#but to live in a two story house with a view of the basin next to two parks with my best friend and our cats

[satache]

The past two days since moving in with Lindsay I have made us sit and eat my food together at the table and it’s actually like so awesome I want to make/share food for her everyday

[docpiplup]

@asongofstarkandtargaryen There's a triology I recently discovered that I want to read. It's the Banu Qasi triology writtenby Carlos Aurensanz, about the Banu Qasi and Iñiga-Aritza/Jimena families and their surroundings. The books can be downloaded on Internet (I have added the links for the download of each on of the books in esch of the titles if anyone wants to read them)

I. Los Hijos de Casio, 2009 (The Children of Casio)

"The exciting story of the rebel who came to be considered the third king of the Iberian Peninsula"

Musa Ibn Musa was destined from birth to rule and lead his people in the troubled region of the Upper March. His mixed blood (he is the son of a Muslim and a Basque woman) and the traits of his character, proud and refractory to submission, will make his government a unique case.

Musa knows exile, but he recovers and accepts his destiny, taking over the government of his people, a consubstantial ally of his Basque brothers, to seize Tudela from the Cordovan army of Al Ándalus. His decisions as ruler, inspired by a correct sense of justice but also by tolerance and a desire for sovereignty, earn him the respect of neighboring governments and at the same time arouse envy and a desire for revenge.

Elevated to the rank of wali of the city of Zaragoza by the Emir of Córdoba, Musa ibn Musa will live out his years of splendor surrounded by his relatives and seeing how the medinas reach their zenith of their cultural and economic development. But the difficulty in maintaining the political balance in the area will mean that Musa must constantly face an insoluble conflict: maintaining loyalty to his blood ties, which related him to the Basque Christians, or loyalty to the Muslim government of Al Ándalus.

Sample: Year 788, 171 of Hegira. Onneca was breathing heavily, clinging to both edges of the wooden bed, while the kabila leaned over her to speak to her in a calm but forceful voice. His hands, hidden under the folds of a rough linen sheet, revealed determined and precise movements: not in vain had the most experienced midwife in the region been notified. Every few minutes, the woman's face contorted in pain, her knuckles turning white as she felt the contractions. The midwife had ordered a table with two basins of clean, hot water and several cloths to be set up next to the bed. She herself had protected herself with an apron that covered her to her feet.

From time to time she inserted her fingers into a cylindrical clay container that contained a dark and oily substance, and continued his maneuvers. Meanwhile, two maids struggled to carry out his orders, trying tohide their fear and nervousness. They had tried to heat the bedroom with two metal braziers that were replaced periodically, but the wind slipped through the thick curtains that blocked the view from the central patio of the house, in the citadel of Arnit. Zahir ibn Fortun waited impatiently. The woman who was about to give birth in the next room was the widow of his brother, who had died three months ago in Saraqusta. Though she tried to put the tragic moment when the news was delivered from her mind, the memory fought to come back, and a familiar feeling of anguish clenched her stomach. His brother, Mūsa ibn Fortún, had been called to Saraqusta to put down the rebellion that had arisen in the city after the accession to the throne of Qurtuba of Emir Hisham I, led by Said al Husayn. Mūsa managed to master thethe revolt after getting rid of the ringleader, and took control of the city, although he had to remain in it to ensure stability. The danger seemed to have been passed, and Saraqusta returned to her calm. But after three weeks, a freedman from the rebel Said assaulted Mūsa as he left the mosque after Friday prayers and pierced his heart with a dagger, without his guard being able to do anything to stop him. At that very moment, Zahir was unable to push away the image of his lifeless brother, because in the next room the last son of Mūsa came into the world, an orphan.

Onneca was a strong woman, like all of her Basque race, originally from the Pyrenean valleys. She had married Mūsa for the second time, after the death of her first husband, the Basque leader Enneco Jimeno, with whom she had had her first two children: Enneco and Fortuño, who were already eighteen and seventeen years old. After Jimeno's death, Onneca moved to Arnit with her new husband, but her children remained in their native valley, to grow up in contact with the town that one day they were destined to lead. Although the separation was painful for Onneca, he was aware of the important role that the men of his lineage had played among the Basques for generations.

Hearing the sounds from the next room, Zahir's thoughts returned to Onneca, widowed for the second time and about to give birth to a son who would never know his father. The voices of the kabila became imperious, confused with the moans of the mother. For a moment there was silence, broken at last by the crying of a child. The midwife had cut the umbilical cord and opened the child's orifices with her fingers. Then she began to wash it, while the mother watched from the bed. The kabila was an experienced woman, and she knew that that blank stare was caused by the exhaustion of childbirth. But in the case of Onneca something else was guessed: a sadness that arose from the depths. The midwife took long strips of linen that she had ordered the maids to cut, and began to wrap the small body, swaddling it until it was practically immobilized. Then she lifted the newborn in her arms and brought him closer to the bed, inviting the mother to take him into her lap. For a moment Onneca seemed not to understand, but finally she reached out her hands and settled the child against her chest. "A precious child, strong, healthy and well formed," said the kabila. "Like his father," Onneca answered with a small voice.

The midwife pretended not to notice the tears that slipped down the mother's face and continued with an animated voice: —Now I'm going to finish you off, we'll clean all this up and let you rest. I have chosen a trustworthy nurse who will be there when you arrive and will take care of the little one.

Onneca nodded slowly and let the woman do it, who took the child again and placed it carefully in a small wicker cradle prepared next to the bed. Finished with her work, she allowed the two maids, calmer now, to take care of removing the bedclothes. "It's the cradle that all my children have used," Onneca said in a whisper to the girls, outlining a smile. Zahir jumped to his feet as the door to the next room opened. He had no experience as a father, because his only marriage had not been blessed with the arrival of children. His wife had died years ago, and he hadn't taken another, so the birth he'd just attended was the closest thing to parenthood he'd ever experienced. The midwife, who was leaving the house, informed her: it had been a boy, and both mother and son were fine. He turned his head in the direction of the Qibla and gave thanks to Allah. "The mother wants to see you, and I must say goodbye." Do not hesitate to send a message if any setback arises. "We won't hesitate," he replied, at the same time he deposited a small leather bag in her hand. We appreciate the work you have done. Zahir entered the bedroom, and looked at his brother's wife, who opened her eyes when she felt his presence. The man approached the bed, and Onneca took his hand. "He is a child, whole and healthy," she announced. "I know, Onneca. At least this has gone according to your wishes. Onneca nodded gently, though her eyes had blundered again. "Now that the child is here, you must put into practice everything we have planned together." My children…” “Rest now,” Zahir interrupted. Time will have to take care of that when you recover. "Just one thing: I've thought about the name I'm going to give the child." His name will be Mūsa, like his father: Mūsa, son of Mūsa. “Sounds good, Mūsa ibn Mūsa…” “You know? I have a good feeling,” he confided. I'm sure he's going to do great things. It's not easy for me to explain it, but it's as if a star had gone out in our lives and with it another one lit up. Zahir agreed withwith a smile and, sitting on the edge of the bed, he squeezed the woman's hand until he noticed that her breathing became regular and slow. Then he got up carefully and left the bedroom.

He entered the room where Mutarrif was waiting and found the boy sitting on the stone bench near the fire, his eyes lost in the flames that heated the room. Noticing his uncle's presence, he gave him a questioning look, but managed to hold his ground in an effort to hide the uneasiness he felt. Zahir saw the worry in his too-bright eyes and smiled reassuringly before speaking, “Everything went well, Mutarrif. You have a new brother... a boy. Your mother is well, although very tired. The boy nodded and smiled but remained silent. His uncle sat next to him. On the bench on the opposite wall, little Fortún was sleeping soundly, judging by his regular breathing. The two brothers usually slept there, on light mattresses stuffed with straw that served as seats during the day. "Your mother is resting now, but tomorrow you can see both of them." -Thank you. Zahir leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees, her hands cupping her face as she suppressed a slight yawn. The day had been long and exhausting. "Mutarrif," he said, sitting up, "I want you to know that I've been talking to your mother...The last few months have been very hard on you and your siblings, I know. Your father's death has affected all of us greatly. He paused to take a deep breath, calculating how to continue, "You are fourteen now, Mutarrif, almost a man, and now we must face the future." Allah Almighty has allowed the death of my brother, but in his mercy he has only wanted it to happen when you and Fortún are not children anymore. The boy made a gesture that indicated that this did not comfort him too much. “I have promised your mother,” Zahir continued, “that I will take care of you as long as it is necessary. Not only in terms of your maintenance, which we have secured due to the position we occupy, Allah be praised! What should concern us the most from now on is your training. As I know my brother had in mind, you must devote all your effort to study and training in the military. My father had already discussed it with me.

He wanted me to start accompanying him on some of his expeditions. He just had to wait until he was fifteen. Zahir noted the effort the boy was making to keep his voice steady. 'Yes, I suppose so, Mutarrif. However, we will have to modify those plans somewhat. I know your taste for the militia, and I have arranged with the officers of the garrison your transfer to their dependencies. You will live with them while you are introduced to the use of weapons and military arts. For a moment Mutarrif's face lit up. "But you must not neglect your learning at the mosque school with the other boys your age." I don't mean to scare you, but the imām is ready to work hard for you,” he said in a nonchalant tone, trying to break the tension. "I have to learn to ride well." My father said that to be a good army general you have to know how to handle weapons on horseback. "Ah, I think I can help you with that, it's my specialty," he replied briskly. This time Mutarrif looked at his uncle and smiled slightly. A moment later they had melted into an embrace. "Don't worry, boy… it's going to be all right," Zahir managed to say. We are going to understand each other.

Year 799, 183 of Hijra. The instability in Saraqusta continued after the death of Mūsa ibn Fortún. Revolts and attempts to seize power by different Arab factions followed one another, and the emir of Qurtuba, Hisham I, was forced to send his armies to quell the riots in what was considered the most important square in Uādi Ibru.

However, Saraqusta was not the only problem that kept Emir Hisham I busy. Since his accession to the Cordovan throne, he had had to face rebellions within Al Ándalus itself, in addition to successive campaigns against the northern border territories. His father, Abd al Rahman I, the first Emir of Qurtuba, had had three sons, but had not appointed his eldest son, Sulayman, to succeed him, but rather the second son, Hisham. At the time of the emir's death, Hisham, who was in Marida, hurried back to Qurtuba to take possession of the throne, but when Sulayman heard of his brother's proclamation, he rose up in arms and set out to conquer. of Qurtuba. The third brother, Abd Allah, who had not welcomed Hisham's elevation to the emirate, joined the eldest. Thus, one of the emir's first tasks was to fight for the throne against his two brothers. He had to mobilize the army to repel Sulayman's attack and encircle Tulaytula. After a year of conflict, the two brothers offered submission to Hisham and, after receiving from him seventy thousand gold dinars, went into exile in the Maghreb. The support given by the Banū Qasī family to the emir in Saraqusta, which had cost Mūsa ibn Fortún his life, was not forgotten. Mutarrif had just turned twenty-one when he was summoned to the capital by the governor of the march. Since his father's death, the boy, along with his brother Fortún, had dedicated every minute of their time preparing to assume the leadership of the family that would one day correspond to him, under the control and support of his uncle Zahir. When Mutarrif set out from Arnit in the direction of Saraqusta, following the route that skirted the river, little did he know the reason for the call. Eighty years ago, when the Muslims reached the lands of the Ibru under the command of Tariq, they were under the rule of Mutarrif's great-grandfather, the Visigothic count Casio, who did not hesitate to sign a pact with the newcomers and become the caliph's maula of Damascus. But the leaders of Banbaluna, as in many other Visigothic cities, opted for a different relationship: they maintained their control of the area in exchange for an annual tribute for the Qurtuba coffers. Non-payment of said tribute was a frequent reason for the emir's armed intervention, as had happened precisely in Banbaluna, which was under the control of the Baskunish, whose leaders dominated the area of ​​the western Pyrenees.

A new attempt to break away from the commitment had forced the governor of the March to intervene, and to guarantee the continuity in the payment of the tribute, he decided to leave a wālī at the head of the garrison representing the power of Qurtuba. The interview at Saraqusta was brief, for the governor was not a man of many words. He exchanged proper greetings with Mutarrif and praised his father's role. Precisely in recognition of this role of the Banū Qasī, he said, he had decided to call the young muladí to his presence: he would be the new worth of Banbaluna. He had to move to the city without wasting time and assume his new duties. After being informed by a high official of the details of the situation in the land of the Basques, and after receiving the appropriate instructions, Mutarrif left Saraqusta at the head of a large entourage. Since then, four years had passed in which things had changed a lot for the Banū Qasī.

After Mutarrif's departure, Fortún had grown into a strong and proud young man who had managed to earn the respect and consideration of his comrades in arms in the Arnit garrison. Gradually, he had seen how all the inhabitants of the area recognized his condition as a natural leader, just as it had happened with his father and before with his grandfather. Mutarrif had been at the helm of the Banbaluna government for a year when news of Hisham I's untimely death arrived in Qurtuba, who had been succeeded to the throne by his son Al Hakam I, who was only twenty-six years old. Since Mutarrif arrived in the city, relations had been strengthened with his brothers on the mother's side, Enneco and Fortuño, who were still on their lands in the Pyrenean valley of Salazar, two days away.

On several occasions Zahir had accompanied Onneca there to visit her older children. Little Mūsa traveled enthusiastically, eager to see his stepbrothers again, for whom he professed boundless admiration. During the first years of Mūsa's life, the stays in Isaba, where Enneco had his residence, were rather short, and they were limited to the summer season, when the good weather allowed the boy to enjoy playing in the green and endless meadows, bathe in the icy waters of the river, scare the sheep and milk the cows. However, over the years, the visits were prolonged, and Mūsa began to spend some time in the care of his brothers, especially the eldest son, who was amused by the little one's bright and spontaneous character and allowed him to share some of his memories with him. activities. During those summers, Enneco became the father Mūsa had never known. There were also many occasions when Fortún, from Arnit, went to visit his brother Mutarrif in Banbaluna. Zahir attended these interviews with satisfaction, and felt proud of these two young people in their early twenties who, perhaps forced by circumstances, acted with a maturity almost beyond their age. In such meetings they dealt with the political situation in the area, mainly in Saraqusta, where instability once again reigned. But the situation was not calm in Banbaluna either: a large group of Pamploneses, led by Balask al Yalaski, opposed the emir's authority over the city, and some attempts at confrontation had arisen. News reached Mutarrif that Balask and his followers were in favor of establishing relations with Charlemagne, the Carolingian monarch whose vast territory extended beyond the Pyrenees. The two brothers knew that the leadership role of their family in the lands of Uādi Ibru, after the hiatus imposed by the death of their father, would sooner or later lead them to intervene in the events that were taking place in the March, mainly in Saraqusta.

For this reason, according to Zahir, both decided to leave Arnit and move with the bulk of the military garrison to Tutila, located a shorter distance from Saraqusta and better communicated. Tutila was then a small town located at the confluence of the Uādi Qalash with the Uādi Ibru, at the foot of an elevation crowned by a modest defensive fortress. The existence of a bridge over the mighty riverbed made the enclave a strategic point in communications throughout the valley. Many of its inhabitants still recounted to the younger ones the passage through the city, twenty years ago, of the imposing army of Charlemagne on his return from Saraqusta, on the way to Roncesvalles.

II. La Guerra de Al Ándalus, 2013 (The War of Al Andalus)

The Upper Border of the Ebro, where the descendants of the great Mūsa ibn Mūsa resumed the path of revolt, ceded part of its leadership to the emirate's Córdoba, the nascent kingdom of Pamplona, ​​the mighty King Alfonso III in his new court in León and Bobastro, "the eagle's nest", refuge in the Malaga mountains of Umar ibn Hafsún, the muladí rebel who would end up jeopardizing the very survival of Al Ándalus. With surprising historical rigor and clear language free of artifice, Aurensanz masterfully intertwines the adventures of the protagonists in this diversity of settings, and offers an ambitious and complex story that will once again captivate the reader.

Fascinating second part of the saga already started with Banu Qasi: Los hijos de Casio that takes up the narration of the events carried out by the muladí clan that gives its name to this story.

Sample: Year 863, Hegira 249, Qurtuba. Sunset was undoubtedly the time of day that Onneca preferred. Although this was the third summer that she would spend in the capital, she had not managed to get used to the intense heat of the Córdoba summer and, if he missed something from his native land, there in the north, in Basque lands, it was the sunny but cool days of the mountains, which allowed him to maintain activity even during the hottest hours of midday. Not so in Qurtuba, of course. When the sun reached its zenith, both she and Fortún, her father, used to already find themselves sheltering in their comfortable rooms in the Dar al Rahn, the magnificent building destined to house the numerous political hostages of the emirate. The House of Hostages occupied a privileged space between the aljama mosque and the wall that separated the madinat from Uādi al Kabir. The main access to the building was next to the Puerta del Puente, a place of continuous movement of people and merchandise that delighted the young Onneca. At fifteen, she was a jovial and alert girl, in her father's opinion perhaps too much for a society like that, in which women had perfectly defined limits that they should not cross. The first weeks of his stay in Qurtuba had been hard: he still kept on his retina the images of the destruction of Pampilona and all the Basque villages that Muhammad I's army had had devastated in its path. She remembered her anxiety during the negotiation in which Fortún had to agree to be transferred to the capital as a hostage, and how she threw herself at her father's feet to beg him to take her with him. Those images returned to her again and again wrapped in a cloud of unreality, which lasted in the three interminable weeks that they used to cross the entire territory of Al Ándalus from north to south. Three years. Only three years, but for Onneca it seemed like an entire existence had passed. In Qurtuba she had discovered a completely new way of life, of which she had only had references through the stories of her Muslim relatives from the Ebro. But then she was a girl, and for her all those stories of emirs and concubines, lavish palaces and enormous mosques they did not differ at all from the rest of the stories they used to hear during the cold nights in old Pampilona, ​​comforted by the warmth of the fire.

Their treatment from day one had come as a surprise to both her father and her. Even during their transfer, they had been provided with unthinkable comforts in the rear of a huge army such as that of Muhammad I. It is true that the haymah they occupied during short nightly rests was permanently guarded by four members of the emir's personal guard, but the The mounts they rode on were excellent, the food they were offered was more than dignified, and they did not lack a pitcher of fresh water while they crossed the endless plains of the center of the Peninsula.

With her mother dead, the separation from her father, whom she adored, would have been unbearable. Having him by her side, being able to accompany him during his captivity, had made her feel strangely lucky from the start. The House of Hostages was a spacious and well-preserved two-story building whose rooms opened onto a patio that even had a singing fountain in the center. Fortún and Onneca occupied a lodging made up of three rooms attached to the southern wall, a location that allowed it to receive the first rays of the morning sun and kept it in the shade during the hot hours of the afternoon. The girl was one of the few women who lived in the building, whose inhabitants were mostly men, younger than old, belonging mostly to part to lineages of high birth.

Despite the diversity of origins and religions, the captivity had established strong bonds of friendship between them, and they had adopted the lively Basque as the daughter or sister that everyone would have wanted by their side. From the beginning, Onneca had worked hard to make her father's life as easy as possible. He would get up at dawn, to devote the coolest hours of the day to domestic chores that might involve some effort, and before the sun warmed they would go out together to the nearby market, where they would be greeted by the familiar bustle that so pleased him. At that early hour, the stalls were overflowing with merchandise from the nearby orchards and farms, and soon the basket that hung from her arm contained what was necessary to supply the small pantry. In In recent months, the person in charge of carrying that load had been Abdel.

In the first interview they had with the chamberlain, they were offered the possibility of having one or two slaves to attend to their needs, and Fortún was grateful and willing to accept the proposal. As soon as they were alone, however, Onneca made another suggestion to her father. She would take care of the simple household chores, and in return Fortún would ask for something on the quarterdeck. Ever since she learned her fate, Onneca had decided not to waste time during her captivity, and the first goal she set for herself was to speak the Arabic language correctly. Although it was true that he already knew its rudiments, thanks to contact with his relatives and with the many Muslim merchants who visited Pampilona, ​​he did not intend to miss the opportunity offered by his forced stay in that splendid city, the capital of the emirate. But he needed someone with enough knowledge at his side.

Abdel entered the Dar al Rahn only two weeks after Onneca's arrival. He was a seventeen-year-old boy, tall, thin, and dark-haired, whose gaze barely lifted from the ground, and whose company became habitual since he introduced himself to both of them with a low voice. Every day, in the hottest hours, Fortún retired to his bedroom, and it was not surprising that he fell asleep hearing his daughter repeat old Arabic sentences over and over again, occasionally corrected by the masculine voice of her young teacher. Little by little, his visits became more frequent and extended to the central hours of the morning. With a studied gesture of surprise, He would pretend to bump into Onneca in the market, offer to carry her basket, and accompany her to the House of Hostages. Once there, they both looked for any excuse to prolong the meeting, and with Fortún's acquiescence, the boy ended up accompanying them in their frugal lunch, before beginning the daily lessons. In the middle of the afternoon, after a brief rest, Fortún would return to make an appearance in the spacious room, and then Abdel would get up and with a slight bow he would say goodbye to both of them. That was the moment when Fortún, taking advantage of the shadow of the buildings and without ceasing to admire the superb southern wall of the main mosque, used to cross the square in the direction of the fortress.

He had discovered what for him it constituted the greatest treasure in the palace of Muhammad, a treasure of which he had already had complete news through the abbot of Leyre, there in the distant foothills of the Pyrenees: the magnificent library of the fortress housed thousands of volumes, and a part nothing insignificant of these was translated into Latin. It had not cost him any effort to obtain the necessary permits to access its premises, and in those years he had established a relationship of frank friendship with the senior official to whom the emir personally delegated his authority as responsible for the conservation and expansion of that center of knowing. Although the hours for Fortún passed quickly there, his desire to enjoy his daughter's company did not diminish, so he soon began to borrow scrolls and volumes with which to fill his time without having to leave the Dar al Rahn. His Christian faith had taken root firmly under the influence of both his father and the Bishop of Pampilona, ​​Willesindo, confessor and friend of the family, so his first readings had been directed to the works of the fathers of the Church, who with great surprise had found in those immense shelves. There he had discovered De civitate Dei, by Agustín of Hipona, and had even had the opportunity to enjoy some of the twenty volumes of the Etymologies of the old bishop of Ishbiliya, Isidoro. The deep meditations of the old masters were a balm for him, as they somehow compensated for the impossibility of practicing worship in the city's churches, something that the sovereign had prohibited at the beginning of his reign, after the serious events carried out by christian martyrs who, led by Bishop Eulogio, had defied the religious laws of the emirate until they ended up executed. That afternoon at the end of summer, in the middle of the month of Rajab, the city was abuzz with rumors, as the return of the victorious Cordovan army, under the command of Prince Abd al Rahman, was imminent. Apparently, Alaba's campaign against King Ordoño of Asturias had been a real success. No inhabitant of Qurtuba expected anything different, since, last spring, they had seen with their own eyes the enormous display of men from all the groups of southern Al Ándalus who had gathered on foot and on horseback on the esplanade of the musara, ready to leave. The narrators who walked the streets and squares of Qurtuba spared no praise for a sovereign that had led them to a new victory against the infidels of the north: twenty Christian counts had bitten the dust according to the stories that circulated by word of mouth, and King Ordoño's own brother had been killed during the battle. Onneca had expressed concern about the fate of her relatives, but Fortún was able to reassure her after confirming in the fortress that on this occasion the people of Pamplona had not taken part in the conflict. Undoubtedly the vanguard of the army was approaching the city, for the Bab al Qantara, the nearest gate to the river, was wide open, and a high-ranking procession from the quarterdeck was heading towards it flanked by the crowd, there was also expectation in the Dar al Rahn.

The men were preparing to leave, and Onneca, after trying to glimpse something of what was happening outside above their shoulders and heads, headed determinedly to her lodging, where she found Fortún devoted to reading a heavy volume. "Father, the army is coming!" They are already coming out to receive them. Fortún looked up and regarded the girl with a slight smile. "Ah, youth…" he said with a sigh. You want to go out and you want me to come with you…” “Perhaps it won't be necessary, Father. Abdel can do it, he's still by the door, I can see him from here. Fortun studied the pages before him. - Be it, my daughter. However, you must not go far from the building. And be back before nightfall. Onneca's face lit up, she kissed her father on the cheek and left the room, hiding her hair under a light scarf. He ran across the courtyard, not giving much thought to the decorum that a girl of her position was supposed to hold, she slipped through the people grouped under the lintel of the gate and, once outside, looked around for Abdel. He did not find it immediately, since the boy did not count on his presence and had tried to approach the entourage, but due to his height his head stood out above the rest. Onneca managed to almost push his way through, and laughed heartily at the shocked face of the young man as he stood beside him. "Onneca!" You should have warned me! It's not safe for a girl…” “Shhh! he snapped. Who are they? he asked, his eyes fixed on the two superb horsemen approaching from the opposite end of the esplanade. “They are the sons of Muhammad. The first is the crown prince, Al Mundhir. The one who advances behind the guard is Abd Allah.

No doubt they are going to receive their brother Prince Abd al Rahman right here, who is returning to lead the troops. —How can they be brothers being so different? Al Mundhir is dark and has curly hair, but look at Abd Allah: his skin is fair, his hair is blond... and those blue eyes. 'Both are sons of the emir, but certainly conceived by different wives. I understand they were born the same year. But Abd Allah is much more like his father. "How many children does Muhammad have?" Onneka asked. —At least twenty males and fifteen females... But look at their clothes, and their mounts... they are magnificent! "Let's get closer," Onneca said as she tried to push through, curious. The crowd barely allowed us to walk. Whole families went to the streets to see the heirs to the throne up close, a spectacle that was not repeated often. Onneca advanced sideways and, at the cost of enduring some complaints, made a place for herself in the front row, next to a woman with a young child who was looking at the procession with astonished eyes. Al Mundhir was passing in front of them, and Onneca took in his face, beautiful but pockmarked. He also observed that a dog was running naturally among the riders, as if wanting to take part in the party. The boy also saw it and separated from his mother to approach him, but the animal backed away in fear, until it was just a few elbows from Abd Allah's horse, which was waving to the crowd gathered on the sides. Onneca sensed the danger immediately. The mount reared, raising its front legs into the air.

The mother gave a warning cry, but it was Onneca who rushed towards the little boy, took his arm and, with a jerk that landed both on the ground, prevented the horse's hooves from crushing his body at the last moment. tiny. When the boy was already cared for by his mother and Abdel was advancing towards her, the girl looked up and discovered that the prince was trying to control his mount without taking his blue eyes from her face. The scarf that covered her head had fallen off, and she suddenly felt exposed to all eyes. Unable to control the situation, he pushed through the crowd and disappeared in the direction of the Hostage House. Abdel tried to follow her, but a voice behind him stopped him. -You! Do you know the girl? asked Abd Allah gravely. Abdel stopped and adjusted his posture to address the prince respectfully. “I know her, my lord. It is the daughter of one of your guests, Fortún, heir to the kingdom of Banbaluna. He is staying with his father at the Dar al Rahn, and I myself have been assigned to improve his knowledge of our language. The prince narrowed his eyes and seemed to smile. He waved the boy away with one hand, so Abdel, with a slight nod, stepped back to follow Onneca's steps. He had to report on the conversation he had just had. When a footman from the keep entered the Dar al Rahn's quarters the next morning with a scroll in his hand, Fortune took it with a trembling hand. He was sure he knew its contents.

III. La Hora del Califa, 2015 (The hour of the khalifa)

At the dawn of the 10th century, the Iberian Peninsula was divided between the Christian kingdoms in the north and the emirate of Córdoba in the south, places where this story takes place. Caught between the two, the Banu Qasī clan, already in low hours, defends with blood and fire their most precious possession, the city of Tudela. However, the domains they have held for two centuries now find themselves in no man's land, where the inevitable clash between two irreconcilable civilizations will take place. With the historical rigor that has characterized him since the first installment of the trilogy, Aurensanz delights us once again with his enormous ability to turn documents into a narrated story and transport the reader, through detailed descriptions, to another time and another place. In this latest installment, he makes it clear that he has a formidable narrative talent that seems to have reached its absolute maturity.

Sample: The emir remained standing in the middle of the silence, broken only by the whistling of the wind through the branches and the screeches of the birds of prey that flew over the cliffs, until he looked back at his son and, with a gesture, asked him to it will come closer. “Remember while you live this moment, Al Hakam. The road to get here is drenched in the blood of tens of thousands of good believers. Fifty years and the tenacity of four emirs have been necessary to break the resistance of this nest of perdition. When I was born, the Umayyad state as you have known it, the same one that seems so immutable to you now, was about to give up under the pressure of the rebels who had their refuge in this place. You know, because I have told you, that the chief who governed in Burbaster came to set fire with his projectiles in the aljama mosque of Qurtuba. The efforts of many men have been necessary so that you and I can tread these paths. Open your eyes and ears wide, because the stories you are going to hear and what you are going to experience in these days are the foundations on which we have to build the future of our dynasty. Today is the first day, listen to me carefully, of a new era for the Umayyads. A day that has taken longer to arrive than the person responsible for all this could ever suppose

Characters II Locations II Words & Etymologies

[lunasilverwolfofthestars]

ShangHai

Shanghai, what can I say about Shanghai? Well a damn lot that’s what! I’ll first point out that I find that Shanghai is hazardous for my health regardless of the fascinating places and mysterious vibe it gives. What with the thick smog covering the city, leaving the tops of the tall skyscrapers hidden from view to all those below and think about the people with health problems!

Shanghai is a peculiar place as you can see on one side of the road a modern glass building and on the other (or sometimes next to it) a crumbling two story house that looked like it survived the numerous wars in the last couple of centuries(But in reality, it’s actually a few years old). It’s like a walking (or not so walking) contradiction! One thing I find so breathtakingly mysterious is the alleyways of Shanghai, if one were to walk down the narrow alley, you’d hear the lively chatter of families settling down to dinner and smell the wonderful (and sometimes spicy) smell of home cooking. The smell of spices wafting down the alley, merging with other such smells makes for a wonderful heaven. You’d hear couples arguing in the upstairs bedroom (and sometimes their makeup afterwards). If one were to look up in the alley, they’d see the buildings were four stories tall (levels) and then trip on one of the numerous cracks or little valleys on the pavement. Lights of varying colours spill out of the back door or window, illuminating the dark alley and casts shadows of forgotten pasts. Sometimes you’d hear in the distance, mystical music that tickles at the back of your mind and when you turn to search for the music, you find nothing but the dark and warm alley. It makes for a perfect setting for a fantasy story and for spirits of the spirit world to wander. I say this because the alleyways of Shanghai give off that vibe, I mean, you can see the Spirits, Demons, Youkai (ect) wandering in the alley in your minds eye. It could also be a portal to the Spirit World. Although you could see these places at the right time, nothing is more magical than being in an alley filled with familiar smell of family dinners. One thing I hate about Shanghai and it’s residents is that they litter to an astronomical degree that I wish to bang my head on a hard surface. Once they finished with the food that was in the plastic bag they would throw it on the ground or out the window if they were in a car, I mean DO YOU EVEN REALISE THE DANGERS OF THAT?! THROWING TRASH OUT THE WINDOW WHILE DRIVING COULD CAUSE DAMAGE TO OTHERS OR WORSE, A CAR ACCIDENT! Like if one were to throw a plastic bag out the car window, (you know, the ones that are thin and can easily tear apart?) it could get trapped on someone else’s car screen or something and that could lead to an car crash! Not only that, the residents of Shanghai constantly spit on the ground, don’t they know how disgusting that is? Lord Above, people! No wonder some people hate it here. And that’s not including the dust everywhere though that could be attributed to the smog and pollution that runs rampant in this city. Oh and that’s excluding the terrible, TERRIBLE (I say!) bus service. It’s like a bone loosening service with all the tremors and such, and if you sit at the very back, it’d be like a amusement park ride with the bus jumping up and down, I swear, my but would’ve lifted up from the seat had I not sat with my legs firmly planted on the ground. Oh did you know that Shanghai natives/residents constantly argue everyday with various people? Well you do now, just yesterday (Oh! A reference!) I witnessed a verbal spat between a customer and owner that escalated to a physical cat fight. I don’t exactly know what they were arguing about, but I can guess it had something to do with a product (a plastic basin, I believe) and soon the two ladies started to hit each other with said product, a cat fight, if I’m not mistaken (their faces were kinda weird/scary).

-date written: 2012

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

I’ve been rewatching CM and god, what I wouldn’t give for them to bring TG back for this revival. I haven’t even watched seasons 12-15 yet because I’m in denial about him being gone 😭😭😩

omg I haven't watched it either xD I've been holding off watching s11e22, The Storm, for like a month I swear. Which, I know is going to be amazing but I also have heard it's the beginning of the end and I'm not readyyyyyyy.

I would give anything for TG to come back. A n y t h i n g. But idk what CBS feels is the appropriate amount of time to be blacklisted or whatever the hell they did 🤷‍♀️ despite how it would be so easy to write him back in, and the missed opportunities is already making my skin crawl.

Okay. This was going to be a quick answer, but I've been THINKING about this way more than I should lately, without ever having watched 12-15 but I feel like I know enough, and with all the projects I'm going to be finishing/starting soon I know I won’t have time to do anything with my ideas. So I'm just going to type this little beginning I have plotted out and maybe one day I'll make it into the fic I want it to be:

(I know you didn't ask for a hc/blurb thing but surprise you get one xD)

CW: Spoilers for season 11-15 that are probably inaccurate af, fighting, violence, bit of blood and injuries talk, some profanity. 

-

((I legit have this all plotted out like a full season, and picture everything as shots and scenes and I know exactly how I would want to bring Hotch back.))

-

It would start in a small suburban town in Indiana, legit white-picket fence, middle of nowhere, off the grid town. With the most pedestrian name ever, we might as well call it Mayberry. Typical weekend morning, bright green grass and trees and summer sunshine lighting it all up, they still get papers delivered it’s that picturesque. And it’ll pan to all sorts of people on this street of nice, two-story houses, and finally zero in on not the man picking up his paper from his front porch, but the jogger slowing down that the man calls to next door, calling him a name we’ve never heard before -- but the jogger answers with that dark eyed squint and a nod... and it is Aaron Hotchner. Or the man who used to be Aaron Hotchner. He hasn’t gone by that name in years, WITSEC provided him and Jack with new ones.

His house isn’t even really decorated like a home, he’s been in enough over the years to know tell-tale signs of what a happy home should entail. Photographs, memorabilia, nostalgia tucked away in corners -- they don’t have that. He has a couple of photographs he keeps in his office, the only two in inconspicuous view being a photo of Haley and Jack when he was two years old, and a photo of his team the day he completed the FBI triathlon and they all showed up to support him. Everything else of their old life is in boxes in a storage facility in downtown D.C., under another false name that can never be linked back to them. 

Mr. Scratch was a poor excuse for why he and Jack were still under WITSEC, but he hopes near daily that it was enough of a reason that no one would question why he didn’t return once that monster was dead. That no one smart enough to read between the lines would go digging for more reasons, or worse -- try to find him -- and they pictured him living a happy retirement very similar to the charade he is living now. 

But Aaron Hotchner was never meant for retirement. No matter how easy and simple his days have been the past few years. It was only a matter of time. 

He walks through his home that looks more like the insides of a Home Living magazine, to his kitchen which is bright and spacious and tiled white that he knows Haley would have loved, getting a glass of water from the sink and chugging it all in one go. It isn’t until he’s getting a second glass that he hears it. The faucet was supposed to have masked any disturbance, they were careful in when they moved, how they placed their feet, the slowness of the their approach -- but not enough.

Hotch keeps his shoulders relaxed, his spine still ram-rod straight but that’s just how he stands and it keeps tension ready at a moment’s notice. Keeps him on alert, which he needs as he takes slower sips of water and lets all his other sense shift to a heightened awareness. Knows this house like the back of his hand, even if he’s never allowed himself to consider it home, so he knows which floorboards creak and where all the furniture is strategically placed. Always prepared for something like this to happen, even if he never imagined someone would be so bold. 

Their mistake.

With a careful tick of his head, peripherals his only guidance, he strikes before the intruder gets to. An iron grip and momentum that propels their face into the metal of the sink basin, shocking them that what their file was so misleading about their target. Retired FBI agent, almost 60 years old, living in Pleasantville with a picket fence and a vegetable garden. This should have been easy. The intruder is stunned by the blow, attempts a quick recovery where they lash out and get a few good body shots into the older man -- but he’s built like a brick wall, can take a blow and give it back twice as hard -- a few more precise hits and another crack of their face to the sink that shatters the bridge of their nose leaves the attacker slumping to the floor. 

“You didn’t do your research,” Hotch tells them, breathing a little heavy, opening up a drawer usually deemed for junk and pulls out zipties and an ancient looking cell phone buried deep at the back. “Sloppy. I expected more from him.” 

The attacker kicks out Hotch’s knees in a fit of rage (at having his skill set insulted so), leaving them both crashing to the floor. They grapple and fight a bit more, knocking dishes from the counters and pots and pans to the floor from the grill top island, but Hotch is so well-trained in take downs he gets the slighter man pinned with only a split lip and a single hitch in breath. He barely broke a sweat. Knocks the guy out clean, two solid punches to his face, and he stops because he knows better. Has been there before, and they need to question whoever was sent to his house to kill him. 

He’s barely off the floor, the intruder binded and stuck in a corner when Jack walks in from early morning soccer practice. Takes one look at the kitchen, his dad with blood in the corner of his mouth, and the guy all in black bound by zipties and already knows what happened. Sixteen, nearly as tall as his father now, he looks only mildly worried for all of two seconds until he sees that his dad has an old flip cell phone held up to his good ear, awaiting a connection with their handler in Indianapolis. 

“... Does this mean we get to go home?” 

The shot would pan back to Hotch, and he wouldn’t answer him, just tells the person on the phone to ‘patch him through, they have a situation’, and there would be no very obvious look in answer to Jack’s question. But all of us who know him, know the subtle changes in expression and the slight softening to that stern frown, knows what his reply would have been.

-

The very next scene would be the BAU. JJ and Emily walking at a brisk pace covering a debrief, since they basically run the department now. Everyone has been called in, everyone, retired and moved away and even the ones who cut all ties have been contacted. JJ has just gotten off the phone with Elle, who is working as a liaison in Rome and assured her that if anyone showed up in her home to attack her that they would be leaving in a body bag. But she appreciated the heads up. 

In the bullpen it’s more like a family reunion than anything. Garcia has just gotten off the elevators, a flurry of color and blonde curls and bright as ever, Morgan and Savannah are trying to corral Hank and the twins (both girls and pure chaos now that they can walk) while still making introductions with the new team and their families, and asking if Reid or Rossi know anything about what’s going on as JJ gets there and asks for everyone’s attention. 

“Not everyone is here yet, Kate and her family are on their way from upstate, Will’s getting the boys from school, and Alex and her husband are on a plane, but we need to get started as soon as possible.”

“What’s is going on, JJ?” Morgan asks, passing off one of the twins to Penelope who is in full baby fever mode despite what is obviously a very bad circumstance that has brought them all together. It’s a juxtaposition that has put everyone on edge. It doesn’t help when JJ and Emily look at each other as if in confirmation, trying to decide who is going to tell them.

“Okay, that doesn’t inspire confidence,” Rossi points out. “What happened?”

Emily sighs and makes a gesture for JJ to take the floor, since she has been on point for most of this.

The bull pen is silent in anticipation.

“Earlier this morning, Hotch was attacked in his home in Indiana,” she says, and whatever anyone thought was going on -- that wasn’t it. The shock across the room is like a bomb has detonated.

Rossi curses something out in Italian, looking down, and JJ immediately realizes how this all sounds. But doesn’t even get to backtrack as Reid looks completely devastated and Garcia like she’s about to cry and everyone else starts shouting questions at her. 

“What happened to Jack?”

“How did they even find him? What the fuck is wrong with WITSEC?!”

“Is he okay?” asks Tara, the only intellectual who can see the panic now blooming on JJ’s face.

“Yes, yes! He’s okay, sorry, no -- Hotch is fine. The guy who tried to kill him... not so much, but he should be conscious soon so they can question him.” 

“Jesus Christ, JJ,” Morgan says looking like he just aged ten years in the past 30 seconds. “Lead with that.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry. He’s okay, Jack is okay, they’ve been picked up. But... there’s a lot we need to be filled in on,” she admits, which quiets the room once more. “Apparently, the WITSEC had nothing to do with Mr. Scratch. There’s something much bigger and more dangerous going on, and he went under to keep us all safe. As well as himself, and Jack.” 

“What is it?”

JJ makes a gesture with her hands splayed as she looks a little lost. “I only know bare bones, we have to wait to hear the specifics and get everyone somewhere safe.” 

“You think we’re going to trust WICSEC after this?!”

Emily intervenes this time, “We have a plan, or... Hotch has a plan, I think. We’re just learning about everything as we go, he’s really the one that knows the most about it.”

“Then where is he?” Morgan speaks up again. “If he’s been pulled out, and we’re all in danger, why isn’t he here explaining this to us himself?” 

It’s a good question, and everyone looks expectantly at the two women leading the informal briefing. 

“Will he come back at all?” Reid asks, speaking up for the first time. It’s been years, that’s a long time to rethink a life like the BAU, and everything it entails.

JJ takes a deep breath. “He’s... in--”

“Out-processing.” 

Hotch is at the back of the room. Everyone turns to him, even JJ and Emily look surprised to see him so soon.  ((But we all know the CM cinematography love that kind of return shot, so I’m catering to it. For situational parallels if nothing else. Imagine the gif sets.))

“I pushed it as fast as they could go, but WITSEC always drags their feet.” The familiar drone, dry barely-there-humor, breaks whatever spell that had been over the room at the sight of the old Unit Chief. Disbelief and relief and stunned surprise litter every expression, and although Penelope looks like the first to say something, her words change course just as she opens her mouth. Because  Hotch is still in civilian clothes, a duffle-bag over his shoulder he used as a go-bag for decades, and beside him with a bag of his own with messy dirty blonde hair is--

“Oh my God, is that Jack!?” she near sobs, the teenager smiling at her in a way that looks so much like Haley, and she goes to hug him first with the boy meeting her halfway. “You’re so tall! And so grown up, look at you!” There’s definitely tears and the team converges on the Hotchners all at once. Reid hugs Hotch first, as tight and bone-crushing as that night in Atlanta all those years ago, followed soon after by Rossi who looks like he might shake the man but just hugs him tight and plants an absurdly embarrassing kiss on his cheek that finally cracks Hotch’s expression into something like a smile. Everyone hugs, everyone, Savannah calls him Aaron instead of Hotch because that was how he’d introduced himself all those years ago, the twins wave shyly and he shakes hands with the newer members that never got to meet him but have heard very tall tales about him for years and years. 

(And y’all, it would be the best damn scene and I would sob like a baby watching it.)

Morgan would be the one that would hold back and let the others go first, but it would also be the most profound when Hotch goes to shake his hand and the other man uses that to pull him into a tight hug of his own. 

“I’m glad you can still hold your own,” he’ll tease with nearly no heat behind it. Hotch hears it for the caring that it is.

“Like hell I would let that happen twice in my own home,” he assures him. 

Everyone settles down, and Emily leads some finer points of what’s going to happen with everyone in the next few hours. Days. Weeks, even, because there’s no knowing what is going to happen next. Hotch observes her, and there HAS to be a shot where she glances over to him and they share a look of understanding -- because she is Unit Chief now, and he approves of what he sees. 

But she turns the floor over to him, and Hotch explains what’s going on.

((I’m going to leave the finer points out about the case and the unsub, mostly because I haven’t finished ironing them out yet and I hope once I watch the remaining season I will be able to much more easily))

But at SOME POINT in the briefing, when Hotch is explaining what happened with the assassin in his home and how he apprehended him, and Emily maybe interjects with the injuries sustained and that they are still waiting for the man to regain consciousness. Penelope will 100% lean over to where Jack is sitting beside her and say without flinching, “Your dad is such a bad ass.”

((I also plan on bringing up Reid was in prison in this scene but it will be more humorous than anything because of Hotch’s reaction, stay tuned on that one. Again I’m not there yet))

((and where I’m taking them is also a secret because I need to do research and it will be so damn cool, but Hotch has everything completely planned out -- like he does. Goes as far as asking the few who question him “Secure enough for you?” when he drops where they will be staying and the protection they will have. Full blown mic drop moment.))

“So gather all of your belongings that you have here. Secure pets and homes, call the kid’s schools, whatever you need to do,” Hotch informs them, stepping back into his old shoes as team leader without even meaning to. But no one tells him to stop. “We need to be in the air ASAP, the jet is being prepped as we speak so we need to move on this.”

He leaves it at that, and everyone doesn’t move. Watching, waiting, smirking a little bit (Penelope, maybe even Reid), until he gives in.

“Wheels up in 30.”

Garcia giggles so much she near cackles with it. “Oh, I just got goosebumps!” And by Emily’s smirk and Morgan’s shared grin with Reid, a million watts between them, everyone is up and moving and pulling out cell phones to get their affairs in order.

Rossi sidles up to Hotch at that point, also openly smirking that they got him to say those four time-honored words. “Welcome back, Aaron.”

And Hotch, well -- he looks around the room at the family he had to leave behind without any hope of seeing them again, and feels every hardened edge in his face and demeanor soften. Before he looks to Dave and tells him what’s been going through his head ever since he walked back through the doors of the BAU.

“It’s good to be home.”

((END SCENE))

[selfships-in-spanish]

The Queen of Demons 4/?

Pairing: Erwin Smith x OC, Levi Ackerman x OC

Rating: Mature (the rating will go up as the story advances! But it will totally be explicit ;D I even have some smut chapters already half written woooo! But right now just in case)

Warnings: None for now, but sexist and misogynist upbringing (Eva's father is a huge asshole).

Word Count: 8885

ALSO POSTED ON AO3

A/N: FUCKING FINALLY. I was so stuck and had a severe writer's block, but here it is! Part 4! I feel like my writing went down a bit but I hope to make up for it on the next one. Finished, not perfect! I hope you enjoy this one and were we can see a bit more of the vets and the 104 kids ôô

CHAPTER 4: WINTER BLOOM

The pale morning rays of sunlight woke the Princess up, mumbling and turning to her side. Eva heard the distant chirps of birds flying by, as well as the sounds of the village being already busy. The neighing of horses, carts being pulled around, setting up the shops, the rooster screeching…

Wait.

That’s not what she usually woke up to.

Back home she only heard the birds and some maids, especially Flora when she would come barging in and opening the thick curtains of her windows, letting the sun hit right in Princess’ face as she knew how much Eva despised being woken up like this, hollering: “What–”

“–A great morning this is, your Royal Sleepy Highness!”

Ah, there she was.

Eva attempted a reply but curled up further into the duvet and blankets.

“Oh c’mon, Princess! We’ve got a busy day today! Lots of exciting things!”

“Exciting for you.” Eva mumbled covering her head with the thick bedding.

Flora snorted, rolling her eyes. Without any kind of remorse, Flora grabbed the end of the duvet and blankets and unceremoniously pulled them off the Princess, enjoying the irritated groan she let out as Eva tried to blindly find something to cover herself with.

“Rise and shine!” Flora said in a singsong, stepping out of the Princess’ reach as she tried to kick her leg.

“How can you be so happy and chirpy so early in the morning?” Eva gave up, sighing and rolling out of the oddly comfortable bed; Eva fell asleep earlier than she anticipated.

“Oh, spare me the dramatics! We gotta get you to eat breakfast and prepare you for—“

“I’m not hungry.”

“Yeah, sure thing Princess, as if you don’t gobble up like a duck when you are nervous.” Flora handed Eva her robe, guiding her to the bathroom where a basin already filled with water and a cloth awaited her.

Once her morning routine finished, Eva padded to the living room where breakfast had been already served. It smelled heavenly.

“I don’t gobble like a duck.” Eva sat down, huffing displeased.

The Princess served herself some warm bread, eyeing the jams and butter with a watering mouth. Flora set a steaming cup next to her before sitting down in front of the Princess.

“Sorry, not coffee yet.”

Eva sighed.

The Princess cut some more bread for her handmaiden, sharing the spreading knife after she was done with it. On the first bite Eva hummed, satisfied with the taste and texture. Freshly baked bread was the absolute best. Flora leisurely poured sugar over the butter, her smile widening at the sugary mess. Eva frowned, chewing.

“It’s still a wonder how your teeth haven’t rotten out yet.”

“Ah, family thing for sure!” Flora took a heartly bite of the sweet monstrosity in her hands. “Gramps still has his teeth intact and covers everything in sugar when he gets his hands on some.”

Eva’s lips curled into a grimace.

“I love sweets but I don't think that is healthy.”

“You just don’t appreciate the flavour.”

“I sincerely doubt there’s any flavour left in that.” Eva nodded towards Flora’s loaf of bread.

The handmaid shrugged, biting down on it and making a show just to irk the Princess further. Eva exaggerated a gag which made Flora giggle.

Three knocks on the heavy wooden door announced the Eldians coming to pick her up. Eva sighed as she watched Flora stand up from the chair next to the Princess and walk to the door, opening it with a short bow and a smile. Eva sat straighter as the looming and bulky figures of the Eldian warriors came into her view, entering the lodgings provided temporarily for her and her handmaiden. They were the same as yesterday, the giant called Mike, the female warrior that caught her attention, Nanaba, and another man Eva couldn’t remember the name right now.

The three warriors bowed, Nanaba and the other warrior waiting right next to the open door as Mike approached her. The giant warrior waved to the door, the message of “you have to go outside” quite clear in his movements. His face did not give away any of his thoughts, keeping a neutral expression as he watched the Princess stand up and follow him, Flora right behind her with giddy steps.

Flora should have been born a Princess or a noble, her happy and open disposition towards everything and everyone would win anyone over, as well as the way she found happiness in the little things of life. How Eva wished she had Flora’s positive mindset.

“Alright, ready for your big day?” the handmaiden asked in hushed whispers, something both women mastered from years of court banquets.

“Of course not. I want to run right back inside.”

“You’re such a big—” Flora was cut off by Eva’s gasp.

Flora raised her eyes just in time to see the giant warrior leaning way too close to the Princess’ personal space and… sniff. The Princess had turned around, disbelief and stupefaction etched on her face at the nerve this big, brute man had to go sniffing people without… without their consent. Eva found it uncouth, impolite, and her cheeks blazed in indignation.

Mike leaned back, humming, pleased at something Eva wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Nanaba immediately chastised the big man, kicking his leg and nagging at him as he shrugged, crossing his arms and looking slightly guilty. At the scene unfolding right outside the house, people began to stop and watch, and Eva felt her blood run cold at the sound of the Chief’s laugh coming from down the stairs. Hans and Friederich were already there, and the youngest of the two brothers was about to march upstairs, his displeased frown deepening. The Chief nodded to Moblit, motioning him to rush to them and clear misunderstandings. Levi rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue.

“Your Highness, please accept our deepest apologies.” Moblit hastily bowed, an apologetic smile in his lips. “Mike here has this habit of… uh, sniffing people.”

“Is he implying I smell?” Eva’s mouth was pulled into a tight line. Flora did not spend as long as she did grooming her and using those soaps and perfumes Eva loved for this man to mock her handmaiden’s efforts. Besides, she kept her hygiene up to date, thank you very much.

“No! Not at all, Your Highness. Mike has a great and sharp sense of smell, like a… ah, what’s the name... ah, wolf! Like a wolf, and although I do concede that it may be considered rude, he just does it from force of habit.”

Eva raised her brow skeptically.

“He meant no disrespect, Your Highness. It’s his way to say that he uh… he welcomes you.” Moblit ventured a quick glance towards the man in question, muttering something as he almost imperceptibly nodded towards the Princess with wide impatient eyes.

Mike huffed, but muttered something back to Moblit in a deep voice. Next to him, Nanaba nodded, pleased.

“He apologises, Your Highness, and compliments you.” that piqued Eva’s curiosity. “He says you smell comforting, of lavender and honey. That’s something he appreciates, with his sharp sense of smell he can easily get overwhelmed by strong scents.”

“Ah, that must be troublesome.” Eva turned to face Mike and inclined her head. “My apologies for acting harshly.” But Eva still thought her response was totally justified. A warning beforehand would have been nice, and she still had her pride.

Mike answered with one curtly bow of his head of his own.

“Indeed.” Moblit decided the issue was resolved and lifted his arm towards the Chief and the Gottesreichan Princes, watching the whole ordeal with amused expressions sans Friederich. He still looked murderous. “Please, after you, Your Highness.”

That shocked Eva. Normally back at Gottesreich she would walk behind the men and respectfully listen to whoever was talking, and even after visiting other countries, that rule still applied, or maybe they weren’t willing to go against Gottesreich. Either way, Eva was taught to never disrespect its citizens and rulers when visiting foreign kingdoms from her brothers, and the Princess always willed herself to follow the Kingdom’s culture and customs out of respect, despite what her father said on more than one occasion. Her brothers taught her to be respectful, and she would not ignore them, and even less be an embarrassment for her brothers. Summoning with all her will a composed mask on her face, Eva dared to take the lead and walk down the snow covered stairs to where her brothers and Chief awaited. Flora walked right behind her, always keeping a watchful eye to her skirts and cloak, in case they may get in the way.

The crunching of her steps on the snow were deafening for the Princess. Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch. She was used to having all eyes on her, from courts and dances and banquets, from nobles and princes trying to win her father’s good graces, but having the people of Eldia stop and observe every single move she was doing felt suffocating. One slip and she was probably doomed in their eyes.

Eva stopped right in front of the men, bowing respectfully.

“Good morning, my Lord. Brothers.” Moblit’s voice softly translated for the Chief, who didn’t take his eyes away from her the entire descent.

The Chief returned the greeting, bowing as well.

“I hope you had a pleasant sleep, your Highness.”

“I did. Thank you, my Lord.” Eva did not find the need to tell him how she tossed and turned around, her mind restless, musing over yesterday’s events –his touch– or how she missed her pillows back at the palace. The Chief seemed pleased, although there was a glint in his eyes that he most certainly caught the lie. Damn it.

“If there is anything we can offer to help you get settled and to further accommodate you, please do not hesitate to say so, your Highness. I understand it may be unpleasant being so far away from home and your people.” Eva was slightly taken aback at how the Chief seemed to be understanding of her situation, contrary to what she had heard and been told a husband would be once she married. The Princess didn’t want to let her hopes up in case the fall was to be harder than it would already be.

“Thank you for your consideration, my Lord. I will do so in case I need it.” Eva knew she wouldn’t say a thing, her stubbornness always playing against her favour.

The Chief seemed pleased enough with her answer. He turned slightly so he was facing the three Gottesreichan siblings, addressing the rest of the foreign party as well. Moblit translated for them all, and Flora managed to contain her excited hops when the Chief officially announced the start of their walk around the village.

Much to the Princess’ dismay, the Chief had offered up his right arm for her to hold on as they began the tour, an encouraging smile on his lips as if saying “go on, I will not harm you”. Eva had hoped her brothers would keep him distracted enough so she could trail behind and listen, observing her surroundings, but no such luck. It seemed like here in Eldia they weren’t as reticent of closeness as they were in Gottesreich, and women were treated differently.

The Chief was still as big and massive as the Princess remembered from yesterday’s banquet, thinking it was her own nerves and wine that exaggerated her memories, but the way her hands had trouble meeting on the Chief’s arm told her otherwise. The Eldian leader kept a slow pace, mindful of his companion and her shorter legs, as he began explaining their village and the way it was structured.

The Eldian architecture was entirely different from the one used in Gottesreich, as well as the distribution of the village itself. Where Eva was used to narrower streets with houses sharing walls, clustered, messy (although the closer to the castle, the better were planned the streets and districts), mossy cobblestones, puddles around the corners with barrels and wooden crates, the townspeople walking as merchants and shopkeepers yelled their offers to the passersby, pennants hanging from side to side of the streets with the Kingdom’s colours… Here in Eldia the streets were wider, the buildings lower in height which gave a sense of the town being less claustrophobic since you could easily see the scenery and the sky. Wooden fences, dark roofs made of slates, the streets made of the earth itself with grass heartily growing on both sides and wooden planks on the floor to help create a more visible path on certain parts, but one could clearly see the cart’s marks as well as the horses pulling them.

Although everything was covered in thick layers of snow, Eva had no doubts it would be a magnificent sight in spring, with the imposing mountains surrounding the village and the vast fields littered with the farmer’s homes composing a picture deserving of a painting. It was rurally beautiful. Different, more primitive, if she took into consideration her own Kingdom’s ways, but efficient. The Princess was sure this level of coordination would not be able to be achieved without years of honing this lifestyle, and it honestly intrigued her, her curiosity piqued. Eva hoped this curiosity and wonder for the novelty wouldn’t disappear quickly and would stay with her until her situation was more bearable, or grew accustomed to.

Moblit’s gentle voice guided the Gottesreichan guests through the Chief’s explanations, looking at the direction where the Chief pointed with his free hand while speaking, often stopping to further go into details about their dwellings, their storage facilities and barns, the marketplace with the villagers already busy with their daily chores. The town’s market was lively and uniquely beautiful, wooden stalls standing proud with all the goods on display. There was all kinds of variety, going from food to parchment and candles and clothes, to jewelry or tools for butchers or farmers.

The Princess’ heart thumped wildly on her chest, trying her hardest not to show her rising panic at the fact that she was walking around the village on the Chief’s arm, having everyone’s eyes on her as they kept their tour. The villagers stopped their chores midway to stare at them, whispering and chattering as they went through. Some respectfully greeted their Chieftain, mostly the warriors patrolling the streets doing a particular salute upon seeing them, but the villagers smiled and bowed, the children present doing the same as they tried to contain their laughs while not being able to keep their eyes off the scene in front of them. The Chief continued their walk after answering the greetings.

An excited giggle, followed by a shriek of what sounded like a name, startled the guests and their hosts, even. The Gottesreichan soldiers took a defensive stance, ready to pounce on the source of it as well as attack if necessary; their priority was defending the monarch's lives at any costs. Eva couldn’t help the scared jump her body did upon hearing the childish laugh and running steps on frozen ground getting nearer, gasping loudly in fear and tightly clutching the Chief’s arm with her tiny hands as she unconsciously leaned on him, seeking protection.

The Chief was ready to make her stand behind him and face the attacker, but stopped immediately upon seeing it was one of the children from before. The boy had rosy cheeks, the colour intensified by both the running and the cold, and probably the excitement too, and had a wide smile that was missing a few teeth. The kid was holding something in his hands, hidden behind his back, and with the eagerness of a child waiting for the exact moment an adult would pay them attention to show them what they got in their hands, the little boy almost shoved his possession to the Chieftain and the Princess.

Once he saw what the boy had in his hands, the Chief visibly relaxed, shoulders shaking in silent amusement at how a little kid got the best of them all. The Princess still looked uncertain, clutching and pressing herself into him. Eyes wide and breath a little bit short, Eva looked down at the kid’s hands. He was holding a… flower?

A flower in the middle of winter? How was that even possible?

The kid kept his eyes on the Princess, urging her to take his present with quick words and lifting his hands further up, his smile widening. Eva thought herself of a stupid fool. How could she have been scared of a child? What harm could he do? Unless… No, unless nothing. This was a little boy offering a flower, a beautiful one that Eva had never seen before. Father would not tarnish the good intentions of a child.

Upon not having, still, immediate response from the Princess, the kid hopped on his spot, irremediably making Eva show a timid smile; she could never resist a toothy grin and sparkling eyes.

One look at the mother told Eva how this was not planned and how the kid had ran off on his own volition. Everyone on the street stopped dead on their tracks and silently watched the exchange, not even daring to breathe. The mother’s wide eyes jumped from the Princess to the Chief, then to his child, not knowing if she should run and apologise to their guests or wait and have faith in their leader and his soon to be wife.

Eva understood quickly this was to be a decisive moment for her and her stay in Eldia. One wrong movement that led to misinterpretation could be beyond disastrous. She had to be good, she had to fulfill her duty and be a good wife and—

Eva took a deep breath. Focus. Don’t succumb into panic.

Fighting her burning cheeks out of her own embarrasment, Eva let go of her almost deadly grip on the Chief’s arm and faced the little boy alone. Keeping her smile on her lips, Eva approached the child with small steps, stopping right in front of him and elegantly folding her gloved hand on top of the other. The kid kept talking at a dizzying speed, and when he noticed how the Princess furrowed her brows in confusion, while still maintaining her smile, he understood not a word he was saying reached her.

Humming to himself while thinking hard, the kid’s face illuminated itself when an idea came to him. He hastily pointed to the flower and then to the Princess, practically shoving it in her hands. Eva looked down and then up at the kid, pointing at herself with a questioning look. The child nodded effusively, shoving the poor flower again.

Eva couldn’t help the soft chuckle upon his enthusiasm, never being able to resist a kid. The Princess took it, making sure to do a slightly exaggerated bow, lifting slightly the skirts and careful enough to not crumple the flower, so the little boy understood her gratitude. The kid happily ran back to his mother, skipping and laughing as he began talking at that incredible speed while his mother looked beyond relieved. Eva did a curtly bow to her too, trying to show the mother no offence of any kind was taken.

Returning to the Chief’s side, Eva brought the flower to her nose. She always did that whenever she came by one, out of habit, and was surprised by the faint but sweet fragrance it emitted. Eva would have to ask about them, knowing Gottesreich did not have any flowers blooming in winter.

Just when they were about to resume their walk, more excited giggles and shouts could be heard. Other children ran away from their mothers and fathers, holding the same flower in their tiny hands. Eva found herself surrounded by eager eyes and smiles, shoving their flowers up so the Princess would pick them up too. Some would tug at her cloak so she would pick theirs first, others jumping on their spot, other’s patiently waiting their turn as they marvelled on the fabric and embroidery of her pale blue winter dress.

The Princess ended up with a small bouquet of flowers, the children shouting and running happily back to their parents once they delivered their gifts. She did not know what to do with them now, and frantically looked at the Chief and her brothers, then to Flora when her siblings had confused expressions, for a clue. The Chieftain had an amused glint in his eyes, but half his mind was busy thinking about something. Finally, Flora took pity on her Princess and walked up to her with a smile on her lips.

“Let’s show off those gifts, shall we, your Highness?”

Flora expertly secured the flowers on the Princess’s up braid, the pure white and calm blue of the flowers an unexpected but welcome complement to the Princess’s own choice of wardrobe. Moblit later explained, upon inquiring about the flowers herself, that they were a special kind of flower that bloomed on their woods only during the cold season, earning the name of “winter miracle”. It also symbolized the welcoming of new people into their tribe, as its sister in the warmer weather.

Eva was touched, knowing not that those kids wanted to welcome her upon hearing she was to become one of them soon. The Princess only wished the adults would have the same feelings towards her.

Thankfully the walk around the village suffered no more incidents and surprises, and Eva was able to delight herself on the market and what it had to offer; she definitely had to go there often and take her sweet time. The quills looked absolutely exquisite, and those were the famous travelling books she heard so much about! Even the jeweller had a beautiful selection of earrings, bracelets, necklaces and rings that the Princess had no idea the Eldians were capable of such craftsmanship. She particularly liked the brooch with the silhouette of a bird resting on a golden branch, the gold of the bird expertly mixed with beautiful midnight blue gemstones, resembling feathers. Also the hairpins! They were absolutely marvelous. The jeweller himself was both pleased and proud that the Gottesreichan Princess liked his products.

Their next destination amazed and terrified the Gottesreichan guests.

Eldia’s military prowess was legendary, and right now, they had its base and core right in front of them. The training grounds were a massive expanse of terrain, with barracks, thoroughly used wooden dummies, racks full of well-cared training weapons of all kinds, archery ranges, horse-riding training fields… and each and every single space was filled to the brim with warriors and trainees.

It was frightening to see how Eldia’s army was composed of perfectly trained warriors with wide expertise in the arts of combat. Not a movement wasted, not a single error in the placement of their feet to maintain balance. Strength, power, endurance, knowledge— every skill needed to become a perfect warrior, it was taught here in the massive training fields.

The Chief walked them right through the training grounds, nodding towards the warriors and fresh trainees who ceremoniously saluted him and the entourage he was leading. It was the same salute the Gottesreichan guests had seen in their entire walk around the unexpectedly gigantic village: right hand closed in a fist over their hearts, left hand on the back, and a proud stance full of tenacity and devotion. The newest recruits surprised the royal siblings, full of young faces who couldn’t be older than 15, but with a fierce determination to learn and to prove themselves. All sizes, shapes and forms– if you were up to it, were ready to go through an intense training, it did not matter who you were: a farmer’s son, a baker’s daughter… if you dedicated your heart, trained hard and understood what values had an Eldian warrior, what a life meant, you were fit to become one.

They stopped to observe the fresh batch that just started training a few months back go through a hand to hand combat. The instructor, a tall and intimidating man, bald with prominent wrinkles on his forehead and very notorious dark circles under his eyes, yelled out orders to the recruits. Some flinched, some fought every fibre of their beings into not taking a step back –a few of them failing–, but some stood their ground with confident and resolved stares, bearing down the drilling of the grim and frightening man.

Upon seeing that their Chief, the veteran warriors and the Gottesreichan guests where watching them, the recruits swallowed down their fears and tried to impress their leaders and royal guests, trying to make a good and fearsome impression of what the Eldian training grounds and warriors were made of. Punches, kicks, throwing the opponent on the floor… the field became a controlled battlefield of snarls, growls and frustrated shouts that developed into determined grunts. The recruits’ clothes soon became soiled by a mix of sweat and dirt, as a result of their vigorous and energetic try of today’s exercises.

The Princess did not dare to voice it aloud, in fear of her thoughts being perceived as a critique and direct attack on the Eldian ways, but her heart shrank inside her chest at the sight of what must be the smallest, tiniest of the new recruits, a blonde girl with wide blue eyes like the sky above, go against a trainee twice her size. Eva involuntarily clenched her hands in apprehension on the Chief’s arm, eyes not able to look away from the imminent tragedy. She was too tiny to be there! That poor girl was surely to be beaten into a pulp, taken advantage of the fact that she was much weaker, much more smaller–

A large hand squeezed her tightly clasped ones, making the Princess tear away her concerned gaze, even if she thought it was impossible for her to do so, to look down and see the Chief’s one bury her own. The Princess immediately searched for the Chief’s eyes, surprised at how he was already gazing down on her and had a small reassuring smile on his lips, nodding towards the training field. Eva looked straight ahead, just in time to see the petite girl dodge and deliver a solid punch to her opponent, making the cadet stagger backwards and clutch their stomach in pain. It was still far from being perfect and devastatingly powerful, as Eldians were known for, but it was good enough for a start and for the tiny warrior’s size. A small breath of relief released itself from the Princess’ lungs.

It still shocked Eva to the core to see women amongst the military ranks and files of Eldia, and nobody questioning it. Apparently there weren’t any kind of laws to forbid them to enlist, or to do any other job that back in Gottesreich it was meant only for men. How could they do it? How could those brave women endure it? Eva had always been taught how them, the lesser, weaker sex, could not what a man could do, just because God said so in his holy words. Father was the High Priest of Gottesreich, Father preached the word of God, the Holy Scriptures, that he made memorise Eva the moment she began her intense training as the third Princess of Gottesreich. It was so deeply ingrained in her mind that the mere thought of thinking herself above a man and their role made the Princess want to get on her knees and beg for forgiveness from her God.

How far did the dissimilarities run between their nations? How could Father entrust her with his desire to enlighten the Eldians into the correct, pious path? Just the simple thought of questioning her husband-to-be and his ways chilled her entire body and soul. She just… couldn’t. Her father’s will confused Eva.

But still, deep down inside her, locked down and not even daring to let it see the light, she couldn’t help but to�� envy them. Envy their freedom of choice, of options, of life. Could she ever be like them? Aspire to have their wide range of choices? Alternatives? Could she choose her own path? She had been taught since she was a little girl that she would spend her life in a home, with her husband and a child in her arms. Not travelling, not expanding knowledge, or meeting new people and cultures… Everything Father and the Governess told her reminded little Eva of a bird cage. Pretty, comfortable, enough to see what was beyond the bars… but a cage.

She learned to accept her fate quickly, not daring to cross Father ever again in her life.

Eva knew she was born in a privileged home. A castle. A Princess. Never hungry, never cold, only the best of the best for her. It only took a quick look beyond the capital to see how privilege fed and took care of her. All her whims and wishes met without hesitation. Not a single patch to fix on her dresses, her hairbrush not missing a single bristle and made of the best silver— a perfect, content life. All you have to do is your duty, Father said. Do what you were born to do. Your only purpose.

Make me proud of being your Father.

Bring glory to the Holy Kingdom.

She was made to be bred, she was made to bear children, heirs, she was made to be a leverage for deals, a bargain chip, as her mind whispered to her in her darkest moments, to bring prosperity and glory to the Holy Kingdom of Gottesreich. She was… She was…

“Your Highness?”

The Princess was brought back to the present by Moblit’s placid voice and the Chief’s gentle tug, as if she had been rooted there, staring at the warriors, and getting lost in her troubles instead of following her fiancé and Eldian hosts. They were staring at her. Everyone. At least it felt like everyone, even the animals. Her breath had caught in her lungs, her throat a hard knot she forced herself to swallow before speaking.

“My deepest apologies, my Lords.” Eva’s mind scrambled to find an appropriate excuse for her lack of manners and being caught zoning out. “I did not mean any disrespect by my actions or to show an unwillingness to follow this pleasant walk. I was simply transfixed by your warriors, admiring their tenacity and will.”

What a load of bullshit.

They all seemed to buy it. Not Flora, though. She could see right through Eva as if she had been made of glass. Her handmaiden would probably ask her about it later in the privacy of their own lodgings, but let it go for now, knowing it was no use to inquire about it in the middle of the village tour, even less in front of their hosts.

They resumed the walk, passing through the training grounds before turning to their right, strolling until they reached one of the biggest houses of the village. Moblit informed them it was where the sick and injured were taken care of. A house for the sick, a hospital. Gottesreich had its own physicians and doctors, but never a house dedicated for the sick, the poor. Eva knew the Palace had their own royal physicians, dedicated only to them, and the people needed to rely on the town’s doctors.

Eva wondered how did this hospital work. Did they dedicate a part of the taxes to it? Was it free? What remedies did they use? What—

One of the windows was slammed open, an excited yell coming out of it. Moblit let out a tired sigh, mumbling in Eldian, as if he knew exactly what was that about. Levi spoke too, the tone in his voice denoting annoyance. Eva felt the Chieftain chuckle, answering his right-hand man with something that made Levi snort.

A head poked out of the window, messy brown hair tied up in a scrambled ponytail. The stranger kept shouting, excited, continuous noises of delight coming out of their mouth. The person noticed the small entourage right down their window, and quieted down instantly, curious as to who were the ones standing there. Then, another excited screech, lurching their body almost out of the window as they enthusiastically waved down. Moblit let out a strangled noise, uselessly raising his arms as if he wanted to catch the over excited person dangling off the window.

Eva discreetly looked to her side, looking for an answer or explanation in the Chief’s eyes, but he was looking up with an amused smile. She used his distraction to look behind her, finding the exact confused expression on her handmaiden and brother’s faces. The Princess saw Flora quietly shrug her shoulders, and she was so tempted to join her, but refrained in case the Eldians caught her and found it impolite. The person on the window shouted something and disappeared inside, sounds of furniture being moved around reaching their ears. Moblit groaned, rubbing his temples.

A few minutes later the same person who had half their body out of the window came out from the main doors of the hospital. Levi discreetly stepped away, not wanting to be involved with the newcomer and the imminent events. He really wanted to go back to the privacy and tranquility of his own home, drink a nice cup of tea…

An excited exclamation followed by a strident laugh broke Levi’s long desired daydream. He watched their eccentric approach, wondering how their guests would react to them. Judging by how the delicate Princess gasped at anything that came running and loud, Levi guessed it would not go right. Mike silently joined him, crossing his arms as he, too, observed the catastrophe about to happen.

“Bets?” Mike’s low murmur made Levi snort.

“She will freak out.” Levi turned his head to amusedly stare at his fellow warrior. “Like she did with you.”

Mike scoffed, crossing his arms.

“C’mon, not you too. And I say she doesn’t, just to spite you.”

“Hah! Serves you right, you big-nosed moose.” Levi’s gaze fell back to the front.

“It was not my intention.” it truly hadn’t been. He couldn’t help it, Mike trusted his nose, knowing his instincts never failed him before. He had to know.

“Just, don’t go sniffing people.”

“I will not make such promises.” Mike’s lips curled into a smile, proud at the way he managed to make Levi’s shoulders briefly shake.

Both warriors kept watching the scene in front of them, with Moblit trying to save the situation from their beloved doctor’s clutches, quickly directing their attention to himself and his words. Everybody knew that Moblit had a reserved spot on their Goddesses’ paradise; nobody worked as hard as him, and was as skilled to manage the village’s resident genius doctor.

“Your Highnesses, it is my pleasure to introduce you to our doctor, Hange Zoë. They are the head of the hospital and–”

“IT IS PLEASURE TO MEET, HIGHNESSESES!” Hange cut the poor and exasperated Moblit out, excitedly looking from one sibling to the other. The royal hosts were surprised at the doctor’s broken Gottesreichan attempt, albeit enthusiastic.

Flora successfully covered an amused snort. Ardor! Fervor! Passion! Flora admired that in a person, and for now, Doctor Hange Zoë managed to catch her attention. The handmaiden was sure she could learn interesting things from this eager physician, and secretly wanted to see how Eva would react. It reminded her of her first week as the Princess’ handmaiden, chasing a scared and overwhelmed Eva down the corridors as she tightly clutched one of her precious books, wanting to volt out of any situation that involved a loud and chatty girl following her everywhere. Flora realises know that she had been a little bit insensitive to her poor friend, but in her defense she just wanted her Princess to live.

The eccentric doctor went from sibling to sibling, offering their hand for them to shake. Prince Hans took it surprisingly well, smiling warmly and shaking the offered hand with what would be considered a perfect grip, confident and secure, while Hange still kept letting out broken gottesreichan, not giving any thought to the mistakes. Friederich was confused, and as such, shook his hand with the same sentiment as he was feeling; the second Prince felt as if a strong wind knocked him out of his feet and all he could say was “huh?”.

But ah, Eva. Poor Eva. She had brief flashes of her childhood with Flora, of an overexcited girl running after her as she talked, and talked, and talked… until Eva began to enjoy her extroverted nature and secretly thanked her for dragging her out of her room or the library. But still, Doctor Hange Zoë managed to scare the living daylights out of her with their excited gasp and sparkling eyes. Eva clutched the Chief’s arm in a deathly grip for the second time that day.

Hange offered their hand out too, but then seemed to think about it. Did princesses shake hands too? Was it protocol? Well, Hange never truly cared about protocols, to be honest, Moblit usually took care of that. So maybe it was too forward? Should Hange bow? Did they thoroughly screw up in their eagerness–?

Eva raised her hand and took Hange’s as her brothers did, Forcing herself to paint a warm smile on her lips.

Her father and governess’ voices were screaming inside her head, louder than her own heartbeat. How dare you shake hands with a commoner, you, a princess of Gottesreich? A princess should never shake hands! Commoners must bow, must kneel, must–

“The pleasure is mine, doctor Zoë. I am afraid I do not know any word of Eldian yet, but thank you for your efforts. I hope to learn soon.” Eva would follow her brothers’ lead for now, as they discussed on their journey to Eldia. Father was not here. Father did not understand. If Eva was to settle here to start a new life and end it here, she could not start fights and discontent because of her father’s pride. It was the smart thing to do.

The coarseness of her father always upsetted her, even if she swallowed her discontent, not wanting to repeat that night.

Hange’s uncertain face instantly turned into a bright smile. They didn’t screw up! The doctor turned to say something to the Chief, who in return gained a brief smile. Then, Hange returned their attention to the siblings.

Levi was rendered speechless. He lost the stupid bet! Levi was sure the Princess would freak out upon Hange’s overly enthusiastic greetings, judging by how she had reacted earlier with Mike and his antics. He didn’t dare to turn to his left to see Mike’s moronic moustache smiling smugly at him.

“You owe me.” Mike’s grin could be heard in his voice.

“Shut up, you giant tree.” Damn it!

“Want come in? Show house?” Hange signaled to the main entrance of the Hospital, already thinking about the tour they would take the royal siblings and show how amazing their inventions and discoveries had been.

Should Eva say yes? No, that was arrogant of her, she couldn’t decide on a whim what or what to not do, even less without consulting it with her brothers or the Eldian leader. Didn’t the Eldians also have an itinerary already made for today? The people on the streets and outside the hospital were staring at them, curious about the scene in front of them. Eva was getting nervous. their stares were suffocating her, their attention adding more weight on her, her mind scrambling to find an appropriate response–

Moblit intercepted before Eva could begin, quickly saving the moment.

The Princess was grateful for it, feeling the weight of the decision on her shoulders diminish; she restrained her relieved sigh from escaping her lips, though. Moblit would handle it, thank God above! With a pang of pity in her heart, Eva watched Hange go from thrilled to crestfallen as Moblit spoke. Now she felt bad, knowing for sure they had the best intentions in their heart. Maybe the detour wasn’t that bad…?

But Hange immediately returned to their cheerful self.

“Must come other day! Question Erwin about it!” Hange clasped Eva’s hand in theirs, that exhilarated spark back in their eyes. “Must show you fun things!”

Eva pressed her lips into a tight, nervous smile and nodded, hoping it would be enough to quench Doctor Hange’s eagerness. Too forward! Too forward! Was this also an eldian thing? It seemed to do the trick, as they went back inside the hospital when an assistant called them from the door and enthusiastically waved goodbye.

“Apologies, your Highnesses.” Moblit deserved a raise and long vacations. It had been only a day, but it was clear for the gottesreichan guests that the poor man dealt with a lot, and it seemed that Doctor Hange occupied 80% of it. “I must ask for you to forgive Doctor Hange’s lack of protocol and take no offence by it. The Doctor really enjoys meeting new people and telling about their discoveries and new remedies.”

“No offense taken, Moblit. I’m sure Doctor Hange can make it up to us by showing us what they are so excited for, right?” Hans was genuinely interested, always asking the doctors and physicians back at the palace about everything, going as far as reading some books, although he understood half of it. He truly wanted to know Doctor Hange’s thoughts.

“Honestly, I’m curious now.” Friederich scratched his nose, mumbling. Hans sniggered, lowering his voice so only his brother and her sister’s handmaiden could hear him.

“You, willing to listen to non-battle-related things? Who are you and where is my dear brother?” Flora snickered, covering her mouth.

“Oi!” Friederich’s ears went red at the tips.

“We will have to come tomorrow, then.”

Moblit approached them, always with his calm smile on his face.

“May we continue, your Highnesses?”

Only when they resumed their tour, hearing Moblit talk with her brothers and the Eldian warriors escorting them, did Eva realise how Doctor Hange was wearing glasses.

Saying Eva was scared was not enough. Terrified? Frightened? Petrified? There was no adjective to describe the sheer terror those beasts instilled inside her heart. Those were not horses. No horse could be that monstrous size. Nope. No way.

She didn’t even reach the horse’s chest! And even one leg was as thick as her whole body! How did they even suppose she could get on one of them?

They were led to the village’s stables, where the stable hands and grooms had horses ready with their saddles. Each one of them had a different saddle pad, beautiful Eldian embroidery and motifs of golden and white thread on a teal fabric, most of them resembling the ones from the village’s houses, the themes of the needle work being mostly of mother nature herself. The leather of the saddles were beautifully taken care of, going from darker to lighter tints of brown, no doubt the artisans made a good work of the dyes and its delicate processes.

The horses looked healthy, robust and ready to be ridden by their masters. If Eva wasn’t as scared as she was, she would be admiring the animals and the pure strength they exuded.

Friederich was getting more invested into this part of the tour than the previous one. Yes, Eldia was beautiful and curiously different, but for Friederich, it was still boring; he had never been good at diplomacy and pleasantry visits. He had always heard of Eldia’s monstrous steeds, and was delighted to see such enormous and sturdy stallions, powerfully built and vigorous. You could see the raw power in them, and couldn’t wait to see what it felt to ride one of them. Maybe he could convince the Eldian Chief to trade some… Surely his enemies would piss themselves upon seeing a beast such as this charging against them. Yeah, maybe he could, preferably at the evening banquet. Now was not the time.

This was an important ritual for the Eldians.

Moblit gracefully explained how this was considered crucial when two souls got engaged in Eldia. Hunting was part of their culture, a huge one, and they would not bring shame to their traditions and ancestors. It was an art, and the Eldians deeply respected nature and what it provided for humankind, so the solemn air was palpable. For Eldians this was a trial, also. Those who proposed to their lovers would have to hunt a magnificent piece for their betrothed, to both show that they could provide for them and also have the strength, patience, wit and endurance used in hunting that would prevail in their lives.

Since the Chief was getting engaged to the Princess, he had to prove himself to her, so she would accept and approve of her future husband. This ritual held even more importance for who was performing it, and the villagers were actually curious about how well would their Chief perform; sadly, some couples had to use all three attempts to succeed. They hoped the Chief would succeed at his first try.

For Eva, it was basically a show to see how much of a peacock the man could be, not that different from those in court who would fawn themselves and their achievements to win her hand, and what came with it. Bitter? Maybe so. She was just tired of men, but would respect the Eldian tradition. After all, traditions were traditions, and one should always honour them, no matter what.

For Flora, it was just like her beloved romantic novels. A man proving their worth to their beloved? Man versus Beast? Oh, how she wished that for herself! Maybe one day she would find love here, in Eldia. Who knew what the future awaited for her?

“As tradition says,” Moblit spoke. “The future bride and groom must ride together, as the willingness of their souls to start a new journey.”

Eva froze.

No way.

No.

There had to be a mistake. She thought she would ride in a small carriage with Flora, as the men rode and discussed their matters. Her dress wasn’t suited for riding!

On cue, one of the stable hands brought a magnificent white stallion, it’s crest carefully brushed and not a single tangle and bit of dirt on it. It was bigger than the other horses, robust, and Eva understood now what people meant when they said pets and horses resembled their owners: a horse truly fit for a Chief; it had to be his judging by the proud look the man had on his eyes.

The beast patiently stood right in front of them, not showing an ounce of nervousness or uneasiness. How Eva wished she felt the same. She just wanted to bolt right out of there.

The Princess felt the Chief turn towards her, and automatically released her hold on his arm, although he kept her hand in his, gently guiding her towards the Chief’s own stallion. Eva didn’t want to get closer, even less mount on it. She was terrified! They stood in front of the beast’s head, admiring the noble profile and long golden lashes it had. Eva saw the Chief affectionately gaze at his horse, giving it a tender stroke on its muzzle. He looked back at Eva, inviting her to do the same, but the Princess remained rooted, frozen on the spot. The Chief nudged her to pet the stallion’s head by lifting her hand himself, slowly, always watching her reactions closely— the Chieftain knew he was pushing her, but Erwin believed this would help her lose a little bit of her fearful first impression.

Eva watched, between a mix of horror and wonder, how her gloved fingers brushed the horse’s muzzle, its heat warming up her palm. The stallion didn’t even flinch at the change, letting itself be pet. Eva was amazed, transfixed, not even aware of the Chief’s gaze on her. Slowly, a sensation of relief washed all over her body, feeling more secure now that the beast showed no trace of nervousness upon seeing a new face. Eva even let herself release a small smile, even though her heart was still pounding fiercely inside her chest.

More horses were brought to them, each warrior taking the reins of their own steed, as well as new horses for the Princes to ride. Friederich was beyond excited, eyes going from head to rear of the enormous beast he was lent to ride. He looked like a child in a candy shop back at the Capital.

Everyone waited for the Chief to mount first, as tradition dictated. The solemn air felt like a pressing stone on the Princess, not truly knowing what she was supposed to do besides having to ride with him. Should she say something? Perform a certain move? But the Princess stood rooted there, letting her never-fading anxiety begin to swallow whole again.

The Chief prepared himself to mount on, grabbing the pommel with his left hand and easily hoisting himself up when he set his foot on the stirrup. Every move he did looked effortless, as if even a child could do that with their eyes closed. If they thought Eva could achieve such levels, they were going to be thoroughly disappointed. The Chief extended his hand to the Princess, signaling her to come closer and join him on the horse.

The question is: how the hell is she supposed to get on it?

Moblit did not give any clues or hints about it, and everyone respectfully watched as the Princess approached the Chief with small steps. The Eldian leader never looked away from her, and she truly reminded him of a scared fawn.

What came next was a blur for the Princess. One moment she was standing right beside the Chief, timidly taking his hand and raising her other one to try to reach the pommel as the Chief did, her foot raising too to set on the lowered stirrup, and on the next moment Eva found herself being lifted as if she weighted nothing, strong arms pulling her up, easily turning her so she sat astride the horse with her back pressed against his chest.

Eva couldn’t focus on anything but the feel of his broad and strong chest snugly pressed against her back, despite the layers of thick clothing and cloaks between them. Eva did not pay attention to everyone else getting on their horses, or how Friederich couldn’t help the boyish grin on his lips, or how Flora turned beet red when she was made to mount on the same horse as the second Prince of Gottesreich, her confident and self-assured attitude gone for a moment. She couldn’t, not with how the Chief righted her stance with gentle hands, or how he straightened her own dress skirts and cloak without being prompted to do so, or how he guided her gloved hands to the crest and horn, so she had something to hold on to, even if the arms that caged her in wouldn’t let her slip and fall. The cold was forgotten for a moment, as well as her nervous tension.

Prompting the beast to an easy gait, the Chief led the party outside the stables and onto the main street. That’s when Eva snapped out of her trance and quickly ventured a look towards her handmaiden, seeing her grip the crest of the horse she was on with red cheeks. Both women crossed looks, twin bewildered expressions greeting each other. Eva silently cheered for her friend, but was too occupied herself with her own troubles to even waggle her eyebrows to tease her handmaiden.

This was going to be a long day.

The main street greeted them with the eldian villagers gathered on the sides of it, creating a passageway of curious and expectant faces. Everyone looked like they were waiting for a signal, eyes glued to the Chief’s horse and its riders, fingers and feet fidgeting. When the Chief and the Princess passed the first bystanders, the whole wide street exploded into cheers and shouts and blue.

The villagers threw flowers on them and the horses’ hooves, smiling and clapping as they passed by. Eva recognised the winter flowers from before, the same she wore now on her braid, and watched the villagers cover the entire street in a mantle of blue and white. The Chief did not turn to greet or answer them, keeping his head and eyes straight ahead in a solemn show of respect towards their faith in him. That’s when Eva understood this was part of the hunting ritual too, bidding farewell and good luck to the couple about to engage in the ritual. So, to not be disrespectful towards their culture and traditions, Eva did the same, looking straight ahead towards the main gate, into the sky blue path. A flash of the Chieftains’ eyes crossed her mind. The same blue.

It truly was a beautiful sight.

[falseandrealultravival]

What is haiku? :Comparing Basho, Buson, and Issa's three major poets

“Tohoku narrow road” (Kodansha Academic Paperback)

  It's been about 30 years since I started writing haiku (intermittently, though). I wrote about various things (so-called Kachō Fūei), but the most important thing was plants, especially wild grasses. I am interested in this category of nature, also known as weeds, and wonder if I can call myself a "wildflower poet" or a "plant poet".

      By the way, regarding Matsuo Basho, of course, I give the evaluation that he is the king of haiku through ancient and modern, east and west. Basho's haiku, written by using all five senses, is unparalleled in its presence.

  @ 1: It’s quiet , the voice of cicadas penetrates into a rock.

 閑さや　岩にしみ入る　蝉の声

  @ 2: Collect the May rain and flows rapidly,Mogami River.

 五月雨を　集めて早し　最上川

 @ 3: Sick of traveling, my dream runs around the dead field. (death poem)

 旅に病んで　夢は枯野を　駆け巡る(辞世)

   @ 1 using hearing sense and @ 2 using tactile sense. (To add a little, the phrase @ 2 is the first:

  @ Collect the May rain and flows cool, Mogami River.

 五月雨を　集めて涼し　最上川

 However, since the phrase "rapidly" naturally includes "cool", he says that he chose "rapidly" in the final draft. Basho probably felt the coolness and speed by putting his hand in the river. ) I think the phrase of death poem is sensual and appealing to the skin. In addition, the phrase Basho really wrote at the last of life:

  @Autumn deep, what is he doing next door?

 秋深し　隣はなにを　する人ぞ

   Next, Yosa Buson. It is a famous story that this person was also a painter. Let me give you three typical phrases.

  @ 4: May rain ,two houses in front of big river.

 さみだれや　大河を前に　家二軒

 @ 5: Rape flowers, the moon in the east, the sun in the west

 菜の花や　月は東に　日は西に

 @ 6: Only the nights revealed to white plum and I’m dead. (death poem)

 しら梅に　明かる　夜ばかりと　なりにけり（辞世）

  Of course, these are typical phrases of Buson, but it is obvious that he was a painter, and there is a remarkable tendency for them to be phrases that stimulate "vision." Even death poem can be likened to a painting.

  Finally, Kobayashi Issa. This is also 3 phrases.

  @ 7: Sparrow child, see! there, a horse passes.

 雀の子　そこのけそこのけ　御馬が通る

 @ 8: Don't hit him, the fly rubs his hand and puts his foot.

 やれ打つな　蠅が手を摺り　足をする

 @ 9: A crying child is asking me to take the full moon.

 名月を　取ってくれろと　泣く子かな

 The document I referred to did not mention the phrase of death poem. However, it is true

  @I move from a basin to a basin, it’s a mystery.

 盥（たらい）から　盥にうつる　ちんぷんかん

  ... I remember it was such a phrase. As to @8, The fly is begging for life.

   Issa's phrase exudes kindness to the weak ones, as if he were an educator. The five senses he uses are a little biased towards vision, but he is probably not a painter like Buson. It's a kind of phrase that is never sophisticated. Well, it's stupid, but his love for living things will not be easily unrivaled (except for modern Murakami Kijo).

  There are three people, but if you dare to rank these three giants, it would be 1st place: Basho, 2nd place: Issa, 3rd place: Buson. I think haiku is an art that depends on the five senses and experiences of how you can immerse yourself in "nature (or even if it is an artifact, if you consider it to be nature)". The game is how much you can integrate with nature.

  The way of dealing with Matsuo Basho is an good example. Kobayashi Issa is a little biased in the subject of the phrase, and although it seems that he is almost ignorant of the classics, I think that he is integrated with nature. As for Yosa Buson, I think he is a bystander. He is not immersive. I think he wasn't integrated with nature, he relied solely on vision, and instead of drawing his main business paintings, he wrote phrases on strips with the same consciousness as paintings. Well, I think this view is terrible for Buson. It is strict that we get 80% of human and external information visually. As a poet, vision is the greatest sense of getting external information.

   A word of the day: I'm not strong enough to compare the three major poets, but I wrote it with savagery. Finally, Shiki Masaoka, who called himself a "reformer of waka and haiku" in the Meiji era, has a sharp criticism, but I don't think there is much in his important actual work. As a famous work:

  @The 14,15 cockscomb are also seen.

 鶏頭の　十四五本も　ありぬべし

  There is a phrase, but it seems that he wrote it as it is by looking at the outside from the sickbed, and it may be the "phrase of sketching" that he advocated. ( cockscomb is a garden crops). When he wrote this phrase, it seems to have been unpopular among even his disciples. (Based on wiki's commentary on this phrase.)

　０８．０５．２０２２

[lalahbug]

Guidance - Zuko x Reader Chapter 1

Fandom: Avatar the Last Air bender Word Count: 3,819 My Masterlist Warnings/disclaim: General In this fic, characters are aged up, to what I see fit for my story, but will stay roughly on the same timeline This takes place on the timeline after the North Pole and Zuko and his Uncle go their separate ways for a bit. If you’ve never seen ATLA, the story may be confusing and vague/give spoilers.   Author’s Note: under the story ___ is a blank for your name/oc/whatever you prefer Written in 3rd person Line/header is to separate paragraphs to indicate time skips, as Tumblr hates my formatting.  Story under cut, 1 of 8: Guidance Masterlist

Limply riding along on his ostrich-horse Zuko clung to his stomach as a waft of food hit him. It was coming from a nearby forest, he turned the animal into the trees a bit before demounting and tying the reins to a trunk near some water. Zuko quietly walked, following the smell of food, the closer he got he could tell it was fish. 

A woman came into view, she looked around his age, but was alone, with many basins of salt, which he amused was for curing some type of meat. He kept low and quiet, waiting for the perfect moment to steal some food. 

Watching the girl intently, Zuko gripped the hilts of his double swords when she sat down a couple of leaves on the ground. She took the fish, which she had been roasting and rotating above a flame, gently pushed it off the stick it was cooking onto the leaf. She repeated the movements until 3 fish were on each leaf, she picked up one and sat down. 

After sipping her tea, she sat another cup across from her, with the other pile of cooked fish. This confused Zuko, because she seemed alone, yet was setting a place across from her, repeating with some rice in small bowls. 

“You are very stealthy but I apologize, not good enough to evade me.” The lady spoke softly, after a bite of rice. “Please come join me, you’re hungry, I could hear your stomach.” 

Zuko froze, it seemed like a trick, yet his need for food drove his feet forward slowly. 

“Would you like some water along with your tea and food?” She gave him a gentle smile as he emerged from the forest into her clearing. 

“Why?” Zuko demand. 

“Why not?” She retorted, pouring him a cup of water and setting it near the food. 

Zuko glared at her, he didn’t want to just take food given, yet it was technically better than trying to steal it when it was clearly free. 

He gingerly sat down in front of her, eyeing her. 

She chuckled a bit then sighed, “are you going to let that food go to waste?” 

“Answer my question, why?” 

“Technically I did, you didn’t answer mine. Why not?” Zuko glanced down at the food before glaring at her again, causing her to sigh again. “Let’s just chalk it up to me not wanting to fight today. I’ve had a very nice day, and I have enough food and supplies to share with someone who does not. Is that a good enough answer for you?” 

“So, you’re only giving it to me because you’re in a good mood?” He sneered. 

“No,” she stated calmly, taking a piece of fish and eating it. “I’m doing it because I know what it's like to travel and have almost nothing. It’s not pleasant. It’s not something I would even wish upon my enemy; hunger is the cruelest torture of life.” 

Zuko looked at the food again, before picking up the fish and starting to eat it. 

 Zuko kept eyeing her as they ate in silence, she didn’t bother to start conversation nor stared at him, her calm composure was throwing him off, but it also calmed him as it reminded him of Uncle Iroh. 

When Zuko was done eating, she handed him a water bladder, it was bigger than the empty one upon his person. 

“Trade me, I need a smaller one for watering plants.” Zuko glanced over at her makeshift home and saw a couple of pots with flowers near her makeshift wall. 

Zuko traded with her, without any words then he stood up to leave, as he turned, he glanced at her over his shoulder, “thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” she paused as he started to walk away. “Would you like some feed for your ostrich-horse?” 

Zuko paused at the line of the clearing, mulling it over, she was frustrating him. 

“Why? Because you think I need handouts from a homeless person?!” He shouted at her. 

“I may be homeless, but at least I am not lost. I see the hurt and loss within you, I’ve been there, it’s easier to get through when you’re not alone and not wondering when you’ll eat again.” 

“So, you pity me? There is no way you could know what I’m going through! What I’ve lost!” 

She opened a piece of parchment with his face on it, his wanted poster. 

“Prince Zuko, I may not know what you’re going through exactly but I know what you’ve lost.” 

“If you know who I am then why would you feed me? Give me water? Offer me feed?” 

The woman stood and walked towards him, with an open hand, offering it to him.  “Because I know what it's like to be not wanted by anyone, not even my home.” 

Zuko could see her eyes water a bit before quickly blinking them away, he could see the truth behind her words, and the sorrow within her eyes. 

Zuko looked down at her hand, “so what are you offering?” He asked softly. 

“To teach you how to live on your own, and possibly guide you to yourself.” 

Her words struck him the way his Uncle’s do, but this time, he knew that the one behind the words had been in his place before. But was she was so lucky to have someone to help her, would he choose his self-isolation or take the chance to learn? He furrowed his brow not knowing any of the answers. He looked up into her eyes then gently shook her hand. 

“Okay.” 

A few weeks had passed with Zuko and ___, he learned her name and told her his fake name, Lee, in case anyone came around. He found out she was 20, 2 years older than him, yet she seemed so much more knowledgeable on just about everything he had questions on. 

“And that is how to make a basket,” she said calmly, giving her basket to him. 

Zuko grunted and started to weave the pieces together, getting more and getting frustrated as the pieces wouldn’t stay together. 

“Here,” ___ sat closely next to him, moving his hands into a different position. “You can’t use so much force, you’re simply weaving pieces together, keeping composure and being firm, with your hands further apart and it should be easier. It’ll still take practice, but you’ll get it.” 

___ gently patted his shoulder before standing up and moving over to the fire, where she was cooking soup. 

“Why would I need a basket anyways?” Zuko grumbled as he took the process a bit slower and more seriously. 

“If you become good at it, you can make more watertight ones, so you can brine or soak meats before curing them, so you have more food while traveling. A couple of good baskets with salt in them, on the side saddle of your animal, you’ll just have to start a fire to cook, then you could eat and rest. Or knowing you, cook then continue.” She laughed slightly at her comment as she stirred the soup. 

Zuko put down his in-process basket, which was holding its shape thankfully and not coming undone the moment it wasn’t being held together. 

“How long have you been on your own?” Zuko asked before drinking some water. 

“I guess about 8 years now, soon to be 9. I left home right before my 12th birthday.” 

Zuko sat down to eat as she handed him a bowl of soup. Scooping soup for herself then sitting next to him. “What happened?” 

___ ate some of her soup before looking at the flames flicker. “Where I’m from,” she started hesitantly, “as a girl, you get married at 16, have a child, but you can’t fight, only can you learn how to aid and heal others. 

“My mother didn’t follow that path, she had me, outside of wedlock and kept me secret from everyone but our maid and my nanny. My mom was higher up in politics, working long hours, but when she came home, she’d send home my nanny and the maid, and it would be just us. She doted on me, loved me, but above all, I was still a secret, no one outside of our home knew I existed, not even my father. 

“I was about 8 or so when I begged and cried for her to take me shopping with her. I hadn’t been allowed outside of the house and I was tired of being a good girl and staying all cooped up. After what seemed like days, she finally agreed. Everyone stared at me as I clung to her, I was so excited but scared of everyone eyeing me. 

“While we were at a store, getting me some new clothes, a man ran up to my mother. Panting as if he ran with all his force, my mother hid me behind her. They argued quietly for a bit before my mom let me come out and introduced me to the man. Saying he was my father. The man broke down crying then hugged me like I’d disappear if he let go. 

“Once we were home, my mom explained to me that she never told my father about me, and when the town saw me, someone told him that his ex was walking around with a child that looked like him. She explained to me that to get where she was in her career, she couldn’t let a scandal like me out. She told me that if I wanted, I could go to school with other kids and see my father more to get to know him. 

“At the time I was just happy to have the opportunity to finally make friends and have a dad. A few years passed and my parents eventually got married and we lived like a true family.” 

___ had a smile the whole story until now, her face fell a bit. 

“My parents, being important members of our nation, were sent on a mission. They never returned. I don’t really know what happened to them, but it’s one of two things. Either Fire Nation got them, or nature did. I think it was nature, we had a very harsh winter that year and I never saw any soot in the sky, my mom and dad were supposed to stay close to home. 

“So, I was an orphan, but more than that I was angry at nature, the world. I wanted to learn how to fight and get strong. I begged the master and our council and even attempted to fight the master. 

“Of course, having no training nor good stamina, I got beat down again and again, over a week. One day, an elder came to me, telling me I’d taunted and tainted our traditions. If I was willing to let go of my anger I could stay home, but if I continued to be brash and try to fight, I would need to leave as my anger and thoughts were not welcome there. 

“So, I left, with very little, and all the money my mother and father had.” 

___ stopped, getting herself and Zuko more soup. After a few moments, she sighed softly as she could feel Zuko’s eyes on her, silently asking her to continue. 

“I went back a couple of years after I left and they could tell I had become a fighter, on my own. Because of that, I was forbidden to come home, to even enter the walls. I was sent away and I haven’t looked back.” 

“Where are you from?” Zuko asked softly, but she didn’t answer, she simply added some wood to the fire. “You know where I’m from, tell me.” Zuko tried to persuade her. 

“The North Pole,” she spat the words while poking the fire. 

“Are you a waterbender?” 

She chuckled dryly, “not a very good one. But I can fight, I know chi blocking, heal a bit, and I have very good senses, they are heightened. Which is how I heard you coming before.” 

“I didn’t know the North Pole was like that, it seems, so sexist,” he whispered while glancing at her before handing her a cup of water. 

“I didn’t have the happiest childhood, but not the worst, the war didn’t affect me until I left home. I’ve seen the devastation, so I made it my will to help everyone I can.” 

“But why would you help me, I’m Fire Nation, I’m the prince.” 

“You are as affected by the Fire Nation as the rest of the world. You were a child speaking with worry about your citizens with care and goodwill. For it, you were burned and banished for showing weakness, for showing loyalty and love to your father. At least when you were a kid, you were banished for trying to be good. I was banished for following my anger.” ___ gave him a soft smile, and it made his heart hammer. 

“No one has ever said I was good,” he murmured. 

“You have a dysfunctional family, the only good one is your uncle. It took him a while and pain to find his way. I know you’ll find your way.” 

“I just want my throne, my home, my country, my honor.” 

“I’m going to say something and I suggest you think about it.” 

“Just spit it out already, oh wise one,” Zuko said sarcastically. 

“No one can take your honor. No one can take your birthright from you. You need to take it back; you don’t have to earn and prove yourself to anyone. Who are you? Who do you want to be? What do you want out of life, for yourself? Look inside yourself and ask yourself the hard questions. Stop living up to the person someone wants you to be, be yourself, the best version of you. Because no one can take that from you, no one can be you, but you.” 

Zuko glared at the fire internalizing her words. “You sound like my uncle,” he said bitterly. “But with less nonsense and straight to the point.” 

“Still I guess my words can sound like nonsense if I’m not careful,” she laughed softly. “Come one, it’s time for bed.” 

Zuko sighed softly before helping ___ pick up the campsite and put out the fire. She cleaned up the dishes and put them away, going into the tent. 

“Hey, Zuko, it’s getting colder outside. Would you like to sleep inside or at least have a sleeping bag?” She asked while putting a blanket on to the ostrich-horse who was lying down next to the tent. 

Zuko stared at the ground for a moment, it was colder last night, and although the sleeping bag would be nice, the shelter would be better. 

“You’re furrowing your brow, thinking about it so much,” she laughed slightly before poking the bunched-up skin in-between his eyebrows. He glared at her slightly, “Since your debating, let me throw in another option. You can do both, have a sleeping bag, and come inside.” ___ gave him a soft smile; his heart did an odd twist at her smile. 

“Okay,” he looked away from her and walked into the tent. It was definitely warmer inside, probably because of the foliage she had around it. 

He saw her cot in the back and near one of the walls, she’d already laid out the bag for him nearby. ___ came in and started tidying up a bit more, putting some more things into a large backpack. 

“What’s the backpack for?” He’d seen it here and there; within the days he’d been there. 

“Oh, this is my necessities bag, so if I’m attacked or something happens, I can grab this bag and run. I’d have the most important things so I can start over.” 

“That’s a very good idea,” he mumbled softly before sitting down on the sleeping bag. “So, what are you teaching me tomorrow? I’ve learned fishing, gutting and deboning the fish, brine and curing, identifying good and bad berries and herbs, and today the baskets.” 

“I actually need to go into town tomorrow,” she said while taking off her heavier clothes. “I haven’t been in a couple of months. I’m a bit low on rice and potatoes. The blacksmith was supposed to make me a heavy-duty pan like the one I make soup in. Plus, I need to sell some things. Like baskets, cured meats and fish, I made some jewelry last month, I should sell that too.” ___ continued, but it seemed more so like she was rambling to herself. 

“So, what am I supposed to do?” Zuko groaned. 

“Come with me, I usually stay there for a week or so when I go. I do things around town, helping people, earning money. I’ll teach you some labor stuff, so when you leave and are on the road again. You’ll know how to look for things to fix, to get a free meal, supplies, or even money; if they have it.” 

“How long have you been doing this?” 

“Well, I’ve been here in this spot for about 2 years, I will probably be leaving soon, but there are two good towns here. I’ve been helping towns for about 4 years. I was wandering and learning to fight for about 2 years before settling down. You know, learning about plants and stuff too.” 

“So, you’ll just leave this place for a week and come back.” 

“Yeah I usually go every month into town, but,” she trailed off while getting into bed. 

“But?” 

“So, there's this guy, he’s nice and all, but he’s not my type, just a little too,” she paused for a moment before getting the right wording. "Complacent. I want to travel again someday, move around as I wish. He wants to just stay in one place his whole life. He’s been very flirty lately and I just don’t want him to bother me. Nor do I want to nicely put him down and give him any hope. He’s kinda too confident for his own good, which can also be annoying.” 

“Oh,” Zuko mumbled. ___ is attractive, even to him, and her kind heart is very enduring. “How often does that happen to you?” 

“Not much. I try not to let anyone be too friendly, because I won’t be around long. Nor do I want to make a good friend and feel conflicted about exploring my life.” 

“What if you loved them?” 

“I don’t know. You can’t plan who you love. But I would hope they would want to travel with me, or at least be willing to in the future, once the war ends.” 

“You seem so sure the war will end.” 

“I am,” she stated calmly. 

“How?” Zuko asked. 

___ yawned, “it’s a story to tell another day.” She rolled over facing away from him. 

Zuko groaned and lied down annoyed. 

“Goodnight Zuko,” she mumbled softly. 

“Night ___,” he grumbled. 

Wind was whipping at the tent, waking Zuko, he sat up to look over at ___ to see how she could sleep through this noise. But he was shocked to see her cot empty. He gently lit a flame in his hand and called out her name, but got no reply. He got out of the sleeping bag and went outside to look for her. 

He looked about the general area of the campsite, but couldn’t see her. Eventually, he wandered towards the nearby river and froze when he saw ___ standing in the middle of it.  

___ was elegantly moving water, wearing a beautiful white dress that flowed and moved with her. Pushing, pulling, and swirling the water all around her, polished and gentle. There was no strength, just graceful movements. Zuko had only fought waterbenders, he never saw the beauty in it as he did now.  

As she slowed her movements she looked up at the full moon, with her face in the luminescence he could see tears streaming down her face. His heart tightened at the sight, he could almost feel how much pain and desolation she felt even with the distance between them.  

___ slowly sat down in the water, curling her knees into her chest, resting her head on the tops of her knees. A few moments passed when the water started to glow around her, illuminating all the water around her. The glowing water slowly consumed her; ___ lifted her head as the water reached her neck. Zuko could see her taking a deep breath, preparing for the void. 

The sight was unsettling as she was engulfed, vanishing along with the glow of water. Zuko wanted to jump in after her but his confusion as to why she would let it happen kept him in place. He came back to his senses realizing he could barely hear with the wind because the sound of his blood was pounding within his body.  

Zuko slowly sat down on the ground trying to calm down, as his heart calmed, he could hear the wind did too. He could only think of Zhao, who had been taken by the ocean spirit. What spirit wanted ___ and why? 

While contemplating, the river started to glow again. Zuko watched intently as he could start to make out ___’s body within the water, pushing her gently up onto the riverbank. She was motionless, Zuko scrambled to his feet and ran to her side. Being closer he could see she was breathing slowly. She was dry, the water didn’t drown her, it simply took her and returned her. But why? 

___ took a deep breath while exhaling her eyes opened and the same glow as the water was there, briefly. Zuko was lost for words, as their eyes locked. 

“What are you doing here?” Her voice was soft but raspy as if she’d been sleeping. 

“You weren’t in bed, so I came looking for you. What happened to you?” 

___ sat up slowly looking away from him, clearly debating on what to say, depending on how much he saw, “how long have you been here?” 

“A while,” Zuko answered a bit curt, he wanted answers, not more questions. 

She stood up slowly, Zuko mirrored her warily and cautious as she looked weak. She wobbled a bit, Zuko quickly wrapped his arms around her. 

“Are you okay?” Even though he was annoyed and curious, he was also concerned. 

“I’m vastly drained,” she rested her head against his shoulder. Although he stiffened a bit, it was pleasant to him, he welcomed the feeling while tightening his arms around her. Something about this just felt so accurate, he rested his cheek on top of her head. Soon her weight started to drift onto him more and her breathing slowed. 

“___?” Zuko called her gently, but when she didn’t answer. He gingerly scooped her up into his arms, carrying her back to her bed. 

Author’s Note: I haven’t wrote a story with intent to make it visible in a long time. So new work 2020, I refell in love with Zuko, like a lot of people did with the resurface of Avatar being on Netflix, I’ve watched it three times now, aha. Fanfiction wasn’t a part of my life/world when it first came out when I watched it. But Avatar did launch me into my love of anime, and from there I eventually found fanfics, then started writing them. I feel very late to post a Zuko fic, but this story has been in my head ever since I rewatched it, the first time. So, hopefully, someone is craving more Zuko fics like me and they’ll enjoy this with me <3

[hinamoria]

Hitsuhina Week 2021 : Day 1

Hitsuhina Week 2021 : Day 1- Nickname / Hot and cold

Rating: K

Synopsis: Momo remembers the origin of her nickname: Bed wetter Momo

Word Count: 1801 words

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! My first participation at the Hitsuhina week is here. I hope you like it! I had fun writing it \(^.^)/

English isn’t my first language so excuse myself for any typos <3

----

“Shiro-chan!” Hinamori greeted cheerfully as she walked through the doors of the Tenth Division office. “We're going to eat yakitoris with Matsumoto-san and other lieutenants. Are you joining us? "

Hitsugaya, sitting at his desk, frowned at the famous nickname his childhood friend refused to forget, and declined the invitation.

"I have a lot of work to finish," he complained, putting an extra sheet of paper on the already tall pile of his desk. "Maybe next time," he added, afraid to upset his friend. "And Hinamori, for the umpteenth time, it's captain Hitsugaya."

"But Hitsugaya-kun, that nickname is perfect for you!" she replied, keeping her smile.

A perfect nickname from Hinamori's point of view. In harmony with the white and shiny hair like snow of her friend.

"Do you hear me calling you by your childhood nickname yet?” Sighed the captain.

Momo laughed lightly as she thought about it. "Bed Wetter Momo" was much less flattering than “Shiro chan”. Especially since it was referring to a single accident and therefore absolutely no more relevant today.

And yet, even though she wouldn’t like to be called that way again today, she still had a certain melancholy as she remembered the event where it’s from. Somehow, that night, Shiro-chan had for the first time given her a kind gesture.

It happened soon after arriving in Rukongai, when she was eight years old.

She still remembered the hustle and bustle, the lost people trying to get information about what was happening to them, and her in the middle desperately looking for her mom or her plush that she must have dropped something. It must be here. She remembered holding it during her last moments of life. So it couldn't be very far.

It was the end of her old life on Earth. Nowadays, it was just a vague memory. The faces of her biological family had gradually faded. She remembered that her mother had brown hair, often tied up in a bun. Momo may have subconsciously imitated her while growing up. But had she hazel eyes like her or were they a different color? She could no longer remember it.

A cholera epidemic had hit the country, killing thousands of people. Antibiotics did not exist at the time, so the chances of escaping it, especially for a child, were almost nil. Momo didn't end up in pain for long.

At the entrance to Rukongai, men and women dressed in black kimonos, whom she later knew as shinigamis, gave instructions to people around her. They were divided into groups. She was going to go to district number one, "Junrinan". She didn't know this place, but thought she heard the term "lucky" from a shinigami.

Looking back 100 years after, she understood how true it was. Especially after hearing Abarai-kun's stories.

Each person was taken to a different dwelling. Very little explanation was given. Sometimes locals sighed when they saw a new arrival, but others greeted them with a big smile. Her journey ended in front of a wooden house with a small earthen courtyard in front and two imposing shoji-style doors at the entrance.

A lady with gray hair tied in a bun opened the door and smiled at Momo.

"Is that the little new one?" She asked in a voice marked by time.

The shinigami nodded and left the area without another word. His behaviour may have seemed rude, but the little lady ignored it. Momo watched him go with slight fear, but returned her attention to the stranger who began to speak to him.

"Welcome my dear. What's your name? "

"Momo…" the child replied after a brief hesitation.

“Very well Momo. From today you will live here. Come home, I'll explain everything to you"

The lady held out her hand, which Momo took, and together they entered the girl's new home.

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

To say that the first few days in her new home were easy would have been a lie. Momo was missing her family. And she kept looking through the portal to see if her mother was going to cross the threshold and come to get her.

Her new grandmother was a sweet and warm woman. She gave Momo time to acclimatize without rushing her. She even offered her a small dog-shaped plush toy to replace her previous one. Momo appreciated the little attention and hugged the plush tightly against her at night.

However, living with Toshiro was more difficult. The little boy already had a strong character and did not seem delighted by the arrival of a new child in his home. He often spoke harshly to her, when he just wasn't ignoring her. Momo, luckily, didn't seem to take offense and came back to meet him all the more, determined to make him her new friend.

He didn't looked to be appreciated by the other children, who seemed afraid of his particular hair. Momo, on the other hand, was fascinated by their color and had repeatedly tried to touch them - usually receiving insults and yelling in return - which didn't stop her from doing it again a few days later. He reminded him of the old cat that resided in her neighbourhood on Earth. He had hissed on her each time she approached. But after a few months, he had accepted her affection. Toshiro would be the same, she could tell.

One night, about two weeks after her arrival, Momo had a terrible nightmare. The pain of her last moments on Earth came back to her. She heard her mom cry and pray, but she couldn't see her. She was terribly thirsty and hungry, but the nausea tugged at her so much that she couldn't take anything. It was the end. She felt death coming to seek her. When a new wave of pain pierced her body, Momo woke up abruptly, breathing heavy.

The pain was gone. But she still couldn't see anything. After a few seconds, a growl to her left signaled the presence of the white haired boy and reminded her where she was. Her grandmother must have been somewhere to her right. They used to stick their futons together and sleep three side by side.

She was safe, everything was fine.

Catching her breath, however, she noticed a new unusual detail. Her clothes looked wet.

She straightened up and inspected her bed with the palm of her hand. A stain of moisture permeated the futon, a small part of the blanket and the entire bottom of her kimono. She was taken aback for a few moments, then realized with dread that she had wet the bed!

It hadn't happened since she was three, how could she have done that now? She wondered ashamed.

Discreetly, she got out of the futon, holding her breath as she saw Toshiro move around in the futon right next to her. Luckily, he didn't seem to wake up.

Would Grandma be mad if she saw this? Was she going to be kicked out of the house? Who would want a messy child?

Trying to swallow back tears, Momo took the blanket and left the room discreetly.

With any luck, she would manage to hide her mistake and they would let her stay here.

First she needed clean clothes, then she would go and wash it all in the basin outside. As a final step, she would take care of the futon in the same way. And when asked tomorrow, she could pretend she spilled a glass of milk on the bed. If no one saw the stain, her excuse would be plausible.

After grabbing some new clothes, Momo went down the stairs of the house to go outside.

Luckily, the moon lit up the courtyard a little and allowed herself to orient without too much trouble. Momo found the basin and put the blanket in it. The cold water made the child shiver, who could now feel the tears running down her cheeks.

Looking back 100 years later, she realized how dumb she could have been to feel so bad for a trivial accident like this, but at this moment, the world was falling apart for her.

She changed, taking a little water to clean herself, then tossed the soiled clothes in the water as well. As she began to rub the whole thing vigorously, a voice startled her.

"What are you doing?” Toshiro surprised her from the doorway.

She turned in his direction, speechless. He kept his arms crossed against his chest, obviously waiting for an answer that took a particularly long time to arrive.

"I ..." stammered the little brunette. “I spilled a glass of milk?"

Her voice had risen in high pitch with a sobbing hiccup, making her assertion closer to questioning. Toshiro certainly wouldn't be fooled by the situation. He was young in appearance, but he was significantly older than her in age. And she realized her excuse was completely incoherent when said out loud.

But strangely, she heard neither reproach nor mockery from the boy who was looking at her seriously. On the contrary, his answer surprised her.

"I'm going to get your futon to have it cleaned too…" He said with a sigh.

And he disappeared for a good minute.

On his return, ditto, he remained silent. He helped her clean up and spread the ling. And when they returned to bed afterwards, he even gave her a bit of room in his own futon for Momo. The rest of the night ended without further accident.

The next day, she said with more confidence her story to her grandmother, who absolutely did not believe a word of it, but who accepted it nonetheless, afraid to embarrass her. When she went out to do some shopping, Momo turned to Toshiro who was finishing lunch.

"Thank you Hitsugaya-kun," Hinamori said in a small voice. "For keeping my secret."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied with his mouth full.

Then as he swallowed, he looked at the girl and let go with a smirk, "Bed Wetter Momo".

Momo froze in her seat upon hearing the new nickname.

"How did you call me?” She asked scandalized.

"You called me Shiro-chan a few days ago, remember? From today you will be "Bed wetter Momo" if you keep using that nickname ". He treated her, pretending to be interested in his bowl of rice. But the smirk he kept showing indicated the pride he felt right now in torturing her.

It was the start of a new friendship.

And he kept his word: he used that nickname for many years, and she kept on calling him Shiro-chan. It almost became a game between them.

And if today she was no longer "Bed wetter Momo", she treasured the memory of the first step Toshiro had taken towards her.

[mynameiscarat]

Happy

Another hurt/comfort fanfic about Jacob Thrombey. For @rainbowninicono with best wishes!

I hope school stuff is not too wrong.

Jacob hated this place.

Harthmoor High school was, actually, a good school. Academic level was one of the highest in the state. Halls were clean and full of fresh air, posters were hanging on the walls. Varieties of clubs was impressive - not only baseball and photography clubs, but also clubs for animal lovers, literature fans, writers, young programmers, dancers and other oddballs. All the teachers were adequate. Bullying was inescapably banned.

But it was still public school. School, which kids of cashiers and civil cervants could attend. School, where cafeteria was furnitured with plastic tables, at which kids were eating pizza and drinking cheap fizzy drinks. Nothing compared with his previous private school, which was full of oak furniture, which kids of merchants, politicians and even aristocrats attended.  Where they were fed with three-dish meal. It was a history lesson, and a teacher, chubby emotional man, was talking about general Sherman. Jacob didn't listen. His phone slighly buzzed again. Jacob received another message in Facebook - from a student Alex Lopez, who was going to apply for a school board seat. Jacob knew it, as well as his classmates. Yesterday they all had to sit through candidate gathering in an assembley hall, and Alex Lopez was talking the most of the time about his project of plastic sorting in school and climate change awareness. Immediately after that Jacob found Alex Lopez in Facebook and started harassing him. He was calling him eco-terrorist, saying that climate change is a lie. He also said enough about Alex’s origins, American schools and white governance in them. Firstly Alex tried to calm him down. But today his attitude changed at last. Jacob waited for that. In a message that Jacob received now was said: «I know who you are, and I know where you are. Soon you will be very sorry, fucker». Jacob smirked. He truly believed that this Mexican guy could do nothing to him. Satisfied with work done, Jacob put away his phone and looked at a girl on the front desk. Her name was y/n y/l. Jacob didn’t like his classmates, noisy, giggly, active kids. You were only one person who didn’t annoy him. From the first view you didn’t differ much from others. But there was something in you. Maybe, dignity. Maybe, calmness or cleverness... or kindness. And also you were beautiful. Just beautiful. History lesson ended. His classmates didn’t hurry, collecting their stuff and talking about their plans for weekend. Unlike them, y/n left classroom almost immediately, only saying goodbye to a couple of people. Where were you rushing? Maybe, to the club? Or were you going home? Jacob didn’t know where do you live. He was still thinking about you when he was going home. He was heading to this block of rental apartments. He now lived in one of those. Small rooms, tasteless pictures on the walls and laundry in the basement. Jacob still didn’t really believed that it's his home now. “Hey, you!” - he heard. Jacob turned back and saw Alex Lopez. He wasn’t alone. With him was tall, muscular, dark-haired man with tattooed hands. His eyes narrowed. “Is that him, bud?” - the man asked Alex calmly. Alex nodded. Jacob knew that he had to run now, but his legs suddenly went numb. He opened his mouth, preparing to say something contemptuous, but it was too late. Alex’s friend approached him, grabbed his shoulder and rose a hand. Then was a terrible pain in his face, and everything turned black.

Pain stayed with him, when he was out, and became even worse, when he woke up. Not only his face was burning - he felt, that his legs were severely bruised. Probably Alex’s friend strongly kicked him, when he fell. Slowly, very slowly Jacob sat and touched his face. Some blood left on his fingers. Then he searched for his phone. It was still in his pocket... but it was broken in two pieces. Jacob was of the verge of crying. Partly because of the pain. Partly because of this situation. He didn’t get used to paying for his words. But mostly - because of the phone. It was an expensive model. Jacob knew he won”t get new one very soon. Jacob tried to stand up but failed. He was terribly dizzy. The world were going dark before his eyes. He blinked a couple of times, then tried again. His own name was dinging in his ears: «Jacob, Jacob!» “Jacob!” A sudden realisation hit him. He turned back and saw you, rushing to him. “Y/n... “- mumbled he.

Your hands touched his shoulder delicately: “Jacob, how are you?! What on Earth happened here?! You nose is bloody!” Jacob sighed: “I’m so dizzy...”  “Can you walk for 5 minutes, just 5 minutes? I live around the corner. I will help you. Here, have a paper tissue”  Jacob wiped his face clumsily. Tissue quickly became red. “Come on. - you gently urged, helping him to stoop up. - I took your bag, don’t worry.” Soon Jacob more or less recovered. His head was heavy as a cauldron, his feet hurt, and he was sure his nose is broken, but he fully regained  consciousness. And then he realised what’s going on. He was leaning on you, his y/n, you were almost hugging him and whispering: “Just a bit more... Watch out, there are doorsteps. Here we are!” - and you both entered a little white cottage with a garage and a lawn with carefully cut grass. Jacob suddenly found himelf on a couch in a room that looked like a living room. It wasn’t that big or luxury, like rooms in Harlan’s house. But there were plants on the window, nice painting above TV, colourful carpet and book shelves. He didn’t recognized any grandfather’s books there. And then you appeared again. You were holding a little basin, filled with water, a towel, a box with court plasters and head pills. “I will clean your face now, okay?” - you asked with worry in your eyes. Jacob nodded and closed his eyes.   You were so delicate. With a corner of soft towel you cleaned his nose from blood, and then sponged his cheeks and forehead. Jacob was floating in this feeling. Then you touched his nose so ligtly that it wasn’t painful at all. “Nothing is broken. - you said softly, sticking court plaster next to his nose. - How”s your head?” “Hurts.” “Take a pill then, here. Maybe anything else hurts?” “Legs... I was punched. But there are probably just bruises... don’t worry.” “Then rest a bit. Shall I call your parents?” Jacob shook his head no. You did everything to help him, there’s nothing left to do. Jacob knew, that his parents would worry, but he didn’t really care now. Part of him wanted to punish them. It was also their fault... their fault that he’s stuck in trashy school, completely broke, without a possibility of getting a new iphone, and anyone can beat him up if he wants. Now he just wanted to stay in this cozy room for a while - wtih you. You carefully settled on the edge of a couch, trying not to disturb him. “Jacob, tell me, who attacked you?” - you asked. And before Jacob could answer, you lightly stroked his bruised hand. A minute of tense silence passed. Now Jacob knew for sure that he had to try. So he gathered all his bravery and said: “I will... but tell me firstly... will you go out with me?" You gasped: “Oh god, really?”  And the next moment you snuggled to Jacob, still being very careful. “Jacob, dearest, of course I will! I liked you immediately as you arrived in our school. I wonder what happened to you?” “It’s.. a terrible story.” - he smirked, bringing you closer to him. To his own surprise, he didn’t remember himself being that happy back in Thrombey’s house.

[fedeipox]

The Way of Time (Rdr2 fanfic) - Chapter 4 (3/3)

Alright, this is one of my favorite parts. I love Charles with all myself and even if this story is Arthur-centered I couldn’t leave my baby aside.<3

Part 1 here: https://fedeipox.tumblr.com/post/637601250039496704/the-way-of-time-rdr2-fanfic-chapter-4-13

Part 2 here: https://fedeipox.tumblr.com/post/637872924264693760/the-way-of-time-rdr2-fanfic-chapter-4-23

Chapter 4 (3/3) - Fears

Words: 3k

As they walked silently one next to the other out of camp and down the hill, Emily with a bucket in her hand and Charles with a stick on his shoulders and two buckets at its ends, he couldn’t not notice the girl’s smile, her light pace, and her childish way to make the bucket swing in her hand. She seemed younger that her actual age and definitely too happy for the situation she was in: if what she had said was true, and she had just lost everything, how could she smile in that way?

“Why are you smiling?” he asked intrigued. “It’s a beautiful day” she stated pointing at the sky, “I have new clothes” she added looking at herself, “and I’m going to take some water at the river. I feel like in a movie.” Then, she turned to look at him right in the eye.

“You should smile more often, you know. It will make you feel better, and I guess you have a great smile” she said.

Charles frowned. There was definitely something wrong with her.

“Why would you say that?”

“I don’t know, you look like someone with a good smile.”

Charles shook his head and the girl giggled.

Then, silence fell and for a moment Charles hoped they would have continued their little trip quietly, but he soon found out she wasn’t a quiet one.

“Why are you with them?” she asked.

“You mean Dutch?”

“Yeah, you seem… I mean, you look like a good man, you all do actually, and I still can’t believe you are criminals. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“I know we still don’t know each other, but you haven’t done anything illegal until now. You don’t look… you don’t look like criminals.” “How do criminals look like?”

She took a little before answering, like she had to think about it.

“M-mean and…dangerous.”

Charles smiled and shook his head again. She didn’t know what she was talking about, she didn’t know them, she had no idea of what they had done.

“Aah… see? I knew you had a good smile” she exclaimed moving in front of him and pointing her finger at his face, walking backwards. 

“How old are you?” she asked returning to her place.

“Twenty six.” “And you said you left your father’s house when you were thirteen. This means you’ve been on your own for…”

Charles looked at her as she counted the years on her fingers.

“Exactly thirteen years. What a coincidence. What have you being doing all this time?”

“Surviving.”

“I mean you were just a kid. How did you eat? Where did you sleep?”

“I learned fast how to hunt and built me a tent.”

“And no-one ever asked you what you were doing around all alone?”

“No-one cared.”

Silence fell again. Charles looked at her and this time he saw she had a troubled expression. For some minutes, none of them said anything, and he thought that maybe that was the end of the conversation.

“Thank you for that deer this morning. How did you kill it, by the way?”

He sighed as he understood that she would have never stopped talking. 

“Bow and arrows.”

“Really? Gosh, you’re truly a real Native. Serious and quiet, great hunter, I bet you’re very good with horses too.”

“If you say so.”

Emily giggled again.

“What about Arthur, what is he good at?” she asked then.

Charles studied carefully her profile. She liked him, he could perfectly tell. So what was he going to say? That Arthur was a good outlaw? That he was good at threatening, killing and stealing? Because that was the truth, even though he knew Arthur was a better man than he seemed.

“He’s a good hunter, too.”

That was a lie, Arthur was a decent hunter.

“And a good rider.”

That was the truth.

“And he is a hard worker.”

“Mary-Beth told me he has a journal where he makes some drawings. Do you think he’s a good drawer?”

“Probably.” It seemed that she had run out of questions because she didn’t ask anything else until they reached the river. As Charles took away his boots and folded his trousers to dip into the water, she looked around with that surprised smile on her face like she had never seen a stream, and she probably never did, and just from time to time she would whisper an amazed “wow”. 

She passed him the buckets, one by one, which he filled and gave back to her. They finished soon, he wore his boots again and they left.

“How much time do you think we’re going to spend here?” 

She had started again with the questions, but Charles didn’t want to hurt her feelings telling her to shut up, so he just collected all his patience and answered.

“I don’t know, the time they’ll need to find some money.”

“I like this place, it has a beautiful view. My dad would have loved it, but my mom not so much. She is a city lover and my dad… he decided to live in Saint Denis just for her. His dream was a hut lost in the middle of nowhere and he always tells me that, when he first suggested her to leave the city to find a place like that, she felt so bad that she fainted. She says she owns her white hair to that day.”

Emily let out a laugh so pure, that Charles couldn’t help but smile in turn. Then, her expression changed and just like the day before, her eyes lost the light. She had turned sad again and suddenly Charles felt the need to say something, but he had no idea of what to say. He wasn’t Hosea, he wasn’t good with words. 

When they came back with the water, Tilly immediately noticed something had changed. Emily wasn’t the same, she had an odd look, dark and cloudy. She thanked Charles for his help and then brought one of the buckets to the basin to fill it. Miss Grimshaw came closer with a pile of clothes and told the new girl to wash them. She meekly nodded, taking them from her arms and then turned to look at Tilly.

“How do you wash clothes?” she asked.

Yes, there was definitely something wrong, Tilly could understand it through her voice, and she was oddly worried. She barely knew that girl, she hadn’t given a damn about her until that moment, but now she was suddenly worried. Had Charles done something to her? No, Tilly knew Charles. He was a good man, he wouldn’t do something like that. So what?

“Here, gimme these” she said and took the clothes from her arms.

She put them beside the basin and one by one she showed her how she had to do it. Then, she gave way to her and watched her as she did the work.

“Good, you can do it on your own” she said and did as to stand up, but then she looked at her face and changed her mind.

“What happened at the river? Why you look so sad?” she asked.

“Oh, no, nothing happened. I just… I was thinking about my parents and…”

She shook her head and then gave her a big sad smile.

“I’m fine, thank you for asking” she said as she started to rub the clothes.

...

That time there was no Hosea that could make her feel better and she had to fight with the unhappy thoughts on her own. Tilly had been very kind to her, showing her what to do and asking her what was wrong before she left. 

Washing clothes didn’t help, it reminded her of her home, even though back then she used a washing machine. Probably telling Tilly about the washing machine would have been fun, look at her face as she explained how they had invented something that cleaned the clothes on its own, but she didn’t feel in the mood for conversation, not anymore.

The day passed fast. Help Miss Grimshaw was an adventure: that woman was never happy about anything, if they didn’t do it, she got angry, if they did it but not the way she wanted, she got angry, if they did it all over again, following scrupulously her indications, they were losing too much time and she got angry. 

Emily didn’t complain and with a “yes, Miss Grimshaw” or a “ okay, Miss Grimshaw” did everything she wanted under her careful eyes. She wasn’t lying when she had said she would have punished her for what she had done, the hard work was the proof of it, and accept the punishment without saying a word was the best thing to do.

When the sunset arrived and she finally let her free, Emily reached the campfire and sat on the log to rest her legs. 

“Hi guys” she said to Javier and Micah.

The former had a guitar on his lap and he was fixing it’s cords or something like that, the latter was just seated there looking at the people who from time to time walked in front of him.

“Well, look at you, with your fine new clothes. It seems your getting used to live in 1899” said Micah, but by the tone he was using Emily understood he didn’t really believe she came from the future, it was just a way to mock her.

She didn’t want to be the victim of that prick again and she wanted to answer him something, maybe use a good comeback, a smart one, that could shut his mouth forever. But Emily was no such girl, she didn’t have the wit for comebacks and insults, so she opted for something in her range: ignore him.

During the day she had recovered a little of her usual good humor, and she felt again in the mood for talking and asking questions, and she didn’t waste any time.

“Can you play?” she asked to Javier nodding towards his guitar.

“Ah-ah.”

“Who thought you?”

“No-one. I learned on my own.”

“Cool. Can you also sing?”

“Yes, I can.”

“Well then, I can’t wait to hear something. Do you sing in English or Spanish?”

“Do you ever stop talking?”

Emily looked at Micah as he said those words, feeling like someone had punched her in the stomach. 

“After two days you’re still an asshole” she said to his face, but she could feel her words were insecure and her lips where trembling. She was hurt.

“You expected me to change?”

Emily quickly looked away. Why he had to be like that? Why she was going along with him?

“I’ll take something to eat” she said and stood up.

“Why don’t you bring me something too?” asked Micah.

“Why should I?” she complained crossing her arms on her chest.

She felt insulted and mistreated by that man and she summoned all her strength not to run away and hide in a corner. That little good humor she had recovered got lost again and that day was about to become one of those she just wanted to forget. 

“Oh, I didn’t know you were such a touchy type” he sneered.

“I’m not touchy, I just don’t understand why you have to treat me like garbage. What have I done to you?”

“Hey, calm down girl. I was just observing that you are quite a chatterbox. I enjoy the silence.”

“Well you could say it in a kinder way.”

“Okay then, I’ll remember that. Now, would you bring me something to eat, please?” 

Emily fixed her eyes in his. Was he playing with her? Probably. Was she happy to be treated like an idiot? Absolutely not. But at the same time she wanted to be better than him, she wanted to show him that politeness and goodness are the right means to reach a purpose, and maybe in the end she could have changed his way of doing things.

She reached the pot, filled two plates, took two spoons and came back.

“See, with kindness you can obtain everything” she said as she handed the plate to Micah.

At first he frowned at her, like he didn’t believe she had actually done it, but eventually he took the plate and smiled, a true smile, not one of his usual smirks, or at least that’s what Emily wanted to believe.

“Do you want some too, Javier?” she asked to the other man.

“No, thank you” he said as he kept moving his eyes from her to Micah just like he had seen a ghost. “I prefer to eat later” he added.

Emily shrugged and reached the log to sit again and eat.

“So, how is life in the future?” asked Micah leaning forward on his chair. “I mean, is it much different than now?”

He seemed to have lost all that mocking tone he had used with her before and Emily thought it was due to her act of kindness, but she didn’t know Micah and his way to play with those he considered weak. 

“Quite a lot” she said with a piece of potato in her mouth.

“Here is everything so… calm and slow. It takes you a lot to do everything. I’ve just spent two hours washing a bunch of clothes. In my time I need thirty minutes.”

She took another bite before carrying on. Pearson had maintained his promise, the stew was really better that night.

“We live faster, always running, always with something to do, a place to go, someone to meet.”

“It sounds awful” said Javier.

“Actually, it’s not. We’re used to it. And do a lot of things makes you believe you’re doing something with your life, that you’re not wasting time.”

“That is something really wise to say, my dear” said Hosea approaching them and sitting on the log right next to Emily. 

“Is it?” she asked as a smile widened on her lips.

“Trust me, you’re speaking with the wisest man in camp” he joked.

“I’ve missed your wisdom today. I’ve thought about my parents again.”

Hosea nodded and moved on the log to look better at her.

“There is something I can do?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“No, no-one can do anything.” “Think… think about the fact that they are fine. They are home, healthy…”

“They’d be super worried about me right now.”

“But they are fine. That’s what matters.”

Emily nodded and gave him a tiny smile, but she was already feeling better. Following her instinct she leaned forward and put an arm around his neck, holding him tight until she felt one of his shy hands stroking her back. 

“So, you’re telling me that you believe her, old man?” asked Micah and Emily immediately let Hosea go.

She fixed her eyes in his and it gave her the impression he was deeply thinking about his answer.

“Yes, yes I do” he said in the end. 

...

Micah scoffed and shook his head: if that was Hosea’s wisdom it wasn’t much. Then, he took out his gun to polish it, but he had no time to take a rug that he heard a laud gasp and looking up he saw the girl had stood up.

“No, please put that away” she whimpered with her eyes fixed on the pistol.

Micah smirked watching carefully at that pretty face and wondering if she was really such an idiot. She had to be, she had brought him the stew.

“Hey, don’t freak out, girl. I’m just cleaning it” he said.

“No, no put that away. I don’t like it.”

She moved as to go away, but Hosea stopped her.

“Miss Emily, sit, sit down again, please” he said with a soothing voice.

She didn’t move her eyes from Micah’s gun which he started polishing without giving a damn about her stupid fears.

“You afraid of guns?” asked Javier.

The more he saw the more he couldn’t believe how strange that girl was. First, she had brought some stew to Micah, just because he had pretended to speak politely. Second, she talked about her “previous life” and her parents like she really believed in what she was saying, and she had also convinced Hosea about her follies. And finally, she was panicking because Micah took out his gun to clean it, like she didn’t know they were criminals, which meant they did far worse things with guns than polishing them.

“Listen, you know what we are” said Hosea as she sat again.

“Yes.”

“You know what we do.”

“I-I imagine.”

“There is no need for you to be scared of us.”

“I’m not scared of you, I don’t like firearms. They are dangerous. Too dangerous.”

“As you can see we all have one. Some of us two. If you freak out every time we polish one, you’ll run away by the end of the week.”

“Maybe she can try to hold one” suggested Javier. He had learned that facing his own fears helped to overcome them.

“Do you feel like doing it?” asked Hosea.

She looked at them with her big eyes which seemed even bigger under the light of the fire.

“I-I don’t know” she answered in the end.

“Here, look” said Hosea.

He wanted to help her. If she was afraid of guns she was vulnerable, especially in a place where everybody was used to point one to your face for no real reason. He took out his pistol and showed her.

“It’s unloaded, so there’s nothing to worry about” he reassured her.

She kept staring at it, but did nothing, so he reached out a hand and took her plate, pushing the gun in her hands instead. 

“Oh… it’s heavy” she whispered.

Then, with a little trembling hand she brushed a finger on the engraved steel and hinted a smile.

“Did you choose the engravings?” she asked.

“Ah-ah” he affirmed.

“W-well, i-it’s nice. Can you take it back?” she asked and handed it over like she was holding a hand grenade. 

Hosea chuckled and gave her the plate back.

“Maybe one day you’ll learn how to use one” he said.

“Never.”

[hysterialevi]

His Name Was Isaac - Ch. 2

Fanfic summary: During a mission to avenge his mother’s death, Isaac hunts down the men responsible for her murder and kills them off one-by-one, only to discover that his last target is taking refuge among the Van der Linde gang. In an attempt to kill them, Isaac attacks the gang and unknowingly becomes enemies with his own father, who is in the process of fighting his own battle for redemption.

Point of view: third-person

Author’s note: Just wanted to say thank you guys for all the support you gave on the first chapter. I’m definitely excited to write more for you and I hope you’ll stick around for future parts :)

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This story is also on AO3

TWO MONTHS LATER

AURORA BASIN, WEST ELIZABETH

Blackwater.

It was so close.

Dutch could see it.

Somewhere beyond those trees, all the way over the eastern horizon and past the Great Plains, lay the city that started all this. The city that caused the Van der Linde gang to transform from a simple band of outcasts... into a group of killers willing to do anything for a wad of cash.

But was anyone surprised? Probably not.

After Hosea finally succumbed to his illness five years ago, any glimmer of humanity that remained among them instantly vanished. Dutch took full control over the gang and immediately started heading back out west, eager to return to New Austin. Meanwhile, his mental health deteriorated rapidly into a state of paranoia, greed, and an incessant need for power... and the fact that Marston eventually left did little to help matters either. 

At the moment, the only original gang members to remain at Dutch’s side were Bill Williamson, Micah Bell, and of course... Arthur Morgan.

Nobody ever questioned Bill or Micah’s sense of loyalty -- they rarely expressed any emotions suggesting otherwise, after all -- but to everyone’s surprise, Arthur decided to stay.

Some of the rumors said he stayed simply because he had no other family to return to. Others implied that he was waiting for Dutch to follow in Hosea’s footsteps before swooping in to become the new leader. But in reality... the reason Arthur had yet to abandon Dutch was mostly due to sentiment.

Despite everything Dutch had done over these past eight years, Arthur could still see a part of the old him lingering inside. Behind all the ravings and robbing and killing, Arthur could sense that there was something more human at Dutch’s core -- something more fatherly -- and he knew it would disappear completely if he left. So, against better judgement, Arthur stayed.

It probably seemed foolish to other people, to stick around like this. But those rare moments when the old Dutch would break through and remind Arthur of the good ol’ days definitely made it worth it. He had nothing else to care about nowadays, and it wasn’t like Arthur could just leave the gang behind. He was old now -- or at least older than before -- and even if he did abandon Dutch, he doubted he’d have enough time to start a new life for himself.

Right now, the only thing Arthur could do was accept that he was destined to be an outlaw for life... and he had.

Putting his tangled thoughts aside for a moment, Arthur returned to the task at hand and roamed down the short corridor, making his way through the derelict cabin as he went to meet Dutch in the living room.

This cabin was nice, Arthur thought, for a place that had been abandoned for so long. He and Micah found it sitting in the middle of nowhere while hunting for food at Aurora’s Basin, and decided it would be the best place to set up their new camp. At least until they finally made their move on Blackwater.

Though, Arthur couldn’t deny that he was worried for Dutch’s wellbeing. Ever since the gang first settled here, the man practically locked himself in the cabin and rarely ever came out. 

And whenever he did come out, he always looked so pale. Tired. Sickly, even. Not even close to the man Arthur knew eight years ago. He could’ve sworn that Dutch’s hair was getting grayer every time he saw him, and the way his eyes often stared blankly into the distance did nothing to help ease Arthur’s nerves.

He just hoped it wasn’t too late to bring Dutch back from the edge. He might’ve been a total madman these days, but... even then, he was still like a father to Arthur. And as his son, the last thing he wanted was to see him lose himself completely.

He just feared it might have been too late already.

Finally arriving at the living room, Arthur sauntered through the narrow wooden archway and walked up to Dutch, only to be greeted by a depressing scene.

It was completely dark in here.

All the candles had been snuffed out, the fireplace lay cold with ashes, and the lamp on the ceiling did nothing but swing despondently in the chilling breeze.

At the moment, the only source of light in the room was the one in front of Dutch himself. It was a tall, somewhat cracked window that sat right underneath a broken pendulum clock, and it had a torn bundle of curtains dancing gently around it.

There was an array of pale, white sunbeams pouring through its dusty glass currently, and with the way they embraced Dutch’s figure, he looked like nothing more than a silhouette relaxing in an old rocking chair. 

Arthur took a few steps towards the man, hoping to check up on him.

“...Dutch?” He called out quietly. “You, um... wanted to see me?”

The older man slowly glanced over his shoulder at the sound of his name, silently beckoning his friend to come closer once he saw who it was.

When Arthur was at his side, Dutch presented a used handkerchief to him and held it up in the light, making sure the other man could see the blood splatters staining its white fabric.

Arthur eyed the handkerchief with a sorrowful gaze, letting out a morose sigh.

“You ain’t doin’ too good, huh.”

Dutch coughed a few times, his voice raspy from the irritation. “What gave it away?”

Pressing his hands against the armrests, Dutch steadily pushed himself up from the chair and rose to his feet, still facing the window as he continued to talk.

“I’m... I’m dying, son.” He said, almost sounding apologetic. “I can feel it. It won’t be long now before you and Micah are the ones in charge of this gang, and I’m buried in the ground.”

Arthur was admittedly grief-stricken by the news, but did his best to hide it and simply carried on with the conversation.

“...You really think Micah would share that kinda power with me? You know how that man is.”

Dutch put his hands on his hips. “Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know.”

“Well, with all respect, Dutch, I ain’t too comfortable with lettin’ the future of this gang depend on a ‘maybe.”

“Neither am I,” the older man agreed, “but I don’t know what else to do, Arthur. Even after all these years, you and Micah continue to butt heads like a pair of deer who’ve got their antlers tangled. If I’m gonna leave this world in peace, I need to know that you and Micah can work together. Otherwise...”

Dutch’s voice trailed off, leaving Arthur with a sense of dread in his gut.

“Well...” he picked up, “I don’t know what’s gonna happen.”

Arthur shrugged in uncertainty, leaning against the wall. “So... what d’you wanna do?”

The other man returned to his rocking chair, allowing himself to sink into the flat cushion.

“Nothing. Not yet, at least. For now, we just do things the way we’ve always done them. We head for Blackwater, and we focus on the bank. My death is a bridge we’ll cross once we get to it. In the meantime, though...” Dutch gave Arthur a pleading look, “just try to cooperate with Micah, would you? For my sake. The future of this gang may depend on it.”

The younger outlaw crossed his arms, reluctant to agree but still complying nonetheless.

“...Of course, Dutch.” Arthur replied. “For your sake. I doubt it’ll be easy, though.”

That seemed to please the older man. “Thank you, son. Thank you.”

Leaning back in his chair, Dutch let his head fall back and stretched his legs out, gazing aimlessly through the open window once again.

“Oh... I wish Hosea were here. We had our disagreements from time to time, but no one knew how to keep people together quite like that old boy. It ain’t been the same since he died.”

Arthur shook his head with a sigh. “No, it hasn’t. I just wish John was here, too.”

Dutch glowered at the mention of Marston’s name. “Pfft. That man was a traitor. We’re better off without him.”

“Maybe,” Arthur conceded, “but he was still family.”

“Family don’t turn their back on you, Arthur.” Dutch countered. “If we’re going to survive this year, we’ve got to stick together. You, me, Micah, Bill, Mackintosh -- everyone. We can’t let what happened at Beaver Hollow happen again. You understand?”

The younger man hesitated to answer, unable to deny his skepticism about Dutch’s leadership.

“...I understand.” He replied regardless. The other man managed to display a small smile.

“I knew you would, Arthur.” Dutch said, shutting his eyes in order to get some rest as the day gradually came to an end. “You was always there through thick and thin. Even after John abandoned us and Hosea passed, you stuck around. You’ve been loyal from the start, and that means the world to me. Never forget that.”

Arthur pushed himself off the wall and began heading for the cabin’s front door, letting Dutch get some sleep. 

“I won’t, Dutch. I won’t.”

~~~~~~~~~~

SAINT DENIS

GASKILL RESIDENCE

AFTERNOON

“...Gaskill...” Isaac murmured to himself, reading the small note in his hand.

He glanced up at the house in front of him, making sure this was the right place.

“Yep,” he confirmed, talking to his horse. “I think we’re here, Aldo.”

Leaving Aldo at the hitching post, Isaac said goodbye to the majestic creature and stuffed the note back into his pocket, strolling up to the front porch.

The property wasn’t as big as some of the others Isaac had seen along the way, but he still thought it looked rather cozy. It had a total of two stories and was decorated with loads of flowers, trees, grass, and a small water fountain that stood elegantly on the front lawn. There were a few birds perched on the edge of it at the moment, and they chirped happily as the cool water trickled onto their feathers, causing them to flutter their wings joyfully.

As for the house itself, if Isaac’s information was correct, then it belonged to an author by the name of Leslie Dupont. Though, according to the research he’d done, that was just a pen name. 

Her actual name was Mary-Beth Gaskill, and word on the street was that she used to be part of the Van der Linde gang... the very same gang Isaac had been tracking down for these past two months.

He had to admit, this “Dutch van der Linde” figure was proving rather difficult to find. For a while now, he had been jumping from person to person -- town to town -- just trying to get even the smallest lead.

At first, Isaac paid a visit to a general store owner named Simon Pearson who apparently used to be the gang’s cook. He talked with him for a while and shared a few drinks, only to realize that the man had a talent for speaking a lot without actually saying anything substantial. 

Afterwards, he tracked down another ex-member by the name of Tilly Pierre. She appeared friendly enough and was somewhat more willing to communicate, but Isaac hardly got a word out of her before her husband shooed him away. Didn’t want suspicious folks hanging around their family, he said.

And as if that wasn’t tiresome enough already, Isaac found himself talking to a preacher called Orville Swanson who seemed to have nothing but bad memories of Dutch, and kept going on about how much Isaac reminded him of one of the gang members.

At this point, Isaac was just hoping that this Gaskill woman actually existed. It seemed like every lead he followed up would end up with more questions than answers, and all the people he talked to so far had been less than eager to speak about their experiences with him.

If Miss Gaskill didn’t have anything valuable to give him, he had no idea where he would turn next.

Stepping up to the front door, Isaac gave it a few firm knocks and waited patiently in the garden, eager to speak with this woman. After a moment or two, the door swung open from the inside, revealing Ms. Gaskill herself. 

She was a lot more presentable than Isaac expected. In contrast to the rugged, hardened, mean-spirited woman he had been anticipating, Ms. Gaskill actually seemed quite sweet. She had a romantic twinkle in her eye and carried a very inquisitive nature, giving her the look of someone who enjoyed reading books and drinking tea as opposed to the ex-outlaw Isaac heard she was.

“Arthur--!” Ms. Gaskill greeted excitedly, only to cut herself off once she got a better look at her visitor’s face. “Oh, um...” a flustered chuckle escaped her, “s-sorry, mister. I... mistook you for someone else.”

Isaac smiled. “No worries. That seems to happen a lot nowadays.”

The woman cleared her throat. “Can I... can I help you, sir?”

“Yes, actually. Um...” the young man double-checked his note, “...are you Mary-Beth Gaskill?”

She nodded, immediately picking up on the fact that he used her real name. “I am. Who might you be?”

“My name’s Isaac. I apologize for interruptin’ your day like this, but... I was wonderin’ if I could ask you a few questions.”

“What about?”

Isaac hesitated for a second, unsure about how to broach the subject. “...It’s...it’s about the Van der Linde gang. I’ve heard that you used to run with them back in the day, and I was hopin’ you might be able to provide some answers. I’m lookin’ for them, you see.”

To Isaac’s surprise, the response actually seemed to earn him a more colloquial temperament from Ms. Gaskill, as opposed to the suspicious nature his previous visits induced. 

“Ah... I think I understand. Of course, of course. Come on in. I’d be happy to help.”

“Thank you, madam. I’ll just be a minute.”

Pushing the door completely open, Ms. Gaskill allowed Isaac to walk in as she made her way to the sitting area, preparing something for them to drink.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” She offered.

Isaac shut the front door behind him, removing his hat. “That’d be lovely.”

Mary-Beth beamed at him, gesturing to the multiple chairs that had been arranged around the room. “Please, have a seat. Make yourself at home.”

Taking in his surroundings, Isaac sat down next to a rather nice end table and placed his hat on his lap, gazing at the decorations scattered throughout the house. 

Isaac already pegged Mary-Beth for a bookworm, but he had no idea just how into it she truly was. There were numerous bookshelves filled to the brim with horror stories, mysteries, comedies, tragedies... but most of all, romances.

They seemed to occupy the shelves more than any other genre, and just by looking at the small ribbons sticking out from between their pages, it was evident that Mary-Beth was busy working her way through quite a few of them at the same time. He wondered what that said about her as a person.

“Here you go,” Ms. Gaskill said as she handed him a cup of coffee, breaking Isaac out of his thoughts. “Careful, it’s hot.”

Isaac gently brought the cup into his grasp, holding it securely as the smell of freshly-brewed coffee beans reached his nose. “Thank you.”

Giving him a smile in response, Mary-Beth retrieved her own cup of coffee before taking a seat across from the young man, admittedly intrigued by his motive for being here.

“So...” she started, “you’re lookin’ for the Van der Linde gang. May I ask why?”

Isaac took a sip. “Well, truth be told, I ain’t really concerned about the whole gang. I’m just lookin’ for a specific person who I’ve been told is with them.”

Ms. Gaskill formed her own conclusion. “So, you’re a bounty hunter?”

“In a way, I guess. Only difference is I’m not doing this for the money. My reasons are more personal.”

The young woman nodded in understanding. “I see. And how did you know I used to be with them?”

“Your friend Mr. Swanson directed me to you.”

A nostalgic look spread across Mary-Beth’s face at the sound of Swanson’s name. 

“Oh, Mr. Swanson...” she reminisced warmly, “it’s been many years since I last saw him, but he was always so kind. Lost, perhaps, but kind. How is he nowadays?”

“He’s doin’ well, I think,” Isaac answered honestly. “He’s a minister now, up in New York. I don’t know what he was like when you knew him, but... Swanson seemed to be content with his life, if a bit remorseful.”

“That’s good to hear,” Ms. Gaskill said, her expression dimming slightly afterwards. “Too many of my friends from the old days ended up dead, missing, or just straight-up insane... so I’m glad that at least someone besides Tilly turned out okay.”

She downed some of her coffee, changing the subject. “But enough about that. You said you had questions about the Van der Linde gang?”

“I do.”

“Well...” Mary-Beth set her coffee down, “what would you like to know?”

Isaac decided to start at the top, inquiring about the leader himself.

“...What kind of a man is Dutch van der Linde?” He asked. “What can I expect from him?”

Ms. Gaskill chuckled at the question. “I used to ask myself the same thing everyday.”

Isaac smirked. “He’s unpredictable, I take it?”

“Understatement of the century. Though, to be fair, Dutch wasn’t always like that. When I first joined their gang, he actually saved me. A couple of men had just caught me stealin’ from them and were chasing me over the hills until Dutch scared them off. He was so generous back then. So passionate.”

“Yeah?” Isaac noted. “How so?”

Mary-Beth leaned forward, gesturing with her hands. “Well, even though Dutch was technically an outlaw, he never really came across as one. He was more like a teacher, or a guardian. A father even, to some. He loved us all, and we loved him, but...”

A melancholic sigh escaped the young woman. “...things just... spiraled out of control. As the years passed by, civilization began to spread, the law started killin’ our people, and eventually, Dutch just... snapped. In the end, he was more akin to a tyrant than anything, and the gang fell apart within a few short months. That was when I decided to run away with my friends, but... not everyone made it.”

Mary-Beth’s expression sank with sorrow, causing Isaac to blurt out an apology.

“I-I’m sorry, Ms. Gaskill. I didn’t mean to bring up any bad memories.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” She reassured. “I just wish things could’ve turned out differently, y’know? Not everyone in the gang was rotten. Some of them were actually quite wonderful... but it’s rarely the good ones who survive. I’m just surprised to hear that the Van der Linde gang is still going. I thought the rest of them would’ve scattered to the winds by now.”

Isaac drank some more of his coffee. “D’you have any idea where I could find them?”

Ms. Gaskill thought for a moment. “Well, if there’s anythin’ I know about Dutch, it’s that he probably headed back to the west.”

The young man quirked a brow. “The west? That’s a pretty big region. You have any specific states in mind? Or cities? Anything that could narrow it down?”

“Hmm... Dutch used to talk a lot about New Austin,” she suggested. “Apparently, he’s quite fond of the desert. Said it made him feel closer to the sky. I know he was always eyeballin’ that town Blackwater, too.”

“Blackwater...” Isaac repeated, mentally marking the town as his next point of interest. “I’ve been there a few times. Do you know why he’d be hangin’ around there?”

Mary-Beth shrugged. “No idea. All I know is that eight years ago, a ferry job in Blackwater nearly finished the whole gang. Perhaps Dutch feels like he has unfinished business there. Probably sees the town as a trophy he never got to win.”

“Hmm... that makes sense. And what about his numbers? How many men did Dutch have when you was with him?”

The woman conjured up a quick estimation. “Roughly two dozen, I think. Possibly a few more. But I can’t imagine he has that many people following him around these days, considerin’ how maniacal he was when I last saw him.”

“I see. So, he’s likely got a good chunk of people with him.”

The young man finished his coffee and placed the empty mug on the end table, preparing to leave.

“Well, I think I’ve gotten all the answers I needed, Ms. Gaskill. Thanks for takin’ the time to help me out. I really appreciate it.”

Mary-Beth smiled sincerely. “Anytime. It was good to talk about the old days, no matter how chaotic they might’ve been. I just hope you can find whomever it is you’re lookin’ for. Are they a friend of yours?”

Isaac chuckled. “Hardly. Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Ah. So you’re trackin’ down an enemy. Well, be careful out there, then. Things may be more civilized nowadays, but many gangs still roam the country. Not to mention that Dutch himself is exceptionally dangerous. Stay safe during your search.”

The man rose to his feet, heading to the door. “I will. Believe me. Oh, and um... Ms. Gaskill?” Isaac threw a look of gratitude at her, putting his hat back on before stepping out into the sun. “Thanks for the coffee.”

[supercalvin]

merthur prompt 18 + U !!!

18. Apocalypse AU + U. Bed Sharing

(We’re gonna keep the Apocalypse stuff to a minimum because hoooooo boyyyyy)

I would def call this fic “Wasteland, Baby” because I love hozier and that’s literally the only reason folks

Prompts (or any prompt)  + Ficlets

((No i don’t know why “keep reading” line isn’t working on mobile, and yes it’s driving me crazy))

***

When Merlin had been a child, he had pictured aliens to be tall thin creatures with large black eyes. Or maybe humanoid creatures with some small features changed. The creatures that attacked were nothing like the things he had imagined as a child. What came were large, nasty creatures with weapons the likes of which Earth had never seen before.

Arthur and Merlin hadn’t been friends before The Attack (as it had come to be called, years down the line). Arthur had been a far off acquaintance. Merlin had known very little about him. He had been Morgana’s step brother who had been in the military for several years and was working for his father’s military supply corporation.

Merlin had been working in the tech industry, free lancing at companies to create or improve their websites. It had just been a funny coincidence running into Arthur. Merlin had had a meeting with someone at Pendragon Corps and when Merlin had stepped off the lift, he had run into Arthur. There had been awkward conversation for a minute. They really hadn’t known each other well enough for much chit-chat. Arthur mentioned the weather. Merlin mentioned the traffic.

After that it was a bit of a blur. The attack had been so quick, and everyone was in a panic as the creatures opened fire across London.Arthur was the only person Merlin knew in the building, so he stuck with him. The next twenty-four hours felt like a month, each hour bringing another wave of attacks. They found shelter in Merlin’s apartment, a dingy studio in the basement of an old townhouse. That had been the first of many nights, not they had known it at the time.

Now, in the middle of nowhere, miles away from London, Merlin was loading up their truck. Arthur was sitting in the bed of the truck, tinkering with one of the creature’s weapons. Merlin had thanked his lucky star that he had ended up riding out the Apocalypse with a weapon’s engineer. Luckily, between Merlin’s tech skills and Arthur’s military ones, they had managed to get along alright.

“We need more water,” Merlin said, hefting up the last of the supplies they had taken from an abandoned shop.

“We’ve some wine.”

Merlin wrinkled his nose, “It’s probably turned to vinegar by now.”

Arthur grinned, “It’s a vintage.”

“Every wine is a vintage now. Moonshiners only make vodka.”

Merlin pushed Arthur’s legs away so he could snap the tailgate into place. Arthur didn’t seem bothered and nudged Merlin’s arm with his boot. “We could find a vineyard.”

Merlin snorted, “Come on, let’s head back to the house before it gets too light outside.”

They had found out long ago that the creatures didn’t have good night vision, so the two of them had mostly turned nocturnal. The sun wasjust beginning to rise as Merlin hopped into the cab and drove them back to their base.

The house was tiny. They had blocked out all the windows and had fortified the entire first floor.  They lived in the basement, which had running water (someone had connected a local stream in an elaborate system to the basement kitchen, and Merlin was forever grateful to whoever had known enough about irrigation to do so). The entire basement was just one open space with a kitchen in the corner, a dining table pushed against one wall and a bed sitting next to a large fireplace.

Merlin boiled a few buckets of water over the fire and dumped it into a basin.

“Get in. You smell like whatever it is they put in those weapons.”

Arthur must have been grateful enough that Merlin had prepared him a bath that he didn’t argue. He stripped and grabbed a washcloth without complaint. With the subtle sounds of Arthur in the background, Merlin finished making dinner. He must have spaced out, because he didn’t notice when Arthur stepped up behind him. Arthur rested a hand on his hip.

“You should use the rest of the bath water. I’ll finish dinner.”

Merlin nodded, taking the last bucket of water off the fire and dumping it into the bath that had gone lukewarm while Arthur had bathed. Merlin was quick and efficient in his bathing. He hadn’t had time for anything luxurious in years. He washed the essentials and didn’t linger.

By the time he was wrapping a towel around himself, Arthur was setting down two plates onto the kitchen table. Arthur was still only wrapped in his towel. Any kind of propriety had been forgotten years ago. Not that Merlin minded the view. So Merlin wrapped his own towel around his waist and sat at the table.

They ate dinner in companionable silence. The first time they spoke was when Arthur took the plates away and came back to the table witha bottle of wine.

“If we get sick, I’m blaming you,” Merlin said with a laugh.

They had trouble opening it. They didn’t have a corkscrew, but that wasn’t going to stop Arthur, who was stubborn as a mule. Eventually, they just pushed the cork into the bottle. They didn’t bother with cups, and Merlin took a swig out of the bottle.

“Did wine always taste this way?” Merlin smacked his lips and handed the bottle back to Arthur.

“Don’t know. I think this is a cheap brand.”

“Oh-ho, well excuse me, posh boy.” Merlin mocked.

Arthur pushed his shoulder and made a face at him. “You wouldn’t know good taste if it bit you.”

They passed the bottle back and forth, exchanging stories. Some stories from before the attack. Some recounting the tales they had lived together. Some made up entirely. They had migrated from the table over to the bed, lying with their backs against the wall, and the bottle between them.

“It’s all gone,” Merlin whined, turning the bottle over and shaking it, as if some secret wine might pour out of it. “Damn.”

“Mm, it was good though,” Arthur said, much less effected by the alcohol than Merlin, although his tolerance for it had decreased greatly since The Attack. He didn’t get many opportunities for alcohol now.

“Ugh,” Merlin said, setting the bottle onto the floor. “It’s a sturdy bottle though.”

“Mm,” Arthur hummed again. So many years ago he would have never guessed that he would care about having a nice bottle around, but now he was considering what they might use it for.

Merlin rolled over, and something about his movement must have made him giggle.

“You’re an absolute light weight.”

“Takes less for me to get drunk though,” Merlin pointed out, poking Arthur in the shoulder. His hand lingered there.

They still hadn’t bothered with clothes. The fire had kept the small room warm and they weren’t chilled in just their towels.

Arthur rolled so that he was hovering above Merlin.

It hadn’t always been like this, Merlin thought as Arthur leaned down and cupped his face. Merlin remembered when they barely knew each other. Arthur nuzzled his face, his lips rubbing against Merlin’s jaw. Merlin remembered how they had barely tolerated each other. Arthur sucked on Merlin’s neck, teeth biting down and leaving Merlin breathless. Merlin remembered how the tolerance had shifted into comradery, then into the desperate need for any kind of physical affection. Arthur hovered above Merlin, his thumb tracing Merlin’s lip delicately before dipping his head down and kissing him softly. Merlin wasn’t sure when it had shifted into this.

Later, towel discarded onto the floor and the blankets wrapped around them, Merlin and Arthur dozed in and out of sleep.

Arthur had his arm wrapped around Merlin’s waist, his nose tucked into the nape of Merlin’s neck. He was snoring slightly, on every other inhale. Merlin had been watching the fire, thinking. He remembered the first night they had shared a bed like this. It had been desperate and not at all about emotion.

Merlin turned in Arthur’s arms. Arthur shifted, his eyes not opening all the way. He grunted, “’erlin?” If either of them had been deep sleepers before all of this, they certainly weren’t anymore.

“Sorry. Just turned over.”

“Hm,” Arthur hummed, his hand running up Merlin’s spine.

“Arthur?”

Arthur pushed his face further into the pillow, humming a little to indicate he was listening. “Hm?”

Merlin whispered, “I love you.”

With that, Arthur’s eyes blinked open. Merlin bit his lip.

It took Arthur a few second to respond.

“Yeah?”

Merlin snorted, “Yeah, you git.”

Arthur’s smile was drowsy, his eyes closing and his lips only tilting up slightly.

“You’re going to be insufferable when you wake up.”

“’m not,” Arthur protested, pulling Merlin even closer to himself. He tilted his head down so he could kiss Merlin. With his eyes closed, he missed and kissed Merlin on the chin instead.

“You’re the only thing that gets me through the day, Merlin.”

“Soppy,” Merlin said, tilting his head up for a proper kiss.

“You started it,” Arthur said, tucking Merlin close to his chest, “Now go back to sleep.”

***

Prompts (or any prompt)  + Ficlets

[thefinalcinderella]

Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru Chapter 1-The Residents of Chikusei-sou (Part 2)

Whassup everyone who’s still keeping up with my translations? Here’s a longer chapter part! Since the next part is a lot shorter, I should probably have it up by the time this year ends lol

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

1. Nightingale floors are floors that make a chirping sound when you step on them. They are used in some temples and palaces in Japan.

2. Ten tatami mats is about 16.5 square meters.

3. Nicotine is ニコチン or nicochin in Japanese, so Nico-chan’s nickname comes from that basically

4. Yuki calls Nico-chan a nirou (二浪), which is someone who failed their university entrance exams two times.

5. Yuki’s name has the character for “snow” (雪) in it

6. Nico-chan is referring to the classic anime Heidi, Girl of the Alps which was a World Masterpiece Theater anime. In Japanese, Heidi is ハイジ (Haiji), Clara is クララ (Kurara), and the goat is ヤギ (Yagi).

7. Six tatami mats is about 10 square meters.

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The apartment was older than he thought it was going to be.

“…Haiji-san, is this the place?”

“Yeah, this is Chikusei-sou. We call it ‘Aotake’.”

Kiyose proudly looked up at the building. Kakeru was just stunned. It was his first time seeing such an old wooden building that wasn’t even a cultural asset.

The cheaply built wooden two-story building looked like it was about to collapse at any moment. It was unbelievable that someone was living there. But what was particularly terrifying was that there were soft lights coming from several of the windows.

Chikusei-sou was right on the midpoint between the university and the public bath “Tsurunoyu”.

When one passed through the alley, one would come to a neighborhood where new condos that were beginning to be built and traditional fields existed alongside each other. Chikusei-sou was built in that area, surrounded by lush green hedges. There was no gate, and one could see into the lot from gaps in the hedges.

There was a large front yard covered in gravel, and to the back of the left side, there was a one-story house that seemed to be where the landlord lived. The roof must had been retiled, as it shone slightly from repelling the starlight. The building on the right side was the Chikusei-sou in question.

“There’re nine rooms altogether. Thanks to you, we’re all full.”

Kiyose led Kakeru to the front door of Chikusei-sou while stepping on the gravel. The door was a grated sliding door fitted with a thin pane of glass. The outside light was flickering restlessly within the long narrow door canopy where tiny insects were gathered. Relying on that sooty light, Kakeru tried to read the old wooden doorplate hanging next to the entrance somehow. There, written in manly cursive, seemed to be the characters for “Chikusei-sou.”

Kiyose carelessly stopped his bike, carried the two wash basins on top of each other under his arm, and put his hand on the sliding door.

“I’ll introduce the residents to you one-by-one. Everyone here’s a Kansei student.”

There’s a bit of a trick to this, Kiyose said as he opened the poorly-fitted sliding door as if he was lifting it.

Immediately after entering, the ground became a dirt floor hardened with concrete, and there was a shoe cupboard with doors installed nearby. It also seemed to play the role of a mailbox. There were horizontal slots that could be opened on the doors, and room numbers scribbled on paper with ballpoint pen were affixed with cellophane tape. Every piece of paper was browned from the sun. A quick look at the cupboard showed that there were four rooms on the first floor and five on the second floor.

The stairs that led to the second floor was to the right of the entrance. Even without trying to ascend them, one could see that it was crooked and warped. Kakeru thought that it was a wonder that the building still hadn’t collapsed yet.

Kiyose took off his orthopedic sandals on the dirt floor and prompted Kakeru, “Now, let’s go upstairs.” Kakeru put his sneakers into the cupboard labeled “103” as he was told.

“Haiji-san, welcome back!”

The voice came at that moment. Surprised, Kakeru looked around. There was no one there. Next to him, Kiyose was also knitting his brows together in suspicion.

“Up here!”

The overlapping voices called, and the two looked up at the ceiling. For some reason, there was a fist-sized hole on the ceiling of the entryway. It looked like there was someone trying to pressed their face through it. Someone’s eye was peeking down from the hole, and it looked like they were laughing mischievously.

“Jouji…” Kiyose said in a low voice. “What’s with the hole?”

“The floor got stepped through!”

“I’m going there now, so stay put.”

Kiyose was angry, but he went up the stairs without making any sounds. Kakeru was confused, but decided to follow after him. When he put his foot on the stairs, they creaked intensely, like they were nightingale floors. (1)

Kakeru climbed the dark and steep stairs and got a view of what the second floor was like. The ceiling was taller than he had expected. There were two doors that seemed to lead to the toilet and bathroom respectively next to the stairs, and next to them seemed to be two rooms. There were three more rooms on the other side of the corridor facing the stairs. All of the rooms were completely silent, but light was only leaking from the door with the plate that read “201” that was in the middle of the three rooms, directly opposite to the stairs.

Kiyose walked up to Room 201 without hesitating, then opened the door without knocking. Kakeru nervously peeked into the room from the doorway.

Room 201 was about ten tatami mats wide,(2) with a low tea table placed in the middle that served as the border between two sets of futons that were left out on the floor. It seemed that there were two people living in Room 201. Scattered messily around the futons were what seemed to be books and other junk that belonged to each person.

It was the residents of the room who caught one’s attention the most. They were two men with the exact same face, looking towards them like they were entreating them. They were twins who were extremely identical. Kakeru, feeling like he was doing a spot-the-difference game, compared the faces of the two residents of Room 201.

“I’m pretty sure I told you guys to be careful. Which one of you did it?”

Kiyose said bluntly, putting his hands on his hips. The twins, who made sure to huddle together, began to talk at the same time.

“Nii-chan did it!”

“Jouji did it!”

“That’s so mean, Nii-chan, pinning the blame on your little brother.”

“Weren’t you the one who made the hole bigger?”

“I only got stuck in the hole you made!”

Even the tones of their voices were exactly alike. Kiyose lightly raised his right hand and wordlessly commanded the twins to “Shut up.”

“Did you pay attention to the fact that the space between the boards near the entrance was weak?”

Room 201 was tatami-matted, but only the place that was right above the entryway had a wooden floor. The twins nodded with the same timing to Kiyose’s scolding.

“We were careful.”

“We were walking normally. Normally. Then suddenly, snap!”

Kiyose hmphed.

“The boards will come loose if you walk normally. From now on, walk with great care. Okay?”

The twins nodded again. Kiyose cautiously put his knee to the boards and inspected the hole.

“Um, Haiji-san?”

One of the twins shyly called out to Kiyose.

“What?”

“Who’s that?”

The twins’ gazes were fixed on Kakeru, who was idly standing at the door.

“Oh!” Kiyose said like he just remembered and looked back at Kakeru. “That’s Kurahara Kakeru. He’s a first-year going to Kansei this spring like you guys. He’ll be living here starting today.”

Kakeru stepped into the room and stood next to the tea table, then lightly bowed his head.

“Please treat me well.”

“Nice to meet you.”

The twins said in unison.

“Kakeru, these are the Jou twins. The older brother is Jou Tarou and the younger one is Jou Jirou.”

The twins nodded in the order they were introduced. If their positions were changed, one probably wouldn’t be able to tell them apart anymore.

“Call me Jouji, and Nii-chan’s Jouta.” The one who was Jirou told him amiably. “Everyone calls us that.”

“Wonder if that hole can be used for something, eh, Kakeru?”

The one was Tarou also brought up the topic in a familiar way. “Um…” Kakeru stammered. He was overwhelmed by the twins, who spoke in rapid succession.

Kiyose got up. “We gotta put magazines or something over it to cover it up.” He said, looking down at the hole. “Did you guys hurt your feet when you stepped through the floor?”

“Nope, not at all.”

The twins shook their heads at the same speed. Guessing that Kiyose wasn’t angry anymore, their expressions were clearly relieved.

He scared those twins that much, Kakeru thought. Haiji-san seems to be a big person in Chikusei-sou. Thinking about his future living in a group in this old apartment, he sighed heavily. No matter where he went, it didn’t seem like he could escape from cliques or pecking orders.

“I still haven’t even showed Kakeru to his room yet. I’m begging you, don’t destroy Aotake any more than this.”

Kiyose said before quickly leaving Room 201. Jouta and Jouji saw Kakeru off at the door.

“The truth that this place is run-down got out as soon as you came.”

“If you’re really gonna live here, it’s a nice and quiet place.”

Kakeru said “Good night” to the twins who both talked in turn, and chased after Kiyose, who was beginning to go down the stairs.

It was true that Chikusei-sou was engulfed in silence. Even though the twins had made such a fuss, he didn’t see any of the other residents. Were they not in their rooms? He could only hear the rustling of the thickets of trees scattered around the building and occasionally the sounds of cars driving in the distance. From the front door that was left open, the spring night wind that was beginning to be lukewarm sprang up gently, carrying in the scent of the soil from the fields.

Kakeru picked up his sports bag that he left on the dirt floor. The overhead hole that was just created was already closed up with a magazine that had a woman in a swimsuit on the cover. There was no longer light coming from the twins’ bedroom, so the entryway was dim.

Finally, Kakeru was able to get a good look at the first floor of Chikusei-sou. The layout wasn’t much different from the second floor. They went down the hallway, heading directly from the entrance to the back.

On the left side of the hallway, by order from closest to the entrance was the kitchen, Room 101, and Room 102. Room 201 where the twins lived from just now was directly above the entryway and kitchen. Because of that, the second floor had one more room. Kiyose lived in Room 101, which seemed to be below Room 202. Based on that, Room 203 would be above Room 102.

The right side of the first floor hallway had the exact same layout as the second floor. Next to the stairs was the doors to the toilet and bathroom, and Rooms 103 and 104 were towards the back. They were below Rooms 204 and 205 respectively.

Guided by Kiyose, Kakeru was about to go down hallway when he stopped, startled. At the end of the first floor hallway, thick white smoke that definitely did not look trivial was rising.

“Haiji-san, isn’t there a fire over there?”

But Kiyose, without looking perturbed, was about to explain something or other with an “Oh, that.” At that moment, the door to Room 102 at the back of the left side opened vigorously. A figure flew out from inside. Thinking that they came out because they noticed the fire, Kakeru braced himself, but that person did not go to the entryway where Kakeru and Kiyose were, but instead violently knocked on the door of Room 104 across from them immediately.

“Senpai! Hey, Nico-chan-senpai!”

They continued to knock ten times, violently enough to rattle all the doors on the first floor. At last, the door to Room 104 opened.

“Shut up, Yuki.”

It looked like a large figure lumbered out, but the smoke was so thick that Kakeru couldn’t them well. The two did not seem to be aware of Kakeru and Kiyose, who were near the kitchen, and began to get into a fierce argument.

“Your cigarette smoke is getting into my room.”

“Shouldn’t you be happy you can get a whiff of it without spend money?”

“I don’t smoke! Anyways, it’s bothering me, so please stop it!”

Look, it’s so smoky, the resident of Room 102 said, flapping their arm to clear the smoke. The white toxic substance drifted all the way to where Kakeru was. He agreed that it definitely was the smell of cigarettes. It was good that there wasn’t a fire, but the two’s argument was escalating.

“Your music is too loud too. Blasting that nonsense music all night long and making me listen to it. You’re giving me nightmares!”

“I use headphones at night.”

“Even so, I can still hear that awful nonsense!”

“This place is ancient, so there is no helping it.”

“I don’t want my smoke to leak out, you know. It’s cuz the door’s fit is bad…”

“Alright, that’s enough.”

Kiyose clapped his hands and drew the attention of the arguing duo. “Perfect timing. Let me introduce our newest resident.”

When the sounds of the quarrel ceased, it became clear that the music from Room 102 that sounded like heavy bass and electronic noise entangled together, and the cigarette smoke from Room 104 that was pure white like dry ice, were both endlessly overflowing from the rooms. Kakeru did not want to go over there, but Kiyose walked to the back of the hallway where the two people were without minding it at all.

The residents of the back of the first floor, their momentum dampened with their fists raised and their mouths opened, waited for Kiyose and the newcomer Kakeru to approach.

“Senpai, Yuki, this is Kurahara Kakeru, who will be living in Room 103 from now on. He’s a first-year sociology student. Kakeru, this is the old-timer of Chikusei-sou, Hirata Akihiro of Room 104. Everyone calls him Nico-chan-senpai.”

“Cuz he’s the nicotine demon king.” (3)

The man called Yuki who was still not introduced yet, with his back to the loud music, said angrily.

Kiyose reined him in. “Nico-chan-senpai will be a third-year science and engineering student this spring. He was my senpai when I first arrived here, but before I knew it, he became a year lower than me.” He continued.

Nico-chan, who had a strong physique like a bear’s, nodded to Kakeru without smiling.

“So you’re gonna be my neighbor. Nice to meet you.”

Nico-chan, who had stubble growing on his impudent-looking face, really did not seem like a student. Kakeru secretly asked Kiyose, “Um, how many years can you stay in university for?”

“Eight years.”

Nico-chan added to Kiyose’s answer.

“This is still my fifth year.”

“By the way, he failed his entrance exams twice.” Yuki, whose real name was still unknown, impatiently interrupted. (4)

So that means he’s twenty-five years old this year? Kakeru quickly calculated and looked at Nico-chan, who was still dignified despite all of that. He did not cut in with any jokes or get angry, never breaking his composed demeanour. Part of him wanted to avoid damage from smoke pollution, but he didn’t seem like a person who was hard to deal with.

Kiyose finally introduced the other person.

“Kakeru, this is Iwakura Yukihiro. He’s a law student and a fourth-year like me. We call him Yuki. He may not look it, but he’s passed the bar.”

“Hello.”

Yuki curtly greeted him. Just like his name, his skin was an unhealthy-looking bluish-white. (5) He was lanky and wore glasses, and had a very high-strung, fussy-looking face. I should avoid anything that would make this person complain as much as possible, Kakeru thought.

Nico-chan took out a cigarette from his pocket. Acting like he didn’t feel Yuki’s condemning gaze, he lit it.

“Yo, Haiji. There seemed to be some kind of noise upstairs just now. What was that about?”

“The twins, as expected, stepped through a floorboard.”

“Did they do that right away?” Yuki-chan laughed.

“Those two are idiots.”

Yuki’s cheek spasmed. “Even though they were specially assigned the biggest room in Aotake, isn’t it meaningless if they stepped through that floorboard?”

“The upstairs room near the entryway had always been dangerous. I have to think of a way to reinforce it somehow.”

Kiyose said, and Yuki frowned.

“I think it’s Prince’s fault though.”

While Kiyose and Yuki were deep in talk, Kakeru was silently standing around with Nico-chan. Nico-chan had an astounding lung capacity, and his cigarette quickly turned to ash all the way close to the filter. He stubbed it out on the door to his room.

“Oi, Kakeru.”

As expected, Nico-chan also suddenly called him by his given name without honorifics. “I realized something incredible just now.”

“What is it?”

“You three have the same names as characters as that Masterpiece anime!”

“Hah…”

Kakeru knew little about anime, so he could only respond dully. Nico-chan, with his second cigarette between his fingers, pointed at Kiyose, Kakeru, and Yuki in that order.

“Haiji’s obvious. Kakeru is Kurahara, so he’s Clara. And finally, Yuki-chan’s the goat. See?” (6)

“Please do not arbitrarily make a person into a goat.”

“I’m Peter, and…”

Nico-chan said, ignoring him, and forcefully closed the door to Room 104 behind him. Yuki, burning with rage, spun on his heel and shut himself inside his room just like that. The door to Room 102 was also closed violently, and only the remnants of smoke and music drifted in the dark hallway.

“Umm…”

A bewildered Kakeru spoke up, but Kiyose lightly shrugged his shoulders.

“Don’t worry about it. They’re always like that. They both seem to like you, so it’s all good.”

They like me? Really? Kakeru’s bewilderment deepened more and more, but he stayed silent and walked a short distance back up the hallway, and watched Kiyose opened the door to Room 103.

“Well then, this is your room, Kakeru. Here’s the key.”

Kiyose pointed to a brass key with a round head hanging from the interior side of the room’s door. “If you want to lock it from the inside, you have to put the key in the inside keyhole, and you do the same thing when you lock it from the outside. That’s too annoying, so almost everyone keeps it unlocked when they’re in their rooms.”

Kakeru took the dull gold key. It had a retro shape, like it was for opening a magic door. The plating was worn off in places, and it had a warm roundness due to being in the hands of generations of the room’s owners.

Kiyose took the lead and opened Room 103’s window, letting in the wind. The room was six tatami mats wide (7), and there was also a closet. Kakeru tried opening the closet’s sliding screen just to be sure. There were no bloodstains there like he was worried about, and the interior of the room was old but kept clean.

“Tomorrow, I’ll teach you where the rental futon place is. Bear with my blanket for tonight. I’ll bring it later.”

“I’m sorry for all the trouble.”

“There’s a toilet and washroom on each floor. The job rotations for cleaning are posted in the kitchen every month. Since you just came, you can start in April. I make the meals in the morning and at night.”

“You are? By yourself?”

“Just simple stuff. Each person supplies their own lunch. If you don’t need breakfast or dinner, tell me the day before.”

Kiyose stated the rules of Chikusei-sou without faltering. “For baths, you can go to Tsurunoyu a little ways from here, or you can also borrow the bath in the landlord’s house. In that case, you have to do it between eight to eleven p.m. There is no need for advance reservations or cleaning the bath. Cleaning the bath is a hobby of the landlord’s.”

“Got it.”

In order to hammer it all into his head, Kakeru concentrated and listened carefully to Kiyose’s words.

“There’s no curfew whatsoever. If there’s anything unclear, just ask.”

“What about mealtimes?”

“The times are different depending on the lectures, so everyone eats warmly. Most of the time it’s around eight-thirty in the morning and seven-thirty at night.”

“Got it.”

Kakeru nodded and bowed his head again. “Please take care of me.”

Kiyose once again smiled. Kakeru had been suspicious that he had some sort of ulterior motive for taking him to Chikusei-sou, but now that he met half of the residents of this apartment, it was difficult to continue to hold such suspicions. Kiyose and the residents he came across up until now were a bit strange, but they had accepted Kakeru immediately. Kiyose’s smile was extremely modest and mild-mannered, without any hint of pushiness.

From the kitchen, the sound of the wall clock striking could be heard.

“Is it ten-thirty?”

As though he just recalled something, Kiyose’s eyes moved to the wash basins he had left at the entrance.

“You can still use the landlord’s bath. If you’re not tired, do you want to go greet the main house?”

The two went out the entrance again. Kiyose encouraged Kakeru to wear orthopedic sandals, as it would be a pain to get out the shoes one by one. It seemed that everyone at Chikusei-sou favored wearing sandals whenever they walked in the neighborhood. There were several pairs of sandals that were taken off at the edge of the entrance.

They stepped on the gravel, crossed the garden, and headed for the one-story wooden house, which was the main house. Although called a garden, there were only a few large trees suitable for making shade, and they grew naturally alongside the hedges, and the rest were short and blunt. The simple appearance was almost like it was a garden in progress, and there was a large white station wagon parked there. It felt like it was only parked where the driver felt like, not that it was a fixed parking space.

Even though this was within Tokyo, that was a way to use a very luxurious piece of land. Perhaps because he could afford to do it now from settling where he was going to live, but for the first time, Kakeru was able to feel an affection for the area where his university was.

He had thought Tokyo was just a squalid and restless place. Kakeru breathed in the night air deeply. Surprisingly, that was also not the case. Here as well, people were diligently living. It was no different than the town he was born and raised in. There was someone’s livelihood here, seeking comfort by planting hedges and creating a garden.

Perhaps because it heard the two’s footsteps, the breathing of a creature that was strangely excited was heard in the darkness. When he looked closely, he saw a light brown mixed breed dog come out from beneath the porch of the main house, coming towards them while energetically wagging its tail.

“I forgot about this important resident.”

Kiyose crouched down and stroked the dog’s head. “This is the landlord’s dog, Nira.”

“That’s a weird name.”

Kakeru crouched down besides him and looked into the dog’s deep black and wet eyes.

“A senpai who lived at Aotake before found him,” Kiyose said, while raising up Nira’s drooping ears by his fingers. “Apparently, in Okinawa, bliss is nira something…what was it? Anyways, it became his name after that.”

“Heh, bliss?”

He certainly was a dog with a charming face free of any worries. It seemed like the perfect name for him.

“He’s a dumb dog who loves everyone, but he’s cute.”

For a short while, Kiyose toyed with his ears and stretched his rounded tail, but Nira still showed his deep affection towards the two of them. Kakeru also stroked him on the head as substitute for a greeting. Nira was not chained and had a beautiful red leather collar around his neck. “It suits you,” Kakeru whispered to the dog.

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[the-awkward-outlaw]

Second Chances - Epilogue 1

Take Me Home

Warnings: None!

Word count: ~2000

Masterlist 

Read on AO3

This version of the epilogue has no kids between reader and Arthur - if you want kids, read version 2 here

You wake up to the sounds of birds singing. Stretching, you open your eyes to view the canvas above your head. It takes a moment for you to wake up enough to sit up, but when you do, you see the tent’s empty. Arthur must already be out. 

Stepping out of the tent, you find him kneeling next to the fire. He greets you as you gaze around Cattail Pond before sitting down next to him. He’s just finished cooking some bacon that he packed along for the trip. When you’re seated, he pulls you into a big hug, kissing your temple affectionately. 

It’s been five years since he found you near Aurora Basin in Tall Trees. Five long, mostly good years, although you both still often remember the time you spent with the gang, both the good and the bad. 

After you left the gang and Hamish died, you decided to head out west where you both belonged. He wanted to go down as far south as New Austin near Tumbleweed, but you never liked it much down there. Too hot, too dry. Not enough green. When he asked you where you’d prefer going to, you automatically said Big Valley near Strawberry. To your surprise, he happily agreed. 

He found a good patch in the forest near the huge meadow. Said it was the perfect spot for you both to spend the rest of your lives as there was plenty of space and lots of game to hunt, plus Strawberry wasn’t too far. There, Arthur built you a home. You said it would be easier to just buy one of those premade homes you’d been hearing about. It would take less time and energy, plus it could be built before winter, but Arthur hated the idea. He said he wanted to build you something with his bare hands. You were sure he did it because you’d both lost so much recently and he just wanted something good to come from it. 

However, money was very tight when he began. The only money you had was the little from your satchel, which certainly wasn’t enough to buy the right tools for the job or horses or oxen to help. Arthur recalled the money left in Blackwater and he was sure Dutch or any of the others hadn’t gone back looking for it. So one night, you both snuck in and found, in a large tree near a headstone marked “Greta Van der Linde”, a small chest hidden inside with over $50,000. Neither of you could believe your luck, but you wasted no time in taking it. 

With the new money, Arthur bought two oxen, tools and even hired a few hands to help him cut down the lumber and shape it before building it. While he and the hands worked, you worked on getting a garden going. 

Soon after, the two of you got married. It was easily the happiest day of your life. It was very simple and few guests were there to witness it. Charlotte was one of them. She’d travelled all the way from Annesburg to Strawberry, but she said she wouldn’t dream of missing it. Charles was there as well. Word of the gang’s misfortunes had gotten to him up north. He believed you were both dead, but when he found no signs of your bodies, he pieced the story together and knew you’d both head west. He was the only one from the gang you and Arthur saw after John left. You wished he, Abigail, Jack and Sadie could have been there as well, but you’d heard nothing from them. They probably believed you and Arthur to be dead. 

The structure of the house took months to build and then winter came, which forced Arthur to stop building onto it. It didn’t stop him from continuing to cut the smaller pieces, such as the roof tiles. He also worked on getting the fireplace built so that the two of you could huddle under your tent and be warm near the fire in what would be the living room. 

It took two years until the house was finished and Arthur couldn’t have been prouder. He said it was for you, but you reminded him it was for his benefit as well. A few months later, he built a barn so Buell could have a proper stall. The old morgan you’d stolen died a few months previously, taken down by a broken leg. It was sad, but not as painful as losing Rannoch or Rain, both of whom you still miss deeply. It was easy to see Arthur still missed Artemis. 

When the barn was built, you and Arthur bought two milking cows and chickens, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to make your home into a functioning ranch. Arthur had other ideas, however. He came home one day with four mares and an exceptionally handsome blood bay thoroughbred stallion named Jake, stating he wanted to breed horses. You couldn’t say no, he seemed so excited. 

You still felt bad that you couldn’t give Arthur children. You knew he’d be a wonderful father, but he said he was actually happy you couldn’t. He said that after Eliza and Isaac, he didn’t want kids because he was scared he’d mess up or that what happened to them could happen to you. His heart simply couldn’t bear that pain. 

Arthur hands you the bacon and then leans back a bit on his hands. 

“What you thinkin’ about?” he asks. 

“Nothing really. Just how pretty it is out here.” He chuckles softly and kisses your head again. You were the one who asked to go on this hunting trip, still not liking to be tied to one place for too long, as beautiful as your home is. Arthur’s much the same way. He simply spent too much time moving from one place to the next with the gang that he gets easily frustrated when he’s been cooped up too long. 

“Reckon we should head back soon though. Carson will probably need help fixin’ the fence.” 

You sigh. Carson is a boy from Strawberry. He was the first hand Arthur hired to help build the house and then, to your surprise, built him a small one-room cabin not far from the property. When you asked him why, he stated that when he helped Micah escape the Strawberry prison, Micah killed a man and his wife. Carson happened to be their only son and he was all alone, except for his yellow lab Lily. Arthur felt guilty for Carson’s fate, so he invited the boy to live on your land and work as a hand. 

It was one of the best things Arthur’s done. Carson’s a pleasant, kind and thoughtful boy. He works well with the horses, but his affection for them is nothing compared to how he treats Lily. 

You could tell Arthur really liked her as well, but she wasn’t his dog so they couldn’t have the same relationship. So, for his birthday, you bought Arthur a mountain dog puppy. He and that puppy were in love at first sight and he named him Timber. From that moment on, they were inseparable. 

Timber runs over to Arthur now, his paws dirty from digging and his tail wagging. Arthur rubs his ears happily.

“Hey boah,” he says. Timber groans happily and then turns to lick you in the face. “You ready to see Lily?” 

Timber barks. He and Lily are extremely close. Not only that, Timber makes for a wonderful herding dog. He’s very protective of the new foals and when the horses are let out in the big meadow to graze, he watches them like a hawk. 

You and Arthur pack up your tent and douse the fire before mounting up on your horses. You pat your dapple bay breton mare who you named Ruby after Rain’s mother. She’s as big and tough as Artemis was, but looks nothing like her otherwise.  Arthur hops onto Buell’s back and together, you ride home laiden with pelts.You’ll likely keep a couple and then sell the rest. Your saddlebags are bulging with fresh herbs, which you’ll hang in the barn to dry.

After nearly an hour’s travel, you see the trail leading off to Pinewood Crest, your home. Arthur had wanted to name it Hosea’s Rest but you stated you needed to keep a low profile and try your best not to have any affiliations with the gang for both your protection. Carson waves to you from the meadow, where the mares and their foals are grazing. Timber runs over to Lily, barking madly. 

“Welcome back, Mr. and Mrs. Collins,” he says, running over. 

You both say hello and head to the barn to dismount and unsaddle. It was Arthur’s idea to change your aliases. You suggested keeping the name Tacitus Kilgore as it was easy for you to remember, but he said it wasn’t smart. That name was likely associated with Dutch now. Instead, he said he’d go by the name William Arthur Collins, that way if you called him Arthur, people wouldn’t find it suspicious. You also changed your name to Y/F/N Alice Collins. 

After putting everything away and hanging the herbs up to dry, you go out and stand at the edge of the meadow, watching the horses and cows grazing, Timber and Lily rolling in the grass. Arthur comes up from behind and folds his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. 

You sigh and rest your head against him, still watching the foals. There’s a small colt who looks exactly like Rain at that age and you named him Thunder. He kicks his heels, trotting circles around his bay mother named Willow. She ignores him, continuing to graze with the three other mares. Thunder runs near Buell and kicks out near him in play, but Buell just lifts his head, rumbles and then goes back to grazing. Ruby starts rolling in the dirt, making you laugh.

“Thought you were helping Carson fix the fence?” you ask. 

“Ah, he’s got it for a minute. Besides, you looked so happy over here, had to come be with ya.” 

He kisses your temple again. You turn and meet his lips with yours. He smiles against your lips and then looks out to the meadow once more. After everything you’ve done over your life, after all the suffering and hardship, you’d do it all over again if you knew it’d lead you here. You are happy. 

The End

**Thank you all so much for going on this journey with me. It breaks my heart to end this fic, but it has been such an amazing ride. I would never have gotten far without all the encouragement I’ve received. I cannot express my gratitude in words, but I’m still amazed at how this led me to meet so many amazing people and the friendships I’ve made because of this fic that was inspired by the incredible game Red Dead Redemption 2. Thank you all so much!**

[dopescotlandwarrior]

A Hero Among Us-Chapter 11

Previous chapters on AO3                 Special thanks to @Statell, for all your help

Chapter Eleven

The day after Thanksgiving, Ned Gowen left for San Francisco promising to be back by Christmas. He was charged with a hugely important mission, find and contact the owner of the hidden property and make the purchase. He and Jamie built a plan over whisky and midnight oil and agreed to as sweet a price as Jamie could afford. It was anyone’s guess if the family would sell, or for how much. They didn’t have the luxury of negotiation, it just took too long for a letter to make it to Europe and back. The transatlantic telegraph was fast and reliable for making an offer, the legal signatures could take up to a month.

Jamie clasped Ned’s hand and held his horse. He could barely lift his eyes from the gravel under his feet and Ned noticed his mood.

“Jamie, all is not lost. Ye need to keep riding each day and find other properties that will work. There are thousands of dead acres nearby so don’t give up hope.”

Jamie nodded and sent Ned off with a fond farewell. He decided after worrying for half the day, it would not serve to sit idle. He wanted more information about the hidden vineyard. He and Claire mounted up and galloped into the fields vanishing into the wilderness to all observers and finding the property again with little trouble. They pushed the horses to the house and tied them in the long grass for grazing.

Jamie stood on the shore of the lake and looked across the water until boredom drove Claire inside. She wasn’t feeling well and thought to find a covered sofa to sit down for a few minutes. She wandered through the giant house going from room to room. The master’s bedroom was like the royal chambers of the Persian princes she read about as a girl. Sumptuous, elegant, ridiculously dirty from neglect. She tried to imagine how long ago the family left. She continued to wander and found herself in the nursery again. She pulled her hand along the crib and imagined a tiny baby squealing for his mother. She saw herself holding a child to her breast while another child played at her feet. Drawers were pulled open and her mind filled them with tiny clothes and mittens and boots. The last drawer she opened had a piece of paper, dusty but readable, assorted items of clothing, tiny shoes, and mud handprints of a small child. The piece of paper was a hand-written note that read;

My love, Nikoli, I leave the possessions of your children to comfort you until we can join you. You are loved and deeply missed husband. I return to Romania with a sad heart to leave your body behind but never forgotten. If you can breathe life back into this land your loss will have meaning. A depth of love I never thought possible lived here and I will return to spend eternity with you my love, as soon as I can. Your loving Churassia.

If the finder of this note will contact me and promise to lay my bones in this land with my loving husband, I am grateful, and the land is yours to be exchanged with the same instructions until my death.

Claire wept for the young woman and her unbearable loss. Sweat rolled down her temple and her stomach churned pushing her back outside to find Jamie. Descending the staircase seemed to tap every ounce of strength she had so she gripped the banister and pulled herself along. She could see her husband in the same place, looking out at the lake, but when she stepped outside, she felt her feet leave the ground as the dirt rushed toward her.

“Sassenach! Tell me, love, are ye alright? What happened to ye to make ye so white and cryin.” Jamie held her to him.

Claire looked up and feeling a massive dizzy spell, sank back into Jamie’s lap. “The paper, where is it, did I drop it?”

Jamie looked in the direction she had come from and picked it up. Placing the paper on Claire’s chest he carried her to a sofa. He watched her pale face sweat and tears flow. She looked at Jamie, her rock, her dearest love.

“Let’s hope you are more stout than that poor bugger.”

Jamie read the document and felt a chill go up his spine. He could not leave Claire’s side when she was feeling so sick, but the afternoon waned along with the light.

I’m sorry love, but we must go or be lost in here until tomorrow. Can ye sit in my saddle and let me hold ye home?”

Jamie knew he could not pony Brimstone and hold Claire at the same time. He lifted Claire onto Brimstone and swung up behind her. He had pulled the bridle off Donus and locked his stirrups up into the saddle.

“I hope ye’ll be coming with us, friend. If not, I wish ye well and the bugger that catches ye, my condolences.” Brimstone was set into an easy lope toward home with Donus right beside her. Jamie called for Misses Crook at the porch and whistled for the men, several came running, including Rupert.

“What’s happened to the lady boss?”

“Take her Rupert, carefully, follow Misses Crook. I’ll be right there.” Jamie handed Brimstone to the men and warned them not to handle Donus. “Just open his stall door and he’ll find his way.”

Jamie ran to the cabins yelling for Cho.

Misses Crook paced outside Claire’s rooms while Jamie and Cho were with her. The door was open, but she could not stand seeing her face so white and lifeless. When she could no longer stand being away from her, she rushed in and fainted on the spot when she saw Claire. Cho’s entire kit of needles bounced from various points of Claire’s body. Neck, face, arms, and ankles. Cho walked to the older woman and pinched the skin in the middle of her forehead until she took a deep breath.

Cho blocked Misses Crook’s view and asked her to lie down until he came back to check her. Misses Crook left meekly like she had seen a ghost, or the ghost of her Mistress.

Jamie looked down and touched Claire's face, “Christ Cho, she’s burnin up!”

“This is good Jamie. Her body is boiling the offender, it is good.”

“Why her? Why couldn’t it be me?”

“A king will succumb while the beggar lives in health because the beggar is exposed and becomes stronger. Claire has not had this exposure, she is kept from the enemy of life and is weak to fight it.”

“Yer not makin a lick of sense.” Jamie could feel his anger, fear, and frustration ready to explode and raked a hand through his hair.

“You have put her life in my hands twice now. I ask you to open the window three inches and leave the house. Please, trust me.”

Jamie held her face and whispered in her ear, “I’ll be waitin for ye on the swing, lass, dinna be long.”

Jamie shot out of the house and was riding toward Ben’s place like hell’s fire was chasing him. He tied Brimstone and knocked on the door fearing he would have a heart attack if Ben did not open this instant.

The door swung open to a sight that broke Ben’s heart and he knelt next to the big man and pulled him to his feet before walking him to a sofa. A large whisky was pressed into Jamie’s hand and pushed to his mouth for two big gulps.

Jamie felt broken or broken down. He lacked the strength for a deep breath and looked at Ben like he did not know him, but then he began to speak. He explained to Ben about the note Claire found in the drawer of the nursery and the offer of the land, with the unusual stipulation that would make it binding.

“I’m very good at helping Jamie, what is it I can do?”

Jamie’s face looked terrified suddenly like he needed to escape. Ben kept his voice low and suggested things that Jamie might need. Something catastrophic had occurred for his friend to be this unraveled. Ben came to the awful conclusion that it was something to do with Claire, but Jamie’s condition was fragile, so he preceded with caution.

I’m comin back to the vineyard with you Jamie. But first, is there anything you need?”

“I need to borrow two horses so my men can travel to the city and stop Ned. We have the property! I just need to telegraph the promise, asked for in the note, and then Claire will get well, and we can go on to the abandoned estate tomorrow. It’s easy! We can do this!” Jamie jumped up and headed for the door. Ben stopped him and asked for help with the horses. Keep him busy with tasks and his mind off Claire. That much was obvious.

Jamie had the horses brushed and tacked up in ten minutes. Ben ponied his second horse and Jamie jumped on Brimstone. The men rode hard to the vineyard and Ben saw Jamie’s eyes fixed on the upstairs window. They galloped to the cabins and were surrounded by the men. Angus looked at Jamie and took a deep breath for his friend and locked eyes to give him strength.

“Whatever ye need boss.”

“Two men to ride to the city and give a message to Ned Gowen. Pick a man, not Rupert.” Jamie turned and looked at the window. He started running for the house leaving the horses and men behind.

Ben wrote a message to give to Ned and sent Angus and another man on their way. All the men had gathered around him now, looking concerned. “Those of you that pray, it’s time to ask the almighty to save the lady. Forget the prayers you learned and pray from your heart. She is no ordinary lady so think of her when you talk to God. Your prayers will have more power. I will be doing the same and showing strength to Jamie.” Ben looked at the men, “if the time should come, we will pray for Jamie.”

Jamie walked quietly into the room. Claire had no needles in her skin and was covered in wet towels to keep her body temperature down. Jamie had never been so scared in his life, ironically because of the absence of needles. Cho was dipping towels in a cold basin like he had given up healing Claire. Jamie couldn’t speak so he knelt next to her with his mouth at her ear and told her stories about the Highlands, and his family, and where they would go for adventure when he took her there. He kept talking for hours. Through another needle treatment he was not aware of. It was just him and Claire, free and wild in the Heather and hills of his home.

The men gathered on the porch and around the house, heads bent, rosaries in hand. They each had their own memory of the lady, bowing before them, face bright with happiness at the fiesta, looking after them when they were sick, calling them by name, taking their hand to say thank you, wonderful job, so glad you’re with us, so thrilled you’re staying, you may not be excused until you fill your plate again, your mother would be so proud Shawn, Kenneth, Morgan, William, Robbie. Each man heard her say his name and prayed to hear it again.

Cho removed the needles and covered Claire with fresh towels. He put a sopping corner of a towel into her mouth. Jamie looked at Cho pleadingly, “she’s too hot.” He ran for Misses Crook and the men were chased out of the room while she stripped her Mistress leaving as much skin exposed as possible and covered her with towels.

As the sun came over the horizon Jamie looked at Cho and asked the impossible question, “Is she with child?”

“No. Her womb reaches for life but is yet empty.”

“How do you know that?”

“The energy inside touches points around the body, it is the life force. If she was with child, it would flow through the womb, always, but it does not. This is her blessing, she can fight for herself and live. It won’t be long now.”

Jamie waited a long minute before asking, “long for what Cho?”

“Chinese believe in deep sickness we are given a choice, to live or to join those we love and have lost.” Cho gave a rare smile, “She will stay.”

Jamie gasped, he had no strength left to fight his tears, so they came, either by fear or by relief, they came.

Cho covered Claire in fresh towels and inserted a needle into Jamie’s hand so he would sleep. There was concern that Jamie would fall ill since he was so close to her during the fever. Cho would know in a few hours and until then he would make him rest.

Misses Crook brought a tray of food to Claire’s room and she almost cried at the lovers, locked in an embrace and sound asleep. “Mr. Cho, can I relieve ye for a bit? Ye have been tendin the Mistress all night.”

“Thank you, but I am fine.” Cho was delighted to see a tea service on the tray. It was all he needed.

Angus and Robbie made it to the city in the early morning and found Ned at his office already. They handed him the note and waited. Ned, being the astute observer, noticed the heavy melancholy in the men. “This is fantastic news gentlemen, do you agree?” They nodded. “What might be keeping you from clicking your heals and smiling?”

“The Mistress is sick Ned. We have to be goin.”

“Alright, you two get back and try not to pitch forward in sleep on the way. I will tend this business and be back at the vineyard in a few days. God speed lads.”

Ned did not say anything about the telegraph that was waiting for him from Randall senior. He announced he would be taking possession of the vineyard in the spring and asked Ned to facilitate sending Claire home to England as soon as she could travel. He did not offer to pay for her trip or support her in any way. Ned worried there would be no one to send home and quickened his steps to the telegraph office.

Misses Crook was called to Claire’s room just before noon and the lovers continued to sleep. Cho requested a shift be put on Claire and left the room. Misses Crook looked after him like he was crazy but when she touched Claire’s cheek she gasped. Her skin was cool and was gaining color as she watched. The towels were removed and Misses Crook pulled her from Jamie’s grasp wondering why he didn’t wake up. A fresh shift was on the Mistress and as Misses Crook turned to leave, she noticed the needle that bobbed in the air, stuck into Jamie’s hand. “What kind of voodoo is this then?”

Cho was back just as Misses Crook was reaching for the needle. “Thank you for your assistance Misses Crook.” Cho bowed as the older woman left the room. Cho removed the needle and touched Jamie’s face, still cool, a good sign Jamie would not get sick.

Jamie opened his eyes and looked around in confusion before remembering how sick Claire was. He pulled her to him and touched her face before looking at Cho.

“I leave now. The lady will wake.” Cho bowed and left.

Jamie pulled his wife into his arms and held her close praying his thanks to God. He couldn’t wait for her to wake on her own, so he called to her.

Claire’s bloodshot eyes fixed on her husband with a tinge of confusion, “I don’t want to fish today Jamie.”

“And why is that mo chridhe?”

“The fish are mean.” She cuddled up to her husband and was drifting off again.

“No more fishing then, the finest lassie says so.” Jamie kissed her forehead and let sleep take him as he held his heart and soul in his arms.

It would be two more days before the men saw Jamie. He took his meals with Claire, encouraging her to eat. When she slept, he did too. The men were informed that the lady was recovering and they should enjoy some time off. Angus and Robbie returned completely exhausted and hearing the good news took to their bunks for an entire day and night. There was a constant supply of fresh fish coming to Misses Crook’s kitchen because Highlanders don’t idle well. During the evening meal, Angus noticed a glum Rupert leaning against their cabin looking out at the vineyard.

“What’s eatin ye Rupert, ye foul mood is lastin more than I can handle. What say we play a game of dice and challenge the willin.” Angus poked his friend and smiled his toothless grin. Rupert walked away saying he would start his watch early.

Rupert watched the road and tried to calm himself. For days he suffered with anxiety, knowing something was wrong. Now that the lady was healing, he still felt the unrest and it took over his mind, but he didn’t know why. He was being tortured by an unseen foe and wondered if he was losing his mind.

Jamie bundled Claire up on the swing and sat next to her so they could read their love poems again, really so he could. She was the picture of health except she had not spoken again since the mean fish comment. She would talk but no sound came out. She was easy to understand without speaking because Jamie knew her so well and when she indicated he should get back to his duties he flatly refused. Jamie read the poetry and pushed the swing with his foot while his wife cuddled up to him and kissed his cheek when she loved one of the poems. The men elbowed each other and nodded toward the boss smiling. Everybody felt relief that life would go on. Except Rupert.

Jamie laid Claire in their bed and smiled at her open eyes. He turned to bathe and get ready for bed, but she held his hand and pulled him to her. He covered her with his body and kissed her softly, allowing a touch more heat with his tongue and then jumping to the floor when he felt her tongue. She followed him out of bed and removed his shirt, then pants. Taking the cloth in the water she washed him and kissed his chest, arms, and neck. Jamie stood vigilant and shook his head when she tried to lick his nipple. She did it anyway, running her hands up the back of his legs and over his magnificent ass. She walked behind him and washed his back, noticing the tight muscles that were shoring up his resolve to leave her alone. She reached around and wrapped her hands around his erection slowly moving in the rhythm he loved. He grabbed her hand and marched her to the bed, then tucked her in. He snuffed out the lamps and staggered to a chair waiting for her to fall asleep. In his sleep he felt his erection against his stomach, pulsing with need. He tried to get up but realized he was held down by an unseen force. Hands touched him, startling him. He could not see Claire between his legs, but she had all the power because he could not move. She kissed him making him shake with need. When he felt her warm soft mouth come down on him it was more than he could take. With his mighty strength, he pulled on the ties that held him until they snapped allowing him to sit up. He was suddenly awake watching his amazing wife kneeling between his legs rolling her mouth up and down his cock causing his heart to nearly explode.

“Sassenach,” he whispered. “Come, lass, to bed, let me love ye.”

He covered her naked body and kissed her deeply feeling her legs open under him and panting in his ear. He could not stop himself. His wife’s erotic act made him incapable of stopping and the image of her mouth on his cock was fueling an intense need. He entered her slowly feeling panic when her usual sounds were not heard. He looked at the arousal in her face and did his best to go slowly and not hurt her. When he kissed her core, she almost levitated and he slowly sent her to a special place to touch the face of angels. “My love.” He held her pelvis up and felt the electricity snapping at his lower back as it worked deep into his groin. His balls pulled up painfully until he could not take the pain anymore, just seconds before he shattered and growled through the most intense orgasm, he ever felt, he fell next to her, his love. Jamie panted for air while he pushed the hair off her face and pulled her close. They hardly moved the rest of the night.

The days became weeks, Claire’s voice came back, and she was well enough to help Misses Crook decorate the cabins and the house for Christmas. She placed a notice at church for young ladies to join their party on Christmas day since most families celebrated on Christmas eve. Five turkeys were roasting with drippings being caught underneath for gravy. Potatoes were added to the coals and pies of every variety had been baked by the women for days before the celebration. Radish salad, colcannon, Scottish cheese and bannocks, and other dishes from Scotland that made Jamie beam with pride at his wife.

“Ah, the lassies are here gentlemen.” All the men stood with their shiny faces and combed hair to welcome the ladies, offer food and drink, and hope for a dance. The music and dancing were a relief to overstuffed bellies and there was much laughter until the fathers started showing up and the lasses were bid goodbye. When it was just the men again, a beautiful, clear voice was heard in the dark for a rendition of silent night that brought tears to Claire’s eyes. The men were silent until the last note and then the singer went right into Deck the Halls, bringing the men with him. Jamie enjoyed every minute he wasn’t worried about Ned. He was expected weeks ago. Something must have happened.

It would be another three days before Jamie was to know Ned’s fate. Always the first one up, Jamie came around the corner of the house and almost dropped to his knees. Ned was face down in the front yard. The man was still breathing, and Jamie carried him easily to the guest room and laid him on the bed. He ran for Cho.

Ned suffered from exhaustion after losing his horse and walking for two days. The horse had reared when a skunk came out of the brush, scaring the poor beast half to death. Jamie was coming out of his skin waiting to hear if Ned was successful or not. Finally, after two days of resting Ned called Jamie to him and asked the door to be closed.

Jamie shook his head violently, “no Ned, this canna be so!”

While Jamie paced, Ned filled him in on the two telegraphs from Randall, his plan to take the vineyard, and the obvious flow of information from someone in their camp. When Jamie looked up, he had murderous eyes and left without a word. Ned realized he forgot to tell Jamie that Churassi had accepted his offer, the deed was on the way.

The next day Ben rode his horse through the vineyard and came galloping back ringing the bell for all he was worth. Men came running from everywhere, including Jamie who looked at Ben like he had lost his mind. Ben held out a rotted arm off a vine and announced the blight had infected their vines. Jamie grabbed it and shouted “impossible!” He dispatched ten men to follow Ben and check the vines the rest were sent back to digging trenches.

It was everywhere, according to the men, the entire vineyard was infected, their plans were in ruins. The doubters checked for themselves and saw the white dots at the juncture of the arms, it was true. The evening meal was a solemn affair, and the men disbanded early to sleep the terrible day away.

The shape on the road moved silently as it left the vineyard and headed for town. Body stooped, head down, he walked quickly. Jamie waited for him in the middle of the road, no longer concerned with hiding himself. He let the shadow person almost run into him before making a sound.

"Careful laddie, no reason to rush yer death, it’ll happen soon enough." There was a gasp as the stooped figure realized he was caught. He turned around to run as the highlanders were closing the circle of freedom. He was bound and gagged. Jamie asked if anyone knew him.

“I know him, he’s a cousin”

Rupert approached and kicked the man in the kidneys hard enough to drop him. Jamie was without words. He stared at Rupert like he broke his heart. “Did ye know Rupert?”

“No.”

Guilt by association is what Rupert felt and prayed that Jamie would see his innocence. Not for sparing his life but for remaining in the trust of the greatest man he had known since his father. “Who among ye doesna know Rupert as kin or friend?” The group separated and Jamie pointed to a man. “Go with them.”

The bound man would not see another day, that he knew, so he walked slowly toward town ignoring Rupert’s orders to move faster. Exasperated, Rupert pulled the man into the brush. They had hours to wait until sunup, He would use that time to find out what happened, when, and who was involved. Once the telegraph was sent, the three men walked back to the vineyard but only two arrived.

The ruse that Ben suggested two nights prior had worked to ferret out the trader. The men Jamie chose to accompany Ben were told of the plan and handed infected limbs from other vineyards. Claire and Misses Crook had mixed water with pigeon poop, dabbing the vines under the two arms that are left for the winter. They worked quickly in the predawn morning, Claire’s conscious state was attributable to her teeth chattering from the cold. They were back in front of the fire before the first cabin door opened.

It was a devastating change to what was reported to Randall senior and they knew the snitch would sneak out to telegraph an update. It worked.

Rupert sat against his cabin long after the evening meal waiting for Jamie to come and deal with him. He cared only for an acknowledgment of his innocence because he was a proud Highlander. So he waited.

“A word Rupert.” Jamie led him into the vineyard because this was no one's business but Rupert’s. “Do ye know why I held ye back from goin to the city with Angus?”

“Ye needed an overseer I imagine.”

“No. It’s because ye have a special place in yer heart for the lady. I knew you would pray harder and longer than anyone else. I know the kindness ye feel toward her would never allow ye to act against her, or me. Ye will no be judged for a blood association and I want ye to rid yerself of any guilt or doubt in my opinion of ye. Are we clear Highlander?”

“Yes boss, we’re clear.”

[the-rebel-archivist]

What Might Have Been

Another prompt featuring Lyna Mahariel in which she learns the cost of her choice to have Alistair marry Anora.

Prompt:  The Black Emporium has a new item: the Aspersorium of Zinovia, named after the famed mage who had visions of the future, and was the consort of Archon Valerius. 

Codex Entry: It is a large font, made out of white stone, and the water is about a foot deep. The water feels cool to the touch, and is enchanted to activate when three ounces of lyrium are carefully dripped into it, clockwise. The lyrium activates a spell that has been officially lost to history- we do not have a name for it now, we simply know this spell gives you insights and visions of alternate futures, pasts, and presents- where you see someone else in your place, making different decisions, choices- where you see different consequences. Be very careful when using this. Visitors who have used this for long periods of time, have been known to go insane or simply die from the fumes that the lyrium gives off when it is being dripped into the basin.

So here’s the challenge: Your Warden, Your Hawke, or your Inquisitor has come to the Black Emporium and sees this item. Curiosity takes over and they take a look. You are to write out what they see: Your Warden sees a different Warden instead of themselves, your Inquisitor sees a different Inquisitor, Hawke sees a different Hawke, etc. They see a different path play out. For Non Protagonists or for those who do not have alternate versions of Hawkes, Wardens and Inquisitors: Have them witness a crucial part of their past or future  from the story you made for them and see what changes it brings in a different life, if they chose to make a different choice. 

Lyna had heard of the Black Emporium before; whispers of it had stretched all the way even to Ferelden, but she had never been here herself - that is, until an invitation in spidery handwriting had mysteriously appeared under her door. Curiosity had overcome wariness and now here she stood before a basin filled with completely still water that didn’t move even when her steps toward it shook the white stone base.

There was something strange and otherworldly about it, exceptionally so given how many other oddities were strewn about this odd shop. She felt unusually drawn to the glassy water, her face reflecting up at her in its mirror-like surface. Tight platinum bun, a long scar that wove through her green vallaslin, more around her lips and forehead. She looked old. Weathered. Angry. Did she always look that angry? That would be ghastly.

A small vial of lyrium was next to the font and she picked it up with determination. If nothing else, dropping it in the way she had been told was the way to activate it would dismiss the unpleasant image of herself. The smell of ozone, metallic and sharp, filled her nose as she removed the stopper from the bottle and dripped it cautiously into the basin. 

The room around her seemed to disappear. A moving painting of herself glimmered back at her from the water and she felt herself pulled in, the vision of what she recognized as Arl Eamon’s estate in Denerim some twelve years before becoming her only reality.

“Why would you do that? What about us?” she heard Alistair say. Her heart dropped with the realization of what she was about to watch. She had run exactly this conversation through her mind over and over again.

He looked so boyish, his cheeks still rounded by youth and his posture not nearly as confident as it was the last time she had seen him at the palace. She hadn’t realized just how young he was. 

Across from him was someone she recognized as herself. Why had everyone thrust so much responsibility on her? She was just a baby at nineteen, even if she hadn’t felt that way at the time.

“I don’t want anyone else, even for pretend.” Alistair’s voice cracked with hurt and betrayal as he asked her why she would conspire to make him king alongside Anora. She longed to scoop the boy up into a hug and tell him that it was all going to be alright, even if it wasn’t, but all she was able to do was watch, an invisible third party to the moment she regretted most in her life.

“I’ll tell her no, then,” the figure that looked like her but wasn’t said.

This wasn’t how she had remembered it going.

As the vision faded away she saw Alistair put his hands on either side of her face and smack an enthusiastic kiss on her forehead in a way that made her smile.

The water in the basin rippled and transitioned into a small house, the bottom of a stack of three in the middle of a city - she recognized it as one she had seen in Amaranthine. She had always admired it, its whitewashed exterior clean and prim with rose bushes by the door. Inside it was cozy, a roaring fire burning warmly in the hearth. A shield she knew to be Duncan’s hung above the fireplace.

Alistair was on his hands and knees on the floor, two small children riding atop him as though he were a horse. They squealed in delight as he feigned bucking and rearing, then gently lowered himself to the floor to let them tumble down in a giggling heap. She herself was feeding a bottle to a positively cherubic blonde baby while sitting at a rough wooden table across the room. None of the children looked like either her or Alistair: the girl, who seemed to be the eldest, had skin like burnished bronze and tight black ringlets, her deep set dark eyes highlighted by her high cheekbones, while a younger boy, an elf, had freckles and tawny brown hair that constantly fell in his eyes.

She couldn’t remember ever having smiled as much as she was smiling in this vision. Even when she wasn’t actively grinning her mouth seemed to be turned upwards, ready to break out into something wider in an instant.

Alistair got up from the floor and walked toward her, brushing his hands on his breeches. Holding her shoulders, he leaned down behind her and kissed her cheek tenderly, then licked along the base of her ear. She reached out to swat at him but he jumped away just in time in a move that seemed well-practiced. 

“Why do you do this? You’re worse than the dog.” she heard herself say with mock annoyance. Putting the bottle down on the table, she wiped the wetness away and glared, her severe expression softened by the smile twisting at the corner of her mouth.

“Cleaner though.” 

“That’s debatable.” Her hand was outstretched toward the cheekily grinning man, who took it in his and drew closer. “You’re an idiot, Ali,” she said, affection plain in her voice, her eyes soft as she looked up at him. 

“But I’m your idiot, that’s the important bit.”

“Always.”

He leaned back down to her level and kissed her once more as a chorus of high-pitched ‘Ewws’ arose in the background. 

The surface of the font rippled again and the figured were wiped away, though the inside of the homey cottage remained in view. When it became clear again the children were still present but were much older.

The two elder siblings were near the fire, the boy setting up a row of small pewter soldiers in orderly rows on the floor and the girl sitting cross legged reading a book.

The person who looked like Lyna was still at the table in the kitchen. Beside her the formerly chubby-cheeked baby, who had grown into a similarly round faced blonde child, was repeatedly attempting to balance on one foot, wobbling around until she threatened to fall and slapped a sticky hand on Lyna’s knee for support.

There was a letter in Lyna’s hands.

“Is that from Father?” the older girl asked her when she heard the paper crinkle as Lyna removed it from its official-looking envelope.

“It’s from the Inquisitor, but it might have news of him. Odd that it didn’t come with something from him as well, though. Perhaps it’s still making its way here.”

As Lyna watched herself read the letter she saw her face go pale. Lyna-that-was-not-Lyna froze in place, staring unblinkingly at the page. Taking a deep breath that heaved her shoulders, she closed her eyes tightly and bit at her lip until a small bead of red appeared. She licked the blood away and dropped the letter as though it had begun to burn her, then held her head in her hands and leaned against the surface of the table.

“Mama, what’s wrong?” the small girl by her side asked as she tried to pull her mother’s hand away from her face.

She took a moment before lifting her head, then turned towards the other children. Her hollow eyes sent a chill down Lyna’s spine.

“Come here, you two, I need to tell you something.” The words were slow, her tone carefully measured in some attempt to keep from alarming the children, but her voice was shaking. Something in it convinced them not to argue the urgency of her command.

As the children gathered around her a film appeared over the figures in the scene and they began to disappear. The letter grew larger and more readable. 

Warden-Commander Mahariel,

Please forgive my formality; I have no words that adequately explain my depth of feeling.

After a long and brutal assault on Adamant fortress, myself, some of my companions, and Warden Alistair were sent bodily into the Fade. He did not return with us, sacrificing himself that we might live. I failed you and failed him. Falon’Din guide him and bring him peace.

I hope that you can come to forgive me.

Inquisitor Raynda Lavellan

The images faded, turning back to still water. Lyna realized that she had been gripping the smooth rounded edges of the basin until her knuckles had turned white and was finding it difficult to catch her breath. She forced herself to let go and reached inside her collar pulling out an old silver locket. Holding it tight like a talisman against evil seemed to calm her, the knowledge of the dried rose petals within it comforting her.

Would it have been worth it? Would a few years of happiness have been enough? Was it truly better that they live, but only half-alive? She wasn’t sure if she wanted the answers to any of those questions.

For now, it was enough that he had not died.