#but this sure as shite sounded condescending for some reason

[chocolate-cream-soldier]

What is ouat for ts because all I can see is once ipon a time for taylor swift and I'm like 75% sure that taylor doesn't follow you.

I don't know how long you've been on Tumblr, ts= Tumblr saviour not Taylor Swift😑

My blog was back in the day exclusively for the abc tv show *once upon a time* , so when I started branching out and became more of a general blog I started using *ouat for ts* as my personal blog tag for anything related to the show for the ease to archive, so that it doesn't appear on any common tags that people might have been tracking, and mainly so that my followers can blacklist the tag just in case they were not interested in the show or related content.

Hope that clears up your very unique confusion!

[elliewiltarwyn]

obvious

So, context: I'm taking Lily through Stormblood currently (which is doubly funny because she doesn't actually go to the Far East in my canon, but anyway), and just after the Naadam, I got hit by a particular piece of NPC dialogue that amused me so much that for some silly reason it inspired me to write a whole 1,053-word thing about how Ellie would react to it. it may be a little self-indulgent. i apologize.

--------

As Ellie finishes spinning her claymore like a propeller and stabs it into the earth at her side, the four Mol warriors she’s demonstrating for erupt into cheers and applause, and the sounds are… heartening, Mia finds. It’s good to see these young spirited fighters celebrating a hard-won victory — and from the shite-eating grin on her lips, Ellie seems to agree.

“How I envy you, khagan! Why, you could court the man of your choice!”

Ellie’s grin vanishes and she arches an eyebrow at the zealous warrior, and the chatter ceases suddenly, a thick silence falling over everyone; for a moment, the young man freezes, suddenly keenly aware he's said something wrong.

But Ellie just shakes her head and chuckles, drumming her fingers on her claymore’s crossguard. “…Man,” she murmurs, leaving the word hanging in the air like a deflating balloon, watching the warrior’s face grow more and more terrified the longer the silence stretches on. “Yeah. Sure. We’ll go with that.” She speaks each of those monosyllabic words as slowly and carefully as possible, her eyes lighting up further the more beads of sweat appear on the young man’s forehead.

“O-o-or woman!” he finally sputters. “Pray forgive me, khagan, I did not intend—”

Ellie claps the man on the shoulder, smirking wickedly at him, then pats him on top of his head in the single most condescending gesture Mia has ever seen in her life, bending his cap slightly. Then she turns, hoists her claymore out of the ground, and slings it across her shoulder as she walks away, making her way back towards Cirina standing just outside the main yurt.

Mia watches her go, unsure if she wants to know what her own face looks like; she has the sense she is failing miserably at hiding her own amusement. Lyse certainly is, she notices, all but stuffing her fist in her mouth to stifle her laughter as she exchanges glances with Mia. For the young warrior’s part, he seems to be crumpling in on himself with mortification as his friends laugh and clap him on the back, one of them patting his head in the same manner Ellie just had. Mia gets the sense that their new khagan has just codified one of the better in-jokes their friend circle will have in their entire lives.

“I mean,” Lyse says in an undertone as she and Mia turn to follow, “strictly speaking, she probably could, you know? Technically, what her orientation is has no direct effect on the sorts of suitors she could court.”

“I suppose not,” Mia agrees, shaking her head in bemusement. “We’ve seen what she’s like when she gets male attention, however.”

“She does not take it well, it’s true,” Lyse admits, scratching her cheek and letting out a nervous laugh. “What was it she said, after she broke that drunkard’s arm in Shiokaze?”

“Muttered something to the effect of ‘am I not obvious enough of a lesbian?’, I believe.”

“I suppose I can’t blame this poor fellow for not knowing,” Lyse says idly with a giggle. “It’s all cultural — and this steppe has been home to some of the most unique cultures I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s been… incredible,” Mia murmurs, “learning about all the myriad differences of all these clans.”

“I’m really glad we came here, but I’ll admit… I’m most glad we—well, Hien, I suppose, fell in with the Mol in particular.”

“Agreed — inability to recognize homosexuality when they see it notwithstanding.”

“Ellie is very gay and proud of it,” Lyse chuckles, looking up at the roegadyn in question in the distance; she’s currently chatting with Cirina about something in a low voice. “Very confident in herself.” She takes on a somewhat wistful expression as her hand rests on her hip. “I… like that about her.”

Mia looks at her, stunned; only then does Lyse seem to realize what she just said, and she claps a hand over her mouth, her eyes going wide. They meet Mia’s briefly, a rising sense of panic creeping up Lyse’s face. “Um. Anyway! Er, let’s— I had a question for Hien, anyway!” And she bolts, dashing straight past Ellie and Cirina and into the yurt. The two warriors, the roegadyn khagan and the upcoming Xaela khatun, blink in confusion as they watch the doors flap back and forth in Lyse’s wake.

“Uh… she okay?” Ellie asks, frowning at Mia as she approaches.

“I… don’t know.” Mia feels a strange twisting in the pit of her stomach, and she still can’t put a name to it, and by this point it is really bothering her. She grits her teeth with her lips closed tight, then looks up at Ellie. “Are you? After that… I remember that bothered you a lot in Ishgard…”

“Oh, yeah, no worries,” Ellie says dismissively and shrugs. “Much different coming from an enthusiastic young nomadic warrior than a stick-up-his-arse pompous nobleman.”

The aghast look on Cirina’s face draws another laugh from Mia, at least. “Your… The breadth of your experience is vast, I see. Much more than our own, I suppose.”

“We’ve been around,” Ellie admits with another small shrug, and then grins down at the kind Xaela. “But some places have certainly been better than others — and this place, ephemeral as it is… Mol Iloh is among the top.” Mia cannot fail to notice the way Cirina’s eyes go wide and her cheeks light up, the strange way she stares up at Ellie like she’s seeing her in a whole new light. It boggles her mind that Ellie doesn’t seem to notice, carrying on without adjusting her tone in the slightest. “One of the most comfortable homes with some of the kindest people I’ve ever had the privilege to meet. It was a pleasure to fight for you, Cirina.”

“O-oh!” Cirina’s blush is luminescent against her pale skin and deep blue scales; after quickly wiping her sleeve against her face, utterly failing to scrub the redness away, she beams up at Ellie. “I-I’m both flattered and overjoyed to hear that. Thank you, Ellie!”

Ellie smiles back, pats her on the shoulder, and then moves over, ducking through the yurt doors, while Mia watches Cirina blinking rapidly as she gently touches her own extremely red cheeks and is left to consider how extremely obvious Ellie’s orientation is.

[inkrabbit]

New Family

I don't wanna talk about it. I had talked about this subject in my group chat, and I decided I wanted to make it. It's shit but it's here.

Summary: After being released from his little holding cell, Richard receives a call from his mother, and it's not a welcomed one.

Word count: 1,612

“Brought down by a group of terrorists, hm? Well, I supposed I never expected much from you.”

Richard feels his stomach churn, nausea washing over him like a tidal wave. DedSec had released him from his little prison a couple weeks ago, and the first call he had gotten since his incarceration was from his mother, Victoria. He had been hesitant at first when the caller ID popped up, but had answered nonetheless. A part of him had been almost excited. Though he and his mother hadn't been on the best of terms, he had deep down wanted to reconnect with the woman, desperate to hold on to the last bit of family he had.

And yet, he had been met with this. No “hello” or even “how are you?” had come from the woman's lips, only the insult that cut him deep. Sitting on the sofa in the safehouse, Richard leans forwards to rest his elbows on his knees.

“Hello, mother,” His voice is bitter as he lifts his glasses up, pinching the bridge of his nose. Why hadn't he just ignored the call like he had done the other times? Curse him for having a moment of weakness. Now look at what he was dealing with.

“And blowing up an embassy!” she continues, raising her voice and making him softly groan. Everything he had tried to forget about while in the cell was coming back as Victoria continued ranting. The fact he had killed Emma Child, his higher up and someone he had considered a friend, and for what? In an attempt to bring down Zero-Day? That he couldn't even do himself?

“Why have you decided to call?” There's a scoff on the other side, and he can almost see now; her nose turned up and her brows furrowed. It's a vivid memory that always came to light whenever he thought of his mother. She was a woman with champagne taste on a beer budget, and she always seemed to despise his father. Perhaps a diesel fitter didn't pay enough for the woman's taste, or maybe she always felt Richard was the reason why she couldn't spend as much as she wanted. Still, it always tore him down inside whenever he heard her condescending voice.

“Just wanted to check up on you,” He rolls his eyes as he hears the sneer, but his heart tugs when she continues. “Still a failure, I see. Couldn't even last as Director of Counter-terrorism for more than a day. Is that why you bombed the Canadian embassy? Oh, and thenyou let a bunch of terrorists win! I'm surprised you're still alive, honestly.”

He had to agree with her last statement. He had heard some of the members chatter before, the younger and more fiery ones suggesting they just put a bullet in his skull and call it a day. Still, it felt... odd to hear her continuously refer to DedSec as terrorists.

“You don't know how embarrassed you've made me,” she continues, “You've shamed the Malik name. Your father would be disgusted with you, as am I.”

The breath catches in his throat and he bites his tongue, holding back his snappy response. No, he couldn't lose his cool. He couldn't let her win. Taking a deep breath, he finally opens his mouth to respond, only to have the phone snatched from his hand. Dan's standing before him, a disgusted look in his eyes as he ends the call, tossing it down on the couch beside Richard. He's dumbfounded.

“Ya don't need that cunt in your life if she's gonna treat ya like that,” he grumbles bitterly, “Don't listen to her.”

“You seem to talk from experience,” Richard comments, sitting upright so he can look at the man better. For a moment, he doesn't respond. Dan just grips the edge of his shirt, pulling it to the side and revealing an ugly scar near his shoulder. It looked old and had faded, but it didn't resemble a bullet wound like he would've expected.

“Me da used to do say the same shite to me,” he tells him, slipping his finger out of his shirt and fixing it. “Called me every name in the book, put cigarettes out on me. Ya get numb to all it after a while.”

“Yes, well, it wasn't the hello I was expecting,” Who would've expected to hear that from their own mother after not speaking to each other for so long? He supposed he was foolish for thinking the conversation would've went any other way.

“Stop expecting anythin' from her,” Dan's pulling a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket, tapping the bottom against his palm. “Ya don't need her, anyway. She'll just bring you down.”

He takes his leave after that, leaving Richard to go through his thoughts. Had he been right? He always held onto that remaining thread, feeling guilty to ever just cut the woman off completely. He supposed he was desperate to cling to that last bit of family he had. He had no siblings, his father had died when he was a teen, and he never spoke to his aunts or uncles on his mother's side of the family. They had the same snooty air, and it always wore him down. The way they criticized his clothes, how he styled his hair, what profession he was in – was that why he had studied so hard when he was in school? Why he had thrown himself into his books after his father died?

“What's wrong, dear?” The soft and gentle voice of Annika catches his attention, the old woman pushing aside his phone so she could take a seat next to him on the couch. He picks up the device, slipping it into his pocket.

“Nothing. It's nothing,” He tries to brush her off, but she reaches out to place a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You know how loud Danny's voice is,” she hints, a small smile forming. “Now, how about you tell me yourself, love?”

He hesitates. He felt so silly letting the woman's words get to him the more he calmed down, but his heart still felt heavy. Annika waits patiently, and he finally sighs softly as he turns to her. She had always been one of the nicer members of the group, always sneaking him sweets and the like. She hadn't judged him, not too harshly like the others had. With a deep breath, he finally tells her, starting with the most recent phone call that had abruptly ended. The smile finally falls, a look of disgust on her face as she scoffs.

“What a horrible woman!” she exasperates, shaking her head. “No mother should ever speak to her children in such a way.”

“I've grown accustomed to it,” he sighs, “It's how she's always been, ever since I was young. She got worse after my father's... passing.”

“Now, that is no excuse!” She's reaching out to grip his shoulders now, nowhere near tight, but enough to catch his attention. “You are a good man, Richard. Sure, you've done... awful things, but your heart was in the right place.”

“You... really think so?” He nearly chokes on her words, his name almost sounding foreign. All of the operatives had referred to him as his last name, even after being able to finally leave his little prison. And to hear her call him a nice man, and even go as far to say his heart was in the right place. It felt weird, but nice.

“We're your new family now!” she announces, straightening up and holding her head high in pride. “Don't you let anyone tell you otherwise, dear! And if they do, just send them over to me and I'll whoop them into shape.”

“Thank you, Annika,” He forces a small smile onto his face. She seems satisfied with his response, patting his cheek gently before standing up and disappearing into the small train that was inside the safehouse. He's left alone with his thoughts, the old woman's voice ringing out in his head. To think of DedSec as his new family... it was a thought that seemed surreal. The same group he had sought to dismantle and destroy in an attempt to save his county was the same group that had finally seemed to accept him and his flaws. Or, at the very least, the they hadn't thrown the past events in his face and belittled him.

The more he thoughts about it, however, the more he got accustomed to the idea. He had seen how some of the operatives acted around one another. How Lorcan would hang off of Jeremy in an attempt to get his attention, and how Franklin would train the younger operatives with the stun guns, showing them how to aim and use the thing. He had even seen Dan and Lorcan spar with the newer operatives, always accepting their requests to train. He never wanted to admit it out loud, or even to himself, but sometimes he would feel that desire to join in conversation or even some playful fights. Maybe he did truly want a family deep down. People who would accept him and work with him, rather than turn their backs on him.

Yeah, maybe this would be okay. Maybe Annika and Dan were right. He didn't need his mother to call only to berate him. It felt nice to have people who supported him, even if it was just for the moment. Maybe DedSec would eventually become his new family.

[thepilgrimofwar]

Pure of Heart

Solendis waited in the guest wing, seated by the fire in the common room. He waited, not for the usual staging of a diplomatic talk, or to speak about strategy from the war room. He waited for something more important than any of that. He waited for the boy, who seemed to be dragging his family off-track.

“Evening Mr. Bladeborn,” he said when Vissehn finally appeared. The Steward had heard him and his son laughing on the roof tops, drunk and high off Bloodthistle. Thankfully, only the House Huards had been around to bear witness to this. Lest his son’s reputation be besmirched.

The hallways seemed smeared with light; his pupils blown wide, Vissehn wondered if he touched one, if perhaps his hand might also become so brilliant and glowing. His laughter chimed through as he ambled-- staggered-- towards the guest wing. 

It had been a bloody success; he had brought down the cold and sad walls he had seen springing up around Stenden’s heart and head, crashed into them like a meteor of bawdy songs and pilfered liquor, and now the boys laughter played over in his mind, shining like a new coin. If he’d been robbed of a boyhood, well, he would lend some of that to another; find the kindred spirit beneath the stuffy layers of velvet and linen and silk, bear it and bask in finally not being alone.

Neither of them needed any more years being alone in their youth.

He careened into the common room, he wasn’t even looking to the crackling flames. Vissehn had only eyes for windows, and stars. In that candid moment, before he knew of the other man, his youth revealed like so much bare skin, he was every inch the vagabond he had espoused-- wind tousled hair, cheeks freckled and high in color, the acrid scents of liquor and thistle a cloud around his shambles of an outfit. 

When he heard the voice, he turned hard on a heel, spinning almost comically towards his chosen surname. “Oi, Steward Emberheart?” Vissehn saluted breezily, squinting a moment to make sure he had the right man. “Cor, you look like yer brother in this light, almost thought I was seein’ ghosts!” He grinned, his good mood taking even the barbs out of his jests.

Solendis folded his arms, taking measure of the man- no- the boy in front of him. He did not like what he saw. This was Stenden’s agent of choice. True, Vissehn was a capable killer, a proven agent that had served greater names than theirs in the past, but all in all, the boy in front of him was a bad influence. He made Stenden forget his station, the decorum that separated nobility from the commoners- and possibly the only thing that held the Emberglades together.

“Enjoying yourself?” He spoke firm, arms folded, ears flat against his skill and a gaze that only disapproving parents could muster. “You may have free run of the house as my son’s agent, but don’t for one second believe that you’re free to do as you please- without consequences.” Solendis rose to his feet, towering slightly over Vissehn. “I understand that you believe you are helping Stenden by…” he made an offhanded gesture at the roof. “Relaxing. But you are doing the complete opposite.”

Vissehn looked up at his friends father as he rose, one brow lifting to that jaunty arch that made the youth look puckish and fey. Solendis was a tall man; taller than Vissehn and certainly bore down with the paternal disapproval that had likely cowed Stenden in his more playful years. The light of his evening was dimmed in the derision he heard in Solendis' tone, but not with shame. "Yeah, you got good liquor down in the cellar and bad locks to go with them. Sounds like a mighty enjoyable evening to me."

Eyes glittering with that cold mirth, he let his lips curl up in that wicked grin. "Naw, see, the plans to let him get all cozy comfy an then ruin th'Emberglades by exposing that their Lord is--" he gasped theatrically. "A fuckin' lad who wanted to live a little! Gods an' ghosts, whatever'll everyone do? Carry on with all their lives cause it don't fucking matter if a boy has a moment to hisself?" He snorted and tossed his name of golden hair. "Consequence, hoo M'lord I'm just a peasant brat what didn't get that stirling education, you'll have to use smaller words than that." He feigned a poor imitation of woe, the light never leaving his eyes as he already turned to walk off.

Solendis maintained his composure, sticking to his condescending gaze of disappointment. But as Vissehn began to walk off, he raised his voice. “You’re a smart boy, educated or not, so listen to me. Stenden cannot afford to be a boy, not now, not ever. I’m not sure where you’ve lived exactly, but the entire system that holds the Emberglades together is predicated on the ideas of nobility- exclusivity- the right to rule because we are a cut above the rest. Let the people see him the boy he is and not their Lord, and you’ll have what we have now, only ten-fold.”

The bark of authority in Solendis words made Vissehn straighten-- though perhaps not for the intended reason. Hackles raised and blood thick with liquor and assurance, he turned and closed the distance faster than his stumbling in the hall had would indicate. 

This close to the man, Vissehn could see the weight of years in the lines around his eyes, the necessities he had born in the name of the Emberglades; he’d been illused and run up by wars and ledgers and lost causes. In other times, Vissehn might have sheathed his bladed tongue and let the man go on with his platitudes and his conceptions, but alcohol made truth out of anger and the commonborn youth had so much truth in him.

“Cut above?” His grin pulled sideways. “Oh, fancy that, cut above. See, even piss drunk an’ half blind from thistle I shoulda never mistook you for Sederis, cause there was a bloke that knew the truth in it, didn’t he?” Vissehn’s words were sharp with laughter. “Ain’t a single soul of us better than the dirt we’ll die in, save by the deeds done on it, not the blood we’re born of.” He canted his head and let his gaze streak over Solendis. 

His following snort showed how much he thought of the inspection. “Your father seems to have ‘predicated’ that he was right to rule by sowin’ more graves than any other fucker; how his get carry on is on them, I figure.”

“My father sowed those graves so he could reap almost three centuries of peace!” Solendis responded to Vissehn’s snort. “And there is more blood that has yet to be spilled to let Stenden enjoy three hundred more. Leave it up to people like you and we’d still be a wartorn backwater, stabbing each other over better plots dirt. Content to accept your lot, and do as you please. No ambition to change things for the better! Nothing beyond what can be touched and felt on the morrow!”

Solendis threw his arm out to his side, gesturing at the manor and everything that surrounded it. The fields, the villages, and for now, the soldiers that were fighting on their behalf from all over Quel’thalas. “So yes, we are a cut above the rest. Because building a better tomorrow is more important that the price we pay today. That was something Sederis understood, before the end. It is that, which puts Stenden a cut above the rest.”

“Which includes you.” He brought his arm back round and pointed his finger at him, the distance now close enough to bring his fingers inches from his chest. “You more you remind him that he’s a boy, free to do as he pleases, the more you drag him down to your level. Keep it up and he’ll be back to square one- No one will bear an ounce of respect for him. His words will carry no weight as they did at the start. And I’d sooner be damned before watching him get humiliated- and underestimated like that again.”

Sobriety was the better part of wisdom, and even when not a bottle or more in, Vissehn could not be called wise. “Like me, eh?” His voice was low and soft, a shadow coming to those bright eyes. “And what the fuck do you think you know about me?”

He was in Solendis space then, closing that distance so that the finger extended pressed against the fabric of his tunic. “I know your lot-- a merchants lad’ll break your bones, a lords son’ll bury the lot. I know how many of my cousins had long ears after their mums spent a spell as maid in a manor. That’s how you shape your tomorrows-- kill the kind that don’t match, or if you’re feelin’ charitable, just fuck it into them. You all pretend to some greatness, somethin’ pure and noble of the blood, but I seen what your lot do when no one important is lookin, and your kind is as base as mine. Leastwise we don’t have the gall to claim ourselves any mans betters.” The deep hate in him seeped out into his words, and he pushed forward so the finger jabbed hard against the fabric. “That you think Stenden’s greatness has got anything to do with Mereded, or you, or this bloody manor and name-- that’s where you’re wrong.”

Vissehn grabbed Solendis’ wrist, his lean and long fingers gripping tight enough to show the strength of the boy but not yet painful. “I’ve bled and killed for better tomorrows-- cut enough short for others to know the weight of a future and how little it really is. Stenden’s got a greatness to him, but it’s not been inherited from warlords or passed on by cuckolded politicians. He’s got vision, a heart big enough to carry the burdens of his ancestors an’ a mind canny enough to know when to hold fast or when to fold.”

He released Solendis, shaking his hand as though he had touched something filthy. “Everyone ‘round here got their heads so full of shite, Emberheart, Illithia, sayin’ names like they got weight behind the letters somewhere. You want a son at the end of this? Stay out of my way. Elsewise Emberglades’ll get a Lord, for certain-- one without a soul. I’ve looked into the eyes of the livin’ dead, and I’d take on a scourge and a legion afore I have to see another home lost to a man whose got more nobility than soul.”

Solendis rubbed his wrists, “Then I’m afraid to say that such horrors await you.” The Steward spoke evenly, knowing better to test the patience of an impulsive drug addled youth- With a body count to his name. “Maybe not now, maybe not for a hundred more years. But when Stenden is a boy no longer, you’ll find that he’ll sell his soul on his own accord. Because you are absolutely right. You are right. Stenden has greatness to him, he’s growing into it right now, but all great rulers understand that a soul must be sacrificed to rule-.”

He let his arm sink to his sides. “To rule well with kindness, and justice. To put his people first. That leaves no space for himself or the baseness you seek to encourage.” 

Then his hands clenched into fists. “You claim I know nothing of you? Well, touché Mr. Bladeborn- or whatever your namesake truly is! I am not those men who inflicted misery upon you and yours, they are not my lot!” He thrusts a finger at Stenden’s office, still glowing with candlelight within. “HE is my lot. Stenden, Riah, even my brother, THEY are my lot. We live, trying to undo the sins of our fathers, to make the blood they spilled and injustices they wrought WORTH it.”

Solendis pushes himself forward, folding his arms once more. “So, you tell me to stay out of your way? Let my son live a little? Indulge in his desires? Your way will turn Stenden into one of those Lordlings you hate.”

“He doesn’t have to sell shit!” Vissehn roared, losing the thin threads of control he had on himself. His hands shot forward, clawed to grab Solendis by his tunic but at the last moment he jerked his hands back as though burnt. “You can be kind an’ good an’ still have power-- The High Cleric, The Knight Commander-- you can take lives an’ still be good, and real. Don’t need a title, don’t need a-- a legacy to protect. You’re gonna kill him an’ not even have a body to mourn!” 

He ran his hands through his hair manically, laughing roughly. “You’re offering your fuckin-- your fucking son-- for a future that you can’t even see is all going to shite! You’re layin’ him on an altar and lettin’ the world go in with the knife. Gods, I might as well be fuckin’ trying to reason with Her!” 

The eyes that turned on Solendis were thick with undisguised disgust. “He ain’t your lot. You might have gotten him on his mother, but he’s got more of Sederis in him, an’ that means he can be more than you’re giving credit for.”

Vissehn turned away and rubbed his face, exhausted from the anger he’d let fly. He was a tall youth but he was so lean, hungry in every sense and it showed in the way the light flickered over the sharp edges of his cheeks and the faint hollows beneath. His head pounded, the lights were all too much, and he’d thought of Her for the first time in-- in too long. “You’re not my employer, an’ until the time Stenden sends me off like th’nothin I am, I’m his. However long he’s got a soul burnin’ in there, he’s got me.” The weight of the declaration settled in his soul, and he realized he meant it. “You want to know the ilk who is swearing themselves to your lad?” The words tumbled out before his reason and self preservation could stop them.

“Vissehn, once of the Hawk.” He shrugged and let his grin return, still wicked but dimmed. “My deals-- my vows-- are good.”

Solendis gives a moment for his confession to sink in. “Ah, so,” he speaks after taking in its meaning. The rumors were true. He had heard whisperings after looking to Zarannis’ background and the tribe of Tel’dorei that she had spent the best years of her youth with- The Hawk Tribe. The boy was Unwelcomed- Exiled- Dead in the eyes of his clansmen. “We could never confirm if you wore the mark that all Exiles of your kind wear. But I see where all that spite comes from.”

His arms unfold, reaching for his chin, a calculating look flashing in his eyes. “Very well. I think there’s no point on harping-on on what’s already been said. You belong to my son’s retinue. You say you’re good on your promises- Then good. Serve him well. Just know that Stenden, like Sederis before him, understood the meaning and value of sacrifice. It’s only a matter of time before he offers his soul to the Emberglades.”

Vissehn did not look back as he left Solendis in the common room, the stifflegged walk to his own rooms too long by far. Solendis had no answer from the youth to that parting volley, only the seething quiet of rage contained poorly behind clenched teeth. Vissehn slammed his door, knowing it would only cement whatever the man thought of him and finding he wanted to prove every base thought true this time. Let them think him a roustabout; a good for nothing witches get. He was and worse, for all they would ever know of him.

When the door closed, though, he slumped against the wood, hand rising to catch at his collar.

In the dark spanse of his suite, he stared. He stared until the shadows held no mystery, until the ghosts and monsters summoned with just Her thought had dissipated into vapor and paranoia. Only when he was sure, only when the lock slid I to place and the windows shuttered against the night, did he settle on the overstuffed coverlet. 

Vissehn pulled up the tunic, palm grazing the fabric of the binding beneath. His fingers pushed between the layers of bandage, and he twisted until his breath came short and his vision swam.

People like you.

You’re the first real friend I’ve had Viss.

He threw himself down on the bed, eyes closed as he tried to find the moment under the stars, the burn in his belly.

Instead, the press of Solendis finger seemed to burn instead, the judgement lingering long after the night and sleep claimed Vissehn, once-of-the-Hawk.

--

@retributionpriest @stormandozone @thanidiel

[lou-bonfightme]

Catnapped 2: This Time It’s Purrsonal || Part  Three: The Enemy of My Enemy is My Friend || Merlou

In which a desperate Toulouse seeks help in the unlikeliest of places...[February 1, 2020]

@heart-of-dunbroch

[tw -- self-loathing, thoughts of suicide and self harm, these two are really a pair]

TOULOUSE: Toulouse stood, staring up at the Best Castle’s imposing silhouette. 

If he was here for other reasons, he’d find the sight tragically beautiful. 

As it stood, he could not find beauty in the ivy or the crumbling grey stone, the same colour as the sky, so that it all melted together if you looked up high enough, the snow falling in perfect flurries, obscuring the view. This was a tragedy, in and of itself, because Lou had always been curious about the castle in the woods, as many were. He had simply never made it out so far, as it was well hidden. Lou may explore the forest at his leisure but the only time he tread off the beaten path was at the beckoning of fairies. He knew better than that, otherwise. Not even as a wolf did he venture deep. Most of his full moons were spent curled up on the Acheron’s rug. He had no desire to run through the woods like an animal. Hades had once joked that he had somehow been turned into some kind of weredog--not a wolf at all. 

Still, he had found it relatively easily. With Belle’s directions and his wolf’s instincts, which told him to just go to the part of the forest he was least comfortable. Standing at the gate, he wished he had not denied Belle’s offer to accompany him, although he knew it was for the best. If this went the same way his last meeting with Merida DunBroch had gone, well, he didn’t want Belle getting in the middle of it. Because she would get in the middle of it. And get herself bitten in the process. 

No, this was better. 

Toulouse was in no danger here. What was the worst Merida could do to him? Kill him? His wolf was smarter than that, it’d run before it came to that. In the meantime, it stayed close to the surface, waiting and watching and already very much wanting to leave. Lou ignored it, though not in a harsh way, the way one ignores a pup looking for attention. Though, he listened to it too. If Lou had learned anything in the past year, it was to listen to the wolf. It knew danger than Lou ever would. And here, danger lurked around every bush and tree.

Even with his strength, Lou had to shoulder the gate open somewhat so that he could slip through. He climbed the steps slowly, sure that if Merida was home, she would’ve already heard him. Or smelt him. Still, he knocked. Merida may be a beast, but Toulouse still had manners. 

He stepped back and waited, clasping his hands together behind his back so that he didn’t fiddle with them. His shoulders squared and he kept an ear out for any sounds coming from behind him. It was a cowardly thing to do, sneak up on someone like that, but Lou put nothing past Merida. She was a coward, as far as he was concerned.

MERIDA:  Several days ago, Merida had gotten a text on her phone-- a cryptic message from Lachlan, her cousin. At first, Merida thought she’d officially lost it. Her lonely, pathetic, depressed brain had conjured up exactly what she wanted to see and she was hallucinatin’ Come home messages. But when she’d clicked it, it turned out to be very real after all, no cliche message of love or support, but a vague warning delivered from a cousin whose loyalties, he felt, were probably still an obligation: a warning that the Order was returning to Swynlake.

Merida asked him why. Asked him for how long. Asked him if they were finally comin’ for Merida, to hunt her down. She’d not gotten any reply. 

And so Merida had locked herself in the castle. Perhaps Lachlan had hoped she’d run. Perhaps the Order hoped to lure her wolf out and play duck-duck-goose in the woods. But if the Order was here for her, she’d force ‘em to come to her territory. So she waited, feeling the wolf grow restless under her skin as she paced in front of the windows and sharpened the knives in the kitchen. 

They never came. As far as Merida knew, at least. The days passed and Merida was untouched. No other messages came her way through Lachlan. It was as though she were as good as dead to them all yet again, and now her pathetic, lonely life could continue with no interruptions. Meetings with Rogers, workin’ at the gym, hacking down shite meals of beans and mash till her wolf’s stomach demanded she go out for a fresh kill… 

Until Merida got a visitor after all.

The visitor was Toulouse Bonfamille, and as soon as he was on her territory, the wolf sensed him. Merida’s stomach revolted as the wolf tried to shove its way to the surface. Shut up, she thought back to it, breathing deeply even as she gripped at a doorframe like she might punch holes into it. But the wolf did not shut up. Toulouse Bonfamille knocked on the door, and the wolf wanted to howl. 

At first, Merida figured-- well, maybe he’d leave. She stayed quiet and tense. But the pressure in her stomach grew, the wolf trying to break through.

“Fine, fine--” Merida snarled out loud, like she was actually talking to someone. She listened to the wolf, stalking toward the door so she could defend her land. 

She dragged the heavy door halfway open and looked out at Toulouse. His wolf smell, this close, was overwhelming. She tried to ignore it anyway.

“Think your the last wallaper I’d expect comin’ t’see me,” Merida grunted. “Whit ye here for?” 

TOULOUSE: Toulouse wanted to sneeze. That was the overwhelming…sensation he had standing on Merida’s doorstep. He was ignoring the wolf. The wolf was not happy about this, but it was content enough to wait and watch. Its only thought was on Claude. It could make friends with its enemy, if it meant getting him back. On that Lou and the wolf were in an agreement. (The wolf and Lou were, more or less, in agreement on most things these days.)

Which meant the wolf was still and silent inside him. Lou felt it watching, but he encouraged the wolf’s vigilance. He had no idea what to expect of Merida DunBroch.

They had only met a handful of times--outside of their infamous meeting--as two of the only consistent visitors at the Acheron cottage. Lou had thought little of her, and not in the degrading way, but quite literally. He knew her as Belle’s friend, he was glad for Belle to have a proper friend during that awful winter, the way he was a friend to Hades. (Until he wasn’t, thanks to the woman on the other side of the door.) He had simply had no opinion of her outside of this, except perhaps that she was loud and took up space in a way that Lou had always found rather abrasive.

And now: he knew so much about her, but nothing at all, all at once. It was as if he had seen a reflection of her in a pool, but when he looked up to catch a glimpse of the real thing, she was already gone.

She’s a coward, answered the wolf to Lou’s idle musing as he waited on the doorstep. Lou thought he might, perhaps, agree; considering that Merida had yet to show her face. He was about to give up, turn around, when he heard the scuff of shoes coming from the other side of the door. It was muffled, but his senses were all tuned high—on alert.

The girl on the other side of the door was not at all what Lou remembered of the bright-eyed, sharp woman he’d known, albeit vaguely, before. Her hair was dull, her eyes sunken and suspicious. He didn’t have time, really, to react to her general disheveled appearance.

Instead, he had to try and understand the garbled English that came out of her mouth. At first, he thought she had suffered from some sort of stroke.

Wallpaper? Lou had never heard anyone referred to as wallpaper. He supposed, it was perhaps an insult. Though, Lou quite liked a good wallpaper.

His own brain lagged as it tried to dissect the inflection of Merida’s words, his eyebrows knit together. If this any other situation, he’d probably answer back with a “pardon moi?” just to be both cheeky and condescending.

As it was, they did not have time to argue proper grammar or punctuation.

“Trust me, if I had another option, I would not be here.” The distaste and malice in his voice was not concealed, he hadn’t even tried. “Your Order kidnapped my nephew,” Lou said bluntly. “And I need information from you to get him back or I will make sure you are run out of this town quicker than you can blink.”

MERIDA:  The Order hadn’t been here for her at all.

The information smacked into Merida and she wrenched the door open wider without even thinking about it. For once, her wolf fell silent-- or rather, it was Merida, the girl, who roared to life. The Order was her blood, not the wolf’s. It didn’t matter that she’d been cast out, nor that she’d never fit in the first place. When she dreamed, it was still her home that she saw. It was her castle, her brothers, Da and Mum and Angus-- the dungeons, the huge, drafty ballroom where the Order gathered twice a year… 

Funny what sticks in the memory after the bridge to the past has burned down. Funny what you miss. Merida had always hated the gatherings and the old creaking castle she knew one day she’d be forced to inherit and upkeep. Now though, these were the things that came back to her, twisting in her brain so they shined brighter. Every time they did, her gut lurched, like the wolf was trying to expel her leftover love like spoiled meat. Because it was all a lie. All a lie, never for her, a sham from the start.

Still, knowin’ the Order had been in town-- in a way, that danger had made her feel like more herself. She wanted them to come hunting for her if only so she’d see some of her family again. Let them point their swords and arrows. She’d take it like a welcome. That is, she would have, if they would have come for her.

But they didn’t. Perhaps they hadn’t even remembered-- perhaps they no longer cared.

It hurt nearly as much as her own da telling her to run. Peeled back the wound. 

In front of the Bonfamille boy, Merida just swallowed down the hurt, even if she was too late to hide her shock. She tried to gather herself and piece together what he’d said. Now, different parts of her past trickled back...not memories cast in rose glass, but bits and pieces from months ago, about Phoebus, and that’s right, he’d had a woman-- she’d been pregnant. 

Now, the child was gone. Merida hadn’t even realized the child was born. She had a...what would the child be? A third cousin? A second, twice removed? 

“You don’t have to threaten me,” said Merida after a beat. She opened the door wider and stepped aside. “You can come in. Ask whatever ye want-- I told Belle I’m on her side and I meant it. That’s who sent ye, isn’t it? Belle?” 

Despite herself, Merida’s heart clenched hopefully. Even if the Order, her own family, had forgotten her-- Belle hadn’t. 

TOULOUSE: Merida’s eyes bugged wide in a kind of shock that Toulouse thought would be hard to fake. Though, he was a connoisseur of the opposite: of concealing emotions. So, he could not really say, what real shock looked like, as his own graced his features so seldom that he would hardly recognize real from fake. As it was, Toulouse was on guard towards considering anything that Merida did truthful. He kept, at the front of his mind, what she had done to Belle. Not solely the kidnapping, but everything before it: how she had lied about being her friend for so long, how thoroughly Belle had fallen for it. How thoroughly Hades had fallen for it.

There was not a single part of Merida that he could trust.

He looked into the dark, cold castle that would hardly protect from the chill, as the winter wind whistled through it. It was tempting to deny the offer and stand on the stoop. He was not planning to stay long. Just get the information he needed and leave. There was not a moment he could waste; he had already wasted so many. Arguing with his siblings, trying to plan with Hades and Belle. Every moment was precious. Besides, he didn’t want her to see him hesitate. The wolf could not sense any danger and for the moment, that was good enough for him.

Toulouse stepped over the threshold with a frown situated clearly on his features. He took off his gloves, as was polite when entering a building, putting them in his pocket before removing his hat, running his fingers over his hair out of habit more than anything else. He was not looking to impress Merida.

“She sent me because you have information that I need. We will speak no more of her.” His voice was flat and final. Belle’s name on Merida’s tongue made the wolf in his chest want to rip that tongue right out. How dare she even mention Belle. To give his hands something to do, so that they wouldn’t quiver, he fiddled with the rim of his hat.

“Some woman named Sorcha and a man named Silas came to the house claiming to be his grandparents,” he started in a clipped tone. He did not, necessarily believe, at face value, that those two had been Claude’s true grandparents, and he assumed it would be pertinent for her to know the information. He didn’t even know if those were their real names, but it was the only information he had to give. “We sent them away and the next day—” his voice caught slightly on the emotion, even though he tried to smooth it out “—they broke into my house, assaulted my nounou and my sister, and took Claude.”

His gaze felt sharply on the woman. “I need to know where they would have taken him and I need to know how to get him back.”

MERIDA:  The Order was not a big organization, but it was strong-- even in its disparate pieces across the rest of Europe. And so Merida knew these names. She’d know them even if they were not distantly related to her, even if all she knew was where they were from, and what sort of achievements they had to their family name, evoked with just the mention or with a flash of the crest. That missing entered her again and in the same breath, a bitterness. She did not want to miss that world or feel pride in her own family’s sigil. Not when they turned her out, or endangered children, and-- it seemed-- kidnapped them. 

And at least in this way, Lou’s news reinforced that Merida had done the right thing. She didn’t need that reinforcement, really. No matter how lonely she got, she’d never go back. She couldn’t go back if she wanted ‘course, so that made the decision easier. 

But--in Swynlake, where she was still criminal and that was all that people were seein’-- that and the wolf-- 

It felt good to know herself to be somethin’ else. And right now, her face reflected her revulsion at the news that Silas and Sorcha would act so dishonestly. Attack both an elder woman and a younger girl? Snatch a child from a crib? These things held no honor. They were not the Order that Merida had believed in, at least, not its best parts-- the pledge to protect the innocent and uphold the codes of the best of Great Britain, in the time of the chivalrous. 

She was not surprised, though. Perhaps a DunBroch, leadin’ a mission, would go about such things differently. But Phoebus’s family had always been much like him: slippery like a sea serpent. 

“The babe is not yet a year old?” she said it like a question and raised her eyebrows, though she did not need to wait for Lou to confirm to know it was true. She could do simple math. “It’s important for an Order child-- especially a boy-- to be baptized in the Order’s stronghold by the sittin’ King before he’s a year. It’s usually done much sooner than this so I imagine they are takin’ him to the headquarters. Probably. And then--” she frowned.

“They’ll be takin’ him back to Denmark. To be raised there. Well, unless they want to hide ‘im, then he could go to any number of families, least till he’s older. If they believe ye a threat, that could be the case.” 

Her frown deepened, her next words catching on her tongue. It was not good news. She knew that Lou did not trust her either (her wolf could smell it, like it could smell his wolf, and remained wary) and she didn’t want to deliver it. But she couldn’t lie. 

“You’ll have to break into the headquarters before they move him. It’s… no one’s ever done that before,” she hedged. “And many of the families will be gathered there. For the ceremony. It’s-- you’ll probably die,” she put it bluntly. “Sorry. I think it’s important you know that. ‘M not tryin’ to discourage ye, I just-- I almost died escapin’ out me own home. They’ll kill you much faster.” 

TOULOUSE: Toulouse raised a slight eyebrow at the question, but nodded slightly—even though, apparently, it had been rhetorical. He was wondering what on earth it had to do with anything. Was a toddler less of a concern to her than a baby? Did the Order gobble up children like trolls from folktales told to little ones to get them to behave? Lou would not be surprised. Everything he knew about the Order he loathed. He loathed that they had hurt Belle and Opal (for he was of the opinion, much like Hades, that that ordeal had had a great deal to do with Opal’s early delivery.) He hated them for turning his aunt into someone he did not recognize. For killing her too, for killing his little niece. (It was easier to blame them than leave it a blameless death.)

The Order was nothing but death and destruction.

He pushed away his questions and simply listened. The story Merida wove was like something out of a fairytale. With kings and ceremonies and strongholds. It sounded so farfetched that he hardly dared to believe it. However, he reminded himself, he was standing in a castle right now. His best, most dear friend, was the king of Underworld. He had attended a magical wedding. There was a wolf, whose heartbeat was Lou’s own.

His world—no matter how he disliked it, no matter how ill-fit—was this world now, full of shadows not of his own making. Of the sort of villains that were truly dangerous. Lou had long ago learned how to handle the villains of the world he had been from, ones with silver tongues and distracting, glittering jewels. He did not know how to handle a true villain.

Though, he couldn’t help but snort at Merida’s warning.

I am plenty prepared to die, he thought to himself and he knew it was true. The idea didn’t make him afraid. In fact, there was a reckless part of him who almost wanted it. It wouldn’t be dishonorable if he was killed trying to get his baby cousin back from the clutches of some medieval organization. He’d die a hero. Honestly, it all sounded rather pleasing to him.

There was only one problem: if he died, would Claude be rescued? Lou did not care about whether or not he died in vain, he always imagined that was how it would be in the end. Unless he was dying to escape the pain of this life, the weight of this life. Then it wouldn’t be in vain at all. The darkness and stillness would be peaceful and welcome. But, if he was dying trying to save his baby cousin, he would want to know his baby cousin would get out. He had to remind himself this was not about him dying, it was about saving Claude.

“Thank you for the warning,” he told her drily, looking towards her. “Isn’t exactly useful, though, is it? Tell me where this headquarters is and tell me how to get Claude out alive. If you do not, I will simply find another way.” And Lou was confident in that. Perhaps, not in himself, but in Hades? In Belle? Oh, they were clever when it came to magic and mayhem. They would find a way to fix this.

No matter where the Order hid Claude away. 

MERIDA:  Merida nearly rolled her eyes at him. She thought about it. Normally, she would. But she saw somethin’ here that she hadn’t had before, and even Merida was wise enough to know that she couldn’t fuck it up--

That thing was a door. 

No, it was not a door that would take her back. There was no going back. But she hoped it would be a door forward, into becomin’ something more than the woman who kidnapped Belle, the liar, the criminal, the girl from the Order-- and the wolf. Merida desperately wanted to be Merida again. To find a way to build somethin’ out of the debris of last year. Since that day, she’d been stuck in the same place, unable to do anything but tread water. Run in circles. Survive, but barely.

If she helped now…

Well, maybe nothing would change, who was she kidding? But at least it was the right thing to do. At least it would give Merida another chapter. Instead of stealing a baby, she was saving one. 

“I’ll tell you all I know, I told you I would-- I’ll do me best,” she reiterated. “ I can tell you what kind of things to prepare for-- the weapons they’ll have, the defenses, who will probably be there, who won’t. I can tell you the entire place is underground, and there’s tourmaline everywhere. Magic will be useless.  Stay down too long, and you’ll start to go topsy-turvy yourself.” She was thinking of Hades-- because naturally Hades, she assumed, would go. He’d have no fire though, no way to move things. Neutered like that, he’d die in a heartbeat, because his weakness was the same as all Magicks’ weakness-- his ego. Without his powers, he had no skill or strength. 

One look at the posh biscuit of a boy in front of her, she reckoned the same thing. 

“I can even try to draw ye a map if ye like. But I’m no artist.” She swallowed. Her fingers flexed. She looked Lou in the eye. “I’m a warrior. So if you want to know how to get your cousin out safely, without taking a silver bullet between the eyes… you take me. I can lead you in. I can get you out. I know how to fight ‘em-- and I’ll beat ‘em too.” 

TOULOUSE: Toulouse knew that Merida had a point. For in the same way she was not an artist, he was not a warrior. In fact, Lou hated the idea of violence, if he was honest. He didn’t have the stomach for it. Would he kill someone that threatened his family? Yes, but only as a last resort. He much rather liked playing these things in a courtroom, where there were rules and things were civilized. Where he could feel much more smug and righteous about putting some asshole behind bars. To him, that was more satisfying than killing someone, than hurting them in any sort of physical way.

However, Lou had seen firsthand how the Order circumvented these laws. They were a force greater than the law, which meant that they deserved worse than the law.

Besides, Lou was well aware of the fact that if he did take them to court properly, his status as a wolf would jeopardize his family’s ability to keep Claude in their custody. No judge in their right mind would give a baby to a werewolf. Not even a Swynlake judge.

So, they would have to do this the underhanded way. Lou was not a fan of this, but Hades had been right when he said the police would be no help. And Lou was not going to waste time cutting through bureaucratic tape when his cousin’s future was at stake. Which meant, yes, Lou was outnumbered and woefully unprepared.

He still did not trust this woman.

It didn’t matter that there was an echo of her that he felt in himself. She had been chased from her home, he had been barred from his. The town was against both of them. The only difference was: Merida had been the one to turn his life into this, she had dragged him down to her level. Merida was a criminal, Toulouse had never hurt anyone in his life (not in the way Merida had.) The only reason they were on the same level was because society no longer cared that Lou was good-looking, well-dressed, wealthy, eloquent. All the tools he had spent his life building no longer mattered,  because when they looked at him—

They saw Merida.

“Why should I trust you?” he scoffed at her.  “What’s to say you’re not the one who puts an arrow in my back? Who holds a knife to my throat and uses me in exchange for your own clemency? If what you say is true, in these catacombs I would be entirely at your mercy and considering your history, those don’t feel like very good odds.”

MERIDA:  Merida didn’t have a good answer for him. 

She wished she did. Merida hated this question. This new version of her life was defined entirely by it, and there was no way to overcome it. It didn’t matter that the RAS believed in her (not that anyone knew). It didn’t matter that she’d helped keep Hades out of jail, that she’d freed Shuck (they focused, instead, on how Merida had been the cause of the trial in the first place). It didn’t matter that she held a steady job now and followed all of Swynlake’s rules. Merida could try and she could try, but she was still just a criminal in the eyes of the town, and most importantly, in the eyes of Belle. Nothing would ever change that.

Truly. Merida had stopped believin’ otherwise. It was freeing in a way, even if it didn’t stop her from missin’ Belle quite awful. Sometimes she caught herself reaching for her phone, a thought in her mind that could only be shared with Belle alone. But she stopped herself these days. She reached less and less. And when she thought of Belle, she tried only to wish her happiness and her daughter good health. 

Belle didn’t have to forgive Merida. But-- 

She’d like someone to. 

 Merida wished she could answer his question with a question-- how will I ever prove myself trustworthy if no one gives me a chance? The retort bit at her tongue. She pressed her lips together, then licked them. Still, no answer. Maybe she’d just let the Bonfamille boy walk away, take his distrust elsewhere. 

If she did that, the wee one would surely be lost.

Merida took a breath. “You don’t. There’s no clemency there for me, though. There’s nothing for me to bargain, I’ve already told most of the Order’s secrets to the police to put Phoebus away so as far as they’re concerned, I’m good as dead. I’d offer you something to hold over me to ease your mind, but I’ve nothing left here either. So--I can do nothing but give you my word--not as one of the Order, because I’m not anymore. But as one of you. A wolf.” Her chin tilted up as she met his gaze again. “It’s that, and the truth that I know-- I was raised in the Order and I would not want a child raised there, either.”

TOULOUSE: There was a part of Toulouse who was more convinced by Merida’s explanation of how the Order had sworn her off, how she had betrayed them. If someone had done similarly to him, he would probably scorn them too. However, the shrewd politician in him saw only the betrayal, only the disloyalty of someone who would throw the institution they had grown up in away just to save their own neck.

He was not moved to pity by her declaration that she had nothing to give him. If anything, it made him more cautious. A person without anyone or anything was a dangerous one. Lou could only imagine what his life would be if his family had turned his back on him, after he had been bitten. If he did not have them; did not have the Acherons and Periwinkle. He could scarcely imagine it, because if that was the case for Toulouse, he would cease to exist. He would become vicious, he would not care about someone coming to his door, looking for help. He would turn them away or he would kill them, if only for a way to feel something, anything at all.

Though, perhaps, he understood the scorn.

They had turned her away first, so now she had turned away from them. Lou thought he would do much the same and he thought, briefly, of his tantine. How wretched she had made him. How vicious he had felt whenever in her presence, like his intestines were an ouroboros, devouring itself. He had not once begged for her love back. He had looked at her the way she had looked at him: like a stranger, like a monster. But, he also knew that if she had ever given him a hint or a hope of redemption; if she had smiled at him or spoke to him sweetly, he would act as a man dying of thirst. He would have fallen to his knees and begged.

He wondered if the same would happen to Merida. If the Order smiled at her and said: we will love you again, just kill the wolf. Would she do it?

Did Lou have a choice, even if that was the truth of it?

His gaze found its way back to her properly when she spoke of that wolf—those wolves—their wolves. He wanted to snort at her, to snarl and snap.

What good is the word of a wolf?

We are not the same.

The wolf felt differently. Lou felt it stir in his chest. It was watching, it was listening, and it was silent. He heard no protest from it, and he realized that since they had stepped into this castle and Merida had started explaining, the wolf had settled.

Despite himself, if he trusted anything’s instincts, it was his wolf’s. His wolf, which had disliked Edgar from the start. Who had been restless in his chest ever since the de Chateaupers had shown up at his door. The wolf who was kind and gentle towards those he loved, but who had wanted to rip Bradley’s throat out with a lust that startled and disturbed Toulouse.

The wolf wanted Merida to help. The wolf reasoned Merida was their best chance. The wolf reasoned that if Merida came along, Hades would not have to; which meant one less person Lou loved in danger. The wolf pointed out that if Merida died, it would not matter. Not at all.

“Fine,” Toulouse settled, feeling somewhere inside of him that he was agreeing to much more than a quest to save his nephew. His weight shifted, one foot to the other. “You can come along, but we will do this on my terms. It is my family in danger, and I do not trust you. This does not mean anything, and if I catch wind of you using it to gain pity or an audience from Belle, or anyone else I love, I will find a way to put you behind bars where you belong. Are we agreed?” 

MERIDA:  Merida could argue. Normally, she would-- call Lou stubborn and stupid to think he had any sort of experience to demand terms of his own. She could see this mission laying itself out in front of her now: Lou making bad call after bad call, Merida correcting him only when he begrudgingly asked for her help. Time wasted, shortcuts and advantages lost. Honestly, she should do the whole mission on her own. She didn’t need some upper-class nosh bumbling around and making a fool of himself. Making a fool of himself on a journey like this would put them both in danger. 

But she could no more say she should do this alone than she could that he needed to listen to the likes of her. It was as Lou said: he did not trust her. Merida was reasonable enough to know she’d feel the same way if in his shoes. And so Merida had no real argument. She had no real choice. 

But Merida was used to that. What choice had she ever had, especially over the past year? She’d always done exactly what she had to do to survive. To stay true to herself. And that’s what she would continue to do. She had nothing but herself anyway. No friends, no family, no reason to even exist. 

But she had her heart, and she would not betray it. 

Her lips pressed in a stiff line as her arguments stayed inside. She buried her desire to scoff at his threats, to sneer and let him know that she was not afraid of him and his petty methods of waging wars with his parents’ coin purse. She ignored the wolf too, whose presence in this room loomed larger than it ever had. It wanted to make Lou’s wolf listen, if not to reason-- then instinct. The wolf knew where to go, what to do. The wolf wanted to lead. 

Instead, Merida nodded once, quickly.

“Agreed.” Her lip twitched. Almost a smile. Not quite. “Then I suppose you’ll tell us when to leave, Chief.”