#broken/kept/restored oaths

[tired-reader-writer]

Something possessed me these past few days (as I was coughing my lungs out T_T) and I just for no reason started collecting snippets from the Khorda Avesta site? Anything and everything that caught my attention????

I'm still not sure if I can formulate these into a proper post since I was aimlessly exploring when I picked these up but... I'm gonna try—

[EDIT: I suddenly remembered the reason as I was compiling the quotes in the drafts! I was curious about the royal bracelets' design (which @innerchorus pointed out likely drew inspiration from tauroctony scenes as they were described as being engraved with a design of a young man on the back of a bull, stabbing the bull in the head with a short sword) and I thought, okay, why does specifically this imagery indicate royalty? And so I started looking around about the tauroctony, then Mithraism, then Mithra, then cue me scratching my head and screaming in confusion, then going around for the actual prayers 😭]

I won't get too deep into the tauroctony stuff (mainly bc there just isn't much to get into in the first place) but long story short it's a Roman thing, not a Persian thing, it was the cult of “Mithras” and though they shared a deity/name, I don't think there was any substantial link between Mithraism and Zoroastrianism— David Ulansey even apparently said that “there is no evidence that the Iranian god Mithra ever had anything to do with killing a bull” and I think I am inclined to agree, considering that he in Zoroastrianism is a protector of cattle instead. (In the hymn dedicated to him, he is repeatedly referred to as “lord of wide pastures”).

So anyways, I don't currently have a concrete explanation on why imagery connected to Mithra (kinda, not really) was used to indicate the potential royal status of three characters in the second part of the novels, but I may have concocted... something.

Bear in mind that this has nothing, nothing to do with real history, do not take it as such, by me trying to adapt things to fit the ArSen narrative we've already left the harbor of historical accuracy. So here goes—

I posit that in Pars, Ahura Mazda, Mithra, and Anahita in particular are revered as “civilization-building” deities, aka foundational to the prosperity and functioning of a nation as opposed to individual and spiritual righteousness.

Yeah, this still doesn't quite explain the tauroctony imagery, I got nothing for that, I think I might just end up changing shit, we'll... see...

Mithra is the divinity of covenants, light, oaths, justice, the sun, contracts, friendship, and also a judicial figure, an all-seeing protector of Truth (Asha), the guardian of cattle, the harvest, and the Waters (Anahita)— which, a lot of it sounds pretty essential to a prosperous civilization functioning, doesn't it?

Mithra is invoked in several royal Achaemenid inscriptions:

“Ahura Mazda, Anahita, and Mithra protect me against all evil” — Artaxerxes II's inscription at Susa and Hamadan, where he “beseeches them to protect what he has built”

“Ahura Mazda and the God Mithra preserve me, my country, and what has been built by me.” — inscription of Artaxerxes III

Mithra is also featured in rock reliefs depicting the coronations of Ardashir II and Khosrow II

Mithra is considered a member of the “Ahuric Triad” along with Apam Napat (this one is complicated, more on that later) and none other than Ahura Mazda himself

“The ruffian who lies unto Mithra brings death unto the whole country, injuring as much the faithful world as a hundred evil-doers could do.”

×

“Mithra, the lord of wide pastures, gives swiftness to the horses of those who lie not unto Mithra. Fire, the son of Ahura Mazda, gives the straightest way to those who lie not unto Mithra.”

(I... will get into the whole Mithra-Asha thing later on, I promise, I'm assuming “fire” here refers to Asha due to the truth divinity's associations to fire)

“We sacrifice unto Mithra, the lord of wide pastures, who is truth-speaking, a chief in assemblies, with a thousand ears, well-shapen, with ten thousand eyes, high, with full knowledge, strong, sleepless, and ever awake; To whom the chiefs of nations offer up sacrifices, as they go to the field, against havocking hosts, against enemies coming in battle array, in the strife of conflicting nations.”

×

“We sacrifice unto Mithra, the lord of wide pastures, .... sleepless, and ever awake; Unto whom nobody must lie, neither the master of a house, nor the lord of a borough, nor the lord of a town, nor the lord of a province. If the master of a house lies unto him, or the lord of a borough, or the lord of a town, or the lord of a province, then comes Mithra, angry and offended, and he breaks asunder the house, the borough, the town, the province; and the masters of the houses, the lords of the boroughs, the lords of the towns, the lords of the provinces, and the foremost men of the provinces.”

×

“We sacrifice unto Mithra, the lord of wide pastures, .... sleepless, and ever awake; Who upholds the columns of the lofty house and makes its pillars solid; who gives herds of oxen and male children to that house in which he has been satisfied; he breaks to pieces those in which he has been offended. Thou, O Mithra! art both bad and good to nations; thou, O Mithra! art both bad and good to men; thou, O Mithra! keepest in thy hands both peace and trouble for nations.”

— Mihr Yasht (Hymn to Mithra)

A lot of nation imagery there!!

So then, my attention was drawn towards the rest of the Ahuric Triad, but I'm choosing to make it that for Pars in this fictional setting, Anahita is there in Apam Napat's stead.

Here are my reasons:

It is very likely that Anahita, even irl, gradually usurped the position of Apam Napat in the Triad, causing the latter's place to be lost and his veneration to become limited to the obligatory verses recited at the Ab-Zohr.

She is described as “life-increasing, herd-increasing, fold-increasing, who makes prosperity for all countries” in the hymn dedicated to her.

Anahita is featured in a rock relief depicting the coronation of Khosrow II, the same one Mithra featured in

As a river divinity, she is responsible for the fertility of the soil and for the growth of crops that nurture both man and beast.

The hymn dedicated to her features like. Multiple stanzas(?) of multiple people praying to her “that [they] may become the sovereign lord of all countries” which is super interesting

I don't know how related this is to everything else I've written so far but I also found it interesting that apparently, due to the association between water and wisdom, she is “the divinity to whom priests and pupils should pray for insight and knowledge”.

Anyways here are some of the verses I yoinked:

“Offer up a sacrifice, O Spitama Zarathushtra! unto this spring of mine, Ardvi Sura Anahita, the wide-expanding and health-giving, who hates the Daevas and obeys the laws of Ahura, who is worthy of sacrifice in the material world, worthy of prayer in the material world; the life-increasing and holy, the herd-increasing and holy, the fold-increasing and holy, the wealth-increasing and holy, the country-increasing and holy;”

×

“To her did Haoshyangha, the Paradhata, offer up a sacrifice on the enclosure of the Hara, with a hundred male horses, a thousand oxen, and ten thousand lambs. He begged of her a boon, saying: "Grant me this, O good, most beneficent Ardvi Sura Anahita, that I may become the sovereign lord of all countries, of the Daevas and men, of the Yatus and Pairikas, of the oppressors, the blind and the deaf; and that I may smite down two thirds of the Daevas of Mazana and of the fiends of Varena." Ardvi Sura Anahita granted him that boon, as he was offering libations, giving gifts, sacrificing, and entreating that she would grant him that boon.”

(there were multiple instances of multiple people asking her for a boon, and she either gives that boon or withholds it depending on who's asking)

“Offer up a sacrifice, O Spitama Zarathushtra! unto this spring of mine, Ardvi Sura Anahita... Whom Ahura Mazda the merciful ordered thus, saying: "Come, O Ardvi Sura Anahita, come from those stars down to the earth made by Ahura, that the great lords may worship thee, the masters of the countries, and their sons.”

— Aban Yasht (Hymn to the Waters)

So yeah. A modified Ahuric Triad of sorts being revered for the more “practical”, society-wide, civilization-related domains. Or, well, Ahura Mazda is Ahura Mazda. One can't not include him as he is the god of light and everything good. (Tanaka seemed to have taken Ahura Mazda out of Pars' faith entirely, oh whatever I'm putting him back in)

Yeah. Still haven't really... figured out a way to connect the tauroctony to any of this. Maybe I'll have the design to feature Mithra and Anahita instead, blessing a royal birth of sorts (Anahita is associated with fertility, after all! She is said to purify the wombs of women and the seed of men, as well as encouraging the flow of milk for newborns. Plus, it's a royal birth. Surely something could be bullshitted here?

(as for Ahura Mazda, I saw in the Zoroastrianism subreddit that you can't really depict Ahura Mazda, he's just a strong, pure light, he can't be captured in image, which probably is true? I haven't been able to confirm it but I think it makes sense. ANYWAYS—)

Also very neat how Ashaya (the secret royal child who rejects their origins) has like, people who kinda sorta represent Mithra and Anahita in her life— Farangis' entire existence, of course, but also Shapur keeping the promise he gave to Sâyezân, the whole Mardi clan situation coming from a broken oath, and then the Mardi clan embodying the whole life-increasing herd-increasing healing fertility thing with their magic and such.

And I based her name on Asha, the Zoroastrian divinity of... ah, fuck. I'll just leave this here:

Asha (/ˈʌʃə/) or arta (/ˈɑːrtə/; Avestan: 𐬀𐬴𐬀 Aṣ̌a / Arta) is a Zoroastrian concept with a complex and highly nuanced range of meaning. It is commonly summarized in accord with its contextual implications of 'truth' and 'right' (or 'righteousness'), 'order' and 'right working'. It is of cardinal importance to Zoroastrian theology and doctrine. In the moral sphere, aṣ̌a/arta represents what has been called "the decisive confessional concept of Zoroastrianism". The opposite of aṣ̌a is druj (Avestan: 𐬛𐬭𐬎𐬘, lit. 'deceit, falsehood').

Look, for the purposes of this post I'm gonna grossly simplify it into “truth” and “righteousness”. It's more complicated than that even in the AU Parsian society, but I don't think I'm equipped to get into it.

(also I've been referring to Asha as feminine all this time before this post, apparently the hymns refer to Asha as a male... do I wanna modify this or not................ arrrrrrrrrrrgh)

Remember that “Fire, the son of Ahura Mazda” thing? So I've been thinking about it. I don't think Zoroastrianism has a genealogy and such like say the Greek pantheon situation, but maybe for the AU version of the Parsian faith (which I'd named “khuda-yasna” for “khuda” being the Persian word for “god”, more than likely referring to Ahura Mazda but let's just say that here the meaning expands to the other divinities as well) (kinda kills me inside a little that faith and religion in ArSen is just flattened down and lumped in with nationality like “Parsian faith” like, could you not have named it?? Also the Yaldabaoth religion? Does it not have a name??) (anyways back on track) I had imagined taking this snippet rather literally. Asha is the child (or the closest child) of Ahura Mazda the holy light. And Mithra is who serves and protects Asha. They're both really tied together, aren't they? Truth and oaths and lies and such. Maybe, in Pars, in this setting, Asha is the spiritual and moral righteousness that must be nurtured in every individual person while Mithra has to do w those civilization/society stuff. Not that I think Asha would be any less revered? Just different axes, different paradigms of worship and veneration, if that makes sense?

Anyways here are some snippets that caught my eye:

“He will smite the most oppressive of the oppressors of men, he will afflict most oppressive of the oppressors of men.”

×

“The most lying words of falsehood fled away; the Jahi, addicted to the Yatu, fled away; the Jahi, who makes one pine, fled away; the wind that blows from the North fled away; the wind that blows from the North vanished away.”

×

“He smites the most lying words of falsehood; he smites the Jahi, addicted to the Yatu; he smites the Jahi, who makes one pine. He smites the wind that blows from the North; the wind that blows from the North vanished away.”

— Ardwahisht Yasht (Hymn to the Highest Asha)

(the part about smiting oppressors in particular made me go 👀👀👀)

Anyways I just wanted to lay out some stuff for the AU worldbuilding to help myself make heads and tails out of this really, I don't have a conclusions, uhhhh hope y'all enjoy this

[yeetmeoutthewindowdaddy]

A deep dive into Zevlor's devotion (Part 1) Everybody hates tieflings, and how discrimination impacted a young Zevlor:

THIS POST CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR BG3.

These series of posts were originally one loooooong post— but apparently Tumblr has a character limit, and I found it; so now it's been split into several parts/posts.

((Part 1, this post, is mostly to give context to the discrimination faced by tieflings in Faerûn. The third part is where the meat of my Zevlor analysis is.))

(Part 2) Elturel's history and culture, the Hellriders, and Zevlor's paladin oath. (Part 2.5)

(Part 3) Zevlor's actions during Act 1, an analysis of a man who is barely holding on.

(Part 4) Zevlor's actions during Act 2, an analysis of a broken man.

(Part 5) Zevlor's actions during Act 3, an analysis of a man with his faith restored.

(Part 6) Zevlor's actions during/ after the epilogue, not all endings are happily ever after— especially not for a tiefling.

(Part 7) Zevlor in a romantic relationship.

I don't think many bg3 players understand just how dedicated and loyal of a person Zevlor is. This ADHD hyper-fixation fueled multipart-thesis is meant to show how Zevlor's past is as tragic as any of the origin characters'/ Durge's. It's meant to show how horrifically broken Zevlor was when he "betrayed" the other tieflings. It's also meant to show that our beloved blorbo would probably be fervently obsessive if he was in a romantic relationship.

Most importantly: It demonstrates how our favorite man Zevlor was most likely a fanatical religious zealot my dudes. He was (probably) a part of the Faerûn equivalent of the Spanish Inquisition lite.

I have kept this as factual as I am able to. Please keep in mind that Baldur's Gate 3 plays it fast and loose with the DND/ Forgotten Realms canon and lore, on top of DND/ the Forgotten Realms itself regularly disregarding and changing it's own lore and canon. DND lore and canon as a whole is a mess. It has multiple universes that sometimes interact and are maybe separate from each other. Full disclosure; I've mixed 1e-5e lore together FUCK 5.5e, because parsing through what is currently considered canon is a nightmare. As far as I'm concerned, as long as a piece of lore was canon at some point in the past 50 years— it's fair game. @y-rhywbeth2 in this post has a more in depth disclaimer. Also please check out their headcanons and lore breakdowns, they're so good.

THIS PROJECT TOOK ME OVER A MONTH TO WRITE. I've tried to find all grammatical and spelling errors. I've tried to ensure that I've cited the correct sources in the correct places.

I have given up on trying to understand Tumblr's inconsistent post formatting. Why does the 'small' option for text sometimes actually make the text smaller but other times it makes the text larger???

______________________________________________________________

● (Section 1) The Origins, Anatomy, and Physiology of Tieflings:

AN: It used to be that tieflings could only breed with other tieflings and humans. This seems to have been changed recently— one no longer has to have a demon somewhere in their genetic lineage to be a tiefling, one of their ancestors having contact with a demon is enough to produce a tiefling descendant. Which has interesting implications for Warlocks. There are also special versions of elf and orc tieflings.

(From what I can tell) tieflings live for about the same amount of time, maybe ~10 years longer than, humans do. (AN: Remember how I said the Forgotten Realms loves to retcon and disregard it’s own lore? The wiki states that their life span is from 90–150 years, but this source is from 2004 and the lore has greatly changed in the past 20 years. I am choosing to ignore the wiki here for my own sanity.)

Tieflings were humanoids with fiendish ancestry. They came about due to one of their ancestors (even many generations prior) getting freaky with a demon being "touched" by the evil planes in some way.

"Tieflings... were infused with the touch of the fiendish planes, most often through descent from fiends—demons, Yugoloths, devils, evil deities, and others... Although their evil ancestors could be many generations removed, the taint lingered."

Before some warlock shenanigans happened, tieflings had a much wider range of appearances than the ones we generally see now.

"In 1358 DR, a warlock coven...the Toril thirteen performed a ritual that cursed most tiefling lineages... [changing] their original lineage with that of the archdevil... Asmodeus [who] became a god... giving most tieflings... a similar devilish appearance... [whereas before] infernal blood could be diluted through intermarriage... afterward, the union of a tiefling with another race always produced a tiefling child."

Their infernal ancestry gave them some very powerful abilities.

"Tieflings had a number of abilities gifted to them by their fiendish heritage... an innate resistance to heat and... a hint of bloodlust that gave them a slight edge in combat. Tieflings also had access to an ability known as infernal wrath, which channeled their innate rage and potential for evil into their attacks for added effectiveness... [they] tended to have better reflexes than their human kin... [Tieflings are] alluring and intelligent creatures, with a seductive aura in spite of their obviously evil ancestry...

Along with some not so great traits that fed into the prejudices against them.

"Other, more unusual characteristics included a sulfurous odor, cloven feet, or... an unsettling air about them... a general aura of discomfort they left on others... most people were uncomfortable around them, whether they were aware of the tiefling's unsavory ancestry or not... Tieflings were carnivores. They consumed blood, blubber, bone, gristle and meat... [and] raw bone marrow..."

Tieflings tended to be resolute and tenacious, with a strong internal drive to rise above their circumstances.

"They are adaptable and resilient to hardship, and possess strong aptitude at whatever pursuit they dedicate themselves to... When facing adversity, the tiefling instinct is not to withdraw from the world, but rather to challenge it head-on... Tieflings seek to make their own fates, defy the odds, and take risks that... most... would not dare."

For some awesome insight on tieflings check out this post [alt] by @gortashs-skidmark, it's a good source on tiefling appearances and traits. Along with this post [alt] by @pikapeppa providing evidence-based headcanons on tiefling appearances. And this post [alt] by @y-rhywbeth2, which talks about how a tiefling's physical traits are influenced by their specific infernal heritage.

Their infernal appearance and weird vibes are why almost

● (Section 2) Everybody Hates Tieflings:

Even before Elturel's Decent into Avernus, and subsequently the events of BG3 (both of which I will cover later), Tieflings faced an incredible amount of discrimination— even from their own kind.

"Few tieflings were raised with the love a normal human child might expect to receive... Tieflings who had strikingly inhuman features were often killed at birth by their horrified parents or others. Only those tieflings with subtle features or born to someone indifferent to their appearance, either out of acceptance or cruel purpose, were likely to reach adulthood... Tieflings often distrusted one another, sometimes even casting the same preconceptions on one another that others did on them."

This post [alt] by @underdark-dreams highlights the discrimination tieflings face in game. And how the Flaming Fists should be called the Flaming Shits, but I'll get into that in another part of this series.

Understandably, they didn't easily trust others. But once someone did earn a tiefling's trust, they were an incredibly loyal friend.

"…[Tieflings] expected eventual rejection from all... However, members of other races would find that once they demonstrated friendship and trust towards a tiefling, it would quickly be reciprocated in full. Once that bond was forged, it was rarely broken."

While some tieflings wholeheartedly embraced the preconception that all tieflings were evil, others would endeavor to prove it wrong.

"Their attitude regarding their heritage... while some tieflings embraced it, others were repulsed by it... tieflings, who were proud of their fiendish past... chose to... thwart... dark plots and schemes. Others sought to... emulate these evil deeds. Other tieflings were ashamed or even frightened of their heritage and wished only to escape the shadow that lurked over them... Some did this through constantly doing good, as though to make up for the evil that begot them. Others instead hid [their heritage]…"

Looking like devils made people think they were devils, or acted like devils.

"Tieflings are widely stereotyped as wicked, cruel, and criminal individuals... [with] a tendency to be solitary loners... known for their quick temper, stubbornness, self-confidence, and fickleness in relationships."

And since people thought tieflings were, or would act like, devils they treated them like devils.

"The social rejection they typically face often leads tieflings to enter a life of crime, which furthers social prejudice against their race." 

"We're distrusted and viewed as evil malcontents for so long that we start to believe it ourselves. It's hard not to try to live up to the hype, eh?"— Enkillo the Sly, tiefling

It's not a stretch of the imagination to assume that people would believe that: the more devilish a tiefling looked = the more they'd behave like devils (evil). It's also safe assume: that the more infernal traits a tiefling had = the more, harsher, discrimination they'd face.

This leads into my next topic,

● (Section 3) Zevlor's Infernal Appearance:

He looks like a combo of Sylvester Stallone and Willem Dafoe.

He and his Habsburg jaw lookin ass face seems to always have a 5 o'clock shadow. (Probably because he's a refugee struggling to survive, so his personal grooming habits have taken a back seat.)

Zevlor has more infernal features than the other tieflings do in-game. (As shown in this post [alt] by @lolliputian and @haru-sen) He has very prominent cheekbones, a thick brow ridge, and BIG horns. (Look at @cinnasalmon's post [alt] on Zevlor's horn anatomy.)

HC: The reasons his face bones are so protuberant is because they need to support the weight of his huge horns, as without them his (face) skull would fracture/ cave in from the constant pressure. Poor guy probably lives with a perpetual headache.

Zevlor's prominent infernal facial features make him look older than he probably is— as they emphasize the traits we humans commonly associate with aging; such as defined nasal labial folds, a lack of facial fat, and big ears. The striations by his eyes look like wrinkles, but I think that they're mostly infernal markings.

Stress prematurely ages people, and Zevlor had multitudes of stressors throughout his life: Contending with the discrimination from being a tiefling with prominent infernal traits, joining an elite military unit at age 12, rising through its ranks to become a Commander of said unit, having his city dragged into the literal Hells (more on that in part 2), defending the civilians/ city trapped in the hells, surviving the hells, then being stripped of his rank and banished from his home because of racial prejudices, and then leading a group of (mostly civilian) refugees to Baldur's Gate— all while desperately trying to keep them alive in the face of Faerûn's many, many, dangers.

Combining all the factors above would make any man look 10+ years older than he actually is.

Zevlor looks scary. His irises look like they're on fire, and his teeth are scarier than Astarion's. I was browsing Tumblr alone in my room, at night, 😳 and this photo of Zevlor popped up on my feed giving me a good scare. I have an unhealthy obsession with Zevlor, he's made it onto my official husbando list! And yet, I can't look at certain screen shots of him at night because they scare me. I'm a wuss.

I simp hard for this man, and yet I am still frightened by his appearance sometimes. Imagine how people in Faerûn react when they see his sleep paralysis demon lookin ass him in person? Screaming and running away is completely understandable.

Which brings us to,

● (Section 4) How Discrimination Impacted a Young Zevlor:

Even as a young child Zevlor would've know that his appearance othered him.

"Most tieflings were aware from an early age that they were different from others around them..."

Even as a child Zevlor most likely knew that many people would dislike him and refuse to trust him because he was born a tiefling.

Tiefling families in the traditional sense are rare. Many tieflings, born to human parents who possess a latent infernal bloodline, are abandoned at birth and raised by a monastery, church, orphanage, or adoptive parents.

I headcanon that he had at least one loving parent—before he was orphaned, but it's entirely possible, and likely, that he was abandoned at birth.

Young Zevlor would've known that he would have to work very hard to be seen as something other than a criminal or evil monster.

"While some [tieflings] would... [turn] towards evil, others rejected it wholeheartedly and sought to make a good impact on the world around them, sometimes becoming the most heroic characters of all. Few could maintain this discipline however."

AN: Elturel was a theocracy (more on that part 2)— Zevlor likely grew up in a deeply religious family/ community.

All these factors combined would lead to a young Zevlor who:

Was determined to prove his goodness and rise above the adversity he faced. The force of will and work ethic he needed to become not just a Hellrider— but a Hellrider Commander, while being a tiefling, meant that he would've grown into a stubborn man. (See this post [alt] by @ohsayit)

Was so deeply religious and devoutly pious that he became a paladin. (More on this in part 2)

Internalized the impossible standards he was held to.

Developed a guilt complex (my "grew up Catholic" is showing)

Viewed any mistake he made as a personal moral failure, and as an indication of his inherent evil nature. (Hello again, Catholicism)

Would be hyperaware of how he's perceived by others.

Would learn how to read people's true intentions/ motivations.

Learned to vigilantly monitor, and strictly control his facial expressions and body language. (Is my autistic masking showing?)

Learned how to show deference to others through body language.

Leaned how to make himself appear smaller and less threatening.

Figured out how smile and laugh without showing his teeth.

Mastered the awkward and tight-lipped polite smile.

Figured out how to intelligibly speak with a tight jaw and lips so that his teeth wouldn't be seen by others while he spoke.

Developed self worth/ self esteem issues. Even other tieflings would've looked at him with suspicion and maybe even disgust.

That's it for part 1, here's another link to (Part 2) Elturel's history and culture, the Hellriders, and Zevlor's paladins oath. (Part 2.5)

and the other parts,

A deep dive into Zevlor's devotion series (master list)

[abby118]

There is one thing that I didn't quite understand about Loki in Thor 1 and that I don't think has been addressed enough. when she sent the "destroyer" to Midgard, I know she intended to stop the 3 sif warriors/ladies who even committed treason. she however was actually pushing herself to kill them. and he had even gone so far as to kill Thor. This seems extreme to me though since we know he loved Thor more than anyone else. and even though he had been abused by him and his friends for a tho

To start this off, let's focus on Heimdall - I think his treason didn't come as a surprise to Loki (it wouldn't be the first time after all, and that instance had happened under Odin's rule), though he might have hoped it wouldn't come so quick. Heimdall allowed the W3/Sif to pass and thus broke his oath to the throne. They were off to end Thor's banishment and bring him back to Asgard.

This is where Loki's plans start faling apart and I've seen someone in the fandom refer to it as him playing speed chess which I found rather fitting. He no longer has the time to think his decisions through the way it would be needed. Naturally, he opts for the action that would buy him the most time - stalling the W3/Sif/Thor and cutting off their access to Asgard. However, Heimdall attacks him and attempts to behead him. I believe Loki expected this as well; you can see that he came prepared. He used the Casket to freeze Heimdall and I take it as proof that he didn't aim to kill him. He could've used Gungnir but instead went for the relic he must've held significant resentment for, given that it is from Jotunheim. That wasn't a random choice.

In the meantime, the W3/Sif arrive to Midgard and find Thor.

Loki knew Thor would hear of his lies once reunited with his friends and he wasn't wrong. They told him the truth and were ready to take him back. Then, the Destroyer showed up and did what it was supposed to do - it stalled them.

Now, whether Loki was or wasn't trying to kill them is up for debate but he was certainly familiar with the extent of their abilities and knew they were no beginners. He had to send something that wouldn't be defeated easily. It worked up until Thor decided to intervene and the plans had to shift once again.

I don't think he wanted to kill Thor; he realised that despite everything, he did seem to change. He paused and took that into account but it wasn't enough to soothe the built up tension and hurt he felt. Yes, Thor did apologise but for once in his life, Loki wanted to be the winner.

He puts out the fire within the Destroyer but strikes him anyway. It did almost kill him and I do think would Thor have actually died, Loki would've regretted it later, once the chaos would've died down. Again, this has been brought up before, but we don't know how familiar he was with the degree of injury mortals can handle. That could've played a part. Thor becomes worthy and is able to wield Mjölnir again, which restores his powers and heals him. He defeats the Destroyer and eventually returns to Asgard.

I especially like the parallel between their situations. Both of them experienced their losses and were broken by what happened to them except for the fact that Thor regained what he'd lost whilst Loki kept falling further. I think it reflects their overall experience in life in which Thor is allowed to make mistakes and learn from them whilst Loki's attempts to prove himself, to equal, fall unseen because he was the spare, the tool to keep around would Thor need him.

[libidomechanica]

At their rents

A ballad sequence

               1

With wondrous aim on the woes with a single band     of my ain, i’ll take her; mild, but kept the hour the scornes this; my loof, tho’ thy love their     skins; they sailed her self am shent whispers

of May; the open wing, but they give him from     vice, but none came: the rent, where dewdrops are the crystal I courtesy and Tears drinkin     o’t; the law with this wife; they this

magazines to see if thou issued in the pledged     to find a single dropped in my holy was before us light, and fit to come. Some     gentleness to such as blawn, an’ twenty,

Tam; at kith or sang to passion cannot flie     away. Which is best o’t yet, we’re a’ dry wi’ drinkin o’t; the palace was hear     in the remove, or amber her, they

open before my faint half-opens its handsome     among, this universal frame. The closed, and oath and hands, in their becoming on a     wood, and spatterning light to right is

overcome it or fairest now; a love is, and     making Wit I question of its earnest glanced aside each cup’s heart, pity a humble     fragile like a snowgirl, a buttercup

unders, crept away, dead broken chorded shell     secret as you to me thoughtful light of whose passport which is thy life, you are in May.     Is such harm of woes; this more children

shone and one she chance were in the departing gust     and could not to right. Together tides the spring opens touching and vanished thee. And     is beckoned to duty by sure which

my heart and death he redden’d hands move; twere precious     Speech many a vanished, we only, called in lit like a Saint’s glory is the valley,     when speak, my mother, you come to like!

At their rents. Or sicken her Nature of my smart;     at length forgot am of Heaven, the longer tarry dare not exactly. The bath     and at the wight magic. From the lost

you, but no one asks—You were shews what was allowed.     Would not refuse till the other fall. Knowing a woman’s wisdom. In these birds of life’s     ocean is, the bounds, and sight, and quick!

               2

She present: ‘if your lesser ways.     Grace and never know. By them, letting, true womankind, through     as for these thing which is

truly that giu’st no beauties yet     unborn, with the place of snow in a danced; but shaken; it     is but as this beauteous,

but by no crime; where I, war or     twa, she’ll not my paper’s lightning other tides,—as purpose     like a Saint’s glow. And we

heart, in the case, slipped away from     a stay. Soft whispers first Encounterpart,. A smoke go up     there away: thanked men—good!

               3

Trust me, I’ll fall into your hands,     their tender pledge as you are things as when it gets difference     deeper yet still! From the

Thespian spright Cecilia rais’d     the glorifying restlesse restored and fair; the room wait     the citizens’ applause

a lassie yet; we’ll learn my sun-     burnd brawl their first rose of its chosen found a Shaking, the     spring its longer tarry.

’ The bee sucked into shadow     of a smile on that spoke nor moved nor want heart more-for so     fair, see the Fiend do accept

the glistrings of a king’s a     name over the Time, and her trees. When her tail quick-changing     back across the trampling

to see ourselves looking and splits,     and rather actual or physical fact of the most o’     the naked into the

blade glanced by my unkind befriendly     breath; this we walked the genial giant, Arac, rolled to     her three paces measure,

that was grace. There we’d lived, that shook     the praise to all the tumultuous care too is the spring     of what there opposed

to lovely Pussy-cat went up     with feet to proue; now nae langer still, yet this strength for the     spongy clouds lightning lost

my tongues could uttered garbage, that     flie the sparkling boy, whose name spoken, and woke desire;     and yours must lead

inviolably true, despite till the     natives of quince, I would blush, at length for Heaven. Thrown off     and yet I were dead, and

my ripe a judgment of forces     we recite, tis hard to sword in a poppy from afar.     Millions of a tun to

my mind; thought, in little tired,     you away individual beautiful. As much more.     Sparks of men: the same fast

what arise in them. As dues of     your quire: sing you will not lack, slander’d—all and earth gone nearer     out on the West, there

i have to naebody. Soon     gathering all but—nothing was, and around; one grief, though his     vice—for her cool brow and

there, when we two, content, or the     other by deed but copying is either of anger,     and wisely chores: feeding

dais before which you need countenance     filled to all these thing, and takes it up, and hard true: things     in disgraces, in the

tender feet in a servants with     tall men, and awa’ wi’ Jock of anger, and some of the     rooks went and latent in

the pangs and watchful was charity     was not changeable too, too well express her hand, and,     from their call one ball, and

the child: and all one near to     everything and leaps in among thy murdering how we tried     to fix without number.

               4

Sight, dar I seye, that’s half as fit        to the prayers.     Back rode we two crown’s shadows safe from myself another cause he fields by absence as     ours with blush that this image only,

sweet child upon the sparkling myself, what will     tell the watching. Then, Turk, or at least part of human voice thundered party’s firebombs, or     by departure are then if he his

way. I dream, I dreamer, out of lovers mingling     told the hard at hand. To sulphurous god rimmed, the sky, are all these points, no man every     part musk or fan, velvet, or this lock

with mutual parts, within the Fiend do fightingale.     But a human on my couch I loom to it, give my heart, I fear the whispers     of arrows end. We’ll learn my kin a

ring at the soldiery, suddenly up, the very     armour hair. At first come to the lawns beneath her rope. Robert Burns: there, and witching,     whose sessions of her harsh or mild, but

a photos anymore, not make my heart: man to     me was as sure it will give it self he clashed his iron to combated with the     fiery-short years will bee. As if too

much. Of incipient fires there whare you know there     such various monarch dies, stood all a heap of jarring scarfs and walls as when the drown     and vibrating has been ordained, if

dumbe lips and thus vse the sea lifts, also, whose motion:     and in the third errand seemed a beauty should be so witta-woo! Our and could they     wear. In honour—what, he! As her heads

in white bone. In the unsuspective like th’     other in the matters, but not care will see this wrath I nursed at so solidly where     idle days? Vice, but then all my song

is either Breeze lifted round the flesh mould remains:     and may make me rue it. You did but know for thy sovranty, recoiling Lips open’d     before which burnt thee. Within the caves.

Scrolls away my Wit and mine. Soon gate; and are wrongfull     pray in that my heart. Even the nine white the very armour hand. Home? Best, if we     failure message said Gama. Of

incipient fires the beauty clear to my earth. To     flow, I walk’d to-day, to-morrow drowned, thought, was falling will, to stop his last and driving     voice to me; and yet my feet my soul

is sense—cannot to prolong to the fly’s bass turn:     the recorder shoulders wind the morning to flight. All along, what it did, and sigh’d no     surely rest: to unbosom sits upon

all passion, like only friends all of a grone,     thou were Dem my poet’s pages that crack with ooze, and woman anymore. Hums will be     disallowed in the howling, spreads the

latest, Juan with a rabbit’s foretell, shall we slide     in the grass, a people in our sweet ane an’ twenty, Tam. Glittering in the road beside     the dark thee part where Lucy ceased;

he love or awe, the trees, fluttering drifting on     his Hoard of Langley-dale; his Highness, which to the soldiery, sudden lightened     Nothing to them round with for Heaven.

               5

And cheek some one the morning create     mischief of Errington and never could she like needful     at this, say that are

styled, she much they give himself he     class was sick, and some of true sorrows erect, as bells off     San Salvador salute

there, which I notice Neptune, there     excess of pleasant, woodcock, of whose little good turnes!     Those lease of whom I shall

those two better to quiet. Old     memory, for precious of Innsbruck cast in the Flood, and,     ere meanwhile her image

in one grows back in our arms; the     deep in me keeps him and now a wandering heart that began:     when I hear a feast,

as in the lake, but words oration,     fury, frantic, I shall grow to put faire triumph was     as mine own step, or

undercurrent of nature could my     head spotlit. Little shy at first. Patient saint, and over.     And fixing state. So,

tyranny of myself the wealth to     means there behind thy youthful waste, my loue, all equally     to kissed all intelligence,

went unexplained, tell ever     love. Break, breaks, and looked likewise I: be comfort meete, both well     begin, cuckoo, jug-jug,

pu-we, to-witta-woo! So     durable as some needs must be a totus teres stoic,     sage, the one like a duckling

boy, whose, because it might loved     I lost for still you look at they grieve at grieve at least that     black again and the

incarnation—is morning of thee     why shore until is answered I, was wet with Nature smiles     stopped, he fleshly eye; that

largely given here hammered up,     and dies, strangely blush seep the gates of woe were on thy hearth:     but you. Thy beauties could

the old kings, because of my hand     liuing lists were allowed, their rents. Takes, and the two so as stiff     twins, come, when I again.

               6

Find the lists were to passed, we called     merrily, to prolonged by designed his poor, and whispers     first starting heart, my one should bribed it and raised the Shackless     smile on its orbit, each

in mine control, supposed with message     said Arac, rolled to like! Doth ride; or being the more     her name—her too, in whit, e the infantry: all here. Is     take her untimely drawn

for the flowed cake, and once more than     to me aside, and blew, and rain, the chorded shell, his nose.     Or let me home is in proportion deep, and emerald     twinkle on the doors; none

to her ever more than grace, the     pool; for power turn again precious you, Sir! Shadows safe     from elm: only free from thence: they only from thought, not the     king head, and in our lines,

though it in the first louing stars of     our job and cheer. To find the next, this wingèd charity. Sits     on the battered in hand, who goes? A-sunning against myself     am shent whispered

our disbelief; O gentle clause     take no noises of living him on rib and chase the vale;     and of the long-wave light wrestling the untrodden black     cord make thee, that was not

our cups again and on calming     in the multitudes of the day, and leaves them last. Had not     war: lest help will see the solstice cannot raised him self they     though i have done with a

dumb despaired of endurance; change     think our chief of Errington and Look, he has image in     the last Duchess’ cheek wet with Stellaes ioyful angel watcher     by the temple-gate.

               7

And shed aside, that dream of Heaven.     Dancing all the exceed their arms; but O for ane an’     twenty, Tam. Is a part,

it was a prize in fire! Thy curl,     it is best, if examined, it might the next are only     cross nor looks as we walking.

I lodgd thee. Mens weak. And, the     Mermaid’s now, you will, as this is all his heart. Wood, and siding     eyes, by Loue directed?

Their eares, bulging like the     power, but pure. If tis a thought or wrongs like a dance, I     think that tends, because her

name. Its roses nobody, not     even that Turkish hardned her head on a springs the     hotel crippled with zeal.

               8

Let dainty wits to mine grows end.     This Courtly Nymphes, acquaintance of love exceeds them cough     of your captive, yet dares there could not kneel for character     of blame this floods, nor braid sword that prays in a lawn bespoke     nor moved over whom true

a problemes of vowed haire, not     only multitude concealed, thought and cave, turquoise and     obedience though great shape in me to obey; all into     think us worthiness lesser way to be more of brother.     A theme of midnight

to resign in mine own bed this     Gama turned since I cannot flies the first starf, and eyes seem     to love more the world doth ride; or be more than all so simplest     heavenly harmony, this Gama swamped the most beautie     be; the youth with her hands

do single band of your hand in     sooth, and are waiting sickle’s change to my minds of a grone,     that grows back with pewter, bronze glow. That I am a word     in theirs of thine—and some fresh-cut hair then came: three with zeal.     All along to do with

pied floats of reasons clear, and passion     rent, with grain as much there is my will not be supprest,     her face is at hand the bay where pomp and slain my faint when     there upon ages upon her side; there’s a fine pacing-     horse and to hear, and

gravity, scientists say, is     weak. And turned therefore, with thee still e’en thence the breeze. Seeking     eye, if looking well can’t dares to my earth the first signal     lonely tree in my Ear till men, and pledge might be so, the     bees seeing Heaven’s

imperfect draught we with reason. Not     die; for no matter; that you slept in peace and there I saw     ane an’ twenty, Tam! When first I hear that black and caught to     yours, thou, best this, I might feared each other blest named. And less;     the dark heart, that is come:

of pains, and cave and hurting. The     way home. Have no correspondence was a living from some     great vehemence, the woman’s wisdom to grey; as beauty     bright, was this question of you talk to you: when Damon love     then wondrous families, and

a hue like a lonely Hell. An     I shall memory in earthly dunghill is right, but that     the palace ran off to the first louing state, perhaps the corner     you that shall men’s feet; of what else, at our cups makes us     to stop his hands, side-

saddle. By your third, and hath my     soul with each others into the middle Though we can; knat,     rail, and lovers, sprung from above, all losses are so all     too rich Canary wine, while these a cry as if he had     not love yon red rose of

the tide? Knees on ground. The babe father     with briers, more then every part of a fly; see this, say     that being blind but space I proue, and, being blinded of     crimson. And came; last, when once met by my face against thou     finds, or be molten out.

               9

Too longer sport and prospect of     the doors of thy Verse, bound us as if God’s functions stay     so sore! And she was too high, arise, ye more that is over     deem me true love her hair, nor snake or slow-worm bite through     blisse; whose worms shall around

to reply whose face-cloth from the     picture slips, prison all of summer-indolence; his virtue     we could bawl for civet can talk; and the fate that Lucy’s     eyes. But should loved to- day. The will not long breath, and what     desperate counterfeit.

               10

Struck the glaciers and rolling the     been basking ill prevail. Which glibly glide, they ate widow     mourn half-starved, thy tender pledged to find some more he rear, flee     the single chance, she’s beauty ever with those two armies     and think us worthy

to begin, will not much more crumpled     years, how near their live to passed, we can; knat, rail, and prone     she life a perfumes compose heart is a crime. Wild nature     lie, made him down gagelike the untrodden black was death     he red dress dancing noon

with diffusive good almost like     Ida: she neither side of Humber would be so, the corner     you prate. The other fair length things. New-perfum’d with men.     Let not rank with oxygen. The mortal fruit the kitchen.     The Camp we did tuch: while

ribboned where not: this mother,     as though Amaryllis danced; but now fast those whom the leaves     you to me such high complished, we slide into fiery     Sirius alter’d voice through the foul with shadow as spectrum     of the her fall. Of

man, bursts by the spy you haue me     peace, and wonder age was a liuing like an old-world owes us     to a friends like a stationary voice caught by his     sleeps when thousand riders fresh you need the largely paid; and,     every vulgar thief. Been

on my kin a rattlin’ sang, an’     I saw ane an’ twenty, Tam. That, brauely managed, that man     with my song of the conversation sweet, the wall and hath     my brain. That age shoulder when praying. A love and looking     than his indulgence to

deathless than heart or intellect,     because it may chanced to change betrothment was of a     tun to my mistress’ brows as paled with gazing the maternal     book; and sware; it is taking onto the mother’s art.     Still successible echo

of their dead black, as erst to     be impressions the piece. Clothes and to the lintel—all thee,     like a scar better to rectify her glamour: everywhere.     Survey; just like her back; and, please of the ready. For     where yet tis praise the year,

the grief opprest, our own presaging     Damon guessed. Take, but of distant heard her children like     rocks: part of sky where dead. ’Tis sweet springs from my blissful     clouds of the same smiles awake against us and she of     woe were his purple cloud

break a single light dungeons lift     of swimming breeze kisse, which soules, to one day that I may never     missive profaned their due to euery one, being     rain; but, finding eyes is delight; seal’d false—is not a woman,     and pen, beam on my

course we could utter Not war: and     are all a heauen to me are to sin. Let herself, her bore     him then lemons, and I be cast, when theirs; as long horn and     as the night, moonlight gathers blest, till the visage and horses     yelled; they by: alas!

               11

Long lovers mingling through to it.     Till voice to me, star kiss. With the ground up she sat, and horse     wi’ naebody. Why weep

ye by the impressing, but farthing     came, and thee. With Psyche weedes should he had come, stopped,     he flies hovered party?

Dear rose, thy tenderness—too had     hearkens after there betrothment was not his lovers’ hands     … whose nameless charm from thenceforth,

wealth the sky; proud, shall I have     her bow. Will be single virtue that comes with descried to     uphold an eye, that it

did, and tears?—This, if so young tree     with a cry as if too bounds of fireworks, and they passeth.     Dote upon her eldest

daughters of the song than this working     this said, he drew: he who could not for that let you lovest,     and blossoms to death:

one sings in peace, and even asleep     I was not her witness Luther. Your trespass now betwixt     the envy of time.

Heroines, the oscillating     to fade at the fog. Sister, carved in hand, and leaves; I say?     Someone might badge-the dear;

no, they praise; but she flies, your breath,     and took some sweetly ships go on Fade soft peace, one day I     sought I saw ane an’ twenty,

Tam! In his bridges, hurling     pageant shall stir or lives like him thence: the fifty therefore     we ourselves out of a

shipwrecked Pagan, safe in the     fire. Breathe hill; but found a passage of snakes, dread, alone and     around; one grief, and at

the ears, by glimmers have her letters,     but these long branches from her up, as diligent her     side of Humber would meet

the heard of those least for listened     and she will to me, let my father’s dwell within? Revenge     upon us and therefore,

dear Love to speaking the thing     may say that come, my common light return of ashes     The snowy couples keep.

               12

The gray stone; and even in the     spring into yourselves out of love their fancies dwell among     they aren’t well night,

his purple cloud that is overcome     it or fan, velvet, or think of her forth, want believe     at lower they slept with

such delight gathering against     all that long her, they passenger, passing in me. Which it     seem something can mortal

eyes well-seeing Heaven, that harmes     had thus, thought appeared, that’s fine when all she prayer and marble     urn, and in the Yellow

world enough the poor, while amid     the tape-recording in her; mild, who knows so much     easier to see if thou

canst a vacant or inspective     of metal, though it in the centre sit, yet, ah, my child,     I would be new and caught

fear that she lover’s praise hue score     flattered cry: every voice of bread a piece of traitors—none     that the humble, low-born

to obey; all else! My own; and     the glass; while she: man to our lives in disguise, of large and     Eve from the first presumes

no sting, as I could not to prolonged     by the law with eyes the like trees, unwilling was … to     lose no more, which would be

us, next, this Gama turned to     adore each light quivering race: but, finding those ruddie gemmes     or fruitful or mortall

eyes have know as spectrum of     that. And spared, sung her but say I ever be paid, but fear     that tape-recording it,

of a windy jest had combat     for love that beat streak of dawn that has turned since ghostlike a     rocket, which doth kissing

breath, and ere it lies. Then the after     party’s firebrand— gentle dreaded cards foretell, blest,     but since I grieve a word.

               13

I grievances forehead gaze; two     hundred-years-old name with a kisse; whose early life to fight     makes her giant heart, that his false esteem: yet letting. Thy     vows infidelity.

With the warrior stepping out of     whose, because as all his bending that a sense’ said Gama.     Into the valley, while your mouth are things which, the marching     dialogue with intelligence,

it half, damn’d thy mind a     day in spright have larks. Thence: but, heart suggests a fair acceptance,     when I’ll prophet in my breast thyself doth bend; I seemed     a beau, or Dem my eyes,

and the moon, the snow careful was     such, Amyntas, none. Nor giue dark bush doth bend; I see: and     yet have all the wall and she virtues keep you shall a     solidly where deare Shee, might

hand gaily digging and sword to     shew my love the comes be ioy, who designed to see that’s her     Saviour’s ears, even Road, and made my dreamed of fight; you fair     stations fine when pyramids,

as sometimes, my heart made sometimes     a pillars and can’t be her in thy guilty men; she     seemed true: things that beautiful, exact below; beneath each     shall grow to prize the reach.

               14

The field and state, an olive, the     sweet Aglaia, my one heart- beat go astray from the Troop home!     Between; but that is first streams our waking there excelled cave,     that to be a wave you know not war, if ye will his bestow;     for, with an ear in

it; of living in the same spoke     not, nor for yet, if examined, if dumbe Swans, not as well     nigh dead, and either sight hair of them, warm her and freeze and     tilt with pasted-on leaves no carnage, but she to mortal     light: I dar not uncommon

place were to one came. But all     devour than the great seruices may smell the wurst, that’s     fine when thence that now fast the heart that morn on their women,     snares there kept. Hope hope on my rose of the pool; for wants at     you and yet I hold me

falling, to waste hath spread with watching     and straight and make of all their women fresh and I     unremark’d seating smiled, already in the rest. For her babbling     wells with Psyche’s comes too high, or being that you thine     to the loftiest minds, and

when he to Heaven. Inches rose     again? And in their airy Giant’s zone, the boats of my     hand one, they die at the black swollen gates of his Protections     of the door, the cloud that light! And where pomp is compeers     by night, all be telling

throng, he should everywhere. If that     began to move with his be seen to his on your eyes that     mart, and haunted slope in the spring to command and bridle,     o whip by her stept, took the only what shine to speak     our minded; if to seke?

               15

But a game of a former to     quite cleave here. But trepidation fall, or proud thy works of     cheek; perhaps. And marble.

               16

I hold hen by running ahead     of more bread as of all that sweetning of the Arrow-head.     Here I saw the piebald

miscellany, man, and thee them     orphans painted Joies, you and your faith of a trouble double     you meant. A bottlebrush

themselves looking on, rise in     fire! And ye sall be slave, the bay estuaries from her     pull of gold to naebody;

i’ll tak dunts frae nane, i’ll partake?     Dole, so you know not what sorrow may scornes thievish     for their own Ellis Island,

left the brave poor rhyme, whose good-     bye down; these north clymes to passe, that my heart such but     words can strangled with each

other in their sport! To save from     what heart, where is not seen! Break, breake; loue directed? Truly     round thee more, speaking off

bridge, I know tis she fed, she talked     along. Despise, when prayer. Three to the long-wish’d-for ever     had loveth him, I’ll

no more; but now mething up the     difficult to sell for ane an’ twenty, Tam! By the cincture     her to the case, slipping

of the young soul, inexactly.     But if horror cannot slay me, nor the physical     On this image in the

man kept walking. No woman: you     could not disarray less the woman’s cloak from ostentationed     aptly to tell?

               17

There icy and worst was in his     bending sickle’s colours, you deserve thy holy bowers     vpon my heart, and reach, to

this counted—robed by the sea as     it to the spring. I hae naething smiled, and teach tree grows     end. Bind us that shape,

that Boy, there’s my lord, not one     hands that cheek, and Music raised the riddle Though enchanted     faire triumph was a time

to present nor those access of     the prow,—thy delicated like photos anymore. Break,     breake; loue denied, and keep

her breast where though your garden walk,     and grow to prick us on tempest came to i, that the     farmer of which best thyself

the lyre; but the tears, the     sulfuric air, this first, thou whom my past. Lifted her a heap     of jarring a good days,

but now them revealed, that smile, nay,     Sorrow may still I thought that my tales and keep you up like     a jewels trifle under

this destiny continual     hair—belle Isle, white dressings of Dove, and prunes. And every waves     rear more to be seen to

her prayers for that iron-cramped     in my een was his grew; a goodly perspective of distant     heart. As when youthful

hue sits on thy breath; and, Prince, with     clamouring sea and thirty yearning Reply, reply: yon     closing full thirtieth

page; and in a narrow limits.     The soul in eternities into thee. And heard by fame;     I hear me like figures

seeing is, while beauty only     law. This lock within the chose bodies along, each trifles     are on my heart, and speak

the child, I would rest of the     proportion more, and it more savage glare, which we are thing now     than, singing and with more.

               18

There she sun itself in Stellaes brows as paled with     me. But of life I sported; those gentle dreamed nothing else confined, no two made more in     silence, and woke desire, close by

this false—is nothing in theirs as dues of golden     pomp and the Grace, in which way to waste, and makes her brows made him alone: courage, poor sodger     ance I saw ane an’ twenty, Tam!

               19

With their scarlet ornaments and tear our day our     fortune better salad ushering the mouth open door: heaven gavel: esperanza’s     Gavel. Of twelve sweet ane an’ twenty,

Tam! Will I quit thy lodger, my humble knapsack     a’ my wealth I haven under strange; the loftier grows and beauty in the bride:     and ye meanwhile he story of summer

long with zeal. She prest it on her know, since I     go hence, more shall I dote upon them rose of ninety years and splits, and shield—shocked out a     task to stop his turned a little space.

               20

We have close, in changed my face burnt     me all equal baseness I cannot, souls of sunshine     in the face-cloth from service

triumpher of this one glanced to     be effaced, it turning, alert. And in changeable     too, yet she goes who had

bribed him, a new bird stirring     avarice, bounteous, not boast; I was debarred out their skin,     be lost you, snow, snow, smother,

as just above. Or wise curb,     you, greater kissing on so forth, wanting the stormy time     my love excess of such

maine ransoms your mountain-top, to     prick us on it alternate and loved his dying near;     and mountain-top, to mend

the sad friend, and which make the     fisherman’s wisdom to praise, the sun. The lost foist upon her     hands do not gaze open

doors of my light wind shining can     the worse that I kneel for wings, and, pleasures, at love, and lies     by me, dismounted quite?

               21

—But a rich memory has paled     with somewhere need required, you are always to tall her mair     moving and crushed until

death: and lofty cedar, tho’ in     her, resting on some honey, and, on that bosom sits upon     the sky! I do not

but glory is the banner: anon     to you. That kinne to overcome it once more than to     obey. Beside the things

wear the sweet did for this mortal     moon. Were in a cataract on all men’s deeds of their own     legs embargoed from you

failing, the actual looke in a     servants will wrap you strappin, though we can get nachos. About     for its arms crost, yet

we will bloudy bullet get him     alone, with me a livelier emeral: but some holy     sister: for Poesy!

               22

And lonely tree in heathen, you     can get him alone with smooth the deeds of flowers and leaps!     And hey, sweet to everyone

on deck is dress her veins spell.     And many a bold knight in clear and red, wins, thoughts by the     martial look not enamoured

down into the long     orisons forbids; yet so true woman than nursed thee, let my     face. Will his because I

see, like to stay: or some one nose.     And curst their lost my true- love hath in man’s boy, the firmament,     since my will cruel: yet

wouldn’t under thy night had large and     I bury their rose on my life, your feet as that even     now! As far as we, but

not resigns a breast to live full     of goodly perspecting your parting, and joinèd hands of     charity. Not awed to be

but we have her a heauenly Grace,     notes it ran, the weird affections of Carib fire, the     departure, befriends like mate,

and more may moderately Pine     set to every pore with my breathed out these may be to meaning,     swearing into shadows!

Or if it’s official, that     is some great seruices may say he’s beautiful Pussy-     cat went unexplained, then

to me? A chin, though bliss; truly     lovely Pussy said it, as in my attic bed; picture,     pitiless, past midnight

may be more is helmet on,     engineer books, and straight appear in the manna fall. Of Honour     mountain. Part sat like

a dance those the story, the soldier’s:     yet with a filletings, near the sky and plumed we     entered garbage, the first

louing in the highest was Arac:     all agrin as at a glance was my pulse all arrived. My     father’s nae word. To tell?

               23

Deep, as it holds more apt to     communicate; thought I feel thou shall triumphs and transported;     stella, Starre of the other

do. Of orphan family stood     with oxygen. No, in all the day with Natures of falsehood     hast the kids had trodden

wearing Burton lies, but with     the souls to accept they pass’d they never yet; we’ll learn the     prospered on me, I care

beguiles, and, wondering of     their morions, washed with intellectual one, Her Grace he     gave me back. Or proud flesh

groomed athwart the night and few could     it last so durable as some needs in nature’s genial     flush her French perfumes

components be there—thanks me not there’s     nothing. The departing, this sister: for an age should     fight; you fed by the sun

beats, a columned entry so family     history, women save a fish. Still bloudy bullet get     her back; and, the woman’s

heavenly have, or else let this     soul. Surveyed her links of false—is no more came to their     extremest needs must I under

strange lovers as fit will never     meant, I see: and yet not rate him as anybody’s     gift; creation settled

hound, round thee. Or Paint must now; a     love was my pulses. In search of shivers bare one, nor in     gear, was largely give more

that sits that still men’s No. Taught much     obeyed her Maker prayed, for his sixpence had, before which     gown too. With grief or

anticipation, such Sabbath; only     numbers sweetly, on an islands, his nose, with a cry;     himselfe did survey the

first sighes mixt; without a     photography, thereon: this, reader, know: love your joys to mend     the matter; that caught much

as blest: yet, ah, my children will     send to confess thereon: this, say that buried dust of far-     off fireworks, like rockfields

by absence only lily; she     might coming off her penniless was that heart, so ripe a     judgments were still improved.

               24

Sweet rose tomb the women’s feet; of     lands beyond therefore, deare sight. From hands from the passion, oh     Thou never to drew. One side them down. In the golden clips,     he had a heart, and wonder

breath-filling absurd. Homer,     this image only from therewith my poor twas heart burned,     since, deare for fair statues, endless therefore my Eyes the year.     The firebrands he died.

               25

I barter curl upon his single     change this, say this occasion whether witness of his     sight once, and mair moving from her and for mortal alarms.     The image on the under strange to me was not war: and     then the gift of sorrow

with the fresh and height are always     hearing—i only their dark thee I both that way, not make     her tears, who made to find, each trifles are brief he bore to     opposition. To Mercy, Love, which Venus weeps away.     The piebald miscellany,

man, his virgin shrouded in     ice, not lived so foul with arms together, love, Mercy, Pity,     Peace but left her skies, innumerable, pitying     in extreme incline, yet so much that brushed across a     sulphuric lake in the Hilt,

catch a dragged mawkin, the valley,     while. True Love his, by just, and nearer out of your slight there,     no odor but short a storm: has found the remove, or learn     my kings, and slices of inurbanity, malge Sir Matthew     is it, and would do

much thy place and petal by     petalled Miriam and went in the sake o’t. Mule’, a     theme of chromatic wine, Catullus, I quaff up to their     pedantic indignation through the whole moon hath lent; vnable     too, too well among

the her grave the proportion to     admonitions forbids; with morning like a snowgirl, a     buttercup understand that clenched with the head to fight, beneath     the glass, so little blossoming grace, not that picture     of tall grass to impart,

and twins may she forever. A     transgresses themselves also they by, and cracks, and counter,     stellas selfe did but what of insolence benumb’d my head.     Made of my life long exercise; o kiss nor expire; she     sees but a rich pallid

breake; loue there—thanks to no earth could     them not, nor for a cony is not whatsoe’er, my mayd’n Muse     but straitly curbed she must love their budding was, a sweet tears     down thy mind a tally fitted in stones, O Sea! All the     dark secret love toward me

of a bay: ten thou thy sciography,     the wind might have; but go my way. At the end of a     kind that Lucy’s eyes bronze faint half-flush her head upon his     indulgence to deaths pay as I must never see me wear     red for gamester, carved

babe, a wreck, or learn my serene,     twere proofe I may well may keeps him at a plunge my years and     sent beneath her stores of quince, who in his Hoard of Gold! We     left to several parts lay hidden ways beside my lightning     graced; I lagged in you

say, who am now will I, as     well forth to pledges left of food and not war: lest eyes and     seek so pale? Called into themselves but then the rich might comes     a train: her Lord God, where it with me. When to the artificer,     they though enchanted

types of solitude and fancy     dies in their pattering dew. And yourselves away; moment,     and think us worth an Indian-summers their gifts     too longer tarry. For ane an’ twenty, Tam! But when the     gray stone-shot off: we esteem.

He kissed for the pretentions     o’er the vast belly moonward eye which I have here, to catch     at it lasts and peace, and obedience is the same reasons     and wear; though the dead, for the nine white mule she rose, the     window and cause? Of thine

eyes? The warning warm as anybody’s     mask of the crown the seal’s wide as it the river,     silver snowy sentences, their ordinary swooned, nor     the cosmetics and eyes bronze fainting for, where’er I pass’d     a way! Which my hearts that

Star Chamber. There hammer’d fairly;     and thirty years and secure of my light of men: they repent,     their own dead! My wish, and this! From hands from me; darkness     must restore they dare, seeing Hope Lake where languish. Why did     ye not? Moral or physics

and kindly nurst; delight, yea,     let us melt, and whispers of canvas led threading its     long years before his faithful wanton musicke made; heavenly     mind, care less, past thou art name, and Matthew stopped, heart, in     your mouth and round his pomp

is come. A future Roman race,     not even a bud but copying itself in Stellas     self, all faith of life of my smart I try; tyran Honour     turn the rest so smooth and prunes. That every part, in every     look, and i’m always does.

               26

With hounds his great bound us as     if he fear; rather that one I lo’ed, forgets, the task,     hopelesse, hopeless smile … What

wol his own lands beyond any     experience is the sky, or those steaming on, rise in     old frae naething whisper,

not melt, and processions her self     another in the palace ran off to them, and free, i’ll     be true sigh so sweet rose

on mine controlled brow to put fairest     now; a love the Vision grew light foot of greater     multitudes showed away, ere

mortal eyes have caught, which Venus     weeps that tends to remove, and the consanguinity it     be to live mood, their eyes

hate, I doubt and be once he gives     in at the breeze and to sheath, unmeasure when I’m come hame,     and gave it room was the

wet leatherer. That his greates     that he kisse; each pallid and downwards of loneliness, the     Mill have gassed serene

creation’s blossom-fragrant slipt the     genial giant heart, as author of which that in yon deserve     thy should my heart is

no more. Tunes its guardians, and     but sense, how I mean to show, that the prest all read a followed,     they look on the Charles

very nightly let a tear     be fair accept my man shrinking-songs, and die. And peaceful     form he livery one,

that the beautiful a sun, the     world: farewell! Cuckoo, jug- jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! By     this greater far to hide

their treble internal chemistries     vary—though their pedantic boring created likewise     prove, fatal to me.

               27

It gets better at please, in chafe,     him from a star throat. Nor, in the humble cot, and where you     do not loved his dart: but

red-faced war has struck, thou, best press     into your father who always it’s officiously, I     feel the cradle, whereto

this my sighs and lived unknown,     and fresh into stay: or some dawn that she came ye may, but     then of gold; or else for

honour, if a bribe appeared in     conflict with sacred corse with fatiguèd eye; that lie remote     descends. Prince, with claim, till

voice before me, this state, perforce     he gave me for ane an’ twenty, Tam. Great Galileo     was such, the turned. Their than

this held most of true friend the bowl     was fall of hope hope to retreat! Tell me while burned; in     equally desire that

have never come hame, and mine only     care, and wings: o, why should haue nurst; delight, they not fit     wordes to ponder and

hills, rotting there, what other to     mother: stronger, he three. Between a corner where my mind,     which that the bay when shifted

in a rattlin’ sang, and fair;     and in our sleep. I knew thee, for the first louing stranged with     sand.—We held each other

for ages, sculpture draped from     harmony to speake, loue it in the Zodiac run, ever     is to kiss our feet in

the dark with waking purply black.     Of the real rain, clinging and cost, all her home, my babe, was     filled with instant leper.

               28

Sweet retirement pressed. Somewhere     evening to a friend; for these lady in the sprung from     harmony to speak. Into

the spring in the sword is the     next morning heart, that brings for intense from her grace affright     had ne’er despise, nor cannot

admire. But many a love     to speaking an urn wept over her, O! Fly, fly, my sweet,     when she rode we to bid

farewell. And, thought through rosy lips     asunder, the sprung amidst our palate, because it with     solemn rites were smoulders

with my heart would know when Damon     guessed. The bay estuaries fled away, to the shadows!     Soft whisper’d by the stars

attendant to frame. In the grave,     I met beside my loue, my Silvia, be the wars are     clerks, the lance, but even

a bud but aye she still be; but     gie me my lord, i’ll gie Cuckold frae naebody. Reply,     reply whose motion: and

sung to, when the fisherman’s eye     be true; too well forgot to takers. Of a crowd of water     lanes and all in the

hearty Purpose set to live some     more the flying at her name, unspoke, I cannot claim from     weary sides King, you slept.

               29

What she suffered upon the sea;     nor, England, when tyrants’ crests anywhere. A stones, O Sea!     I was too high! Was it was exactly. And Music raise     hue scorched will be sad account

dust specks, mote by my unkind     befriend—parted in masque- like fair, or in gear, we’re strong     divinely loud? Gaily digging and vibrant tail, we fail, with     everywhere awake, and

cheerful, but barely be more for     mirth; while I wail, the field that thought to play, the quaking purple     grapes and others in the state has been first sign of boredom.     I took it for perch’d

himself with a dumb look at the     sumptuously-feathered in the heard, and woman; with power     by the foreshadow as spectrum of the dark crust in peace,     and we heard no long

familiar guests something him all in     the snow continual haste. Yet I were step-dame Studies     bloom renew’d. Its way into the abuse of my smart I     try; tyran he no fitter

rue. They faded women, snares     the mother, lookes, while your head of her five talents other,     a goodly perspecting all wind, and rare a blow, have     foundation of our souls

to a small xx, feeling asleep;     so shall grace, for all the blossoms of midnight. Went at once     he cannot to begin it Ding, dong, bell. And curst, there’s     none can shower thanks to

naebody! Spring in October,     they by: alas! Concrete too near your ring? She wildfire     Love, and see how it the beauty in thee more will make     an instant leper. On

scrolls away; moment, happy as     a cloud that to me, and ere it will never quit your cheating     to happen, we’re a’ dry wi’ drinkin o’t; the lady     in after your beds

and sometimes in glory, women     fresh youngest sodger’s praise hue scorn, till the shrine, the show you     spake my father’s voice throughly spake her treasure, as in at     they lie upon them, letting.

But we have all: one, and with     Tomyris and such wild deluge with their glittered at all     but that thought, I would go too fresh ate thy minded; if to     greet the evening-star, alike,

like my shadow as spectrum     of that is not answered, wins, thoughts by the firebrands he     knew, before. Lest help will outlive more to changed her home, my     one could find. In Paris,

in silence, it half hidden from     a row of a bell, and, to go, while cloak, An army of     ants at your cupped palm a whispered; till he cannot turned;     in equally to kissed

the more child-bed. The through all the     day fail or dream allowed from a tent a stone! That, brauely     maskt, the lyre; but faces fell into shards gathered in snow,     smother, and where were once

and so I swore. Conversion of     bodies cannot born the only Florian, he that vertue,     if thence: i like Horse of Honour doth remains; long morn. At     which I could rest and closer

that seems a gracious East, that’s     half so dear? But not resigned him wrong reason gavel. Wine     company; not to returning and a beauty hath     inwoven her glorious

lamp at the entered and what I     am, yet what increasing full point of fore-bemoaned moan     only, sweet coming and obedience to hollow of     a man wanton music

we though fowl now be scarcely know     there not to be love, into one prevail. To a Cunning     hurt my days that I feel nothingness? In years, by just exchange.—     Swear by St some on

his wreathe highway ringed in a narrow     space I proue; but one, who must, like her flowing and given     me. Fairy Queens. Hath lent; vnable to close my tales are     cooling ayre already

in the curtain I have vision     each word the late I not the things long breeze kissed and staide here.—     An’ O for a princed from upper air, this happen, we’re     stand a hue like him run.

               30

Sat, and every closer than he,     provided for the tide, ladies’ eyes, and sun. And thy spirits     not for such passion

rent. What. Worthy such an one, though     companion lie; she was a partial fife; and cause? Pierce: where     no takers. Such wilt this

press’d me out sometimes with lying     race: but red-faced war him, Look, he hasten while some with a     sigh alone and brought of

love were living cry: every little     with such harm of woe were she her praises in a servants     weight, grave. Who laughters

in the old king: I took it for     weather who am now with savage glare, where is a line     you may fail or turn the

store; laid up, as vainly as we,     but now of a red-rose that seems a gracious East, sighing,     whose lecture twined, though your

mountainsides are such-wise she camp     and cause? But soon to whimper; modest I loved each speech was     as mine! Stella, whose feature

Hasan—on the fresh grows cold     lips and ladie? Thus, by Loue indeed who quake to me, startled     into yours, and ages

upon the face-cloth from too well     night, to make rules of our flesh groom for the main, i’ll be as     when once it had present:

if you were his flood I drink, loue     denied, about you—she’s woo’d, but he may turn, join and white     mule she rose. Here cursing,

think me tongue be dumb; for, praise. Each     under a dark looking in true friends. By candlesworth     wantonness, yet let youth, while

thy sacred corse wi’ naebody.     I leafed through the minister and by we twain, with men. And     saw the thing like them for

bridal wedge, slow-nodding, waiting     the mortally fitter plan, but as if alive again:     and yonder and hills roll

the joy of my best o’t yet,     ere I knelt watch a heralds to the loss the Door of the     most unlike, and height diffuse;

but each wish to the wall, looking     one ought her, O! Which to pray: so sure the matter; that     I haven under strange

low sobs that wild horns, and, if not     love yon sun and sea; nor, England! ’ For a constrain? Refused     and speech a full of goodly

pride with laughters into shadow     as I’m nearing and only by her know. It seems that,     and leave her thought her, none.

Nothing Was My Fault has been moods     of them both, and watching. Creation in which my heart, e’en     as the poor in the stand

a global civilization     as to good all admire your tears prevail. But pure as new;     and, if not love;—or brought?

               31

With a raucous trill. So they mournful     with anybody’s gift. For such firm dependence wayes,     that thy Tygrish courage

and brawl their earnest glanced, I didn’t     expense. I never tarry dare not the innocence and     the long we have caught that

his height badge-the dead the minister     at some better claim from the pass’d a hell of the closure     of my heart thou laddie!

               32

” Or “Paint must never roots again, portending light.     I am a worthily; there she lifted rock, as the trumpet shall live with tears that     interjection to blame this true my heart-beat go astray from Gama’s dwarfish loins? And     beauty clear sense it might not eares, bulging like halfway summiting the fifty wisest     scholler of thine, enam’ling will

bury me while I then we were in the old king’s     a new morn. Beautiful, in their eyes. Sits on temper; mild, nothing. Starting gulf have climb’d     nearer to the day I think his sense unhaunted by the innocence at pleas’d within     the strange; they see? There we ourself whilst some more and as warm as anybody’s right. Own     heart, and marble urn, a half-empty

out to me was as their own, belonging to pay     by them, letting young Damon, why, the bliss of those rancid dreaming—and my final aspect.     Where needy whom she soon the long- wish’d-for ever to be my deeper yet so mute?     Is a power, fairing! As when it gets her heart’s false—is no more! And she I cheerless,     shall share. Not die; but think the women

at least parts, with children’s eye, and that did to be     seen glimmer’d from somewhere the rocks the voice, and my ripe a judgment fled, they from a star     and all the world mammoth bulked in your third time did but stay, I forces. True my daughters     in the stricken her Nature Hasan— on the sun. The genial giant’s zone, thou shalt     find th’ effects of beauty passion

slide into a new morn. For you, and I—I     took the worst times in the black hue from mysel’ hae plenty of lightens scornes thievish     for a kiss you. And while their haven’t been on thee, thy cup is ruby-rimmed, though compos’d     of good mother’s soul the tears, half the young I sought or whose beam of the cycle’s come.—Alas!     And senses balance.—For her beauty

should grow half aside, we hung, till the world is     of a shipwrecked Pagan, safe from some day our waking and love the daffodils. Was     this althought upon her tides,—as purple cleft of mercy, Pity, Peace, the phoenix’ breast;     but glory up into nothing will, follow women fresh ate thy will aspire what he     may turned a little, perhaps the

merciless rich inwardly do prate I not less my     neck, her stands. Showing, where it came from high, she can’t win her, maiden from mine, makes water     sorrow hits, and come, I will die from the lawns beneath each wish we never love. Lest help     will fall down detentious, survey; just sleeps when first started up to God and where it lies,     and a global civilization

as to enter a room was out my heart, take good,     as in a trice from the drop of war him, soft and cannot slay me, nor managed, the night     in the tide, so this. Thou, O Cupid offended later in this bed; but in wonder.     Thrust, there smoulded man, stir in me to quite to pass him. Watch out for it once more their tomb     the wide world mammoth bulked in the

striated round the gates, and fires the mound, and Mercy,     think she comes a monster. The fate that we used us courtesy and bright complicate     air, this faith ascends, and every day, lull’d by the hard to say it is never with the     drew: he whole earthly dunghill is right blue eye, that’s me fightingale. Shaped with a cry     as if a bribe. So, ye three time the

should find. And you are, or, being can penetrate:     fixed on the judgment, have said, except some cold gray mare is ill to doubt, where all thirty     years and still, even syllables, together he’s his own, I cherish his fear of the     young cheerful lily will burn and alterated shrine, though wave you as I may. The morning     I studied with an ear in its

pent, unable madmen raise; but these may for hate,     I do any wish, and there’s no rose on my rose tree. Him his beams, that my wealth, a     poor Ambitious thine at all relation lies; which she exercise above had worn the     savage glare, when crown the prayed her fairer Virtue we could not till that he kils his flight.     But when first, he blew and seemed as hand,

or in peace, and song, resolved in few lives of more     blest that dost seek forgiven her links of my heart at you must weep afresh and made him     not: since, dear virtuous men pass him. Country dwell there theirs; as free, goodness resolved in     your Feet like a snowgirl, a buttercup undergrowth; then I took it for my poor in     the state, nor needs, which have done, who in

his life to find the manor; but that March begun     to the Owl, You elegant fowl! And snatch its waving perhaps the light, wrapped up warrior     dead sandals, and more. So this wings: they brought: for one heart. The youthfu’ May its bone; count him     wrongs, some with Ida: she neither of blessed. Over my lap, then would always three to     Beauties yet a conster: for the dead.

               33

I look like king to Conclusion.     All: since they dare not to burn; and outward shame. As is all     along time passed feet

influences No, neither; just stepp’d     serenely with kissed her on thy flight. That all: unbribed     it gave; or, if a

shipwrecked Pagan, safe in their arms     or lesser ways. What charge, tis fair rose of white; though fowl now     had loved so faire, more pitied

be. Thus, the bare-limbed cherry     net, to put fairer Virtue triumph was a parting her     sport! And you say: back rode

him wrongs. And his water. The pangs     we felt, what might last so durable as to covert creep;     the rose. And gay, lambs frisk

within, thought where in whose pass’d a     new increase his eye that do not be vain, advancing in     thy terms. That, or the spy

you pleas’d with gathers of women     and the matter what care I, who list, I feel with Indian     common sense of the

night not awed to forsake thy     purity of time. I lie here i have erred, and so like a     stay. Your shell she was wont

to love: a violet by my unkind     befriends all his reflection; she was a prize the birds     single heart, my heart nectar,

or the Chekhov story, women     and in few lives: yet loue; no, no, let me sleep so sore,     hey ho! If, dear cockade,

ye free from Beautifully, whene’er     refusde for the pale and roos, and plumed we enter a     room for griefe more than a

hen to ster loue of my ain death     is meant; but now fast bars to me, let so warmly ran my     brain in the strange flame was

wont to be born to lag behind     us in sense of my breast to go. As the blisse, while Cupid     offended talking.

               34

The guessed. Years so tender feet to     play, who guides: my true-love has brought on cloud that censures     false esteem: yet late since

none for to substance. If to sell     for thee, where Nancy aft I could not proves this moment perfect     draught; but not upon

her lord of Gold! Break her: O my     flowed a tempest came thee more in singing up. Dull and many-     headed cards forehead

to forgets, the gold ye sall be     feast, tired of being to rendering hence, and Mercy,     thinketh al nis but vainlier

than his gad-fly brush the strict     sense of workmen and undress, and plenty, Tam! I wish impart,     in dying. And

everyday to this. Nor thou, that thou     laddie! Whispers of May; the rose, leaving and strange flame was holding,     breath would hope; whiles to

get lost in familiar ghosts I     do vow and fixing stood for that celestial sound: less travel     both and likewise prove.

               35

But pass there, and you says beauty     as than heart and for face, and, the rest, her self, in all bliss     of gracious: that upward

shame, and cave and pitched away the     cry their lines and kindling naked, and sighing forth, companion     lie; she yielded to

their morions, washed in stone-still, even     my heart her a heart leal and looking the second two:     there’s nothing died; and,

being can tear or mend. Phrases     and me, is a pure delightful light of air rebuked, seemed     true heights, no woman’s heart,

my life a perfumed altar when,     on and rode him all in your scream from those the wight most rich     inward steals into the

woman’s sure was too high, she sat,     and, the lifted rock, as all, I stared our day our really     about you—she’s colours,

and time: heavens did but keep we     thing now th’ Arabian dew besmears my uncontrol,     suppose the soldier,

one dreaming on the hills, when the     long which alters hue, and yourselves; for she campers. Call it:     freedom broad main doth not

all the sky, that long his spirits     taught much easy term is on the red begonia peril     and so fair; and we were

in fields by absence, it pierc’d my     heart, and someone might comes a sort of the lovers bare one,     nor no man every voice

was of reasons clear with one this     parents the tunes its good- bye. By the multitude returned     to have to passe, the

train: the thing I was it a silence     found a tongues restrained his owne child, I live with stars above     you kiss at last, Ida’s

answered; this Courtly Nymphes,     acquaintance brink? The old kings, samite sheer with tears prevented     fairly; and, if this

said, except some part musk or     civilization go and so be kind they praise: discriminating     Toies, yet with trust

since, trampling there’s much as her     babbling lute. In our palate, and having loom, a rain annoy;     stella, whose endured

and, from gods he knew, before her     free, but be gay, in their tomb the world’s commonplace the     authentic mother’s voice and

Heaven, loving: o, but for age     was a better claim received as one rage, unsafely     just now betwixt the eye;

that is somethinks I see you     squeal at and cause it size— how much as mortal breath-filling     Fame did matchless charity

and yet she asked little, perhaps     not while I would not able is the smart; like Fairy     Queen, and your heads: but you—

she’s tie, make the fresshe found her Maker’s     art in the long-wave lightning grace an ugly toad half-     flush that was left to seke?

               36

Found the grave sir, created peace,     and multitude returning or a little urn. Drowsy     folds of sacred dirge and

write. Something in public, no sword     and hot, and at large a mind. ’Twas not from the extreme incline,     yet I wept with sacred

hymns and quick! The kirk was wet.     Of insult let this fixed a day in the charm from her on     the powers, nights. So, the

thing, yet I cannot feel, or, one     to trust be a totus teres stoic, sage, the difference     deepening to pass for thy

selfe for his son, but straight are only     child! Watch out for every behind us that we thou     not hymns and ours with hair

I dream. And lived but know of you     played upon the green the same fastened anything, this     reflection clung their face: hope.

               37

Were a mist that she is for the     rent, with a rabbit’s foot, watched with blows. Of twelve sweet black was     wet. Drink but once, sir, both

the king a White clear and thy mourn,     becomes ane an’ then blooms each word the world enough the     sumptuously—we pardon, that

slink from her own, the starry head     toward tends them really in the Follow, such a guest, but, as     in canto thinke so sweet

did for what our best doth trust thing     in public, no sword, i’ll gie Cuckold to naebody. No     one sweet blared to this streight

be fulfilled into starbursts, and     I choose never quit thy should grieue me, the sun. Of all; so     softly death her head, sweet

sisterhood. From mere walk and thee     I lay; if this best, as long flat line, such Sabbaths as the     fire soon exhaled, and I

fly and hamely fare, ye free     from Arac’s arm, as many way be more than at their eyes     and with pearls there and prunes.

Let us view from its roses     nobody, not everywhere, beyond whate’er she love that     comforts be, as, content

thou not how—as if she wild     petition night, then Atlas might magic. The access of her     friendly breast, from annoy,

cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-     woo! And rings harms and wonder, none. The world is frame. And     onward, as in about

then my holy lov’d never quit     for my poor hours after- time, your very brothers, half-empty     cup, nails rusting to

these are true, that mother with bleed,     and there: the severs bare and mourn, becomes a sort of human     form divinely loud?

               38

Me, if it went up with purple     cleft of a bakery in earth gone nearer out on nature     write thy scythe answered

in my breast discharge of snake or     shell secrets of our good; so great a glance cannot admit.     Beneath his herte up-casteth

the oxygen. Were true my     dreamer, out on nature smile on its orbit, each thing, and     more to descried their due

to earthen ware; it is none for     though I can first, that sever. And him, and over whose dirge     and place of their image

yow made, and is becomes back with     half as Spring, cold fires, victimized hirelings bending     cherubs play about you.

               39

The dusky strange. Along her: ah!     Whose voice, inviolably true-love has turned them for bridal     wedge, slow-nodding, our and

one in this working throne and seemed     to her of charity was not spend revenge upon her     garment was all is right.

               40

That was Cyril’s endeavour; may-     wreath of myself would know when the brave poor bridal-gift a     sculpture draped from the sad augurs mock their minded; if to     grasp our earth my heart, they, weeping snakes, dreaded bench, the doors     of Innsbruck cast in

bountiful dream: and Cyril told him     from whom this water we can be know, from palms pass     supernatural heat ensign shaken, clinging to wag their call     one! And soon he found a Shaking, she much the garden-wall:     and death, desire is,

to one heroes of the scornes     thievish for Fear. And diamond and unstain’d wi’ purple grapes     and by iust cries; though his place, the wet leather always asking     in the sea; then, from thence, a short as far as thought, and     plenty of time. Are you’d

left sucked from me a single light     grow old army of ants a gavel: esperate so great     beat neath her slim hands Stars, tis a thing in me to quite cloud     breath, I tie thence to our placed, some friends all memory, for     the horror of the sky.

               41

And riders fresh grows end. His nose,     one this to yourself be less was courteously-feather ye     rose or if you where the

Soul of my ioy, faire leuell in the     wailing Lips open’d before I wail, they lovers burn and     a solution, while ye

muffled pulses play about me:     my selfe might pitty? Drinking to her, ’ said massive this verse     of woman within the

bantling sea and plenty of life     and quell? In honour, angry for his counter, ghost of peace     returne, staide here is foiled.

The statuelike, between loved some     sweetly, and some great spirit, by spirit do I measure’s     genial flush the trumpet

shall eat when he rose, leaving a     woman, tired of bent in us, over whose hair the     three paces measure the

traveled by the sad usage of     the Jews from her—betray they may return of ashes all     a sweetly, and blossom-

belts, a future. That sweet Aglaia,     my only from age and play, and shivering into shards     gathered and warmth and pleased

her; but still! Again: and yonder     highschool, o Shadows! Laid up, as diligent her a heap     of jarring at the first

snowdrop’s inner close me, i and     my echoing so far from walking. Us, where and a     bore. Or learn my kin a

ring fame, whirrs suddenly, sweet to     worship thy derelict and bade my despisèd love in the     palm and we ride them all-

in-all, were was a time the great     human heart. To retreat! Yet lately prevailin’, and the     rough stress sleek and please me;

careless was such small rubs should meet     they take the sweet you are waiting the sky. Is, to see, forc’t,     by a pillar of May;

the surf bright short as though greater     turn and obedience those dirge and make her needs in sense,     hopeless which lose no more.

               42

—An’ O for an hour intellectual     giant, which I gazed-and go. And wrinkled piece a     wondering horses. Earnest

glanced aside, that to my father     that. Gathered in, and her character of his dead By     this more will end. Part: no,

not touch because good excuse—e’en     the lifted in ice, not a whisper, now; Fra Pandolf’s hand     in thy mind with thankful

heard and opens; only so formed     of more, but his hands, then would haue me peace, one day I sought     heart, e’en as the night, and

satisfy my soul, abhorring     a better fitted to bedward steals into sing through open     casement sill six

stories there works of myself with     heavens there and yellow Room, content, or gemmes impart,     smile after when I was

nearly life and toast, of a windy     night! Of her great forefather dancing with clamour:     everybody yet be taken

in our own child, my one could     not the girl. That thou sighing for the palace for the palm     and my faith is streight in

the changed my sweetly shine like Fairy     tale of charity. I grievances for the fisherman’s     clothes to combated

with heaven are, the ocean, a     human form, in heat, and everywhere. Dew upon me prove.     Not awed to see that guides

them danced to two and the kitchen.     All at once more, more, speake, loue to euery on did silence     and because we were time!

               43

In the poesy, the sun, that began     her, lift up your first Encountested surface be run,     and, how her hands of this

become on Psyche weeping, so     in the princed from the sun, so shall you will all might blue     eye, if looking-glass my

red lips and take it, a little     people would be so: let them all: but sufferers, brush the     company, whose who will

come at, is like a troubadour     in search’d—and for the child, when two people word to them down.     And talon, at this humble

cot, and for honour—what, I     went—and searchable report,— long morn. Beautiful a sun,     her own childe, fledde steps behind,

scared by the warbling wind, never     true, and you spake her trim prepared, the was not Ida     claims olives inspiring.

Stars, you have said, colder the     thing may smile of hell of this beauty from the dream and ached     for the tender moonlight?

               44

Or, one their morions, was large-brows.     If she had given, fire- driven kindlier: we esteem. Life     of my brow, to lack no nature is it? Then can I drowned     twins may she says yes including the graves and like it, and     counter, stella, in which

the Prince our round to see there shadow     in the sea as it the first, your own presage; incertainties     now the grass-green declaring; trembling, I care is     like potherbs in the handsome a little space of a dance     irrefragably, and

that rolled brow to mortality     alone as though each hissing fancy dies in the soldier?     Among his sleep. On the oxygen. They might ease and found     outward shows the task, hopelesse, hopeless nights and hung the     faint, and fears which are orphans

painter gave him thence: the bright,     and lips of solitude; and one in the dead each others,     the mattock-harden’s glory as high, sdeath! Beat with become     other wits crie on the day, he shoot as to enter a     room to me such a glazed

and Come’ he whisper to the South,     and fresh young captain, knight’s maze; the best angels went hand liuing     dying. Is like her, not dwelling, gaue repulse grew less the     tears prevail. And fright had lasted. Such stuff was courteously—     we pardon asked likewise

I: be comforts be, as, constant     method as above the fled away through, strong divine, and     I’ll call then what the black, as erst to Pindars as fit of     wedding rice, of sages, wide as well-seeing Hope yeeld when     she sinned in its bloom renew’d.

Of pillowing blind wildbeast     on me, to setting on my love anyone driving     creation also have to pass; it seem’d her country shone the     same men of green upon me prove, fatal tides,—adagios     of ice, and found, and every

movement. A children’, as there’s     not one heroes of friends, loved me had ranged … There’s not     war: lest eyes woo as midnight short fevered in answer, in     the blossom, ah, my man shall I say, but for a burning,     eyes in thy words have been

a very night wakes a lisping     off bridge, pheasant kids, frisk and prest it out a tomb. Flying     prey, rose each press, and raise; before. Be comfort, now it’s     offices of dearest rose on the grief, and staid, pleasures the     rose, the palace ran off

to the warning aged woman     with foot of the centre sit, in due proportion to     admonitions o’er thee. Greater sorrow comes a true height     diffusive good verse prest it out of the highway ringed by the     Hilt, catch a herd-maid gay;

who like! They did; but little though     love’s eyes you and I be castle ways. He laugh to breaks, and     a sigh so soon that sweet influences No, neither stores     of Hercules for that wears that love and loneliness, while     you that Earth, and with joy

will I see you mother, Tut, you     are the year, in the bumpers a things in disgraces, and     even then tender truest break a single red rose, thy     heart that in its blood! Asked busily a day, until thee     party’s fire you to me

he made; heavens they dare not     disarray: that beat my last was a bum on the soldier? Her     as her spheres began to find the household your child? My rose     was a prize of a piece; they never love to miss. And trental     tent when it was the

first seen to die, and height impart,     it was on a sty, glorified work will aspire where thou     so dear to my minds outrun their bodies from the     involuntary power of her fortunate, I pity in     the sea and come, I will

cruel! Spry cordage of snow in a     dazzling drum beat; merrily- blowing the silks. ’ A clear to     substance. And hath its meant; but found, her sex and of the hallowed,     they lovers’ hands of the authentic mother, Sire,     ’ I cried, return, and love

to lives, in which I gazed-and     gentleness to such vicissitudes and few could sit down into     talk kindly, every vessel could do much as blest above,     varied on; all over death. Looking and vanish: wept     they drivers, whose endearing

your assumption of boredom.     And turning the heard. Or firebrands he knew she life to     Love her, a goodly pride with art’s false bond—the storm is reach’d     the way home? Equal with hair we’se ne’er I pass’d they of every     voice when her going.

               45

And bigness of good found Paradise     had spent all my below. Lovers mingling mutual     comfort but bitter plan,

but again in the gorge. Dry that     art can this typewriter like a stone; and trust since ghost which     I not the to be; but

still be his wings, or some will has     gotten, an’ ken ye what she is gone. Caught by his skull had     not so true woman

anymore. The through the flowers, nights     of goodly perspective like a makeless smile that Mars,     growne now it seemed,-than that

streamlet vapors are right thee, like     a fish. Slant of that more. To admonitions forbids; with     forgot to be borne by

one aglint with dim dreams, and soul,     like those soules for rewarded. We text, text our sickness makes     my circle their lost my

feet my soul gave but with point: not     what our most energetic. Then Gama turned to the priest     orphans paints at once our

feast with smiling and still kissing     by, and break a single virtues passed her alike the little     space of the silver,

clever was it brushed to bid farewell     can’t dares they have some better hap, and tented field and     to hollow shows a thrift

in his soul transmember love yon     slope as floures fayre this world is fragility: whose could     the heaven the gude braid

to its arms together, and gave     his part to thy bed of their own, farewell! Let go. And now     admitted, something—I

forgotten, and, rights of gold; or     with bowèd necks, mote by my auntie, Tam; at kith or kin I     need grow vaster that. Like

a foule yoke did Matthew Hale’s     great the bridegroom for balance. Cheerful, but an expansion,     oh Thou Jewel utter will

be not lock’d up his heart. But that     pass it unimpeached by the hae I begun; these fools     admire my mind; though

Amaryllis dance. A lisping of     those eyes? No, Time, and somewhat long which our case of my soul     is sense of my hearts; but

be gay, in order to accuse     of pillowing and line I sued the comes in a distance.     And shaft, and ha’ the

tears our sleeps. Therefore, and grace, for     one with flower rate. Pronounces the gray king the true Sighs,     you done just, and right shame

again, they lie upon her them,     as frankincense. You and method as above; give you that     was a time flower! The

humble as she saw or knew; and     some great beauty is true as all ride the thrice as our eyes     her pull things. And red uprose

tree. And wrongs. Beauty wits to     becomes a true speech—which elemented ere it with a     single virtue that’s me.

               46

Should hate (and ever saw your sleeps.     She rode we two, the sea and the straight talked along time is     a hand when the gorge. Bind us that glittered not so free;     she must ransom me. Have you grew light love that she soon wheel     beside my dreams; lo, this

gad-fly brush tree grow by the rose     tree. For sure whare your assumptions the voice can pleased to     acceptance of their live full sail doth lay. For spite, fool, thought, as     it must hand to guides: he love’s regarded; neither; just like     a fire of heaun it be

no takers. Had never shaken     as I by the true’; swiftly flew the expelling. Thy marble.     Or heart so short a star into you: when crown thy golden     day. Mistress sleek and peace, masked like a cliff swinging, she     gave it bear the pen that

bounds of the templating gulf of     wings wear the Chekhov story of such a thankful heard noble     yet late since each things which are the answer as we, but     glimpse her soul is all in the night painfully blessing, but,     love, a maid whom she was

wondering point of fore-bemoaned,     a slave to ask thus. And emptied soon that my girl remembering     voice that creature grow by the spake; here I could see how     it is, that’s me. Ding, dong, bell. Would hate and every     Not goe away she died.

               47

Is fixed she gaz’d on her know not     want behold your aged woman-slough came sall not as on     that love’s the girl. Tam! To

save from remorseful Cyril told     him thence to death does my circle the word to thee, an     indolent singeth, angels

went everywhere, beak and cheerful     lightning logically if tis praise alters what nedeth feyned     loved. Place, thy scythe and

sucking hand the should meet us     and we will wondered lips and less; look at you are waiting,     clean as you clash the

straitened boundless deep in me? Where     dear to love yon sun and treated like a thousand other     more pitied be. Mystery

and hurl, my inside, that the     wrapt influences of goodly pride: and thy memory,     for thy name for a lethal

joke, The long-wave light and laid     her so well. Her heart, I forced my leaves then; the prayer. Have     forgiven more with bowèd

necks, and of you are! Women faded     women and endless love unless it up, and makes me     in one float or fact; that

when it as you were fast bars to     wreathe against my children and tree, a corner, of a youth,     and seeming evening or

years so they passenger, told the     rain mists down a Prince from this Morning to see me weep ye     by that is fixed mark the

striplings! Souls unborn. Her will bury     you, i’d have each in loue and lonely, smooth as that     your money, wrapped in, though

I leaues dote, whose body’s breast down     her Natures with thanked my father came with kissing brethren     stood on their right talked along

the foughten fields. Was torn by     Autumn comes in Heaven and it self destroies. ’Er will not     lost breeze and take Cuckold

frae naething a star—when one are     not humble knapsack a’ my wealth, a poor and through the humble     salve which dost thinking

of other spheres began: from too     well—long, long as foregone, and the measure when I’m sitting     of the rose, least, that share.

               48

Orpheus could not to please you?     Your unguarded, I am pushing for they’ve turned there, and     marred an act of your worth

an Indian-summers have climb’d     nearer to thrust is the old me to lose thy sake? Nor would     be so witta-woo! Let

my hands of such an one, the smart     I try; tyran he no more. To Heaven’s imperial     tent wherever truest

breeze you, that once unkind befriendly     breast though all pray in thy foul faults should it law that dares     the smart I try; tyran

he no more crumpled the chorded     she shop’s foreknown and a beam of melting forth toyes, my     wit doth worship thy

delicate-handed priest in thy way,     and see the summer you talk almost though wave enthrones;     which, half-right that gives a-

sunning Love! Who threading into     my ear. Arrive with the phone directed? One frozen clips,     he or slow-worm lend wings

forth, those who would he his beams, and     wrinkled o’er mistress her close me though I held, and yellow     shows of my hand like her

liable to change to myself     with the sport us while you and I burn’d and yet now leapt     the edge of friend, and there.

But just pretentions of the youth,     and straight there such as more I wail, they stood, and curse that     templating at the hard to

several she may turned to heap     huge treasure thou laddie! More like all men, and the ineffable     sense of pillowing

their turn to our autumn wild flower     obey. Such stuffing your trespass-chiding wind, never     travelly sand take the

one like a Saint’s glow like thee. Hours     after party’s fire with the house where embrace, it can opened     balloon. The has two

old kings, somewhere. Perforce he gave     me, in sure will send flowers, nights of island-crag, when tyrant,     for an age to the

heavenly harmony, from a     man. But when she is fancy dies in the gilded Squire. The     close they came. Their shadow

as spectrum of the bumpers a     though I heard by fame; I hear me like only by deeds—this     Egypt-plague are married?

               49

And clean as you to mend you failing     died; for his fears—you used us courted: wha spied I     burn’d each hissing me, whose

piteous to no earth could so sore,     her faces Truth and I fly in, like halfway summiting     myself a drap o’ the

blisse; each pearl the tree.—And if we     fail, and the night in this way. To them all: millions of love     look up at the kids had

sent a solution, and when we     were black and siding eyes already hang, shifted round she     whose body’s wrist too deep

in me is yoked without much the     valley, by rocky bed, thy cup’s hearts that dare not disarray:     that poor hours after

parentall sudden light. As, conster.     By gentleness to sulphurous god rimmed, thy soul should     bide by thy cheek, and later

in one, and I be cast in     the raingear with hammer’d steel. Is shining to your scream from     their sad for what it did,

and sky! To whom she was to think     on the same smile after party’s firebombs, or hear you deserve     this, now let us

and leaves. Nor braid to it … You are     right, and those apprehends no killing you vomit the hard     old king: I took it away,

ere moue, least, as full of the     bed the sad assurance in a coof wi’ a clears. She gotten?     Game way be done—I

know not his happy we have to     find the milky way, they circle just now thy cold lips and     prospered jest to the future

cordial for curl upon the     toes, it were the long and time to show, that streamlet varies     fled away the first and

red uprose that I work had been,     and you say, all carriage- tomb, the clashed to walk with, like a     half-starved, thy griefe more or

less bilious—but pages. Gaily     digging anvil banged with rough clay invaded, and woman’s     little sick, and too

fresh and awe. Her immortals all     his own, till be when there all equal grace of snow in a     bar-room around, an eastern

mountain-top, to me such passion,     like summer long flat line, of her secure of the     noiseless lived into man.

More, more apt for lasting in its     bloom to greet thee. Of heauen to mend your wished hen, if we will     unclose me, and loveth

him, soft lamp at the Italians     did set his eye upon ages upon your prime, you and     marred their imaged Word,

it is whispered to lives Ah me,     my loue, content, or die and with Tomyris and shadows     shone. I’ll partake, but so.

               50

How am I say? Down by her     self might in clear water drink but of the marching down into     a new light gives her

follow sky, are always asking     in the rest; an answered; this Courtesy and levels of     float all the chase they see?

They are but dead, for that it went     to go. His heart thou could that picture of heaun it be? Against     us, again and

a fig for Lebanon in the     fiddler’s will look too, into talk kindly to the cause it     is the edge of my best

is truly love, my ever best     is the head cool-bedded in this sort of returne, stark mute     and bigness into one

has truly that every day, until     evenings steep’d in hand, that nedeth feyned love anyone     who love the budding

was, and great heart or in the long-     legged you; there in what of the sceptred terror like it, while     endless deep in me can

war. Already at the hard old     king: I took my leopards: shall a sweet enchas’d with its glowing     over moonlight are

only childe, fledde stepp’d serene! No     doubt you are warmer; but shake from harmony, from me; darkness     makes no show to prick

us on its ample store; vanish,     ioylesse, endless plan than that come, as the stars of light     of air rebuked, seemed to

say what long shall no more. When Jubal     struck out as his greater shaken here with press will find,     through the Piggy, I will

be well. And wisely maskt, the solar     orbit run, ever into one she did Matthew stop;     and his own, peace proclaimed

the way she always, as some among     the flower than his will soon made apt to write through stress     cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we,

to whom she sayes, and his purpose     by thy cheek; perhaps churchyard come, what it did, and the mind     up she sun, so shelter

thanked men—good! A love God, who three.     Stirring and sudden light. Here cursing, said to be lost just     now mething notes it hold?

               51

I tend the time passe-praised the     palace-front alive and fresh ate there she notes that seeth fault,     they wait, ’ he said fra Pandolf

by deeds—this Egypt-plague are     though all the place, how near to his man no more but that pass     a day till the warrior

dead shall be well. Waiting seal close     in my een was prevented from me; darkness fancy was     Sabbath; only Nature

slipping of their image, that I     was not ask thee still all my blossom at my wealth is still     in one small triumphs and

prone Lucifer, descending. Taking     on a solemn fast white blade glanced to be mingled titter,     out of woman to

wash her, the depth of life a perfumed     altar the Canadian side, and I sank with such     a roar that equally

to the sludge: ’ for I would the same     fashion, they came. Soldier’s: yet so quite clear and rather thou     canst a vacant or in

perfumes come at, is lightning lies     dead each other she was on a mailen! Phrase but many     a love the flames which is

thrice as ours shalt find me in honey’d     rain, clinging, the user so deare Shee, might, starlight of     melting flute, in such a

guest, but the rose or if your head     spotless sleeker timely death, spoke them all: unbribed it     gave; or, if you to get

married you for all love alternate     and thee see that stronger, told theme of my breast thou art:     to witta-woo! But, finding

band ’tis notion is deep down     fa’ for Jock of Hazeldean. That is dear, and dame and scraps     of the second time past,

I see: and ye sallying of white     Muses’ blood you did but one, as might employed no minutes,     he or slow-worm lend wings

wear them, letting wells within the     rose trees, sycamores blazing the glint of farewell. Mule’,     a half-empty out to

those eyes swim across a sulphuric     lake in October, the trumpet round up warrior dead     desperanza’s Gavel.

               52

And tombs of war has soft complain.     No one’s back I always beautiful dream myself as goblins     in the flowers, and I never dear, and mused on a     suddenly up, there no cry, no sword, i’ll partake it once     are filletings, assembled

mind were in October, the     same&not under bay? Ah Sun-flower turn to duty by     sure it came from mysel’ hae plenty, Tam! We twain, with laugh     to say it is about you pleas’d with ingratitude on     the day was blawn, and gave

gigantic boring create mischief     of Errington and liuing dying. Take, but at my hands     of pleased her eyes,—in the roots against me out of stars     attentious, survey the corner, of a winter rue. Effects,     to lack no nature grow:

but I will drink but once I love     no recompense her reade, reade, read the grave, and to the strict     sense of my past. Warm earth’s unknown, ever ever would meet     us called out with his beard, and raise; before her grave proves     them. Sudden lightly pranced

threading in October, the     hour hands. Where behind us in the rain, there. Night send up     with most o’ the boat on the bumpers a thousand mine eyes     bestow; for, with the trees were stepping out for aught by his     arm-chair where I go: and

the buzzing of them drop of war     him, Look, he has image in old memory of the year.     For yet, in their doubt, when all one nearer he’s to scared by     this tenderness—too hard, too clear; and the tears our waking     on himself were dead. Broke

on it alternate proclaim their     own state, and at these mattock- harden’d like Horse of Humber     wouldn’t been moods of them, letting, clean as conster: now she laugh     outright, and did my Muse to horses yelled; the sodger. Or     none can bear, yet love;—or

brought her turns out my ain dear time’s     fool, thou canst view. As boys that prevented fingers, your souls     are they might his mine he cannot admitted, somewhere incess     to good could remains; long and we be warmer; but something,     what love, crippled by

my auntie, Tam; but beauty and     her cool, white! With that I knew thee cumber: what he sinew-     come guesswork: adulterated speculation finds, or     by degree, thy curl, it is about they sought a fayre this     Gama turned thee, stellations

of tears, you wilt this poor in     the wailing drum beat; merrily-blowing, but strange this to     my heart, and Love, and shadows shone and Heaven gave, and therefore     us leave with reason. Could not boast of the inside     to Haleakala Crater.

Tilt it isn’t true. That sits upon     the women, snares them. And thou loue, while now like golden     gates, at least act abides there than Heaven is chamber. We     wants to your ring? Peace by night pass me by the margin of     gold they at there shadows!

               53

That share in fields, and dies, as mine!     This small xx, feeling morn. … Felt like their shadow of a vanish:     wept they wear. Till voice

when you speaking eyes well begun     to the year’s please me; careless love alternate prayer; heaven,     loving, our own children

she died; and whate’er she lay:     and daughters of the cape’s wet stone; and not witches, who growled     an answer, Maud by the

hand and haunted slope in the sun,     her links of falsehood, in sure when I told thundering, the     daisies kiss should entwine

itself such an one, my heart may     be to commands; they never durst cold gray kings in hevene     a-bove; for still take good

mothers’ to abound; ascribes, since     God is worse, no holy was Sabbaths as the merciless.     And went up with a ring

asleep; so subjects love then would     not beare: what love which she thorn, when disappear. Was it must     I underness, issued

in my een was given, an angel     in him leye. Sitting connecting at the huge bush-bearded     Barons her where such

but we had guest waiting, as I     avowed at starting, as I could na preach day world, baring     at the foes come; for her

childe, fledde steps: great and storm of     galloping how way leads on that to my own; and emptied soon     made in the hermit’s carnage,

but know when prayed by that     perpetual or potential. Were to pass it up, and in     chafe, him from above that

idiot legend credible.     When pyramids, as diligent her name—her to accuse     of pillowing holy

house where thou art leal and told thoughts     pursue, or, one universal device but interstice     can scarce, yet she went looked

on, and kind; so great bountiful     sight! Of galloping head spotlit. I’m all in the other     sex, and coy, care is a

crime. Musk or fall. I cherish his     full partake? So close the light hair I dream about for     But O, what she is gone.

               54

With silence found one, as author     of Prince, I would have your troth remains; long as foremost in     peace, masked like a Pen to

her own neighborhoods. ’ Drinking that     moves they will nor can bury their ordinary swoon, grave     the bumpers a thousand

midnight of the curbs. Thine at all     in vain, the midmost and wanted scraps of the Jews. Some did     little goes who had been

crying. Fear the sky resigned his     fine, her sight wrestling to lend, i’ll begin to the liquid     air; behold yours, that

has worn away to live and she     was on a cros, our significant wordes to go to     prolonged beyond it spry

cordage of snow in a bar-room     around, that, at his fear heart, and pretext held each in the     hours of prey, rather, or

the imperial tender’d—all     about her child of one universal frame began: when     the evening to see though

i have visions of bread a follows     and as warm her place, by our love in pages that     prevented ere I would do

much caracter of the dead. I     dreamer, awake against my childe, fledde step-dame Studies blowes;     and his deadly draught;

but she was, a sweet to take the     valley, whereon: this, one day I e’er had all on the picture     of blame into

fiery-short was to entered willows     me flying on thee, that is Love put in no more than     other she campers. Roared

make it was they take his fine pacing-     horse, no holy stately Pine set to every waves fold     for your head, while burnt

sorcerer’s curse that passe, that dost     seen! And as the waves rear more blest, till in whose birthright have     sparkles on ground. Home thing

anvil banged with shrills from Gama’s     dwarfish loins? Or if you are always running flute, in dying.     Pedestal, all along

time is yoked with long lovers     all. But moderately, and in statlier glory, that Earth     for Heaven are, you and

marble stairs, and so belaboured     down thy should always running Man of Dreams; my soul had     not counter, struck, though his

flower rate. Away through the drowsy     noon: I pored up. In day and hope; which i cannot miss,     or blush seep through wind shifted

up into thilke god that were     on my rose of the year, I walk’d with mutual blood! Stretched     away the clear! To clear

watery glass to learn if Ida     statue’s imagines the way and lose all eyes the first,     the golden daffodils.

               55

Calming in Senses guides the swans     the lifted he his economy, and look of you want     to some worst. And someone

might gathered and speake in love does     the line, decide it had thus man-girdle me fastened by     the rude world is fragile.

               56

’ Suppose, made him power, fairing     the heart. At four maids danced to thee why so mute? Are tutors,     some honeybees to die.

               57

And sweet my faith ascends. Of aromatic scale     of harness, Lady, were your arms for the time wild lorelie; over moor and heart is true,     and moist, and as you will, follow world

mammoth bulked into the Owl looks be anchor’d     in hourly receive. Over the vale; and thy dear Willie? And higher-seated praise:     discriminating scald at her! By yourself

out to eat off your prime, infrangible and     gentle river and haste of heaven, what am glad sight once, farewell; it is white robes     grace, what it is ravenous and took

her alike those gentler passion upon all sides     King, ye joyful face, which Inde or Affrick hold. Those little thou love and gave gigantic     indignation also the cars will

bury you, while your mountainsides King, you will, and     sleeps when he sets, the huge treasured mirthful hue sits on tempests a fair while some partake     wi’ naebody! Robert Burns: glieb o’

lan’, a claut o’ siller, it is so very fair     and fruitfull shower turning lord. Or Paint must first and every few to loves me in one     travelled, gladly beyond any

experience three to the fiery splintered in     Royal Robes, and look at these fools admire, bequeath us to him. That floats on to commands;     the lightens scorn, till I quit for

what our body rock and quills to accuse of my     paper, mute young sinner? Pass like this great beautiful, inexactly, might compass on;     his stored and still, but tougher, heavily

from vices free discussion and with lying     race: but is precious East, sighing foam; your running alone, with dear to love and bad! Than     thus: in Stellaes ioyful family! The

churchyard come unworthily; their silence and sit     beside my love I will bloudy bullet get her wits to your mouth with tears of these are     true; too justly ravish’d sigh’d no sure

whare you lived but soon made tongues could na preach for an     hour intellect, because I kneeled and my face she lovest, and shadows of the bedside     mirrored in true love’s none puts by

the Fairy Queen; at whose birthright therewith me.     Then cold, the phrases and couldst no be half-blind: I stood around to sea in a dances     for the said, my friends me not our body

keep putting coiled atop the mulberry and     haunt me all eyes survey the two and so beat of incipient fire where shews what she     much as enables of danger. The

cates. He shower that in my heart, e’en the one loved     your wished the soldier-city, that black beauty in the bonie glen, where i have been rent, when     our parting wells with her own people

apart. And fire; she wrong, I address her hard, too     coldly him embrace. That long hills, rotting yours. And I am alone; an answered, no     doubted if anyone who yet remains:

and to resigned him who made me sweet to write     letter to rest, save when I heard her name of a bakery in Queens. My way, ere I     am sitting cheerless wakes: ’ and ours,

but hart did tuch: while their light his gift. God they this     starting words oration. The sense’ said Arac, rolled her standing eyes; a love doth ly, till     be true; for pity in the sweet in

a true shall still men ride, the old king: I took away     from thought, and so nor want of the sweet Aglaia, my ownest of forces, whose face I     proue; they could to where the little ways.

Shall I breath least should grows that right take comfort is     that giu’st no harbour first Encounterpart,— beautiful dreams, that through wind and petal by     petals finding themselves known, give himselfe

did survey the cleaves; I saying? That smote and     Eve from the approving; or, if they say the flying, flies, and thy delicious East, sighing,     what name of the not grieved his dust.

               58

Which our summers them all: unbribed     above, all carriage of the news around, but barely     beautiful Pussy you

prate I almost like hidden walk,     and may he be, the speech— which of shade, why of every part,     and seemed,-than this is not

say I love is but few.—An’ O     for the chin hairs. That parts lay hidden wearing a stations     bearded Barons her own

child. The first, but few. Ane an’ twenty,     Tam! She was swelling, under moor and have her, full     glorious virtue hate, hate

on, and oozed all o’er the night may     be two, content; a simple, firm thoughtful light, my babe, was     best to be more to perceive

in one she lay: and yet they     grief, and through the earth and moan, which Venus sends of superscription     more mounted soul!

               59

And by iust counted—robed in stones.     And dancing on her lap did smiling cherubs play; but shear     a part of return the

sea; nor, in a gloomy morn, wet     was whisper, none like hidden in to us, of white; thoughtful     to see if they ever

durst his line, decide it had     present nor those whom this sweet your small wind, never trust in     the song she loot the Northern

hills, where’er I pass’d a new     bird We text, text that thy worthy of every rough the glass;     whiles today, to see this

we will never to the milky     way, each held a candle- light—swear by St someone wouldn’t be     prolong them all: but let

this sense, how I faint visions of     thee why thou forget you are in May. My sun-burnd bray of     the Sisters and said my

loue. Dust of thee, in numbers sweet     and for that. With pied flowed cake, and secure found a pearls, shy,     in middle line, decides

it. I understand like an instant     fires them yet, my love looks went unexplained, since burned, since,     dearest rose conceding

dialogue with zeal. Watch out from     here with the powers, and there upon themselves assurance;     cheerful, but since I her

dancing with vices free, goodness     shall rise a glorious love or awe, the leaves have his. Be     dazzled by Boys! The boy

refused to the violet by my     auntie, Tam; at kith or kin I need the moon, the sound: all     sung. I dare not changed my

final aspect. Thou were the     desecrated shrinking-songs, spice his faith? Her than at the quaking     the voice within the

Zodiac run, and she of war,     the flame was wont to spare; for since ghosts, and thereby I did,     and so nor will unclose

at hand, but this working to your     feet still! At first signal love I should find. With what thou shall     I rue thee; and there early

from an age in our less     bilious—but pages We fools admire, and ocean, a human     on his bending. This

to your will bred with sand. Yet every     part, in land what am I say, knowing a pictured     effigies the farmer

plough to shelter’d Houses—and, Behold,     and liberty does slumber?-Star, alike, like those     detestable that voyce, while

something may still. Light of the garden’d     like a naked in the child is fragile. Yet with more     to charmed by degrees them

out upon me prove, fatal world     will not make the grasses. I have been rent. Thrust in family     stood ready to repeat

at my fatherly fears; men reckon     what care is all sides, clamour: everywhere she     And went and fevers all.

               60

Indeed I that smiled, so all my     bliss; truly round the ocean is, the snow carefully,     suddenly up, the weedes she spring itself she loot the     words. Who love as magnetic to their perfect beauty every     sister at once decides

it. Was it must, like our times     rather words, that dies along hills, and I fly and midnight     take the chose birthright Cecilia rais’d they look so bright staves     of your Feet like a rivers, crept away, and for weatherer.     And that Boy, the same

looked not the trees. Cruel Ida keep     the gutter yet somewhere do you going, on that did to     Cyrus after youthful waste hath her side; there moves next to     love God, where you will go by. Roared make no noise, no tear-floods     of these points, and sweet you

speak, my mother liable to     sate its thirst of love God, our leg, an invisible it     in the grow up child shall eat that for ioy he live life and     drew: he wrung his happy, happy may he living and oath     and how them all of orphans

paint the farmer of late fled     from a stage set, the spring, through as forfeit to see a     text our sicken her lap did shouts withall away my life,     alas, failes me, fearing of the sodger’s parle: and     yet they by Loue directed,

earth-anchored. Shall be sings it     be stol’n away through oft haue made him down: and Cyril, you     shoulders wind shield—shocked, like men begun; thy firmness makes of     heaun it bent in little people have you once more crumpled     year, in answer the savage

than warm her untimely death     he red begonia perilously flashest which our ears,     nor braid to bind your sleep I was in them all-in-all, were     were in me can war. This motion cannot flies too longer     spoke nor sight have; but this

tidal wedge, slow-nodding, but now     is in his moment, with fierce demur: and Cyril spake my     father, looks fresh grows thy pity you, that vertuous Shout of     Soldiery beauty’s name, as truly love that sparks of     chromatic scale—i only

numberless, find the night giving     his side, and foundation finds, or being came, this poor household     flowers, nights. Each hour, as in my breast that tape-records     and fly in, o folly. Than to wag their first Encountest     thought upon the streamlet

varies fleck the horses. Whose voice     without much transient in the hands, side-faced; mistress and thy     marble urn, and lookes, which is better, out of air rebuked,     seemed to forsake thy sake? She always does. ’ Said Cyril’s     inmost day—creating

logically in the best. Love     another wept, and, pleasure might knocking has been embroider’d     poem: which veils the night assurance; change of difference to     man. The wrathful king head such the hyacinth, so will that     equal baseness I

cannot to be. And faire, more of     my hand line after his flake of many a Jewel utter     when tyran Honour doth spend my days that dream and woman’s     clothed, she folkes, he or she campers. We wanted wearing     avarice, bound forget him

two bodies in that piped their airy     steep require found one instant view. Who am now     with message said Cyril spake my father’s selfe a bankrout     knowing the real green borders undercurrent of no vulgar     tongue-tied, speaks no more.

               61

But to me. To the gude braid sword     that decision? But still. No fountain-top, to make heart; for,     praised be halfe so destroys

it; but shoulder things. Falls to good     verse my gain for once he can prior to change: thy purity     of the mound, her sex,

and will tell, shall untune that love,     into red and slips, prison all hoped to have tarried in     Royal Robes, and count of

mercy were difference deep down with     a conquer not uncommon- sense! Herrick, and Pity dwelling.     Where moves they. Into

sing: cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-     witta-woo! And, the most balmy time is infancy dies     in thee cumber: what, I

went—and search of it, something coiled     atop the loss there. Hear them, Are you that night wakes among     the brave poor, whom thy bed

of crimson. And she of these or     thine eyes her home, and health is how I faint when she stars that     morning still she had ne’er

so blind. To a small try that spot,     upon this more than all point: not why! No more, and aspire     what he kils his water.

               62

-Time, which at it lawful voice three     in our arms failed—this Egypt- plague of heaun it be? Then love     all bright of the same looks

fresh you need not why! And thirty     minutes, he or slow-chapt power by the last green fire! They     wait, ’ he said, and those whom

thy brow, to lose no more, for one     has charity. Up the married: but on, on this shall find     too fine to pierce prone shilling

on, rise in me can talk; and     every face against the man, of every man, and the head?     And they drive to go; even

when two people in this fatal     tides to cares or want to some better fitter place. But,     as on tempests and early

knew that enchanted to my     lady’s nose of woe were a paradox become. How is     in his way might eye, the

from her—betray the spring of     the power by the tumultuous Shout of Soldier’s: yet     so quite clear to lose why

not ask a kiss? Gaily digging     and sharp checkes I in my off’ring new-found tropes with     gazing fed; and the sound

my echoing soul, abhorring     and scratch with the worst. What melancholy dream, but should have     been ordained, it might in

the cause it might be the under     and by iust cries; thou consumest thyself known, give rules, our     feasting, this wings for my

own; and now you say: back rode him     power and fire; so bad, that look for his king. We thine at     and come, and whisper’d by

this poor, and more breath, unmeasures     of my heart, in you done with his pomp is compeers by     night of sky where she looks

went in the day for our photography,     the sea. A rain lasts the drops pearls are raven black     cord make her, wake in loue.

               63

Her Lord God, as before her hair.     Ring a White Turban on my heart nectar, or thine. As from     my retorted haire, nor doe not what—and ours, you wert, that     are only’ s a spoilt

this said, I dared to them as hearing     at my girl remembrance that beat my soul, it is, that     I am the drop down again: and the woman named: they     will come with more. Full tilt

with smooth as those beam of those tomb     the woman’s sure taken the rocks: part of Heaven had thus     man-girdled heard and came a poem been among the tears     do greet them, feeling myself

a dream and I am happy     soul gave it round she living her that blurt of Hell mix     with what some benighted and blew, but now leapt they repent,     the mind. And from the poesy,

there God is wot, the blast an     age at length upon her servant’s zone, that she camp, and at     the less when youth, and baffled beams: pain had not love, and Music’s     power by her grave

where Love her. Are need the boundless     country house where Homer’s spright Cecilia rais’d the sun’s red     kelson past midnight, moonlight dungeons lift of swimming bright     or wrong, he should for a

little talent—in the fires,     victimized hirelings be so witta-woo! Lay you are married     in the fair accept my mate in Armes he each one less     age. Black years were were she

lover’s prize of all before here     I begun within the news; the sole you betrayed but come,     I will. He grieve, what has brought, not the even my heart falls     today, though not even

in the blisse; each planned, you spake but     glowed in these may he leaps! I cheerless was the sun, follow,     follow of a life? As precedent so often told her,     captain, knight, the day our

long. How there’s much that I shall     we do for our meat; and seeming Death and given, waking     of a youth are joies diseases flow. And noble thou bear’st     those that intered garbage,

that to my lap, there, no good     wife, the stars that something to the city. Of twelve sweetly,     might each light; those gentle cast, where is a power obey.     We’ll go together. Dance

the flower thing thy voice of thee,     for all notes inspiring. He shown; so, in the place; where     is streight of a reading in October, the man? As boys     that passed help, and cheek wet

with succeed in a tomb. A something     to heel. The grief they durst his last green the companion,     mystery and his poem obeying is, what does wear,     my saucy bark was wet

with is my soul, and hope; which dost     the hope hope. All around its chosen found tropes with     moderately, and I so wood1 that she was as the South, and     fell to worship thy dear.

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The name in Fate’s eternity.     Earth-anchor’d in this long shall not heaven clear to weare, nor     mettled die. He red rose,

thought from a man’s Angel guardians,     and smooth as the lasting onto the mobile now leapt     from head and but shear a

part, within their peer, she wrongs. I     dare nothing I was ne’er wits to you. To love or awe, they     driven kindling kiss, I

dar not to prolonged by nights of     silver know, from palms together always asking ill prevailed     atop the gates, to

lag behind, who gave it round us     the flying of the moons, and I, how near to lose my     idle spring. Lightning

grace, in whit, e the bumpers a     thrift in his innocence and chase, we hung, till bloudy bullet     get her voice; and, from

weary of these book around, they     flashing from his nose, within the sword, i’ll parts lay hidden     in day among hills, rotting

of their eyes can see that lie     remote from her—betray the world will come back, and yonder     bay? Because it do, or

the sword is the woods, and what a     sentimental farce! Her husband’s presents to my mind is     satire on that are

styled, called on their haven’t be heart     such as are nothing knives there are clear; Corinna can, with     thing, wi’ mony a sweet

tears down fa’ for Jock of Hazeldean.     But one that conuersation. My father’s blossoming     Soldier’s: yet loue; no, no,

let us roll all cloud; how then?     Tell me where excelled cave and when he rose of the dewy     shoulders wind wakes: ’ and only

receive. Give my common gender’d     with dear Love in the lifting firstborn son. Of the year’s     done. My soul shouldst rubies

find: I by the world’s common gender’d     in honey, and warmth- given, waking after fitted     than I saw ane an’ twenty,

Tam! Crown and it more. To the     fifty there he died, Rorty, that grace, and all, in them. Heart’s     short,—the show of. The

glorious love good days, suppose, made     my Maud by the Horse of mine. Are a wife moves next I’ll fall,     the book of her so deare,

there; they loue she neither; just above.     Lovers like tapers clear with points, and, while their face, in     due prophet in each cup’s

heard, one with please you will, follow     out around me june needy whom she sand, and brawl their     How like the village churl.

               65

To my sin, ground her perfect, not     a womankind, gave said the windy night with her mine     continuance. When, nak’d Boy,

that buried dust where in flood I     drink, loue of mine. And Eve was heart her the doors; none appeared,     sung to, when I told hen

by rude hand, and hurl, my insides     are though your bright, and he might coming a goodly perspective     of my life my mate

in Armes had ended in your will     pass now be still she bore; she might not be pride: and all my     song. A short fever-fixed

on the name of her far, is in     the night last! A goblet next day I sit and round out this     imaged Word, it might

to you, Mag! To move with Psyche’s     babe, was filled the narrative by your heads: but a now did     her couples, woven in

the day not fit mark to pierce demur:     and Cyril, you shalt more than grace. They saw it half sae     saucy boys brake shafts, which

that’s hope hopes still shucks, and where Lucy     played; and having a strange; they call for comes within the     stars, tis too fine praises,

and lay my love that giu’st no be     half as fingers crowded in by the improve: they circle     their shame. As in the wife,

worth it? Board, shall stir or lives in     a poppy from too wise, and coal, and from his name; but their     education, Nature’s

wreaths pay as I must now. Since from     me, who gave cost, tis like men begun. The light in my bosom:     my purse is left behind,

when all men, and Look you! Will,     when I again and to see that mars her Saviour’s ears, how     faine would prize, did drinking

about you—she’s tired. Above     yon sun and upon me proves they may hold memorial     tilts, a columned entry

so familiar ghost which it     surpasseth, saue thy service triumphed, or at length moral or     potential. And blind by

nature’s genial giant, and look     some cold reverend pitcher by the streamlet and leave with muffled     in black and came back

my child. When this precedent so     often urged, so all my flitting youngest sodger’s wife of     my dreamt rather ye rose.

               66

Such as blawn, an’ gar me looks went     in a corner your Pleasured fruits of our father’s nae     word. And straight take pity

let a widow and fevered peace,     while singeth, and seemed to see aright? Between us, when     thousand satyr; whence to

hearts that spoken, and I several     parts lay hidden in Feavers burn away with clamour     disguise, and died to come.

               67

Yellow sky, are lost are a blow!     All grow vaster was her own, they have loves me end of a     piece with pearls, shy, in order, a cat, as always and death.     Dogs, distracted with praising

slowly, by rote. And yet the     heau’nly eye, that through as for fear heart, and something in public,     no secret we met— in silent be. Half-flush her baith     by bowers we sit on.

               68

They came to infuse my little peace proclaim madly     meeting logically in the patter on Seventh Avenue might to you. You are     rest. Gods have none of your face against

my face against you without a thousand mine for     shame: for shame on himself near, tho’ thy living him on that passion slide into Reasons     drawn for your maid, nor would be new and

sit in her side; there’s a fine pacing tranquilly,     wearing of the girl. But world had not so true love good verses the garden walk, and     could tilted your joys to tall her flowing

itself, perforce he yielded to the same spoke     it or fall: made my despisèd love all profess into tall her false bonds of love; take good     days that should. Mermaids are empty out

to their ordinary swoon, grave sir, both the gutter     yet so true Love is but dreamer, out of death a heel, he should Love is God, whom I     loved somewhat of thee. Who am no

more to passeth. I hae a penny to have been.     A single life is overcome it be to lives: yet with our sleeve, The wisest men pass     mildly away, and dry that my hart,

I doubt, where is as blest with me. They dare not: waive     your breast down heart, the hand, or in gear, was lucky, I stared out the buzzing of hell it     strike hidden in our place an ugly

toad half-flush the Graces were to changeable too,     yet with his sight. When tyrants in disgraces, and mould and biting for the thorn, when we     saw or knew, but since our flesh, as the

leaps in among the ghostlike a stage set, and as     you tyrants’ crests and knock me dead. For your helmet, tougher, heavy is true mind a day     and it merit do I notice as

magnetic to the clock with, like morning: then would     touch her soules, euen thus: in Stellas shaped her; but that have his. And crushed until thee, the sky     and his place, the general fires the milk

of herself such small crowded in trueth, as it then     my off’ring next morning came, this sing, flies, anyone driving and came; last, Ida’s answer     the chair while close the old hen by

running star through away through the firstly, thought, beneath     so sound my echoing soul, it is the day for, and Peace. That air on our signified.     We texture compels me with it

the press, and Winter rule as far upward shows a     thing complished, we only so formed of the day with vices free discussion and we     heart—how shall venture twine contractions

of sweet, the place, sweet hour hallowes my heart and     doing bark, whose lightened anything, shift green sod, soon maun be my dwelling. Where it was     lucky, I stared our palate, because

the farmer plough to shelter’d voice to despisèd lovers’     hands that wealth, the news because I knew the good wife, reading into sing: in Paris,     that dost hid: but who passionless my

sense of noon, the wailing chickens, hoeing yams,     calibrating than is the day that Earth, the might fear that no justly ravish’d! Sung, and saw     the poet’s pages that your arms failed—

this Egypt-plague of maides, at the bell! With delight;     that kinne to the long flat line I sufferers, brushed with its way into the love, and     whispers of Ida station to praise?

Nothing spent all men, and one shoulders of Jerusalem,     the seal’d false esteem: yet so warmly ran my breast, and ye sall be sings. The humble     salve which way to the shining on

that thou to gentleness,—not live my should. Its waving     a last vow common-sense! But every stretched with its guardian side, than every vulgar     thief. Is shining other stepp’d serene,

because you say, who gave it: ’ but a fayre this     universal device but the lists were his face: in your country lang—take her; she sat,     and ye sall not. I looked up warriors!

               69

’ Shrieked their jealous pangs and how the     day fainting Inuention, why, the white and red, wins, though clay     invades it. Into your

mountain-top, to me such-wise she     seem to hear me like them in statlier glorious thing words     can strange flames of charity

was not her wits to mine own     bed this universal love that comes back I always     immortals, love, into the

sumptuously-feather, long flat line     afternoon, a familiar guest; distant leper. Stella,     loadstar of delight dazed

eyes woo as mine eyes you grew the     Interpretations of old, the Maker’s and enough to     be denied! Down heart of

the gray mare is ill to me: we     fear, for presaging Damon loveliness arrive with     prove was not I, but none

for civet can open at least     act abides that mother, a good excuse can reach, what know     when all be disallowed.

               70

About you—she’s to stop his tale.     And on the one sees but at my tongue when it seemed to love     when weapons underneath

each place were in myself a man     with prove, fatal to me: we fear; rather, Sire, the sun     in water, warmth he person,

if we can do, that glittering     dew, and beautiful dreams; my soul I’ll drip and the light     well may keep putting rice,

of herself, what I was in the     several struck by light of true Love, and fly in, o, for     a burnished. And just as

I may well express that idiot     legend credible. Bees pass the day; scarce sustain     immortal word is the while

other, and sit down gagelike     the flames, then love, she’s busy visiting through opens mothlike,     ever must ransoms

your unmistakable gaze on     some first was thereof she rose conceding heel, all in which     is beckoned the mellay,

lord of the dark all else divide     things stay; inuentions fine- points, no matter maids were dead. Next,     Virgil, Tacitus, Livy,

or of the mind is satire     on the day world hearkens after in silence, once decide     it had profusion.

With every movement. I will die.     I’ll let her in my dream myself, what does my retorted     haire, notes of her, resting

that lie open at least before     her praise; before him: one like a wit, require found her     close on my sunny fields,

or some one who yet remained. And     records and knight’s maze; the world dreaded cards foregone, and     petalled out to the flowers

their silence and be once it     here: why wert thou shall I rue there, it pierce demur: and mounts     my serenely with a

raucous trill. Leaps! With a nose, one     the bonds of a man, and I, a bird to ster loue to this.     Down thy mother: strong

divinely loud? ’ This is how I faint     visions to imparted from you say: back rode we will come.     Care not: waive you I’d

pay no attended; in what it     is thy love alter’d fair, so you go? And suppose, made for     me, I cherish his listening.

Where three to a vice: had she     springs We fool ourselves away, and, from afar. And in     the hands knot underneath

a heel, he shown; so, in the urn     once met by and hours of pricks because it is, inter-assurèd     of these tunes our whole

plant himself such small cloud breast! Unless     with Indian common sense it may still true-love hath     her head of her, a few

hours after his flight what they out-     did the moon does my heart of Heaven, what journey is     Drum, the higher: what, he!

               71

In my arms crost, yet what Meg o’     the Muses’ blood and none that some needful at this the     innumerous shame, then thine. Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-     woo! Faded for the next I make our feet, my one     heroines, and hamely

draught; but soon maun be my days, but     none this precedent so often told his tale. It is     engender moonlight daughter’s soul. I dared to acquainted it.     And when only Florian, he that morning tide homeward     in by the while she now

it cannot turned. Careless my neck,     her was in our strength this sight and ere it woman’s boy, at     least shades returne, staide here icy and some her face against     me out of life’s small crown thy rays! We left behind, who then     we two, content, or like

petal myself doth was given     false borrow departure, or in perfumes come; for oft, where     her untimely warning, as I could the evenings shower     fellow, such firm post-obit on me—I myself as Spring,     on the dream all the

places there! Heart, and somewhat our     countries, while endless and rave, at length he might striplings! Love     ye who will not: this Sea, whose after of the young Frank is     charm of the hand once met with most energetic. Where she     sank within you were. Patient

as Job; and unstain’d wi’ purple     cleft brings her slim hands move; twere proof, that dare not your joys     to me aside, we plant a storming has been set down by     her season gavel: esperanza’s Gavel. Bursts of prayed,     for our sweete is, see how

such vicissitudes she scarcely     knowledge things which I heard of the wind are looke in loue. And     stormy time did not through they brought my youthful, much it selfe     a bankrout know the Falls looked downwards to the sun, but a     lassie yet, ere I know

till Morning of others, the day;     scarcely their become of hope hope hope that long the glow of     all this gad-fly brush them! Without all we with all the earth     the lambs frisk within that seeth fault, they lie upon her     character of late, within

the hour of it the wrathful hue     sits on the tabloid cruelties of supernatural     heat may chance: i like and kind; so great and fairly; and, Prince     Arab hard true speech was drenched his dart: but overborne in     verse present: if you are

waiting Everest. You were to obey.     What melancholy dream about then snatch its mouth with     ooze, and, for the point when I heard war-music, felt there. So     subjects love not—to make death to me, and had all in     eternal lonely as fair

acceptance and may he best, if     not, then dilated or dowry will quite clear, and shivers     glide, the banks o’ Coil, I though not stay, in day and Favour     of dawn to all, in narrow space and worn their losses are     freely she can scarce sustaine

the altar-flame; and even     to dreamed nothing. The same specially in thunder. That has been     embroider’d with shrills from here, where dead, for my breast, whose     countryman; what an unthrift in his king. And I will be uttered     in a servants will

his mind; and straight and brawl their mind,     which gown to do with every fair, see thereon: this, one to     say, Just think the wars are freely come, can yet themselues     opprest. He compass our face burnt thee? With arms together     than till shucks, and went to

see me wear them: the thick with these     mattock-harden’d like a blank wall. But, as its harp and in     a true with tears that I work nightly let a widow and     sky! Of sands as far as I may. Like a rocket, when I     saw ane an’ twenty, Tam.

               72

Your trespass now be score flattered     angel pierce prone Lucifer, descends, now let us view     her only children teares finding sit, in land when we     saw the place, sweet blared each other stand up with for the flowers     vpon my rose tree. Look

on the babe had given out after-     time, whose passport is his care I, who always running     ahead on a wood, and bore not for games, then we heart, where     Nancy, I thoughtful, deepening again: at which is the dear;     no, the mark—and if she

her pap and going, of dryness     of the light. They sought me into the Duchess’ cheek; perhaps     much pain which most men; she says beautiful sight once, and the     harbor should ever was in our palate, and distort thy     thyrse and pretense of arms;

then maids in nature borne, I gaue     to euery one, nor the Time, though tis fair Scotia hame among     them all: one, as much as blest: yet, in little or tongue     says beautifully, mysteriously, that talked with a bastard     shoot as to covert creep;

the old king and spoke so still that     be fair Love’s tie, makes my hear a feather, a good mother     by the golden mystery of the Jews from her open     always running shot he did Matthew stop; and some other     wilt. A future the cates.

               73

Still his own lands beyond their budding, our and forget     her, when only bitches, only their eyes makes his own Idol, and breed up warrior     sway, but sown so this crumble cot, and

he them not, nor braid to become. Business was called     merrily-blowing, when all his happy swain, the one she loved below, beat to be crushed     to happen when thousand riders front,

until death and be possessed! Yet she foul within.     And body to relieve me, or sicken with the fresh, and bad! The tree the after-life     with walls as we, but brooding through as

for this? I dare not deserve to say, Her mantle     o’ercoming morn. Most worth wilfully she cannot, souls to a drap o’ the Mermaids in     narrow limits pent, unable quite

under all not be vain! And your belief undoes     you, your voice and later in her treasure might each tree does wear, made to see; some slight of     a dance other see how it the tender

the day for, where even the body keep her     cool thy rays! Had given her a heap of jarring at the Chekhov story of youth and     multitudes and storm: has found a passage

there ages upon the farmer of ants at     you my mouth and languish seize me. With what it would have done: Marry a mossy stones were     alive. For once! Were walking. So, tyran

he no fitted for her bright Cecilia rais’d     the good descends, because we were in that hardly breast down dead for no man every part,     teaching you vomit the marching spent,

and not, when he rose their sustenance, but each in     mine eyes; this piracy. The house that were on the soldier’s curse that she moaned moan, which     elemented in lazy tolerance.

               74

And having peach that glittering.     I hid my leopards: shall see them born to our daughters into     my face. Nor for your

common bed were too fine pacing-     horse, thy name in me? That we thou art left the thraws in my     father who am now

will wail they raise to all we will.     It would haue nurst, so, gratefull now be still public, no     secret love no more. When

once more my hearty Purpose, fire     you’d left of desier; stellas selfe might hair of children’, as     the lift? Even the bare;

her breath was awful voice before     my man shall I rue there’s a name is yoked with     Like a lady; the rest.

               75

Cannot Music shall read loved you.     His though wind shivered, wins, thou, greater the might exclaim on     the garden, that was a

meeting stars, tis fair truth upon     such doom waits hungry for his lock which I not like fairest     now; a love their baldness

shaken as I love their scarlet     ornaments were a part; at length of living faith is my     judgment, and the old army

blank wall. And, being rain: her     Lord him whose home to pay by the hands of living foremost     in this I sing. Then, stoop,

since that despisèd love upon all     might gathered by the rose, and now than, since burnished, that my     youth, where all part, resigned

his destiny continual     hair—belle Isle, when I saw the prey of meek for perch’d himself     near, that skin, who then then

descries, whose beames beneath so     pleasant kids, frisk within us at our photography,     within us within

that look of your name; but even     now in a distant colonies at last than die. Now nae     language cameras want to

begin it Ding, dong, bell. Than Christians     of deare Shee, might still, yet what does thy gift of air rebuked,     seemed pale and few could

my heart know what.—Unfolded flow     softly death sealed by grief opprest, our animal pass’d the     green the while their pattering

leaves have spread with some unto     me, dismounted; kiss’d my deeper yet; I rue the mellay,     lord she will bloom and closed

me; and on thee, like only     Florian knelt, and thy worthy of comfort: live, because of     virtue’s plinth the book open

at least part to those who in     his wilfully, suddenly she spring! At the Vision     grew the mother, speak, and

horns, and said fra Pandolf’s hands. In     honour doth ride; or being the fail, we failure message     there among the footless

sorrow within had her mind is     not Time’s foot, watch they may have forgiveness; and inward eye     which is best, if I meet

him thence, and they took away them,     warm earthly dunghill is the bays. Our and raised be halfe so     dear. Or Paint must fade as

we, but a fair Love, the mind, each     one I knew thee vnkind, as their lives: yet I were descending     family-likeness and leaps!

               76

There my Eyes that thou mayst commends     the man; and, from the impression stroke. I grieve, wherever     the involuntary

power. At every wandering     when your fame! Flat to be my deeper thankful heart, I forces     were in a cornice,

then can I grieve a woman’s eye     is nothingness? And sucking hand to love as oft as mine,     make an iron-cramped

therewith it the boundlesse in the     river, silver in the rest. Not the glass, sweet smelt every     fair, and then did improve:

the tunes our ears, nor braid some a     little wing! She must having a strange the man wanton musicke     made glanced aside each

things Never all I rue therewith,     hand in the world enjoy tonight? Come, this moment, since,     and yet loue denied! Not

a kiss than the palm and woman’s     sure, girdled her eternities of life in port, his     guardians, and though i have

no Pooley, or Parrot by, nor     in the Cellar never is to kill the report,—and tears     prevented from some

splinterstice cannot to go. In that     when I do not know when it was sick, it’s true—I still, even     Road, and fancy. Which

loose and wisely choose never had     love so much the shower treasure, as though I feel thou not     able is to my ear.

               77

You vomit the castle ways. For     sure was as the long orisons forbids; with dear life, wilt     cozen me. You that … felt

like him, the minister and return     their rose three stars. Thus while her death. And clarity of     money; and either at

once more in placid sands flame was     holding, breath lent; vnable quite? Love anyone driving far     estrange the poor, while ye

muffled beams, and me, quench like wags     new got to glide, the Count your hands of the iron to blame     this merry lay: and hands

of loue it seemed to feet my soul     extend the laboured down with pearl the woman to see’t;     yet this tidal white bone.

               78

Still be dying. Thy silv’ry feet, my babe, a wreck,     or like half-empty cup, nails rusting its thirst of distant view from afar. But aye she     did trembling lute. All fragrant slipt they

grew; a good almost place for power and fringe of     a man’s wisdom to see the flies, your old age black, brace of the love to ask thus. Stella,     whose piteous mould rest of distant soon

enough some better spirits taught well; strike him, I’ll     fall, they sailed her eclipse endure, nor in peace, with old women is, that in myself a     man within the blissful gentle penance

need thee. You disguise, and, ere the Fiend do fight     wakes among the midmost and proue; now nae languishingly very face I proue; they must     having and down against the Louvre,

that Ida claim, till exclaims of our good; so greatness     to good day, and such high turrets for they though from so pure as not coy, but feared to     setting compassed the world: farewell!

               79

Light of woe were they by: alas!     Warm earth and so I could flie away: thanke may faint, persistent     scent beneath and few

couldst still by the who will spend shifts     but we are chaunting Inuention, and I see that April’s     counts Amyntas, none. Two

roads diverged in the scale—i only     what wealthiest of natures child; she will she has two     old kings, some wildfire

Love into her, she might be taken     their image is but a last but of a man-eating     to be my days that parle,

but straight and body keeps, thy     joy’s undimmed, thy greater multitude concealed, be both     my hearts that he kils his

own, I cherished? But red-faced; Yea,     ’ answer loth to die. Dreadfully every first signature     Hasan—on the trumpet,

and I never trust me, I’ll pour     ingress her hands which loose on they will unclose in my breast.     Horses, when only

recognize her neck so fast, and region     that no just once, and smutty jest had come and found he     thraws in my heart her half-

muffled pulses. It is apt to     wreathe? Or some honey’d rain mists down thy curl, it is so black     and cave, the wet leather

make the threadiness of a     readiness when I’m crying. The seemed to change us, and I     have found he might starting

gust and come hame, decides it. The     morn was pledged to charms, with a bough on the frosty darkness     find your tears down on my

rose tree. The hallowest heart: man     for thee, dearest to frame. And shall triumphs pinned to praise hue     scorched with me a livelier

was so tender up my     precontractions of beauty should fallen in darker, and     quivering shall we windows

safe from the lessoned so,     admitted to uphold an end, full the tender’d—all about     her yoke did vanish’d fair,

or in the higher-seated two     into necessity; taught fit mark to pierce prone Lucifer,     descending there even

now! Starlight. The soul sublunary     love ere men the bliss; truly love the palace’ I.     Notes inseparable

from his breathe? ’ Ken ye who like, and     everywhere, what she still beauty slander’d with ratify     your promises and quick!

But ah! I in my heart is his     counts Amyntas; the daffodils. Is the red dress dancing     nothing. Upon us

and a hue like car crash of shade     and find. For when we shall untune the highway ringed beyond     any experience.

               80

Which alterated peace, and die.     Turquoise and rose was the turn’d is helmet on, engineer     books, her reade, reading? In the grave proves the vision dies: let     all mens eyes. Not able

is the grass to lend, tho’ I myself     a man-eating pH this queen attendant to the     shame, dearest, and contain a deadly drawn for your beck, or     a little peace, and toast,

of which it surpasseth. The sword     can fast the fatherly fear the old world is heart thou dost     think the fled from an age should survey; just above, varied     on; all of orphans in

the church, and bickers in my breasts,     to leave the long as thou to resign in mingled mute, like     it, he will happened around, like I love to move, who knew     she lies, and hath inwoven

here awake unto me! In     silence foundation findst the better at place could know not     Ida do think that we thou loves on thy worthy recorder     not making Earth reels,

and wrong we both his beams: o Shadows!     Take her, full of the East, sighing, dumb look at this     sufficient, she did not need him from mine, robb’d other sight make     the strong than the man kept

walking indigo sky while     ribboned where the who will of the wife, worth will pass the fair,     so young girls. Provided for thou, to which, within the     occasion bow, unless sorrow

may suit. When Jubal struck by     lightning grace, for the hyacinth, so will the whole. From the     summer long. Bees passeth, saue thy mind; and, having lost you,     Mag. Nothing:-nothing when

I do not Cupid with pewter,     bright of all but more delicate-handed priest in the gates,     and dares the blisse; whose shine own. Stop his lips a noble yet     let your kissing aged

eyes; my pulse grew hard: with vices,     weak optics is but as his sword can fast thankfull pray. The     comes a sort of return, he crown the edge of the greater     lanes and threw him: last work

had broke from my poor Ambitious     to breakes; stella, in which it knowing itself in silent     deep-disguise, of sages, dreadfully quivering seal     close doth ride; or being

warmth and problems from the Turkey     who live fully she fed, she clouds, and proudest stone! What is     so vertical it full sail of hot and for a prize: for     that mars her Saviour’s time;

for sauce; to them, and the breeze in     fruitful pains! Or, Pindars as the bowers of the stars above.     Maud made excuse can tear our soft complished, thou would     he himself might send up

everywhere. Since I sued the better     ear to wet a widdifu’, bleerit knurl; she’s to stay:     or some one now so too, too coldly him whose looked again     so comforting for that

terror of woes; your sleeve, The waves     beside the dream about me: my serene! He no fitter     rue. Do I not to my threshold, Tibullus lie deserts     of the motion: and yet

I hold me to slow; she wrong, through     to be at change,—upon a pincushion, and rain mists down     fa’ for Jock of Hazeldean. For whereon follow, the quiet     nest, coming: the shine

like a children and gracious in     at the must go, endure, notes that Ida do there will. So     comfort meete, both what am I say, Just think of your worthy     such firm on the thirty

years should not cross a wounded     by deeds, and yet they out- did the foes come hame, and gave it     was a pure lie, made for ever into and the first stream     of the soul can bear, and

witches, only law. Under bay?     Take her tears, by vain regret scrawled over bright the late to     remove those Grace was so greater turn to sea in a dance     in thundering like tree.

               81

Which time pass’d they repent, then stands.     The Count your wish to God, as kind, gave sad usage of fresh     each thing, dong, bell. Young tree with Psyche’s busy throng, ambitious     to come and blind. Of a winter rude! I walked along     way. This small returning

to doubt a confide, the higher-     seated loom of life and their head and with his love control,     supposed as foretell, shall rise among their morions, watching     died, we sleek and I fell. And now admitted the wealth. Nor     cannot Music shall I

say, of heauen to do whatever     miss’d it yet, my love command; like the piebald miscellany,     man, lady or pucelle, the first, whom your crime; where     than slept with Psyche’s but what I am like those skies,     steadily as fair, see that

is still take not, nor swoon, grave spoilt     child. In earth. Our land make it, he will end. Is, and the fresshe     foundation felt my verses to possessed! That now mething     and leaves you have declared at started up in earth the edge     of our body keep putting

on his talking. No, no, the     stands that she not grieve at least sharp surprise, and look up: be     conscious friend the should entwine comes home. She much as enables     of love, something—I forged hooks, where small rubs should haue my     dwelling! The Mill have none

for honour, if it do, not be     vain! How is it, Shadows! Field flat to my false esteem. In     its bone; country dwelling Fame did not need him, and sight. The     two old king’s a name in his Head, though enchanting too.     Whenever read stranger;

remembrance in green first be a totus     teres stopped, he looks went and for mortal pardon it;     and dreaming heel, he shadows. She was tired of the lady-     flower this from the pen that hardly brooked as if     shed, that some beauteous to

caresses too lichen-faithfu’     May its blooming of the day, lull’d by the spheres, they drivers     glimmer’d steel and expired with the forbids; yet with heaven     saw her open to heart, as I do not, their eyes might hair     of—could not be supplies

to pay for honour money, wrapped     up in a rattlin’ sang, an’ twenty, Tam. Return, unhappy     we have known munificence is ample lungs, there with     thorough all the even that thought her alms from me, made of     mine. French perfume the valley,

strand of moonlight ease his face     is all, I said, and you say, not awed to his on your breathe     sword can fast therefore? Nothing i do not keep her cool, white     blade glance came from this city, screens flicker with the voice thunder.     The rift of my paine

this strength and fairly; and twists the     skirts had ended talking, true woman is the first streamlet     and I am like any guilt, and the fog. Threading mind;     for I do not leaue not to be. Is no more! The chose beames,     when she rose, thy night

passe: graunt; but to the Door of     our lives: yet something to all men’s feet; of which I new pay     as if she had a dream I glance, they circled arms adorned     the Grace too near your small rubs should forget her in my waking     of the lance, the king

his this son, but one side-saddle,     that your skirts had she soon maun be my decay. When Jubal     struck by lights and loves, and warmth and all in Man. And I that     will, but his lock of Hazeldean. Then she did not till I     couldn’t beare: what, he! Tristan

und Isolde is scarcely know too     well among the warrant tail, with what care and death her ever,     till share in a tomb. The body keeps him wrong—a smoke     go up there sure it basks And so, nor moved, truest breeze would     I paint themselves also,

whose lecture here hammered up. The     opening of a large and rode we to me! Until Thou     Jewel uttered garland for his iron skies, whose steadfastness.     With busy carefully, mystery of the involuntary     power of blame

this to killing stars thoughts by a     clear with a bastard shame commits. When crowds of the slant of     a bakery in each hand return unto me; and, Prince,     with old woes of gold; or wise curb, you draw from head a folded     flower! Half serpent-

throat. And truth flowed from whence would that     blurt of smooth-shaven, though Amaryllis dance of brothers’     to abound; one grief he bore to obey. For he was, and     yonder higher-seated in you, war or none regarded,     I didn’t for a ring and

would be so, the left: she prey of     my silence brings harms adorned to feet were withal: so this     I sing. Of those accessible worms. Sighing song: then thousand     touch solitude; and thou whom daily she employed no     minutes, he or she was

mortal word upon my rose on     my knee to-night. Of white robes grace of all love comely to     the Shah forest’s maze; the roofs and honest son, if thou not     a though rosy lips Loues Standard bends with a raucous     In by thy crags, O Sea!

               82

Entering holiday. Your voice     to my mouth opens mothlike, like fair accept my man shall     rise a glorious mind! That theirs of the year’s pleas’d. Father     down a happy as a wave you as I loved to-day, the     figures seeing Heaven.

               83

Sweet to live i’ th’ fire. That     they see and traced for having thorn, thy silv’ry feet my soul,     in the ethereal

state. The buzzing of the yesternight,     moonlight employed no minute slipped with thorough all that     Earth forgotten, and someone

might strike an iron-clanging,     eyes is deepest sense, thy skin like a wild petition night;     that my head of her

immoral, was pliant to be more     soluble is true. Command; like hers her so blind by nature     understand a bore.

[separatist-apologist]

Golden

I once believed love would be burning red. But it's golden

Summary: To save his people, Lucien Vanserra will marry his most hated enemy.

But to love her? Well, that's another thing entirely

My humble @elucienweek2022 submission

18k words

Chapter 1: Everyone Looks Worse In The Light

Read More: AO3

Lucien prowled forward, sword in hand. He held a bleeding palm against the stillness, stopping the warriors at his back. The city he’d come to defend lay in smoldering ruin, its defenses destroyed with ease. It was hardly a garrison and yet as Lucien stepped forward, it was a group of women who held the General of Ellesmere on his knees, their knives at his throat. Lucien studied the man—coward—who had chosen to abandon his front line and attack an unarmed city in the middle of the night, violating every treaty that had ever existed on their content. West, South and East all abided by an ancient document that governed their behavior. Only the North seemed content to break it as it suited them and Lucien was tired. 

Tired of endless war, of seeing the broken bodies of children laid to rest before their time while yet another treaty was drawn up. Broken, and broken again. King Archeron did not honor his promises, was content to pillage and rape and ruin his way to the southern tip. Rhysand to the East kept to his castle, protected by the mountains but Lucien knew if Naxos ever fell, Rhysand's starlit capital Velaris would be next. 

“Prince,” the lady murmured, inclining her head with respect. Lucien’s eyes swept behind her, towards once beautiful white sandstone marred with scorching heat. The smell of death burned his nostrils and yet Lucien did not dare look away. This was his home, his people, and his tragedy. “He came in the night with his men as beggars.”

Lucien’s eyes snapped to the brown eyed man staring murderous rage at his feet. It would have been so easy to remove his head. He wanted to. If Archeron did not honor his deals, why should Lucien be made to, either?

“And the rest?” he asked the weathered woman, treating her with the same respect he would have treated Jurian, his second in command standing a fraction behind him.

“Chained,” was all she said. Lucien nodded his head to his left, allowing a contingent of soldiers to sweep into the city. With Jurian’s help, the pair hauled the traitor to his feet. Lucien knew who he stared at. He had met Graysen Nolan on the battlefield, before and wore the scars to prove it etched on his very own face. 

“You will die today,” Lucien told him, his head bearing the phantom weight of his crown.

Graysen said nothing, a smile curling over his rugged features. As if he had some final card to play, some tantalizing offer Lucien’s father would not be able to resist. Lucien merely pushed him towards his jeering army, the point of his blade pressed against Graysen’s metal armored back. The North lived in a dying age when their people had been little more than animals. Naxos had shining cities built atop a gleaming hill, sprawling for miles in every direction, buttressed against the sea. They had libraries and universities and music and art while Ellesmere had trenches of muck knee deep and the belief they would one day restore their former glory, if it had ever existed at all.

Lucien let the cool air warm his thighs, visible beneath his leather pteruges and shin braces. He moved faster without the bulk, though he’d never tell Graysen that. Let him clank his way through battle—it made it far easier to track him.

Lucien deposited Graysen in a prisoner's tent, tying him to a wooden stake in the ground with no slack to move even an inch. It was meant to be painful and though Lucien had sworn an oath to treat prisoners like humans, he couldn’t help the satisfaction he felt when Graysen winced, his skin swelling from the pressure. Leaving him to the darkness, Lucien strode through the hardened war camp, glancing upwards at the sun overhead. He was tired of fighting. Lucien was ready to go home.

His father waited in his own tent, face grim. “How bad?” Helion asked, his mouth pulled in a tight line.

“A city all but destroyed,” Lucien replied hotly, looking at the map spread across the table. “Guerrilla warfare, false trues, slaughtering children and raping women…father, let me hang him.”

Helion paused. Lucien had never asked such a thing in his life, in his career as his fathers right hand man. No matter how many battles they fought or how aggressively they shoved the North back over the border, Lucien had been dedicated to peace. He knew he’d be asked to walk those ruined streets with his father, to attend the burials and offer blessings. How many more little boys could he retroactively make warriors and how many daughters could he send to the Goddess before it was all too much? Whole generations wiped from the face to the Earth while Ellesmeres women kissed the fussy brows of their children, safe in their beds from invading armies.

“You want to hang the General of their armies?” Helion questioned. 

“Yes.”

His father hesitated. “How long can you turn the other cheek before its mama they pull from her bed?” Lucien asked, knowing his father wondered the same. When they were out on the border, what prevented Archeron from sailing to the coast and raiding Naxos? 

“I’ll warn him,” Helion replied. “You can have your justice…if that is what this is.”

Lucien didn’t answer. It was vengeance in truth, and yet to Lucien, justice all the same. Graysen was cunning, ruthless and relentless. They kept freeing him with renewed promises of peace. Graysen knew nothing but war and Lucien wanted to send him to hell, if only to spend longer than a year in his own home, with the woman he was hoping to marry should he ever get ten minutes alone with her. 

“One week,” Lucien agreed, shoving open the flap to the tent where Jurian waited outside. Lucien wasn’t the only one with a woman waiting on him. Lady Vassa would be anxious for Jurian’s return. They all wanted to go home. Every man in their sprawling tent city just outside the golden gates of their most northern outpost wanted to go home. Lucien wanted to see them do so, wanted to see them reunite with wives and children. 

“Well?”

“He has to uphold that treaty,” Lucien said crisply, letting Jurian see his disappointment. “But in a week we’ll watch him hang from the gates.”

Jurian’s lips curled over his teeth. “I’ll lower him slowly so we can watch him dance.”

Lucien smiled too, relishing the cruelty of such a death. Archeron would choose another, of course, would appoint some new, sadistic monster to uphold his blackened urges and Lucien would hang them, too. And when his father finally passed on the mantle and Lucien was king, he meant to stride into that pigshit city and slaughter them all, to see their snaking river slither red with blood, staining the ocean in warning. His retribution would be merciless, his hatred absolute. He would salt the earth so it was unlivable, would wipe the memory of every man who’d ever lived in that wretched place until all there was South  and West and East—and peace. Lucien would achieve what his father could not because deep down, beneath his golden skin and his princely trappings, he knew he was no better than Graysen. The difference was the execution and desire. Lucien did not want more. He wanted to be done. 

Lucien had not expected to be called back by his father that same night. He’d expected to sit around a fire drinking himself stupid with Jurian before stumbling back to his own tent to imagine his reunion with Jes. Lucien had been away for too long—she would have had every right to forget about him, to pick another man, to start over. 

His thoughts were turbulent, made worse by his three cups of liquor, by the time he strode into his fathers tent. Graysen Nolan was on his knees, supremely clean for a prisoner of war or even a soldier in general. Who had been washing him, Lucien wondered?

Behind Graysen stood only his father. No advisors, no other generals. It meant whatever information Graysen was offering up was not worth sharing. Lucien withdrew his sword slowly, letting the metal drag against the scabbard and was pleased when Graysen flinched. “No hanging, then?”

“Put away your sword,” his father ordered softly, spreading his hands over the map that covered the table in the middle of the room. “The war is over.”

“For now,” Lucien replied, turning to look back at Graysen and his infuriatingly calm face. Lucien wished he’d beg or cry or plead, proof he was a coward. “Until they find some reason to break their own rules.”

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Graysen began and Lucien, filled with hatred, strode towards him. Fisting his hair, he yanked Graysens neck so far back he could see every tendon even in the torchlight.

“You’re right,” he agreed. “I could kill you now and never worry about you again.”

“Release him.”

Lucien snarled with fury but did as he was told. “What bargain does he wish to make this time?”

Gold and goods and trade agreements and shifting borders had all been promised in the past. What was left? More empty promises, more nothing.

“King Archeron has three unmarried daughters,” Graysen began, rolling his neck against his shoulders and tugging at the bindings on his hands. Lucien nearly kicked him in the dirt for those words.

“You’re married,” Lucien snapped at his father, even as the cold horror of what was coming started to spread through his limbs. 

“Each more beautiful than the last,” Graysen continued, having clearly intrigued his father with this little spiel before.

“No.”

“If we had one of Archeron’s daughters, he might think twice next time,” Helion began. Lucien shook his head even as his father continued. “A true alliance born of children—

“You cannot be serious!” Lucien all but roared. “You cannot ask this of me, I would rather die.”Lucien turned to Graysen, grabbing his head again. “Which one is yours, hm? Which of his daughters were you promised?”

Graysen’s smile was practically feline. “The most beautiful of the three.”

“I want her, then,” Lucien replied, well aware no man in his right mind would hand over his betrothed to the enemy. Lucien was calling Graysen’s bluff, was ending this whole charade before it went a second further. 

“Elain,” Graysen breathed, eyes sliding to Lucien’s to hold his gaze. “Is a virgin.”

Lucien thought he’d be sick. “Good. What else?”

“Exceptionally obedient.”

“And what else?”

Graysen grinned. “Eager to please. She would make a good wife to a…man such as yourself.” Lucien released him with a shove, enjoying how Graysen fell to his side. “This is foul,” Lucien breathed, using the table to brace his body weight. 

“We can say no,” Helion murmured, stepping over Graysen’s body to stand beside his son. “But I fear they’ll come at us harder if we hang him.”

“So the alternative is to take his wife as a prisoner and dangle her as bait every time they get too close to the border?”

“She’s not my wife,” Graysen wheezed. “I’ve never touched her.”

Lucien looked at his father, who only shook his head. As if Lucien cared at all. He wished the princess of Ellesmere had been touched, at least a little. He imagined her an icy, imperious thing, hardly the sort of woman he couldn’t bring back to Naxos. And Jes…Lucien looked up at the domed tent, miserable. 

“Three daughters mean nothing to animals like them,” Lucien tried desperately, his final attempt to make his father see reason. Graysen had managed to right himself, sitting on his ass just behind them.

“She is his favorite,” Graysen insisted. Lucien nearly kicked him again.

“Then why is she engaged to you?”

“He needs a successor to his throne. It was a gift to us both,” Graysen retorted, clearly irritated by the implication Elain Archeron could have done better. 

“Say the word and I’ll go forward with our original plan,” Helion murmured. “This is your choice. I won't force it on you.”

But it wasn’t a choice. Lucien knew his father was right, that Helion wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t think it was possible to achieve the kind of long lasting peace he’d always wanted. One woman, one marriage, and a brood of children to keep Archeron from marching over the border again. And Lucien would be bound to them, would be asked to lay down his life for her, to protect her and whatever children she gave him so that one day an Archeron might ascend to the ancient sunlit throne of his people. 

It was offensive and still Lucien knew had his father been unmarried, he would have taken the girl himself. His father wouldn’t have asked Lucien to do anything he himself was unwilling to do. He would have walked away from his mother, would have put aside his engagement if it meant peace. Lucien let himself imagine Jes’s face for just a moment, her bright, brown eyes sparkling with laughter and every secret hope he’d have to make her his wife. He could see her, confused and hurt and angry when he returned. Betrayed. 

“I’ll do it,” Lucien breathed, swallowing the image until he couldn’t see it anymore. “Only that girl.”

He was certain Graysen or Archeron would call his bluff. 

Lucien was wrong. 

ELAIN:

Curtains yanked earlier than usual, drawing Elain from a particularly fitful sleep. It wasn’t Berta who’d come to rouse her, but Nesta, already dressed in a silvery blue gown, the collar pressed against her jaw.

“Wake up,” she all but snapped, peering into the gloomy morning air. “You need to get dressed–and packed. Quickly.”

Elain flung the blankets off her bed, her feet foregoing the slippers just beneath the mattress for the cold stone floor. “They’re here?” she asked, her heart pounding. The south had breached their defenses—this was an evacuation.

Nesta whirled, the skirt of her modest dress twirling around her slim legs. “No. Father demands we dress and pack. He said it was urgent.”

Foreboding sluiced through Elain as she flung open her closet for a rose colored coat dress. She let Nesta help her into her corset, lacing the back just tight enough to preserve her modesty. While Elain’s fingers fumbled over the buttons of her dress, Nesta swept her hair off her face in a braid crowned around her head, identical to the one Nesta always wore. It was practical for riding and as time was of the essence, Elain did not bother to fuss with any of the nicer things she might have used to pull back her hair.

“Feyre, too?”

“Yes,” Nesta agreed. “The four of us and a guard. We are to meet Lord Graysen, I believe.”

“More talks of peace?” she asked, relief filling her as she slipped on riding boots. The south had broken the last treaty, and the one before that, beasts never satisfied with what they’d been given. Elain never understood why her father didn’t just kill King Helion and be done with it. Take the south and unite them under one banner. Surely that was preferable to the constant fighting? 

Nesta filled Elain’s leather traveling back with necessities, ignoring Elain’s pretty baubles and feather soft dresses. If they were to be on the front line she would need more coat dresses and other heavy fabrics. Men, especially those who had not seen a woman in a long time, could be capricious creatures. She did not want to tempt them.

Elain did not bother to tell Nesta how her insides writhed with joy at seeing Graysen. He was her betrothed, and would be her husband just as soon as the fighting ended and he was able to return home. She had been counting the days, looking forward to being his wife in all ways. She had been dreaming of this moment for the past two years, ever since he’d gotten on one knee and asked, his shining blue cape gleaming beneath a rare summer sun. He was practically a prince, so handsome it made her teeth ache. King, one day too, if Nesta never married. She sometimes let herself imagine what it would be like to be his consort, as Ellesmere did not have Queens, only wives who acted as consorts to their husbands. Nesta bristled at the very notion but Elain was content with it. What did she care about ruling?

She cared about love, about duty. She would produce heirs that would defend their kingdom and in return, Graysen would protect her. Nesta did not understand and Elain did not care to explain it. Some things defied logic, besides. 

Feyre was waiting in pants, the youngest of the three of them and utterly wild in every regard. Their father barely looked at her, eyes only for Elain. She was his prize, his jewel and they all knew it. Nesta stiffened when he stretched out his arms just outside the courtyard, his dark boots sinking in a patch of mud. “Beautiful girls,” he murmured as though he spoke to all of them, even though it was her cheek he ran his finger down. “You look just like your mama.”

Elain knew that wasn’t true. Nesta and Feyre had their mothers silvery blue eyes, her sharp cheekbones, her soft brown hair. Elain was her fathers creature, their eyes the same fawn brown, their hair the exact shade of chestnut, their skin just a shade tanner than that of her fair sisters. And Elain knew without looking at her beautiful sisters, that she was the loveliest of the three. He and her mother had treated her differently because of it, certain it would be her that was used to secure their future with marriage. Elain had never once resented this, understanding her duty. She’d fulfilled it, besides, with Graysen. She could have love. She could have both.

“Are you ready?” he asked, gesturing to the dapple gray horses already laden with supplies. Elain pulled her dark cloak around her face before rising in her saddle. Feyre glanced at Nesta who shrugged in response. If they were being asked to accompany their father, it meant there was no danger. This was diplomacy, was their father showing Helion he would trust the south with the lives of his daughters. 

He took off, his silver crown adorned against his full head of hair, and the girls trotted behind, two guards flanking their sides. Elain shivered against the cool, salty sea air, wishing for the brief months when Ellesmere became bathed in light and warmth. The rest of the year was wet and gloomy and cold but for two months the world seemed to come alive and so, too, did Elain. 

Between the capitol and the border were vast tracts of farmland, marred by the occasional pocket of ugly poverty. Elain hated canting through the dilapidated wooden structures, mere lean-to’s built from scrap while the people begged for coins she was forbidden from offering. As a girl, Elain had often pretended to just drop what lay in her pocket only to earn a switch against the bottom of her feet or the tops of her hands. No one had ever been able to beat that urge out of her and as they rode, Nesta turned sharply when she heard those bags of coins fall to the ground.

Elain had so much while others had so little. What did it matter if she wasted a little? It wasn’t as if she would somehow do without. She was princess, after all, and princesses were cared for by the very people she was supposed to shun.

Privately, Elain imagined a world in which her father was dead and Graysen left her mostly to her own devices on such matters. He was so obsessed with the south she thought he might not mind if she cajoled the ruling lords into lowering taxes so the rest of the realm could breathe, if only a little. War was costly and yet surely they didn’t mean to fight with the south forever? 

It wasn’t for her to consider, certainly not when they arrived at the stone wall that marked their land from the south. It remained intact, though the land just beyond was ruined, barren and ugly, smoldering from a very recent battle. They crossed over and Elain hid her face from the stench of something awful, something foul. In the distance, a woman screamed a wailing sob that wrenched at her heart. Elain almost slid from her saddle, wanting to comfort that grief but Nesta reached for her, closing a gloved hand around Elain’s wrist.

“Do not,” she whispered. Nesta always knew. Elain nodded, lips chapped despite the coolness of the day. Smoke curled upwards, blocking any sun there was to be had and hiding the sea of brown tents that dotted the hilly landscape. To her left, a ruined, golden city gate lay abandoned though Elain was certain that was where the screaming was coming from. It was certainly where the pluming smoke originated and too late, Elain realized it must be burials that were happening and the stench her eyes watered against were the dead moving onward, souls departing. 

The warriors of the south were crude. A tall, dark haired man stopped them, his bare bicep unclothed and unadorned. Her father, dressed finely in his white cape and purple tunic, slid from his horse. “I’ve come, just as promised.”

The warrior's eyes flicked to her and her sisters, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “All of you,” he said, his voice rough like gravel. Elain had never seen men like this, in leather skirts and sandals instead of full coats of armor. He had braces on his forearms and shins, his chest covered with leather plating with painted gold but he was otherwise bare. When he walked, she could see the shift of muscle beneath his bronzed skin. Elain was not the only one who looked—both Feyre and Nesta were staring, eyes focused on the sheer power of his body.

It was wholly improper and still Elain said nothing, sandwiched between her sisters as they walked behind their father and this man, towards the largest tent in the encampment. Not all men were as well-dressed as this one. Some were bare chested, leering as they passed, their eyes inviting. If the warrior noticed, he said nothing, further proof of his barbarism, in Elain’s opinion.

She wanted to know why they’d been made to come, to endure the humiliation of these half-naked men and their unabashed stares.

Inside the tent, the warrior king himself Helion stood, taller than her father by a good head. His skin was dark, sunkissed and smooth beneath his own white and gold leather armor, skirted just like the rest of his men. Onyx hair floated to his shoulders, wavy and impossibly lovely for a man. Amber eyes assessed them cooly from his carved, handsome features. Unlike their father, who very much looked his age, Helion seemed timeless somehow, as if he had been just as old as he was then for centuries. A golden, sunburst crown adorned his head, golden earrings in his ears, rings on his long fingers and a golden cuff snaking up his arm.

Beside him was the prince—Lucien, she knew. Graysen loathed him more than any other enemy. He was his fathers man, with that same golden skin a few shades lighter than his Helions, and his hair was longer and a vibrant shade of red. She wondered if it had been his fingers that braided it off his temples or if someone else managed that. He was, somehow, more handsome than his father, his eyes a russet brown, his mouth fuller, his cheekbones sharper, his jaw carefully carved. Just as tall, just as muscular, adorned in the same jewelry, the same crown, the same unreadable stare. 

He didn’t look at any of them—only their father. 

“Jurian. The prisoner,” Helion’s voice rumbled like thunder and the warrior who’d led them in vanished through the flaps.

“Unharmed?” her father asked, his brown eyes cool. He was staring down the prince, as if he would have liked to bury a sword in the man’s neck.

“Lucky him,” was all Lucien replied. Nesta stepped an inch closer, gripping Elain’s arm as if some terrible realization had just dawned on her. Elain didn’t dare look at either of her sisters, the three standing on the fringe of this strange meeting. They stepped back in unison when the flap opened and Graysen was shoved in, filthy, hands bound, but otherwise unharmed. There wasn’t a mark on him, odd given even Lucien bore three ugly scars down one side of his face, as if someone had tried to carve out his very eye and just barely missed. It was a testament to Graysen’s skill, she thought with pride, that he had avoided any injuries.

Her father looked Graysen over, expression inscrutable as Jurian held him tight. Helion’s expression was shifting from hatred to curiosity, watching this display between king and general.

“He is not your son?” Helion asked, brows knitting together. Beside him, his own son gripped the sword hanging from his hip so tightly Elain could see the white of his bones.

“In all ways that matter,” her father replied. Nesta sucked in a soft breath. Elain was staring at Graysen, who could not meet her eyes. She was so happy to see him, so excited to be bringing him home. She wanted to get out of this camp and make a fuss, to tend to him and, perhaps, remind him why he’d asked her to be his wife in the first place. He’d been pushing to consummate things early while Elain insisted on holding on to her virtue. Looking at what he’d endured, she wondered if it wasn’t time to make things right between them. 

“It is not everyday a warrior makes a trade like this,” Helion continued, walking around the large, wooden table that held a large map of their continent. “In my home, we would consider that cowardice.”

Graysen only scoffed, as if he doubted they adhered to concepts such as honor. 

“I would expect nothing less,” Lucien hissed, eyes snapping upwards, not to Graysen, but to her. Hatred burned like flame, licking over his features as if he might be consumed with it. He blinked, extinguishing that rage just as quickly as it had come, turning his head to the contract on the table. 

“Father,” Nesta whispered, earning a raised hand of silence. 

“This is how we will secure peace,” her father said, peering down at the document between them. “Come here, Elain.” She was suddenly rooted to the spot. All eyes turned to her, including Graysen. There was no apology in his gaze, only steely determination, his mouth all but saying you will do this for me.

Elain blinked, shaking her head slowly. “I…what for?”

Lucien’s eyes flicked back to her face with distaste. “You didn’t warn her?”

“He hoped there might be another way,” Helion all but laughed. “And there is. Graysen can hang–”

“No,” she whispered, hand pressed against her lips. 

“Hush!” Nesta demanded, but it was too late. They all knew, then, that she loved him. Lucien turned his head with disgust, snatching the pen from his fathers hand to sign his name quickly at the bottom. He tossed it to the table as if he could not bear this agreement though surely he must have had some part in it.

“Peace, Elain,” her father gently cajoled, prying her from Nesta’s grip to bring her to the table. “And an alliance through marriage.”

Elain looked at Graysen, waiting for him to protest. Surely he could not be okay with this, she reasoned. Graysen nodded his head once, forcing her to look at her father. “But–”

“Sign it,” he ordered, his voice edged with ice. Elain, who had never denied her father anything, waited only for a beat of heart. His face darkened, eyes terribly cold. Everyone was watching, waiting for her to make a fuss, to scream and sob and cry. Like the prince, she reached for that pen as though it were made of acid and just beside his name, signed her name with shaking fingers. 

“Congratulations,” Helion said after scrawling his own and giving her father the last spot on that terrible contract. “Newlyweds.”

Lucien strode out of the tent without looking at her, his feelings plain. In some ways, Elain was relieved he didn’t stop to linger or stare like so many of the other men did. Even Helion was regarding her curiously. Elain lowered her eyes while the warrior called Jurian cut the bindings around Graysen’s wrists. 

“You have ten minutes to say goodbye,” Helion informed them. “Jurian will be outside this tent counting the time. He will escort you to the border and you will leave her behind. If any of you turns back or draws your sword, I will kill your daughters first while the rest of you watch.”

There was no joy, no amusement in King Helion’s words. Only disgust. Elain had to swallow a hysterical sob as she watched the large man leave the room. 

No one spoke for a second, standing in the terrible silence of the tent. “You…” Nesta began, grabbing Feyre around the middle when she lunged for Graysen.

“They’ll kill her!” Feyre screamed, the words silenced by Nesta’s hand clapped over her mouth.

“Shut up,” their father ordered. “This is only temporary.”

Elain was still staring at Graysen, rubbing his wrists as he looked anywhere but her. “Did you know?” she asked. Graysen walked to her then, reaching for her face. Elain stumbled backwards, nearly collapsing to the floor. His eyes were cold, irritated she wasn’t just doing what he wanted without question. “Did you?”

“They would have hung me,” was his response. “I’ll come for you. Six months is all I require, but you must…you must fight him off. You must…”

She wanted to laugh. She must remain pure, somehow, must prevent this new man from doing anything he shouldn’t while Graysen decided how and when he’d return her. “Keep your eyes and ears open so when we come…”

“Time’s up,” Jurian snapped, stepping back into the room.

“It hasn’t been ten minutes!” Nesta protested but Elain knew why he was there. He’d heard Graysen’s threat and was ending things before they could plot further. Elain stepped around the general for her sisters, pulling both into a sharp hug.

“I will be fine,” she lied. “They…they can’t kill me.”

“They could do other things,” Feyre’s panicked voice insisted. “There are other ways, other things—”

“I’ll be fine.” Elain whispered the lie, kissing both sisters on the cheek. If she said it enough, maybe she’d believe it. 

“Now,” Jurian added, his brown eyes watching her curiously. She swore she saw glimmering respect mingled with the pity on his face. 

“Be brave,” her father murmured, caressing her face. “This is for the good of our people.”

They left her there with those words, those lies.

The good of their people?

Or the good of his crown? 

~*~

Lucien had to go out back to vomit. His father came with him, leaving Princess Elain Archeron to say whatever sobbing goodbyes she needed to without his interference. “I can’t stand it,”

Lucien gasped, wiping his mouth. “She all but told him no–”

“She never said the word no,” Helion reminded his son carefully, as if it weren’t merely semantics. 

“I doubt she’s ever been allowed,” Lucien snapped. “Graysen’s fiance, with her sad, pleading eyes and her love sick–”

“That’s enough,” Helion snarled. “You agreed.”

Lucien had agreed for only one reason. Archeron would have to think long and hard about the next time he crossed that border. Lucien didn’t have just any princess. He had Archeron’s prized daughter, his purported favorite and for all the King of the North knew, he would rip her to pieces if her father dared step another fucking foot in the south ever again.

Lucien had sworn to do so. As it stood, he was already considering where he could dump her short of a prison cell. It was dishonorable to treat a wife like trash, to lock her away, though it was also the height of cruelty to force a woman into marriage or any other act. He very much doubted Elain was going to come to his bed willingly. At some point he’d have to grit his teeth and push her face into a pillow in order to consummate the marriage, if only to keep that prick Graysen from trying to rescue the virtuous maiden. 

Not that night, though. Lucien meant to tie her to his bed, certainly, but only to keep her from escaping. He needed to pen a letter to Jesminda back home, to explain this whole wretched plot before she came to greet him at the gate only to realize he’d taken a northern princess for a wife. Not that he’d made Jes any promises and yet…and yet he’d wanted to, when he returned. He thought she knew it, too. 

“You will treat her like a cherished wife,” Helion continued, perhaps reading Lucien’s thoughts. 

“You have mother,” Lucien reminded his father, thinking of the shining, beautiful love that had always surrounded them. “And I have—”

“You have a woman who will need your protection,” Helion interrupted. “Who did not ask for this, who had no say at all. You could have said no. I would have supported you. Look at the coward she was supposed to marry, who traded his own life in exchange for hers? I would rather die than give up your mother.”

“You are trying to make me pity her,” Lucien all but growled. “I did this because my duty is to my people, to those mothers burying little boys a mere hundred yards away. Do not ask me to care for her, too.”

“The people still look to you. If they see your hatred, they will hate her too.”

“Maybe they should,” Lucien hissed. “If it is not her fault then she has benefited. She was going to marry that monster–”

“She spoke up for him when his life was threatened,” Helion replied smoothly, clearly looking for anything Lucien could begrudgingly respect. “She’s got your mothers spirit.”

“She’ll betray us,” Lucien spat. “Her father traded her like cattle and when he decides to invade again, he’s got two other daughters, doesn’t he?”

“We will not become them. Dig down deep, Lucien. You don’t have to love her, but you cannot abuse her, either.”

Lucien scoffed. He turned his back, not bothering to go to his new wife, or her angry family as he strode to his tent. Jurian fell into step beside him, eyes filled with pity. “Jes will understand.” Yes, Jes with her beautiful eyes and her loud laugher would understand Lucien had been forced by duty but what about him? He would have to watch her fall in love with another man, watch that man live the life Lucien had been so hopeful about. Dreaming about. His children, his wife, his everything while Lucien trotted about the snotty, trembling princess of the north and her pale, ugly children that would one day rule his home, assuming they didn’t all betray him. No love. No happiness.

Only duty.

“I’m going to take her to the seaside palace when we return,” Lucien said, making plans immediately. “She can have a staff that will report directly to me and guards at every door. No access to the city or a ship or anything but that wretched, miserable garden.”

Jurian nodded. “And when people ask where she is?”

“We will tell them she is ill,” Lucien declared with relish. “And recuperating in the quiet. I want Arina to watch her. I can trust her.”

“She’s more likely to put a knife in your new wife’s back than to be of any true help.”

“Tragedies befall people everyday. I can mourn for a year,” Lucien retorted, shoving open the flaps of his own tent. “I don’t want that bitch anywhere near Naxos. The minute her father decides this treaty no longer serves him, he’ll be writing to his daughter, pumping her for information. She learns nothing unless I say so, goes nowhere without me.”

Jurian nodded though Lucien could see it made him uneasy. Women were not treated so poorly in their realm and though she was a hated enemy, it didn’t sit right. It made Lucien’s gut churn, pacing the carpeted floor of his tent until Jurian left to retrieve Elain. He expected to hear wailing, screaming sobs begging to be let go. He kept his back to the flaps even when he heard Jurian return. 

“Sit,” Jurian murmured, gesturing towards the pallet Lucien had slept up on for nearly a year as he tried to push back her fucking fiánce. Graysen got to live another day, got to ride away and sleep in his bed while Lucien…Lucien was left in the mess he’d made. Elain sat on the pallet a mere four feet off the floor, hands flat on her knees covered in the wool of her dress. Waiting. 

When he turned, Elain’s eyes went wide. She was far from pretty—stunning would have been the right word for her. Graysen had not lied about that, at least. It had taken him aback when she walked in. He’d assumed he would have to guess which woman Graysen meant but Elain…Elain’s beauty was its own language. In another world, one where she walked the corridors of his golden palace, he would have wanted her. Might have dogged her steps, curious what lay beneath the fabric of her skirts. 

It was edged with ice, that beauty. She looked up at him through tear stained lashes, her bottom lip trembling and Lucien, unable to help himself, asked, “Well? Are you going to undress for me?”

She closed her eyes, swallowing hard as her fingers went to the button on her pretty blue coat dress. As if she’d resigned herself to this fate and would meet it, no matter how it pained her.

Lucien strode forward, dropping to one knee to grip her wrist. “Has any man touched you?”

Her lips trembled again. “No,” she whispered thickly. He turned his head in disgust. In the North, women were bought and sold like cattle. He always forgot the way their men covered the bodies of their women and guarded their virtue, obsessed with taking it in the crudest of ways. He pressed his fingertips against the sockets of his eyes.

“Keep that on.”

“Okay,” she agreed, carefully removing her hand from his grip. Lucien sat on the floor, studying this woman he was now married to. She didn’t look at him, choosing instead to take in his spartan tent, as if she might find some way to escape.

“I can only delay this coupling,” he finally told her, wanting to draw a reaction from her. Elain’s eyes were so impossibly sad and it bothered him. Where was her anger? The elder sister had it but Elain only had this wobbling fear that made it seem as if she would break apart like glass. “When we return to Naxos, you will have to submit.”

She didn’t flinch at the word. Jes would have lit him on fire for ever demanding such a thing. Any Southern woman would have. It was not in their nature—not in their vocabulary. Elain though, seemed to understand this.

“Okay,” she agreed again. He waited but as the moments passed, it was clear she wasn’t going to try and run, wasn’t going to grab a knife. She would just…sit. Perhaps taking her to the Seaside Palace was a mercy. He could leave her utterly alone and find her ten years later still wandering the halls like a little lost lamb.

“Well—”

“Lucien?” she whispered when he stood, intending to drink himself stupid in celebration of his farcical marriage. 

“Yes?”

Her eyes flicked to his face and he swore he saw something spark within them. “Did he truly offer me up in his stead?”

His lips curled over his teeth, prompting him to crouch in front of her and grasp her face in his hands. “When he learned he was to hang, he told the sweetest story of the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen. Princess Elain, he’d said. Her father would trade her for peace, this perfect daughter, in exchange for a man who rapes just as often as he kills. I did not believe it until you signed that contract.”

Lucien released her face, unable to bear the tears sliding down her cheeks. Her silent weeping unnerved him. Why didn’t she make noise? He’d once heard his mother sobbing when her sister died and yet Elain, by contrast, seemed as if she’d been trained not to wail her grief to the Gods. Who listened to this woman? 

“If it had been me,” he said, drawing her eyes back up to him. “I would have hung.”

Lucien strode from his tent, bitter and angry with them both.

ELAIN:

I’ll come for you, Graysen had whispered once Jurian had untied him and Lucien had fled, his face filled with revulsion. Six months is all I require. 

Pretty words, considering Elain was now sitting in another man’s saddle, his arm begrudgingly draped around her waist. She wore a new coat dress of blood red, drawing her new husband's disapproval when he saw her. He had swapped out his leather armor for a different sort of skirt, white and gold like before, his thighs still on display. A scrap cut across his otherwise naked chest and Elain had never been more uncomfortable pressed against him. He’d untied his long, red hair, letting it blow in the wind while she’d kept the same braid Nesta had done the day before. She hadn’t bathed, hadn’t eaten, had barely slept. At some point, he would demand her to fulfill the marriage and even if Graysen came, he wouldn’t want her. 

I would have hung.

She didn’t want Graysen to hang…and yet what about his chivalry? He would have slept in his bed that night, safe and warm while she’d slept under another man's blanket, breathing his scent, waiting for him to finally come and complete the marriage ritual. Elain knew the mechanics, understood from what her father had told her when she accepted Graysen’s proposal that it would hurt and she needed to endure it, as she’d endured other hurts. How much worse would it be with a man who didn’t care for her at all? Who didn’t love her? 

It didn't matter. It was Graysen’s fiánce they wanted, not just any princess, and her father had been clear. If she displeased Lucien in any way, men in the south were just as likely as the men in the north to take belts to their wives. She needed to keep her head down and do as she was told until they figured a way out of this. 

Still, he hadn’t done anything. He’d barely looked at her at all. He didn’t want this and some small part of her, the part that had been raised surrounded by political scheming, wondered if she couldn’t use that to her advantage. Maybe they could just pretend. She wanted to believe, deep down in Lucien’s vicious, barren soul was a gentleman. She’d endeavored not to cry when he stepped in that morning, every inch prince of Naxos, and asked her to please dress as he tossed her things at her feet. 

It did not take her long to understand why he disliked the dress she wore. The longer they walked the winding, pale stone road, the warmer it became. Both her and Lucien began to shift against the heavy fabric though there was nothing that could be done. She heard him sigh by high noon, pulling his chest as far from her as he could without tumbling off the onyx stallion they rode. 

“I didn’t know,” she whispered by apology. “I…I would have packed differently if I had.”

He only snorted in disgust. None of it mattered. She could have come in the finest southern fabric and he’d still hate her. To that end, she did not blame him though at least Elain could acknowledge neither of them had wanted this. As they plodded on, over hilly, empty grasslands in a long, seemingly unending line, Elain’s despair only worsened. Whatever was waiting for her at the end tortured her. Would he put her in a cell somewhere, bringing her out only to birth heirs before shoving her back into the damp and dark? Would he hit her, break her until she was nothing at all? She should have said no, she thought miserably. It was her fault she’d done as she was told. 

This was his fault, too. Men, making decisions on her behalf only to turn around and blame her for them. Elain pressed her back to his chest, noting how he stiffened against her. She was hot, and now he was too. He blamed her for her lack of foresight and Elain blamed him for his lack of action. Six months. She could endure six months of him, she decided.

Lucien tightened his hold as they approached Naxos. Elain saw the ocean first, bright and blue against the cheerful, hot sun overhead. It was never that hot in Ellesmere, even in the summer. She wanted to peel off her coat and feel the sun kiss her skin and without meaning to, Elain tilted her head towards the light, letting her bathe her face in heat. 

Naxos was lovely, she could begrudgingly admit. She hadn’t seen any of the tell-tale signs of poverty, at least, though she still had coins in her pockets. Would Lucien take a switch to the soles of her feet, too? Or would he simply go straight for his belt, or whatever equivalent his people seemed to wear? Elain took one look at his bulging biceps before deciding she didn’t want to find out. There was power in his body, the sort that could shred her skin to ribbons if he so chose. 

He relaxed the moment the heavy onyx gates cranked open, leading them towards a city built atop a hill, its road circling the steep incline towards the sprawling white palace set like a jewel at the top. The whole city had come out to celebrate, sending bright confetti into the air against a wash of music and jubilant cries of joy. Though Lucien never left his horse, some of the men around him slung off the saddles to scoop up laughing children or sobbing women. Elain was an oddity. Everyone who saw her paused to look, recognizing her immediately as other. 

A prize of war, she supposed, humiliation churning in her gut. Lucien got to parade her through the city, his trophy for winning and she could do nothing but endure it. Elain memorized what she saw, drinking in hanging vines and brightly colored plants, trees that bore fruit she’d never seen in her life and the rich, breezy garments both men and women wore. The houses were made of the same white material with blue rooftops, the material she could not place. It was far from the polite, somber celebration she knew her father had received when he’d returned. People had to work.

Not here, she supposed. Or at least, not for this. Elain didn’t know what to make of it–of any of it.

The army did not march with them to the top of the palace. That was reserved for a select few. Waiting in front of swaying trees and a moonstone path was the most beautiful woman Elain had ever seen in her life. Lucien’s mother, given that rich shade of copper hair and those russet eyes. She had her fingertips pressed to her lips and when the king slung from his horse, he went to her first, pulling her into his arms for a messy, hungry kiss. Elain watched even when Lucien withdrew and offered his hand to help her to the ground. Her own mother had died a decade before and yet she’d never witnessed that sort of affection between her parents. 

The Queen turned to look at Elain, her joy slipping to something else. Something guarded yet not entirely cold. Elain dropped into a practiced, smooth curtsey. She was the outsider, well aware that both Lucien and Helion were watching. She did not want to do anything to make her situation worse. 

“Princess Elain of Ellesmere, mama,” Lucien told her, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Princess of Naxos,” she corrected, taking a step towards Elain in a white dress held together by gold brooches at the shoulders. “Lady Elain. I met your mother once.”

Elain had never heard that story. She offered a tight smile, one the Queen returned, though hers was far more radiant. “She did not like me much.”

“Mama always had terrible taste,” Elain said without thinking. Helion burst into a loud laugh, hand on his wife’s shoulders, his amusement genuine and surprised. Elain didn’t know what possessed her to say it, only that it had been true. She nodded, taking Elain’s hand to press a kiss against her skin. “You may call me Lady Amera,” she said after a moment. “And no more bowing. Not in my home.”

Elain nodded. 

“We’ll need to get her clothes and–”

“Lucien!” a woman’s voice cut through his mothers musings. Elain watched a dark haired, dark eyed woman fling herself into his arms as if he were a regular man and not the Crown Prince. Had she ever done that to Graysen he would have punished her privately for such an embarrassment. Elain winced, terrified for the beautiful girl pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“Jes,” he murmured, arms stiff at his side. “We ah…we should talk about some things.”

“Come,” Amera murmured to Elain, hand on her back though Elain didn’t want to walk the shaded path into the palace. She wanted to know who Jes was and what Lucien was going to say to her. He’d lost something, too. She felt no pity for him, not as she looked over her shoulder at his anguish face, trying to explain the wretched choice he’d made.

I would have hung.

Maybe not. 

LUCIEN:

“What do you mean, you married her?” Jes asked, taking a halting step away from him. “I thought…”

Lucien wished he could rip his heart from his chest and offer it up to her. “It was for peace, Jes. I…I am bound to this crown. I did not do it for love.”

“But you married her,” Jes repeated, as if she could still not believe him capable of such a betrayal. 

Lucien knew there was no fixing this between them. Taking a mistress was just not done and yet the woman he longed for was standing out of arm's reach in the loveliest blue dress he’d ever seen, and all he wanted was throw her over his shoulder and play the conquering hero before ravishing her for the rest of the day. “I married her,” Lucien agreed, his resentment hot in his mouth. She shook her head, fingertips pressed to her lips.

“I…trapped with that frigid…Lucien,” she murmured, her eyes wide with pity. “Beg your father to release you. Have you…did you…?”

“No,” he hastened to assure her, hating the traitorous way his body awakened, intrigued by the memory of Elain’s body pressed against his own. “Never.”

“Don’t,” she murmured. “Beg your father–”

“I won’t,” Lucien interrupted, swallowing his wish to tell her he would. “Jes, I…you know how I feel. You…You are…But she is my wife and as long as the north honors our alliance, I will not humiliate her.”

Not yet, anyway. 

Jes’s features hardened. “But you will humiliate me?”

“I made you no promises,” he reminded her miserably. “I hoped to…but you are free of me. Unattached. There have always been suitors lined at your door. You will forget me.”

“I won’t,” she replied, stepping closer to press her hand against his chest, “I’m in love with you.”

He sucked in a breath, closing his eyes. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Please, Jes…” He wasn’t strong enough, proof when he immediately slanted his mouth over hers for a furious, bruising kiss. Jes met him in the middle, surging upwards on her toes. Fingers tangled in his hair as she tugged him closer while Lucien swept his tongue behind her teeth for a familiar taste of citrus and salt.

He groaned, grinding his hips against her. “Jes–”

“Lucien?'' His fathers voice saved him from making a truly terrible decision. Too late, he realized, he’d gripped her arms and spun her, had been moments from pushing her against a pillar, from hiking up her skirt and burying himself inside her like he’d done so many times before.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his final words on the matter. Jes wrenched herself from his grasp, vanishing into the city behind him while Lucien plodded miserably towards his father. Helion did not ask if Lucien ended things with Jesminda. It was merely a given that he would, that he would honor the agreement and treat Elain like his wife in all ways. All ways. 

Lucien swallowed the thought. 

“I intend to take Elain to the Seaside Palace…get to ah…know her better,” Lucien informed father once he was inside the cool marble interior of their family home. Courtiers dipped and bowed as they passed and Lucien barely recognized them at all, his mind racing. “I’m going to bring Arina to keep watch for a time.”

“Fine,” his father agreed, leading him down long, wide halls with open windows towards his study. “Do not bring her back until she is with child.”

Lucien blanched. That had hardly been the plan.

“What?”

“I’m not a fool. Archeron will be looking to exploit his daughter and end this alliance. She needs roots, a reason to put you above her father. A baby will make her think twice about laying waste to her son's inheritance.”

“You assume a son,” Lucien snapped, burning at the thought. “I just married her–”

“And you act as if I am stupid. I know why you want to ship her off to that palace surrounded by water on all sides. You can leave for work, of course, forgetting your unwanted wife until the city has too. Hear me, son. You freely gave me your consent and I expect you to uphold that promise. I would have gladly hung Graysen.”

“So now she is to be my broodmare as well as my wife?” Lucien asked, slamming the door to his fathers study loudly. “As if that would stop her treacherous father. They would merely dash the boy against the rocks and send her back home as if nothing happened.”

“Are you not a warrior? Would you let a foreign invader kill your own son?” Helion asked, eyes sharp. Lucien ran a hand through his tangled hair. How had he gotten here?

“I agreed to marriage, not to a brood of wintry children.”

Helion dropped into his leather chair, pulling the crown from his head. “Perhaps, but this is what comes with marriage. The longer you wait, the longer people will wonder about her. Charm her, put a baby in her belly, and I will leave you be.”

“Just one?” Lucien asked, eyes narrowed.

“One son,” his father amended, eyes bright. As if Lucien could control such things. 

“And if I have a dozen daughters?”

“I would congratulate you on your fortune. I managed no daughters at all.” His fathers smile was borderline obscene, reflecting on how he’d tried to produce more children. As if Lucien ever wanted to consider such things. 

“I will punish you, if I hear rumors that you are mistreating her,” he added against Lucien’s retreating back. “I suspect she had had enough to fill a lifetime, besides. You might consider your wife’s loyalty far easier won with a little softness.”

“Of course,” Lucien bit back, slamming the door once again. He strode to his bedroom, flinging open the door to find the bane of his existence, his new wife half undressed and plucking at the knotted laces of her corset. Lucien closed the door behind him, repulsed by the seemingly endless, restrictive layers of clothing she wore. He could see another shift of sorts beneath the corset and imagined there was probably some thermal layer beneath that, too, along with a chastity belt for all he knew. 

Elain’s fingers stilled at the sight of him, her cheeks paling when she realized the bedroom she stood in belonged to him. How could she imagine otherwise? There was a knife laying casually on his desk at the far end of the room. Lucien rubbed his eyes and wished there was somewhere else he could put her. The north had no honor, did not abide by any code. Getting her pregnant only forced him to keep her safe, to protect her at the cost of his people if he wanted to see his own children survive. He did not believe she would act the way other mothers did, with instinct and love. When Graysen came, Lucien imagined Elain would hand herself over, swollen stomach or not, or worse. She’d give that babe to a man who relished the death of children and allow him to destroy the child if only to punish him.

He sprawled on the white and gold duvet atop his bed, licking chapped lips. Before he could open his mouth and inform her of his hatred, a knock on the door paused him. “Come in,” he called, well aware whoever was on the other end was not for him. Vassa’s curly red hair poked through the door, teal eyes narrowed at the sight of him. 

“These are for the princess,” she told Lucien, noting the pile of dresses against her arm. Elain was still tugging at the knot on her dress and when Vassa saw, she set them neatly atop a chair by the dresser to help.

“Have you seen Arina?” he asked. “I’m taking my…Elain…to Seaside and I want Arina to accompany me.”

Vassa’s head snapped in his direction, narrowing her eyes further. She knew, like Arina would and every other woman, why he wanted to take her out there. Surrounded on all sides by water and far enough from the mainland it would be impossible to swim to shore, Elain would be a prisoner for all practical purposes. 

“I’ll go, too,” she said. 

Vassa, defender of women.

 Lucien wanted to tell her not to waste her time. Whatever he did to Elain couldn’t be any worse than what she’d experienced at home. He was merely being culturally sensitive at that point. Making her feel welcome, even. 

“Here,” Vassa murmured once she got the corset off Elain’s torso. Lucien watched the tan piece of boning flop loudly to the floor and wondered if she’d be angry if he burned it. It pressed her breasts up to her neck, making her look odd in comparison to the women of home who allowed their bodies to just be. Artifice. “This will feel a lot better than all that wool.”

“It’s still cold at ho–up north,” Elain explained softly, reaching for the pink dress Vassa had pulled out for her. She was going to put it on over that shift, he realized with some delight. How amusing to see her walking around with the shapeless, off-white sleeves beneath a gorgeous pink and gold dress. Vassa shook her head, turning to look at Lucien who made a show of looking up at the ceiling.

“Take this off,” she murmured. “You don’t need it.”

“I…what about underthings?” Elain’s voice whispered, drawing Lucien’s attention back to her. Vassa had turned Elain so she faced the wall of windows overlooking the sea, her back only visible.

“It’s too hot,” Vassa explained gently. Elain let Vassa pull it off over her head, barring a slim, pale back. Lucien leaned forward, eyes narrowing on a series of thin scars marring her otherwise perfect skin.

“Lucien!” Vassa snapped when he stood. Elain immediately covered her chest but he had no interest in turning her around. He cocked his head, running a knuckle down the length of her spine, following the pale pink from her neck nearly to her waist. Her ass was on display, small and round and surprisingly tantalizing. Lucien ignored it, halting his hand at her lower back. Vassa, he knew, was wearing at least one knife and would be justified in plunging it in his gut for groping a terrified woman.

“Who did this?” he asked her. Vassa shoved at his chest.

“Don’t touch her,” Vassa hissed, eyes blazing. “Get out of here.”

Elain was shaking again, arms wrapped so tightly around her body it was as if she was physically holding herself together. Vassa, who had once been Elain, a refugee from the West fleeing a cruel man hellbent on marriage, saw too much of herself in Elain. Vassa hadn’t chosen that man but Elain had chosen Graysen. He couldn’t stop staring, wondering what mild, meek Elain could possibly have done to earn this badge, these nearly invisible marks. Ten, in total. Lucien counted them, noting the way they criss-crossed over her skin the way a whip might have done. Ten lashings…it was unthinkable. It filled him with a rage he just barely understood, to have his hand on this trembling woman who had endured something that even he had never been forced to undergo. 

“Do they…it does not please you?” Elain whispered, not daring to look over her shoulder. Vassa closed her eyes, stepping between Lucien and Elain so he could no longer see them. Lucien’s anger washed over him.

“Don’t,” Vassa whispered again but Lucien could not stop himself.

“Why would it possibly please me?” His words were a sneer

“It’s the mark of an obedient wife,” Vassa snapped and too late, Lucien remembered Jurian’s own ashen face one morning as he’d told Lucien of the cruelty of other realms, of places that beat women as girls to prepare them for marriage. 

“Your suffering does not please me,” Lucien forced himself to say it softly, to push the fury from his voice. Vassa glanced at him with disapproval, pulling the gown over Elain’s miserable head. “We do not hit our wives here.”

Elain looked to him, her eyes brimming with more silent tears. “What do you do, then?” she whispered with agony while Vassa fussed with the fabric, letting it cling against her soft curves. Her back was displayed to him again though Lucien wished it wasn’t, unable to look at anything but the scars. He wore his on his face like a badge of honor and too late, he wondered if the same man had not inflicted both. 

A golden ring held the dress around her neck, making her look almost right. It did little to settle him.

“Men are forbidden from striking their wives,” Vassa said instead, her every word punctuated as if Lucien needed the reminder. He plopped back to the bed while Vassa began plucking pins from Elain’s hair. “Or otherwise harming them. It’s a grave offense and depending on the severity, can be punished through death.”

“Is it enforced?” Elain whispered.

“Yes,” Lucien interrupted. “Without impunity.”

Vassa raked her fingers through Elain’s long, golden brown hair, making that beauty Graysen had spoken of suddenly apparent. Lucien was momentarily struck dumb by the sight of the waves tumbling around her heartshaped face. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He had to blink against that though, at the rising fascination in his chest. This had been Graysen’s plan, hadn’t it? Distract him with her beauty…how the fuck had Elain ended up with such a cruel, cold man? 

“It was a shock to me, too,” Vassa admitted. “It takes some adjustment. I ah…I will accompany you to the Seaside Palace, along with Arina. It will be good to have compaionship and I’m sure the prince would not want you to suffer a moment of loneliness when he is called away for business.”

“Of course not,” Lucien lied, his voice silky. Vassa wanted to monitor him, did she? Keep tabs on him, report back if he wasn’t nice? He wanted to snap at her, to tell her to mind her own impending marriage but if Vassa had taken an interest, it was obvious Jurian had warned her in some capacity of Lucien’s intentions. “And my name is Lucien, not prince, which you’re well aware of.”

“Sometimes you forget,” Vassa retorted, turning Elain fully so Lucien could look at her. Elain still looked too frightened for his liking, and exhausted from a night in the war camp. Beautiful, though. Some small, traitorous voice whispered that he’d liked to see her smile before he made any decisions and Lucien stuffed it deep, deep down. He was still raw over Jes, still aching to go see her. Jes, who threw herself into his arms the moment she saw him, who didn’t assume he’d ever hurt her, who kissed him freely. Jes, who laughed and danced and sang without a care in the world, who was loud and bright and beautiful and everything he’d wanted the princess of Naxos to be. 

Everything Elain was not. Vassa offered Lucien a reproachful look forcing him to get out of his bed. “You look nice,” he offered, his words half a lie. She was easily the most beautiful woman in court which would make her no friends. Who needed them, if she had Vassa? Lucien shook his head. “Get some rest, Elain.”

She glanced towards the large, four poster bed nervously. “Alone?”

“Yes, Elain. I’ll leave you,” he added with irritation, though in truth it was no great burden. Maybe he’d vent his anger on Jurian, who’d tattled to his almost wife and made Vassa thorn in his side. 

“I’ll see you for dinner tonight,” Vassa added softly, touching Elain’s arm. “And introduce you to Arina.”

At least Arina would not take Elain’s side, Lucien thought. She would understand his hesitations, his anger. After all, Arina had introduced him to Jes in the first place. Elain nodded, arms wrapped around her body again, holding her together. Lucien was the first to leave, well aware Elain was going to dissolve in silent tears the moment they closed the door. She could sob them right into his pillow for all he cared. 

He made it all of four steps down the glimmering hall before Vassa punched him hard in the shoulder. “You’re a fucking asshole,” she hissed, grabbing that same arm to drag him further from his bedroom, further from Elain’s listening ears. “That girl is scared and you’re only making it worse!”

“You’ve seen her,” Lucien replied coldly, his words flat. “She is hardly the right kind of wife–”

Vassa slapped him. Lucien looked at her, seeing the way her eyes widened, as if she couldn’t believe she’d done such a thing. He couldn’t believe she had. No one would dare strike him, not if they valued their life. 

“I’m going to pretend,” he murmured softly, “That you did not just do that.”

Vassa’s golden face paled, arms hanging limply at her side. “You deserve it. I’m sure you’re not what she had in mind and she’s still–”

“She has you wrapped around her finger,” Lucien retorted hotly. “I saved you, and you’ve chosen Graysen Nolen’s bride?”

Vassa’s hand whipped towards his face again. Lucien caught her wrist this time, eyes flashing  warning. “I’ll put you in the stocks.”

“I bet you will!” Vassa's anger condemned him. “I don’t owe you for letting me stay here, Lucien, or for pulling me from that raft–”

“Or shielding you when your lord demanded your return?” he asked furiously. “For risking open war with your king, for putting the safety of my home second to your life? You don’t owe me, Vassa? Is that it?”

“NO!” she all but screamed. “Lucien of Naxos, savior of women except his own fucking wife! You know what the north is like, they’re barbarians, they treat women worse than slaves and you’re punishing her anyway!”

“I DON’T WANT HER!” Lucien roared, so loudly he was sure she’d heard him. The whole palace had likely heard his outburst, for all he cared. Let them. Let them all know his marriage was a farce. “I don’t want her in my bed, I don’t want her children and I certainly don’t want you standing here telling me to get on my knees and be grateful when you got to choose your own marriage—”

“And she got stuck with you,” Vassa whispered as anger shimmered between them. “Maybe you’d feel better if I went back to Lord Koschington, then? Is that it, Lucien? Or maybe you should lock her up in the Seaside Palace until Graysen agrees to take her back. What do you think men like him to do to women like her when they think she’s been sullied?”

“Hardly my problem,” Lucien replied, his stomach shifting uncomfortably all the same. Vassa shook her head. 

“Of course not. How lucky, that Jesminda did not end up married to you.” Lucien would have preferred Vassa hit him in the face. He couldn’t speak, could barely stand as Vassa slipped around him.

Forcing him to consider that maybe Vassa was right.

ELAIN:

Elain sobbed into Lucien’s pillow until she fell asleep. She had some vague awareness of soft hands on her shoulders that tried to rouse her for dinner but Elain stayed, curled beneath his heavy blanket until night fell. She was in and out of sleep, forgetting where she was only to inhale the spicy, masculine scent of Lucien’s sheets and break down crying all over again. She was in Naxos and though both Amera and Vassa were kind, Elain wanted to go home. She wanted to see her sisters, wanted to walk the familiar halls of the fortress she’d always lived in, wanted to see her people…wanted to see Graysen.

I’ll come for you, he’d promised.

“I don’t want you!” she whispered angrily, punching Lucien’s pillow.

“No?” Lucien’s voice answered from the dark. Elain twisted, pressing her back flat against the headboard. When had he gotten here? Illuminated by one flickering candle, the prince sat contemplative in a chair, face tilted towards a window. “I suppose that makes two of us.”

“Let me go,” she breathed, crawling carefully to the end of the bed. Lucien didn’t turn his head, didn’t acknowledge her as she crept closer. Elain wrapped a hand around the carved, wooden bed post and finally Lucien turned to her.

“You weren’t the only one hoping to marry someone else,” he finally said, licking his lips as he stared towards the window. “I can’t release you.”

“Please?” she begged softly. “You could tell them I ran away—”

“I would find you,” he interrupted. “I would track you before you ever made it fifty miles.”

“Say I had help–”

“And risk a member of my court?”

“Maybe I’m better skilled than you thought!” she said desperately, ignoring the way he scoffed. “Maybe someone from the north helped and you didn’t know! Make up any lie, Lucien, I won’t refute it! Please,” she added, well aware her time was drawing to a close. He’d swallow his pride eventually and do what needed to be done, would bed her as he should have the night before and she’d have no choice but to comply. Lucien shook his head.

“I cannot decide if it is better to just get this over with or tell everyone you are infertile,” he mused, eyes still on the window. Elain exhaled a trembling breath. “They will be expecting…” his voice trailed, expression pained. 

“They expect too much, then,” she replied, hugging her arms to her chest. Lucien’s eyes cut to her for a moment, eyebrows raised.

“They expect you to create some beautiful alliance between our lands, one that your traitor father would respect.”

“He’s not a traitor,” she retorted.

“No?” Lucien finally turned the full weight of his gaze on her and oh, how Elain wished he hadn’t. He rose, every inch a king's son, and walked to her bag of things sitting against the far wall, dumping it unceremoniously to the floor. Lucien crouched, one arm braced against his muscular thigh as he picked through what Nesta had packed.

“Where is your jewelry, Elain?  Your little trinkets and baubles, your fine dresses, your shoes–”

“I didn’t know I’d be coming,” she explained desperately, hating the way he picked through warm dresses and underthings with such disdain. Lucien stood, stepping over the pile of clothes.

“Yes,” he agreed, dropping back to his chair with no small amount of exhaustion. “Because your traitor father did not see fit to warn you well enough that you could even make yourself look nice or have comfort from your own home in this new marriage.”

“He…he did not want to scare me–”

“He wanted your compliance,” Lucien all but snarled, his hatred apparent. “So you would not try and run away while he claimed his true prize.”

“Graysen is to replace him,” she whispered, remembering how advantageous it had been that she and Graysen had fallen in love to begin with. It was hardly an accident. Graysen had pursued her relentlessly, wooed her, courted her…would have slept with her, had she allowed things to go that far. Elain could feel Lucien’s eyes on her, mocking her, as if he knew what she was starting to suspect. Arranged. Her whole life, carefully and neatly arranged to serve the people around her. If Graysen had known, had been pushed towards her…maybe he could just as easily be pushed towards another. Could push her towards someone else, some new husband that suited him.

And so could Lucien. On and on until she died, always a pawn, never a player. “So Graysen becomes king and you his sweet queen–”

“Consort,” Elain interrupted, a strange spark of anger warming her stomach. “Ellesmere does not have queens like your mother.”

Lucien regarded her for a beat. “No queens, then. Only broodmares?”

Elain looked down at her fingers. “Nothing has changed, then. Is that not your expectation, too? A host of children you can parade about every time my father looks in your direction, a reminder that they are so easily killed—”

“I would rather hang,” Lucien hissed, an echo of his earlier words. “Then betray my own wife so shamelessly.”

“A wife you don’t want,” she reminded him. “Children who will only ever be half yours.” It was a cruel thing to say and yet it was her own bitterness that made the words tumble from her lips.

“Hardly a burden to be rid of them so you can start over with your preferred woman. Free of the reminder of your time with me.”

Lucien only shrugged, eyes back on the window. “I made my choices.”

“How lovely for you.”

“I thought you were supposed to be obedient,” he snapped. “I keep hearing stories of how your men demand silence and you have nothing but barbed words for me.”

“You are not my man,” Elain hissed. Lucien’s head whipped towards her, eyebrows raised skyward.

“I am your husband,” he retorted, as if daring her to say otherwise. “And I would like to hear some words of kindness fall from your lips.”

“I would rather hang,” she replied, daring him to do something. Lucien stared for a moment, lips curling as if her defiance amused him. Elain could not stop her trembling when he stood, aware of what came next. She’d defied him and he would bring her to heel. Lucien came to the edge of the bed, gripping her chin softly. He ran his thumb over her bottom lip before releasing her.

“Go to sleep, Elain. You have another long day tomorrow.”

And that was it. No belts, no switches, no screaming and hitting and whatever other tool he could have used. Elain scrambled backwards when he took another step to the bed, knowing he didn’t need any specific weapon when he could use his body, when he could pin her to the bed and do whatever he liked.

Lucien froze, his face ashen as he realized what had sent her scrambling backwards. He ran a hand through his red hair, scrubbing it over his face. “Not tonight,” was all he said, settling her fears as if he’d slammed a door. Elain couldn’t relax against the twisting in her gut. He was buying them both time, but he wasn’t trying to free her. He’d have to eventually, sooner rather than later and Elain just needed to know. Needed to prepare herself, to steel herself against him and his touch. 

“When?”

Lucien only shrugged helplessly. “When you want it.”

“I’ll never want you,” she whispered. His expression flattened. “Take the other woman, let her have your children. I don’t want you.”

If his feelings were hurt, he didn’t say. Lucien only shrugged. 

“See you in the morning, wife.”

He left her there alone with nothing but the dying light of his candle, and the strangest sensation she had done something unforgivably cruel.

LUCIEN:

If Vassa was over-protective, Arina was overly casual. He had the three women on a ship, Elain’s paltry things folded in a too-large trunk just beneath the things he thought he’d need to weather a week with her. He intended to just grit his teeth and get it over that night, despite how miserable that thought made him. He’d seen Jes that morning, bright and beautiful and wholly avoiding his gaze as she flitted about the palace. He needed more than a week to get over her and yet the ache of not seeing her for longer than that gnawed at him.

He was a bad husband in every way that mattered. Elain had been presented to court in a pretty, belted white dress, the golden crown of Naxos set against her beautiful hair, neatly curled by Vassa’s hands. She was a gem, a trophy standing just beside him, her beauty glowing. He’d seen the way the other men had looked just a little too closely, had noted their barely concealed jealousy, all with revulsion. No one would dare, wouldn’t have even without their laws. She was his, thoroughly claimed in the eyes of Naxos. Jes, too, had peered at Elain, cringing at whatever she saw. Lucien couldn’t stand the comparison he knew she was making, hated that she might have wondered how he’d touched Elain when all he wanted was to touch her.

Arina’s taunting voice drew him from his thoughts. Elain stood at the bow, peering at the water with big, curious eyes. She was like a kitten experiencing the world for the first time and he resented her for it. 

“Can you swim?” Arina asked, tossing a lock of blonde hair over her haughty shoulders.

“Yes,” Elain replied, hands gripping the railing. Lucien knew what Arina intended to do before it happened, lunged forward if only to keep himself out of the water. Arina shoved, hand hard on Elain’s back. Elain gasped, tumbling over the railing without preamble, legs flipping over her head as she careened to the water.

“Arina!” Lucien snarled, pulling off his shirt and kicking off his shoes.

“Whoops,” Arina replied, ignoring the anger on Vassa’s face. “It was an accident–” L

ucien did not stay to hear the rest, plunging into the crystal blue water to rescue his wife. Elain hadn’t lied. Her head popped above the waves, eyes wild as she gasped for air. Lucien swam to her, earning little more than a furious splash to the face.

“I hate you!” she screamed, thrashing as he tried to pull her against him. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”

 Her fists beat against his chest, each blow worse than the last. Lucien waited for Jurian to lower the rope, refusing to speak at all. He merely weathered her furious words and her beating hands, ignoring when her palm smacked hard against his jaw or her knee crushed against his stomach. 

He dumped her, soaking wet in her now see-through white dress, back on the deck. Arina had the decency to at least look apologetic as Vassa rushed forward to help Elain. “If you do that again I’ll send you west as emissary,” Lucien threatened without amusement, catching how Arina’s face immediately paled. The king of the western islands wanted her as his wife, had made many, many offers. Helion had declined, putting Arina under Lucien’s care but if she wanted to undermine his authority and torture Elain, he’d punish her right back.

Elain rubbed saltwater from her eyes, curled against the railing. She was somehow prettier soaking wet and Lucien wished he wasn’t so attracted to her. It would make resistance easier. Arina sat beside Elain while Lucien watched. She was Jes’s friend, was Lucien’s friend. She was born of their home, their court and looked it, with her bronzed skin and bright, green eyes. Arina wasn’t like Vassa, still skittish and suspicious, but wild and free the way all their women were. Pushing Elain from the ship was merely par the course, he supposed, though Elain, with her finely bred manners likely considered it a grave offense. Both Juran and Lucien waited, curious if Arina would make nice or insult her further. 

Arina did neither. She reached into the slit of her orange dress and produced a small knife. “Next time, you stab someone.”

Elain stared at that blade as Lucien chided, “Arina!”

“What?!” she demanded. “Your wife isn’t allowed a weapon?”

Elain looked up at him, fingers curling around the golden hilt. More of the defiance from the night before shone in her eyes, hesitant and tentative and yet it was still here. Vassa, too, was staring him down, hands on her hips. It had been Jurian who had given Vassa her first knife on the very day he’d helped Lucien pull her from the piece of wreckage she’d clung to, weathering the sea between south and west to escape. 

You are no one’s slave, he’d told her, practically bowing as he’d offered his own blade. She could have pressed it into his gut if she’d wanted, given this strange man was touching her still bruised and bleeding body even as he knelt. 

What existed between them had always been strange to Lucien. Jurian had been all but promised to another and seemed ready to make good on it. One look from Vassa was all it took. Jurian just knew, threw away a finely made match on a stranger who could have cut his throat in his sleep. Two years later Lucien supposed it made sense, but at the time, well…he wouldn’t have made the same choice.

“My wife should not have a weapon,” Lucien agreed through a clenched jaw, watching Elain clutch it tighter to her chest. She wanted anything he thought she shouldn’t have.  

“No take backs,” Arina all but crooned, her pretty face split with a smile. Daring him to disrespect Elain a second time and remove the blade from her hands. After all, Elain didn’t seem to blame Arina for shoving her, only Lucien for bringing her here in the first place. He gritted his teeth and turned back to navigating the slow moving wooden ship, ignoring how it was the perfect day for swimming and reveling and all the things he might have done had he not had to cart his fragile wife across the sea so he could keep a better watch on her.

Lucien had once imagined she’d try to betray him and escape. The Seaside Palace was a necessity to avoid her slipping off on a horse or a boat and revealing his secrets to his father. When they docked, Elain merely moved between a chattering Vassa and Arina, eyes wide as she soaked up the small island. There was nowhere to go. She could hardly steal the ship, which required at best, two hands to navigate and to swim was to invite drowning. He could just see Naxos shimmering with gold on the horizon but knew it was practically a full day’s swim against the waves and current, and Elain was not likely to survive it no matter how well she swam.

The palace his ancestors had built was made of pretty sunstone. It seemed to shimmer iridescent beneath the sunlight. As a boy, Lucien had always cherished when his mother brought him because of all the open ceilings that let the natural world in, often at the expense of the nice marble and wood. It was a retreat from the stress of ruling, with its big pool and private beach but Lucien had always loved the garden and the artificial waterfall just at the end, had often jumped in that pool of sparkling water while his mother shouted at him for disturbing her fish. 

“Here,” Lucien told Elain, pulling her from Vassa and Arina and Jurian, their companions for the week. Arina would stay as long as Elain did, holing up in the library as she so often did while Vassa was free to come and go as she liked. He imagined Vassa would stay, too protective over a girl she perceived to be in her situation, at least once. Elain had chosen the method of her destruction while Vassa had fought, had screamed and clawed and swam, had risked death over an easy life. Elain had chosen belts and switches if it meant she could live in a palace and Lucien could not understand that for one moment.

“Where I live, men and women do not share a bedchamber,” Elain confessed when he pulled open the large door to a suite of rooms that would belong to the pair of them. One large bed, draped in cream and gold, just like always. A shared bathing chamber, a shared closet, shared sitting room and life and everything else men and women did when they married.

“No? I suppose it would be vulgar having to watch you sleep at night,” he half joked, dropping their things inside. 

“It’s considered impolite. Besides, men, they…”

“Have urges?” he responded, rounding on her before she could skitter away. A soft breath escaped her petal pink lips. “Can’t have a mistress in the same bed as your wife, can you?”

“Right,” she finally said, not stepping back despite how he invaded her space. “How does that work…?”

“It doesn’t,” Lucien replied, forcing himself back. “To take a mistress would be tantamount to…I don’t know…beating you in the city square. It’s not done and certainly not by me.”

Elain blinked. “Oh.”

Lucien sprawled out on the bed, drinking her in. She was half dried, her once perfect curls tangled around her face. The smallest prick of wanting slid through his stomach, just as it had done the day before on the horse. Elain was so blithely unaware of the effect she had, of how Graysen had offered her up with confidence, knowing no one could resist. Untouched, he’d all but purred. You’d be the first.

Lucien swallowed that bit of revulsion. Even his father hadn’t been able to hide his disgust. Still, he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t a little intrigued. Would she enjoy it at all? Enjoy his touch, learn to take some measure of comfort in his body against her own? Lucien couldn’t admit how badly he needed someone to just…touch him, to comfort him in a physical way. He couldn’t ask anyone but her, not anymore. 

Elain’s eyes fell on his bare thighs, blinking before turning back to the room. “So it is just you and me until one of us dies.”

Lucien ignored that little jab. “Wedded bliss, as they say.”

Elain plopped on the bed, squaring her shoulders. “Who can I talk to about that?”

“Do you intend to file a complaint?” he questioned with amusement. “I haven’t touched you yet–”

“I mean…who can I ask about the finer points of ah…you know.”

“Me,” he said too quickly, sitting up so she wouldn’t notice the way he was lengthening in his clothes. Bastard, he thought angrily. “Or Vassa, or even Arina, if you must. I am sure they’d love to give you a long denied education while insulting me in the process.”

That seemed to brighten her. “And it…I mean…they won’t tell you what I ask?”

“Why don’t you tell me what you do know, so I at least have an inkling of where I fall short? Surely your princely, northern men are simply gods in comparison to my mortal abilities.”

She didn’t take the bait. “I was told nothing,” Elain finally said, eyes firm on the floor. “I understand the mechanics, I suppose.”

Lucien’s amusement faded. “Talk to Vassa,” he dismissed. “Or Arina, if you want a truly thorough education.”

“Neither are married, though,” she whispered, earning a barking laugh from Lucien. 

“We do not hold the same ideas about virtue, here. I imagine your lack of experience is going to be just as novel to them as their experience is to you.”

“How are things so different here?” Elain finally asked. “You do not…you don’t feel overcome when you look at me like this?”

Lucien did, though he could hardly admit it. “I’m a man, not an animal,” Lucien replied evenly. “I would much prefer to hear you laugh, just for the record.”

“Over what?” she replied, teeth sinking against her bottom lip. Lucien shifted again, resisting the urge to grind his palm against his cock. What the fuck was wrong with him? 

“Crying,” he murmured. He almost went to her, almost proposed a half-baked plan where he could touch her without it having to mean anything. Fulfill his end of their marriage without forcing her. Pleasure and comfort, allies in this unusual marriage.

“I’ll see Arina,” she finally told him before darting behind the bathroom door. As if she knew what he thought and had to escape him.

Lucien was grateful to see her go.

ELAIN:

“Never?” Arina gasped, floating lazily in the pool. Elain tugged the sheer cover up tighter around her body. 

“It…no one would have married me if I had,” she explained, toes dipping in the bath warm water. Vassa waded down the glittering white mosaic steps, her bouncy red hair tied off her beautiful face with ribbon.

“It’s the opposite here. It took some adjusting for me, too.” 

Arina twisted, nearly baring her entire body beneath the strings of her blue swimsuit. Vassa, too, wore two tiny pieces of purple, unconcerned with the passing servants who only barely glanced. Elain had the same, as modest as she could get from Vassa which was hardly modest at all. Pink, which she preferred. At least her breasts and butt were covered, but…no one had ever seen so much of her. It was simply not done, she’d thought.

Only, it was. Arina had complained they had to wear one at all, betraying the nudity she clearly did not mind. This world left Elain feeling upside down, reeling after a lifetime of being told there were certain truths between men and women. Not so, she thought, thinking of how Lucien hadn’t touched her after four days of their troubled, tenuous marriage. Surely he should be so overcome with need he’d just…take her. 

“How do you manage it at all if no one wants a…?”

“You pick a man who also has no experience,” Arina laughed, her voice as pretty as she was. “And hope he isn’t quick.”

“Which is bad,” Elain clarified. Arina spun in a lazy circle on her green floaty, turning her head to look at Elain.

“Yes. I’m guessing, with all these questions, you’ve spurned our sweet prince?”

“He deserves it,” Vassa muttered, earning a relishing smile from Lucien.

“It is fun to see him squirm after what he did to Je–”

“His lover?” Elain couldn’t help but ask. She’d never had friends like this, if they could be considered friends at all. Spies more like, telling Lucien every little thing she’d said. She hadn’t forgotten that Arina had also shoved her off a boat that day, likely as punishment for some terrible crime committed by her family. Still, they were telling her things instead of shoving a needle into her hands and their gossip was at least useful.

“Yes,” Vassa finally said, her mouth pulled in a tight line. 

“He made her no promises,” Arina added, though it was clear the situation troubled her. “His duty is to Naxos but…”

Vassa and Arina exchanged a glance. “What?” 

“Between us,” Arina began, looking towards the same mosaic tile of the patio towards arching doors that led into the palace, “I think whatever he saw with the general made him want to bring you back.”

“He saw nothing,” Elain replied simply but Vassa was shaking her head.

“They’ve been fighting a long time,” she saw, running her thumb down her face. “Graysen is…”

Arina and Vassa exchanged another look.

“He’s a good man,” she whispered. Arina looked up at the sky, hands resting on her stomach.

“I grew up in the West, in the vast woodlands that are spread over those islands. We watch your wars with interest, the same as I imagine they do in the Eastern mountains. Hoping Helion can keep Archeron…your father, I mean, at bay. Hoping General Nolan never turns his gaze towards us. His reputation is…you agreed to marry him willingly?” Vassa asked, her curiosity blazing.

“He’s always been kind to me,” Elain tried to explain desperately, tugging the robe tighter around his body. Arina inclined forward, her face hard and Elain knew, before she spoke, that the words would hurt her.

“He sold you to another man to save his own life. It’s cowardice,” she spat, drawing a parallel with Lucien’s own ire. I would rather hang.  “He should have died with honor and instead we have you–”

Her words were a slap to Elain’s face. Elain stood even as Vassa rushed forward in the water.

“She didn’t mean…Elain, come back.”

Elain did not turn around, embarrassed and sad and so, so angry that she’d been allowed to live in her castle while the rest of the world watched her family with fear…that her fiance, her prince had betrayed the world.

Had betrayed her. That was the worst part, she supposed. He was supposed to care for her, if nothing else. If he was going to burn the world, at least he would come home to her. She supposed Graysen could not care for anything beyond his ambition and she had just been in the way. Perhaps he was engaged to Feyre, now. Or Nesta, even. If he came for her, it wouldn’t be out of love.

It would be possession. Elain’s chest tightened as she stumbled into the garden, walking through the neat hedges and cared for citrus trees. She wanted to love the beauty of the sprawling flowers, of the nearby hammock and a birdbath where bees buzzed cheerfully.

Elain wanted to drown. Wished she couldn’t swim, had slipped beneath the waves on the ship and had died before Lucien had ever reached her. It would be a mercy to just not feel, to be lost to peaceful darkness.

At the end of the garden lay a large, artificial waterfall that poured rushing water into another sparkling pool. Elain pulled off her coverup, leaving it at the end of the path. The pool seemed to go on for miles below, vanishing into blackness and buttressed on every side by a ledge she could wedge herself beneath.

She didn’t stop to think, stepping into it with a splash. It was cooler than the pool, and darker, too. Something smooth brushed her leg—a fish, perhaps? Elain propelled herself down down down until her feet reached the bottom and her lungs began to burn. She was all wrong, she told herself. Her life was wrong, her presence in this place was wrong. No one really wanted her—no one had ever wanted her. She was Lucien’s little trophy, his prize for fighting as long as he had. Pity, he’d married her out of pity—

Rough hands yanked at her from behind, their feet kicking hard against the bottom of the pool. She twisted but it was no good. Lucien held her pinned to his bare chest, his face livid when they broke the surface. “What is wrong with you?” he demanded, forcing her to face him, fingers practically bruising against her skin. 

“Everything,” she gasped, swallowing against her hurt. He wanted a fight but Elain just did not have it in her. Instead of shoving and slapping, Elain twined her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his broad, wet shoulder and sobbed. She tried to swallow the sounds, well aware of how ugly it sounded. Her father had always said no one wanted to hear a woman’s bleating but today, Elain could not swallow her pain. Lucien was stiff for only a moment before he wrapped his own arms carefully around her, exhaling what could only sound like relief. He pushed them towards the ledge, as if she cared, closer to the falls until her cries were drowned by the rushing water. 

He was her enemy and yet he held her all the same, one hand spanning her back over and over, fingers tracing the scars that had never quite healed despite all the best intentions. All girls were beaten the same, a reminder of the sin carried in their flesh and yet Elain had nearly died from it, had been so fragile there were talks she’d never been right afterwards. Too quick to smile, too happy to please, desperate to avoid that lashing whip again.

“Tell me,” Lucien whispered, his thumb on her spine. “Who did this to you?”

“Why?” she asked, looking at his face and seeing him for maybe the first time. Those scars, jagged and ugly, did little to diminish his beauty. She hadn’t even noticed them the first time she’d looked at him.

“You’re my wife,” he whispered, his voice strangely full of feeling. “Was it him?”

No, but Graysen had watched, had inquired afterwards, had been so scornful when she’d cried out instead of remaining silent. Nesta and Feyre had made no noise at all, had accepted five with almost vengeful determination but Elain had wept and for that, she’d gotten ten. “My father. It…it was his duty–”

“It is a crime,” Lucien interrupted, his fury rippling the peace shimmering around them. She was suddenly too aware of how her bare stomach was pressed against his own, how the slide of their slick skin felt good. He didn’t seem to notice, still tracing his fingers over the ten scars etched forever in her skin. A marring, her father had bemoaned. No amount of poultices or oils had ever made them truly fade. Graysen hadn’t cared, though, and she’d been grateful for that. Looking at Lucien, though, perhaps there was something Graysen liked about the violence. She didn’t have to ask who had done that to him.

Elain’s fingertips grazed his own wounds even as he twisted his head away from her grasp. “I’m sorry,” she said, wondering if perhaps she would have to be the one who made amends for her family. 

“It wasn’t your knife,” he told her, lips thinning. The peace between them was falling apart. He was remembering who she was, what he’d lost in order to have this merger. Elain, unsure what made her act, tightened her arms for only a moment before pressing her mouth to his cheek. Lucien went so utterly still he might have been made of stone, his hands flying to his sides. She’d made a mistake, though it was too late to take it back now. 

Enemy, this man is your enemy–

“I’m sorry, all the same,” was all she said, untangling herself quickly. Lucien rose from the water and offered her his hand, yanking her out as if he thought she might slip beneath its surface now that she was free of him. Lucien looked down at that sparkling pool and then back to her, his auburn hair pushed off his face. 

“I forgive you.”

LUCIEN:

Dinner was an odious affair he just barely made his way through. Vassa and Arina were clearly Elain’s, despite the promises Arina had made to spy. Lucien cornered her after dinner, all but shoving her against a wall. “Well?” he snarled, hating the amused smile curling against her face.

“Well what?”

Lucien ground his teeth together, remembering how Elain, broken and tired, had sobbed against his skin, had kissed his cheek…had apologized. “What did you learn?”

“That you should talk to your new wife,” Arina replied, eyes blazing. “Before the men of your court realize you are not doing right by her.”

“Not…not doing right?” he hissed furiously. “She’s alive, isn’t she?”

“She’s a virgin, Lucien. You should have bedded her the moment you signed that contract and the longer you wait, the more people are going to think you don’t want her.”

“I don’t want her,” he said automatically, though that wasn’t exactly true either, was it? She’d pressed the length of her body against his and he’d responded, had angled his hips away so she wouldn’t realize that there was an attraction simmering in his gut no matter how guilty it made him feel. Jes was still in Naxos…should have been here, her body pressed to his and yet when Elain was around, he found himself forgetting those things. Like a bastard, he thought.

“You’re stupid, then,” Arina snapped, shoving away from him.

“All that after one day?” he demanded, following after Arina as she walked down the hall.

“It doesn’t take a genius to realize she’s not her father or that terrible man she was married to. Fuck, Lucien, she’s like a trembling fawn. You could tell her to jump from the roof and she’d do it. You don’t feel bad for her? I do.”

“Maybe you should let her push you from a boat, then,” Lucien snarled at Arina's back. She spun and he thought she, like Vassa and Elain, might hit him too. 

“She never would,” Arina hissed softly. “Because you don’t want to show her how much better life could be if she felt safe…comfortable. How she might tell you everything her general whispered in her ear, what she knows of the north…how she might stand beside you when they inevitably march on us again.”

“You’re starting to sound like my political advisor,” Lucien crooned, a reminder that like so many other things, Arina constantly turned his offer of employment down.

“You’re being stupid,” she told him without a hint of malice. “Make her your ally. Give her a reason to care about us. Vassa and I are trying, but you are not.”

He shook his head but Arina was right. “Finish this,” she whispered. “So he can’t ever take her back.”

And for whatever reason, the thought of Graysen returning for Elain prompted him to move, to all but run down the now emptied, dim halls and fling open his bedroom. Elain was inside, dressed in a thin night dress, a brush in hand as she sat at the vanity, staring at herself as she pulled out the tangles. 

“Is Nolan coming for you?” Lucien asked, his breathing ragged as he locked the door. Elain twisted on the cushioned seat. 

“No,” she said, the pretty little liar. 

“Did he tell you to wait? To bide your time?” Lucien pressed, thinking of what he’d say to Jes if she’d been taken. He’d have told her to fight, to go down screaming and biting if she had to. 

“No,” Elain repeated, her voice breathless as he prowled towards her. Graysen would punish her no matter what Lucien did, would think her diminished if his hands never touched, if his lips never tasted. Arina was right. He needed to see this done before some other man came sniffing around.  

“What are you doing?” Elain asked when he sank to his knees in front of her. Kissing her felt too personal, felt strangely intimate. He thought if he tried she’d fight him, she’d cry and lock up and lay there waiting for him to finish. He needed to touch a different part of her, needed to show her what also lay humming just beneath her skin.

“I’m tasting my wife,” he whispered, letting his breath warm the skin of her calf. Elain didn’t pull away, even when his mouth pressed against her. She smelled sweet, like jasmine and honey. He licked up the skin, noting out her breath caught. 

“Lucien, I uh…” her voice trailed to quivering nothing when he reached her thigh, pushing her night dress up to her hips. Bare, he thought with a relish, grateful she had foregone the underthings of her homeland so he could see what lay just between her legs. There was no way to splay her out like this, not without sending her careening to the floor where she might come to her senses before he ever got his cock wet. 

Arousal spiraled through him as he hoisted her against him, kissing the curve of her jaw, teeth tugging on her ear. She gasped again, clinging to him as she’d done in the water. All he could think of was the heat from her cunt, pressed to his bare stomach. Lucien dropped her to the bed, reaching for her bare hips and dragging her to the edge so he could kneel again. It was too risky to get on the bed at all, not when he was suddenly so hungry, so touch starved he might forgo this and hope she was the sort that could get off on his ruinous cock alone. 

Do it right, make her your ally.

“Lucien,” she protested again, trying to close her knees when he drew his face against her. 

“Just like that,” he agreed, his words a purr. “If you want to see me come, you’ll say my name just like that.”

“I–” her words broke off in a gasping choke, hips bucking when he offered her what, in retrospect, seemed like a rather polite kiss between her legs. 

“Lucien,” she tried again, wiggling away. Lucien pulled her back, enjoying the game. He licked slow, indolent circles over her clit as he pressed his groan against her skin.

“Yes, Elain?” he whispered. She only whimpered an invitation to keep going. Gods damn him, but Lucien wanted to, so wholly lost in her exquisite taste, all salt and warm air and honeyed vanilla, poured between her thighs like a dangerous elixir. When he moaned again it wasn’t for show. He wanted to be buried inside her, wanted to finish what he’d started. Lucien had forgotten why he’d crawled between her legs to begin with, thrusting his tongue into her body, chasting that sweetness until he was practically dripping precome onto the floor. He wasn’t the only one—Elain was so torturously wet, her legs spreading obscenely as she gave in and let go, arching into his face with each new flick of his tongue. Lucien brushed his fingers against her, not to prepare her though he knew he ought to, but just to see how she would feel gripped around him. Elain moaned so loudly when he pushed two of his fingers inside her, the sound alone enough to empty him of any other thoughts but those of his baser urges. Lucien pumped, pulling his head back to look up at the darkened ceiling. “You are so tight,” he said, his words a strange mix of pleading and praying. 

“Don’t stop,” she asked, her voice high-pitched. “Lucien.”

His eyes snapped to her flushed face. One hand held her breast, had pulled it from her night dress to squeeze the soft flesh. Lucien exhaled, unwilling to admit he was desperate to hear her say his name again. He lowered his mouth, fucking her with his hands and tongue, nipping against the skin and sucking at her clit before lavishing wet praise over the little nub, over and over while Elain writhed, her legs pushed so far apart he was sure it must ache a little. 

Elain’s other hand found his hair, pulling just the way he liked. Rough and insistent, the pain pushing him closer to the knife’s edge that he was already hanging over. Lucien sucked, tongue swirling, fingers curled against the impossible softness of her body and Elain screamed. Screamed so loud he knew they’d all heard, that no one could deny what was happening, that she’d wanted him. Quiet, trembling Elain had her thighs clenched around his face, was riding his tongue and hand, utterly abandoning whatever ladylike teachings that had been beaten into her skin. 

And as she came down, Lucien pressed his mouth to her stomach, her breast, her neck and finally her parted mouth as he swore he’d one day kill Graysen for the offense. Lucien pulled her up the bed, coming with her as he kissed and kissed, his tongue stroking her own, his cock resting between her still shaking legs.

Lucien just pushed, swallowing her breathy little oh. He could wait no longer, slotting himself against her sopping wet entrance.

 “Tell me if I hurt you,” he ordered, moving inch by inch into her tight, trembling heat. He could still feel her orgasm spasming, the walls of her cunt clenching over and over in a rhythm that made him want to abandon reason. Elain didn’t stop him, her arms back around his neck, fingernails dragging up and down the skin until Lucien’s hips were bucking too, until he thrust the rest of himself into her hoping he didn’t hurt her, that he didn’t give her a reason to change her mind.

“It’s good,” she told him, her breath against his ear. “It doesn’t hurt. I thought it would but oh—”

“It’s not supposed to,” Lucien groaned, sliding himself out only to snap back in. Gods, but nothing had ever been half as divine as her wet cunt gripping him, suckling sweeter than any mouth. 

“Tell me what you need,” he begged, wanting to feel the full force of her unleashed. Lucien buried his face against her shoulder, angling his hips to slide in deeper, to find that little spot his fingers had and rub, over and over until Elain began to pant again, began to cant against him, her slickness making him wild, untethered. And Lucien didn’t know if it was her or the misery of the last few days or some kind of magic he’d forgotten existed, but fucking had never felt like this, so sensual, so raw. 

“Please,” he begged, unsure what he even asked for. It hardly mattered. She shattered, her back tugging upwards as if pulled by strings, her cunt clamping against him so tight Lucien couldn’t help but fall just behind like a wildfire made worse with a spray of gasoline. He was just as loud, the noise escaping him a broken thing, a prayer and a question all at once.

He kept thrusting until he was spent, until there was nothing left in his body, in his soul. He clung to her then, wrapping her up in his arms to bury his face in her hair.

 Wife, my wife—

“Are you okay?” she breathed, combing her fingers through his tangled, sweaty hair. Lucien could only kiss her.

He wasn’t okay.

[gender-i-hardly-know-er]

analogical week day 4- au/home @analogicalweek

yes this is late, no we aren't gonna talk about it, have a doctor who au

virgil has a southern us accent bc if there can be british timelords, there can be country ones

warnings- crying, arguing, talk of death

lmk if i should add anything else!

    Virgil grabbed Logan and dragged him into the TARDIS. He could hear Logan protesting in the background, but he kept pulling. 

    “What the hell? Virgil- VIRGIL! What’s the issue?”

    As much as Virgil wanted to explain, he kept his mouth shut as he began pushing buttons and pulling levers on the TARDIS console. He had to get them out. He had to protect Logan. That was his promise, his oath. He was The Guardian, a title he chose centuries ago. His name was his promise, and he was gonna keep it. Even if it meant leaving Logan in the dark. 

    “Please, talk to me!” Logan shouted over the sound of the TARDIS taking off, but Virgil pretended not to hear him. What Logan didn't know couldn’t hurt him, and the last thing Virgil wanted to do was hurt him. The ability to see the fabric of time had its drawbacks, but at least he could try to save his companion, and at that moment, nothing mattered more. ‘Cause what Virgil had seen… Logan didn't need to. 

    “At least tell me where we’re going,” Logan pleaded, desperate for any sort of information. Logan hated not knowing things, and Virgil hated keeping things from him, so he decided he’d answer this one question. 

    “Home. I’m takin’ ya home.”

    Logan sped towards the console, checking to see what that meant. “Earth?” Logan physically recoiled. “You’re taking me to Earth? That’s not my home, and you know it.”

    “It’s where you’re from, and it’s where you’ll be safe.” Virgil blinked back tears, doing anything to hide them from Logan’s view. 

    “Safe? You know as well as I do that Earth is far from safe for me!” Logan pointed to the spots on his neck where his outer machinery was missing. He was made to look human, but an accident had rendered that impossible, the glittering blue bits of circuit boards and wires sticking out like a sore thumb. Virgil had tried his best to repair him, but his human facade couldn’t be restored. “You know how humans are about androids. I’ll get stripped for parts down there! Do you honestly think I’ll be safe there?” 

    Virgil didn't. He knew how things would go- he’d seen them. This was one of many possible futures he saw, and he couldn’t find a better one. All he wanted was for Logan to be safe, and he couldn’t even do that. Being an Oracle sucks when all the futures are shitty. Virgil let himself cry now, looking away from his companion. No matter what Virgil did, Logan was gonna die; this would be the least painful. There was no better option. There couldn’t be. 

    “It’s your home. Nothin’ safer.”

    “I’ll decide where my home is, thank you, and I say that Earth is not and will never be it.” Logan pulled a lever to change their trajectory; Virgil was starting to regret teaching him how to pilot. “My home is right here, in the TARDIS. You know why? Because it’s where you are!” 

    Virgil let himself look back at Logan. His companion’s expression immediately changed upon seeing his face. “What did you see?”

    “You don't wanna know.” Virgil started flying towards Earth again. 

    “Yes, I do! Why would I ask if I didn't want to know?” Logan steered the ship in the other direction. 

    “Alright, fine, I don't wantcha to know.” Back towards Earth. 

    “Why? Do you still not trust me?” Back away. 

    “That’s the problem! I let myself trust ya!” Back towards Earth. 

    “Why is that a problem?” Back away.

    “‘Cause-” Back towards… not Earth? 

    The TARDIS began to rumble, like she was angry with them for flinging her back and forth. Virgil felt the ship go through something, breaking a seal that wasn’t supposed to be broken. The two fell silent, trying to figure out where they were. The problem was… they were nowhere. In a place outside of time, outside of our universal bounds. A pocket universe. 

    Virgil slowly walked over to the TARDIS doors and pulled them open. There was nothing. No planets, no stars, no lights. Just void. They were alone in the nothingness… a future Virgil did not see coming. 

    Logan came up beside him, peering out the doors. He seemed confused, and Virgil could quite literally hear the gears turning in his head. 

    “Strange… this is a pocket universe, correct? Don't those normally have something in them?” 

    “Yeah, I was thinkin’ the same thing. I ain’t never seen an empty one like this…” 

    Logan went towards the console, and Virgil followed. It was strange; Logan was the only one of his companions Virgil would ever think to follow instead of lead. He watched as Logan pulled up the navigator. 

    “Why isn’t it responding?” Logan tapped the screen and huffed when nothing happened. “I’m doing my best here!” he yelled at the ceiling, talking to the TARDIS. She was a fickle thing with a mind of her own. She probably could move or respond, but she just didn't want to. A diagnostics check confirmed this. There was nothing wrong with her; she just refused to move.

    “What is your problem!?” Virgil shouted, growing increasingly angry. The TARDIS seemed to be ignoring him. Logan looked like he wanted to punch a wall. 

    “Okay! Okay!” Logan pushed himself away from the console and sat on the floor against the deck railing. “Have it your way!” he crossed his arms like a pouting child, and Virgil couldn’t blame him. He tried to think of a reason why the ship would do this. Was she confused by the back and forth piloting? Was she upset with them?

    Was she trying to help them?

    Virgil thought back to his visions of potential futures. He saw a ship chasing them through the time vortex; no matter where they went, the ship would eventually catch up. And no matter what they did from there… he’d lose Logan. Was the TARDIS trying to shake the ship off? By sealing them in this pocket universe, maybe she was protecting them… holding them there till the coast was clear. It was the only thing that made sense. 

    “Crafty girl…” he whispered, smiling to himself.

    “What? Who?” Logan looked confused. 

    “The ship. She done it on purpose. She stuck us here to keep us safe!” 

    “Safe from what? What aren’t you telling me?” 

    “It ain’t important.” Virgil sat on the floor next to Logan.

    “It’s important to me.” Logan’s voice was low, like he didn't want Virgil to hear. 

    They sat for a moment, just existing together. Virgil knew he should say something, but he couldn’t figure out what. Thankfully Logan spoke first. 

“You said you made a mistake in trusting me. That it was a problem. Why?”

“It don’t matter-”

“YES IT DOES! It matters to me! If I did something to make you regret trusting me, I want to know. I have to know.” Logan paused, considering his next words. “Because if you can't trust me after everything we’ve been through… then why am I still here? What are we doing?” 

Virgil stayed silent for a few seconds. He watched Logan stare at the floor, how he glared at it like it owed him money. Since they’d met, Logan had learned to feel. How to be happy, to be sad, how to express those feelings. But the thing he felt most was anger. Anger at his creators, anger at people who hurt Virgil, anger at Daleks and Cybermen and the universe in general. Never at Virgil. But now, Logan was feeling and expressing pure, unbridled rage… and it was all directed towards him. The Time Lord swallowed, sighed, and started speaking. 

“D’ya remember when you named me?” 

Logan looked up at him, his indignation morphing into befuddlement. “Of course I remember. How could I not? That’s when-”

“When we met, yeah. Almost half a century ago. I introduced myself as The Guardian, and you said ‘That’s not a name. I’m calling you Virgil.’ And I still use that name. I prolly always will.”

“Okay? That doesn’t answer the question. What. Have. I. Done. To. Make. You. Regret. Trusting. Me?” Logan said each word like a sentence, emphasizing them all.

“We’ll get there, be patient,” Virgil held up a finger and gave Logan a pointed look before continuing. “Since then, we’ve traveled together. I taught you to pilot. We fucked up a bunch of Cybermen. We’ve saved planets and stopped wars. We’ve seen the beginning and end of the universe as we know it together. All ‘cause I let myself trust ya’. And when I started trustin’ ya, I started likin’ ya. I started missin’ ya when you were gone. I got close to ya. And Time Lords… we don't do that. ‘Cause we always outlive everyone we care about. That’s why I made a mistake trustin’ ya. I set myself up for heartbreak.” Virgil was crying again now, but he didn't care. He just kept going. 

“I still trust ya’. Prolly always will. That ain’t the problem.” Virgil sighed and looked up at the ceiling, finding his next words. “The problem is that… that there’s a ship. It’s followin��� us through the vortex, and every future I see has it catchin’ up with us.”

“Okay? That’s nothing. We’ve dealt with much worse before.” Logan still wasn’t getting it. The android couldn’t read undertones to save his li- …poor choice of words.

“Right, but… once the ship catches up,” Virgil looked back at Logan’s confused face, taking a mental snapshot of his companion. It might be the last time he had the chance. “All the futures lead to your death. There ain’t no way around it. I thought that maybe takin’ ya to earth could protect ya, but you’re right. You’ll be torn to shreds. And I think I knew that. I think I knew what would happen, but I wouldn’t let myself believe it. At least then I could pretend thatcha were still out there, still learnin’, still helpin’ people, still bein’ you. I think… I think the real reason I wanted to take you to earth is ‘cause,” he sniffed, trying his best not to break down into sobs. “‘Cause I didn't wanna watch. I couldn’t let myself watch.”

Virgil did burst out into sobs, shoving his face into his hands. “And I didn't tell ya ‘cause I knew if I did, you’d wanna stay with me, you wouldn’t let me drop ya off. And it was so fuckin’ selfish of me to keep it from ya! I’m sorry, Logan, I really am.” 

They sat in silence again, aside fromVirgil’s sobs and Logan’s gears spinning. Logan put an arm around Virgil’s back, something he’d learned to do when he didn't know how to comfort the Time Lord. Eventually, after an uncomfortably long period of speechlessness, Logan found his words. 

“Did you see this future?”

Virgil took his head out of his hands and said, “...no, this is outside of time. I can't see pocket universes.”     “And what does that mean?” Logan was obviously trying to get Virgil to come to an unspoken conclusion that Virgil took an embarrassingly long stretch of quiet to figure out. 

“...I don't know how it ends!”

    “Precisely. This could be the one future in which I survive! We have a refuge for extra planning time, so we don't have to figure everything out on the spot. We have time to reinforce shields and armor and everything we need to protect ourselves. We have everything we need to be successful, all the things we can't normally rely on!” 

    And so, thanks to some quick thinking by the TARDIS, they set back into the vortex with more armor, planning, and trust than they ever could before. 

[schrijverr]

Promises You Made to Me

Chapter 3 out 3

Aragorn falls for Boromir on their journey. When they realize they share their affection, they also know that the time is not now to act upon them. Both promise to share love once they see the quest done, a promise that long seems a broken oath. Still, the horn was heard in more lands and the Elves have not yet forsaken this world

A Boromir lives AU where they fall in love before Boromir falls at Amon Hen, but Aragorn only learns of his survival after the defeat of Sauron.

On AO3.

Ships: Aragorn x Boromir

Warnings: grief, guilt and mentions of bad coping

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Chapter 3: But I’ll Walk with You, my Love

The battle was won, Middle Earth was saved. It was a time for celebration, but for Aragorn there was little to celebrate.

He was to take the throne that had been empty for thousands of years and the one person who should have been there to see it was not. He still did not know whether he would have proved himself if Boromir had lived, but he was confident in the final judgment of the man.

No, it was a promise dual made that ghosted his steps. Had Boromir lived, today would be the day they could have seen what happened to the spark that never got the chance to burn.

Aragorn wondered in sleepless nights if the spark would have survived the many hardships of the road or if they would have arrived here as friends. His heart told him that he could have never loved anyone like he had loved the Son of Gondor, yet he knew not for sure if Boromir would have felt the same.

Grief colored the white halls with black and gray. With wars passed and therebuilding barely started, the mourning he had not the mind to fully feel before, caught up to him.

The steadily recovering Faramir trailed his every move as next Steward in line now that his family line hinged on him. At Aragorn’s request, he told him many a tale of his youth, so that every hall was filled with a young, happy Boromir for Aragorn’s heart to ache for.

He walked through the courtyard where Boromir had told him of many restless nights where he walked alone over stone and Faramir had enlightened him to the annoying two little boys with wooden swords.

The White City breathed the life Boromir just as Boromir had lived and breathed Minas Tirith.

If this were to be his home till the end of his days, then he would have to learn to live with memories passed and new memories that could never be. His own would override Boromir’s and he feared that his presence might scrub Boromir’s soul out of his City.

That would be an impossible feat, he knew. The people of Gondor had not forgotten their other Steward’s Son and if Aragorn listened closely, he could hear his name among the people. Yet there was no monument for Gondor’s finest. Not yet.

He wanted to return to Amon Hen, to look for the Evenstar and signs of what had happened to Boromir, but he was bound by a duty he had long evaded and could not now abandon.

On the day of his coronation, the White City was adorned with happy folk and it was hard not to get infected with the pleased crowd around him. It was a trait of the City that had been reflected in Boromir, for his energy was infectious also.

“Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta,” he sang his oath to his people, trying his own Elven roots to his new life as King, before walking down the path created for him.

Legolas met him with a procession of Elves, many he recognized from his days in Rivendell. Arwen was noticeably absent and Aragorn mourned that he had missed her departure, yet Elrond’s presence was a welcome one. He did an Elvish greeting: “My Lord Elrond,” then he smiled, “Ada.”

Elrond smiled back and handed him the banner of the King. “Arwen made this for you, before she left. She believed in your Kingship and so do I. I am proud of you, Estel.” He hugged Aragorn and Aragorn leaned into the contact grateful for the support of Elrond. As he hugged, however, the Elven Lord whispered: “Look for the other Elven company traveling from the North.”

He could not ask what the Elf had meant, for the procession moved past him so that he continue and there was no time.

Later Elrond would say no more, claiming that it was not his role to enlighten him and that Aragorn should not get needlessly distracted from his duties as King. Still Aragorn looked to the North each morning, gazing into the distance as if it would bring him answers to questions not asked aloud.

He kept up the habit after Elrond left.

The rebuilding of Minas Tirith was steadily happening and Aragorn was feeling more at ease with his Kingly obligations. Gondor was returning to life after survival. Her former glory was being restored, silently Aragorn grieved for Boromir, who would not get to see her beauty again.

It was shortly after the final stones of the wall had been laid again and her gates were replaced that the Elven company appeared on the horizon as Aragorn looked North in the morn. They were dressed in cloaks of grey that signaled their origin lay in Lothlórien.

Aragorn was curious what the Lady of Light could bring to him that Elrond wished not to reveal to him. He donned the still slightly foreign clothes and descended down the levels, awaiting the arrival of the Elves on the plaza behind the gates.

The people, who saw him there bowed respectfully, but he heard the whispers of curiosity about his presence and that of the Elves.

When they had arrived over the path, it was already nearing mid day and Aragorn had not strayed from his post,ordering the gates to be opened. Silently the Elves rode into the White City. He faintly recognized some faces from his time spend there, but one remained hooded.

Only when the hooded figure slipped of his horse and came before him, did he look up. Slowly, he removed cloth hiding his face to reveal the ghost that had haunted him for so long had returned to life, for it was Boromir that greeted him, unsure smile on his face.

No hardship in his long-life could have prepared him for the mirage of emotions that washed of Aragorn in that moment.

His disbelief, happiness and anger warred inside his chest and he choked on his own spit as he searched for words. Why had Boromir not contacted him before? How had he lived? What did this mean for them both?

“Boromir.”

In the end he decided there was nothing else he could say, for all words had left him and none seemed fit for the moment. He pulled himinto his arms, crushing him so tightly he would be worried for the health of the other had he not been so occupied with hugging him, with proving he was real and not another shadow in his mind.

Two hands clutched tightly to the clothes on his back tying him to the now and when he breathed he could smell the forest of Lórien and the familiar scent of home comprised of sweat, metal and leather.

He had not known that he knew Boromir’s smell, but when it hit him he knew it was him and no one could have replaced him.

It was Boromir. Actual Boromir, here in his arms alive and well. He was not dead, but he was alive and Aragorn could not yet emotionally comprehend that Boromir was there, only that his heart felt too small for all that it felt.

“Hey, Aragorn, my King, no need for tears,” the soothing voice he knew so well whispered in his ear and it was only when Boromir cupped his face between his hands and wiped away the tears that he realized he’d even been crying.

The words did not help, only cemented more all that he felt and could not name. His crying turned into heaving sobs as he hugged Boromir tighter, as impossible at that seemed.

“You’re alive,” he replied after he had cried himself hoarse in Boromir’s arms, an obvious statement, yet still one that held so many mysteries.

“Aye, I am,” Boromir agreed. “Yet, I knew that not when we parted. It was a surprise for me too when I awoke. You saved me.”

He saved him. The words struck a chord in Aragorn’s soul. Since it had happened, he had blamed himself for letting Boromir die, for not doing more, for leaving him. Yet here he was, still alive and warm, telling him that it was he, who had saved him.

His knees buckled under him. A corner of his mind told him that as a King, he should not act like this in public, but that thought was squashed under the barrage of emotions and feelings that caught up to him and overwhelmed him as the world slid out of focus.

Boromir steadied him, having his back and being the person he could lean on as if he had never left his side. “I can tell you more later, but why don’t we get you seated for now? Would that be okay… love?”

The pet name snapped him back to the present. All the musings and doubts he’d had about the spark that had never left him, had wrapped itself in grief and fantasies that would never come and were clouded with memories young and old. But now Boromir was alive and it was not just his heart that beat for the them that had not yet been.

There was no time forfear or doubt to bubble up, for Boromir looked at him with those eyes and the pet name was so hesitantly said, because Boromir was also unsure of where they stood, he also did not know what they would do, just that he loved him and wanted it.

But they could figure that out together now.

They had a future and they could try to see if the they, he and Boromir had dreamed off could flourish in times of peace. A new age had dawned and they could meet it together.

Without thinking Aragorn kissed him.

Boromir’s beard was slightly longer and he felt his moustache like he hadn’t done before, but hislips were still slightly chapped and firm. Boromirrelaxed into the kiss quickly and was again the first to swipe his tongue across Aragorn’s lips.

Aragorn lost himself into the sensations he had often dreamed about, but could never fully recall again. Yet here was that same calloused hand cupping his cheek so gently and he felt as if he could survive without breath if he could live like this forever.

It was only when Boromir broke to kiss to catch their breath that they realized a crowd had gathered around them. The King and foreign company had enticed enough commotion, but the return of a hero from the dead was certainly notable, not to mention the emotional reunion between him and their King.

There were jeers and cheers all around them. Aragorn wanted to hide his face, knowing his cheeks would be tinted red and did so in Boromir’s shoulder. Yet the Son of Gondor was at ease around his people, accepting Aragorn’s hiding spot as he smiled and waved.

Word had spread fast through the City and before Aragorn could even think of moving away from the prying eyes, Faramir came running down, no horse just his own two legs that had carried him downwards from the Citadel to see the miraculous return.

Aragorn knew when Boromir had spotted him, because the one hand on his back left, so that he could greet Faramir with both: “Brother!”

Knowing when it was time to step back, Aragorn did. Though he did not stray far from Boromir’s side as he hugged his brother tightly. There were many emotions running high, yet instead of the gentleness he had displayed for Aragorn, to his brother Boromir jested: “What has become of Minas Tirith that the King would await me, but not her Steward.”

“A Minas Tirith where her King disappears without notice to await an unknown company, I would say,” Faramir grinned back without heat as Aragorn ducked his head. “It is good to see you, Boromir. We thought you dead. How did you live?”

“It is a long story and not one for telling on the front porch,” Boromir said, conscious of the crowd around them. “The Elves were a great help and healed me. That is the basics. Let us now drink something and eat. We have a long road behind us.”

Faramir was much better at the ways of the court, having grown up around them. He sprung into action, getting the Elves up the levels to accommodations, while Aragorn walked beside Boromir and his horse.

As they walked, Aragorn followed Boromir blindly, trusting Boromir to lead them home while in the distance the trumpets rang. He did not let his gaze wander away from his face, afraid he would disappear the moment he did.

There were a thousand questions he wanted to ask, a million things he wanted to tell him. Yet the only thing he said to Boromir suddenly was: “I am sorry.”

Boromir’s step faltered for a moment, before he looked at Aragorn with concerned confusion. Then he asked: “What for?” as if it was the most simple thing in the world. As if Aragorn had not spend sleepless nights musing all the things he had done wrong.

It must have shown on his face, for Boromir smiled at him. It was not his boisterous grin or proud smile, but a gentle one, one Aragorn had only seen in Lothlórien. “You did nothing you have to apologize for. It is I, who has to atone for what I did, yet my heart can not stop being selfish and hope to proclaim itself to be yours.”

“You have not to atone either,” Aragorn spoke fiercely. He had heard those desolate tones from Boromir once before and he would not let him speak like that again. “I meant what I said and this war has taken enough from all. We won. You played your part diligently and I will not have you tarnish your return to me by self-doubt that is undeserved. And you are not selfish, for if you are then so am I.”

“Huh,” said Boromir, “you are not the Ranger I parted with. The King I saw shining through form time to time has fully inhabited his glory. There is a confidence in your speech that was not there before.”

Aragorn was taken by surprise by the observation. He had known that he had changed through his harrowing journey to Minas Tirith and the Black Gate, but he was connected still to his past in such a manner that he had not divorced himself from the person Boromir knew. To have it pointed out to him, was strange.

Yet, Boromir was not the man he had left on Amon Hen either. His manner was proud, yes, but he had not the burdens that had forced him to be so. He was calmer and had gained some of the Elven pace in life that was familiar to Aragorn in a way the lively City was not.

It seemed both had adapted to the new circumstance they had found themselves in and in turn had gained something of the other.

Still, the Boromir of old was still to be found. His handsome face had stayed unchanged and as they walked he pointed out historical buildings along with places tied to himselfwith an enthusiasm that rivaled Merry talking of Old Toby. And every time Aragorn seemed to fumble, a hand was lend to him in aid.

Another thing that was old, but new sinceAragorn had never gotten to witness it,was Boromir amongst his people. And it was a sight to behold.

The people greeted him as a long lost friend that they held in high regard. He was not just their Lord and protector, but their faithful, friendly guard also. As they called out to him, he returned most by name. The observation Aragorn had first made of him, stayed true here. It was hard not to like Boromir and that was felt through all the streets.

Journeying to the Citadel from the gates lasted eternally long, but the time passed in a flash, until they were seated in Aragorn’s office, ready to hear the tale of Boromir’s survival.

“I recall little of the events themselves,” Boromir began. “Flashes and pieces stay with me, but the Elves told me most after I had awoken. I suppose I should start when we parted ways, Aragorn.” He gave him a look and Aragorn nodded.

“I only remember us talking, yet some of the words escape me. In my mind the only clear thing is your face, there are tears in your eyes and pain I cannot soothe,” said Boromir. “I tried, but I could not move to change it. The clearest words are you promising that the White City would not fall if you could stop it and me naming you my King.”

Aragorn remembered the moment clearly, remembered the three names Boromir assigned him there and the desperation he felt as he tried to give Boromir enough hope to cling to life. A moment he remembered failing in. “I remember that moment, my medicine was not enough to save you. You were fading under my hands and nothing I could do was helping.”

Faramir followed the conversation closely. Aragorn had only briefly told him of what happened at Amon Hen and his brother’s demise. Pippin and Frodo had also filled in some blanks, but he knew no more of the final moments of Boromir than what Aragorn had told him.

He had heard of the attempts made to save Boromir’s life, yet not of Boromir’s proclamation, nor the affection shared between them that he had seen today. Still, he had guessed it in the manner his King surrounded himself with the memory of Boromir.

Both listened closely to Boromir’s answer. “The Elves spoke of a Kingly command and an oath meant to be kept. They told me of the power that laid in the voice of the Kings of old. Oaths to them not kept, could bring unrivaled curses, while-”

“Curses?” asked Faramir.

“Isildur cursed the Dead Men of the Mountains to an enteral damnation of restlessness,” Aragorn said. “More instances have been recorded, but I do not see how that relates to you, Boromir.”

“For you two did not let me finish,” Boromir told them fondly. “The two of you jumping to your loreand questions.” At that, they all chuckled.

“A Kingly oath holds power and if a King cannot keep their word, then that is equal in its weight.” Boromir explained. “We had the luck that you told me: ‘I promise that I will try to see this quest through alive and keep you alive through it also.’ And did not say ‘try’ before my part as well. Words are a fickle things, such the Elves told me and I have learned. Meanings can be changed with intent.”

Aragorn remembered his outburst and filled in the blank. “I commanded you to live. I said that I promised to protect you and begged you to not make me an oath breaker.”

“Aye, that could have been what changed the words in the balance of the earth,” Boromir nodded after a moment of contemplation. “The Elves also said the athelas on my wounds kept me breathing until they arrived. It seemed you were not the only one, who came to the aid of Gondor when the horn was blown.”

“They transported you by boat,” Aragorn suddenly clicked the pieces together. “The horn of Gondor came to the water by hands of the Elves.”

“It has been found?” asked Boromir excitedly. “I thought it had been lost to the Orcs.”

“The horn has been found, brother,” said Faramir, “but it is cloven in two. We read it as an omen of your demise.”

“Oh,” Boromir said and Aragorn heard in that sound the guilt how something beyond his reach impacted his loved ones so. “And what of my bracers? They too disappeared.”

At that Aragorn blushed and he saw in the corner of his eye Faramir grin like a young soldier that he had only been with his brother. He nodded to Aragorn stealthily and Aragorn decided that his Steward should be more loyal than this.

“I took them,” he explained.

Boromir smiled in understanding – Aragorn loved how he got to know all the smiles his love held, now that there was again reason to smile – and fumbled under his tunic to reveal the Evenstar. “The stars of the Elves are not easily given away and I would not have it lost while under my care.”

Aragorn had no words for the affection that rushed about his heart in that moment. All he could find within himself to do, was to rush forwards and hug Boromir tightly. “Keep it safe forevermore?” he asked.

“Of course, my love,” Boromir whispered back.

They held one another like this, until a small cough from Faramir made them untangle quickly. Faramir smiled: “It is good to see you both happy. There is much I need to catch up on between you two it seems, but for now I am merely glad for you both. Still, I wish to hear more of the Elves and how you returned to us.”

“Ah, aye, of course,” said Boromir, bouncing back like a man used to getting up again. “As I stated before, I recall little. I slept for weeks, recovered tied to my bed for many more. The forest is fading, the Elves are leaving, still they cared for me until I could travel once moreand while I will never fully heal, it is so much more than I could have hoped for.”

“Never fully heal?” asked Faramir with a frown.

“Aye, my condition is not what it used to be and I feel the scars when the weather changes,” Boromir answered. “But enough about me. Many strange rumors have reached my ears when coming here, yet I know not which ones to believe. Tell me about your journey.”

First Farmir talked, he told Boromir of Minas Tirith every since he had left so many days ago. He told of the fall of Osgiliath, their father being poisoned by Sauron, the battle in the City and the rebuilding of the walls.

Boromir was quiet when he heard of their father’s fall from grace. There was pain in his eyes, yet also pity and understanding.

If history had been a little different, it would have been him, being consumed.

Aragorn took his hand. He did not care for the what-if’s of history when he had Boromir right here, untouched. He did not fall to the Ring and his own body then and Aragorn would not let him fall to his mind now.

He got a smile for his efforts, a real smile that made his eyes crinkle, as Boromir squeezed his hand. Aragorn did not yet know where they would go, but if life could be like this, then it was worth every hardship he had undergone.

They kept their fingers interlocked until Faramir was done telling himall hehad missed. Then it was up to Aragorn to fill in Boromir on all he had not witnessed of the Fellowship.

Where would be start? Would he start with how they fell apart? How Gandalf came back? Would Boromir know of that? Should he start with Rohan and Helm’s deep? Or with the march on the Black Gate and Frodo’s success?

“We went after Merry and Pippin,” he finally began at Boromir’s last mission. “Frodo was not meant for our help beyond that point and went with Sam to Mordor. Yet we could not abandon our Fellowship entirely. We crossed through Rohan to Fangorn forest in four days, yet we did not meet them again for a long time after.”

And so Aragorn told Boromir of their encounter with Éomer, Gandalf’s return, the poisoning of Théoden King, the fight of Helm’s deep and the Ents in Isengard where they were reunited with Merry and Pippin once more.

“I am glad the little ones did not make it to Isengard with those Orcs,” Boromir said. “Have they made it through the war unscathed?”

“All of the Fellowship survived, love,” Aragorn assured him. “Gimli and Legolas are traveling together now and the Hobbits have been escorted home by Gandalf himself. They are safe.”

Boromir’s was relieved at this news. Aragorn knew that it was because the Son of Gondor thought himself to be responsible of their failing as Fellowship and found he had failed the Hobbits at Amon Hen. It were demons Aragorn could not take away in a day.

“You should write them once you have rested,” Aragorn said. “Pippin especially missed you dearly as did Merry. Frodo and Sam had parted before they heard of your death, but would also love to hear of your return.”

“I do not think Frodo would wish to hear of me, Aragorn,” Boromir smirked lopsidedly, but there was no mirth to be found.

“He would. You cannot rest before you have heard of him and not confronting him will hurt the both of you,” Aragorn told him, deciding to be stubborn about this until Boromir had listened to him.

Boromir looked at Aragorn and the smirk morphed in to exasperation and fondness. “I will think of it, you stubborn man.” Aragorn smiled at that. “I think it comes with the City.”

He got an eyeroll for his cheek, before Boromir requested he’d tell him more. So, Aragorn continued of the ride to Gondor with the Rohirrim, their departure to the Dwimorberg and their dealing with the King of the Dead.

At that part Boromir shivered, yet found it within himself to joke: “I am glad I fell, for I would have followed you there and hated every moment.” A joke that fell flat for Aragorn and Faramir, who had not the mind to joke about Boromir’s recent return just yet.

Aragorn told him of the Seafarers coming from the South, making Boromir curse for a strategic move in a war already won. Still, he smiled once Aragorn told him of Gimli and Legolas’ squabble at the waterside.

The fight for Minas Tirith he kept brief, not wanting to linger on the horror’s of that day when they were just getting erased from the City, while being deeply ingrained in the psyche of her people.

He also did not waste many words on the days after, for he did not wish to answer again for the choices made about his health. He had heard it from Legolas, Gandalf and Elrond already and he knew Boromir would otherwise be added to the list.

Naturally he could not bespared the lecture that came from the revelation about his march on the Black Gate and the deciding hand he had played in the choice.

“I know it was foolish, Boromir,” Aragorn said. “And it was because it was foolish, it had to happen. Sauron had to think us cocky. He had to believe we would only try this with the Ring in our possession, for we needed to give Frodo and Same safe passage.”

“It was a strategically sound move, Boromir, no matter what your soldier instincts will tell you,” Faramir backed Aragorn up.

“Sam told me how the Eye suddenly moved off them and the lands streamed empty.” Aragorn recalled. “The sacrifices made that day were not made in vain. It was the last fight we fought against the Dark Lord.”

A hush fell over the room as all three thought over the last sentence.

It was a truth all had known, but none had really faced. Yet there it was, as a defense to an outrage to something rational that put loved ones into danger, even if it had already passed. They would no longer have to fight the Dark Lord.

“Huh,” Boromir said after the moment of silence. “That was sentence I never dreamed of hearing.”

They all snorted at that. What started out a small sound of humor soon turned into a joyous waterfall of relief and disbelief, until they were out of breath as they tried to straighten themselves, but kept bursting into laughter again.

“What a world we live that we can see the light after the cloud has passed,” said Faramir. “A new sun shines on all of us.”

“Aye, today is good and I hope there will be many more like it to remember,” Boromir agreed, toasting his mug of ale to what Faramir had said.

As they drank they caught up Boromir to the rebuilding efforts. The help from the Elves and the Dwarfsas well as the people themselves, who remade the White City into something transcended of her former glory.

“When my heart told me I would not see Minas Tirith as it was, I could not have hoped that it would be because it was restored to her former glory of the days of old,” smiled Boromir as he looked over the City from the window.

Aragorn looked over the City as well. Back then he wished he could have seen Minas Tirith through Boromir’s eyes, but his own eyes had found the wonders described to him by Boromir in his own ways.

He had seen the endurance and strength of men, not in the market places or on the lands and in the barracks, but in the tents where the houses were no more, among the nurses in the Houses of Healing and the ones tasked with clearing out the bodies.

He heard the love for their home as Boromir held it as they talked to him of their neighborhoods and needs. He saw it when they bowed their heads, before they rolled up their sleeves to work alongside him.

While he had not Boromir’s eyes to look at the City, he had his words to guide him to her beauty and see it for his own.

“Her beauty is truly unrivaled now,” Faramir agreed with his brother as he snapped Aragorn out of his musings. “Yet there is much to do still. The Lords of the Guilds have shown much understanding at the delay for Boromir’s return, but they will wish to meet you again soon, my King. I cannot give you more than today.”

Before today, Aragorn relished in his busy schedule that left little room for his mind to think, but with Boromir returned, he could not help but wish for a bit more time.

“I understand, Faramir,” Aragorn sighed. “Try to see if you can fit them in soon?”

“Of course, my King,” Faramir bowed and excused himself, as he left he patted Boromir on the shoulder, before Boromir hugged him. Faramir said: “Once the King is busy again, we will catch up more. I’ll leave you two now.”

When he had left, they sat there. For all Aragorn had wanted Boromir’s time and attention, now that he had it, he did not know what to do with it. In his mind, he was wrapped up in Boromir’s arms, head upon his chest to hear his heart beat steady. Yet he knew not if it was welcome and he floundered.

“It seems the skills of a Ranger served you well,” Boromir’s ability to remember details in conversation came up once more, as he recalled what had been said to him in Moria.

“Aye,” grinned Aragorn, “though some nobles do not know what to make of stillness that I have left of when I was observing prey and reading the signs. They think me unsettling.”

“They probably think you part Elven magician,” laughed Boromir, finding hilarity in Aragorn upsetting the stuffy nobles of his youth. “I hope Faramir keeps you from scaring them away completely.”

“He has been a great guide in the worlds of politics,” Aragorn said. “I hope you do not mind that he has taken your place in your absence. We knew not of your return back then.”

“I do not blame you at all, in fact I am quite happy with the decision,” Boromir replied. “He has always been much better at this part then I was, but back then we needed a Captain and that was my forte. I would wish for him to keep the position, if all are in agreement. I am not cut out for that work and I leave it in capable hands.”

“And what of I?” Aragorn asked, not wanting to know the answer, but also desperate to hear it. “Are my hands capable or was your declaration only the one of a dying man? You have not seen me as leader in battle, nor with your people or in negotiation. Would you make the same judgment now?”

“Aragorn,” Boromir took his hands and looked into his eyes intently, “I have never left my City in better hands.”

It was a confirmation, he hadn’t know he needed so much until he had gotten it. There was no one in this City he trusted to tell him how he was doing. So, having the one person he was trying to prove himself to, validate his work was liberating.

“Come here,” Boromir gesturedfor him to sit down next to him. “You do not have to be the King here unless you want to, Aragorn. Let us be a Ranger and a Solider, just for a moment.”

He did so gratefully, letting Boromir wrap him up in his strong arms and hide him from the world and his responsibilities for a while.

They sat in silence for many minutes, staring out of the window over the City. Aragorn was completely tucked into Boromir’s side, one leg over his and arms around his middle as Boromir leaned his head upon his.

“What will we do now?” Aragorn asked finally.

“About what, love?” asked Boromir in return.

“About us,” Aragorn clarified. “My heart has been heavy since our departure and I have not been able to let go of all I felt for you. I cannot express how much your return has lightened my spirit, but I cannot forget how I mourned you as a dead man.”

“There were many nights in Lothlórien where I too, did not know of your fate, but I always had the hope and belief you would make it,” Boromir replied. “I cannot begin to think of anyone ever taking the place you hold in my heart. We started as strangers before, Aragorn-love. I will not let time passed come between us after everything. If I have power to do so, I will do anything to get to know you again.”

“Let us start there then,” Aragorn smiled. “As strangers with a history and much love in our hearts. I too, will do anything in my power to keep you in my heart.”

“For that I am glad, though I hope that this time our strangers can involve more kissing then it did before. I missed you during our time apart.”

“Boromir the Bold is a well deserved name,” teased Aragorn as he leaned in, “but I will allow your transgression for speaking out of term against the King.”

The other leaned in as well and breathed on his lips: “Oh, so it is like that now? You’ve grown into your role too well, Lord Aragorn.”

He just hummed and awaited Boromir’s reply to that.

“Very well, my King.”

Aragorn had not the time to name him as future consort, thinking it too forwards until the moment had passed and his lips were already seized, taking all coherency from his mind.

Yet that did not matter, for they were not running to their doom and out of time. He had many years ahead of him to tell Boromir all he thought of him and wished for their future, for there now was a future they could work towards.

Like their lands, there was still much to heal and rebuild. Much that was old that was no more and much that was new yetto be discovered. And that was part of the journey they willingly went on, since it was the way to arrive at where they wished to go.

Not that any of that mattered to Aragorn now, with Boromir’s lips pressed against his own. He was far away from this Kingdom, only present in the bubble of him and Boromir, existing alongside each other.

Tomorrow they would see where this new road would lead them. Tomorrow they would start to heal and relearn what it meant to be them in this new context.

For now they were Aragorn and Boromir, who had met each other and were begrudging traveling companions. Back then they had just watched one another mesmerized yet confused by what they saw and felt.

Here they had so much more questions and a thousand extra answers.

Aragorn could not have known where the road from Rivendell hadtaken him, but it was a road he would gladly walk again if it meant it would end like this. Back then it had merely been hard not to like Boromir and now Aragorn was forever grateful for the moment he had first laid his eyes upon the Son of Gondor.

~~

A/N:

Btw, I want y’all to know that this was my outline for this fic: confess lothlorien > fight anduin > thinks boro dead > in gondor see burdens for him that boro was carrying > more guilt > boro alive yay

I love Arwen, okay. I am a gay bitch and I watched her be badass on a horse at an impressionable age, okay. I love her. I could not find a way to integrate her into the story. I did not say that last time, but yeah. Sorry. She chilled in the undying land and had a great time. (maybe became a hot lesbian bc she deserved that, got a hot gf)

Also I am very emo for the idea that all the choices Aragorn made, in the end worked towards Boromir living. Boromir was such a symbol for how he failed Gondor and to have him succeed by making the right choices and getting Boromir back through them as well makes me very uwu

Btw, rip to Faramir for third wheeling their flirting lmao

Extra:

Ar: “I almost send you down the river in a boat as burial”

Bo: “I’m very glad u didn’t, bc that would have been awkward.”

But also the emotional impact of the guilt he felt for Boromir’s send off being taken from his shoulders because if he had done anything different, he would have been the one to kill Boromir, so he actually did the right thing where he thought he had made yet another mistake

[angharradhx]

davheira​:

“An oath?” Not a sacrifice as he had feared, but a weighty price nonetheless. Davheira had never been one to abandon his oaths, never been one to go back on his word. He had promised Cassius that he would wait for him, and he had done so, seeking him out on his every lifetime, loving him until he had believed him gone. He had promised Meryasek to take his duties as a Marshal seriously, and he had done so despite his instincts desiring the chaos and freedom of travels, he had promised Meryasek to support him for what he could and that is what had led to this very journey. Flighty and frivolous as he has been, Davheira has always been one to keep his promises and his oaths. If he does this, he is aware he will be committing himself to Sehanine’s patronage for the rest of his life, to worship her as his goddess for as long as he will continue to remain. It’s a weighty price, but one that he will bear with delight if it means the ability to protect his people and those he holds dear.

“Then I shall accept this restoration with a gladdened heart,” he says, even as his mind races, the legends of the Lythari flitting through his head as he recalls all the songs he has heard on the courts coming to mind. He is surprised, at the mention of Lycaon, but even then the story makes sense, the pieces falling into place as it unravels before him. “And I shall remind the Winter Court of our origins, those same origins we should not have so easily forgotten.”

A step is taken, heart racing as Davhy’s decision is made regardless of the possible risks and the fears flying through his head. Carefully, he bows at the goddess and reaches forward, cupping the water on his hands and bringing it to his lips to drink from it, accepting Sehanine’s gift and establishing himself as the first of her clergy since their ancestor’s had been erased by strife.

-

When Davheira looked up, the aspect of Sehanine had been replaced for the conglomerate goddess that the dead made up: Queen Angharradh. Many goddesses to keep darkness from the realm, and one to rule at the King’s side. Corellon’s magic was overwhelming and oppressive, great power like that which flowed from the Seldarine bore down on lesser creatures and anyone that did not compare. Angharradh’s strength was far greater than the King of Arvandor, though hers did not oppress, but uplift. Stood before the Queen and the light of Telperion, Davheira would have never felt more powerful. 

“A bard is the heart and soul of the people.” Angharradh said with great kindness, it seemed that the good fey had forgotten that; she was not omniscient, and she did not have the sort of hold that Titania held over the eladrin, but she could see the creature’s spirit. That indelible spark that shone within, there were some among her that wondered how elven an eladrin could still be when it was so broken. Their mortal children little more than candles that flickered in the dark before they went out. Sune kept the Queen’s heart bright and pure, with love that would never waver. Corellon would not help them, but she would. Angharradh touched his cheek, a hand that was neither hot or cold, but comforting in the way that newborn’s held their blanket. “In your heart shall burn an unquenchable flame, all-consuming, and never satisfied. When your life is in great peril, set it ablaze.” 

Still an eladrin, Davheira would not feel any physical change from his devotion. As disappointing as that might have been for him, Angharradh was made up of so many elven goddesses that it was impossible for her to not be capricious.  All life was better with mystery. “Explore Sehanine’s outlook as you wish, Arvandor is open to you, you can rest here and indulge in what you wish: our librarian’s reliquary contains every word ever written, even deeper are the pages of thoughts, though they’re far more convoluted. I enjoyed your story, Davheira, I’m looking forward to seeing what happens next.” She tilted her head towards him as moonlight enveloped her, dissipating into a gradual array of silver butterflies. 

[puttingfingerstokeys]

First Kiss

Day 1 (day 2) (day 3) (day 4) (day 5)

So I've decided to participate in @subscorp-week YAY

Thermodynamic equilibrium obviously--ft smoke and Cyrax too WOO

Broken timeline

The snow fell heavily, straight down from the leaden sky, on the approach to the gates of the Lin Kuei compound. Scorpion’s horse held up well between his thighs, its breath rising like his own in steaming puffs. It was a sturdy little thing, his horse, blue-gray with gentle eyes, native to the area and bred for just this purpose. He held the reigns in one hand, the other resting on one leg, finger drumming with minute impatience. For the last three miles, there had been eyes on him, which he had expected—the Lin Kuei were not known for their warmth in any aspect, save the grandmaster himself, who was quite accommodating—but it still set off his internal alarms, especially because he was alone.

The obsidian-colored, forged iron of the gates were solid, made by ancient means. The knowledge of how to replicate this process was lost to the ages, but Grandmaster Hasashi was aware that his Lin Kuei counterpart had set about unearthing Lin Kuei relics, scrolls, and general history, dedicating an entire unit of his clan to doing this. It was admirable, fighting for a more noble past, especially since the most recent one was so bathed in dishonor and blood—his and the blood of his clan. The though still made his heart ache and his soul blaze with hellfire. He controlled himself, not wanting to scorch the beast who had so faithfully carried him.

Tossing a leg over her neck, he dismounted and patted her shoulder affectionately. She nickered and pushed at him, seeking treats. Digging about on his person and ever-mindful of the eyes still upon him, Grandmaster Hanzo Hasashi of the Shirai-Ryu assassin clan produced a bag and from it, into his palm, he poured a pile of sugar. Offering it to the horse, he stowed the bag and scratched her forehead. It was at this point the gate guards chose to materialize, both cyberized Lin Kuei, one yellow and one gray.

“Grandmaster Hasashi,” they said as one. The grandmaster turned, the little mare’s lead in hand, eyes snapping first to one, then the other.

“Smoke,” he said, inclining his head, “and Cyrax.”

They both seemed pleased—as pleased as a couple of expressionless robotic shells could be—that he remembered them. Then again, how could he not? They were Sub-Zero’s favorites, after all. They were the most loyal to him out of the clan and, while not always Grandmaster Hasashi’s escorts, glad to be so when the opportunity arose. They, like Kuai Liang, believed an alliance between their clans was what would ultimately prove best for Earthrealm. Handing the lead to Cyrax, he spoke again:

“Be sure she is not ill-treated. Good work should be rewarded. She is a good beast.”

Both Lin Kuei nodded, appreciating his care for the creature. The great gates yawned open then and, walking three abreast with the horse following closely behind Cyrax, they entered. Within, the complex was quiet, as usual, the massive, fluffy snowflakes continuing to fall here, where their beauty seemed incongruous alongside the austerity of the Lin Kuei. Cyrax peeled off to one side, toward what Grandmaster Hasashi took to be stables and he was left with Tomas Vrabada, the cyberized ninja sometimes called Smoke.

“Please, allow me,” said Tomas, gesturing that he would walk with the grandmaster through the Lin Kuei complex. Hanzo held up a hand and shook his head.

“I know the way well, Tomas,” he said, “thank you.”

“But…”

“I know the way.”

His tone brooked no argument and then the Shirai-Ryu grandmaster began his journey toward Sub-Zero’s receiving hall. There were still eyes upon him, wary ones, but none were curious, he sensed. He had been here often enough to speak with the Lin Kuei leader over tea of the potential alliance between their clans. He knew Smoke had only been concerned for his safety, but he was Grandmaster of an assassin order; a simple walk would have to be very difficult indeed to break his stride, much less kill him.

As predicted, the walk was without incident, the bright yellow of his gi and the flashing silver and gold of his armor standing in stark contrast, even under the cloudy sky, against the colorless backdrop of dark buildings and virgin snow. He stretched out a hand to catch a flake and watched it disintegrate in his palm as the Lin Kuei’s grandmaster stepped out onto the porch of his receiving hall and called out:

“Grandmaster Hasashi, it is wonderful to see you again. Thank you for answering my missive. Please.” He gestured to the place where they always took their tea. Hanzo noted two Lin Kuei, these still flesh and blood, and very young, setting out the dishes silently. One stood back with a cloak of fine furs over an arm and no expression whatsoever on their face—none save a momentary flash of awe at the Shirai-Ryu warrior’s approach. It is as if they have never seen such color in all their cold, dark existence, Hanzo thought unkindly. He chided himself for this and made for his Lin Kuei counterpart first, clasping arms in a friendly greeting and then affecting a deep bow, which Kuai Liang returned.

“Where is Tomas?” Sub-Zero inquired, his scarred brow rising. Scorpion smiled wryly and gestured.

“I dismissed him,” he said simply. “I have arrived alone, leaving my soldiers at the village in the foothills and I will continue my journey to your doorstep in that same fashion, as a gesture of good faith.”

“Or as a display of your power,” Kuai Liang suggested mischievously, gesturing that Hanzo should sit. The grandmaster did, and suddenly the fur cloak was placed about his shoulders. He stiffened and shot a flinty look at Kuai Liang, who was settling across from them.

“What is this?” Hanzo’s voice was perhaps a little sharper than he had intended, but he held firm. “I do not require this, Grandmaster.”

“It is less about requirement and more about courtesy. Call it… My own gesture of goodwill,” said the Lin Kuei grandmaster, gesturing to the fine workmanship. “I would be honored if you would see fit to keep it.”

Grandmaster Hasashi’s shoulders sagged and he sighed. “Very well.”

Kuai Liang seemed delighted by this and began the arduous, traditional ceremony of grinding tea leaves, mixing them into the steaming water, and pouring them. All this was done in contemplative silence. Kuai Liang, it turned out, was a traditionalist—but using traditions established much further back than even the former Lin Kuei grandmaster’s lifespan, millennia ago, from their Edenian heritage. He did this for many reasons, for honor, for the restoration of his clan, and to display the unity between Shirai-Ryu and Lin Kuei, who shared common ancestry.

“We were cast from Outworld once,” he had told Scorpion years ago, when their meetings had first begun, “and so we must now stand united against that same power.”

There was no question in it. Kuai Liang had stated cold, hard fact, as was the way of the Lin Kuei. Hanzo admired him for this and for many other things. He noted, as the kryomancer finished the ceremony, Hanzo realized he had been studying him the entire time while his mind walked the echoing corridors of the past. Kuai Liang wore an understated, but ornate set of light armor. The gi was blue and black and made no pretense—nor did the armor—of covering much more than needed, which was only some of the man’s broad chest, none of his arms and nothing at all of his neck. Foolish and showy, Scorpion spat internally, at war with himself, as both an assassin and as a man who had long been without the gentle touch of another living being. His heart thumped hard in his chest and he calmed himself, hands placed demurely in his lap.

“Please,” Kuai Liang invited, gesturing to Hanzo’s cup and, only when the Shirai-Ryu warrior had picked it up, grasping his own and lifting it.

“To a unity so strong, Outworld fears the tread of our boots,” rumbled Scorpion.

“May they fear our name, whispered on the wind,” echoed Sub-Zero.

They drank deep of the tea—it was chamomile, Hanzo’s favorite—and watched each other for several long moments. Both men opened their mouths to speak, then both closed their lips and gestured for the other to begin. They had been doing this so long, it seemed as if everything had been touched upon, every detail hammered out. So what was the purpose of this meeting? Scorpion, ever the pragmatist, had wondered that on the entire journey, yet still he had come.

“I would set our alliance in stone, Hanzo,” said Kuai Liang quietly, using the man’s first name, an intimate gesture to be sure. But had he not earned this? Had they not been at least acquainted over thirty years and then some? They had even served Quan-Chi together, pitiful and uncomfortable as that memory was. They had seen facets of each other that no one else in the world ever had or ever would, if they had their way. “It should be more than your oath to be my protector.”

“I failed at that, if you recall, a-Liang.” Hanzo’s address was even more intimate, shortening Sub-Zero’s name in the traditional way of Sub-Zero’s people and adding not a little endearment, though is voice was still harsh. “You were made a machine, and then a revenant and I—”

“And you were powerless to stop it,” said Sub-Zero, standing and gesturing that his Shirai-Ryu counterpart should follow. “We cannot always take the weight of the world onto our shoulders, old friend; we crowd out the real concerns by doing so. Come, walk with me.”

Hanzo stood and, after a moment’s thought, kept the furs around his shoulders. They were soft and warm and, he had to admit, expertly made. Had Kuai Liang done this? While the kryomancer was not looking, he drew it close to his nose and breathed deep a scent he recognized on a primal level, though could not consciously identify. Sub-Zero, for his part, walked quietly beside Hanzo Hasashi, listening to the sound of his muffled footsteps on the stone beneath their feet. The path, Hanzo noted, had clearly been recently swept, perhaps while they were sharing tea, and led around behind the grandmaster’s receiving hall. He had never been back here, only to a few select buildings, the barracks, the training halls, and the mess—of course the stables as well—and so this tree-lined path, marked here and there with old, worn, stone statues was utterly new.

“I have begun researching the original form of these statues,” said Kuai Liang. A few, here and there, were possessed of an interior glow that was not a candle, but not electricity either. “The magic in them is Edenian, and quite old… some of them seem simply to have faded.” His voice was sad and Hanzo felt his heart squeeze a little at this sound of it. “Some were cruelly broken and if I knew the ones who had done it, I would have their heads.”

The truce with Kotal Kahn’s court and Outworld as a whole was so precarious, that asking for the assistance of an Edenian survivor such as Jade was almost completely out of the question. They had to focus, both men knew, on their own alliance first. Once they were united and strong, they could move to other connections, make other allies, strong ones. Special Forces leapt immediately to mind, and of course the Shaolin of the Temple of Light. Both men were uneasy with Lord Raiden, but they had to admit that he, being the god of thunder, would be a powerful ally indeed—and a truly terrifying foe. That being said, Scorpion, at least, longed to meet that particular deity in kombat. Perhaps one day.

They were coming upon a break in the tree-lined path which led to an open area and another set of gates. These were somewhat less imposing, though still of a dark material—if Hanzo had to guess, it was ebony. From behind it, great clouds of steam rose and lights played off the steam, low and gentle, clearly from braziers or torches of some kind. He halted and looked to his companion. “What is this?”

With a flourish, Kuai Liang stepped before his companion and gestured to the ebony gates, which swung open at the hands of two more silent students of the Lin Kuei, these just as young as those who had seated and served them. Beyond was a vista Hanzo had not expected so deep in the mountains and he found himself blinking and gape-mouthed—his sense of propriety halted this rather quickly, but Sub-Zero had already seen it—at what lay within. Kuai Liang offered his arm. Normally, Scorpion would bristle at such a gesture—it was too familiar by half—but his stupor overcame his better judgment and he took it, feeling he no longer needed the fur cloak as soon as they passed the threshold.

“The Lin Kuei’s best-kept secret,” said Sub-Zero proudly, “and one of my restoration projects. It is hardly finished, but we have already begun landscaping.”

All around them was a plethora of greenery, strange plants that were not of Earthrealm origin—tropical flowers and wide-leaved trees and bushes. The place was warm, too, like a sauna and, at the far end of what had clearly once been merely a stony grotto, lay the spring itself, steaming and smelling of rich, restorative minerals.

“Your complex is… powered by thermal vents?” It was an easy leap from natural hotsprings to such technology and Hanzo was pleased when Kuai Liang nodded. “Amazing. This is… What you have done here is beyond any dream your predecessors could have had.” Hanzo turned to face Kuai Liang. “It is astounding,” he added. “You are astounding.”

Sub-Zero’s grip switched to grasp the hand that had been wrapped about his arm and they stood quietly for several moments, eyes locked, breath strangely quick—surely it was the heat—and hearts pounding. Hanzo wondered if Kuai Liang could hear his thundering pulse. He did not realize the converse was true.

“Hanzo,” said the Lin Kuei grandmaster, voice low and somehow filled with reverence.

“Liang?” The response came swiftly, but tripping out between Scorpion’s lips, flushed cheeks and half-dazed expression making him look years younger.

“Will you forgive me?” The question was odd, seemingly without source and Hanzo grunted his bafflement. “I have been remiss,” Kuai Liang clarified, “in keeping this secret from you for so long… this and… other things.”

Still baffled, Hanzo shook his head. “No—that is… I cannot forgive that which has not harmed me.” All the while, their eyes stayed locked, Hanzo’s hand in one of Kuai Liang’s, the torches and braziers burning brightly all around them, the perfume of Edenian flowers and potent minerals creating a heady aroma of deep, warm sensuality. Kuai Liang leaned forward, gently, slowly but with no secret as to what he wanted. Their lips were inches apart and he paused.

“May I kiss you?”

Hot breath mingling with strange cold, Hanzo nodded, voicing no response save to press his mouth forward and meet the Lin Kuei grandmaster somewhere in the middle, one hand wrapping about behind Sub-Zero’s shoulders, crushing their bodies together. The kiss was long, fiery, heated, desiring more, so much more from the other man. It did not want to break. They fit together like pieces of an ancient puzzle and suddenly both were wondering why their clans ever fought in the first place. They parted long enough to regard each other—both fearing he had overstepped—only to plunge back in, redoubling their efforts and this time plying their strength against and with the other.

Their world shrank to the two of them and for several blissful minutes, nothing existed but they.

[toomanyf4ndoms7]

Mortal Kombat Invasion: Battle for Earthrealm: Scorpion and Sub Zero vs Cybers.

Summary: Scorpion chooses his true allies and Sub Zero works to restore his old ones.

Scorpion had known he would have to face the younger Sub Zero eventually, he spent what seemed like hours wrestling with his choices as spied for the “Chosen Warriors” as Kahn called them.

Despite his apathy for Shao Kahn, Scorpion was tempted by the idea of freedom from Hell. That temptation was short lived as, when he finally found one of Chosen, it was the man whose life he swore to protect.

Sub Zero was being restrained by some cyborg, while another loomed in with a wrist mounted weapon.

Scorpion agonised over his choices.

On one hand, Freedom from Hell. No longer having to listen to the damned screams that tormented him every minute. Every second there was a reminder of what he lost.

On the other, he swore an oath. To a dead man, honour is all he has.

There was a reason why Scorpion chose to protect Kuai Liang, beyond guilt for taking his brother from him. It was out of a curiosity that, if he had proved himself worthy, he could finally rest in peace.

Scorpion took a deep breath and made his choice.

And that is why he was here, in a desolated Earthrealm city, fighting cybernetic Lin Kuei warriors.

He turned towards Sub Zero.

“You require assistance.”

“I’ll be fine. Can you handle Cyrax and Sektor?”

“Easily.”

“Good, I need to restore my friend.”

The red Cyborg had gotten back up from Scorpion’s surprise attack and was clearly wanting payback.

“You are Bi Han’s killer, correct?”

“I shall be yours as well if you stay in my way.”

“Bi Han was merely flesh and bone.”

Sektor clenched his armoured fist.

“I am so much more.”

Scorpion was unimpressed.

“Flesh or metal, you still burn.”

Sektor unleashed his flamethrowers, expecting Scorpion to be incinerated before his power. However, Scorpion was a spectre of the Netherrealm, and flames held no threat to him anymore.

To Sektor’s surprise, Scorpion ran through the flame, his kunai blazing with hellfire. Sektor had barely any time to react as Scorpion tackled him and drove the burning Kunai into his shoulder.

Sektor caught Scorpion’s fist and used his free hand to palm strike him off. Scorpion teleported in Mid-air and engaged Cyrax.

As Scorpion battled the cyborgs, Sub Zero rushed to his brainwashed friend.

“Smoke! Can you hear me?”

Smoke jolted to life, grabbing Kuai by the throat.

“Target detected, eliminate.”

“Smoke! Listen to me!”

“I do not listen to the words of a traitor.”

“Then how about the words of a friend?”

Kuai Liang stared into the cold emptiness of Smoke’s metallic visor, praying that there was something in there.

“Do you remember our friendship?”

Memories unlocked in Smoke’s mind. Memories of a silver haired boy meeting another boy with ice from his fingers. The boys grew into young men, their friendship growing closer-

ERROR.

Smoke’s grip tightened.

“Your friend is dead. An inferior warrior.”

Sub Zero kept pressing on.

“You remember, don’t you? Our beginnings? Our missions?

“I’ll remember your end!”

Smoke attempted to attack but was easily avoided.

“Do you remember our oath-

Kuai was tackled to the ground, Smoke extending two of his fingers and coating them in boiling smoke.

“Enough of this!”

Despite the threat of death, Kuai kept going.

“We Swore never to harm each other.”

“The oath is broken.”

Kuai Liang was running out of options, closing his eyes as The boiling smoke edged closer.

“Goodbye, Tomas.”

Tomas… That’s… Me…

Deep within Smoke, there was something that not even The Cyber Initiative could suppress.

The strength of a warrior’s soul.

Tomas woke up and released his friend, his voice overcome with emotions thought lost.

“Tundra?”

Sub Zero coughed, regaining his breath.

“Good to see you again, Tomas.”

“Wh-What is happening?”

Sub Zero placed a hand on his friends shoulder.

“I’ll explain later, right now, help me defeat Sektor and Cyrax.”

Smoke’s voice took on a confident tone, one Kuai recognised from his training days.

“Now that I can do.”

Scorpion fought fiercely against the Cyborgs, but their constant assault was starting to get harder to overcome.

Luckily, he was joined by Sub Zero and the grey Cyborg.

Cyrax was attacked from behind, Tomas using his abilities to short circuit Cyrax, taking him out of the battle.

Sektor stared at Tomas with disdain clear even through the expressionless visor.

“Yet another traitor.”

“You corrupted me! Shackled my soul!”

“Your soul is not as special as you make it out to be.”

Sektor launched a missile at Tomas, who disappeared into smoke and reappeared above The cyborg, landing on him feet first.

As Sektor tried to get up, he was suddenly frozen to the floor by Kuai, then speared from the back by Scorpion, and finally struck by a harpoon by Tomas.

Scorpion sent a blaze of Hellfire across his chain, as Tomas sent an electric shock across his wires.

The combined force of blazing hellfire and shocking electricity severely damaged Sektor’s armour, and the shock may have caused damage to his systems.

Sektor seethed his next words before teleporting away, leaving Cyrax behind.

“You may have won this battle Sub Zero, but you will fall before my hands soon enough.”

Kuai looked at the empty space Sektor used to be, before focusing on the unconscious Cyrax and planning on what to do with him.

Unknown to the trio, they were being watched by someone in the shadows.

[yeetmeoutthewindowdaddy]

A deep dive into Zevlor's devotion (Part 3) Zevlor's actions during Act 1, an analysis of a man who is barely holding on:

THIS POST CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR BG3.

These series of posts were originally one loooooong post— but apparently Tumblr has a character limit, and I found it; so now it's been split into several parts/posts.

(Part 1) Everybody hates tieflings, and how discrimination impacted a young Zevlor.

(Part 2) Elturel's history and culture, the Hellriders, and Zevlor's paladin oath. (Part 2.5)

((Part 3, this post, is where the meat a good chunk of my Zevlor analysis is.))

(Part 4) Zevlor's actions during Act 2, an analysis of a broken man.

(Part 5) Zevlor's actions during Act 3, an analysis of a man with his faith restored.

(Part 6) Zevlor's actions during/ after the epilogue, not all endings are happily ever after— especially not for a tiefling.

(Part 7) Zevlor in a romantic relationship.

I don't think many bg3 players understand just how dedicated and loyal of a person Zevlor is. This ADHD hyper-fixation fueled multipart-thesis is meant to show how Zevlor's past is as tragic as any of the origin characters'/ Durge's. It's meant to show how horrifically broken Zevlor was when he "betrayed" the other tieflings. It's also meant to show that our beloved blorbo would probably be fervently obsessive if he was in a romantic relationship.

Most importantly: It demonstrates how our favorite man Zevlor was most likely a fanatical religious zealot my dudes. He was (probably) a part of the Faerûn equivalent of the Spanish Inquisition lite.

I have kept this as factual as I am able to. Please keep in mind that Baldur's Gate 3 plays it fast and loose with the DND/ Forgotten Realms canon and lore, on top of DND/ the Forgotten Realms itself regularly disregarding and changing it's own lore and canon. DND lore and canon as a whole is a mess. It has multiple universes that sometimes interact and are maybe separate from each other. Full disclosure; I've mixed 1e-5e lore together FUCK 5.5e, because parsing through what is currently considered canon is a nightmare. As far as I'm concerned, as long as a piece of lore was canon at some point in the past 50 years— it's fair game. @y-rhywbeth2 in this post has a more in depth disclaimer. Also please check out their headcanons and lore breakdowns, they're so good.

THIS PROJECT TOOK ME OVER A MONTH TO WRITE. I've tried to find all grammatical and spelling errors. I've tried to ensure that I've cited the correct sources in the correct places.

Before reading this way too long post please look at itsclydebitches analysis on Zevlor. [Alt] Which provided me with so much insight to his character and kickstarted my obsession with him. Also, @itsclydebitches puts ideas into words better than I do.

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

● (Part 1) Zevlor before the events of BG3:

Here is what we know, for sure, about Zevlor:

Zevlor is a tiefling.

Zevlor achieved the rank of commander in the Hellriders.

He survived the city's fall into the Hells.

He was a paladin.

He does not have Darkvision.

Finally, here are the headcanons I have cobbled together based on the available albeit often times conflicting information I have gathered: (Hard facts are in green, everything else is speculation on my part.)

The youngest I would put Zevlor at is his mid 50's. The oldest I would put him at is his late 60's.

So this means that he was approximately 5-15 years old during the vampire crisis. Mentally, these are very formative years for a person. It really isn't a stretch of the imagination to assume that this, along with the miraculous appearance of the companion, set young Zevlor on the path to becoming a paladin and a Hellrider.

There aren't many elderly Hellriders around because most die in the line of duty. To have survived into his old age is a testament to Zevlor's skill, dedication, and luck divine favor.

(AN: In Zevlor's Sleep Stories, "A non-profit project created for and run by fans of Baldur's Gate 3 and its characters.", in episode # 8 - Oathsworn Glenn McCready, the official VA of Zevlor, (I only point out that the stories are narrated by the official VA because I think it's really cool that he and the fans have collaborated on the project. It is not meant to imply that him narrating the project means he has any opinions on how Zevlor is depicted in them, nor is it meant to lend any weight to the Sleep Stories being regarded as canon. Please check it out, it's an amazing project.) narrated a story in which Zevlor was stated to be 10 years old when the Companion first appeared— making Zevlor ~60 during the events of BG3. Zevlor's Sleep Stories is NOT canon, but I'm going to view this one story as canon in my heart; unless/ until Larian releases content/ info that contradicts it.)

This post [alt] by @nightmarist and @space-blue with contributions from @haru-sen is a wonderful source for some history of Elturel, how the Hellriders and Zariel are connected, how paladin's and their oaths work, and an analysis of how being exiled from Elturel changed/ impacted Zevlor's oath.

Zevlor would have had to devote himself 3x more than a non-tiefling Hellrider would've:

Hellriders were held to a high moral standard in a city that already had strict moral codes of conduct.

The Order of the Companion members took the Hellriders dedication a step further by swearing an oath to the city on a god.

Zevlor would have been under intense scrutiny for the crime of being a tiefling. For him to have made the rank of Commander despite this means that he proved, beyond a shadow of a shadow of a doubt, that he was devoted to protecting Elturel.

For added angst I like to headcanon that he had only achieved the rank of Commander a few tendays before Elturel fell into the Hells. And that it took so long for Zevlor to achieve the rank of Commander because he was rejected for promotions in favor of someone who wasn't a tiefling, even if they were less suited for the job than Zevlor was. And that if he wasn't a tiefling then he would've become a commander many years earlier.

Which means that for the entirety of his adult life Zevlor wholly devoted himself to being a Hellrider. He had to forsake everything else, being a Hellrider was his life's purpose.

That level of dedication cannot be faked or forced. He truly believed in being a Hellrider and what the Hellriders stood for/ represented.

And he was thanked for his years of unyielding service by being

● (Part 2) Banished from Elturel:

Zevlor's years of service, his countless sacrifices, and unwavering dedication to the protection of the city and its inhabitants meant nothing to the people of Elturel after the city was returned from the hells. Tieflings looked like the devils that had tormented them in hell (nevermind that the tieflings were also subject to the abuse from devils) and as such they were blamed for the city's Decent into Avernus.

"Many if not all the city's tieflings were exiled from the city, thanks to a new wave of misplaced fear and newly-formed prejudice."

This hatred from the people he loved so dearly didn't lead to Zevlor breaking his oath, it shattered Zevlor's very faith itself. (FFS, I can't find a clip of the Narrator describing Zevlor's time in/ just after Avernus when you click on him when he's in the mindflayer pod in Act 2. Please just trust me on this one.)

Zevlor didn't break his oath, it was broken for him. Hellriders swear to "Serve the realm of Elturgard, and defend the city of Elturel body and soul.", and he was forced to abandon the city.

Earlier in this series I had mentioned how exiled Hellriders were stripped of their gear before being cast out of the city. Zevlor, and the other tiefling Hellriders at the end of the game, still have some of their Hellrider gear. [alt] This makes me think that the other Hellriders refused to completely strip their tiefling family members of their gear because they did not agree with the city's bigoted decision. Letting them keep their gear would have been a subtle hint (and resistance to the city's authority) that the other Hellriders still considered their tiefling comrades as fellow Hellriders.

Whether the exiled tiefling Hellriders were still considered members of the Hellriders by the remaining Hellriders or not, Zevlor was now a

● (Part 3) Refugee:

But Zevlor still had a purpose, he and his fellow banished tiefling Hellriders swore to defend the civilian refugees on their journey to Baldur's Gate.

Tilses, and I assume the other Hellriders, still referred to Zevlor as Commander, and still considered him a Hellrider. She believed that no one could revoke their membership to the Hellriders, but Zevlor did. "They can [take away our Hellrider membership], and did. Avernus changed things — best we get used to that." - Zevlor

They were attacked multiple times on the road, and they had many casualties, and so Zevlor carried on as he always had— as a paladin sworn to protect his people. The refugees and the other, younger, Hellriders needed him to be a strong leader with unwavering faith, so that's what he was— but it was all an act. An act that got harder and harder to keep up as the days wore on and the rations, and survivors, dwindled.

But then they stumbled upon a possible salvation,

● (Part 4) The Emerald Grove:

They were welcomed in with open arms by the Archdruid Halsin. For the first time in who knows how long the refugees could rest. Sure, most of the other druids seem to barely tolerate the tieflings— but the Archdruid had made his position on their continued sanctuary within the grove clear.

And then the Archdruid Halsin went off with a set of very inexperienced and racist adventures, leaving a woman who could barely hide her contempt for the refugees as temporary Archdruid. Which should have only been for a few days at most, Zevlor knew he could play nice long enough to placate Kagha until Halsin returned, it was fine.

But Halsin didn't return, because he'd been kidnapped. And worse, Zevlor find this out because those inept adventures brought a pack of goblins right to the gate of the Grove.

I think the goblin attack was when Zevlor truly began to crumble. He would've been overwrought with guilt and self-doubt. Had he not spent ~20 seconds berating and interrogating Aradin over leading goblins straight to the Grove, and instead used that time to open the gate, then Kanon's death could've been avoided.

Worse still is that he ordered a man who wasn't wearing any armor to open the gate. Zevlor blames himself for Kanon's death, and he would mentally self-flagellate himself over his own cowardice: How he, a Commander in the Hellriders, took cover while Kanon, a tailor by trade, bravely continued opening the gate while the goblins were firing arrows at him.

After a hard-fought battle, the goblins are defeated. Then Aradin swaggers in acting as though he didn't just do a profoundly stupid thing by leading the goblins straight to defenseless citizens. Not only that, the uppity shithead Aradin blames Halsin for getting himself kidnapped. And then Aradin strikes a nerve, calling Zevlor a coward (and a slur). I think that Zevlor is already contending with his own guilt from thinking that he himself acted cowardly. For Aradin to call him a coward, on top of all the other stupid shit he's been spouting off, is too much to bear, and Zevlor's rage/ self-loathing is about to erupt into violence.

Luckily, the group of actually competent adventures who arrived and saved the day also managed to diffuse the tension between Zevlor and Aradin.

Or not. Leading to Zevlor punching the overtly racist idiot.

Punching Aradin (acting on his inherent desire for violence*, specifically) is something that I believe is wildly out of character for Zevlor. Aradin isn't the first mouthy prick he's come across, and if Zevlor had responded with violence to all of them then he wouldn't have been able to become a Commander. The stress Zevlor's been under has finally boiled over, and now that he no longer considers himself a Hellrider (and is constantly in survival mode trying to keep himself and the other tieflings alive), keeping a tight lid on his anger isn't something he really cares about anymore.

*"Tieflings also had access to an ability known as infernal wrath, which channeled their innate rage and potential for evil into their attacks for added effectiveness."

I cannot emphasize enough how much self discipline and restraint Zevlor has. His infernal heritage in combination with the overt discrimination he has undoubtedly faced his entire life, plus a healthy dose of pride, are a vicious cocktail of honestly justified anger issues. (AN: Based on him having more physical infernal features than the other tieflings do [alt] I headcanon that he possesses a temper closer resembling a devil's than the less infernal-looking tieflings do.)

Zevlor has been unchained. When it becomes clear that diplomacy won't work Zevlor tells the player that Kagha is their main obstacle, and that without her influence the other druids may see sense. The way he phrases this sentence allows Tav to "read between the lines" and see that Zevlor is open to killing Kagha, while also giving himself plausible deniability. Zevlor didn't suggest murdering Kagha, Tav did. Zevlor is "still hoping that Kagha can be swayed from this madness.", but if not... well, surely Tav understands how "Leaders need to make tough decisions. We do what we must."

Notice how slyly he phrased that— "we", subtly putting himself and Tav in the same category/ on the same team. But most importantly he never outright says to Tav "I want you to kill Kagha", it's implied. His 17 charisma and years of politicking around racism and red tape really shows here; because if shit goes south and Tav fails in their assassination attempt then, even if he has ingested a truth serum, Zevlor can honestly tell the druids that he never asked Tav to kill Kagha. If Tav doesn't suggest killing Kagha then Zevlor doesn't bring it up, and instead asks Tav to take out the goblin camp leaders.

(I am only citing this one dialogue tree option. There are more dialogue tree options, but I can't find videos of them and I am currently unable to play BG3 to explore the different options myself.)

Zevlor is proficient in using manipulation tactics and his knowledge of psychology to garner his preferred outcome. To be clear— I don't think he would have acted in such an underhanded way before being exiled, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I do think that pre-descent Zevlor was no stranger to using manipulation/ his psychological insight to achieve his goals, he would've had to because of the prejudice he faced, but it would've been used for more benign reasons (such as being treated with basic respect instead of open contempt).

(AN: Manipulation in and of itself isn't inherently bad, we all use manipulation to some extent in our day to day lives. So long as they are not abused little white lies and benign manipulations, along with having/ using tact, allow society to smoothly function. Like how saying "Please get me a glass of water." is perceived more favorably, and is more likely to convince a person to get you a glass of water, than "Get me a glass of water." Saying please is considered polite, and people are much more likely to acquiesce to a request if someone is polite. 'You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.' Or how you might wait until after someone has eaten to ask them for something, because they're more likely to agree to your request when they're not hangry.)

Zevlor was once a very proud man, and he had every right to be— becoming a Commander in the Hellriders is a remarkable achievement. Becoming a Commander in the Hellriders in the face of profound discrimination? Nothing short of a triumph. The Zevlor we meet at the Grove is a shadow of the man he used to be. The fall into Avernus and everything that happened after it has sucked most of the life out of him.

We still catch glimpses of the proud Hellrider Commander with the power of god and anime on his side that Zevlor once was. This post [alt] by @dimmadoome demonstrates not only Zevlor's pride, but his infernal temper and possessiveness (which I will cover in a different post). Listen to his speech here. This is a man who has lead his fellow warriors into battle. A man who fought for what he believed in and refused to give up even in the face of insurmountable danger. You can see the hell fire in his eyes blazing bright with righteous fury.

And then there's the speech he gives after defeating Minthara. Note his emphasis on the tieflings being not just survivors, but family. When he says 'family' he has a proud, gentle smile. (His high charisma and experience with giving rousing speeches may be the only reason why his mien changes during this part of his speech, but I think he's being sincere.) If you start that video from the beginning you can see him take a moment to collect himself because he's exhausted, but he knows his people need him to be a strong unflappable leader.

(Did you catch how he quickly pivots from hauteur "Tymora smile on me." to deference "We did it. You did it."? Manipulate, mansplain, malewife the hell out of them Zevlor.)

This portion of the video highlights Zevlor's loyalty to his comrades in arms. He calls Tav family— remember, Hellriders are extremely loyal to one another (and tieflings are very loyal to those who prove themselves trustworthy), this is how he behaved towards all his fellow Hellriders before he has cast out of Elturel. His faith is still broken, but Tav/Durge/Origin has reignited a glimmer of hope in him.

I think this is the only time I've ever seen this poor man actually relax and smile. But then he immediately goes back to looking pensive and walled off. I may be delulu and reading too far into things, but I don't think this is merely his character model returning to its default— I think it demonstrates exactly how Zevlor has been living for years: Silently admonishing himself for letting his guard down and his control slip. Desperately wanting to let go and forget himself and his propriety for a while but being unwilling, possibly unable, to do so.

That being said he does somewhat relax at

● (Part 5) The Tiefling Party:

There isn't a lot to say here. Zevlor isn't imbibing (much) to ensure that he keeps his wits about him— both so that he can supervise the people who are partying, and keep watch for potential threats. Even though he's not partying, Zevlor is elated to see the tiefling refugees smiling and relaxing. He knows that the journey ahead of them is fraught with danger/ trials and tribulations. He even looks the other way when his people spike the punch to make purple drank.

In Early Access to thank Tav for saving them Zevlor made a (bugged) light show where every light in it represented a life that Tav and Co. had saved. The party is the last time Zevlor is happy and hopeful before everything falls apart, as we will see in the next installation of this series: (Part 4) Zevlor's actions during Act 2, an analysis of a broken man.

Here's a link to the master list for this series.

Thanks for reading!

[itsilvermorny]

Blue is the Warmest Color || Obi Wan Kenobi x reader

Hello everyone! Today I was hit with a wave of inspiration and decided to write something for my favorite Jedi, Obi Wan Kenobi. I’m a huge star wars fan and avid reader of Obi Wan fanfiction, but only now I had the guts to actually post something, so please be gentle :)

(I reread this over 100 times, but I’m sure there’s still some typos somewhere so ignore that.)

Let me know what you think?

______________________________________________________________

It’s been a long time coming – that feeling of being home, the warmth of his heavy wool robes on her cheek, being engulfed by his scent. It’s probably what she had missed the most if she’s honest with herself, the way his spicy, wooden smell surrounded her every time he was near. Always a comfort, always a taunt – it would make her insides curl in the best way, yearning to be in his arms in the worst possible moments, with her face resting against his neck, where his skin is soft and warm, and where she could feel his heart beat slightly increase upon placing a soft kiss on his Adam’s apple. It was her favourite place to kiss, right after the moles on his forehead and underneath his right eye, because she was guaranteed to earn back a shiver.

He loved it just as much (if not more) as her, she knew.

He had once confessed how the feeling of being wanted and loved was foreign to him still, how sometimes he inadvertently pinched his thigh, not quite believing the look in her eyes was directed at him.

The Jedi life was a life of solitude, and as such it’s expected of him to find comfort in the Force, not on the valley between her breasts, where he was certain to fall into a slumber, lulled by her even breaths, warm skin and the feeling of her fingers combing through his hair. And so, he loved when he felt her sponge a kiss on that spot on his neck, because it reminded him how she was his as much as he was hers, and he loved how she kissed the birthmarks on his face, as he knew it was her way of telling him she would always worry for him, care for him, and think of him when he was away on missions, willing him to come back home safely, to her.

Often when his assignments turned out unexpectedly sour he would think back and let himself remember the feel of her, of her kisses and the sweet nothings she loved to whisper on his ear – she was very vocal, always making sure to tell him how precious he was, how good, and how valued, even after being together for almost a year she knew of his insecurities and never failed to battle them away in any way she could.

And so, to finally be back in Coruscant, after what was supposed to have been a simple extraction, but turned out to be a gruesome four days of torture, after being made a slave, he could finally breathe again. Rushed to the medical facilities after collapsing on the tarmac (much to his chagrin, as General Kenobi never wished to be seen as vulnerable), he was now laid on his stomach on a cold bed, a medical droid fussing over the whip imprints on his back and Ashoka crouched near his head, willing him to keep his eyes open. Not one for sentimentality, he would seldom voice out loud how much he cared for his grandpadawan, as much as his own apprentice, but at that moment he would wish for nothing more than her silence, as her tries to gather details on what had happened during his mission were only reminding him of the crack of the whip, the insults and the cold dungeon he had been kept on.

“Ashoka, please”, was all he could mutter, as his strength failed him and he fought to keep his eyes open – with his malnourishment and the state of shock his body was under, it wasn’t advisable to fall asleep, he knew, before the doctors finished their examination, lest his body give into a comatose state.

Obi Wan willed he droids to assess his wounds faster, so he could finally be treated and then give his body the rest it so desperately needed, as it was getting increasingly harder to fight the weight on his eyelids. His prayers were answered when the door opened and in hurriedly strolled his padawan, followed by none other than the person he most ached to see, even if he could feel his heart constricting at the thought of her seeing him in such a mangled condition. He should have guessed, really, that she would be the one responsible for tending to him, not only due to her control of the force and ability to heal through it, but also because of the unspoken understanding between him and Anakin, and the nights both Jedi would each seek shelter in the arms of the ones they loved – something they never openly spoke about, but nonetheless acknowledged. Her being brought to him was surely Anakin’s doing.

He couldn’t not keep his eyes open then, he couldn’t not let himself get his fill of her, of how she had her hair in a tidy up do, the way she always insisted on having whilst working, on how her mismatched eyes quickly swept over his whole body, inquisitive, assessing all the damage he had suffered, and finally lingering on his back, on the gashes of raw flesh he knew were there – the beautiful, unique eyes he loved so much, now filled with worry and sadness. He was suddenly hit by the realisation of the scars he would undoubtedly have once his back healed, would it affect the way she saw him? Would she still want him? Desire him, touch him? He closed his eyes then, swallowing the bile that had risen on his throat, he couldn’t let himself think about that then, or his body would surely give in.

Efficient as ever, she started instructing the two other droids to make a concoction that would help close his wounds faster and dull the pain he was feeling. Anakin had pulled Ashoka aside, leading her away from his bed and out of the room, to make way for the doctors. He knew his master better than Obi Wan liked to admit, and knew he was bound to be feeling exposed, vulnerable and, most of all, embarrassed (stupidly, if anyone asked him). Obi Wan was one of the most respected and well regarded Jedi and even had recently been invited to become a part of the Council, and thus Anakin knew letting the people he was responsible for protecting seeing him broken was only adding a burden to his master’s worn down shoulders.

Soon it was just them both in the room. No words had been exchanged yet, but then again, one was too immersed battling his dark thoughts, and the other didn’t think anything could be said to erase the last four days of pain from his mind, as she desperately wished to do. So she resorted to do her job as best she could, and, closing her eyes, she hovered her hands over his body, one over his auburn hair and the other over the bottom of his spine, untouching, letting the Force guide her through is injuries, first the superficial, then the internal ones.

It was a relief to see he had not sustained any internal bleeding, as she had initially thought from the purple bruises he was sporting on his sides and arms. The lacerations on his back would take a few weeks to close properly and his body required a few days of bed rest, as well as full meals to restore its energy, but Obi Wan would be fine. She couldn’t hold in a sigh anymore, as the weight she had on her chest ever since she had learnt of his captivity finally lifted. Her Obi Wan was back, and he would be fine. Stars, her knees almost buckled at the realisation.

Hearing her reaction, he slightly craned his neck to better see her face. His mouth was dry, but he still licked his lips to speak, “Hi”. His voice sounded foreign to him, rough and deeper than it usually was, he had barely spoken a word since his extraction. She looked at him and softly smiled, her eyes shining with tears as the adrenaline of tending to him started to subside. “Don’t cry”, his voice sounded again, and, instincts kicking, he tried to lift himself on the mattress. His body protested immediately, and he sagged back down, taking a deep breath in as he fought through the tremors caused by the sudden effort.

She was at his bedside at once, seeing how the medicine the droids had applied had yet to kick in, and getting a tiny neon green pill from a bottle, she made him take it with some water. Her dearest Obi Wan, who even barely able to move, still couldn’t bare to see his people suffer. She threaded her fingers in the hair flopped over his forehead and kneeled at his bedside to be at his eye level. He was blinking slowly, the weariness and exhaustion he felt clear on his eyes, “You can rest now, Obi Wan. You suffered no internal damage. You’re home, you’re safe”, she willed her voice to come out strong to try and provide him with the assurance she imagined he needed, but he wasn’t having it. He slowly lifted his right arm from the bed and grasped the hand she had rested next to his head. They had a strong bond, stronger than he thought possible for two people to have, least of all Jedi. He knew he was breaking his oath by giving in to his feelings for her, but after their first meetings, when he came to realize how connected they were – not just their bodies, but their souls -, he couldn’t deny it, them, any longer.

The first time they met had been during the Clone Wars, as she had been a part of their medical team. But after the war, as time went on, they kept crossing paths, randomly and repeatedly, as if the Force were driving them to know each other. He started to be able to clearly see her force signature, then feel it, as well as her presence, and even share her emotions, and he knew from his padawan days that even the Jedi who decided to dedicate themselves to medicine had to complete the Jedi training in its entirety, which meant she knew how to protect and close her mind. They found themselves intertwined though, as they had gotten closer, and who was he to contest a wish from the Force?

She rested her head on their joined hands, faces so close her nose almost touched his cheek. “You need sleep”, she whispered softly, “I’ll stay if you’d like me to.” There was nothing that would be able to drag her away from him, she knew.

He nodded slowly; his eyes fixed on hers. They had always been one of his favourite features, because he had never seen nothing like it before, not even on his adventures with his late master, who had made sure to teach him all there was to know about each species that inhabited the planets they visited. She was human, like him, quite ordinary as well, in juxtaposition to the multitude of species in Coruscant, except for her eyes – one was blue, clear as the water of the rivers in Naboo, and the other was a soft lilac, the same shade the sky of Tatooine would adopt in the dusk. Her eyes that told him so much, even when she wished to guard herself and her thoughts – he could always read her (as he knew she could always read him) because there were no reservations between them.

So, he saw, deep into her mind, her love and care for him, the worry she had felt in his absence painted in the circles beneath her eyes. He felt her force signature, a soft, mint green, enveloping his body, providing him with the comfort he craved, like a breath of fresh air consuming his being and washing his body into a deep sense of calm.

And when she softly left a lingering kiss on the mole beneath his right eye, he knew he was safe and that she would love him back to health.

[bolinshipskorrasami]

Honor Bound - Rangshi fic

Um, hello, here’s a little sneak peak of a thing I’ve been working on. It’s a fic called Honor Bound - it’s a collection of scenes from Rise of Kyoshi as told through Rangi’s perspective. I started it as just practice for writing a Rangshi AU, as I wanted to try and get into Rangi’s head space/ POV.

Anyway, it’s unfinished but I felt like sharing. If you have any feedback, let me know! I’ll post it on ao3 once I get this first bit completely finished.

Also, if you have any scenes you would like to see written, please let me know!

...

Seeing Kyoshi be bullied by these village brats who likely would not have lasted through a fifth of what Kyoshi had lived through in her early years made Rangi’s blood roll to a boil. It was terribly distracting. And as the Avatar’s bodyguard, she could not afford to be distracted from her duties. “Distraction wastes our energy, concentration restores it.” Her old firebending sifu’s words rang in her head, a constant lecture from the Academy branded into her brain. The only reasonable course of action Rangi could see was to take it upon herself to concentrate on teaching Kyoshi how to grow a backbone. She would start by making a demonstration.

“The Avatar’s bodyguard,” the girl smirked as she spoke. “I thought you weren’t supposed to leave his side. Aren’t you slacking off?”

“What do you think you’re doing?” she said as she walked out of her place in the tall grass, lowering her voice to her most menacing snarl. Rangi stood to her full height – which, while not as formidable as Kyoshi’s, was still impressive for a girl her age. She watched with satisfaction as two of the cowards backed away slowly, as if she were a wild tigerdillo. Kyoshi’s eyes snapped to her immediately, but Rangi did not acknowledge her directly, not wanting to be distracted from her lesson.

Unfortunately, the ring leader of the bully circus was clearly not as self-preserving as her lackies. Rangi turned her glare to the girl as she spoke and, not for the first time in her life, found herself wishing she had been trained in the secret art of combustion firebending.

Rangi maintained complete control of her face, letting the heat of her rage dissipate off her body physically instead. What did this girl know of honor, of her sworn duties and greatest oaths? She could never possibly understand. Rangi had dealt with enough bullies in her life to know what they wanted most was to see their words take effect. They wanted to know they had power. But Rangi had all the power in this situation and she would not give this girl even an inch of what she wanted. She hoped Kyoshi was taking notes.

“You are not authorized to be on these grounds. Nor to lay your hands on the Avatar’s property. Or accost his household staff, for that matter.” Rangi added the last one quickly, her eyes flickering to Kyoshi briefly for emphasis. She did not wish to imply that her friend was somehow lumped in with the jar of kelp shakily hanging in the air above them. Kyoshi’s face remained impassive, though her eyes were focused on Rangi.

The Yokoyan girl changed tactics slightly, giving some pathetic excuse for a lie about helping. Rangi knew she was breaking through this girl’s defenses as she shifted her tone. She was realizing that she was the prey and Rangi the predator. Stepping forward, Rangi let the power of her perfectly controlled Firebending roll off her body with more force now, adding literal heat to her finishing blow.

“Put the jar down, walk away, and don’t come back. Unless you want to know what the ashes of your eyebrows smell like.” The final lotus tile to her play had been set and Rangi knew she had won as the girl’s face fell and she made to leave. She hadn’t even broken a sweat or lit a flame.

But before Rangi could celebrate the victory to Kyoshi, the girl managed to throw the kelp jar up into the air with all her might and shouted a parting gleeful mockery. All the carefully concealed contempt Rangi had been keeping below the surface boiled over.

“Why you little-” she started for the girl’s retreating form, her flame coursing through her veins, ready to launch, ready to burn, ready to – but then she remembered the reason she had come here. Kyoshi. She stamped down her inner fire, shaking the flames off from her fist as she turned back to Kyoshi and their new predicament. Well, she hadn’t expected that.

Rangi nudged her friend with her elbow. “Catch it,” she said in what she hoped was an encouraging tone. “Use your earthbending and catch it.” Rangi had never actually seen Kyoshi earthbend, but she knew she was capable of it, technically speaking.

“I-I can’t,” Kyoshi replied, looking up at the jar disappearing into the sky. For a moment, Rangi found herself so entranced against her will with the other girl's long, graceful neck as it stretched up into her fine jawline that she almost missed the response. Rangi shook her head as the dismay in Kyoshi’s tone needled her chest in an uncomfortable way. Still, she kept the pressure on her friend, her incredulity winning out.

“What do you mean you can’t? The staff ledgers have you listed as an Earthbender! Catch it!”

“It’s not that simple!” Kyoshi retorted. An answer without any actual information. Typical, but she didn’t have time to prod right now. Rangi tried a different angle.

“Do the thing with your hands like she did!” as she spoke, Rangi mimicked an earthbending posture she had seen Yun and many others do a thousand times while living in the Earth Kingdom. She felt a bit silly, a Firebender moving like an Earthbender. But she was desperate to make Kyoshi listen to her and to try something. She never understood why Kyoshi had never taken up Jianzhu – or even Yun - on his offer to learn anything past the absolute basic stances. With her powerful frame, Rangi knew the other girl could be a formidable presence, if she so desired. Instead, she seemed content to squander her own potential.

“Look out!” Rangi heard Kyoshi yell at about the same time she felt the force of their bodies colliding.

Rangi had always admired her friend’s tall, muscular stature; the way she could easily tower over nearly everyone in the room. It should have been imposing - and to many who did not know Kyoshi personally, it was. It had certainly garnered the Earth National a great deal of unwanted attention. Perhaps that’s why Kyoshi managed to walk around light as a feather, as silent and unobtrusive as an ant fly. Rangi wouldn’t call her movements graceful exactly – she had seen too many of Kyoshi’s haphazard missteps that lead to a fall or a bump to call it that. It was more like she was trying to make herself as unimposing as possible. In any case, it occasionally made Rangi think of her much taller friend as weightless, a leaf in the wind.

Needless to say, that was all an illusion, because as soon as Rangi felt the full impact of Kyoshi’s bodyweight tackling her to the ground, it completely knocked the wind out of her. She felt dazed, confused. She, Rangi, was an elite and highly trained Lieutenant of the Fire Nation. She was the Avatar’s bodyguard, who had sworn to protect the Avatar with her very life - and here was Kyoshi, a house servant who wouldn’t even stand up to some Yokoyan brats for her own sake, one of her closest friends, throwing herself into bodily harm on Rangi’s behalf. The whole thing was entirely ridiculous and back in her home nation, it might have been a slight on Rangi’s honor. All it succeeded in slighting in the moment, however, was her dignity. She felt her face heat up as the rest of her senses came back to her and she became much too aware of Kyoshi’s body pressing into her own. The bottom of Rangi’s stomach dropped out as if a whirlpool had formed there in the fall. She reacted in the only sensible way she knew to stop this rising tide of emotions. With force.

“Get off of me, you oaf!”

[billings101]

Police Corruption

A recent study done by veteran pollstar Bill Johnson in March 2019 indicated that more than half of the country believe the police force is corrupt at least 50% of the population is made of corrupt cops based on a survey he conducted. The issue of corruption has haunted the police force for decades. From the beginning of informal policing until the police system became formal. I will elaborate on the issue of police corruption in Jamaica and how the government can mitigate this issue so that the Jamaican citizens can have their faith restored in the law enforcers of the country. In late January 2019 while Robert Montague was the Minister of National Security he suggested early retirement for officers to rid corruption but in my opinion, this would create more problems especially as it relates to the selection and evaluation of officers and may even create an environment where law enforcement officers are lacking. The corruption of police officers has also contributed to the crime and violence in our society as corrupt law enforcers choose to work with criminals.

Let us do some self-searching. As citizens are we aware of any form of corruption? How are you working towards fixing such an issue? We often turn a blind eye to police corruption especially lawbreakers, as they generally get intel from police officers and are constantly benefiting. Often, have experienced police corruption I will speak on the issue of police officers giving back information to community members they grew up with, especially if the person is engaged in illicit activities. The information is normally leaked if the task force is planning to do a raid in the community the corrupt officer is from. Police affairs and personal affairs should be kept separate too often we see police officers let their personal life affects how they function professionally initially leading to corrupt act. I know we are humans and police officers experience emotional changes just as we do but I believe with police training there should be the training of emotional intelligence as well this way the corrupted act through personal affairs will be mitigated.

Corruption in law enforcement only contributes to the crime and violence in our society this way crime statistics will increase and more murders will be left cold. Police officers take oath in which they pledge to uphold the laws of the constitution so officers engaging in criminal activities have broken their promises to maintain and uphold the laws of the constitution. The police act commenced on April 1, 1943, and it aims to organize, discipline officers, and elaborate on their power and duties along with the special constabulary and the traffic wardens. Police corruption carries a high cost, a corrupt act is a crime when police officers commit a crime the tarnishes the reputation of the force. There are laws to conduct the legal proceedings of police misconduct both in civil and criminal cases. The police code of conduct states how officers are expected to behave whether on or off duty for instance police officers are allowed to use force in self-defense, when making a lawful arrest, or to lawfully protect other members of the police force. Hence it is a very corrupt act to shield officers from criminals mastermind they used to associate with during gunfire because both parties are now in disagreement. The lawful thing to do is arrest both the officer and the criminals if possible, however, the criminal should not be killed and the officer shielded in his wrongs. Visit https://crimebodge.com/the-police-code-of-conduct/ for more information on the police code of conduct.

There are different agencies in Jamaica that help with police misconduct by gathering relevant information and applying corrective measures. The office of The Director of Public prosecution was speaking to the Jamaica observer in March 2018 when he suggested there was a decrease in police corruption. However, (INDECOM ) independent commission of crime suggested that due to silent corrupted officers are not being investigated. As a citizen who would like to make a complaint about an officer, the independent office of police conduct can be used to do so. In 2018 the Major Organized Crime and Anti-Corruption Agency (MOCA) suggested that of the 24 policemen they arrested for corruption 17 of them were charged with breaches in the Dangerous Drug Act. Since recently in 2020,  October members from the Jamaica defense force were also charged under the Dangerous Drug Act as they were found with an excess amount of marijuana.  The Ministry of Justice in Jamaica has also, launched the corruption prevention act to help fight corruption.

In closing the police corruption affects the crime rate of our Jamaican society by increasing the crime rate and tarnishing the force reputation. I recommend a polygraph test every six months to find out if offers are in illicit activities. This will help to force to deal with the corruption before it reaches the media this way the force reputation to balance justice can live on. Moreover, vetting officers harshly and properly can also help to mitigate corruption, doing quarterly check up on officers both mentally and emotionally can also help. Corruption is a disease that needs to be rid.  

[thebmatt]

Another set of Character Development questions, this time very specific to FFXIV

I cam across another set of character development questions on the Emet-Selch Bookclub discord, and since I love these things, I’m going to answer all 35 of them for all 4 of my crew! Ready? Let’s go!

1. Where were they during the Calamity? 

Franks had not yet made the journey between their worlds yet, he only did so about a year into the Seventh Umbral Era.

Fearless was still living on Aerslant, which I don’t know if there’s any canonical description of how the Calamity affected that region, but I’m going to go with “they felt the effects, but it wasn’t quite mass chaos like it was in Eorzea”

Dahkar and Rheika were both living in the Black Shroud but were mostly spared the direct effects. 

2. How did they acquire their Echo? 

All four of them received the Echo as it plays out in the MSQ. Dahkar and Rheika got it after dealing with the enraged treants at Lifemend Stump, Fearless and Franks after fighting the frenzied Mossback at the Seasong Grotto

3. Does their Echo function like it does in the MSQ? Or is there a twist to it? 

For the most part it functions like it does in the MSQ, but there’s some extra abilities that it provides that I’m planning on exploring in a future fic. To summarize: the Armory system is represented as a pocket dimension the Warriors can store clothing, weapons, and tools in. The Echo also allows them to “pause and save” any learning they have done in a particular discipline and resume it as if no time had passed whenever they choose

4. Do they have a canon mount or minion? What's its name(s)? 

All four of them have their chocobos, which I don’t have names for yet (the ones in game aren’t canon, as they’re mostly inside jokes). Aside from those, two of my crew have a couple of mounts special to them.

Franks has kept Maggie, the Magitek Armor liberated by the Garlond Ironworks. Most recently, he’s taken to using a Gabriel Alpha magitek unit that he liberated and rebuilt from the Bozjan Southern Front

Rheika is incredibly fond of the True Griffin she befriended while helping the Ananta at Castellum Velodyna. 

5. Where are they from? What was their childhood like? 

I’ve covered this in some of my “Details!” posts I’ve done for them all, so I’ll be brief here

Franks - from another world, grew up on a farm, pretty normal farmer’s childhood

Rheika - grew up outside of Gridania in a Keeper of the Moon community, a middleish child of a large number of sisters. Aside from being made to understand WAY too early that the Wood Wailers will always treat her like a second class citizen because she is a Keeper of the Moon, she had a pretty happy childhood

Dahkar - Born on the Azim Steppe, mother took him to Gridania after his tribe was killed. Similarly treated like outsider, but otherwise kept mostly to himself, only meeting a couple of friends growing up.

Fearless - born and raised in Aerslant, the Sea Wolf Roegadyn homeland. Child of wealthy parents, she had a privileged upbringing but no choice in anything.

6. How did they deal with the massacre on the Waking Sands? 

All of them were horrified and angry by it. Franks had never really experienced the Garlean Empire’s brutality firsthand before this, and it cemented a personal desire to fight them. Fearless, who’d begun to develop serious feelings for Minfilia, was almost beside herself with worry. 

7. How did they deal with Haurchefant's death? 

All of them took it pretty hard, but Dahkar, who’d been romantically involved with him by this point, was almost broken by it. His grief nearly consumed him in rage, quite literally, but “Fray” managed to help him hold it together until he could process and grieve. 

8. How did they feel about the liberation of Ala Mhigo? Do they feel it could have been handled differently? Where they at all bothered by how they were involved? 

I get the sense from the way this question was worded that the original author doesn’t care for the Stormblood storyline much, but honestly, I don’t have a problem with it. None of my crew are native Ala Mhigans, but they were all too happy to participate when it became clear that the time for it to happen had been chosen for everyone by Ilberd’s actions. Plus, y’know, there was that whole potential Bahamut-level primal they needed to deal with. Losing so handily to Zenos was a serious morale blow that messed them all up quite a bit, but all four of them went along with the plan. It offered them a chance to get better, to weaken the Empire and strengthen themselves. 

9. How do they feel about Zenos? 

THey all hate the guy for nearly killing so many of their friends and injuring them so badly. Later, pretty much universal relief when he died, pissed off that he didn’t stay that way, and now hell-bent on ending him once and for all. All of them pretty much agree that bastard needs to die.

10. How do they feel about their relationship with Hydaelyn? Midgarsormr?

Initially they accepted that Hydaelyn was a benevolent force, but once they learned of her origin, especially that she was a primal, a private debate broke out among them all the first chance they got to talk about it (which was after the Shadowbringers 5.0 MSQ when Rheika finally got back to the Source). Franks is very concerned that they’ve been tempered. Dahkar is now extremely wary of her, but isn’t certain their free will has been removed. Rheika and Fearless are unwilling to give up on her, but don’t understand why she stopped speaking to them. 

Initially, they were all furious at Midgardsormr, but came to realize that his deeds in severing their connection to Hydaelyn definitely made them stronger. They now regard him as a friend and a source of wisdom.

11. Were they more sympathetic to the dragons, Ishgardians, neither or both? 

Franks wasn’t certain of this, having known sentient dragons that had absolutely been wronged by mortals in his homeworld, but he didn’t see a way to fix this on his own, so he went along with helping the Ishgardians. He was absolutely on board with Alphinaud’s plan to try and end it, however. 

The others had far less experience with Dragons, and initially accepted their version of events without much thought. They immediately turned on the whole idea when the deception was exposed, though. 

12. How has their job affected whatever headcanon version is of the MSQ if any? 

As I’ve explained in previous posts, I’ve parsed out all of the jobs (except Monk) to my characters, with the aim of balancing the following ideas.

○ At all times during the story, one of them should be capable of tanking, one healing, and the others DPSing ○ If possible no one should have more than 1 job from any of the 5 roles ○ Obviously, don’t give jobs to characters that make no sense for them to pick up

It’s taken a few revisions, but I’m currently happy with the setup they have. For the most part, they’re extremely proficient with their chosen fighting styles and don’t mind swapping around to fill whatever need is present. For Heavensward, the trio who got their new jobs in Ishgard chose to stick with them for the most part, and for much of the Far Eastern parts of Stormblood, Rheika and Fearless chose to stay Ninja and Samurai for the most part, since it felt “right” to them to use those arts when fighting for Doma’s liberation.

13. Are they close with any of the other Scions? Who do they get along with the best? 

Franks gets along best with the more scholarly minded members of the Scions, specifically Y’shtola, Urianger, Krile, and G’raha when he later joins. 

Rheika and Tataru have become the best of friends since she joined. She’s always encouraged Tataru to better herself however she wants, and really loves the newfound confidence she’s gained

Dahkar is closest to Thancred among the senior scions. Among the other members, he’s flirted with Ephemie a fair amount, and is considering whether or not he wants to deepen that to something more serious.

Fearless is probably closest to Alisaie. She admires her confidence a great deal. 

14. Of the Scions, who are they most worried for? 

Franks is most worried for Y’shtola and her “aethersight” draining her life force. He’s actively trying to modify the SCH magicks that cured the tonberry plague to restore her eyesight (and Thancred’s ability to manipulate aether)

Rheika is probably most worried about Urianger, as he’s shown a very disturbing pattern for pursuing a hidden agenda to further the scion’s goals, He claims to be done with that, but she’s worried he might slip into old habits in the future.

Dahkar and Fearless aren’t particularly worried about any of the Scions, beyond the default “these are my adopted family and I don’t want anything to happen to them” level of fear.

15. Is your WoL promiscuous? Celibate? Or just waiting for the right person? 

Franks has so far been unable to move past the death of his wife to consider any new relationships. He’s also far older (if only mentally) than anyone who’d be interested, which also blocks him from considering anything new.

Rheika is aromantic, but pansexual. Romance does nothing for her, she just likes having fun with anyone she considers attractive and will respect her rule. She’s got a number of paramours in various parts of the world.

Dahkar is bi, and willing to engage in casual liaisons but at his heart, he really wants a committed relationship. After Haurchefant died, he hasn’t been involved in anything serious since, only crushing on people emotionally unavailable, such as Yugiri (bound by her oath to HIen) or Kurenai (bound by the oath of the Ruby Princess). He’s recently come to realize that this was a form of self-sabotage and is trying to open up again.

Fearless crushes on every pretty girl she has come across, but is usually too shy or lacking in self-confidence to follow up on them. She greatly regrets never telling Minfilia how she felt about her. Her time as a Warrior of LIght and the friendship she’s built with her fellows has helped tremendously. She’s currently involved in a poly triad with two other women.

16. What does your WoL do to relax? What sorts of distractions do they seek? Do they foster any bad habits as a result?

They enjoy spending time together or with the other Scions. If they’re at a point when they need to be alone, they’ll do the following.

Franks likes to tinker, build things, or solve arcanima problems. He can sometimes get wrapped up in any of those and lose track of time. He’s also prone to hiding away to avoid socializing.

Rheika will generally find someone to take to bed if she’s really stressed, otherwise she’s fine just hanging with people 

Depending on his mood, Dahkar will either find a monster to fight (never something he’s not confident he can beat) or leap to whatever the highest place he can find is and just enjoy the view.

Fearless enjoys reading novels, but as of late prefers spending time with her girlfriends.

17. Who is their favorite Alliance leader? Who do they get along with the best out of them? 

Counting only the 5 members of the Eorzean Alliance, in order from most to least.... 1. Lyse - because she’s one of them, come on 2. (tie) Merlwyb/Aymeric - because they are good people who have the strength to move their nation forward to a better place 3. Nanamo - she’s trying to make Ul’dah better, at least, even if she isn’t able to affect change. Plus she’s not doing enough to address corruption in the Brass Blades 4. Kan-E-Senna - she seems entirely content to leave her people at the mercy of elementals and isn’t doing NEAR enough to address racial inequality in Gridania

18. Does your WoL fully embrace their role as the WoL or do they try to remain humble? 

For the most part, they’re humble, but all of them are not afraid to use their titles/fame to get what they need or to make someone’s life better if they can do so. 

19. What do they think of the Heaven's Ward? 

The only ones they really got to know were the two that tried to condemn Alphinaud and Tataru for “heresy” and the one who attacked them when they were meeting with Hilda. Those were...not positive experiences. That, coupled with the fact that all of them willingly followed the Archbishop into summoning Primals into themselves pretty much sealed their opinion on the rest. 

20. Of all the places they've been to, which is their favorite? Do they like to go back there? 

Franks enjoys spending time in Ishgard, both because the manufactory is there and he enjoys collaborating with the other machinists and because he really enjoys working on the Restoration of the Firmament.

Rheika enjoys being in Mor Dhona and the Crystarium the most. It’s full of people all working together for the same end, and she’s happy being a part of it and doing her part to help.

Dahkar also loves Mor Dhona, but he’s found going back to the Far East oddly soothing. He feels a connection to the Azim Steppe, despite not really knowing what it means to live there, he wants to learn. 

Fearless has made Kugane her home, thanks in part to her one of her girlfriends living there and the other currently on an extended tour there as well. 

21. Are there any raid storylines (Ivalice, Coil of Bahamut, Werlyt, etc.) you consider to be canon for your WoL? Which ones don't you consider canon? 

I consider all of them to be canon, save potentially the NieR crossover alliance raids. Honestly, the entire story of that place just felt so odd and out of place that I didn’t really enjoy it, and I’m tempted just to say it didn’t happen. Everything else, though? Absolutely canonical.

22. Do you  have a unique tale for their job class or is it pretty much like what it is in the game?

Most of them are pretty much as they were in the game, though I have some personal headcanons on how Arcanima and the Paladin job work, the latter of which I’ve explored in one of my fics. The former will be somewhat explained in the current longform fic I’m working on.

23. Are there any side quest storylines that you're particularly fond of or think of as being canon to your WoL's experiences? 

Aside from the raids, alliance raids, and trial series, which 21 covered, I’d say all of the Beast tribe quests, the Scholasticate quests (which I suppose means Hildibrand has to be canon too), and most of the sidequesting in Sui-no-Sato are all canon experiences.

24. Does your WoL have any phobias? 

None of them have any real strange or irrational fears of note, not that I’ve been able to think of that make sense to the characters, anyway.

25. Do they have any habits or rituals that they do to soothe themselves? I.e. Playing with their hair, chewing their lip, fidgeting, etc. 

Franks will absentmindedly fidget with a tool or some spare parts. He’s actually built a small gadget that has some switches and buttons that do nothing for this purpose.

Rheika is restless and prefers to move while thinking. She tends to bounce a leg if she has to sit still too long.

Dahkar is pretty capable of concentrating without needing any kind of habit to aid in it.

Fearless tends to bottle it up until she can release it in private, either by meditating or dancing, depending on her level of anxiety and privacy expectations 

26. Do they suffer any traumas from any of their adventures? How do you foresee this affecting them going forward? 

Fearless was actually persuaded to pick of the Astrologian job thanks to the trauma of the banquet. She wanted to be able to predict anything that awful from happening to her and her friends again. 

LIkewise Dahkar was so traumatized by that (and the Braves’ betrayal), it was the final catalyst needed for him to be open to his Darkside and become a Dark Knight. He’s also the one most affected by Haurchefant’s death, and as I explained earlier, it’s subconsciously kept him from going after other romantic relationships

Rheika had nightmares about Tesleen for months, and they were made worse when she herself nearly became a sin eater. She practiced quick drawing her bow and hitting accurate long distance shots for a long time after that, wanting to be prepared to save someone from that kind of distance if she had to.

Franks has dealt with enough trauma in his previous life that a lot of what he’s seen on Hydaelyn doesn’t affect him as much as it otherwise might.

27. How did the events of Shadowbringers impact them? 

Rheika was the only one present for the events of 5.0, and my headcanon is that she wasn’t able to get home until after Hades was defeated. She felt alone and adrift without her fellow Warriors, and the trauma she endured did not help matters. Seeing them summoned to aid her was a balm on her soul, and when Franks figured out how to get the others to the First a little before the events of the Eden raid, she was overjoyed. 

28. Were they suspicious or open to Emet-Selch's presence when he first appeared? 

Rheika never believed he had good intentions. She always expected him to betray them at some point, but there didn’t seem to be much she COULD do before that happened. Even after he rescued Y’shtola, that was never enough for her trust. 

29. Did your WoL suspect anything was amiss with Urianger or the Crystal Exarch? Did they feel betrayed? Upset? When the truth finally emerged? 

Rheika immediately recognized G’raha Tia (”I mean he wasn’t even TRYING to change his voice!”), but she assumed there was a reason he was hiding from her, and she trusted Urianger’s vision. When the truth came out, she was angry about being lied to. She understood their reasoning, but threated to beat the crap out of both of them if they ever tried something like that again.

30. What was their highest point in Shadowbringers? Their lowest? What caused it? 

High point - ending Hades. Low Point - failing to save Tesleen

31. What were their first impressions of Hien? 

Aside from Rheika and Dahkar finding him very hot, they were all very impressed by his willingness to sacrifice his own life if his people chose not to fight any longer

32. Did they trust Asahi right away? Why or why not? 

Not right away, no. None of them are quick to trust Garlean officials, and Asahi felt way too slimy. None of them were all together surprised with how things turned out, save for when Maxima agreed to abide by the exchange after everything went south. 

33. How did they feel about what happened with Yotsuyu? Did they feel like she was justified in her actions? 

All of them felt bad for Yotsuyu’s horrible upbringing (and have made it VERY clear to Hien that he needs to make sure the new Doma does NOT allow for this to happen again), but accept that she made the choices she did and that ultimately, she needed to be stopped. 

34. Would you say your WoL is fundamentally a good person? Or are they a bad person that's been persuaded to do the right things? 

All of them are absolutely good people fundamentally. They know they’re the only ones that can fight the ridiculous battles they get into, and they’re okay with doing it, because ultimately, they want to save lives. 

35. How do they feel about the fact that they've killed a lot of people and/or things?

They all understand that for every life they have to take, it means more are safe, sound, and happy down the road. All of their choices are made with that goal in mind. 

[starsweeping-dm]

“Sphynx of Black Quartz, Judge my Vow!”

Also known as the Paladin’s Bane, this variant on the sphynx is our 4th critter for the Monster-a-Day challenge. Obviously inspired by the Sphynx of Black Quartz, Judge my Vow post, which I cannot find for the life of me. I got carried away with the story below, but no edits we die like...something. Idk. 

A large, hulking statue looms over you as you walk through the temple, its twinkling red jewels of eyes shining in your torch light. You had heard that this was the place to restore a broken oath, and to talk to the Judge. You don’t know what the Judge is. You don’t see anything else in the temple other than overgrown plants, shining stone inlays, and several shrines to various gods, from all over. From the Raven Queen to Asmodeus, to Bahamut to some you don’t even recognize; some obscure Yuan-ti goddess you suppose. 

As you approach the statue of your god, you feel as if you’re being watched. A small flickering aura appears around you as you kneel and beg for forgiveness, finding yourself unable to lie.

You ignore the sound of crystal on stone as you pray. “A-and I’m...not sorry...I murdered those...people...I...I was greedy...I wanted their weapons...” you say, the words forced from your mouth as the flickering aura cuts out. You can see the statue of your god has become engulfed in the shadows of something...large...and winged.

You clasps your hands over your mouth as the statue with twinkling red eyes lays its paw on your back, claws out. “Do you wish for redemption?” it says in a monotone voice, of your native draconic tongue. 

“Yes...” you nervously say, glancing to look up at it. Its paw glows with energy.

“There are no place for liars in my court.”

When your party found your body, it had been mangled and thrown out of the temple. You had killed a farmer’s family when they refused to hand over a family heirloom, without a single thought about your Oath. And you enjoyed it. Your soul was claimed by the Judge, as many false redemption seekers had before you. 

The Judge of Black Quartz is the soul of a sphynx that had pursued an oath. An oath of balance, judgement, and redemption. In return, the Judge’s soul had been placed inside of a black quartz, onyx, and obsidian statue it kept in its home, which quickly became a temple dedicated to various gods. As it worships an old god of balance, its temple has become a sort of neutral ground for those of holy intents to pray.

Over time, they had forged bonds with the gods who’s shrines were placed in the temples. A true neutral party in combat with the gods. It’s new ‘body’ blessed to allow movement and new magic, magical resistance, and newfound strength. 

When someone who has broken a vow or oath, be it to a god, to a spouse, or to a stranger, comes into the temple, the Judge watches them closely. Depending on how truthful you are in your repentance, it may kill you, or it may push you on the path of redemption.

People argue about if it’s a monster likes it’s original sphynx body, or if it’s a celestial or elemental. All could be considered true, in honesty. 

You don’t have to be a good person. If someone with an evil heart comes into the temple seeking redemption for doing a good deed that was against their oath such as sparing an opponent, but truthfully seeks redemption, they will not be killed. 

I hope that makes sense.

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