laugh, but the pitch of the laugh was off, as if forced. “Look, I can patch up yer hand, but if we say here any longer we’ll either meet up with the storm, or soldiers on patrol, and I’d rather not have either.  Can ya get to yer feet?”  

 “Yes.”  

 The young woman tied off the rope and stood back.  “Good, ‘cause we need to get moving.”  

 With a few pauses and a careful eye to make sure he didn’t step on anything, like his new guide, Samuel made it to his feet.  He followed behind the tiny woman as she led him through snarling trees as tall as him. Despite her size, the woman moved nimbly and Samuel had to actually work to catch up.  Though he stumbled a few times, she kept encouraging him to move, just a little further.

 Just a little further.  Right.  He’d heard that before when he’d been told his new teaching post was just a short trip across the sea.  Overhead the clouds kept rumbling as a light rain pelted down on his scalp.  He was tempted to reach out and see if the sky was closer than he thought, but the ache in his body bound him to trudge forward.  

 During the walk he learned the young woman’s name, Layla, and that, indeed, everyone else in the country was the same size as her.  Except her brothers; large, muscled brutes that could take him down if they wanted. Samuel assumed that last bit was more of a warning pointed towards him if he tried to do anything violent to Layla. He couldn’t if he tried, he was too weak.  

 Perhaps by accident, if he tripped and fell on her.  

 Oh, how he wanted to sleep. “I’m tired,” he murmured, resting his weight on the branch of a tree that creaked at his touch.  

 “A little further, giant” Layla said.  “I promise.”

 The “little further” turned out to be a glade big enough for him to lay down, trees curving overhead creating a shelter that kept most of the rain away.  To the side of the glade bubbled a rocky spring.  Within minutes Samuel lay back on the ground, asleep, the promise of Layla’s return echoing in the lull between dream and awake.  

 Samuel woke.  The rain had stopped, and the rest of his hand had been splinted.  The sun shined and birds overhead sang.  A semblance of normalcy in this odd new world.  But when would Layla be back?

 He wondered what was worse; being a giant, or being at the mercy of a small woman.  

 She had been right, he was a beggar.

 ***

 As the only living, and of age, female in the Winchel family tree, Layla had more than her share of brothers and cousins and uncles looking after her, even from afar.  At any one time half a dozen brothers or uncles would be taking up space in the cottage, on their way from one hunting area to another, gathering furs and trading.  She would receive bear hugs, bruising nudges at coarse jokes, but all done with affection. They left her with provisions and she kept the cottage from falling into ruin and occasionally making the meals.  

 As Layla looked at the larder, she wondered how much a giant could eat in one day.  More than what she had available, especially when her brothers could make off with all the bread and cheese in one sitting.  Though technically poor, they lived comfortably, but sometimes that comfort came way of poaching when the larder ran bare.  

 Layla huffed a breath as one uncle ruffled her hair and took a wedge of cheese from a shelf.  She had to improvise.  Over the afternoon she gathered all the dandelion greens she could find and boiled the bitterness out of them.  She then added onions, garlic, and a few of the potatoes in the cellar that had dried too much for human consumption.  A little salt and a lot of water left her with a broth too thin for a monk on a fast.  It would have to do.

 She had two of her brothers haul the heavy cast iron pot to her wagon, retrieved from the beach after the storm had died down.  

 “What you hauling this soup for?” one asked.  

 “You call this soup?” said the other, lifting the lid.  

 “There’s a shrine up in the woods,” said Layla.  It wasn’t really a lie.  Father Constant had once said nature was a shrine to God.  “Figured I’d bring an offering for any beggars.  Get up my good deeds.”  

 “What you need good deeds fer?” asked the other.  “You praying for a husband?  We can find you one.”  

 “No, thank you,” said Layla with a roll of her eyes.  She knew the types they would find.  More like them, thick headed and full of hunger.  She waved off their offer to help with the wagon, saying it was a solitary pilgrimage to feed beggars.  

 ***

 The smile the giant had given Layla when she had returned made the glade seem warmer.  The weak broth she brought gratefully accepted.  He had laid out his coat in the sun to dry, a swath of dark blue that covered most of the glade.  She could crawl through the sleeves if she wanted.  

 Layla lay in the shade cast by the giant, taking a longer look at Samuel now that the sun rose high. Though huge and pale, his features were pleasing.  Eyes round and attentive, nose sharp, and lips full and proportional to the rest of him. He wasn’t muscled like her brothers. He stood tall and lanky.  

 “I don’t know how to repay you for your kindness,” said the giant, sipping at the broth.  His splinted hand lay in his lap, a testament of her handiwork.  

 With her experience of binding up the legs or arms of her brothers, Layla figured his hand would be fine in a few weeks, but she didn’t know if giant bones mended faster or slower.

 “I could think of ways,” said Layla, sitting by the spring.  “But they would all end up with either me being burned as a witch or you being hunted as an ogre.”  

 “Still, I might be able to pay you, meager as it may be.”  The giant put down the broth and reached for a pocket in his coat and withdrew a leather pouch.  From it he took out a handful of large round discs and held them to the ground next to her. “Would any of these do?”  

 Each disc held a profile of a man’s face larger than her own.  Coins, Layla realized.  They were giant coins of copper, silver, and gold.  Her eyes widened at such wealth.  She crawled into Samuel’s hand and held up one of the coins polishing it with the hem of her skirt.  With one gold coin she could buy a carriage, hire a team of horses and a man to drive her all the way to Joston and back in style.  

 Her smile dropped.  

 “They are real, I assure you,” said Samuel.

 “That isn’t the problem,” said Layla, laying down the polished coin.  “I know yer honest.  But if I try to spend something like this, or have it melted down to sell as raw gold or silver, people will ask questions.  I won’t have a good enough answer to back it up.  And ya don‘t want to know what happens to those the Soldiers catch in a lie.”  

 The giant grimaced.  “Forgive me.  I did not think this through.”  

 Layla shaded her eyes as the sun glinted off the giant’s hair, making it glow like a halo of honey and copper.  An idea came to her.  “Giant, lay down.”  

 “Samuel, please,” he said. “And why?”  

 “Just do it.  And lay your head somewhere I can get to it.”  

 She got a hold of a lock of hair behind the giant’s ear, passing it through her fingers.  While a single strand was thick and a little bit wiry, its color was magnificent.  Dark amber, copper, gold.  And the giant--no, Samuel--kept his hair long, far past his shoulders.  At least four yards in her book.  

 Layla grinned and leaned towards Samuel’s ear.  “I think I know how you can pay me back!”  

 ***

 The next day Layla pulled her cart, laden with more dandelion greens, and a case of empty spools.

 ***

 While giant gold coins would have raised questions, spools of “long-haired yak” thread simply raised a few eyebrows amongst the Textile’s Guild.  Until she showed them the two spools she had brought as a sample; one a single pale strand from the top of Samuel‘s head, the other a dark amber from the thinner under layer.  Then their eyes lit up.  The touch of gold they could create in their embroidery, their weaving, more luxurious than the pale yellow and orange they were used to.  

 “How did you manage to get such thread?” asked the Head Dyer as she held the spool up to the light. ��

 Layla, after thinking over her story a hundred times, had her lies lined up and ready.  It wouldn‘t do to have the Textile Guild believe she could spin straw into gold.  “My uncle in Joston came back from a trip to the East Nations and he brought a shipment of this stuff with him.  Sent out a few spool to his nieces and daughters to try it out before presenting it to other merchants.”  

 A partial truth; her uncle had sent her cases and cases of empty spools thinking she could fill them with flax.  He hadn’t realized flax grew in short supply in the village.  

 “This isn’t thread,” said the Head Weaver, pulling the thread out to circle his finger.  “It’s a single fiber.  That’s impossible.  And it‘s so thin and wiry it could almost be made from metal.”  

 Layla shrugged, a not-quite lie ready for the question.  “I don’t know how them Eastern folk make thread, just what it’s called.”  

 “How much of this do you have?”  

 “I can get a whole box of it if you’d like.  I don’t do much fancy embroidery or sewing anyway, so it won’t do me much good.  But uncle said I shouldn’t let it go cheap.”

 The Head Weaver looked skeptical, but the Head Dyer looked willing.  

 “We’ll pay you for these two spools.  If they are satisfactory, we’ll make a deal.”  

 Good enough for Layla. And for more than greens to thicken Samuel’s next pot of stew.  

 ***

 “They believe my hair was long haired yak?” asked Samuel aghast.  

 “I could have said moose,” said Layla with a smile.  “If a place is far enough away, even learned folk in a small town will believe it.”  

 “Well, as long as it’s keeping your out of arrears,” said Samuel, sipping his broth.  It tasted thicker, more vegetables and less bitterness. “I’d imagine the foodstuffs needed for this feast you’re making cost quite a lot.”  

 “Not as much as you think. It’s coming out of your hide anyway.”

 Samuel laughed.

 ***

 It became routine that Layla would come in the middle of the day with her broth.  During her stay she would talk with Samuel and examine his hand, feeling around to make sure the bones were still lined up and healing correctly.  Sometimes her fingers lingered in the swirls of the giant’s fingerprints.  Samuel wasn’t a sailor or trapper or hunter, she had learned. He was a teacher.  A learned man with stories of faraway places and new ways of doing things.  Things with numbers and letters and people she’d never heard of before.  And Samuel was more than willing to tell her.  

 Her brothers at first took her trips to the “shrine” with humor.  

 “Really hoping for God to come through with a husband, eh?”  

 She would shrug them off, tell them that she had to keep up the good deeds for the rest of the family. They let her go at that, rubbing at her tangled hair as she gathered more greens and vegetables for the soup pot.

 Once, after a late night mending an uncle’s leather coat, and an early morning making meal packs for four brothers that would be out on a week long hunting trip, she fell asleep right as Samuel drank his broth.  Samuel finished off the broth and then laid down beside her, head as close to her as he dared.  His breath ripped warm over his small body.

 Layla lay curled in a ball of faded green and brown.  Gently, he pushed her dark hair away from her face.  Though young, lines already creased around her eyes from the sun, hard work, and worry.  Her eyes too heavy lidded and her lips small.  Yet to Samuel she was beautiful, harsh language and all.  

 Here, lost in a strange land, he found some comfort.  

 ***

 Layla’s routine could only work for so long.  One of her brother’s confronted her after breakfast.    

 “A runner came by from the Textile Guild, asking about golden thread.  What’s he talking about?”  

 Layla shrugged.  “Just some spools Uncle Tev sent a couple years ago. I’ve been selling them.”  

 “I thought he sent you empty spools?”  

 She shrugged again, hoping her brothers’ hunger would keep them from questioning more.  

 She should have known better than to go out when her brothers were suspicious.  Though loving, they were fierce.  There was a reason she had never had any suitors from the village, the threat of a dozen brothers, cousins and uncles unleashing their wrath kept them away.  

 As Samuel sipped at his broth the next morning, two arrows flew from the edge of the glade and hit him in the shoulder, going through coat, shirt and skin.  He dropped the pot, nearly missing Layla in the process. Layla spun about and saw three brothers and an uncle running at her, bows drawn.  

 “Layla, get away from that thing!”  

 God, they were thinking wrong.  They were going to kill Samuel.  This shouldn’t be happening.  Layla stood front and center, as if her small body could hid anything of the giant’s.  

 “Stop!” she yelled as another arrow shot over her shoulder.  In an instant, Samuel picked her up with his good hand, holding her to his chest, shielding her from her brothers while he kicked at them.  Samuel was not a fighter, Layla knew as much, and his kicks were about as effective as beating against a wild dog.  

 “No!  Stop it both of you!”  

 “Let go of our sister you freak!”  

 The heartbeat under Samuel’s chest beat wildly, and Layla could feel each beat like thunder against her cheek.  The volley of arrows started again, her brothers dodging Samuel’s foot with ease gained from hunting under the noses of game wardens.  One held out a knife, going for Samuel’s heel, hoping to hobble him by cutting the tendon.  

 “He’s my husband!” she shrieked.  

 Her brothers and Samuel froze at that.  

 After a few beats one brother stepped forward, hesitant.  “Your… husband?”  

 Layla’s mind grasped at straws for something to say.  Her chest clenched.  She hadn’t expected to back up her lies, but her mouth ran faster than her brain.  

 “You were the one that said good deeds might get me a husband.  Well… I guess God heard you and… well.  Here he is.”   She gestured up at Samuel’s slack face.  “Lot of good deeds.  Big husband.”

 Samuel stood still, chest heaving and arrows sticking out of him.  Layla didn’t think the giant capable of lying, of going with the story she had spun in desperation.  But he lifted her higher, cradling her in the curve between collarbone and neck, his face cleared in tired relief.  

 “We were hoping for a fall wedding,” said Samuel.  

 The tension in Layla’s chest melted away.  She pawed her hand up towards Samuel’s face, his cheek rough from his beard, and he lifted her out before him, still cradled in his hand.  Bracing hers arms on either side of his face, she kissed him.  It was soft, unexpected, but she could feel his lips tilt up in a smile.  And they were happy.  

 Her brothers were another matter.  

 “Can he at least hunt?”

I have a ko-fi!

Story originally posted on my deviantart for a fluff contest. ^_^

[ilovefandoms102]

Part 14*

Summary: The Pogues go back to the Crain mansion to get the gold..what could possibly go wrong?

Taglist:

@ma10427 @lasnaro @certainstatesmantoadartisan @iamaunicorn4704 @riverdaleserpent04 @justcallmesams @sspidermanss @tangledinsparkles @jellyfishbeansontoast @hurricane-abigail @outerbongs @gviosca @eb15

Part 13 Part 15 

Note: Hope you guys have enjoyed this series as much as I have writing it! It means the world to me when you guys message me about how much you like this story, I was so nervous to post it and didn’t expect to get so much positive feedback. Thank you so much to every single person who has read this!

=======================================

JJ and I headed back to the chateau, reluctantly of course. My brother decided tonight would be the night we went and retrieved the gold from the Crain mansion. He wouldn’t stop calling both JJ and I, so we had to cut our date shorter than either of us would have liked. 

“What if all we find is the remains of Mr.Crain?” JJ asked, nervously biting his lip.

“Would you stop with that shit babe, Mrs. Crain did not kill her husband.” I said rolling my eyes at him.

“The only reason I’m even stepping foot near that place again is to get that gold.” JJ said.

“J, she’s not even going to know we’re there. She can’t hear or see.” I said, driving the boat to the dip by the chateau so JJ and I could drag up on the mainland. 

“She’s bat shit crazy, probably has like spidey senses or some shit babe” JJ said, helping me to pull the boat up. 

We walked into the chateau, my brother and Sarah sitting in the kitchen. I went into my room and changed into all black, tossing my old clothes in the hamper. I was a little chilly, so I threw on one of JJ’s sweatshirts.

“Pretty sure that’s mine” JJ said, coming in and throwing his stuff on his side of my room. He walked over closer to me, eyeing my outfit.

“Pretty sure I do the laundry around here so I have a right to wear what I want” I sassed back.

“You look hot in my clothes baby” he smiled, leaning down to kiss me. I chuckled, walking out of my room to the kitchen.

“So what’s the plan Bird?” I asked my brother.

I took out some things from around the kitchen to make stir fry. It being the cheapest thing I could buy and easy to make. I listened to John B, JJ and Sarah discussing the plan. 

“We’ll have to create a pulley so that I can be lowered down to get the gold.” John B said.

“How are we supposed to get 250 pounds of gold out?” Sarah asked.

“No way should we get all of it at once” JJ said. 

“Yeah, we need to just find one piece to take to someone and they can tell us how much it is. No reason to try and get it all if it’s not worth anything.” I said.

“Is it even safe to talk to anyone around here?” Sarah asked, irritating me with all her questions. 

“I’m confused to why you’re still here?” I asked. 

“Bubba, please” John B said, looking at me pleadingly.

“No John B, I’m not going to let some Kook tramp break your heart if this gold isn’t what everyone thinks it is.” I said, roughly placing things on the counter. I turned around to look at them. Sarah looking at the table and JJ giving me a ‘please stop’ look.

“She wants to help us, why is that not enough for you?” John B asked, he walked over to me and turned us to where our backs were facing JJ and Sarah.

“You are crazy if you think she’s not trying to set us up John Booker Routledge” I whispered.

“She’s not! I love her bubba, please just trust me. I promise you that is not her intentions.” he said.

“Birdie...” I sighed.

“Let me decide who is and isn’t good for me, please.” he said, gripping my hand. 

“Alright...but I’m still kicking her ass if she fucks with you” I said, moving back to the stove to continue cooking. 

“I love you” JJ said, coming up behind me and wrapping me in his arms. 

“You love me because I’m feeding you Maybank,” I joked, playfully pushing him away.

I finished dinner and we sat and ate. We got the stuff we needed to take to the Crain mansion. We piled in the van, picking up Kie and Pope on the way there. I was driving with JJ in the passenger seat, he was a nervous wreck. We got to the mansion, getting the stuff together before John B stopped us all.

“I just want to say, thank you guys. It means a lot for you guys to be here.” he said looking at each of us.

“Of course” Kie said, laughing.

“Always” Pope said, doing a handshake with my brother. Sarah blushing and looking down. 

“Alright are we done with the circle jerk?” JJ asked, throwing the rope over his shoulder. 

“I’m only here because I feel obligated as your older sister” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Two minutes” John B huffed. 

We made our way over the ledge and walked towards the middle of the yard. We started making our way towards the back side of the house when lights came on. We made a run by one of the trees and ducked under the taller bushes. 

“So she has motion sensor lights” Pope said. 

“Let’s throw a rock at them” JJ said, I looked over at him raising my brow.

“Are you dumb?” I asked sarcastically.

“What are we going to do about the light?” Kie asked.

“There’s and electrical box by the porch, I can just go up and turn it off” Sarah said. We all looked at her confused. “We used to come here and play hide and seek” she explained. 

“No way, you’re not going up there” John B said.

“Can you chill, she’s going to the porch” I said.

“No” he said. 

“Watch me” Sarah said.

“I’ll come with you” Kie said. I was glad she went because I’m sure my brother would have made me go if Kie hadn’t offered.

“Hey, be safe” John B said. 

“We will” Kie said. 

As they walked away I grabbed JJ’s face.

“Be safe” I said mocking JB.

“I’ll be so safe baby” he said, putting his hand on my cheek.

“Can you guys shut up” John B said irritably.

“But how will we be safe?” I asked jokingly. JJ, Pope, and I cracking up at ourselves. John B not finding it funny and heaving our stuff towards the back. 

We entered the side of the house where the basement was, setting up our equipment. John B and I moving the planks where the well was while Pope and JJ set up the pulley. 

“Are you sure about this?” I asked my brother. 

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean, you just got out of the hospital. I can go down and you stay with the guys.” I said. 

“Bubba, I’ll be fine” he said, now adjusting the rope and harness.

JJ, Pope, and I lowered John B down into the well. 

“Please, for the love of God, don’t drop me” John B said.

“No promises” I mumbled. 

We were struggling hard, trying to adjust to get a good system going. JJ slipping, the rope losing slack and causing me to fall from having to grip the rope tighter. 

“JJ!”I yelled.

“I told you not to drop me!” John B yelled. 

“Beggars can’t be choosers” I yelled back.

We lowered the rope more, still struggling since the rope was super thin and my brother wasn’t exactly the lightest human.

“Ok, I’m at the bottom” John B said.

“What do you see bub?” I asked.

“Is Mr. Crain down there?” JJ asked, earning a smack on the head from me. 

“BUBBA PULL ME UP! JJ! POPE!” John B screamed all of the sudden.

We all jumped into action, pulling as fast as we could.

“Hold on Birdie!” I yelled.

“What’s going on John B?” Pope asked.

“Wait, wait!” John B said.

“What is it?” JJ asked.

“I found something hold on” he said.

Then, Sarah and Kie come barreling down the stairs. They looked terrified, like they had seen a ghost. Kie running to hug Pope, and Sarah coming to grab my arm, holding on to me. We heard John B talking but none of us could make out what he was saying. 

“What is he saying?” Kie asked.

“We need to go!” Sarah yelled. 

We all started pulling John B up, a gunshot ringing out and breaking the pulley. We all fell forward, losing the rope.

“John B climb up!” Pope yelled.

We saw Mrs. Crain with a shotgun, she rang out another shot all of us ducking. JJ grabbed me and ducked us in a corner, Pope joining us while Kie and Sarah went to the opposite of where we were. She shot the gun again, all of us darting out the door and to the van. 

“She’s blind as fuck how is she wielding a shotgun?!” JJ shouted, tugging on my hand as we ran. 

“That bitch can’t aim that’s for sure.” I said, laughing.

JJ jumped into the drivers seat with me being the passenger this time. The rest of the crew following behind, throwing themselves in the van. JJ took off, all of us looking behind for my brother. And sure, enough he comes running, throwing himself in.

“What the hell just happened?” Sarah asked.

“Why are we always getting shot at?!” Pope asked, throwing his arms out. 

“JB you smell like straight up asshole” I said, scrunching my nose up.

“I did it” he said, holding up a gold bar.

“No fucking way!��� I shouted.

“You did not!” JJ said, looking back at John B.

“Oh my God guys, we’re gonna be rich!” Kie exclaimed.

“Full Kook!” Pope yelled.

We whooped and hollered the whole way down the road back to the chateau. JJ grabbed my hand and kissed it, his excitement warming my heart. We got back in one piece, Sarah cleaning the van where John B was. I took the liberty of hosing him.

“You got me messed up if you think you’re about to take one step in my house.” I said, forcing him to stand by the hose.

“Bubs come on” John B sighed.

I sprayed him thoroughly, JJ bringing him a towel. He stripped down to his underwear, tying the towel by his waste and threw me his wet clothes. I hung them on the porch before walking back inside. I closed the door in my room before looking back at JJ. He smiled so wide before running at me to pick me up and spun me around. I squealed, hugging him tight, and throwing my legs around his waist. 

“We’re gonna be rich baby” JJ said, looking up at me.

“It’s all real now J, I can’t believe we actually have it” I said, leaning my forehead against his. He fell back on the bed with me on top of him.

“I’m building us a big ass house, right on the beach.” JJ said, running his fingertips up and down my arms. 

“My only request is that we also have a huge pool, and a hot tub” I said, smiling down at him. 

“I’ll get you whatever you want baby” he said, sitting up to kiss me. 

I smiled into his kiss, putting both my hands on his cheeks. His hands going underneath my shirt. I shuddered at the contrast of his warm hands and his cold rings. He began to kiss down my neck, I tilted my head back to give him more space. 

“And you know the first thing we’re going to do after I build our house sweets?” he asked, his breath hitting my neck.

“What’s that my love?” I panted, threading my fingers in his hair.

“I’m gonna fuck you on every surface of that house” he growled, biting my neck and sucking at the spot. I gasped, moaning into his ear. 

“Properly christening it yeah?” I asked, pulling his head back so I could give him the same treatment. 

I bit my mark into his neck, licking up his neck. He grasped at my hips and flipped us over. We tore our clothes off, JJ rolling on a condom before thrusting hard inside me. I moaned loudly, throwing a hand over my mouth when I remembered my brother and Sarah were still here. 

“Shhh baby” JJ laughed, leaning down to cover his mouth with mine. 

JJ moved at a steady pace at first, thrusting in and out. I moved my legs higher on his waist, getting him to hit that special spot. I threw my head back, dragging my nails down his back. He moaned in my mouth, causing him to thrust faster.  

“JJ, baby, please, I need to cum” I pleaded.

JJ obliged, flipping me over on my stomach. Hoisting me up so I was on all fours, he grabbed my hips and started pounding into me. I yelped, throwing my head down to bite at the sheets. He reached under to rub at my clit, I could feel my orgasm coming. 

“JJ” I whimpered.

JJ grabbed my hair, pulling my head back to kiss me before starting to pound harder inside me. Silent screams escaped as my mouth hung open and no sounds came out. I screamed his name into my sheets as I collapsed on my bed, JJ being the only thing holding me up. I came hard, feeling JJ growing twitchy before he slammed inside me and stilled.

We went in the bathroom to shower, JJ sitting on the counter afterwords while I did my night routine. We went back into my room, collapsing on the bed. I laid on my back, JJ putting his head on my chest and snuggling into me.

“I love you baby” he mumbled sleepily.

“I love you honey bear” I whispered.

We both fell into a peaceful sleep huddled in each others arms. 

====================================================

[teamsarawatshusband]

Word Of Honor - 1st watch insta thoughts - Episode 4

Episode 1

Episode 2

Episode 3

In case you haven't read my previous episode summaries, you should know that I now refer to alcoholic tanned tragic hero lord guy as Baby Xu (because he gave the name Zhou Xu), Wen Ke Xing is Smirky Xing, Ke Xing's female travelling companion is referred to as purple love of my life (because she rocks).

Alright let’s get started with Episode 4:

:O WHAT? Smirky Xing is qi-gong-balling nuts? Is he the red masked nut guy??? WTF? Is that why he said he's terrifying? Is that why he wasn't there at first during the fight in the dusty place? Waaaahhhh

Aww, he stilll wants Baby Xu and himself to be on first name basis. Giving horses as gifts. He's so determined.

Oooh the beggars caught up. And they openly state they're with 5 Lakes and want to bring the kid back to... some guy, I already forgot. Hmmm. The kid is instantly scared and hides behind Baby Xu. Baby Xu looks worried too. Nobody trusts 5 Lakes. Smirky Xing also doesn't trust them.

Wow, that's a lot of beggars.

Oh no, Smirky Xing insulted the talky beggar guy. And now they wanna fight.

Woahooooo, Baby Xu is pissy at Smirky Xing, but he trusts him to take care of the kid while he throws himself into the fight. Nice.

Less than 6 minutes in and we already have a million times more action than in the last episode. Thank you.

I see what smirky Xing meant when he called Baby Xu elegant. He is a VERY elegant fighter.

Offering nuts again, lol. Doesn't he know that the kid never wants to eat?

But jokes aside, the way Xing and the kid don't even go far but stay close enough to watch shows really well that smirky Xing is super confident in Baby Xu's fighting skills...

Oh no, they broke the alcohol jars, Baby Xu is gonna be so pissed.

And Smirky Xing is kind of an ass, teasing Baby Xu about his promise to keep an eye on the kid, while the beggar is chasing the kid around and Baby Xu is doing all the work.

Ahhh, it's cause he wants Baby Xu to admit that he needs him. Hehe, smart. Evil but clever.

:O The beggars got swords in their sticks! Cheaty little fuckers.

Baby Xu is fighting a bazillion beggars at once, no problem while the kid is almost caught.

Oh no, Baby Xu is mouthbleeding. That's never a good sign.

Oooooh, Smirky Xing notices and instantly steps in. No more teasing.

Oh how the turntables. Baby Xu and the kid flee, while Smirky Xing takes on the beggars. Nice. Sharing the workload. Like good husbands. Smirklord ftw!

Oh no, Baby Xu is worried about being a loser. And now he's doing the smelly meditation thing again. Awww :(

Meanwhile Smirky Xing has killed all the beggars, and it's not even shown on camera. Like... he probably did it with a determined look, some nut throwing and a snap of a finger or something. Impressive.

LOL, the purple love of my life comes on screen, looks around and has this, "Aww, dangit, he's on a killing spree again" look on her face. So this happens a lot, I gather.

She's concerned about the cleanup and the aesthetics, lol. My queen.

Whoa, what's that? Two tied up girls on a boat. And a jerk. I don't even know him but I know that much. Character introduction 101.

Oh wait, my purple love stops him. She knows him. He's one of the mountain ghost guys? And she knows him? There's a connection. That probably means that Smirky Xing really is nut guy. :O :O :O

She's striking a deal. And I didn't catch what she asked jerk guy to do in return for keeping him tying up girls a secret. But he leaves to do it.

Wow, Baby Xu knows how to cook. And offers the fish to the kid. And the kid ACTUALLY TAKES it. Impressive. I thought he hates food.

Ah, no, he spit it out. Okay. My worldview has been restored. And Baby Xu is not a good cook after all, lol.

My purple queen shows up and explains how to cook fish, lol. Yeah, they wish they had her cooking skills.

Oh, and baby Xu actually asks about Smirky Xing's whereabouts and looks longingly towards the boat where my queen points to.

Very lovely scenery, with Smirky Xing plaing the flute on the boat, and the two girls (who were previously tied up, I think, I still suck at recognizing faces) are enjoying his company, preparing drinks and listening.

Clearly Smirky Xing is playing just for Baby Xu. And then jumps off the boat with a flute twirl (clearly a Wei Wuxian fan, and who isn't?!) and then fly-jumps over the water to the beach and Baby Xu.

Heh, tempting Baby Xu with alcohol and good food, Smirky Xing is really trying everything.

LOL, you can't sit with the cool kids Smirky Xing.

But he never gives up and recites poetry again. Okay, now some story about historic white cloth. And a sword. Wait, is the "white cloth" the sword? Oh, and Smirky Xing is hinting that Baby Xu's sword is so bendy that it might be the legendary sword.

Always digging for info. Always noticing everything.

Oooh, Baby Xing compares their relationship to the fish he threw away, calls it "raw/unrequited". Nice pun. BUT, the fish wasn't raw, you literally discussed with the kid that is was cooked through, you little liar. I see what's going on there. Unrequited my ass. Smirklord setting sails.

Baby Xu explains that he doesn't know himself and couldn't care less about knowing Smirky Xing.

Smirky Xing is such a sweet talker. This whole "I hurt when you hurt" spiel... blergh.

He called him "My A-Xu" awww, cute. Also super invasive.

Some dark figure is playing headach inducing music. Huh? What is going on?

My purple queen and the kid are affected and Smirky Xing, stops them from running off by placing his hands on their backs. How? What?

Wait, Baby Xu plays the flute as well???

Everybody's a musician.

Oh, it's a music fight. The acoustic waves are hitting each other.

And the girls on the boats are jumping off, because they don't have Smirky Xing's hands holding them back.

Whooooooo, Baby Xu's flute sound lawnmowers the grass and the other musician down. Nice skills.

Oh, it's an assassination skill. The one that the dark figure used. :O A music assassin!!!

LOL, Baby Xu apologizes for getting Smirky Xing's flute dirty. Honey, he 100% won't mind your spit.

Why is the kid puking? He hasn't even eaten anything. Oh, he's lacking martial arts skills to defend against the attack, got it, got it.

Awwww, the one who dislikes you is the one who is really good to you. Of course you would live by that motto Smirky Xing, you lovesick boy.

Okay, the kid wants to learn martial arts now. Wants to be Baby Xu's disciple. And he's kind of agreeing, even though reluctantly, because he... doesn't wanna look good in front of Ke Xing?

Oh a camp of assassins. Pretty girl assassins. One of them is getting a leg massage. Nice. Being an assassin has perks, it seems. Ooh, and she gets touchy with some victim guy.

Did that guy just kill the several-times-stabbed victim by throwing a bone at his head? lol

Oh, the music assassin is one of this group, k, got it.

What? Smirky Ke Xing playing this special meditation song means he has a pure mind? I'm with Baby Xu, I would never have thought so. So, he's not nuts guy? WHAT IS GOING ON?

Dude, he does NOT look like of pure mind while playing that flute at all. It looks very... not pure. This looks like a mating ritual to me.

Wait, is he telling my purple queen to kill the two girls she saved? I'm so confused.

Aww, he LIKES Baby Xu. Not that it's a surprise. But he admitted it. Heh. And, once again, my purple queen gets it.

Aww, Smirky Xing plays for his boy all night long. And Baby Xu finally gets some rest. Nice.

And Smirky Xing finally gets to sit next to his crush after all.

But he doesn't get to hold his hand yet. I see how it is.

LOL, tough women can't resist clingy men, what? Is Smirky Xing ever talking about anybody other than himself and Baby Xu?

Ahaha, Smirky Xing is such a bad liar. But really good at making Baby Xu feel guilty. Yes, yes, you poor man driven off the boat, aching from all the flute playing, riiiight.

LOL, he ends up the coachman. Nice.

Oh no, the grandparents are fighting nice undies tree master guy and the mini Wangjis. Why can't they be friends?

Why are they all after that stupid glazed armor, this is so annoying.

Oh no, now pleated skirt soldier boss guy is joining in as well. Which side is he picking?

Okay he's fighting the grandparents, but is he on friendly terms with undies tree guy? Because I don't think so. But the mini Wangjis knew him and seemed to trust him. So confusing all of this...

Okay and there's another new guy. In green and gold with a tiny mustache. Is he the one they were supposed to bring the kid to? Ah yes, okay. Uncle Zhao.

Wait, the leader of the something something sect is chased. Who was that? Undies tree master? I need a name chart mind map or something. I should make one and add on to it as I go along.

Anyway, end of episode.

Okay this was interesting, what have I learned? Baby Xu can't get rid of Smirky Xing, no matter what. The kid wants to be his disciple. My purple queen is 100% a smirklord shipper. There's a bunch of assassins out there to hurt... I don't know, everybody, possibly. Everybody seems to want the glazed armor. Except for Baby Xu who just wants to be left alone, and Smirky Xing who just wants Baby Xu. I feel like I'm getting the hang of this. Except I STILL don't know how everybody is truly connected. And Smirky Xing might be nuts guy but also maybe not because he's pure, but I mean, who are you kidding?

Goals for future episodes: I should really actually make that character name chart mind map thing.

Also, we have officially reached the moment, where I wanna continue watching, even though I'm tired and have other stuff to do. I bet the point of no return strikes during the next episode. I can feel it coming.